ASTROV. I didn’t eat a thing today, just drank. Your father has a oppressive nature. (Gets a bottle from the sideboard.) May I? (Drinks a shot.) There’s nobody around, so a man can speak frankly. You know, I have the feeling I wouldn’t last a month in your house, I’d suffocate in this atmosphere . . . Your father, all wrapped up in his gout and his books, Uncle Vanya with his biliousness, your grandmother, lastly your stepmother . . .
SONYA. What about my stepmother?
ASTROV. Everything about a human being ought to be beautifuclass="underline" face, dress, soul, ideas. She’s the fairest in the land,26 no argument there, but . . . all she does is eat, sleep, go for walks, enchant us all with her beauty—and that’s it. She has no responsibilities, others work for her . . . Am I right? And a life of idleness cannot be pure.
Pause.
Anyway, maybe I’m being too hard on her. I’m dissatisfied with life same as your Uncle Vanya, and we’re both turning into grouches.
SONYA. So you’re dissatisfied with life?
ASTROV. Life in the abstract I love, but our life, rural, Russian, humdrum, I cannot stand, and I despise it with every fiber of my being. And as to my own private life, honest to God, there’s absolutely nothing good about it. You know how, when you walk through a forest on a dark night, if all the time in the distance there’s a glimmer of light, you don’t mind the fatigue or the dark or the prickly branches hitting you in the face . . . I work—as you know—harder than anyone else in the district, fate never stops hitting me in the face, at times I suffer unbearably, but in the distance there’s no light glimmering for me. I’ve stopped expecting anything for myself, I don’t love people . . . For a long time now I’ve loved no one.
SONYA. No one?
ASTROV. No one. I do feel a certain affection for your dear old nanny—for old time’s sake. The peasants are very monotonous, backward, live in filth, and it’s hard to get on with educated people. They’re tedious. All of them, our good friends and acquaintances, think petty thoughts, feel petty feelings, and don’t see beyond their noses—fools, plain and simple. And the ones who are a bit cleverer and a bit more earnest are hysterical, hung up on categories and clichés . . . Their sort whines, foments hatred, spreads contagious slander, they sidle up to a man, peer at him out of the corner of their eye and decide, “Oh, he’s a psychopath!” or “He’s a windbag!” And when they don’t know what label to stick on my brow, they say, “He’s peculiar, really peculiar!” I love forests — that’s peculiar; I don’t eat meat—that’s peculiar too. A spontaneous, unpolluted, open relationship to nature and human beings no longer exists . . . Oh no, no! (is about to drink.)
SONYA (stops him). No, for my sake, please, don’t drink any more.
ASTROV. Why not?
SONYA. It’s so out of character for you! You’re refined, you have such a gentle voice . . . Besides, you, unlike anyone I know—you’re beautiful. Why do you want to be like ordinary people who drink and play cards? Oh, don’t do that, for my sake! You’re always saying that people don’t create, they only destroy what is given them from on high. Why then are you destroying yourself? You mustn’t, you mustn’t, I beg you, I implore you.
ASTROV (extends a hand to her). I won’t drink any more.
SONYA. Give me your word.
ASTROV. Word of honor.
SONYA (squeezes his hand firmly). Thank you!
ASTROV. Basta!27 I’ve sobered up. You see, I’m quite sober and will remain so to the end of my days. (Looks at his watch.) Well now, let’s proceed. As I was saying: my time’s long gone, it’s too late for me . . . I’m growing old, overworked, coarsened, all my feelings are numb, and I don’t believe I could form an attachment to anyone any more. I love no one and . . . have stopped falling in love. What still gets through to me is beauty. I’m not indifferent to it. It seems to me that if Yelena Andreevna here wanted to, she could turn my head in no time at all . . . But of course that’s not love, not affection . . . (Covers his eyes with his hand and shudders.)
SONYA. What’s wrong?
ASTROV. Just . . . In Lent a patient of mine died under the chloroform.
SONYA. It’s time to forget that.
Pause.
Tell me, Mikhail Lvovich . . . If I happened to have a girlfriend or a younger sister, and you were to learn that she . . . well, let’s suppose, she loves you, how would you deal with that?
ASTROV (with a shrug). I don’t know, nohow, I suppose. I’d let her understand that I could not love her . . . besides, it’s not the sort of thing that’s on my mind. Anyway, if I’m to go, the time’s come. Good-bye, my dear, otherwise we’ll be at it till morning. (Presses her hand.) I’ll go through the parlor, if you don’t mind, or else I’m afraid your uncle will detain me.
Exits.
SONYA (alone). He didn’t say anything to me . . . His heart and soul are still hidden from me, so why do I feel so happy? (Laughs with delight.) I said to him: you’re refined, noble, you have such a gentle voice . . . Was that uncalled for? His voice throbs, caresses . . . I can feel it here in the air. And when I mentioned a younger sister, he didn’t understand . . . (Wringing her hands.) Oh, it’s an awful thing to be unattractive! Simply awful! And I know I’m unattractive, I know, I know . . . Last Sunday, when we were coming out of church, I heard the way they talked about me, and one woman said, “She’s kind and good-natured, what a pity she’s so unattractive . . .” Unattractive . . .
Enter YELENA ANDREEVNA.
YELENA ANDREEVNA (opens a window). The storm has passed. What lovely air!
Pause.
Where’s the doctor?
SONYA. Gone.
Pause.
YELENA ANDREEVNA. Sophie!
SONYA. What?
YELENA ANDREEVNA. How long are you going to go on glowering at me? We haven’t done one another any harm. Why do we have to be enemies? Enough is enough.
SONYA. I wanted to myself . . . (Embraces her.) No more tantrums.
YELENA ANDREEVNA. Splendid.
Both are agitated.
SONYA. Is Papa in bed?
YELENA ANDREEVNA. No, he’s sitting in the parlor . . . We don’t talk to one another for weeks on end and God knows why . . . (Noticing the open sideboard.) What’s this?
SONYA. Mikhail Lvovich had some supper.
YELENA ANDREEVNA. And there’s some wine . . . Let’s pledge one another as sisters.[27]
SONYA. Let’s.
YELENA ANDREEVNA. Out of the same glass . . . (Pours.) That’s better. Well, here goes — friends?
SONYA. Friends.[28]
They drink and kiss.
For a long time now I’ve wanted to make it up, but somehow I was embarrassed . . .
Weeps.
YELENA ANDREEVNA. What are you crying for?
SONYA. No reason, it’s the way I am.