YELENA ANDREEVNA. Well, never mind, never mind . . . (Weeps.) You little crackpot,28 now you’ve got me crying . . .
Pause.
You’re angry with me because you think I married your father for ulterior motives . . . If you’ll believe an oath, I’ll swear to you—I married him for love. I was attracted to him as a scholar and a celebrity. The love was unreal, artificial, but at the time I thought it was real. It’s not my fault. But from the day we got married you’ve gone on punishing me with your shrewd, suspicious eyes.
SONYA. Well, truce, truce! We’ll put it behind us.
YELENA ANDREEVNA. You mustn’t look at people that way— it doesn’t suit you. You must trust everyone, otherwise life becomes unliveable.
Pause.
SONYA. Tell me truthfully, friend to friend . . . Are you happy?
YELENA ANDREEVNA. No.
SONYA. I knew that. One more question. Tell me frankly—would you like to have a young husband?
YELENA ANDREEVNA. What a little girl you are still. Of course I would! (Laughs.) Go on, ask me something else, ask me . . .
SONYA. Do you like the doctor?
YELENA ANDREEVNA. Yes, very much.
SONYA (laughs). I must look funny . . . don’t I? Now he’s gone, but I keep hearing his voice and footsteps, and I look out the dark window—and his face appears to me. Let me say what’s on my mind . . . But I can’t say it out loud, I’m embarrassed. Let’s go to my room, we’ll talk there. Do you think I’m being silly? Admit it . . . Tell me something about him . . .
YELENA ANDREEVNA. Such as?
SONYA. He’s intelligent . . . He knows how to do everything, can do everything . . . He practices medicine and plants forests . . .
YELENA ANDREEVNA. Forests and medicine have nothing to do with it . . . Darling, what you have to understand is, he’s got talent! Do you know the meaning of talent?[29] Daring, an uncluttered mind, breadth of vision . . . He plants a tree and already he’s planning ahead, what the result will be in a thousand years, he’s already imagining the happiness of generations to come. People like that are rare, one must love them . . . He drinks, he’s uncouth — but what’s the harm in that? A talented man in Russia cannot be a puritan. Just consider the life this doctor leads! Mud up to his waist on the roads, frosts, blizzards, vast distances, coarse, savage people, all around poverty, disease, and it’s hard for a man working and struggling in surroundings like that day after day to reach the age of forty spotless and sober . . . (Kisses her.) I wish you happiness from the bottom of my heart, you deserve it . . . (Rises.) But mine is a dreary walk-on part . . . In the field of music and in my husband’s house, in any of life’s dramas—no matter where, in short, I’ve only had a walk-on part. Personally speaking, Sonya, when you think about it, I’m very, very unhappy! ((Walks nervously around the stage.) No happiness for me in this world. No! Why are you laughing?
SONYA (laughs, covering her face). I’m so happy . . . happy!
YELENA ANDREEVNA. I’d like to play the piano . . . I want to play something right now.
SONYA. Do play. (Embraces her.) I can’t sleep. Play.
YELENA ANDREEVNA. Presently. Your father isn’t asleep. When he’s ill, music irritates him. Go and ask. If he doesn’t object, I’ll play. Go on.
SONYA. Right this minute. (Exits.)
In the garden the WATCHMAN is tapping.
YELENA ANDREEVNA. It’s been a long time since I played. I’ll play and weep, weep like a fool. (Out the window.) Is that you tapping, Yefim?
WATCHMAN’S VOICE. It’s me!
YELENA ANDREEVNA. Don’t tap, the master’s not well.
WATCHMAN’S VOICE. I’ll go right now! (Whistles under his breath.) Here, boys, Blacky, Laddy! Blacky![30]
Pause.
SONYA (returning). The answer’s no!
Curtain
ACT THREE
Parlor in Serebryakov’s house. Three doors: right, left, and center.—Daytime.
VOINITSKY, SONYA are sitting; YELENA ANDREEVNA walks about the stage with something on her mind.
VOINITSKY. Herr Professor has graciously expressed the desire that today we all congregate in this parlor at one o’clock P.M.(Looks at his watch.) A quarter to one. He’s got something he wants to tell the world.
YELENA ANDREEVNA. Probably some business matter.
VOINITSKY. He has no business. He writes drivel, moans and groans and oozes envy, that’s all.
SONYA (reproachfully). Uncle!
VOINITSKY. All right, sorry. (Indicates Yelena Andreevna.) Wonder at her: she can’t walk, without tottering from sheer indolence. Very charming! Very!
YELENA ANDREEVNA. All you do all day is buzz, buzz—how come you don’t get sick of it! (Languorously.) I’m dying of boredom, I don’t know what I’m to do.
SONYA (shrugging). How about a little work? Only the lady has to make an effort.
YELENA ANDREEVNA. For instance?
SONYA. Get involved in running the farm, teach, tend the sick. Isn’t that enough? Around here, before you and Papa arrived, Uncle Vanya and I used to go to the fair ourselves to market the flour.
YELENA ANDREEVNA. I don’t know how. Besides, it’s not interesting. Only in social-purpose novels do people teach and tend peasants, and how am I, out of the blue, supposed to go tend them or teach them?
SONYA. But then I can’t understand what prevents you from going and teaching them. After a while it’ll become second nature. (Embraces her.) Don’t be bored, dear. (Laughs.) You’re bored, you can’t find a niche for yourself, but boredom and idleness are catching. Look: Uncle Vanya does nothing but follow you around, like a shadow, I’ve given up my chores and come running to you for a chat. I’ve got lazy, I can’t help it! The Doctor used to stay with us very seldom, once a month, it wasn’t easy to ask him, but now he rides over every day, he’s abandoned his forests and his medicine. You must be a witch.
VOINITSKY. Why are you mooning about? (Vigorously.) Come, my elegant darling, show how clever you are! The blood of water nymphs courses through your veins, be a water nymph![33] Satisfy your desires at least once in your life, fall in love as fast as you can, head over heels, with some water sprite — plop! take a nosedive into the millrace, so that Herr Professor and the rest of us throw up our hands in amazement!
YELENA ANDREEVNA (angrily). Leave me alone! This is sadistic! (About to go.)
VOINITSKY (doesn’t let her go). There, there, my sweet, forgive me . . . I apologize. (Kisses her hands.) Truce.
YELENA ANDREEVNA. You’d try the patience of a saint, you must admit.
VOINITSKY. As a token of peace and harmony, I’ll bring you a bouquet of roses this very minute; I put it together for you this morning . . . Autumnal roses—superb, mournful roses . . . (Exits.)