SONYA. Autumnal roses—superb, mournful roses . . .
Both women look out the window.
YELENA ANDREEVNA. Here it is September already. How are we to get through the winter here?
Pause.
Where’s the doctor?
SONYA. In Uncle Vanya’s room. He’s writing something. I’m glad Uncle Vanya went out, I have to talk to you.
YELENA ANDREEVNA. What about?
SONYA. What about? (Lays her head on Yelena’s breast.).
YELENA ANDREEVNA. There, there . . . (Smooths Sonya’s hair.) That’ll do.
SONYA. I’m unattractive.
YELENA ANDREEVNA. You have beautiful hair.
SONYA. No! (Looks round to view herself in a mirror.) No! Whenever a woman’s unattractive, they tell her, “You have beautiful eyes, you have beautiful hair!” . . . I’ve loved him now for six years, love him more than my own mother; every minute I can hear him, feel the pressure of his hand; and I stare at the door and wait, I get the sense he’s just about to walk in. There, you see, I keep coming to you to talk about him. He’s here every day now, but he doesn’t look at me, doesn’t see . . . It’s so painful! There’s no hope at all, no, none! (in despair.) Oh, God, my strength is gone . . . I was up all night praying . . . Lots of times I’ll walk up to him, start to speak, look him in the eyes . . . I’ve got no pride left, no willpower . . . I couldn’t help it and yesterday I confessed to Uncle Vanya that I love him . . . Even all the servants know I love him. Everyone knows.
YELENA ANDREEVNA. Does he?
SONYA. No. He doesn’t notice me.
YELENA ANDREEVNA (musing). A peculiar sort of man . . . You know what? Let me talk to him . . . I’ll be discreet, I’ll hint . . .
Pause.
Honestly, how long can a person go on not knowing . . . Let me!
SONYA nods her head Yes.
That’s splendid. Whether or not he’s in love shouldn’t be too hard to find out. Now don’t be embarrassed, my pet, don’t be upset—I’ll question him discreetly, he won’t even notice. All we have to find out is: yes or no?
Pause.
If no, then he should stop coming here. Right?
SONYA nods her head Yes.
It’s easier when you don’t see him. We won’t file-and-forget it, we’ll question him right now. He was planning to show me some drawings . . . Go and tell him I’d like to see him.
SONYA (intensely excited). You’ll tell me the whole truth?
YELENA ANDREEVNA. Yes, of course. I should think that the truth, whatever it turns out to be, is nowhere near as awful as not knowing. Depend on me, my pet.
SONYA. Yes, yes . . . I’ll say that you want to see his charts . . . (Goes but stops near the door.) No, not knowing is better . . . Then there’s hope . . .
YELENA ANDREEVNA. What’s that?
SONYA. Nothing. (Exits.)
YELENA ANDREEVNA (alone). Nothing’s worse than knowing someone else’s secret and being unable to help. (Pondering.) He’s not in love with her—that’s obvious, but why shouldn’t he marry her? She’s no beauty, but for a country doctor, at his age, she’d make a fine wife. A good head on her shoulders, so kind, unspoiled . . . No, that’s not it, that’s not it . . .
Pause.
I understand the poor girl. In the midst of howling boredom, when all she sees prowling around her are gray blurs, not people, all she hears are banalities, all they know is eating, drinking, sleeping, once in a while he’ll show up, different from the others, handsome, interesting, attractive, like a full moon emerging from dark clouds . . . To yield to the embrace of such a man, to forget oneself . . . Apparently I’m a wee bit attracted myself. Yes, when he’s not here, I’m bored, look, I’m smiling as I think about him . . . Uncle Vanya was saying the blood of water nymphs courses through my veins. “Satisfy your desires at least once in your life” . . . Should I? Maybe I have to . . . If I could fly like an uncaged bird away from you all, from your drowsy expressions, from idle chatter, forget your very existence on earth . . . But I’m a coward, inhibited . . . I’m having an attack of conscience . . . There, he shows up every day, I can guess why he’s here, and I’m starting to feel guilty, any minute now I’ll drop to my knees and beg Sonya’s forgiveness, burst into tears . . .
ASTROV (enters with a diagram). Good afternoon! (Shakes her hand.) You wanted to see my drawing?
YELENA ANDREEVNA. Yesterday you promised to show me your work . . . You’re free?
ASTROV. Oh, definitely. (Unrolls the diagram on a card table and fastens it with thumbtacks.) Where were you born?
YELENA ANDREEVNA (helping him). In Petersburg.
ASTROV. And educated?
YELENA ANDREEVNA. At the Conservatory.29
ASTROV. Then you’ll probably find this uninteresting.
YELENA ANDREEVNA. Why? True, I’m not familiar with country life, but I’ve read quite a lot.
ASTROV. Here in the house I have my own table . . . In Ivan Petrovich’s room. When I’m utterly exhausted, to the point of total lethargy, I drop everything and hurry over here, and then I amuse myself with this stuff for an hour or two . . . Ivan Petrovich and Sofiya Aleksandrovna plug away at the accounts, while I sit next them at my table and putter—and I feel warm, relaxed, and the cricket chirps. But I don’t allow myself this indulgence very often, once a month . . . (Pointing to the diagram.)30 Now look at this. A picture of our district, as it was fifty years ago. The dark-green and light-green indicate forest; half the total area is covered with forest. Where the green is cross-hatched with red lines, there used to be elks, goats . . . I show both flora and fauna on this. In this lake lived swans, geese, ducks and, as the oldtimers say, a power of birds of every description, more than the eye could see: they sailed by like a cloud. Besides hamlets and villages, you see, scattered here and there are different settlements, little farmsteads, monasteries of Old Believers,31 water mills . . . Horned cattle and horses were numerous. The light-blue tells us that. For instance, in this county, the light-blue is laid on thick; there were whole herds of cattle, and in every stable there was an average of three horses.
Pause.
Now let’s look further down. What it was like twenty-five years ago. Now only one-third the total area is under forestation. There are no more goats, but there are elks. The green and light-blue are much fainter. And so on and so on. Let’s move to Part Three: a picture of the district at the present moment. The green is there in patches; the elks and swans and wood grouse have disappeared . . . Of the earlier settlements, small farmsteads, monasteries, mills, not a trace. Over all, a picture of gradual and indisputable decline, which will apparently take another ten or fifteen years to be complete. You will say that this is the result of civilization, that the old life must naturally give way to the new. Yes, I’d understand that, if these depleted forests were replaced by paved highways, railroads, if there were factories, mills, schools, — if the lower classes had become healthier, more prosperous, more intelligent, but there’s certainly nothing like that here! In the district there’re the same swamps, mosquitoes, the same impassable roads, indigence, typhus, diphtheria, fires . . . Here we’re dealing with decline resulting from a struggle for survival beyond human strength; it’s a decline caused by stagnation, ignorance, the most total absence of self-awareness, when a frostbitten, starving, sickly man, to preserve the last vestiges of life, to protect his children, instinctively, unthinkingly grabs hold of whatever can possibly satisfy his hunger, to warm himself he destroys everything, with no thought of the morrow . . . The destruction to date has been almost total, but to make up for it nothing has yet been created. (Coldly.) I see from your face that you find this uninteresting.