VERSHININ. You must be Olga Sergeevna, the eldest . . . And you’re Masha . . . And you’re Irina—the youngest . . .
OLGA. You’re from Moscow?
VERSHININ. Yes. I was at school in Moscow and entered the service in Moscow, served a long time there, was finally assigned a battery here—I’ve been transferred here, as you see. I don’t remember you individually, I only remember that you were three sisters. Your father’s stuck in my memory, why, I can close my eyes and see him as if he were alive. I used to visit you in Moscow . . .
OLGA. I was sure I remembered everyone, and suddenly . . .
VERSHININ. My name is Aleksandr Ignatyevich . . .
IRINA. Aleksandr Ignatyevich, you’re from Moscow . . . That’s a coincidence!
OLGA. In fact we’ll be moving there.
IRINA. We think we’ll be there as soon as autumn. Our home town, we were born there . . . On Old Basmanny Street . . .
Both women laugh for joy.
MASHA. We’ve unexpectedly come across someone from our neck of the woods! (Vivaciously.) Now I remember! I do remember. Olya, at home they used to talk about “the lovesick major.” You were a lieutenant then and in love with someone, and everybody teased you, calling you major for some reason . . .
VERSHININ (laughs). That’s right, that’s right! . . . The lovesick major, right you are . . .
MASHA. Then you only had a moustache . . . Oh, how you’ve aged! (Plaintively.) How you’ve aged!
VERSHININ. Yes, in those days they called me the lovesick major, I was still young and in love. It’s not the same now.
OLGA. But you don’t have a single gray hair yet. You’ve aged, but you haven’t grown old.
VERSHININ. Nevertheless I am forty-three. Have you been away from Moscow a long time?
IRINA. Eleven years. Why, what’s wrong, Masha, you’re crying, you crazy . . . (Plaintively.) Now I’m starting to cry . . .
MASHA. I’m all right. And what street did you live on?
VERSHININ. Old Basmanny.
OLGA. Why, we lived there too . . .
VERSHININ. At one time I lived on German Street. I’d walk from German Street to the Red Barracks. On the way there’s this grim-looking bridge, with the water roaring beneath it. A lonely man begins to feel his heart bowed down.
Pause.
But here there’s such a broad, such a fertile river! A wonderful river!
OLGA. Yes, only it’s cold. It’s cold here and there are mosquitoes . . .
VERSHININ. Why should you care? Here there’s such a wholesome, bracing Russian climate. A forest, a river . . . and birch trees here too. Dear, humble birches, I love them more than any other tree. It’s a good place to live. Only it’s odd, the train station is over thirteen miles away . . . And nobody knows why that is.
SOLYONY. I know why that is. (Everyone stares at him.) Because if the station were nearby, it wouldn’t be far away, and if it were far away, obviously it wouldn’t be nearby.
An awkward silence.
TUSENBACH. Always clowning, Solyony.
OLGA. Now I’ve remembered you too. I do remember.
VERSHININ. I knew your dear mother.
CHEBUTYKIN. She was a good woman, rest her soul.
IRINA. Mama is buried in Moscow.
OLGA. In Novo-devichy churchyard . . .16
MASHA. Just imagine, I’m already beginning to forget what she looked like. No one will remember about us either. They’ll forget.
VERSHININ. Yes. They’ll forget. Such is our fate, nothing you can do about it. The things we take to be serious, meaningful, of great importance—a time will come when they will be forgotten or seem of no importance.
Pause.
And the interesting thing is, we have absolutely no way of knowing just what will be considered sublime and important, and what trivial and absurd. Didn’t the discoveries of Copernicus or, say, Columbus at first sound pointless, absurd, while some idiotic nonsense written by a crank sounded true? And it may come about that our present life, which we’re so used to, will in time seem strange, uncomfortable, unintelligent, devoid of purity, maybe even depraved . . .
TUSENBACH. Who knows? Maybe they’ll call our life elevated and remember us with respect. Nowadays we don’t have torture, executions, invasions, and yet there’s so much suffering.
SOLYONY (shrilly). Cheep, cheep, cheep . . . Don’t feed the Baron birdseed, just let ‘im philosophize.
TUSENBACH. Solyony, please leave me in peace . . . (Moves to another seat.) It gets to be a bore, after a while.
SOLYONY (shrilly). Cheep, cheep, cheep . . .
TUSENBACH (to Vershinin). The suffering that’s so conspicuous nowadays— and there’s so much of it! — nevertheless betokens a certain moral progress which society has already achieved . . .
VERSHININ. Yes, yes, of course.
CHEBUTYKIN. You said just now, Baron, they’ll call our life elevated, but all the same people are low . . . (Rises.) Look how low I am. My only consolation is you telling me my life is elevated and makes sense.
Offstage someone is playing a violin.
MASHA. That’s Andrey playing, our brother.
IRINA. He’s the scholar of the family. He’s meant to be a professor. Papa was a military man, but his son chose an academic career.
MASHA. As Papa wished.
OLGA. Today we were teasing the life out of him. He’s a bit infatuated, it seems.
IRINA. With a certain local miss. She’ll show up here today, most likely.
MASHA. Ah, the way she dresses! It’s not so much unbecoming or unfashionable as simply pathetic. Some strange, gaudy, yellowish skirt with a vulgar little fringe and a red jacket. And her cheeks are scrubbed so raw! Andrey is not in love — I won’t allow that, after all he has taste, but he’s simply, well, teasing us, playing the fool. Yesterday I heard she’s marrying Protopopov, the chairman of the County Council. And a good thing too . . . (Out the side door.) Andrey, come here! Just for a second, dear!
Enter ANDREY.
OLGA. This is my brother, Andrey Sergeich.
VERSHININ. Vershinin.
ANDREY. Prozorov. (Wipes his sweating face.) You’re here as battery commander?
OLGA. Imagine, the Colonel is from Moscow.
ANDREY. Really? Well, congratulations, now my sisters won’t give you a moment’s peace.
VERSHININ. I’ve had plenty of time already to bore your sisters.
IRINA. Just look at the portrait-frame Andrey gave me today! (Displays the frame.) He made it himself.
VERSHININ (looking at the frame and not knowing what to say). Yes . . . quite something . . .
IRINA. And there’s that picture frame over the baby grand, he made that too.