Ivanov

LebedevDon’t fib, Matty – tell me what it is.

ShabelskyI looked at this cello just now and it reminded me of that little Jewess.

LebedevHonestly, what a time to bring her up. May she rest in peace in Abraham’s bosom, but this isn’t the time or place –

Sasha starts sobbing.

ShabelskyWe used to play duets together. A good and lovely woman.

Lebedev(to Sasha) Not you too! Oh, please stop crying. Oh God, now they’re both howling. What should I . . .? At least go somewhere you won’t be seen by the wedding guests.

ShabelskyPasha, one can be happy in a graveyard when the sun shines. While there’s hope, being old doesn’t matter. But I have nothing to hope for, not a single thing.

LebedevYes, you’re right about that. No children, no money, no prospects . . . but what’s to be done? (To Sasha.) And what’s your problem?

ShabelskyPasha, give me some money. I’ll pay you back in the next world. I want to go to Paris.

Lebedev(appalled) You want to go to Paris?

ShabelskyTo visit my wife’s grave. I’ve a right to ask – I’ve given to others in my life – gave away half my property. Anyway, we’re friends, aren’t we?

Lebedev(embarrassed) Honestly, I haven’t got a kopek. Well, look, all right, all right – no promises, mind, but . . . Oh, all right, then . . .! (To himself.) They’ve all worn me down.

Babakina enters.

BabakinaWhere’s my cavalier got to? Count, how could you leave me alone! Oh, you naughty man!

She whacks the Count on his hand with her fan.

ShabelskyGo away! You disgust me!

Babakina(taken aback) What?

ShabelskyLeave me alone!

Babakina(sinks into an armchair) Oh!

She bursts into tears.

Zinaida(enters, sobbing) The best man’s on his way – the time has come . . .

Sasha(sobbing) Mama!

LebedevNow it’s a quartet. Oh do stop, you’re making everything damp. Matvey . . .! (Sobs.) Oh Lord, now you’ve got me at it.

Zinaida(sobbing) If you don’t want your mother any more and won’t obey her, I’ll do as you wish – have my blessing . . .

Enter Ivanov in a tailcoat and gloves.

LebedevThat’s all we need. What do you want?

SashaWhat are you doing here?

IvanovPlease excuse me, everyone, but I need to talk to Sasha in private.

LebedevYou’re well out of order – seeing the bride before the wedding! You’re supposed to be on your way to church.

IvanovPasha – I implore you . . .

Lebedev shrugs his shoulders and goes out, with Zinaida, the Count and Babakina.

Sasha(sternly) Well?

IvanovI’m boiling with anger but I’ll try to stay calm. Listen. I was just getting myself ready for the wedding, I looked in the mirror and I saw . . . grey hairs. My temples were grey. Sasha . . . You don’t have to go through with this! Let’s put a stop to this farce while there’s still time. You’re so nice and so young, you have your whole life before you, not like me . . .

SashaI’ve heard all this before, I’ve heard it a thousand times and I’m fed up with hearing it. Go to church, you’re keeping everyone waiting.

IvanovNo, I’m going home now, and you can tell everybody the wedding is off. Explain it any way you like. But we have to come to our senses. This provincial performance of a hand-me-down Hamlet and his awestruck disciple –

Sasha(flaring up) Is that a way to talk to me now? I won’t listen.

IvanovYes you will, and I’m not finished.

SashaOh, why did you come? You’re making me ridiculous with your moaning and groaning.

IvanovI’m done with complaining, but yes, I want you to see you’re ridiculous, and I wish I could make myself a thousand times more ridiculous, make myself a laughing stock to the whole world. When I saw myself in the mirror it was like a shell exploding in my conscience. I started to laugh; I nearly went out of my mind with shame. (Laughs.) The melancholy Dane! ‘What a noble mind is here o’erthrown!’ ‘I have of late, wherefore I know not, lost all my mirth.’ The only thing missing is writing rotten poetry. Well, I’ve done with that – the griping and whining about my wasted life that’s all gone to seed and rust, up to my neck in sick-hearted morbid misery while the sun shines and even an ant dragging its load is content – it’s not for me, not any more; to be seen as a fraud by some, as a mental case by others, and by others yet – this is the worst thing – who think there’s matter in these sighs and look at me as though I’m a Messiah about to reveal a new religion . . . No thanks very much: I kept laughing at myself all the way here, and the birds seemed to be laughing at me too, even the trees . . .