finished_summaries/sparknotes/Uncle Vanya/section_2_part_0.txt
Uncle Vanya.act ii
act ii
{"name": "Act II - Part One", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210227035013/https://www.sparknotes.com/drama/unclevanya/section3/", "summary": "Act II begins at night with the professor and Yelena asleep and sitting next to each other in the dining room. A night watchman can be heard tapping in the garden. The two awaken, Serebryakov complains of his gout and rheumatism. He damns old age, declaring that he has become detestable to himself and those around him. He accuses Yelena in particular of hating him; how could such a young beauty not resent the corpse to which she is attached? Claiming weariness, Yelena begs him to be quiet. Serebryakov sarcastically replies that it seems he has worn everyone out; he, on the other hand, is having a great time. Continuing his lament, Serebryakov complains that while everyone listens to Voynitsky and Maria, they find his own voice abhorrent. In his old age, he has a right to egoism, and people must attend to him. He has spent his life in scholarship and suddenly finds himself in a \"tomb,\" plagued by the \"good-for-nothing talk, talk, talk\" of fools. Serebryakov feels as if in \"exile\" and spends his days yearning for the past and fearing death. With deep resignation, Yelena consoles him: soon she too will be old. Sonya then enters and reproaches her father for abusing Dr. Astrov--apparently Serebryakov holds him in nothing but contempt. Voynitsky then enters, noting the storm brewing outside. He has come to relieve Yelena and Sonya of their night watch over the professor; the professor reacts in terror--\"He'll talk my head off!\" he exclaims. Marina then enters and, speaking of her own aches, tenderly takes Serebryakov to bed. She recalls the years when his first wife, Vera Petrovna, slaved away to care for him; deeply moved, the professor exits the dining room with Sonya and Marina, leaving Yelena and Voynitsky alone. Complaining of yet another sleepless night with the professor, Yelena cries that the house is \"going to rack and ruin\" and enjoins Voynitsky to help bring its members together. Much to her dismay, he bends to kiss her hand. When Yelena recoils, Voynitsky once again laments the many wasted years, during which he has had nothing to do with his life and love. Whereas the storm will renew nature, it will not help Voynitsky. His thoughts will haunt him like an \"evil spirit.\" \"My feelings are wasting away in vain,\" he cries, \"like a ray of sunlight failing into a pit, and I too am wasting away.\" Yelena is numb to his entreaty. When Voynitsky persists, she accuses him of being a drunken bore; Voynitsky rejoins that at least drink makes one feel alive. Yelena leaves, and Voynitsky makes a soliloquy that mourns what might have been had he married Yelena when they first met ten years ago. He also reveals that he once worshipped the professor and has worked the estate to provide him with an income, the summation of his wasted life. Some disconcerting comic relief ensues. A tipsy Astrov--philosopher and visionary no longer--enters with a guitar-playing Telegin. As Telegin continually warns that everyone is sleeping, one could speculate that this scene is spoken in a whisper. Astrov sings a folk song about the master of the house having no place to go to bed. Asking Voynitsky about Yelena, he coarsely suggests that Voynitsky is in love with her and has perhaps already been her lover. Upon being reproached, he admits to being arrogant and shameless when drunk. Only then does he feel \"monumental\" rather than \"eccentric,\" able to effect his great plans for the future.", "analysis": "Act II begins with two parallel night watches: that of the tapping guard outside and the vigil the members of the household keep for the aging professor within. In turn-of-the-century provincial Russia, the night watchman would tap the grounds with his stick to signal that all was well and warn potential trespassers that the residents were home. As we will discuss in detail, we find the opposite case with the night watch inside: nothing is well in this household \"gone to rack and ruin\" and no one feels quite at home. We can best chart this ruin and sense of dislocation with the dialogue between the professor and Yelena. Here we find the telltale motif of estrangement discussed earlier. The egotistical, almost infantile Serebryakov describes a sense of alienation in his body becoming detestable and foreign with age. Indeed, he even dreams that his left leg belongs to someone else. His sense of estrangement, however, does not only refer to the body but to place as well: retirement has sent him into \"exile.\" Unwelcome and unwanted, he is not at home at his own estate, disrupting its routine with his arrival. Here we might thus recall Astrov's folk song, which ends with the phrase: \"There's no place for the master to go to bed\" Serebryakov also describes himself as having been consigned to a \"tomb\"; notably, the motif of death appears throughout this scene. To recall Voynitsky's accusation from Act I, it appears that living takes too much effort for Yelena. She appears \"dead\" to the world, numb to the laments of her husband and of Voynitsky. Voynitsky, haunted by the \"evil spirit\" of his thoughts, drinks to feel alive and finds himself wasting away. We might wonder then--particularly in light of the brewing storm--if the sound from the night watchman outside is more ominous than reassuring, something akin to death's knock on the door. Along with these dying characters, the scene conjures the memory of a ghost--that of Serebryakov's first wife, Vera Petrovna . In this scene, the memory of Vera causes a marked shift in the dialogue's tone: Marina conjures the years past, and the sardonic Serebryakov is moved to near-silence. As Vera is never discussed in detail, however, her significance remains elusive. To some extent, the opening dialogue in Act I marks the time before Astrov's ruin as the time when Vera still lived. On his own part, Voynitsky is haunted by memories of Vera: in the exchange with Sonya in the following scene, he will grow teary when he sees Vera's look in hers. Moreover, his envy of the professor's success with women--a success he describes in reference to his angelic sister above all--points to an almost incestuous obsession with her ghost. In this play about time past, the dead woman comes to emblematize the unrecoverable losses that each character seems to harbor."}
ACT II

The dining-room of SEREBRAKOFF'S house. It is night. The tapping of the
WATCHMAN'S rattle is heard in the garden. SEREBRAKOFF is dozing in an
arm-chair by an open window and HELENA is sitting beside him, also half
asleep.

SEREBRAKOFF. [Rousing himself] Who is here? Is it you, Sonia?

HELENA. It is I.

SEREBRAKOFF. Oh, it is you, Nelly. This pain is intolerable.

HELENA. Your shawl has slipped down. [She wraps up his legs in the
shawl] Let me shut the window.

SEREBRAKOFF. No, leave it open; I am suffocating. I dreamt just now that
my left leg belonged to some one else, and it hurt so that I woke. I
don't believe this is gout, it is more like rheumatism. What time is it?

HELENA. Half past twelve. [A pause.]

SEREBRAKOFF. I want you to look for Batushka's works in the library
to-morrow. I think we have him.

HELENA. What is that?

SEREBRAKOFF. Look for Batushka to-morrow morning; we used to have him, I
remember. Why do I find it so hard to breathe?

HELENA. You are tired; this is the second night you have had no sleep.

SEREBRAKOFF. They say that Turgenieff got angina of the heart from gout.
I am afraid I am getting angina too. Oh, damn this horrible, accursed
old age! Ever since I have been old I have been hateful to myself, and I
am sure, hateful to you all as well.

HELENA. You speak as if we were to blame for your being old.

SEREBRAKOFF. I am more hateful to you than to any one.

HELENA gets up and walks away from him, sitting down at a distance.

SEREBRAKOFF. You are quite right, of course. I am not an idiot; I can
understand you. You are young and healthy and beautiful, and longing for
life, and I am an old dotard, almost a dead man already. Don't I know
it? Of course I see that it is foolish for me to live so long, but wait!
I shall soon set you all free. My life cannot drag on much longer.

HELENA. You are overtaxing my powers of endurance. Be quiet, for God's
sake!

SEREBRAKOFF. It appears that, thanks to me, everybody's power of
endurance is being overtaxed; everybody is miserable, only I am
blissfully triumphant. Oh, yes, of course!

HELENA. Be quiet! You are torturing me.

SEREBRAKOFF. I torture everybody. Of course.

HELENA. [Weeping] This is unbearable! Tell me, what is it you want me to
do?

SEREBRAKOFF. Nothing.

HELENA. Then be quiet, please.

SEREBRAKOFF. It is funny that everybody listens to Ivan and his old
idiot of a mother, but the moment I open my lips you all begin to feel
ill-treated. You can't even stand the sound of my voice. Even if I am
hateful, even if I am a selfish tyrant, haven't I the right to be one
at my age? Haven't I deserved it? Haven't I, I ask you, the right to be
respected, now that I am old?

HELENA. No one is disputing your rights. [The window slams in the wind]
The wind is rising, I must shut the window. [She shuts it] We shall have
rain in a moment. Your rights have never been questioned by anybody.

The WATCHMAN in the garden sounds his rattle.

SEREBRAKOFF. I have spent my life working in the interests of learning.
I am used to my library and the lecture hall and to the esteem and
admiration of my colleagues. Now I suddenly find myself plunged in this
wilderness, condemned to see the same stupid people from morning till
night and listen to their futile conversation. I want to live; I long
for success and fame and the stir of the world, and here I am in exile!
Oh, it is dreadful to spend every moment grieving for the lost past, to
see the success of others and sit here with nothing to do but to fear
death. I cannot stand it! It is more than I can bear. And you will not
even forgive me for being old!

HELENA. Wait, have patience; I shall be old myself in four or five
years.

SONIA comes in.

SONIA. Father, you sent for Dr. Astroff, and now when he comes you
refuse to see him. It is not nice to give a man so much trouble for
nothing.

SEREBRAKOFF. What do I care about your Astroff? He understands medicine
about as well as I understand astronomy.

SONIA. We can't send for the whole medical faculty, can we, to treat
your gout?

SEREBRAKOFF. I won't talk to that madman!

SONIA. Do as you please. It's all the same to me. [She sits down.]

SEREBRAKOFF. What time is it?

HELENA. One o'clock.

SEREBRAKOFF. It is stifling in here. Sonia, hand me that bottle on the
table.

SONIA. Here it is. [She hands him a bottle of medicine.]

SEREBRAKOFF. [Crossly] No, not that one! Can't you understand me? Can't
I ask you to do a thing?

SONIA. Please don't be captious with me. Some people may like it, but
you must spare me, if you please, because I don't. Besides, I haven't
the time; we are cutting the hay to-morrow and I must get up early.

VOITSKI comes in dressed in a long gown and carrying a candle.

VOITSKI. A thunderstorm is coming up. [The lightning flashes] There it
is! Go to bed, Helena and Sonia. I have come to take your place.

SEREBRAKOFF. [Frightened] No, n-o, no! Don't leave me alone with him!
Oh, don't. He will begin to lecture me.

VOITSKI. But you must give them a little rest. They have not slept for
two nights.

SEREBRAKOFF. Then let them go to bed, but you go away too! Thank you. I
implore you to go. For the sake of our former friendship do not protest
against going. We will talk some other time----

VOITSKI. Our former friendship! Our former----

SONIA. Hush, Uncle Vanya!

SEREBRAKOFF. [To his wife] My darling, don't leave me alone with him. He
will begin to lecture me.

VOITSKI. This is ridiculous.

MARINA comes in carrying a candle.

SONIA. You must go to bed, nurse, it is late.

MARINA. I haven't cleared away the tea things. Can't go to bed yet.

SEREBRAKOFF. No one can go to bed. They are all worn out, only I enjoy
perfect happiness.

MARINA. [Goes up to SEREBRAKOFF and speaks tenderly] What's the
matter, master? Does it hurt? My own legs are aching too, oh, so badly.
[Arranges his shawl about his legs] You have had this illness such a
long time. Sonia's dead mother used to stay awake with you too, and wear
herself out for you. She loved you dearly. [A pause] Old people want to
be pitied as much as young ones, but nobody cares about them somehow.
[She kisses SEREBRAKOFF'S shoulder] Come, master, let me give you some
linden-tea and warm your poor feet for you. I shall pray to God for you.

SEREBRAKOFF. [Touched] Let us go, Marina.

MARINA. My own feet are aching so badly, oh, so badly! [She and SONIA
lead SEREBRAKOFF out] Sonia's mother used to wear herself out with
sorrow and weeping. You were still little and foolish then, Sonia. Come,
come, master.

SEREBRAKOFF, SONIA and MARINA go out.

HELENA. I am absolutely exhausted by him, and can hardly stand.

VOITSKI. You are exhausted by him, and I am exhausted by my own self. I
have not slept for three nights.

HELENA. Something is wrong in this house. Your mother hates everything
but her pamphlets and the professor; the professor is vexed, he won't
trust me, and fears you; Sonia is angry with her father, and with me,
and hasn't spoken to me for two weeks; I am at the end of my strength,
and have come near bursting into tears at least twenty times to-day.
Something is wrong in this house.

VOITSKI. Leave speculating alone.

HELENA. You are cultured and intelligent, Ivan, and you surely
understand that the world is not destroyed by villains and
conflagrations, but by hate and malice and all this spiteful tattling.
It is your duty to make peace, and not to growl at everything.

VOITSKI. Help me first to make peace with myself. My darling! [Seizes
her hand.]

HELENA. Let go! [She drags her hand away] Go away!

VOITSKI. Soon the rain will be over, and all nature will sigh and awake
refreshed. Only I am not refreshed by the storm. Day and night the
thought haunts me like a fiend, that my life is lost for ever. My past
does not count, because I frittered it away on trifles, and the present
has so terribly miscarried! What shall I do with my life and my love?
What is to become of them? This wonderful feeling of mine will be wasted
and lost as a ray of sunlight is lost that falls into a dark chasm, and
my life will go with it.

HELENA. I am as it were benumbed when you speak to me of your love, and
I don't know how to answer you. Forgive me, I have nothing to say to
you. [She tries to go out] Good-night!

VOITSKI. [Barring the way] If you only knew how I am tortured by the
thought that beside me in this house is another life that is being lost
forever--it is yours! What are you waiting for? What accursed philosophy
stands in your way? Oh, understand, understand----

HELENA. [Looking at him intently] Ivan, you are drunk!

VOITSKI. Perhaps. Perhaps.

HELENA. Where is the doctor?

VOITSKI. In there, spending the night with me. Perhaps I am drunk,
perhaps I am; nothing is impossible.

HELENA. Have you just been drinking together? Why do you do that?

VOITSKI. Because in that way I get a taste of life. Let me do it,
Helena!

HELENA. You never used to drink, and you never used to talk so much. Go
to bed, I am tired of you.

VOITSKI. [Falling on his knees before her] My sweetheart, my beautiful
one----

HELENA. [Angrily] Leave me alone! Really, this has become too
disagreeable.

HELENA goes out. A pause.

VOITSKI [Alone] She is gone! I met her first ten years ago, at her
sister's house, when she was seventeen and I was thirty-seven. Why did I
not fall in love with her then and propose to her? It would have been so
easy! And now she would have been my wife. Yes, we would both have been
waked to-night by the thunderstorm, and she would have been frightened,
but I would have held her in my arms and whispered: "Don't be afraid!
I am here." Oh, enchanting dream, so sweet that I laugh to think of it.
[He laughs] But my God! My head reels! Why am I so old? Why won't
she understand me? I hate all that rhetoric of hers, that morality of
indolence, that absurd talk about the destruction of the world----[A
pause] Oh, how I have been deceived! For years I have worshipped that
miserable gout-ridden professor. Sonia and I have squeezed this estate
dry for his sake. We have bartered our butter and curds and peas like
misers, and have never kept a morsel for ourselves, so that we could
scrape enough pennies together to send to him. I was proud of him and
of his learning; I received all his words and writings as inspired, and
now? Now he has retired, and what is the total of his life? A blank! He
is absolutely unknown, and his fame has burst like a soap-bubble. I have
been deceived; I see that now, basely deceived.

ASTROFF comes in. He has his coat on, but is without his waistcoat or
collar, and is slightly drunk. TELEGIN follows him, carrying a guitar.

ASTROFF. Play!

TELEGIN. But every one is asleep.

ASTROFF. Play!

TELEGIN begins to play softly.

ASTROFF. Are you alone here? No women about? [Sings with his arms
akimbo.]

   "The hut is cold, the fire is dead;
    Where shall the master lay his head?"

The thunderstorm woke me. It was a heavy shower. What time is it?

VOITSKI. The devil only knows.

ASTROFF. I thought I heard Helena's voice.

VOITSKI. She was here a moment ago.

ASTROFF. What a beautiful woman! [Looking at the medicine bottles on
the table] Medicine, is it? What a variety we have; prescriptions from
Moscow, from Kharkoff, from Tula! Why, he has been pestering all the
towns of Russia with his gout! Is he ill, or simply shamming?

VOITSKI. He is really ill.

ASTROFF. What is the matter with you to-night? You seem sad. Is it
because you are sorry for the professor?

VOITSKI. Leave me alone.

ASTROFF. Or in love with the professor's wife?

VOITSKI. She is my friend.

ASTROFF. Already?

VOITSKI. What do you mean by "already"?

ASTROFF. A woman can only become a man's friend after having first been
his acquaintance and then his beloved--then she becomes his friend.

VOITSKI. What vulgar philosophy!

ASTROFF. What do you mean? Yes, I must confess I am getting vulgar, but
then, you see, I am drunk. I usually only drink like this once a month.
At such times my audacity and temerity know no bounds. I feel capable
of anything. I attempt the most difficult operations and do them
magnificently. The most brilliant plans for the future take shape in
my head. I am no longer a poor fool of a doctor, but mankind's greatest
benefactor. I evolve my own system of philosophy and all of you seem to
crawl at my feet like so many insects or microbes. [To TELEGIN] Play,
Waffles!

TELEGIN. My dear boy, I would with all my heart, but do listen to
reason; everybody in the house is asleep.

ASTROFF. Play!

TELEGIN plays softly.

ASTROFF. I want a drink. Come, we still have some brandy left. And then,
as soon as it is day, you will come home with me. [He sees SONIA, who
comes in at that moment.]

ASTROFF. I beg your pardon, I have no collar on.

[He goes out quickly, followed by TELEGIN.]

SONIA. Uncle Vanya, you and the doctor have been drinking! The good
fellows have been getting together! It is all very well for him, he has
always done it, but why do you follow his example? It looks dreadfully
at your age.

VOITSKI. Age has nothing to do with it. When real life is wanting one
must create an illusion. It is better than nothing.

SONIA. Our hay is all cut and rotting in these daily rains, and here you
are busy creating illusions! You have given up the farm altogether.
I have done all the work alone until I am at the end of my
strength--[Frightened] Uncle! Your eyes are full of tears!

VOITSKI. Tears? Nonsense, there are no tears in my eyes. You looked at
me then just as your dead mother used to, my darling--[He eagerly kisses
her face and hands] My sister, my dearest sister, where are you now? Ah,
if you only knew, if you only knew!

SONIA. If she only knew what, Uncle?

VOITSKI. My heart is bursting. It is awful. No matter, though. I must
go. [He goes out.]

SONIA. [Knocks at the door] Dr. Astroff! Are you awake? Please come here
for a minute.

ASTROFF. [Behind the door] In a moment.

He appears in a few seconds. He has put on his collar and waistcoat.

ASTROFF. What do you want?

SONIA. Drink as much as you please yourself if you don't find it
revolting, but I implore you not to let my uncle do it. It is bad for
him.

ASTROFF. Very well; we won't drink any more. I am going home at once.
That is settled. It will be dawn by the time the horses are harnessed.

SONIA. It is still raining; wait till morning.

ASTROFF. The storm is blowing over. This is only the edge of it. I must
go. And please don't ask me to come and see your father any more. I tell
him he has gout, and he says it is rheumatism. I tell him to lie down,
and he sits up. To-day he refused to see me at all.

SONIA. He has been spoilt. [She looks in the sideboard] Won't you have a
bite to eat?

ASTROFF. Yes, please. I believe I will.

SONIA. I love to eat at night. I am sure we shall find something in
here. They say that he has made a great many conquests in his life, and
that the women have spoiled him. Here is some cheese for you.

[They stand eating by the sideboard.]

ASTROFF. I haven't eaten anything to-day. Your father has a very
difficult nature. [He takes a bottle out of the sideboard] May I? [He
pours himself a glass of vodka] We are alone here, and I can speak
frankly. Do you know, I could not stand living in this house for even a
month? This atmosphere would stifle me. There is your father, entirely
absorbed in his books, and his gout; there is your Uncle Vanya with his
hypochondria, your grandmother, and finally, your step-mother--

SONIA. What about her?

ASTROFF. A human being should be entirely beautiful: the face, the
clothes, the mind, the thoughts. Your step-mother is, of course,
beautiful to look at, but don't you see? She does nothing but sleep
and eat and walk and bewitch us, and that is all. She has no
responsibilities, everything is done for her--am I not right? And an
idle life can never be a pure one. [A pause] However, I may be judging
her too severely. Like your Uncle Vanya, I am discontented, and so we
are both grumblers.

SONIA. Aren't you satisfied with life?

ASTROFF. I like life as life, but I hate and despise it in a little
Russian country village, and as far as my own personal life goes, by
heaven! there is absolutely no redeeming feature about it. Haven't you
noticed if you are riding through a dark wood at night and see a little
light shining ahead, how you forget your fatigue and the darkness and
the sharp twigs that whip your face? I work, that you know--as no one
else in the country works. Fate beats me on without rest; at times I
suffer unendurably and I see no light ahead. I have no hope; I do not
like people. It is long since I have loved any one.

SONIA. You love no one?

ASTROFF. Not a soul. I only feel a sort of tenderness for your old nurse
for old-times' sake. The peasants are all alike; they are stupid and
live in dirt, and the educated people are hard to get along with. One
gets tired of them. All our good friends are petty and shallow and see
no farther than their own noses; in one word, they are dull. Those that
have brains are hysterical, devoured with a mania for self-analysis.
They whine, they hate, they pick faults everywhere with unhealthy
sharpness. They sneak up to me sideways, look at me out of a corner of
the eye, and say: "That man is a lunatic," "That man is a wind-bag." Or,
if they don't know what else to label me with, they say I am strange. I
like the woods; that is strange. I don't eat meat; that is strange, too.
Simple, natural relations between man and man or man and nature do not
exist. [He tries to go out; SONIA prevents him.]

SONIA. I beg you, I implore you, not to drink any more!

ASTROFF. Why not?

SONIA. It is so unworthy of you. You are well-bred, your voice is sweet,
you are even--more than any one I know--handsome. Why do you want to
resemble the common people that drink and play cards? Oh, don't, I beg
you! You always say that people do not create anything, but only destroy
what heaven has given them. Why, oh, why, do you destroy yourself? Oh,
don't, I implore you not to! I entreat you!

ASTROFF. [Gives her his hand] I won't drink any more.

SONIA. Promise me.

ASTROFF. I give you my word of honour.

SONIA. [Squeezing his hand] Thank you.

ASTROFF. I have done with it. You see, I am perfectly sober again, and
so I shall stay till the end of my life. [He looks his watch] But, as
I was saying, life holds nothing for me; my race is run. I am old, I
am tired, I am trivial; my sensibilities are dead. I could never attach
myself to any one again. I love no one, and never shall! Beauty alone
has the power to touch me still. I am deeply moved by it. Helena could
turn my head in a day if she wanted to, but that is not love, that is
not affection--

[He shudders and covers his face with his hands.]

SONIA. What is it?

ASTROFF. Nothing. During Lent one of my patients died under chloroform.

SONIA. It is time to forget that. [A pause] Tell me, doctor, if I had a
friend or a younger sister, and if you knew that she, well--loved you,
what would you do?

ASTROFF. [Shrugging his shoulders] I don't know. I don't think I should
do anything. I should make her understand that I could not return her
love--however, my mind is not bothered about those things now. I must
start at once if I am ever to get off. Good-bye, my dear girl. At this
rate we shall stand here talking till morning. [He shakes hands with
her] I shall go out through the sitting-room, because I am afraid your
uncle might detain me. [He goes out.]

SONIA. [Alone] Not a word! His heart and soul are still locked from me,
and yet for some reason I am strangely happy. I wonder why? [She laughs
with pleasure] I told him that he was well-bred and handsome and that
his voice was sweet. Was that a mistake? I can still feel his voice
vibrating in the air; it caresses me. [Wringing her hands] Oh! how
terrible it is to be plain! I am plain, I know it. As I came out of
church last Sunday I overheard a woman say, "She is a dear, noble girl,
but what a pity she is so ugly!" So ugly!

HELENA comes in and throws open the window.

HELENA. The storm is over. What delicious air! [A pause] Where is the
doctor?

SONIA. He has gone. [A pause.]

HELENA. Sonia!

SONIA. Yes?

HELENA. How much longer are you going to sulk at me? We have not hurt
each other. Why not be friends? We have had enough of this.

SONIA. I myself--[She embraces HELENA] Let us make peace.

HELENA. With all my heart. [They are both moved.]

SONIA. Has papa gone to bed?

HELENA. No, he is sitting up in the drawing-room. Heaven knows what
reason you and I had for not speaking to each other for weeks. [Sees the
open sideboard] Who left the sideboard open?

SONIA. Dr. Astroff has just had supper.

HELENA. There is some wine. Let us seal our friendship.

SONIA. Yes, let us.

HELENA. Out of one glass. [She fills a wine-glass] So, we are friends,
are we?

SONIA. Yes. [They drink and kiss each other] I have long wanted to make
friends, but somehow, I was ashamed to. [She weeps.]

HELENA. Why are you crying?

SONIA. I don't know. It is nothing.

HELENA. There, there, don't cry. [She weeps] Silly! Now I am crying
too. [A pause] You are angry with me because I seem to have married your
father for his money, but don't believe the gossip you hear. I swear to
you I married him for love. I was fascinated by his fame and learning. I
know now that it was not real love, but it seemed real at the time. I
am innocent, and yet your clever, suspicious eyes have been punishing me
for an imaginary crime ever since my marriage.

SONIA. Peace, peace! Let us forget the past.

HELENA. You must not look so at people. It is not becoming to you. You
must trust people, or life becomes impossible.

SONIA. Tell me truly, as a friend, are you happy?

HELENA. Truly, no.

SONIA. I knew it. One more question: do you wish your husband were
young?

HELENA. What a child you are! Of course I do. Go on, ask something else.

SONIA. Do you like the doctor?

HELENA. Yes, very much indeed.

SONIA. [Laughing] I have a stupid face, haven't I? He has just gone out,
and his voice is still in my ears; I hear his step; I see his face in
the dark window. Let me say all I have in my heart! But no, I cannot
speak of it so loudly. I am ashamed. Come to my room and let me tell you
there. I seem foolish to you, don't I? Talk to me of him.

HELENA. What can I say?

SONIA. He is clever. He can do everything. He can cure the sick, and
plant woods.

HELENA. It is not a question of medicine and woods, my dear, he is a man
of genius. Do you know what that means? It means he is brave, profound,
and of clear insight. He plants a tree and his mind travels a thousand
years into the future, and he sees visions of the happiness of the human
race. People like him are rare and should be loved. What if he does
drink and act roughly at times? A man of genius cannot be a saint in
Russia. There he lives, cut off from the world by cold and storm and
endless roads of bottomless mud, surrounded by a rough people who are
crushed by poverty and disease, his life one continuous struggle, with
never a day's respite; how can a man live like that for forty years and
keep himself sober and unspotted? [Kissing SONIA] I wish you happiness
with all my heart; you deserve it. [She gets up] As for me, I am a
worthless, futile woman. I have always been futile; in music, in love,
in my husband's house--in a word, in everything. When you come to think
of it, Sonia, I am really very, very unhappy. [Walks excitedly up and
down] Happiness can never exist for me in this world. Never. Why do you
laugh?

SONIA. [Laughing and covering her face with her hands] I am so happy, so
happy!

HELENA. I want to hear music. I might play a little.

SONIA. Oh, do, do! [She embraces her] I could not possibly go to sleep
now. Do play!

HELENA. Yes, I will. Your father is still awake. Music irritates him
when he is ill, but if he says I may, then I shall play a little. Go,
Sonia, and ask him.

SONIA. Very well.

[She goes out. The WATCHMAN'S rattle is heard in the garden.]

HELENA. It is long since I have heard music. And now, I shall sit and
play, and weep like a fool. [Speaking out of the window] Is that you
rattling out there, Ephim?

VOICE OF THE WATCHMAN. It is I.

HELENA. Don't make such a noise. Your master is ill.

VOICE OF THE WATCHMAN. I am going away this minute. [Whistles a tune.]

SONIA. [Comes back] He says, no.

The curtain falls.






Act II - Part One
Act II begins at night with the professor and Yelena asleep and sitting next to each other in the dining room. A night watchman can be heard tapping in the garden. The two awaken, Serebryakov complains of his gout and rheumatism. He damns old age, declaring that he has become detestable to himself and those around him. He accuses Yelena in particular of hating him; how could such a young beauty not resent the corpse to which she is attached? Claiming weariness, Yelena begs him to be quiet. Serebryakov sarcastically replies that it seems he has worn everyone out; he, on the other hand, is having a great time. Continuing his lament, Serebryakov complains that while everyone listens to Voynitsky and Maria, they find his own voice abhorrent. In his old age, he has a right to egoism, and people must attend to him. He has spent his life in scholarship and suddenly finds himself in a "tomb," plagued by the "good-for-nothing talk, talk, talk" of fools. Serebryakov feels as if in "exile" and spends his days yearning for the past and fearing death. With deep resignation, Yelena consoles him: soon she too will be old. Sonya then enters and reproaches her father for abusing Dr. Astrov--apparently Serebryakov holds him in nothing but contempt. Voynitsky then enters, noting the storm brewing outside. He has come to relieve Yelena and Sonya of their night watch over the professor; the professor reacts in terror--"He'll talk my head off!" he exclaims. Marina then enters and, speaking of her own aches, tenderly takes Serebryakov to bed. She recalls the years when his first wife, Vera Petrovna, slaved away to care for him; deeply moved, the professor exits the dining room with Sonya and Marina, leaving Yelena and Voynitsky alone. Complaining of yet another sleepless night with the professor, Yelena cries that the house is "going to rack and ruin" and enjoins Voynitsky to help bring its members together. Much to her dismay, he bends to kiss her hand. When Yelena recoils, Voynitsky once again laments the many wasted years, during which he has had nothing to do with his life and love. Whereas the storm will renew nature, it will not help Voynitsky. His thoughts will haunt him like an "evil spirit." "My feelings are wasting away in vain," he cries, "like a ray of sunlight failing into a pit, and I too am wasting away." Yelena is numb to his entreaty. When Voynitsky persists, she accuses him of being a drunken bore; Voynitsky rejoins that at least drink makes one feel alive. Yelena leaves, and Voynitsky makes a soliloquy that mourns what might have been had he married Yelena when they first met ten years ago. He also reveals that he once worshipped the professor and has worked the estate to provide him with an income, the summation of his wasted life. Some disconcerting comic relief ensues. A tipsy Astrov--philosopher and visionary no longer--enters with a guitar-playing Telegin. As Telegin continually warns that everyone is sleeping, one could speculate that this scene is spoken in a whisper. Astrov sings a folk song about the master of the house having no place to go to bed. Asking Voynitsky about Yelena, he coarsely suggests that Voynitsky is in love with her and has perhaps already been her lover. Upon being reproached, he admits to being arrogant and shameless when drunk. Only then does he feel "monumental" rather than "eccentric," able to effect his great plans for the future.
Act II begins with two parallel night watches: that of the tapping guard outside and the vigil the members of the household keep for the aging professor within. In turn-of-the-century provincial Russia, the night watchman would tap the grounds with his stick to signal that all was well and warn potential trespassers that the residents were home. As we will discuss in detail, we find the opposite case with the night watch inside: nothing is well in this household "gone to rack and ruin" and no one feels quite at home. We can best chart this ruin and sense of dislocation with the dialogue between the professor and Yelena. Here we find the telltale motif of estrangement discussed earlier. The egotistical, almost infantile Serebryakov describes a sense of alienation in his body becoming detestable and foreign with age. Indeed, he even dreams that his left leg belongs to someone else. His sense of estrangement, however, does not only refer to the body but to place as well: retirement has sent him into "exile." Unwelcome and unwanted, he is not at home at his own estate, disrupting its routine with his arrival. Here we might thus recall Astrov's folk song, which ends with the phrase: "There's no place for the master to go to bed" Serebryakov also describes himself as having been consigned to a "tomb"; notably, the motif of death appears throughout this scene. To recall Voynitsky's accusation from Act I, it appears that living takes too much effort for Yelena. She appears "dead" to the world, numb to the laments of her husband and of Voynitsky. Voynitsky, haunted by the "evil spirit" of his thoughts, drinks to feel alive and finds himself wasting away. We might wonder then--particularly in light of the brewing storm--if the sound from the night watchman outside is more ominous than reassuring, something akin to death's knock on the door. Along with these dying characters, the scene conjures the memory of a ghost--that of Serebryakov's first wife, Vera Petrovna . In this scene, the memory of Vera causes a marked shift in the dialogue's tone: Marina conjures the years past, and the sardonic Serebryakov is moved to near-silence. As Vera is never discussed in detail, however, her significance remains elusive. To some extent, the opening dialogue in Act I marks the time before Astrov's ruin as the time when Vera still lived. On his own part, Voynitsky is haunted by memories of Vera: in the exchange with Sonya in the following scene, he will grow teary when he sees Vera's look in hers. Moreover, his envy of the professor's success with women--a success he describes in reference to his angelic sister above all--points to an almost incestuous obsession with her ghost. In this play about time past, the dead woman comes to emblematize the unrecoverable losses that each character seems to harbor.