Uncle Vanya

have been here our life has been turned topsy-turvy. I sleep at the wrong time, at lunch and dinner I eat all sorts of messes, I drink wine⁠—it’s not good for one! In old days I never had a free moment. Sonya and I used to work in grand style, but now Sonya works alone, while I sleep and eat and drink. It’s bad! Marina Shaking her head. Such goings-on! The Professor gets up at twelve o’clock, and the samovar is boiling all the morning waiting for him. Before they came we always had dinner about one o’clock, like other people, and now they are here we have it between six and seven. The Professor spends the night reading and writing, and all at once, at two o’clock in the morning, he’ll ring his bell. Goodness me! What is it? Tea! People have to be waked out of their sleep to get him the samovar. What goings-on! Astrov And will they be here much longer? Voynitsky Whistles. A hundred years. The Professor has made up his mind to settle here. Marina Look now! The samovar has been on the table for the last two hours, and they’ve gone for a walk. Voynitsky They are coming. They are coming! Don’t worry. There is a sound of voices; from the farther part of the garden enter Serebryakov, Yelena Andreyevna, Sonya and Telyegin returning from a walk. Serebryakov Lovely, lovely!⁠ ⁠… Exquisite views! Telyegin Remarkable, your Excellency. Sonya We’ll go to the plantation tomorrow, father. Shall we? Voynitsky Tea is ready! Serebryakov My friends, be so kind as to send my tea into the study for me. I have something more I must do today. Sonya You will be sure to like the plantation. Yelena Andreyevna, Serebryakov, and Sonya go into the house. Telyegin goes to the table and sits down beside Marina. Voynitsky It’s hot, stifling; but our great man of learning is in his greatcoat and goloshes, with an umbrella and gloves too. Astrov That shows that he takes care of himself. Voynitsky And how lovely she is! How lovely! I’ve never seen a more beautiful woman. Telyegin Whether I drive through the fields, Marina Timofyevna, or walk in the shady garden, or look at this table, I feel unutterably joyful. The weather is enchanting, the birds are singing, we are all living in peace and concord⁠—what more could one wish for? Taking his glass. I am truly grateful to you! Voynitsky Dreamily. Her eyes⁠ ⁠… an exquisite woman! Astrov Tell us something, Ivan Petrovitch. Voynitsky Listlessly. What am I to tell you? Astrov Is there nothing new? Voynitsky Nothing. Everything is old. I am just as I always was, perhaps worse, for I have grown lazy. I do nothing but just grumble like some old crow. My old magpie Maman is still babbling about the rights of women. With one foot in the grave, she is still rummaging in her learned books for the dawn of a new life. Astrov And the Professor? Voynitsky

The Professor, as before, sits in his study writing from morning till dead of night.

“With furrowed brow and racking brains,
We write and write and write,
And ne’er a word of praise we hear,
Our labours to requite.”

Poor paper! He had much better be writing his autobiography. What a superb subject! A retired professor, you know⁠—an old dry-as-dust, a learned fish. Gout, rheumatism, migraine, envy and jealousy have affected his liver. The old fish is living on his first wife’s estate, living there against his will because he can’t afford to live in the town. He is forever complaining of his misfortunes, though, as a matter of fact, he is exceptionally fortunate. Nervously. Just think how fortunate! The son of a humble sacristan, he has risen to university distinctions and the chair of a professor; he has become “your Excellency,” the son-in-law of a senator, and so on, and so on. All that is no great matter, though. But just take this. The man has been lecturing and writing about art for twenty-five years, though he knows absolutely nothing about art. For twenty-five years he has been chewing over other men’s ideas about realism, naturalism, and all sorts of nonsense; for twenty-five years he has been lecturing and writing on things all intelligent people know about already and stupid ones aren’t interested in⁠—so for twenty-five years he has been simply wasting his time. And with all that, what conceit! What pretensions! He has retired, and not a living soul knows anything about him; he is absolutely unknown. So that for twenty-five years all he has done is to keep a better man out of a job! But just look at him: he struts about like a demigod!

Astrov Come, I believe you are envious. Voynitsky Yes, I am. And the success he has with women! Don Juan is not in it. His first wife, my sister, a lovely, gentle creature, pure as this blue sky, noble, generous, who had more suitors than he has had pupils, loved him as only pure angels can love beings as pure and beautiful as themselves. My mother adores him to this day, and he still inspires in her a feeling of devout awe. His second wife, beautiful, intelligent⁠—you have just seen her⁠—has married him in his old age, sacrificed her youth, her beauty, her freedom, her brilliance, to him. What for? Why? Astrov Is she faithful to the Professor? Voynitsky Unhappily, she is. Astrov Why unhappily? Voynitsky Because that fidelity is false from beginning to end. There is plenty of fine sentiment in it, but no logic. To deceive an old husband whom one can’t endure is immoral; but to try and stifle her piteous youth and living feeling⁠—that’s not immoral. Telyegin In a tearful voice. Vanya, I can’t bear to hear you talk like that. Come, really! Anyone who can betray wife or husband is a person who can’t be trusted and who might betray his country. Voynitsky With vexation. Dry up, Waffles! Telyegin Excuse me, Vanya. My wife ran away from me with