The Seagull

home⁠—a horse! Sternly. You can see for yourself: they have just been to the station. I can’t send them out again. Masha But there are other horses. Seeing that her father says nothing, waves her hand. There’s no doing anything with you. Medvedenko I can walk, Masha. Really.⁠ ⁠… Polina With a sigh. Walk in such weather⁠ ⁠… sits down to the card-table. Come, friends. Medvedenko It is only four miles. Goodbye kisses his wife’s hand. Goodbye, mother. His mother-in-law reluctantly holds out her hand for him to kiss. I wouldn’t trouble anyone, but the baby⁠ ⁠… bows to the company. Goodbye⁠ ⁠… goes out with a guilty step. Shamraev He can walk right enough. He’s not a general. Polina Tapping on the table. Come, friends. Don’t let us waste time, we shall soon be called to supper. Shamraev, Masha and Dorn sit down at the table. Madame Arkadin To Trigorin. When the long autumn evenings come on, they play loto here. Look, it’s the same old loto that we had when our mother used to play with us, when we were children. Won’t you have a game before supper? Sits down to the table with Trigorin. It’s a dull game, but it is not so bad when you are used to it deals three cards to everyone. Treplev Turning the pages of the magazine. He has read his own story, but he has not even cut mine puts the magazine down on the writing-table, then goes towards door on left; as he passes his mother he kisses her on the head. Madame Arkadin And you, Kostya? Treplev Excuse me, I would rather not⁠ ⁠… I am going out goes out. Madame Arkadin The stake is ten kopeks. Put it down for me, doctor, will you? Dorn Right. Masha Has everyone put down their stakes? I begin⁠ ⁠… Twenty-two. Madame Arkadin Yes. Masha Three! Dorn Right! Masha Did you play three? Eight! Eighty-one! Ten! Shamraev Don’t be in a hurry! Madame Arkadin What a reception I had in Harkov! My goodness! I feel dizzy with it still. Masha Thirty-four! A melancholy waltz is played behind the scenes. Madame Arkadin The students gave me an ovation.⁠ ⁠… Three baskets of flowers⁠ ⁠… two wreaths and this, see unfastens a brooch on her throat and lays it on the table. Shamraev Yes, that is a thing.⁠ ⁠… Masha Fifty! Dorn Exactly fifty? Madame Arkadin I had a wonderful dress.⁠ ⁠… Whatever I don’t know, I do know how to dress. Polina Kostya is playing the piano; he is depressed, poor fellow. Shamraev He is awfully abused in the newspapers. Masha Seventy-seven! Madame Arkadin As though that mattered! Trigorin He never quite comes off. He has not yet hit upon his own medium. There is always something queer and vague, at times almost like delirium. Not a single living character. Masha Eleven! Madame Arkadin Looking round at Sorin. Petrusha, are you bored? A pause. He is asleep. Dorn The actual civil councillor is asleep. Masha Seven! Ninety! Trigorin If I lived in such a place, beside a lake, do you suppose I should write? I should overcome this passion and should do nothing but fish. Masha Twenty-eight! Trigorin Catching perch is so delightful! Dorn Well, I believe in Konstantin Gavrilitch. There is something in him! There is something in him! He thinks in images; his stories are vivid, full of colour and they affect me strongly. The only pity is that he has not got definite aims. He produces an impression and that’s all, but you can’t get far with nothing but an impression. Irina Nikolayevna, are you glad that your son is a writer? Madame Arkadin Only fancy, I have not read anything of his yet. I never have time. Masha Twenty-six! Treplev comes in quietly and sits down at his table. Shamraev To Trigorin. We have still got something here belonging to you, Boris Alexeyevitch. Trigorin What’s that? Shamraev Konstantin Gavrilitch shot a seagull and you asked me to get it stuffed for you. Trigorin I don’t remember! Pondering. I don’t remember! Masha Sixty-six! One! Treplev Flinging open the window, listens. How dark it is! I don’t know why I feel so uneasy. Madame Arkadin Kostya, shut the window, there’s a draught. Treplev shuts the window. Masha Eighty-eight! Trigorin The game is mine! Madame Arkadin Gaily. Bravo, bravo! Shamraev Bravo! Madame Arkadin That man always has luck in everything gets up. And now let us go and have something to eat. Our great man has not dined today. We will go on again after supper. To her son. Kostya, leave your manuscripts and come to supper. Treplev I don’t want any, mother, I am not hungry. Madame Arkadin As you like. Wakes Sorin. Petrusha, supper! Takes Shamraev’s arm. I’ll tell you about my reception in Harkov. Polina Andreyevna puts out the candles on the table. Then she and Dorn wheel the chair. All go out by door on left; only Treplev, sitting at the writing-table, is left on the stage. Treplev Settling himself to write; runs through what he has written already. I have talked so much about new forms and now I feel that little by little I am falling into a convention myself. Reads. “The placard on the wall proclaimed.⁠ ⁠… The pale face in its setting of dark hair.” Proclaimed, setting. That’s stupid scratches out. I will begin where the hero is awakened by the patter of the rain, and throw out all the rest. The description of the moonlight evening is long and over elaborate. Trigorin has worked out methods for himself, it’s easy for him now.⁠ ⁠… With him the broken bottle neck glitters on the dam and the mill-wheel casts a black shadow⁠—and there you have the moonlight night, while I have the tremulous light, and the soft twinkling of the stars, and the faraway strains of the piano dying away in the still fragrant air.⁠ ⁠… It’s agonising a pause. I come more and more to the conviction that it is not a question of new and old forms, but that what matters is that a man should