KULYGIN. I am tired. I'm not coming [gets up]. I'm tired. Has my wife gone home?
IRINA. I expect so.
KULYGIN [kisses IRINA'S hand]. Good-bye! I have all day tomorrow and next day to rest. Good night! [Going] I do want some tea. I was counting on spending the evening in pleasant company. . . . O fallacem hominum spem! . . . Accusative of exclamation.
VERSHININ. Well, then, I must go alone [goes out with KULYGIN, whistling].
OLGA. My head aches, oh, how my head aches. . . . Andrey has lost at cards. . . . The whole town is talking about it. . . . I'll go and lie down [is going]. Tomorrow I'll be free. . . . Oh, God, how nice that is! Tomorrow I'm free, and the day after I'm free. . . . My head does ache, oh, my head . . . [goes out].
IRINA [alone]. They've all gone away. There's no one left.
[An accordion plays in the street, the nanny sings.]
NATASHA [in a fur cap and coat crosses the dining-room, followed by the maid]. I'll be back in half an hour. I'll only go a little way [goes out].
IRINA [left alone, in dejection]. Oh, to go to Moscow, to Moscow!
CURTAIN. Act III
The bedroom of OLGA and IRINA. On the left and right beds with screens round them. Past two o'clock in the night. Behind the scenes a bell is ringing on account of a fire in the town, which has been going on for some time. It can be seen that no one in the house has gone to bed yet. On the sofa MASHA is lying, dressed as usual in black. Enter OLGA and ANFISA.
ANFISA. They are sitting below, under the stairs. . . . I said to them, 'Come upstairs; why, you mustn't stay there' -- they only cried. 'We don't know where father is,' they said. 'What if he is burnt!' What an idea! And the poor souls in the yard . . . they are all undressed too.
OLGA [taking clothes out of the closet]. Take this grey dress . . . and this one . . . and the blouse too . . . and that skirt, nanny. . . . Oh, dear, what a dreadful thing! Kirsanov Street is burnt to the ground, it seems. . . . Take this . . . take this . . . [throws clothes into her arms]. The Vershinins have had a fright, poor things. . . . Their house was very nearly burnt. Let them stay the night here . . . we can't let them go home. . . . Poor Fedotik has had everything burnt, he doesn't have a thing left. . . .
ANFISA. You'd better call Ferapont, Olyushka darling, I can't carry it all.
OLGA [rings]. No one will answer the bell [at the door]. Come here, whoever is there! [Through the open door can be seen a window red with fire; the fire brigade is heard passing the house.] How awful it is! And I'm sick of it!
[Enter FERAPONT.]
OLGA. Here take these, carry them downstairs. . . . The Kolotilin young ladies are downstairs . . . give it to them . . . and give this too.
FERAPONT. Yes, miss. In 1812 Moscow was burnt too. . . . Mercy on us! The French were surprised.
