Anton Chekhov: Plays, Short Stories, Diary & Letters (Collected Edition). Anton Chekhov

      LEBEDIEFF. I know what is the matter with you, old man: you got out of bed on the wrong side this morning.

      IVANOFF. That is stupid, Paul, and stale. Go away!

      LEBEDIEFF. It is stupid, certainly. I see that myself now. I am going at once. [LEBEDIEFF goes out.]

      IVANOFF. [Alone] I am a worthless, miserable, useless man. Only a man equally miserable and suffering, as Paul is, could love or esteem me now. Good God! How I loathe myself! How bitterly I hate my voice, my hands, my thoughts, these clothes, each step I take! How ridiculous it is, how disgusting! Less than a year ago I was healthy and strong, full of pride and energy and enthusiasm. I worked with these hands here, and my words could move the dullest man to tears. I could weep with sorrow, and grow indignant at the sight of wrong. I could feel the glow of inspiration, and understand the beauty and romance of the silent nights which I used to watch through from evening until dawn, sitting at my worktable, and giving up my soul to dreams. I believed in a bright future then, and looked into it as trustfully as a child looks into its mother’s eyes. And now, oh, it is terrible! I am tired and without hope; I spend my days and nights in idleness; I have no control over my feet or brain. My estate is ruined, my woods are falling under the blows of the axe. [He weeps] My neglected land looks up at me as reproachfully as an orphan. I expect nothing, am sorry for nothing; my whole soul trembles at the thought of each new day. And what can I think of my treatment of Sarah? I promised her love and happiness forever; I opened her eyes to the promise of a future such as she had never even dreamed of. She believed me, and though for five years I have seen her sinking under the weight of her sacrifices to me, and losing her strength in her struggles with her conscience, God knows she has never given me one angry look, or uttered one word of reproach. What is the result? That I don’t love her! Why? Is it possible? Can it be true? I can’t understand. She is suffering; her days are numbered; yet I fly like a contemptible coward from her white face, her sunken chest, her pleading eyes. Oh, I am ashamed, ashamed! [A pause] Sasha, a young girl, is sorry for me in my misery. She confesses to me that she loves me; me, almost an old man! Whereupon I lose my head, and exalted as if by music, I yell: “Hurrah for a new life and new happiness!” Next day I believe in this new life and happiness as little as I believe in my happiness at home. What is the matter with me? What is this pit I am wallowing in? What is the cause of this weakness? What does this nervousness come from? If my sick wife wounds my pride, if a servant makes a mistake, if my gun misses fire, I lose my temper and get violent and altogether unlike myself. I can’t, I can’t understand it; the easiest way out would be a bullet through the head!

      Enter LVOFF.

      LVOFF. I must have an explanation with you, Ivanoff.

      IVANOFF. If we are going to have an explanation every day, doctor, we shall neither of us have the strength to stand it.

      LVOFF. Will you be good enough to hear me?

      IVANOFF. I have heard all you have told me every day, and have failed to discover yet what you want me to do.

      LVOFF. I have always spoken plainly enough, and only an utterly heartless and cruel man could fail to understand me.

      IVANOFF. I know that my wife is dying; I know that I have sinned irreparably; I know that you are an honest man. What more can you tell me?

      LVOFF. The sight of human cruelty maddens me. The woman is dying and she has a mother and father whom she loves, and longs to see once more before she dies. They know that she is dying and that she loves them still, but with diabolical cruelty, as if to flaunt their religious zeal, they refuse to see her and forgive her. You are the man for whom she has sacrificed her home, her peace of mind, everything. Yet you unblushingly go gadding to the Lebedieffs’ every evening, for reasons that are absolutely unmistakable!

      IVANOFF. Ah me, it is two weeks since I was there!

      LVOFF. [Not listening to him] To men like yourself one must speak plainly, and if you don’t want to hear what I have to say, you need not listen. I always call a spade a spade; the truth is, you want her to die so that the way may be cleared for your other schemes. Be it so; but can’t you wait? If, instead of crushing the life out of your wife by your heartless egoism, you let her die naturally, do you think you would lose Sasha and Sasha’s money? Such an absolute Tartuffe as you are could turn the girl’s head and get her money a year from now as easily as you can to-day. Why are you in such a hurry? Why do you want your wife to die now, instead of in a month’s time, or a year’s?

      IVANOFF. This is torture! You are a very bad doctor if you think a man can control himself forever. It is all I can do not to answer your insults.

      LVOFF. Look here, whom are you trying to deceive? Throw off this disguise!

      IVANOFF. You who are so clever, you think that nothing in the world is easier than to understand me, do you? I married Annie for her money, did I? And when her parents wouldn’t give it to me, I changed my plans, and am now hustling her out of the world so that I may marry another woman, who will bring me what I want? You think so, do you? Oh, how easy and simple it all is! But you are mistaken, doctor; in each one of us there are too many springs, too many wheels and cogs for us to judge each other by first impressions or by two or three external indications. I can not understand you, you cannot understand me, and neither of us can understand himself. A man may be a splendid doctor, and at the same time a very bad judge of human nature; you will admit that, unless you are too self-confident.

      LVOFF. Do you really think that your character is so mysterious, and that I am too stupid to tell vice from virtue?

      IVANOFF. It is clear that we shall never agree, so let me beg you to answer me now without any more preamble: exactly what do you want me to do? [Angrily] What are you after anyway? And with whom have I the honour of speaking? With my lawyer, or with my wife’s doctor?

      LVOFF. I am a doctor, and as such I demand that you change your conduct toward your wife; it is killing her.

      IVANOFF. What shall I do? Tell me! If you understand me so much better than I understand myself, for heaven’s sake tell me exactly what to do!

      LVOFF. In the first place, don’t be so unguarded in your behaviour.

      IVANOFF. Heaven help me, do you mean to say that you understand yourself? [He drinks some water] Now go away; I am guilty a thousand times over; I shall answer for my sins before God; but nothing has given you the right to torture me daily as you do.

      LVOFF. Who has given you the right to insult my sense of honour? You have maddened and poisoned my soul. Before I came to this place I knew that stupid, crazy, deluded people existed, but I never imagined that any one could be so criminal as to turn his mind deliberately in the direction of wickedness. I loved and esteemed humanity then, but since I have known you —

      IVANOFF. I have heard all that before.

      LVOFF. You have, have you?

      He goes out, shrugging his shoulders. He sees SASHA, who comes in at this moment dressed for riding.

      LVOFF. Now, however, I hope that we can understand one another!

      IVANOFF. [Startled] Oh, Sasha, is that you?

      SASHA. Yes, it is I. How are you? You didn’t expect me, did you? Why haven’t you been to see us?

      IVANOFF. Sasha, this is really imprudent of you! Your coming will have a terrible effect on my wife!

      SASHA. She won’t see me; I came in by the back entrance; I shall go in a minute. I am so anxious about you. Tell me, are you well? Why haven’t you been to see us for such a long time?

      IVANOFF. My wife is offended already, and almost dying, and now you come here; Sasha, Sasha, this is thoughtless and unkind of you.

      SASHA. How could I help coming? It is two weeks since you were at our house, and you have not answered my letters. I imagined you suffering dreadfully, or ill, or dead. I have not slept for nights. I am going now, but first tell me that you are well.

      IVANOFF. No, I am not well. I am a torment to myself, and every one torments me without end. I can’t stand it! And now you