Антон Чехов – The Three Sisters / Три сестры (страница 4)
I r i n a. But you gave me one of these at Easter.
K u l i g i n.
V e r s h i n i n. Thank you.
O l g a. Must you go? No, not yet?
I r i n a. You’ll stop and have lunch with us. Please do.
O l g a. Yes, please!
V e r s h i n i n.
K u l i g i n. To-day is Sunday, the day of rest, so let us rest and rejoice, each in a manner compatible with his age and disposition. The carpets will have to be taken up for the summer and put away till the winter … Persian powder or naphthaline. … The Romans were healthy because they knew both how to work and how to rest, they had mens sana in corpore sano. Their life ran along certain recognized patterns. Our director says: “The chief thing about each life is its pattern. Whoever loses his pattern is lost himself” – and it’s just the same in our daily life.
M a s h a. I shan’t go.
K u l i g i n.
M a s h a. I’ll tell you later. …
K u l i g i n. And then we’re to spend the evening at the director’s. In spite of his ill-health that man tries, above everything else, to be sociable. A splendid, illuminating personality. A wonderful man. After yesterday’s committee he said to me: “I’m tired, Feodor Ilitch, I’m tired!”
O l g a. Let’s go and have lunch! There’s to be a masterpiece of baking!
K u l i g i n. Oh my dear Olga, my dear. Yesterday I was working till eleven o’clock at night, and got awfully tired. Today I’m quite happy.
C h e b u t i k i n.
M a s h a.
C h e b u t i k i n. Oh, that’s all right. I haven’t been drunk for two years. And it’s all the same, anyway!
M a s h a. You’re not to dare to drink, all the same.
T u z e n b a c h. I shouldn’t go if I were you. … It’s quite simple.
C h e b u t i k i n. Don’t go.
M a s h a. Yes, “don’t go. …” It’s a cursed, unbearable life. …
C h e b u t i k i n.
S o l e n i.
T u z e n b a c h. Vassili Vassilevitch, that’s enough. Be quiet!
S o l e n i. There, there, there. …
K u l i g i n.
V e r s h i n i n. I’ll have some of this black vodka. …
I r i n a. Masha’s out of sorts to-day. She married when she was eighteen, when he seemed to her the wisest of men. And now it’s different. He’s the kindest man, but not the wisest.
O l g a.
A n d r e y.
T u z e n b a c h. What are you thinking about?
I r i n a. I don’t like this Soleni of yours and
I’m afraid of him. He only says silly things.
T u z e n b a c h. He’s a queer man. I’m sorry for him, though he vexes me. I think he’s shy. When there are just the two of us he’s quite all right and very good company; when other people are about he’s rough and hectoring. Don’t let’s go in, let them have their meal without us. Let me stay with you. What are you thinking of?
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