Ivanov

ShabelskyI swear to God, he’s a genius, a virtuoso! They should put up a statue. He’s a walking compendium of contemporary venality – lawyer, doctor, huckster, confidence trickster – (Sits down on the step of the terrace.) And, you know, he never finished school, that’s the extraordinary thing. If only he’d acquired a bit of culture and picked up some science he’d be a master criminal! ‘You, ‘ he says, ‘you could have twenty thousand in a week – you’re holding the ace of trumps, your title: Count!’ (Laughs heartily.) ’Any girl with a dowry would marry you . . . Do you want me to set up Marfa for you?’ he says. ‘What Marfa?’ Oh, of course, it’s that widow whatsername, Babakina, the one who looks like a washerwoman.

Anna opens the window and looks out.

AnnaIs that you, Count?

ShabelskyWhat is it?

Anna laughs.

(With a Jewish accent.

) Oy, vy are you laughink?

AnnaI was just remembering what you came out with at dinner. The thief, the lame horse, how did it go?

ShabelskyA Jew baptised, a thief gone straight and a lame horse mended are all worth much of a muchness.

Anna(laughs) Even your little jokes are spiteful. You’re full of spite. (Unsmiling.) No, seriously. Living with you is a bore, it gets one down. You’re always sniping, everyone’s a crook or up to no good. Tell the truth, have you ever had a good word to say for anybody?

ShabelskyWhat is this, a cross-examination?

AnnaIn five years under the same roof I haven’t once heard you speak of anyone without sneering. What have they ever done to you? Do you think you’re better than they are?

ShabelskyNot at all. I’m as big a swine as any swine in a skullcap. I never have a good word for myself either. What am I? I used to be rich, I could do as I liked, I was quite happy . . . and now . . . I’m a leech, a buffoon. If I get angry people just laugh at me. If I laugh, they shake their heads and say the old boy’s past it. That’s when they don’t ignore me.

Anna

There it goes again.

ShabelskyWhat?

AnnaThat owl . . . screeching, it does it every evening.

ShabelskyWell, let it. It can’t make things any worse. (Stretches himself.) Oh, Anna, if only my lottery number had come up – a hundred thousand, or two hundred . . . I’d have shown you . . . I’d have been out of here, no more of your charity, the Day of Judgement would have come before you caught me back in this hole.

AnnaOh yes? – and what would you have done with the money?

Shabelsky(having thought for a moment) First I’d have gone to Moscow to listen to some gypsy music. Then . . . then straight to Paris, taken an apartment, gone to the services at the Russian church . . .

AnnaAnd then what?

Shabelsky

Then sat by my wife’s grave with just my thoughts, day after day . . . sat there till I snuffed it. My wife’s buried in Paris.

Pause.

AnnaWell, that’s cheered us up. Do you want to try another duet?

ShabelskyYes, all right. Go and get some music out.

Anna goes indoors. Ivanov appears in the garden with Lvov.

Ivanov. . . Yes, but you only qualified a year ago, you’re still young – I’m the wrong side of forty, so I’m entitled to give you some advice. Don’t go marrying a Jewess or a neurotic or a woman with a mind. Find yourself a plain, ordinary girl who doesn’t make any unnecessary noise. Settle into a routine, the duller the better. Don’t try to fight the whole world, don’t butt your head against the walls. And stay clear of scientific farming, progressive education, and public speaking. Find a quiet corner and just get on with the task God gave you – it’s more comfortable, more honest and better for your health. Look at my life – I’m worn down by it, worn away by bad decisions, injustice, incompetence – (Catching sight of the Count, he explodes.) Oh, you again! – Why are you always hanging about and getting in the way? It’s impossible to have a private conversation!

Shabelsky

(plaintively) Or to find any peace around here, God dammit!

He jumps up and goes into the house.

Ivanov(shouts after him) I’m sorry! – sorry! (To Lvov.) Why did I have to do that? I’m falling apart. I must do something about myself, I really must.

Lvov(agitated) Nikolay Alekseevich, I’ve heard you out and now, forgive me, I’m going to tell you plainly: your voice, your very tone, never mind the words, it’s all so unfeeling. Someone close to you is dying, in fact she’s dying because she’s close to you, and you don’t show her any consideration, all you do is walk around ordering everybody about, throwing fits . . . I don’t know how to put it, but, well, I just find you appalling.