The Three Sisters / Три сестры

But I’ve grown old and very thin, I suppose it’s because I get angry with the girls at school. Today I’m free. I’m at home. I haven’t got a headache, and I feel younger than I was yesterday. I’m only twenty-eight. … All’s well, God is everywhere, but it seems to me that if only I were married and could stay at home all day, it would be even better. [Pause] I should love my husband.

T u z e n b a c h. [To Soleni] I’m tired of listening to the rot you talk. [Entering the sitting-room] I forgot to say that Vershinin, our new lieutenant-colonel of artillery, is coming to see us to-day.

[Sits down to the piano.]

O l g a. That’s good. I’m glad.

I r i n a. Is he old?

T u z e n b a c h. Oh, no. Forty or forty-five, at the very outside. [Plays softly] He seems rather a good sort. He’s certainly no fool, only he likes to hear himself speak.

I r i n a. Is he interesting?

T u z e n b a c h. Oh, he’s all right, but there’s his wife, his mother-in-law, and two daughters.

This is his second wife. He pays calls and tells everybody that he’s got a wife and two daughters. He’ll tell you so here. The wife isn’t all there, she does her hair like a flapper and gushes extremely. She talks philosophy and tries to commit suicide every now and again, apparently in order to annoy her husband. I should have left her long ago, but he bears up patiently, and just grumbles.

S o l e n i. [Enters with Chebutikin from the dining-room] With one hand I can only lift п¬Ѓfty-four pounds, but with both hands I can lift 180, or even 200 pounds.

From this I conclude that two men are not twice as strong as one, but three times, perhaps even more. …

C h e b u t i k i n. [Reads a newspaper as he walks] If your hair is coming out … take an ounce of naphthaline and hail a bottle of spirit … dissolve and use daily. … [Makes a note in his pocket diary] When found make a note of! Not that I want it though.

… [Crosses it out] It doesn’t matter.

I r i n a. Ivan Romanovitch, dear Ivan Romanovitch!

C h e b u t i k i n. What does my own little girl want?

I r i n a. Ivan Romanovitch, dear Ivan Romanovitch! I feel as if I were sailing under the broad blue sky with great white birds around me. Why is that? Why?

C h e b u t i k i n. [Kisses her hands, tenderly] My white bird. …

I r i n a.