Chapter: ACT I

_The scene is laid in the park on SORIN'S estate. A broad avenue of
trees leads away from the audience toward a lake which lies lost in
the depths of the park. The avenue is obstructed by a rough stage,
temporarily erected for the performance of amateur theatricals, and
which screens the lake from view. There is a dense growth of bushes to
the left and right of the stage. A few chairs and a little table are
placed in front of the stage. The sun has just set. JACOB and some other
workmen are heard hammering and coughing on the stage behind the lowered
curtain_.

MASHA and MEDVIEDENKO come in from the left, returning from a walk.

MEDVIEDENKO. Why do you always wear mourning?

MASHA. I dress in black to match my life. I am unhappy.

MEDVIEDENKO. Why should you be unhappy? [Thinking it over] I don't
understand it. You are healthy, and though your father is not rich, he
has a good competency. My life is far harder than yours. I only have
twenty-three roubles a month to live on, but I don't wear mourning.
[They sit down].

MASHA. Happiness does not depend on riches; poor men are often happy.

MEDVIEDENKO. In theory, yes, but not in reality. Take my case, for
instance; my mother, my two sisters, my little brother and I must all
live somehow on my salary of twenty-three roubles a month. We have to
eat and drink, I take it. You wouldn't have us go without tea and sugar,
would you? Or tobacco? Answer me that, if you can.

MASHA. [Looking in the direction of the stage] The play will soon begin.

MEDVIEDENKO. Yes, Nina Zarietchnaya is going to act in Treplieff's play.
They love one another, and their two souls will unite to-night in the
effort to interpret the same idea by different means. There is no ground
on which your soul and mine can meet. I love you. Too restless and sad
to stay at home, I tramp here every day, six miles and back, to be met
only by your indifference. I am poor, my family is large, you can have
no inducement to marry a man who cannot even find sufficient food for
his own mouth.

MASHA. It is not that. [She takes snuff] I am touched by your affection,
but I cannot return it, that is all. [She offers him the snuff-box] Will
you take some?

MEDVIEDENKO. No, thank you. [A pause.]

MASHA. The air is sultry; a storm is brewing for to-night. You do
nothing but moralise or else talk about money. To you, poverty is the
greatest misfortune that can befall a man, but I think it is a thousand
times easier to go begging in rags than to--You wouldn't understand
that, though.

SORIN leaning on a cane, and TREPLIEFF come in.

SORIN. For some reason, my boy, country life doesn't suit me, and I am
sure I shall never get used to it. Last night I went to bed at ten and
woke at nine this morning, feeling as if, from oversleep, my brain had
stuck to my skull. [Laughing] And yet I accidentally dropped off to
sleep again after dinner, and feel utterly done up at this moment. It is
like a nightmare.

TREPLIEFF. There is no doubt that you should live in town. [He catches
sight of MASHA and MEDVIEDENKO] You shall be called when the play
begins, my friends, but you must not stay here now. Go away, please.

SORIN. Miss Masha, will you kindly ask your father to leave the dog
unchained? It howled so last night that my sister was unable to sleep.

MASHA. You must speak to my father yourself. Please excuse me; I can't
do so. [To MEDVIEDENKO] Come, let us go.

MEDVIEDENKO. You will let us know when the play begins?

MASHA and MEDVIEDENKO go out.

SORIN. I foresee that that dog is going to howl all night again. It is
always this way in the country; I have never been able to live as I like
here. I come down for a month's holiday, to rest and all, and am
plagued so by their nonsense that I long to escape after the first day.
[Laughing] I have always been glad to get away from this place, but I
have been retired now, and this was the only place I had to come to.
Willy-nilly, one must live somewhere.

JACOB. [To TREPLIEFF] We are going to take a swim, Mr. Constantine.

TREPLIEFF. Very well, but you must be back in ten minutes.

JACOB. We will, sir.

TREPLIEFF. [Looking at the stage] Just like a real theatre! See,
there we have the curtain, the foreground, the background, and all. No
artificial scenery is needed. The eye travels direct to the lake, and
rests on the horizon. The curtain will be raised as the moon rises at
half-past eight.

SORIN. Splendid!

TREPLIEFF. Of course the whole effect will be ruined if Nina is late.
She should be here by now, but her father and stepmother watch her so
closely that it is like stealing her from a prison to get her away from
home. [He straightens SORIN'S collar] Your hair and beard are all on
end. Oughtn't you to have them trimmed?

SORIN. [Smoothing his beard] They are the tragedy of my existence. Even
when I was young I always looked as if I were drunk, and all. Women have
never liked me. [Sitting down] Why is my sister out of temper?

TREPLIEFF. Why? Because she is jealous and bored. [Sitting down beside
SORIN] She is not acting this evening, but Nina is, and so she has set
herself against me, and against the performance of the play, and against
the play itself, which she hates without ever having read it.

SORIN. [Laughing] Does she, really?

TREPLIEFF. Yes, she is furious because Nina is going to have a
success on this little stage. [Looking at his watch] My mother is a
psychological curiosity. Without doubt brilliant and talented, capable
of sobbing over a novel, of reciting all Nekrasoff's poetry by heart,
and of nursing the sick like an angel of heaven, you should see what
happens if any one begins praising Duse to her! She alone must be
praised and written about, raved over, her marvellous acting in "La Dame
aux Camelias" extolled to the skies. As she cannot get all that rubbish
in the country, she grows peevish and cross, and thinks we are all
against her, and to blame for it all. She is superstitious, too. She
dreads burning three candles, and fears the thirteenth day of the month.
Then she is stingy. I know for a fact that she has seventy thousand
roubles in a bank at Odessa, but she is ready to burst into tears if you
ask her to lend you a penny.

SORIN. You have taken it into your head that your mother dislikes your
play, and the thought of it has excited you, and all. Keep calm; your
mother adores you.

TREPLIEFF. [Pulling a flower to pieces] She loves me, loves me not;
loves--loves me not; loves--loves me not! [Laughing] You see, she
doesn't love me, and why should she? She likes life and love and gay
clothes, and I am already twenty-five years old; a sufficient reminder
to her that she is no longer young. When I am away she is only
thirty-two, in my presence she is forty-three, and she hates me for
it. She knows, too, that I despise the modern stage. She adores it, and
imagines that she is working on it for the benefit of humanity and her
sacred art, but to me the theatre is merely the vehicle of convention
and prejudice. When the curtain rises on that little three-walled room,
when those mighty geniuses, those high-priests of art, show us people in
the act of eating, drinking, loving, walking, and wearing their coats,
and attempt to extract a moral from their insipid talk; when playwrights
give us under a thousand different guises the same, same, same old
stuff, then I must needs run from it, as Maupassant ran from the Eiffel
Tower that was about to crush him by its vulgarity.

SORIN. But we can't do without a theatre.

TREPLIEFF. No, but we must have it under a new form. If we can't do
that, let us rather not have it at all. [Looking at his watch] I love my
mother, I love her devotedly, but I think she leads a stupid life. She
always has this man of letters of hers on her mind, and the newspapers
are always frightening her to death, and I am tired of it. Plain, human
egoism sometimes speaks in my heart, and I regret that my mother is
a famous actress. If she were an ordinary woman I think I should be
a happier man. What could be more intolerable and foolish than my
position, Uncle, when I find myself the only nonentity among a crowd of
her guests, all celebrated authors and artists? I feel that they only
endure me because I am her son. Personally I am nothing, nobody. I
pulled through my third year at college by the skin of my teeth, as they
say. I have neither money nor brains, and on my passport you may read
that I am simply a citizen of Kiev. So was my father, but he was
a well-known actor. When the celebrities that frequent my mother's
drawing-room deign to notice me at all, I know they only look at me
to measure my insignificance; I read their thoughts, and suffer from
humiliation.

SORIN. Tell me, by the way, what is Trigorin like? I can't understand
him, he is always so silent.

TREPLIEFF. Trigorin is clever, simple, well-mannered, and a little, I
might say, melancholic in disposition. Though still under forty, he is
surfeited with praise. As for his stories, they are--how shall I put
it?--pleasing, full of talent, but if you have read Tolstoi or Zola you
somehow don't enjoy Trigorin.

SORIN. Do you know, my boy, I like literary men. I once passionately
desired two things: to marry, and to become an author. I have succeeded
in neither. It must be pleasant to be even an insignificant author.

TREPLIEFF. [Listening] I hear footsteps! [He embraces his uncle] I
cannot live without her; even the sound of her footsteps is music to me.
I am madly happy. [He goes quickly to meet NINA, who comes in at that
moment] My enchantress! My girl of dreams!

NINA. [Excitedly] It can't be that I am late? No, I am not late.

TREPLIEFF. [Kissing her hands] No, no, no!

NINA. I have been in a fever all day, I was so afraid my father would
prevent my coming, but he and my stepmother have just gone driving. The
sky is clear, the moon is rising. How I hurried to get here! How I urged
my horse to go faster and faster! [Laughing] I am _so_ glad to see you!
[She shakes hands with SORIN.]

SORIN. Oho! Your eyes look as if you had been crying. You mustn't do
that.

NINA. It is nothing, nothing. Do let us hurry. I must go in half an
hour. No, no, for heaven's sake do not urge me to stay. My father
doesn't know I am here.

TREPLIEFF. As a matter of fact, it is time to begin now. I must call the
audience.

SORIN. Let me call them--and all--I am going this minute. [He goes
toward the right, begins to sing "The Two Grenadiers," then stops.]
I was singing that once when a fellow-lawyer said to me: "You have a
powerful voice, sir." Then he thought a moment and added, "But it is a
disagreeable one!" [He goes out laughing.]

NINA. My father and his wife never will let me come here; they call this
place Bohemia and are afraid I shall become an actress. But this lake
attracts me as it does the gulls. My heart is full of you. [She glances
about her.]

TREPLIEFF. We are alone.

NINA. Isn't that some one over there?

TREPLIEFF. No. [They kiss one another.]

NINA. What is that tree?

TREPLIEFF. An elm.

NINA. Why does it look so dark?

TREPLIEFF. It is evening; everything looks dark now. Don't go away
early, I implore you.

NINA. I must.

TREPLIEFF. What if I were to follow you, Nina? I shall stand in your
garden all night with my eyes on your window.

NINA. That would be impossible; the watchman would see you, and Treasure
is not used to you yet, and would bark.

TREPLIEFF. I love you.

NINA. Hush!

TREPLIEFF. [Listening to approaching footsteps] Who is that? Is it you,
Jacob?

JACOB. [On the stage] Yes, sir.

TREPLIEFF. To your places then. The moon is rising; the play must
commence.

NINA. Yes, sir.

TREPLIEFF. Is the alcohol ready? Is the sulphur ready? There must be
fumes of sulphur in the air when the red eyes shine out. [To NINA] Go,
now, everything is ready. Are you nervous?

NINA. Yes, very. I am not so much afraid of your mother as I am of
Trigorin. I am terrified and ashamed to act before him; he is so famous.
Is he young?

TREPLIEFF. Yes.

NINA. What beautiful stories he writes!

TREPLIEFF. [Coldly] I have never read any of them, so I can't say.

NINA. Your play is very hard to act; there are no living characters in
it.

TREPLIEFF. Living characters! Life must be represented not as it is, but
as it ought to be; as it appears in dreams.

NINA. There is so little action; it seems more like a recitation. I
think love should always come into every play.

NINA and TREPLIEFF go up onto the little stage; PAULINA and DORN come
in.

PAULINA. It is getting damp. Go back and put on your goloshes.

DORN. I am quite warm.

PAULINA. You never will take care of yourself; you are quite obstinate
about it, and yet you are a doctor, and know quite well that damp air is
bad for you. You like to see me suffer, that's what it is. You sat out
on the terrace all yesterday evening on purpose.

DORN. [Sings]

"Oh, tell me not that youth is wasted."

PAULINA. You were so enchanted by the conversation of Madame Arkadina
that you did not even notice the cold. Confess that you admire her.

DORN. I am fifty-five years old.

PAULINA. A trifle. That is not old for a man. You have kept your looks
magnificently, and women still like you.

DORN. What are you trying to tell me?

PAULINA. You men are all ready to go down on your knees to an actress,
all of you.

DORN. [Sings]

"Once more I stand before thee."

It is only right that artists should be made much of by society and
treated differently from, let us say, merchants. It is a kind of
idealism.

PAULINA. When women have loved you and thrown themselves at your head,
has that been idealism?

DORN. [Shrugging his shoulders] I can't say. There has been a great deal
that was admirable in my relations with women. In me they liked, above
all, the superior doctor. Ten years ago, you remember, I was the only
decent doctor they had in this part of the country--and then, I have
always acted like a man of honour.

PAULINA. [Seizes his hand] Dearest!

DORN. Be quiet! Here they come.

ARKADINA comes in on SORIN'S arm; also TRIGORIN, SHAMRAEFF, MEDVIEDENKO,
and MASHA.

SHAMRAEFF. She acted most beautifully at the Poltava Fair in 1873; she
was really magnificent. But tell me, too, where Tchadin the comedian is
now? He was inimitable as Rasplueff, better than Sadofski. Where is he
now?

ARKADINA. Don't ask me where all those antediluvians are! I know nothing
about them. [She sits down.]

SHAMRAEFF. [Sighing] Pashka Tchadin! There are none left like him. The
stage is not what it was in his time. There were sturdy oaks growing on
it then, where now but stumps remain.

DORN. It is true that we have few dazzling geniuses these days, but, on
the other hand, the average of acting is much higher.

SHAMRAEFF. I cannot agree with you; however, that is a matter of taste,
_de gustibus._

Enter TREPLIEFF from behind the stage.

ARKADINA. When will the play begin, my dear boy?

TREPLIEFF. In a moment. I must ask you to have patience.

ARKADINA. [Quoting from Hamlet] My son,

     "Thou turn'st mine eyes into my very soul;
     And there I see such black grained spots
     As will not leave their tinct."

[A horn is blown behind the stage.]

TREPLIEFF. Attention, ladies and gentlemen! The play is about to begin.
[A pause] I shall commence. [He taps the door with a stick, and speaks
in a loud voice] O, ye time-honoured, ancient mists that drive at night
across the surface of this lake, blind you our eyes with sleep, and show
us in our dreams that which will be in twice ten thousand years!

SORIN. There won't be anything in twice ten thousand years.

TREPLIEFF. Then let them now show us that nothingness.

ARKADINA. Yes, let them--we are asleep.

The curtain rises. A vista opens across the lake. The moon hangs low
above the horizon and is reflected in the water. NINA, dressed in white,
is seen seated on a great rock.

NINA. All men and beasts, lions, eagles, and quails, horned stags,
geese, spiders, silent fish that inhabit the waves, starfish from the
sea, and creatures invisible to the eye--in one word, life--all, all
life, completing the dreary round imposed upon it, has died out at last.
A thousand years have passed since the earth last bore a living creature
on her breast, and the unhappy moon now lights her lamp in vain. No
longer are the cries of storks heard in the meadows, or the drone of
beetles in the groves of limes. All is cold, cold. All is void, void,
void. All is terrible, terrible--[A pause] The bodies of all living
creatures have dropped to dust, and eternal matter has transformed them
into stones and water and clouds; but their spirits have flowed together
into one, and that great world-soul am I! In me is the spirit of the
great Alexander, the spirit of Napoleon, of Caesar, of Shakespeare,
and of the tiniest leech that swims. In me the consciousness of man has
joined hands with the instinct of the animal; I understand all, all,
all, and each life lives again in me.

[The will-o-the-wisps flicker out along the lake shore.]

ARKADINA. [Whispers] What decadent rubbish is this?

TREPLIEFF. [Imploringly] Mother!

NINA. I am alone. Once in a hundred years my lips are opened, my voice
echoes mournfully across the desert earth, and no one hears. And you,
poor lights of the marsh, you do not hear me. You are engendered at
sunset in the putrid mud, and flit wavering about the lake till dawn,
unconscious, unreasoning, unwarmed by the breath of life. Satan, father
of eternal matter, trembling lest the spark of life should glow in you,
has ordered an unceasing movement of the atoms that compose you, and so
you shift and change for ever. I, the spirit of the universe, I alone
am immutable and eternal. [A pause] Like a captive in a dungeon deep and
void, I know not where I am, nor what awaits me. One thing only is not
hidden from me: in my fierce and obstinate battle with Satan, the source
of the forces of matter, I am destined to be victorious in the end.
Matter and spirit will then be one at last in glorious harmony, and the
reign of freedom will begin on earth. But this can only come to pass by
slow degrees, when after countless eons the moon and earth and shining
Sirius himself shall fall to dust. Until that hour, oh, horror! horror!
horror! [A pause. Two glowing red points are seen shining across the
lake] Satan, my mighty foe, advances; I see his dread and lurid eyes.

ARKADINA. I smell sulphur. Is that done on purpose?

TREPLIEFF. Yes.

ARKADINA. Oh, I see; that is part of the effect.

TREPLIEFF. Mother!

NINA. He longs for man--

PAULINA. [To DORN] You have taken off your hat again! Put it on, you
will catch cold.

ARKADINA. The doctor has taken off his hat to Satan father of eternal
matter--

TREPLIEFF. [Loudly and angrily] Enough of this! There's an end to the
performance. Down with the curtain!

ARKADINA. Why, what are you so angry about?

TREPLIEFF. [Stamping his foot] The curtain; down with it! [The curtain
falls] Excuse me, I forgot that only a chosen few might write plays or
act them. I have infringed the monopoly. I--I---

He would like to say more, but waves his hand instead, and goes out to
the left.

ARKADINA. What is the matter with him?

SORIN. You should not handle youthful egoism so roughly, sister.

ARKADINA. What did I say to him?

SORIN. You hurt his feelings.

ARKADINA. But he told me himself that this was all in fun, so I treated
his play as if it were a comedy.

SORIN. Nevertheless---

ARKADINA. Now it appears that he has produced a masterpiece, if you
please! I suppose it was not meant to amuse us at all, but that he
arranged the performance and fumigated us with sulphur to demonstrate to
us how plays should be written, and what is worth acting. I am tired
of him. No one could stand his constant thrusts and sallies. He is a
wilful, egotistic boy.

SORIN. He had hoped to give you pleasure.

ARKADINA. Is that so? I notice, though, that he did not choose an
ordinary play, but forced his decadent trash on us. I am willing to
listen to any raving, so long as it is not meant seriously, but in
showing us this, he pretended to be introducing us to a new form of art,
and inaugurating a new era. In my opinion, there was nothing new about
it, it was simply an exhibition of bad temper.

TRIGORIN. Everybody must write as he feels, and as best he may.

ARKADINA. Let him write as he feels and can, but let him spare me his
nonsense.

DORN. Thou art angry, O Jove!

ARKADINA. I am a woman, not Jove. [She lights a cigarette] And I am not
angry, I am only sorry to see a young man foolishly wasting his time. I
did not mean to hurt him.

MEDVIEDENKO. No one has any ground for separating life from matter, as
the spirit may well consist of the union of material atoms. [Excitedly,
to TRIGORIN] Some day you should write a play, and put on the stage the
life of a schoolmaster. It is a hard, hard life.

ARKADINA. I agree with you, but do not let us talk about plays or atoms
now. This is such a lovely evening. Listen to the singing, friends, how
sweet it sounds.

PAULINA. Yes, they are singing across the water. [A pause.]

ARKADINA. [To TRIGORIN] Sit down beside me here. Ten or fifteen years
ago we had music and singing on this lake almost all night. There are
six houses on its shores. All was noise and laughter and romance then,
such romance! The young star and idol of them all in those days was this
man here, [Nods toward DORN] Doctor Eugene Dorn. He is fascinating now,
but he was irresistible then. But my conscience is beginning to
prick me. Why did I hurt my poor boy? I am uneasy about him. [Loudly]
Constantine! Constantine!

MASHA. Shall I go and find him?

ARKADINA. If you please, my dear.

MASHA. [Goes off to the left, calling] Mr. Constantine! Oh, Mr.
Constantine!

NINA. [Comes in from behind the stage] I see that the play will never be
finished, so now I can go home. Good evening. [She kisses ARKADINA and
PAULINA.]

SORIN. Bravo! Bravo!

ARKADINA. Bravo! Bravo! We were quite charmed by your acting. With your
looks and such a lovely voice it is a crime for you to hide yourself
in the country. You must be very talented. It is your duty to go on the
stage, do you hear me?

NINA. It is the dream of my life, which will never come true.

ARKADINA. Who knows? Perhaps it will. But let me present Monsieur Boris
Trigorin.

NINA. I am delighted to meet you. [Embarrassed] I have read all your
books.

ARKADINA. [Drawing NINA down beside her] Don't be afraid of him, dear.
He is a simple, good-natured soul, even if he is a celebrity. See, he is
embarrassed himself.

DORN. Couldn't the curtain be raised now? It is depressing to have it
down.

SHAMRAEFF. [Loudly] Jacob, my man! Raise the curtain!

NINA. [To TRIGORIN] It was a curious play, wasn't it?

TRIGORIN. Very. I couldn't understand it at all, but I watched it with
the greatest pleasure because you acted with such sincerity, and the
setting was beautiful. [A pause] There must be a lot of fish in this
lake.

NINA. Yes, there are.

TRIGORIN. I love fishing. I know of nothing pleasanter than to sit on a
lake shore in the evening with one's eyes on a floating cork.

NINA. Why, I should think that for one who has tasted the joys of
creation, no other pleasure could exist.

ARKADINA. Don't talk like that. He always begins to flounder when people
say nice things to him.

SHAMRAEFF. I remember when the famous Silva was singing once in the
Opera House at Moscow, how delighted we all were when he took the low C.
Well, you can imagine our astonishment when one of the church cantors,
who happened to be sitting in the gallery, suddenly boomed out: "Bravo,
Silva!" a whole octave lower. Like this: [In a deep bass voice] "Bravo,
Silva!" The audience was left breathless. [A pause.]

DORN. An angel of silence is flying over our heads.

NINA. I must go. Good-bye.

ARKADINA. Where to? Where must you go so early? We shan't allow it.

NINA. My father is waiting for me.

ARKADINA. How cruel he is, really. [They kiss each other] Then I suppose
we can't keep you, but it is very hard indeed to let you go.

NINA. If you only knew how hard it is for me to leave you all.

ARKADINA. Somebody must see you home, my pet.

NINA. [Startled] No, no!

SORIN. [Imploringly] Don't go!

NINA. I must.

SORIN. Stay just one hour more, and all. Come now, really, you know.

NINA. [Struggling against her desire to stay; through her tears] No, no,
I can't. [She shakes hands with him and quickly goes out.]

ARKADINA. An unlucky girl! They say that her mother left the whole of an
immense fortune to her husband, and now the child is penniless because
the father has already willed everything away to his second wife. It is
pitiful.

DORN. Yes, her papa is a perfect beast, and I don't mind saying so--it
is what he deserves.

SORIN. [Rubbing his chilled hands] Come, let us go in; the night is
damp, and my legs are aching.

ARKADINA. Yes, you act as if they were turned to stone; you can hardly
move them. Come, you unfortunate old man. [She takes his arm.]

SHAMRAEFF. [Offering his arm to his wife] Permit me, madame.

SORIN. I hear that dog howling again. Won't you please have it
unchained, Shamraeff?

SHAMRAEFF. No, I really can't, sir. The granary is full of millet, and
I am afraid thieves might break in if the dog were not there. [Walking
beside MEDVIEDENKO] Yes, a whole octave lower: "Bravo, Silva!" and he
wasn't a singer either, just a simple church cantor.

MEDVIEDENKO. What salary does the church pay its singers? [All go out
except DORN.]

DORN. I may have lost my judgment and my wits, but I must confess I
liked that play. There was something in it. When the girl spoke of her
solitude and the Devil's eyes gleamed across the lake, I felt my hands
shaking with excitement. It was so fresh and naive. But here he comes;
let me say something pleasant to him.

TREPLIEFF comes in.

TREPLIEFF. All gone already?

DORN. I am here.

TREPLIEFF. Masha has been yelling for me all over the park. An
insufferable creature.

DORN. Constantine, your play delighted me. It was strange, of course,
and I did not hear the end, but it made a deep impression on me. You
have a great deal of talent, and must persevere in your work.

TREPLIEFF seizes his hand and squeezes it hard, then kisses him
impetuously.

DORN. Tut, tut! how excited you are. Your eyes are full of tears. Listen
to me. You chose your subject in the realm of abstract thought, and you
did quite right. A work of art should invariably embody some lofty idea.
Only that which is seriously meant can ever be beautiful. How pale you
are!

TREPLIEFF. So you advise me to persevere?

DORN. Yes, but use your talent to express only deep and eternal truths.
I have led a quiet life, as you know, and am a contented man, but if I
should ever experience the exaltation that an artist feels during his
moments of creation, I think I should spurn this material envelope of my
soul and everything connected with it, and should soar away into heights
above this earth.

TREPLIEFF. I beg your pardon, but where is Nina?

DORN. And yet another thing: every work of art should have a definite
object in view. You should know why you are writing, for if you follow
the road of art without a goal before your eyes, you will lose yourself,
and your genius will be your ruin.

TREPLIEFF. [Impetuously] Where is Nina?

DORN. She has gone home.

TREPLIEFF. [In despair] Gone home? What shall I do? I want to see her; I
must see her! I shall follow her.

DORN. My dear boy, keep quiet.

TREPLIEFF. I am going. I must go.

MASHA comes in.

MASHA. Your mother wants you to come in, Mr. Constantine. She is waiting
for you, and is very uneasy.

TREPLIEFF. Tell her I have gone away. And for heaven's sake, all of you,
leave me alone! Go away! Don't follow me about!

DORN. Come, come, old chap, don't act like this; it isn't kind at all.

TREPLIEFF. [Through his tears] Good-bye, doctor, and thank you.

TREPLIEFF goes out.

DORN. [Sighing] Ah, youth, youth!

MASHA. It is always "Youth, youth," when there is nothing else to be
said.

She takes snuff. DORN takes the snuff-box out of her hands and flings it
into the bushes.

DORN. Don't do that, it is horrid. [A pause] I hear music in the house.
I must go in.

MASHA. Wait a moment.

DORN. What do you want?

MASHA. Let me tell you again. I feel like talking. [She grows more and
more excited] I do not love my father, but my heart turns to you. For
some reason, I feel with all my soul that you are near to me. Help me!
Help me, or I shall do something foolish and mock at my life, and ruin
it. I am at the end of my strength.

DORN. What is the matter? How can I help you?

MASHA. I am in agony. No one, no one can imagine how I suffer. [She lays
her head on his shoulder and speaks softly] I love Constantine.

DORN. Oh, how excitable you all are! And how much love there is about
this lake of spells! [Tenderly] But what can I do for you, my child?
What? What?

The curtain falls.

 The scene is set in a park, just after sunset, somewhere on Sorin's provincial Russian estate. An improvised, makeshift theater stands center stage, with its curtain down. Behind the stage, a broad path leads away toward a lake. The makeshift stage, erected for the performance of Konstantin's play that is to take place that night, blocks the view to the lake. Behind the makeshift curtain, Yakov and other workmen can be heard working. Medvedenko and Masha enter, mid-conversation. "Why do you always wear black?" Medvedenko, the local schoolteacher, asks Masha. Masha, who is indeed wearing black, replies that she is in mourning for her life. Medvedenko tells her that he simply doesn't understand why she is unhappy: her father, Shamrayev isn't rich, but isn't poor either, and Masha herself is healthy. In fact, Medvedenko concludes, he himself has it much worse than she does. Medvedenko lives with his mother, two sisters and brother, and has only 23 rubles a month - and his situation is, therefore, extremely difficult. Masha certainly isn't interested in Medvedenko's romantic advances, and comments that Konstantin's play will soon begin. Masha, in love with Konstantin, is desperate to see the play, which Konstantin has written and in which Nina will be starring. Medvedenko sulkily compares Konstantin and Nina's relationship to his own relationship with Masha. "I love you", he tells her, only to be rejected by an indifferent Masha. Sorin, who is Konstantin's uncle, enters with Konstantin. Sorin, leaning on a stick, comments that he doesn't like being in the country and wishes that he could live in town. Konstantin ushers Masha and Medvedenko out, though not before Sorin complains to Masha about the howling of her father's dog. Yakov, a workman, gets permission from Konstantin to go for a swim before the play starts. Konstantin takes in his makeshift theater, delighted with the absence of scenery, and with the fact that the moon will rise just as the curtain goes up. Konstantin's delight, however, is soon replaced by the worry that Nina will not arrive on time from the house where her father and stepmother "keep guard" over her. Sorin asks about Arkadina, Konstantin's actress mother, and why she's rather volatile at present. Konstantin replies that it's because she's jealous of his play and the fact that Nina's acting in it. Konstantin also claims that she has seventy thousand rubles sitting in the bank, which she denies if she is ever asked to lend money. Sorin interrupts Konstantin's monologue attacking Arkadina to tell Konstantin that his mother worships him. Konstantin denies this, arguing that he makes Arkadina feel older than she would like to feel. He also suggests that his mother and he stand for different theatrical traditions: Arkadina's theater involves a proscenium arch, a set of three walls artificially lit, artificial acting, and, at the end, an artificial moral. Konstantin longs openly for "new artistic forms". He loves his mother, he continues, but he sometimes wishes she wasn't a famous actress. Konstantin continues that he wishes he knew who he was: his mother's friends, actors and writers, make him feel like a nonentity. Sorin changes the subject again, asking about "this novelist", Trigorin, Arkadina's new partner, who has come with her to stay on Sorin's estate. Konstantin replies indifferently, saying that Trigorin is nice enough, and his writing clever and charming, but "if you've read Tolstoy or Zola then you won't want to read Trigorin". Sorin comments that he achieved neither of the two things he wanted to achieve in life: to marry, and to become a "literary man". Nina enters and Konstantin lovingly embraces her - she is terrified that she is late. Konstantin sends Sorin to call everyone and the two are left alone. They kiss, and have a short conversation. Konstantin professes his love for her and says he will come to her house and look up at the window all night. Nina tells him not to. Nina then asks about Trigorin, saying that she loves his stories, which she compares unfavorably with Konstantin's play. The play, she says, is more like a recitation than a play as it doesn't have living characters or action. The time has come to start, and Konstantin and Nina go behind the stage. Polina and Dorn, the local doctor, enter. Polina is nagging Dorn to put his galoshes on and to protect himself from the damp air. When she criticizes him for being besotted with Arkadina, Dorn rather nonchalantly suggests that artists are higher people, and that everyone yearns for higher things. It seems immediately clear that Polina and Dorn are having - or once had - some sort of romantic relationship. Arkadina enters, on Sorin's arm, with Trigorin, Shamrayev, Medvedenko and Masha. Shamrayev is telling dull theatrical anecdotes, and a short argument ensues about the merits of the Russian theater and its actors. Konstantin comes out from behind the stage to announce his play, and Arkadina upstages him, showing off by quoting Gertrude's lines from Hamlet . Konstantin responds with some of Hamlet's lines to Gertrude - "to live / In the rank sweat of an enseamed bed..." These lines of sexual disgust begin to tell us something about how Konstantin feels about his mother's relationship with Trigorin. Konstantin announces his play as a dream of what will be two hundred thousand years from now. The curtain rises revealing the view across the lake, the moon, and its reflection. Nina sits on a stone, all in white. She recites a speech describing an apocalypse in which no creature walks the earth, and all souls are merged into one - the one, she reveals, that she portrays. As the marsh-lights appear and a smell of sulfur pervades the air, Arkadina starts to interrupt proceedings, until Konstantin silences her. Until, that is, Arkadina makes a joke at the expense of Nina's speech, and Konstantin loses his temper, calling the curtain down and announcing that the play is over. "I was forgetting that playwriting and acting are reserved for the chosen few" he fumes, before exiting. Sorin gently chides Arkadina for her insensitivity. Arkadina first claims that she thought the play was meant to be a "skit", before angrily asserting that Konstantin was attacking her and trying to give her "an object-lesson in the art of writing and acting". Suddenly singing is heard on the other side of the lake, and everyone pauses to listen to it. Arkadina motions Trigorin to sit next to her, and tells him how, a decade ago, constant singing and music were heard on the lakeside - back when Dr. Dorn was the irresistible "leading man" in the romantic shenanigans. Arkadina then claims that she feels guilty for having offended Konstantin, and sends a willing Masha off to find him. Nina comes out from behind the stage, a little embarrassed. Sorin and Arkadina congratulate her on her performance - and Arkadina introduces Nina to Trigorin. Arkadina is amused at Nina's amazement at meeting such a celebrity. Dorn calls to Yakov to take up the curtain again. Trigorin tells Nina that he didn't understand a word of the play, and that he loves fishing. Shamrayev then tells everyone an anecdote about someone bringing a thearre audience to a "freeze". There is a silence, which Nina interrupts by saying that she must go home - which she does, despite Sorin and Arkadina's protestations. Everyone except Dorn exits. Dorn, alone, reveals that he liked the play, and that there was "something in it". Konstantin comes out, having escaped from Masha, who he calls an "intolerable creature". Dorn tells Konstantin that he has talent and must continue writing. Konstantin is deeply moved, tears in his eyes, and he takes Dorn's hand. Dorn argues that a work of art always has to consider a substantial question of some sort, and muses about what he would have done had he had creative talent. Writing, Dorn says, has to express a clear and definite thought - "the picturesque path", Dorn argues, only leads to a writer losing his way. Masha enters, telling Konstantin that his mother is looking for him, and he exits, telling her to leave him alone. Masha starts to take snuff, but Dorn, suddenly and impulsively, grabs her snuffbox and throws it into the bushes. Masha then confides in Dorn. She tells him that she likes him, though she doesn't like her own father, Shamrayev, and admits that she's scared her love for Konstantin will make a mockery of her. "So much love around", Dorn muses, and, with tender irony, asks her what she expects him to do - and the curtain falls.

