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ShabelskyYou’ve had enough ‘Gavrila’ – your nose looks as if it’s on fire.

Lebedev(drinks) What if it does? I’m not getting married today.

ZinaidaIt’s ages since Doctor Lvov was here. He’s forgotten us.

SashaI can’t bear him. Uprightness in boots. He can’t ask for a glass of water without pushing his honesty in your face. A walking, talking advert for honesty, it’s stamped on his forehead, ‘Solid Honesty’. He’s a bore.

ShabelskyHe’s a prig and a bigot. (Mimics.) ’Make way for honest speech!’ Preaching non-stop like a parrot, and anyone who doesn’t preach along is a cad. The profundity of his thoughts is astounding. If a peasant has done well for himself and lives like a human being, that means he’s on the fiddle and a scrounger. If I wear a smoking jacket, and have a servant to help me dress, I’m a worthless exploiter. He’s got honesty coming out of his ears. I don’t know – you only have to look at him sideways and he’s quite liable to take hold of you and call you names because it’s his moral duty.

IvanovHe’s tiresome, but still, I quite like him, he’s completely sincere.

ShabelskyOh, I’m sure he is! He came up to me last night and out of nowhere he said, ‘You know, Count, I find you deeply repugnant!’ Well, thank you very much. And it’s not simply personal, oh no, there’s bigotry there, his voice trembles, his eyes burn, his knees shake . . . To hell with his gimcrack sincerity. I may be repugnant to him, that’s fair enough, I don’t need telling, so why does he have to tell me to my face? So I’m worthless, fine, but when all’s said and done, grey hairs deserve respect. His honesty is as mindless as it’s merciless.

LebedevOh, come on – you were young once . . .

ShabelskyYes, I was a young hothead in my time – a second Chatsky outfacing the frauds and philistines – but I never called a thief a thief to his face, or mentioned rope in the house of a hanged man, I was properly brought up. But that boneheaded quack thinks he’ll have served his purpose in life if he could haul me up in public and, in the name of his humane and idealistic principles, put his boot in where it hurts.

LebedevI had an uncle, when he was a young man he was a Hegelian, and he’d invite people to his house and when he’d had a few drinks he’d get up on a chair, like this, and harangue them about being ignoramuses and forces of darkness – announcing the dawn of a new age and blahdy-blah . . .

SashaWhat did the guests do?

LebedevIgnored him, of course – carried on drinking. I challenged him to a duel once – my own uncle! We fell out about something or other in Francis Bacon. What happened was, I was sitting where Matvey is sitting, and uncle and the late Gerasim Nilych were standing there, about where Nikolay is standing – well, Gerasim Nilych goes and asks a question . . .

Enter Borkin dressed in his best clothes, with a package in his hands, bouncing up and down and humming. There is a buzz of approval.

LadiesMisha! Mikhail Mikhailovich!

LebedevMichel Michelich! – Listen to this . . .

BorkinI’ve arrived!

ShabelskyNow the fun starts!

Borkin(runs up to Sasha) Noble signorina, may I be so bold as to congratulate the universe on the birthday of its loveliest flower . . . and as proof of my esteem, present you - (Hands her the package.) with these fireworks and sparklers of my own manufacture. May they light up the night as you brighten the gloom of this realm of darkness.

He makes a theatrical bow.

SashaThank you.

Lebedev(laughs loudly; to Ivanov) Why don’t you send the rogue on his way?

Borkin(to Lebedev) Pavel Kirillich! (To Ivanov.) And my guv’nor . . . (Sings.) Nicolas – voilà, hi-de-ho! (Goes round to everyone.) The most respected Zinaida Savishna . . . The divine Marfa Yegorovna . . . The ancient Avdotya Nazarovna . . . His exalted Excellency.

Shabelsky(laughs loudly) The life and soul . . . He walks in and the mood brightens. Notice that?

BorkinPhew, I’m exhausted . . . I think that’s everyone. Well, what’s the latest, ladies and gents? Any news to set the ears waggling? (To Zinaida, eagerly.) Something for you, Mama dear. When I was on my way here . . . (To Gavrila.) Get me a glass of tea, Gavryushka, only skip the gooseberry jam . . . (To Zinaida.) Yes, on my way to you just now, there were some peasants by the river stripping the bark off your willows. You should have those willows farmed out to somebody.

Lebedev(to Ivanov) Throw the Judas out on his ear.

Zinaida(alarmed) He’s right! I never even thought of it.

Borkin does ‘physical jerks’.

BorkinMust exercise, can’t get by without it. Mamasha, haven’t you got a new game we can play? I’m on top form, Marfa, I feel inspired.

ZinaidaYes, organise something – we need you.

BorkinWhy’ve you all got your tails between your legs? You look like a jury, sitting there. Let’s have a think. What do you fancy? Forfeits? Skip-rope, dancing, fireworks?

Ladies(clapping their hands) Fireworks! Oh, yes – fireworks!

They start hurrying out into the garden.

Sasha(to Ivanov) Why do you look so unhappy?

IvanovMy head aches, Sasha, and, besides, it’s all so boring.

SashaCome into the drawing room.

They go next door, while everyone follows Borkin into the garden except Zinaida and Lebedev.

ZinaidaThat’s my kind of man – a young fellow who’s hardly here a minute and he’s cheered everyone up. (Turns down the large lamp.) No point in burning oil for nothing while they’re in the garden.

LebedevZyuzyushka, we must give our guests a bite to eat.

ZinaidaLook at all those candles . . . No wonder people think we’re rich.

She puts them out.

LebedevZyuzyushka, for goodness sake, we must give these people some food . . . young people get hungry . . . Zyuzyushka . . .

Zinaida(leaving) The Count didn’t finish his tea. What a waste of sugar!

Lebedev(following her) Yes, dear, but . . .

Sasha comes in with Ivanov.

SashaThey’re all in the garden.

IvanovSo that’s how things are, Sasha. When I used to be working and thinking all the time, I never got tired. Now I don’t do anything and don’t think about anything, and I’m weary in body and soul. I’ve got a bad conscience awake and asleep, I feel everything’s my fault, but as to what’s my fault and why it’s my fault, I’ve no idea. And then there’s my wife’s illness, and money problems, the constant bickering and the rows and pointless conversation . . . and that fool Borkin . . . I’ve come to loathe being at home, it’s torture. I tell you frankly, Shurochka, even being in the same room as my wife, who loves me, it’s become unbearable. You won’t be angry with me for telling you. I came to see you to cheer myself up but I’m already longing to go home – Forgive me, I’m going to slip away.