page 110 / After: Am I your inferior or what? — At least once in my life I should give free rein to my flesh . . . Sometimes rejuvenation works in conjunction with stupidity . . .
page 111 / Before: Leave me out of it! — . . . And when, my dear sir, will you and your dear papa stop opening taverns? And when will I stop being the most fervent customer at your taverns? When will the Vengeroviches disappear and stop eating the hard-earned bread of the Platonovs? When? Let’s shut up, my dear fellow . . . Or here’s what . . .
page 111 / Replace: (Goes far upstage and comes back again.)
with: (Goes far upstage.)
PLATONOV. Poor fellow! So much contradiction, so much unnecessary crap, insufferably old-fashioned pedantry in this poor little body! Ech! They should give me back my youth again! I could show him . . . And sits and moans! There’s nothing to be done with him! He has to tell the world, that personal happiness is egoism! That’s the only thing he’s got to do! What inexcusable impoverishment! His tongue and another man’s words . . . No more! No more of other people’s words and other people’s brains!
VENGEROVICH JR. walks back.
page 112 / After: Ugh! — Youth, youth! . . . On one hand, a healthy body, a lively brain, total honesty, boldness, love of freedom, light and greatness, and, on the other, contempt for hard work, desperate phrase-making, foul language, licentiousness, boasting . . . On one hand, Shakespeare and Goethe, and on the other money, career, and whoring! What about arts and sciences? (Laughs.) Poor orphans! Neither called nor chosen! It’s high time to file them in the archives or lock them up in a home for illegitimate children . . . (Roars with laughter.) A hundred million people with heads, brains and — a handful of scholars, some fifty artists and not a single writer! That’s an awful lot! Neither called nor chosen! Have fun, kind people! Arts and sciences is hard work, it’s the triumph of ideas over muscles, it’s an evangelical life . . . and what is life to us? Without living we still know how to die!
Pause.
It’s horrible!
page 113 / Replace: PLATONOV (leaps up).
with: PLATONOV. What do you want from me? (Leaps up.) What do you want from me?
page 113 / After: I rode over, my dear! — (Laughs out loud.)
page 114 / Before: But are you really mine? — Do I really know what makes your eyes shine so brightly? You want happiness, you expect the triumph of youth, passions, ardor . . . Courageous and honorable words of love . . .
page 116 / Replace: No fooling.
with: Would you like me to introduce you to the editor of our local paper? I’m acquainted with him . . . No fooling . . . Oh you . . . Oh you, my darling big bass drum! Oh you . . .
page 117 / Replace: carpenters
with: janitors
page 118 / After: you ingrate! —
PLATONOV (walks up to him). Get out of here!
PETRIN. Huh?
PLATONOV. Clear out of here!
PETRIN. Why get angry? No need to get angry, sweetheart! Where’s the road? There it is, the road! (Shouts.) Where’s the road? There’s the roadoden-dron! Good-bye, Mister Platonov! Did you hear, sweetheart, the way I cursed her out?
PLATONOV. I heard.
PETRIN. Don’t you dare . . . tell her! I was joshing. Pava and I . . .
PLATONOV. All right . . . Go away! By the way, Gerasim Kuzmich . . . If I ever see you at the Voinitsevs’ again, if I hear just one word about that sixteen thousand, you old crook, then . . . I’ll throw you out the window!
PETRIN. I understand, young man! Take my arm, Pavochka! You’re the only friend I have left . . .
They start to go.
You’ll throw me out, your arms are too short! I’ll call in the I.O.U.s, and a certain somebody will be out of a school job! I’ll get you fired! We don’t need your ideas! We don’t need all these ideas and hocus-pocus! We need teachers, not Spinozas and Martin Zadeks!9 I’ll denounce you and get you fired! Honest to God, I’ll get you fired! We know all about his ideas, Pav-ochka! I’ll drag him through the mud! I’ll write a letter to the district police chief right away . . .
PLATONOV. And what will you scribble?
PETRIN (shouts). That’ll do, sir! That’ll do! We understand!
They start to go.
PLATONOV. That’ll do, but remember that you were educated at Moscow University, that by the stupidest of fates you call yourself a cultured Russian! Don’t be crass, because your crassness is sullying not only you but the reputation of cultured Russians!
PETRIN. All right! Sing, nightingale!
PLATONOV. Leave slander and denunciations to those who don’t value that wretched reputation! I won’t say anything else! Sober up and mark my words!
page 119 / Replace: but if you had any idea . . . an irreparable mistake . . .
with: It’s not me going to your place, but my weak body . . . I would have thrown you over, if it hadn’t been for this, this ill-behaved body!
ANNA PETROVNA. How loathsome! . . . (Strikes Platonov with her riding-crop.) Talk, talk, but mind what you’re saying! (Walks away from Platonov.) You want to go, go, you don’t want to — the hell with it! I’m not about to beg you! That’s going too far!
PLATONOV. But . . . It’s too late to be insulted! (Walks behind her and takes her by the arm.)
ANNA PETROVNA tears away her arm.
PLATONOV. It doesn’t matter, after all . . . I’ll go . . . Now you’ve unleashed the devil in me . . . Are you turning away? It’s too late to be insulted! We’re now both stuck in the same situation and no matter how much we offend one another’s dignity, we cannot separate . . . We’re weak! Don’t be insulted, woman! (Embraces her.) I don’t mean to insult you! I wanted to express myself more graphically . . . I’d kill myself rather than insult you . . . You’re everything to me! Even when you’re sinning I think you’re great!
page 121 / Replace: Good-bye
with: Zheh voo saloo!10
page 124 / Replace: What am I thinking!
with: Where is their strength, their reason? What a one I am! My soul weeps, but some kind of cursed power, some kind of demon holds me back, shoves with all his might . . .
page 124 / After: I will make a note of it! — Filth . . . filth! I’ll make a note and show it to anyone I want to corrupt!
page 128 / After: (Runs out.)
ECHO. You bastard . . . turd . . . turd . . .
ACT THREE
page 132 / After: for your sacrifices? — Ugh, Sofya, Sofya . . . those sacrifices of yours . . . dreadful! . . . your ruin!
page 134 / After: of this whole tiresome mess! — I’m a lunatic! I don’t know what I’m to say and to do!