Vanya On 42nd Street Page #2

Now, there's a book -

a worked-out academic...

gout, rheumatism, migraine...

the liver inflamed with jealousy and envy...

lives on the estate of his first wife.

From choice?

No, because he's too cheap

to live in the town.

And the man prates constantly

about his misfortunes.

What are they? He has none.

The son of a poor deacon.

He's a scholarship student at the seminary.

Gets a degree, gets a teaching chair.

Now he's "Your Excellency," and he marries

the daughter of a senator, and so on.

But I say, forget that...

because this man

is so exceedingly fortunate...

as to write and lecture for 25 years...

upon a subject

of which he knows less than nothing.

Twenty-five years,

this wise man tells us about art.

Twenty-five years,

he reads the works of others...

he prattles about realism and naturalism...

specious nonsense

which the clever have long known...

and the stupid really don't care about.

Not a living soul

knows who he is or cares...

nor is he missed from a position

which he held for 25 years.

Isn't that something?

For 25 years, this man kept

some more worthy man out of a job.

Yet look at him.

He goes around as if he were saying...

"Yes, I'm here among you. "

Well, you know, I believe you're jealous.

Yes, I'm jealous.

What a Don Juan with women.

What a success with women is this man.

His first wife?

My sister, a transcendent beauty

pure as the blue sky.

Generous, noble.

She had more admirers

than this man had students.

And yet she loved him, God knows why,

the way only the pure angels love.

My mother, his mother-in-law...

she dotes on him to this day.

He inspires in her reverent awe.

And his second wife,

this beauty whom we just saw...

perceptive woman...

she married him,

he was already old.

She gave up to him her life,

her beauty, her luster.

For what?

Why? I'm asking you.

And she stays faithful to him?

Regrettably, yes.

- Regrettably?

- Yes, and I'll tell you why.

Because a fidelity like that is false.

From start to close,

it's composed of rhetoric.

To cheat on an old man who revolts you,

oh, that would be immoral.

But to willfully squander your youth

and stifle yourself in unhappiness...

well, now, that's something

we can really commend.

Well, now, Vanya,

you shouldn't say things like that.

I mean, someone who would betray

their husband or wife...

well, they just might next betray

the country or something, you know.

Oh, please, you're killing me.

Now, Vanya, please allow me.

You know, my wife, she ran away from me

the day after we were married.

I think she just didn't like me.

But do I then forget my duty? No.

To this day, I honor and revere her...

and to this day,

I am absolutely faithful to her.

I - I do everything I can for her.

That is, I give her what I have...

so that she could raise the children...

which she had

with the man that she loved.

Oh, have I given up happiness?

Yes, but I've kept my pride.

And what of her?

There she is, now no longer young.

Her beauty, as it must, has faded.

Her lover died.

What does she have now, hmm?

Nanny?

You go see to the chickens,

and I'll tend to the tea.

Yes.

You know, I came to see your husband.

You wrote he was deathly ill

with rheumatism complications...

and it seems

he's in the perfect pink of health.

- Ah, last night he was ill.

- Mm-hmm.

He complained of his legs.

Um, today, though, you're right.

He does seem fine.

Yes, he seems fine...

and I flat-out galloped 45 miles.

Never mind. It isn't the first time.

All right, um, I'll stay here tonight then,

if you don't mind.

At least I'll get some sleep.

Lovely. It's so rare

you spend the night here with us.

I - I don't suspect you've eaten,

have you?

No. Many thanks, and thank you kindly.

No, I haven't. No.

Well, then you'll get your rest

and your supper.

These days we're not dining until 6:00.

Cold tea.

Yes, the temperature in the samovar

markedly decreased.

No matter, Ivan Ivanich.

We'll drink it cold.

Oh, no, no. It's not Ivan Ivanich,

it's llya llych, ma'am.

Uh, llya llych.

Or you might want to call me Waffles,

as some do...

on account of the pockmarks on my face.

- Waffles.

- I know Your Excellency - your husband.

He knows me very well. We're old friends.

I lived right here on the estate.

You've probably seen me there at the table,

having dinner with you every night.

Ilya llych is our good right hand.

- Would you like some tea, Godfather?

- No, no.

Ah!

Ah, God!

What's the matter, Grandmother?

Forgot to tell Alexandr...

I received a letter from Kharkov today.

Pavel Alexeyevich

sent me his newest pamphlet.

- Oh, really?

- Mm-hmm.

- Is it interesting?

- Yes.

Interesting, yes...

but strange.

He's now refuting the very same things

he defended...

seven years ago.

How, how, how, how -

How... what?

How awful.

Nothing awful in it.

It happens all the time.

So just drink your tea, Mother.

No.

I want to talk.

We all want to talk.

We've been talking.

We've been talking and reading

and writing pamphlets...

for 50 years...

and I say, enough.

Why is it unpleasant for you

to hear me speak?

Oh!

Excuse me, Jean, but you have changed so much

this last year, I hardly know you.

You used to be a man of character...

a man of fine opinions,

an enlightened man, and now -

Oh, yes. I was so enlightened...

it's unfortunate

I lit the way for no one.

An enlightened man.

What worse could you say about me?

I'm 47 years old.

Up until one year ago,

I thought exactly the same way you did.

I joyed to cloud my mind

with this rank scholasticism...

that we all hold so dear...

not to see real life.

I knew that I was doing right.

What a fine man.

Now, if you'll excuse me,

if you only knew.

How can we know if you don't tell us?

I- I spend my nights in a vicious fury...

at the life I've let slip away from me.

I could have enjoyed everything in life.

I could have enjoyed everything!

I enjoyed nothing!

Now I'm too old.

Uncle, it's so depressing.

Are you blaming your former convictions?

What you say is not the fault

of your convictions - it's your fault!

It's your own fault!

Convictions by themselves are nothing.

Like - Like paint on a palette.

It's you who should have been working,

you who should have been using them...

doing real work.

- Oh, real work?

- Yes!

Well, not everyone is called,

you know, like our Herr Professor...

to go speaking and writing

and spewing work forth...

like some farm machine.

What do you mean by that?

Grandmother, Uncle Vanya, please!

I'm sorry. I'm done.

I am silent. Excuse me.

What a lovely day today.

Not too hot.

Excellent weather for -

Suicide.

Chick, chick,

chick, chick, chick, chick, chick!

Chick, chick, chick, chick,

chick, chick, chick, chick, chick!

- Chick, chick, chick, chick, chick!

- Nanny, which one are you calling?

Polka Dot has gone off with her chicks.

I don't want the crows to get them.

Here, chick, chick, chick,

chick, chick, chick, chick!

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