Part 3 (1/2)

ANNA PaVLOVNA. Very well! Turn your mother out of the house, and let in your rake of a husband!... Yes, I will not remain here! Good-bye, then--I leave you to your fate; you can do as you please! [Exit slamming door].

LISA [drops into a chair] That's the last straw!

SaSHA. Never mind.... It will be all right; we'll soon pacify Mother.

ANNA PaVLOVNA [pa.s.sing through] Dounyasha! My trunk!

SaSHA. Mother, listen!... [follows her out with a significant glance to Lisa].

Curtain.

SCENE 2

A room in the gipsies' house. The choir is singing ”Kanavela.” Fedya in his s.h.i.+rt-sleeves is lying p.r.o.ne on the sofa. Afremov sits astride a chair in front of the leader of the choir. An officer sits at a table, on which are bottles of champagne and gla.s.ses. A musician is taking notes.

AFReMOV. Fedya, are you asleep?

FeDYA [rising] Don't talk.... Now let's have ”Not at Eve.”

GIPSY LEADER. That won't do, Theodore Vasilyevich! Let Masha sing a solo now.

FeDYA. All right! And then, ”Not at Eve.” [Lies down again].

OFFICER. Sing ”Fateful Hour.”

GIPSY. All agreed?

AFReMOV. Go on!

OFFICER [to musician] Have you taken it down?

MUSICIAN. Quite impossible! It's different every time.... And the scale is somehow different. Look here! [Beckons to a gipsy woman who is looking on] Is this right? [Hums].

GIPSY. That's it, that's splendid!

FeDYA. He'll never get it; and if he does take it down and shoves it into an opera, he'll only spoil it!... Now, Masha, start off! Let's have ”Fateful Hour”--take your guitar. [Rises, sits down opposite her, and gazes into her eyes].

Masha sings.

FeDYA. That's good too! Masha, you're a brick!... Now then, ”Not at Eve”!

AFReMOV. No, wait! First, my burial song....

OFFICER. Why _burial_?

AFReMOV. Because, when I'm dead ... you know, dead and laid in my coffin, the gipsies will come (you know I shall leave instructions with my wife) and they will begin to sing ”I Walked a Mile” ... and then I'll jump out of my coffin!... Do you understand? [To the musician] You just write this down. [To the gipsies] Well, rattle along!

Gipsies sing.

AFReMOV. What do you think of that?... Now then, ”My Brave Lads”!