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.”
