Shamraeff. [Sighing] Pashka Tchadin! There are none left like him. The stage is not what it was in his time. There were sturdy oaks growing on it then, where now but stumps remain.
Dorn. It is true that we have few dazzling geniuses these days, but, on the other hand, the average of acting is much higher.
Shamraeff. I cannot agree with you; however, that is a matter of taste, de gustibus.
Enter Treplieff from behind the stage.
Arkadina. When will the play begin, my dear boy?
Treplieff. In a moment. I must ask you to have patience.
Arkadina. [Quoting from Hamlet] My son,
“Thou turn’st mine eyes into my very soul;
And there I see such black grained spots
As will not leave their tinct.”
Treplieff. Attention, ladies and gentlemen! The play is about to begin. [A pause] I shall commence. [He taps the door with a stick, and speaks in a loud voice] O, ye time-honoured, ancient mists that drive at night across the surface of this lake, blind you our eyes with sleep, and show us in our dreams that which will be in twice ten thousand years!
Sorin. There won’t be anything in twice ten thousand years.
Treplieff. Then let them now show us that nothingness.
Arkadina. Yes, let them—we are asleep.
The curtain rises. A vista opens across the lake. The moon hangs low above the horizon and is reflected in the water. Nina, dressed in white, is seen seated on a great rock.
