the papers are full of him, his photograph is for sale everywhere, his works have been translated into many foreign languages, and yet he is overjoyed if he catches a couple of minnows. I always thought famous people were distant and proud; I thought they despised the common crowd which exalts riches and birth, and avenged themselves on it by dazzling it with the inextinguishable honour and glory of their fame. But here I see them weeping and playing cards and flying into passions like everybody else.
Treplieff comes in without a hat on, carrying a gun and a dead sea-gull.
Treplieff. Are you alone here?
Nina. Yes.
Treplieff lays the sea-gull at her feet.
Nina. What do you mean by this?
Treplieff. I was base enough to-day to kill this gull. I lay it at your feet.
Nina. What is happening to you?
Treplieff. [After a pause] So shall I soon end my own life.
Nina. You have changed so that I fail to recognise you.
Treplieff. Yes, I have changed since the time when I ceased to recognise you. You have failed me; your look is cold; you do not like to have me near you.
Nina. You have grown so irritable lately, and you talk so darkly and symbolically that you must forgive me if I fail to follow you. I am too simple to understand you.
Treplieff. All this began when my play failed so dismally. A woman never can forgive failure. I have burnt the manuscript to the last page. Oh, if you could only fathom my unhappiness! Your estrangement is to me terrible, incredible; it is as if I had suddenly waked to find this
