Arkadina. You envy him. There is nothing left for people with no talent and mighty pretensions to do but to criticise those who are really gifted. I hope you enjoy the consolation it brings.
Treplieff. [With irony] Those who are really gifted, indeed! [Angrily] I am cleverer than any of you, if it comes to that! [He tears the bandage off his head] You are the slaves of convention, you have seized the upper hand and now lay down as law everything that you do; all else you strangle and trample on. I refuse to accept your point of view, yours and his, I refuse!
Arkadina. That is the talk of a decadent.
Treplieff. Go back to your beloved stage and act the miserable ditch-water plays you so much admire!
Arkadina. I never acted in a play like that in my life. You couldn’t write even the trashiest music-hall farce, you idle good-for-nothing!
Treplieff. Miser!
Arkadina. Rag-bag!
Treplieff sits down and begins to cry softly.
Arkadina. [Walking up and down in great excitement] Don’t cry! You mustn’t cry! [She bursts into tears] You really mustn’t. [She kisses his forehead, his cheeks, his head] My darling child, forgive me. Forgive your wicked mother.
Treplieff. [Embracing her] Oh, if you could only know what it is to have lost everything under heaven! She does not love me. I see I shall never be able to write. Every hope has deserted me.
Arkadina. Don’t despair. This will all pass. He is going away to-day, and she will love you once more. [She wipes away his tears] Stop crying. We have made peace again.
Treplieff. [Kissing her hand] Yes, mother.
