Vanya On 42nd Street Page #4

Well, then you'll get your rest

and your supper.

These days we're not dining until 6:00.

Cold tea.

Yes, the temperature in the samovar

markedly decreased.

No matter, Ivan Ivanich.

We'll drink it cold.

Oh, no, no. It's not Ivan Ivanich,

it's llya llych, ma'am.

Uh, llya llych.

Or you might want to call me Waffles,

as some do...

on account of the pockmarks on my face.

- Waffles.

- I know Your Excellency - your husband.

He knows me very well. We're old friends.

I lived right here on the estate.

You've probably seen me there at the table,

having dinner with you every night.

Ilya llych is our good right hand.

- Would you like some tea, Godfather?

- No, no.

Ah!

Ah, God!

What's the matter, Grandmother?

Forgot to tell Alexandr...

I received a letter from Kharkov today.

Pavel Alexeyevich

sent me his newest pamphlet.

- Oh, really?

- Mm-hmm.

- Is it interesting?

- Yes.

Interesting, yes...

but strange.

He's now refuting the very same things

he defended...

seven years ago.

How, how, how, how -

How... what?

How awful.

Nothing awful in it.

It happens all the time.

So just drink your tea, Mother.

No.

I want to talk.

We all want to talk.

We've been talking.

We've been talking and reading

and writing pamphlets...

for 50 years...

and I say, enough.

Why is it unpleasant for you

to hear me speak?

Oh!

Excuse me, Jean, but you have changed so much

this last year, I hardly know you.

You used to be a man of character...

a man of fine opinions,

an enlightened man, and now -

Oh, yes. I was so enlightened...

it's unfortunate

I lit the way for no one.

An enlightened man.

What worse could you say about me?

I'm 47 years old.

Up until one year ago,

I thought exactly the same way you did.

I joyed to cloud my mind

with this rank scholasticism...

that we all hold so dear...

not to see real life.

I knew that I was doing right.

What a fine man.

Now, if you'll excuse me,

if you only knew.

How can we know if you don't tell us?

I- I spend my nights in a vicious fury...

at the life I've let slip away from me.

I could have enjoyed everything in life.

I could have enjoyed everything!

I enjoyed nothing!

Now I'm too old.

Uncle, it's so depressing.

Are you blaming your former convictions?

What you say is not the fault

of your convictions - it's your fault!

It's your own fault!

Convictions by themselves are nothing.

Like - Like paint on a palette.

It's you who should have been working,

you who should have been using them...

doing real work.

- Oh, real work?

- Yes!

Well, not everyone is called,

you know, like our Herr Professor...

to go speaking and writing

and spewing work forth...

like some farm machine.

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