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The seagull Nina Treplev end
Terms in this set (14)
Top of Scene
I have talked a great deal about new forms of art, but I feel myself gradually slipping into the beaten track. "The placard cried it from the wall..." "A pale face in a frame of dusky hair." -cried-frame-that is stupid. I shall begin again from the place where my hero is awakened by the noise of rain, and what follows must go. This description of a moonlight night is long and stilted. Trigorin has worked out a process of his own, and descriptions are easy for him. He writes that the neck of a broken bottle lying on the bank glittered in the moonlight, and the shadows lay black under the mill-wheel. There you have a moonlight night before your eyes, but I speak of the shimmering light, the twinkling stars, the distant sounds of a piano melting into the still and scented air, and the result is abominable. (pause) The conviction is gradually forcing itself upon me that good literature is not a question of forms new or old, but of ideas that must pour freely from the authors heart, without his bothering his head about any forms whatsoever. What was that? I can't see anything. I heard someone run down the steps. Who is there? Oh, Nina, Nina! Nina, Nina! It is you-you! I felt you would come; all day my heart has been aching for you. My darling, my beloved has come back to me! We mustn't cry, we mustn't cry.
There is some one here
No one is here.
Lock the door, Someone might come
No one will come in.
I know your mother is here. Lock the door.
There is no lock on that one. I shall put a chair against it. Don't be frightened, no one shall come in.
Let me have a look at you. It's nice and warm in here...This used to be the drawing room. Have I changed much?
Yes, you have grown thinner, and your eyes ae larger than they were. Nina, it seems so strange to see you! Why didn't you let me go to you? Why didn't you come sooner to me? You have been here nearly a week, I know. I have been several times each day to where you live, and have stood like a beggar beneath your window.
....What was I talking about? Oh, yes...Turgenev..."And God help all homeless wayfarers..." (She sobs)
Nina! You are crying again, Nina!
...And when I get there, I'll have the attentions of the "enlightened merchants to contend with. It is a rough life.
Why are you going to Eltz?
I've got a contract for the winter. It is time for me to go.
Nina, I have cursed you, and hated you, and torn up your photograph, and yet I have known every minute of my life that my heart and soul were yours for ever. To cease from loving you is beyond my power. I have suffered continually from the time I lost you and began to write, and my life has been almost unendurable. My youth was suddenly plucked from me then, and I seem now to have lived in this world for ninety years. I have called out to you. I have kissed the ground you walked on, wherever I have looked I have seen your face before my eyes, and the smile that had illumined for me the best years of my life.
Why does he talk to me like this?
I am quite alone, unwarmed by any attachment. I am as cold as if I were living in a cave. Whatever I write is dry and gloomy and harsh. Stay here, Nina, I beseech you, or else let me go away with you. Nina, why do you do that? For Gods sake, Nina!
My horses are at the gate. Don't bother to see me out. I'll go on my own... Give me some water.
Where are you going?
Back to town. (pause) is your mother here?
Yes... My uncle fell ill on Thursday, and we telegraphed for her to come.
...I have faith, and I don't suffer so much anymore. And when I think of my calling, I'm not afraid of life.
You have found your way, you know where you are going, but I am still groping in a chaos of phantoms and dreams, not knowing whom and what end I serving by it all. I do not believe in anything, and I do not know what my calling is.
...It's late. I can hardly stand...I am fainting, I am hungry.
Stay, and let me bring you some supper
Nina exits, then a pause
It would be a pity if she were seen in the garden. My mother would be distressed.
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