SCENE V
MÍTYA and YÁSHA GÚSLIN
GÚSLIN. What a crowd there was at the fair! Your people were there. Why weren't you?
MÍTYA. Because I felt so awfully miserable.
GÚSLIN. What's the matter? What are you unhappy about?
MÍTYA. How can I help being unhappy? Thoughts like these keep coming into my head: what sort of man am I in the world? My mother is old and poor now, and I must keep her—and how? My salary is small; I get nothing but abuse and insults from Gordéy Kárpych; he keeps reproaching me with my poverty, as if I were to blame—and he doesn't increase my salary. I'd look for another place, but where can one find one without friends? And, yes, I will confess to you that I won't go to another place.
GOSLIN. Why won't you go? There at the Razlyulyáyevs' it's very nice—the people are rich and kind.
MÍTYA. No, Yasha, that doesn't suit me! I'll bear anything from Gordéy
Kárpych, I'll stand poverty, but I won't go away. That's my destiny!
GÚSLIN. Why so?
MÍTYA. [Rises] Well, I have a reason for this. It is, Yasha, because I have another sorrow—but nobody knows about it. I haven't spoken to any one about my sorrow.
GÚSLIN. Tell me about it.
MÍTYA. [Waving his hand] What for?
GÚSLIN. Yes, tell me; don't put on airs!
MÍTYA. Whether I tell you or not, you can't help me!
GÚSLIN. How do you know?
MÍTYA. [Walking toward GÚSLIN] Nobody can help me—I am a lost man! I've fallen wildly in love with Lyubóv Gordéyevna.
GÚSLIN. What's the matter with you, Mítya? Whatever do you mean?
MÍTYA. Well, anyhow, it's a fact.
GÚSLIN. You'd better put it out of your head, Mítya. Nothing can ever come of that, so there's no use thinking about it.
MÍTYA. Though I know all this, one cannot control one's heart. "To love is most easy, one cannot forget." [He speaks with violent gestures] "I love the beautiful girl more than family, more than race; but evil people forbid me, and they bid me cease."
GÚSLIN. Yes, indeed; but you must stop it! Now Anna Ivánovna is my equal; she has no money, and I haven't a kopek—and even so uncle forbids me to marry. It's no use for you to think of doing so. You'll get it into your head and then it'll be still harder for you.
MÍTYA. [Declaiming] "What of all things is most cruel? The most cruel thing is love." [Walking about the room.] Yasha, have you read Koltsóv?
GÚSLIN. Yes, why?
MÍTYA. How he describes all these feelings!
GÚSLIN. He does describe them exactly.
MÍTYA. Exactly, to perfection. [Walking about the room] Yasha!
GÚSLIN. What?
MÍTYA. I myself have composed a song.
GÚSLIN. You?
MÍTYA. Yes.
GÚSLIN. Let's make up a tune for it, and we'll sing it.
MÍTYA. Good! Here, take this [gives him a paper] and I'll write a little—I have some work: most likely Gordéy Kárpych will be asking me about it. [Sits and writes.
GÚSLIN takes the guitar and begins to pick out a tune. RAZLYULYÁYEV comes in with an accordion.