eat and
drink and sleep. Something is wrong.

MARINA. [Shaking her head] Such a confusion in the house! The Professor
gets up at twelve, the samovar is kept boiling all the morning, and
everything has to wait for him. Before they came we used to have dinner
at one o'clock, like everybody else, but now we have it at seven. The
Professor sits up all night writing and reading, and suddenly, at two
o'clock, there goes the bell! Heavens, what is that? The Professor wants
some tea! Wake the servants, light the samovar! Lord, what disorder!

ASTROFF. Will they be here long?

VOITSKI. A hundred years! The Professor has decided to make his home
here.

MARINA. Look at this now! The samovar has been on the table for two
hours, and they are all out walking!

VOITSKI. All right, don't get excited; here they come.

Voices are heard approaching. SEREBRAKOFF, HELENA, SONIA, and TELEGIN
come in from the depths of the garden, returning from their walk.

SEREBRAKOFF. Superb! Superb! What beautiful views!

TELEGIN. They are wonderful, your Excellency.

SONIA. To-morrow we shall go into the woods, shall we, papa?

VOITSKI. Ladies and gentlemen, tea is ready.

SEREBRAKOFF. Won't you please be good enough to send my tea into the
library? I still have some work to finish.

SONIA. I am sure you will love the woods.

HELENA, SEREBRAKOFF, and SONIA go into the house. TELEGIN sits down at
the table beside MARINA.

VOITSKI. There goes our learned scholar on a hot, sultry day like this,
in his overcoat and goloshes and carrying an umbrella!

ASTROFF. He is trying to take good care of his health.

VOITSKI. How lovely she is! How lovely! I have never in my life seen a
more beautiful woman.

TELEGIN. Do you know, Marina, that as I walk in the fields or in
the shady garden, as I look at this table here, my heart swells with
unbounded happiness. The weather is enchanting, the birds are singing,
we are all living in peace and contentment--what more could the soul
desire? [Takes a glass of tea.]

VOITSKI. [Dreaming] Such eyes--a glorious woman!

ASTROFF. Come, Ivan, tell us something.

VOITSKI. [Indolently] What shall I tell you?

ASTROFF. Haven't you any news for us?

VOITSKI. No, it is all stale. I am just the same as usual, or perhaps
worse, because I have become lazy. I don't do anything now but croak
like an old raven. My mother, the old magpie, is still chattering about
the emancipation of woman, with one eye on her grave