e of a "lovelorn Major."
You were only a Lieutenant then, and in love with somebody, but for some
reason they always called you a Major for fun.

VERSHININ. [Laughs] That's it... the lovelorn Major, that's got it!

MASHA. You only wore moustaches then. You have grown older! [Through her
tears] You have grown older!

VERSHININ. Yes, when they used to call me the lovelorn Major, I was
young and in love. I've grown out of both now.

OLGA. But you haven't a single white hair yet. You're older, but you're
not yet old.

VERSHININ. I'm forty-two, anyway. Have you been away from Moscow long?

IRINA. Eleven years. What are you crying for, Masha, you little fool....
[Crying] And I'm crying too.

MASHA. It's all right. And where did you live?

VERSHININ. Old Basmanni Road.

OLGA. Same as we.

VERSHININ. Once I used to live in German Street. That was when the Red
Barracks were my headquarters. There's an ugly bridge in between, where
the water rushes underneath. One gets melancholy when one is alone
there. [Pause] Here the river is so wide and fine! It's a splendid
river!

OLGA. Yes, but it's so cold. It's very cold here, and the midges....

VERSHININ. What are you saying! Here you've got such a fine healthy
Russian climate. You've a forest, a river... and birches. Dear, modest
birches, I like them more than any other tree. It's good to live here.
Only it's odd that the railway station should be thirteen miles away....
Nobody knows why.

SOLENI. I know why. [All look at him] Because if it was near it wouldn't
be far off, and if it's far off, it can't be near. [An awkward pause.]

TUZENBACH. Funny man.

OLGA. Now I know who you are. I remember.

VERSHININ. I used to know your mother.

CHEBUTIKIN. She was a good woman, rest her soul.

IRINA. Mother is buried in Moscow.

OLGA. At the Novo-Devichi Cemetery.

MASHA. Do you know, I'm beginning to forget her face. We'll be forgotten
in just the same way.

VERSHININ. Yes, they'll forget us. It's our fate, it can't be helped. A
time will come when everything that seems serious, significant, or very
important to us will be forgotten, or considered trivial. [Pause] And
the curious thing is that we can't possibly find out what will come to
be regarded as great and important, and what will be feeble, or silly.
Didn't the discoveries of Copernicus, or Columbus, say, seem unnecessary
and ludicrous at first, while wasn't it thought that some rubbish
written by a fool, h