have finished their studies amid poverty and hunger.
Matoush.—But do you know how old you would be when you would graduate? Thirty-two or thirty-three. And what would you amount to then? Nothing. How many years would fail to forty before you would be an independent man? Did you consider that?
Petr.—It would not be necessary that I should go to the university. I will learn a profession, any profession, even a low and an humble one.
Matoush.—And to find a low and an humble profession you had to study until you are twenty-eight. So that afterwards you could clerk, or play the lackey, like an excommunicated priest.
Kocianova (still crying).—Petrichek, Petrichek
Matoush.—Let us talk sensibly, Petr. Let us talk like two grown-up men who will not dodge the most painful questions. You’ll leave the seminary and go out into the world, the world with all its customs and conventionalities. You will perhaps be desirous of—let us talk uprightly, boy—you will perhaps be desirous of—married life
Kocianova (quietly).—Merciful Jesus!
Matoush.—No, sister, such things have to be talked over. (To Petr.) Tell me, in how many years would you hope to reach that stage of life, when as an honest man you could build you a homely hearth? Did you think of that?
Petr (confused and silent).
Matoush (again).—Have you thought of that? (After a while, with emphasis.) Petr, I know why you don’t answer me.
Petr (entirely confused).—But, uncle
Matoush (slowly and quietly).—You see, my boy, this question of mine confused you entirely. And I know why. (Goes over to him and takes him by the hand.) Look into my eyes. Look, Petr, without fear. It is not necessary, my dear fellow, that you should cast down your eyes before your old uncle.
Petr.—Uncle—(kisses his hand feverishly).
Matoush (to Kocianova).—Don’t cry, sister, don’t cry. You will not mend things with tears. (Goes over to her and embraces her lightly.) Go, poor woman. Go away from here for a while and leave us here alone. God will grant that we shall come to an understanding. (Helps her to rise.) Well, go, go, Marianka.
Kocianova (gets up, her hands on her breast).—Petrichek, have
