Arkadina (the actress) presently interrupts the monologue by saying softly to her neighbour, “This is decadent stuff.” The author, in a tone of imploring reproach, says, “Mamma!” The monologue continues, the Spirit of the World speaks of his obstinate struggle with the devil, the origin of material force. There is a pause. Far off on the lake two red dots appear. “Here,” says the Spirit of the World, “is my mighty adversary, the devil. I see his terrible glowing eyes.” Arkadina once more interrupts, and the following dialogue ensues: _Arkadina_: It smells of sulphur; is that necessary? _Constantine_: Yes. _Arkadina_ (_laughing_): Yes, that is an effect. _Constantine_: Mamma! _Ina_ (_continuing to recite_): He is lonely without man. _Paulin_ (_the wife of the agent_): (_To the doctor_): You have taken off your hat. Put it on again, you will catch cold. _Arkadina_: The doctor has taken off his hat to the devil, the father of the material universe. _Constantine_ (_losing his temper_): The play’s over. Enough! Curtain! _Arkadina_: Why are you angry? _Constantine_: Enough! Pull down the curtain! (_The curtain is let down._) I am sorry I forgot, it is only certain chosen people that may write plays and act. I infringed the monopoly, I ... (_He tries to say something, but waves his arm and goes out._) _Arkadina_: What is the matter with you? _Sorin_ (_her brother_): My dear, you should be more gentle with the _amour propre_ of the young. _Arkadina_: What did I say to him? _Sorin_: You offended him. _Arkadina_: He said himself it was a joke, and I took his play as a joke. _Sorin_: All the same ... _Arkadina_: Now it appears he has written a masterpiece! A masterpiece, if you please! So he arranged this play, and made a smell of sulphur, not as a joke, but as a manifesto! He wished to teach us how to write and how to act. One gets tired of this in the long-run,--these insinuations against me, these everlasting pin-pricks, they are enough to tire any one. He is a capricious and conceited boy! _Sorin_: He wished to give you pleasure. _Arkadina_: Really? Then why did he not choose some ordinary play, and why did he force us to listen to this decadent rubbish? If it is a joke I do not mind listening to rubbish, but he has the pretension to invent new forms, and tries to inaugurate a new era in art; and I do not think the form is new, it is simply bad.