LUKA exits.
No, what kind of logic is that! A man needs money like crazy, he’s on the verge of hanging himself, and she won’t pay because, don’t you see, she’s indisposed to deal with financial matters! . . . Honest-to-God weaker-sex logic, all her brains are in her bustle! That’s why I never liked, still do not like to talk to women. For me it’s easier to sit on a keg of gunpowder than talk to a woman. Brr! . . . I’ve got goosebumps crawling up and down my skin—that’s how much that petticoat has enraged me! All I need is to see in the distance some “weaker vessel” and my calves start to cramp with anger. It makes you want to call for help.
VII
SMIRNOV and LUKA.
LUKA (enters and serves water). The mistress is sick and won’t see anyone.
SMIRNOV. Get out!
LUKA exits.
Sick and won’t see anyone! Then don’t, don’t see me . . . I’ll sit in this spot here until you hand over the money. You can be sick for a week, and I’ll sit here for a week . . . You can be sick for a year—and I’ll stay a year . . . I’ll have what’s due me, my fair lady! You don’t get to me with your mourning weeds and dimples on your cheeks . . . We know the meaning of those dimples! (Shouts out the window.) Semyon, unhitch the horses! We’ll be here for a while! I’m sticking around! Tell ‘em in the stable to give the horses oats! Again, you swine, you’ve got the left trace-horse7 tangled up in the reins! (Mimics him.) “It makes no never mind . . .” I’ll give you no never mind! (Walks aways from the window.) Disgusting . . . the heat’s unbearable, nobody pays what they owe, I got no sleep last night, and now this petticoat in mourning with the way she’s feeling now . . . My head aches . . . Should I have some vodka or what? I suppose a drink’ll be all right . . . (Shouts.) You there!
LUKA (enters). What d’you want?
SMIRNOV. Get me a glass of vodka!
LUKA exits.
Oof! (Sits and looks around.) Got to admit, I’m a pretty picture! Covered with dust, boots muddy, haven’t washed, or combed my hair, straw on my vest . . . I’ll bet the little lady took me for a highway robber. (Yawns.) It is a bit uncouth to show up in a drawing-room looking like this, well, never mind . . . I’m not here as a guest, but as a bill collector, there’s no rules of etiquette for bill collectors . . .
LUKA (enters and serves vodka). You’re taking a lot of liberties, sir . . .
SMIRNOV (angrily). What?
LUKA. I . . . I didn’t mean . . . I strictly . . .
SMIRNOV. Who do you think you’re talking to? Hold your tongue!
LUKA (aside). Jumped right down my throat, the monster . . . Why the hell did he have to show up?
LUKA exits.
SMIRNOV. Oh, I really am angry. So angry that, I think I could grind the whole world into dust . . . I’m even feeling faint . . . (Shouts.) You there!
VIII
POPOVA and SMIRNOV.
POPOVA (enters, averting her eyes). Dear sir, during my lengthy isolation I have grown unaccustomed to the human voice and I cannot bear shouting. I earnestly beg you not to disturb my peace!
SMIRNOV. Pay me my money and I’ll go.
POPOVA. I told you in plain Russian: I don’t have any loose cash at the moment, wait until the day after tomorrow.
SMIRNOV. I also had the honor of telling you in plain Russian: I don’t need the money the day after tomorrow, but today. If you don’t pay me today, then tomorrow I shall have to hang myself.
POPOVA. But what am I supposed to do, if I haven’t got any money? How very peculiar!
SMIRNOV. So you won’t pay me right this minute? No?
POPOVA. I can’t . . .
SMIRNOV. In that case I shall stay sitting here until I get it . . . (Sits.) The day after tomorrow you’ll pay up? Wonderful! I shall sit until the day after tomorrow just like this. Look, see how I’m sitting . . . (Jumps up.) I ask you: do I have to pay the interest tomorrow or not? . . . Or do you think I’m joking?
POPOVA. Dear sir, I ask you not to shout! This isn’t a stable!
SMIRNOV. My question was not is this a stable, but do I need to pay the interest tomorrow or not?
POPOVA. You don’t know how to behave in the presence of a lady!
SMIRNOV. Yes, ma’am, I do know how to behave in the presence of a lady!
POPOVA. No, you don’t! You are an ill-mannered, boorish fellow! Respectable people don’t talk to ladies this way!
SMIRNOV. Ah, this is wonderful! How would you like me to talk to you? In French or something? (Maliciously, lisping.) Madame, shay voo pree8. . . I’m absolutely delighted that you won’t pay me my money . . . Ah, pardon, that I’m disturbing you! Isn’t the weather lovely today! And how that mourning becomes you! (Bowing and scraping.)
POPOVA. That’s not witty, it’s rude.
SMIRNOV (mimics her). That’s not witty, it’s rude! I don’t know how to behave in the presence of a lady! Madam, in my lifetime I’ve seen more women than you’ve had hot dinners! Three times I fought a duel with firearms over a woman, I’ve walked out on a dozen women and ten have walked out on me! Yes, ma’am! There was a time when I played the fool, got all sticky-sentimental, talked the sweet-talk, laid on the soft-soap, clicked my heels . . . I loved, suffered, bayed at the moon, went spineless, melted, turned hot and cold . . . I loved passionately, madly, you-name-it-ly, damn it, squawked like a parrot about women’s rights, spent half my fortune on hearts and flowers, but now—thanks but no thanks! You won’t lead me down the garden path again! Enough is enough! Black eyes, flashing eyes,9 crimson lips, dimpled cheeks, the moon, low whispers, heavy breathing—for all this, madam, I now don’t give a tinker’s dam! Present company excepted, but all women, great and small, are phonies, show-offs, gossips, trouble-makers, liars to the marrow of their bones, vain, fussy, ruthless, their reasoning is a disgrace, and as for what’s in here (slaps his forehead), forgive my frankness, a sparrow could give ten points to any thinker in petticoats! You gaze at some romantic creature: muslin, moonshine, a demi-goddess, a million raptures, but take a peep into her soul—a common- or garden-variety crocodile! (Grabs the back of a chair, the chair creaks and breaks.) But the most outrageous thing of all is that this crocodile for some reason imagines that its masterpiece, its prerogative and monopoly is the tender passion! Damn it all to hell, hang me upside-down on this nail—does a woman really know how to love anyone other than a lapdog? In love she only knows how to whimper and snivel! While a man suffers and sacrifices, all of her love is expressed only in swishing the train on her dress and trying to lead him more firmly by the nose. You have the misfortune to be a woman, you probably know what a woman’s like from your own nature. Tell me on your honor: have you ever in your life seen a woman be sincere, faithful and constant? You have not! Faithfulness, constancy, — that’s only for old bags and freaks! You’ll sooner run into a cat with horns or a white blackbird than a constant woman!