POPOVA. I beg your pardon, but, in your opinion, just who is faithful and constant in love? Not the man?
SMIRNOV. Yes, ma’am, the man!
POPOVA. The man! (Malicious laugh.) The man is faithful and constant in love! Do tell, now there’s news! (Heatedly.) What right have you to say that! Men faithful and constant! If it comes to that, let me tell you that of all the men I’ve known and still know, the very best was my late husband . . . I loved him passionately, with every fiber of my being, as only a young, intelligent woman can love: I gave him my youth, happiness, life, my fortune, breathed through him, worshiped him like an idolator, and . . . and—then what? This best of men cheated me in the most shameless manner on every occasion! After his death I found in his desk a whole drawer full of love letters, and during his lifetime — horrible to remember!—he would leave me alone for weeks at a time, make advances to other women before my very eyes and betrayed me, squandered my money, ridiculed my feelings . . . And, despite all that, I loved him and was faithful to him . . . What’s more, now that he’s dead, I am still faithful and constant to him. I have buried myself for ever within these four walls, and until my dying day I shall not remove this mourning . . .
SMIRNOV (a spiteful laugh). Mourning! . . . I don’t understand who you take me for? Don’t I know perfectly well why you wear that black masquerade outfit and have buried yourself within these four walls? Of course I do! It’s so mysterious, so romantic! Some young cadet or bob-tailed poet will be walking by the estate, he’ll peer into the window and think: “Here lives the mysterious Tamara,10 who for love of her husband has buried herself within four walls.” We know these tricks!
POPOVA (flaring up). What? How dare you say such things to me!
SMIRNOV. You’ve buried yourself alive, but look, you haven’t forgot to powder your face!
POPOVA. How dare you talk to me that way?
SMIRNOV. Please don’t raise your voice to me, I’m not your foreman! Allow me to call things by their rightful names. I’m not a woman and I’m used to expressing opinions straight out! So be so kind as not to raise your voice!
POPOVA. I’m not raising my voice, you’re raising your voice! Be so kind as to leave me in peace!
SMIRNOV. Pay me the money and I’ll go.
POPOVA. I haven’t got any money!
SMIRNOV. No, ma’am, hand it over!
POPOVA. Just out of spite, you won’t get a kopek! You can leave me in peace!
SMIRNOV. I don’t have the pleasure of being either your spouse or your fiancé, so please don’t make scenes for my benefit. (Sits.) I don’t care for it.
POPOVA (panting with anger). You sat down!
SMIRNOV. I sat down.
POPOVA. I insist that you leave!
SMIRNOV. Hand over the money . . . (Aside.) Ah, I am really angry! Really angry!
POPOVA. I do not choose to have a conversation with smart-alecks! Please clear out of here!
Pause.
You aren’t going? No?
SMIRNOV. No.
POPOVA. No?
SMIRNOV. No!
POPOVA. Very well then! (Rings.)
IX
The same and LUKA.
POPOVA. Luka, escort this gentleman out!
LUKA (walks over to Smirnov). Sir, please leave when you’re asked! There’s nothing doing here . . .
SMIRNOV (leaping up). Shut up! Who do you think you’re talking to? I’ll toss you like a salad!
LUKA (grabs his heart). Heavenly fathers! . . . Saints alive! . . . (Falls into an armchair.) Oh, I feel faint, faint! I can’t catch my breath!
POPOVA. Where’s Dasha? Dasha! (Shouts.) Dasha! Pelageya! Dasha! (Rings.)
LUKA. Ugh! They’ve all gone out to pick berries . . . There’s no one in the house . . . Faint! Water!
POPOVA. Will you please clear out of here!
SMIRNOV. Would you care to be a little more polite?
POPOVA (clenching her fists and stamping her feet). You peasant! You unlicked bear! Upstart! Monster!
SMIRNOV. What? What did you say?
POPOVA. I said that you’re a bear, a monster!
SMIRNOV (taking a step). Excuse me, what right have you got to insult me?
POPOVA. Yes, I am insulting you . . . well, so what? You think I’m afraid of you?
SMIRNOV. And do you think because you’re a member of the weaker sex, you have the right to insult people with impunity? Really? I challenge you to a duel!
LUKA. Saints in heaven! . . . Holy saints! . . . Water!
SMIRNOV. We’ll settle this with firearms!
POPOVA. Just because you’ve got fists like hams and bellow like a bull, you think I’m afraid of you? Huh? You’re such an upstart!
SMIRNOV. I challenge you to a duel! I brook no insults and therefore I’ll overlook the fact that you are a woman, a frail creature!
POPOVA (trying to shout over him). You bear! You bear! You bear!
SMIRNOV. It’s high time we rid ourselves of the prejudice that only men have to pay for insults! Equal rights are equal rights, damn it all! I challenge you to a duel!
POPOVA. You want to settle it with firearms? As you like!
SMIRNOV. This very minute!
POPOVA. This very minute! My husband left some pistols behind . . . I’ll bring them here at once . . . (Hurriedly goes and returns.) I shall take great pleasure in pumping a bullet into your thick skull! You can go to hell! (Exits.)
SMIRNOV. I’ll smoke her like a side of bacon! I’m no snotnose kid, no sentimental puppy, female frailty has no effect on me!
LUKA. Dear, kind master! . . . (Gets on his knees.) Do me the favor, pity me, an old man, clear out of here! You’ve skeered me to death, and now you’re fixing to shoot up the place!
SMIRNOV (not listening to him). Shooting at one’s fellow human, that’s what I call equality, women’s rights! That puts both sexes on an equal footing! I will plug her on principle! But can you call her a woman? (Mimics.) “Damn you to hell . . . I’ll pump a bullet into your thick skull”? What’s that all about? She got flushed, her eyes blazed . . . She accepted my challenge! Honest to God, it’s the first time in my life I’ve ever seen . . .
LUKA. For heaven’s sake, go away! I’ll have prayers said for you forever!
SMIRNOV. Now that’s a woman! That’s something I can understand! An honest-to-God woman! Not a sourpuss, not a limp rag, but flames, gunpowder, a rocket! I’m almost sorry I’ll have to kill her!
LUKA (weeps). Master . . . my dear sir, go away!
SMIRNOV. I actually like her! I really do. Even if she didn’t have dimples in her cheeks, I’d like her! Even willing to forgive her the debt . . . and my anger’s gone . . . Wonderful woman!