X
The same and POPOVA.
POPOVA (enters with pistols). Here they are, the pistols . . . But, before we fight, you will be so kind as to show me how to shoot . . . Never in my life have I held a pistol in my hands.
LUKA. Save us, Lord, and be merciful . . . I’ll go see if I can find the gardener and the coachman . . . How did this disaster land on our head . . . (Exits.)
SMIRNOV (glancing at the pistols). You see, there are different types of pistol . . . There are special dueling pistols, the Mortimer, with percussion caps. What you’ve got here are revolvers of the Smith and Wesson make, triple action with an extractor, battlefield accuracy . . . Splendid pistols . . . Cost at least ninety rubles the brace . . . You have to hold a pistol like this . . . (Aside.) Her eyes, her eyes! An incendiary woman!
POPOVA. This way?
SMIRNOV. Yes, that way . . . Whereupon you raise the cocking piece . . . then take aim like so . . . Head back a bit ! Extend your arm, in the appropriate manner . . . That’s it . . . Then with this finger squeeze this doodad here — and that’s all there is to it . . . Only rule number one is: keep a cool head and take your time aiming . . . Try not to let your hand shake.
POPOVA. Fine . . . It’s not convenient to shoot inside, let’s go into the garden.
SMIRNOV. Let’s go. Only I warn you that I shall fire into the air.
POPOVA. Of all the nerve! Why?
SMIRNOV. Because . . . because . . . It’s my business, that’s why!
POPOVA. You’re chickening out? Are you? Ah-ah-ah-ah! No, sir, no worming out of it! Please follow me! I won’t rest until I’ve blown a hole in your head . . . that very head I hate so much! Are you chickening out?
SMIRNOV. Yes, I am.
POPOVA. That’s a lie! Why don’t you want to fight?
SMIRNOV. Because . . . because I . . . like you.
POPOVA (malicious laugh). He likes me! He dares to say that he likes me! (Points to the door.) You may go.
SMIRNOV (silently puts down the revolver, takes his cape, and goes; near the door he stops, for half a minute both look silently at one another; then he says, irresolutely crossing to Popova). Listen here . . . Are you still angry? . . . I’m damnably infuriated as well, but, don’t you understand . . . How can I put this . . . The fact is, you see, the way the story goes, speaking for myself . . . (Shouts.) Well, is it really my fault that I like you? (Grabs the back of a chair, the chair creaks and breaks.) What the hell sort of breakaway furniture have you got! I like you! Understand? I . . . I am practically in love!
POPOVA. Get away from me — I hate you!
SMIRNOV. God, what a woman! Never in my life have I seen anything like her! I’m done for! I’m destroyed! I’m caught in the mousetrap like a mouse!
POPOVA. Get out of here, or I’ll shoot!
SMIRNOV. Go ahead and shoot! You cannot understand what bliss it would be to die beneath the gaze of those wonderful eyes, to die from a gunshot fired by that small, velvety, dainty hand . . . I’ve gone out of my mind! Think it over, come to a decision right now, because once I leave this place, we shall never meet again! Come to a decision . . . I’m a gentleman, a respectable fellow, I have an income of ten thousand a year . . . if you toss a coin in the air, I can shoot a bullet through it . . . My horses are superb . . . Will you be my wife?
POPOVA (outraged, brandishes the revolver). Shoot! Twenty paces!
SMIRNOV. I’ve gone out of my mind . . . I don’t understand a thing . . . (Shouts. ) You there, water!
POPOVA (shouts). Twenty paces!
SMIRNOV. I’ve gone out of my mind, I’ve fallen in love like a little kid, like a fool! (Grasps her by the arm, she shrieks in pain.) I love you! (Gets on his knees.) I love as I have never loved before! Twenty women I’ve walked out on, ten have walked out on me, but not one of them did I love the way I love you . . . I’ve gone all touchy-feely, I’ve turned to sugar, I’m limp as a dishrag . . . I’m kneeling like a fool and offering you my hand . . . It’s a shame, a disgrace! It’s five years since I’ve been in love, I swore never again, and all of a sudden I’m head over heels, out of character like a long peg in a short hole!11 I offer you my hand. Yes or no? You don’t want to? You don’t have to! (Gets up and quickly goes to the door.)
POPOVA. Hold on . . .
SMIRNOV (stops). Well?
POPOVA. Never mind, you can go . . . Although, hold on . . . No, go, go away! I hate you! Or no . . . Don’t go! Ah, if you’d had any idea how really angry I am, really angry ! (Throws the revolver on the table.) My fingers are swollen from that awful thing . . . (Tears her handkerchief in rage.) Why are you standing there? Clear out of here!
SMIRNOV. Good-bye.
POPOVA. Yes, yes, go away! . . . (Shouts.) Where are you off to? Hold on . . . Go on, though. Oh, I’m really angry! Don’t come over here, don’t come over here!
SMIRNOV (crossing to her). I’m really angry at myself! I fell in love like a schoolboy, got on my knees . . . Goosebumps are creeping up and down my skin . . . (Rudely.) I love you! I need to fall in love with you like I need a hole in the head! Tomorrow I’ve got to pay the interest, haymaking’s begun, while you’re here . . . (Takes her round the waist.) I’ll never forgive myself . . .
POPOVA. Get away! Hands off! I . . . hate you! Twenty pa-paces!
A protracted kiss.
XI
The same, LUKA with an axe, the GARDENER with a rake, the COACHMAN with a pitchfork, and WORKMEN with staves.
LUKA (on seeing the kissing couple). Saints preserve us!
Pause.
POPOVA (with downcast eyes). Luka, tell the stable boys that Toby gets no oats today.
Curtain
VARIANTS TO
The Bear
Lines come from publication in the newspaper New Times (Novoe Vremya) (NT), the censor’s copy (Cens.), the lithographed script (Lith.), the periodicals Performer (Artist) (P), and Alarm-clock (Budilnik) (AC).
page 423 / After: as a guest . . . — for god’s sake . . . (NT, Cens., Lith., AC)
page 424 / After: really am angry — devil take me quite! How can I not get angry? (NT)
page 425 / After: have walked out on me — and now I know perfectly well how to behave with them. (NT, Cens, Lith., P, AC)
page 425 / After: fussy — mischievous as kittens, cowardly as rabbits (NT)
page 427 / After: you won’t get a kopek! — you’ll get it a year from now! (NT, Cens., Lith., P, AC)
page 427 / After: (Rings.) — Enter LUKA. (NT, Cens., Lith., AC)