LuKA, clutching at hisheart: Mercy on us! Holy saints! Drops into an armchair. Oh, I'm sick, I'm sick! I can't get my breath!
Mme. Popova: But where is Dasha? Dasha? Shouts. Dasha! Pelageya! Dasha! Rings.
L^^: Oh, they've all gone berrying . . . There's no one here . . , I'm sick, water!
Mme. Popova, to Smirnov: Please, get out!
Smirnov: Can't you be a little more civil?
Mme. Popova, clenching her fists and rtamping her feet: You're a boor! A brute, a bully, a monster!
Smirnov: What! What did you say?
Mme. Popova: I said that you were a brute, a monster.
Smirnov, advancing upon her: Excuse me, but what right have you to insult me?
Mme. Popova: Yes, I insulted you. What of it? Do you think I'm afraid of you?
Smibnov: And you think, just because you're a poetic creature, you can insult people with impunity, eh? I challenge you!
Luka: Mercy on us! Holy saints! Water!
Smirnov : We'll shoot it out!
Mme. Popova: Just because you have big fists and bel- low like a bull, you think I'm afraid of you, eh? Bully!
Smirnov: I challenge you! I won't allow anybody to insult me, and it makes no difference to me that you're a woman, a member of the weaker sex.
Mme. Popova, trying to outshout him: Brute, brute, brute!
Smirnov: It's high time to abandon the prejudice that men alone must pay for insults. Equal rights are equal rights, devil take it! I challenge you!
Mme. Popova: You want to shoot it out? Well and good.
Smirnov: This very minute.
Mme. Popova: This very minute. I have my husband's pistols. I'll bring them directly. Walks rapidly away and turns back. What pleasure it will give me to put a bullet into your brazen head! Devil take you! Exits.
Smirnov : I'll bring her down like a duck. I'm no boy, no sentimental puppy. There's no weaker sex as far as I'm concerned.
LuKA, to Smirnov: Master, kind sir! Going down on his knees. Have pity on an old man, do me a favor—go away from here! You've frightened me to death, and now you want to fight a duel!
Smirnov, not listening to him: A duel! That's equal rights, that's emancipation! That's equality of the sexes for you! I'll bring her down as a matter of principle. But what a woman! Mimics her. "Devil take you . . . I'll put a bullet into your brazen head." What a woman! She flushed and her eyes shone! She accepted the chal- lenge! Word of honor, it's the first time in my life that I've seen one of that stripe.
Luka: Kind master, please go away, and I will pray for you always.
Smirnov: That's a woman! That's the kind I under- stand! A real woman! Not a sour-faced, spineless cry- baby, but a creature all fire and gunpowder, a cannon- baU! It's a pity I have to kill her!
LuKA, crying: Sir, kind sir, please go away!
Smirnov : I positively like her! Positively! Even though she has dimples in her cheeks, I like her! I am even ready to forgive her the debt . . . And I'm not angry any more. A remarkable woman! Enter Mme . Popova with the pistols.
Mme. Popova: Here are the pistols. But before we fight, please show me how to shoot. I never held a pistol in my hands before.
Luka: Lord, have mercy on us! I'll go and look for the gardener and the coachman. Why has this calamity be- fallen us? Exits.
Smirnov, examining the pistols: You see, there are several makes of pistols. There are Mortimers, specially made for duelling, they are fired with the percussion cap. What you have here are Smith and Wesson triple- action, central-fire revolvers with extractors. Excellent pistols! Worth ninety rubles a pair at least. You hold the revolver like this . . . A»de. The eyes, the eyes! A woman to set you on fire!
Mme. Popova: Like this?
Smirnov: Yes, like this. Then you cock the trigger . • . and you take aim like this . . . throw your head back a little! Stretch your arm out properly . . . Like this . . . Then you press this gadget with this finger, and that's all there is to it. . . . The main thing is: Keep cool and take aim slowly. . . . And try not to jerk your arm.
Mme. Popova: Very well. It's inconvenient to shoot in- doors, let's go into the garden.
SMmNOv: All right. Only I warn you, I'll fire into the air.
Mme. Popova: That's all that was wanting. Why?
Smirnov: Because . . . because . . . It's my busi- ness why.
Mme. Popova: You're scared, eh? Ah, ah, ah! No, sir, don't try to get out of it! Be so good as to follow me.
I shan't rest until I've drilled a hole in your forehead . . . this forehead that I hate so! Scared?
Smirnov: Yes, I am scared.
Mme. Popova: You're lying! Why do you refuse to fight?
SMIRNOv: Because . . . because I . .. . like you.
Mme. Popova laughing bitterly: He likes mel He dares to say that he likes me! Shows him the door. You may go.
Smirnov, silently puts down the revolver, takes his cap and walks to the door; there he stops and for half a minute the pair look at each other without a word; then he says, hesitatingly approaching Mme. Popova: Listen . . . Are you still angry? I'm in a devil of a temper myself, but you see . . . how shall I put it? • . . the thing is ... you see . . . it's this way . . . in fact . • . Shouts. Well, am I to blame if I like you? Clutches the back of his chair; it cracks and breaks. The devil! What fragile furniture you have! I like you. You understand. I've almost fallen in love.
Mme. Popova: Go away from me. I hate you.
Smirnov: God, what a woman! Never in my life have I seen anything like her! I'm lost. I'm done for. I'm trapped like a mouse.
Mme. Popova: Go away, or I'll shoot.
SMIRNOV: Shoot! You can't understand what happiness it would be to die before those enchanting eyes . . . to die of a revolver shot fired by this little velvet hand! I've lost my mind. Think a moment and decide right now, because if I leave this house, we'll never see each other again. Decide. I'm a landed gentleman, a decent fellow, with an income of ten thousand a year; I can put a bullet through a penny thrown into the air; I have a good stable. Will you be my wife?
Mme. PorovA, indignant, brandishing the revolver: We'll shoot it out! Come along! Get your pistol.
Smihnov: I've lost my mind. I don't understand any- thing. Shouts. You there! Some water!
Mme. Popova shouts: Come! Let's shoot it out!
Smirnov: I've lost my mind. I've fallen in love like a boy, like a fool. Seizes her by the hand; she cries out with pain. I love you. Goes down on his knees. I love you as I've never loved before. I jilted twelve women and was jilted by nine. But I didn't love one of them as I do you. I've gotten sentimental. I'm melting. I'm weak as water. Here I am on my knees like a fool, and I offer you my hand. It's a shame, a disgrace! For five years I've not been in love. I took a vow. And suddenly I'm bowled over, swept off my feet. I offer you my hand— yes or no? You won't? Then don't! Rises and walks rapidly to the door.
Mme. Popova: Wait a minute.
SMmNov stops: Well?
Mme. Popova: Never mind. Go . . . But no, wait a minute . . . No, go, go! I detest you! Or no ... don't go! Oh, if you knew how furious I am, how furious! Throws the revolver on the table. My fingers are cramped from holding this vile thing. Tears her hand- kerchief in a fit of temper. What are you standing there for? Get out!