Delphi Complete Works of Anton Chekhov (Illustrated) (399 page)

[A drawing-room in POPOVA’S house.]

[POPOVA is in deep mourning and has her eyes fixed on a photograph. LUKA is haranguing her.]

LUKA. It isn’t right, madam.... You’re just destroying yourself. The maid and the cook have gone off fruit picking, every living being is rejoicing, even the cat understands how to enjoy herself and walks about in the yard, catching midges; only you sit in this room all day, as if this was a convent, and don’t take any pleasure. Yes, really! I reckon it’s a whole year that you haven’t left the house!

POPOVA. I shall never go out.... Why should I? My life is already at an end. He is in his grave, and I have buried myself between four walls.... We are both dead.

LUKA. Well, there you are! Nicolai Mihailovitch is dead, well, it’s the will of God, and may his soul rest in peace.... You’ve mourned him — and quite right. But you can’t go on weeping and wearing mourning for ever. My old woman died too, when her time came. Well? I grieved over her, I wept for a month, and that’s enough for her, but if I’ve got to weep for a whole age, well, the old woman isn’t worth it.
[Sighs]
You’ve forgotten all your neighbours. You don’t go anywhere, and you see nobody. We live, so to speak, like spiders, and never see the light. The mice have eaten my livery. It isn’t as if there were no good people around, for the district’s full of them. There’s a regiment quartered at Riblov, and the officers are such beauties — you can never gaze your fill at them. And, every Friday, there’s a ball at the camp, and every day the soldier’s band plays.... Eh, my lady! You’re young and beautiful, with roses in your cheek — if you only took a little pleasure. Beauty won’t last long, you know. In ten years’ time you’ll want to be a pea-hen yourself among the officers, but they won’t look at you, it will be too late.

POPOVA.
[With determination]
I must ask you never to talk to me about it! You know that when Nicolai Mihailovitch died, life lost all its meaning for me. I vowed never to the end of my days to cease to wear mourning, or to see the light.... You hear? Let his ghost see how well I love him.... Yes, I know it’s no secret to you that he was often unfair to me, cruel, and... and even unfaithful, but I shall be true till death, and show him how I can love. There, beyond the grave, he will see me as I was before his death....

LUKA. Instead of talking like that you ought to go and have a walk in the garden, or else order Toby or Giant to be harnessed, and then drive out to see some of the neighbours.

POPOVA. Oh!
[Weeps.]

LUKA. Madam! Dear madam! What is it? Bless you!

POPOVA. He was so fond of Toby! He always used to ride on him to the Korchagins and Vlasovs. How well he could ride! What grace there was in his figure when he pulled at the reins with all his strength! Do you remember? Toby, Toby! Tell them to give him an extra feed of oats.

LUKA. Yes, madam.
[A bell rings noisily.]

POPOVA.
[Shaking]
Who’s that? Tell them that I receive nobody.

LUKA. Yes, madam.
[Exit.]

POPOVA.
[Looks at the photograph]
You will see, Nicolas, how I can love and forgive.... My love will die out with me, only when this poor heart will cease to beat.
[Laughs through her tears]
And aren’t you ashamed? I am a good and virtuous little wife. I’ve locked myself in, and will be true to you till the grave, and you... aren’t you ashamed, you bad child? You deceived me, had rows with me, left me alone for weeks on end....

[LUKA enters in consternation.]

LUKA. Madam, somebody is asking for you. He wants to see you....

POPOVA. But didn’t you tell him that since the death of my husband I’ve stopped receiving?

LUKA. I did, but he wouldn’t even listen; says that it’s a very pressing affair.

POPOVA. I do not re-ceive!

LUKA. I told him so, but the... the devil... curses and pushes himself right in.... He’s in the dining-room now.

POPOVA.
[Annoyed]
Very well, ask him in.... What manners!
[Exit LUKA]
How these people annoy me! What does he want of me? Why should he disturb my peace?
[Sighs]
No, I see that I shall have to go into a convent after all.
[Thoughtfully]
Yes, into a convent....
[Enter LUKA with SMIRNOV.]

SMIRNOV.
[To LUKA]
You fool, you’re too fond of talking.... Ass! [Sees POPOVA and speaks with respect] Madam, I have the honour to present myself, I am Grigory Stepanovitch Smirnov, landowner and retired lieutenant of artillery! I am compelled to disturb you on a very pressing affair.

POPOVA.
[Not giving him her hand]
What do you want?

SMIRNOV. Your late husband, with whom I had the honour of being acquainted, died in my debt for one thousand two hundred roubles, on two bills of exchange. As I’ve got to pay the interest on a mortgage to-morrow, I’ve come to ask you, madam, to pay me the money to-day.

POPOVA. One thousand two hundred.... And what was my husband in debt to you for?

SMIRNOV. He used to buy oats from me.

POPOVA.
[Sighing, to LUKA]
So don’t you forget, Luka, to give Toby an extra feed of oats.
[Exit LUKA]
If Nicolai Mihailovitch died in debt to you, then I shall certainly pay you, but you must excuse me to-day, as I haven’t any spare cash. The day after to-morrow my steward will be back from town, and I’ll give him instructions to settle your account, but at the moment I cannot do as you wish.... Moreover, it’s exactly seven months to-day since the death of my husband, and I’m in a state of mind which absolutely prevents me from giving money matters my attention.

SMIRNOV. And I’m in a state of mind which, if I don’t pay the interest due to-morrow, will force me to make a graceful exit from this life feet first. They’ll take my estate!

POPOVA. You’ll have your money the day after to-morrow.

SMIRNOV. I don’t want the money the day after tomorrow, I want it to-day.

POPOVA. You must excuse me, I can’t pay you.

SMIRNOV. And I can’t wait till after to-morrow.

POPOVA. Well, what can I do, if I haven’t the money now!

SMIRNOV. You mean to say, you can’t pay me?

POPOVA. I can’t.

SMIRNOV. Hm! Is that the last word you’ve got to say?

POPOVA. Yes, the last word.

SMIRNOV. The last word? Absolutely your last?

POPOVA. Absolutely.

SMIRNOV. Thank you so much. I’ll make a note of it.
[Shrugs his shoulders]
And then people want me to keep calm! I meet a man on the road, and he asks me “Why are you always so angry, Grigory Stepanovitch?” But how on earth am I not to get angry? I want the money desperately. I rode out yesterday, early in the morning, and called on all my debtors, and not a single one of them paid up! I was just about dead-beat after it all, slept, goodness knows where, in some inn, kept by a Jew, with a vodka-barrel by my head. At last I get here, seventy versts from home, and hope to get something, and I am received by you with a “state of mind”! How shouldn’t I get angry.

POPOVA. I thought I distinctly said my steward will pay you when he returns from town.

SMIRNOV. I didn’t come to your steward, but to you! What the devil, excuse my saying so, have I to do with your steward!

POPOVA. Excuse me, sir, I am not accustomed to listen to such expressions or to such a tone of voice. I want to hear no more.
[Makes a rapid exit.]

SMIRNOV. Well, there! “A state of mind.”... “Husband died seven months ago!” Must I pay the interest, or mustn’t I? I ask you: Must I pay, or must I not? Suppose your husband is dead, and you’ve got a state of mind, and nonsense of that sort.... And your steward’s gone away somewhere, devil take him, what do you want me to do? Do you think I can fly away from my creditors in a balloon, or what? Or do you expect me to go and run my head into a brick wall? I go to Grusdev and he isn’t at home, Yaroshevitch has hidden himself, I had a violent row with Kuritsin and nearly threw him out of the window, Mazugo has something the matter with his bowels, and this woman has “a state of mind.” Not one of the swine wants to pay me! Just because I’m too gentle with them, because I’m a rag, just weak wax in their hands! I’m much too gentle with them! Well, just you wait! You’ll find out what I’m like! I shan’t let you play about with me, confound it! I shall jolly well stay here until she pays! Brr!... How angry I am to-day, how angry I am! All my inside is quivering with anger, and I can’t even breathe.... Foo, my word, I even feel sick!
[Yells]
Waiter!

[Enter LUKA.]

LUKA. What is it?

SMIRNOV. Get me some kvass or water!
[Exit LUKA]
What a way to reason! A man is in desperate need of his money, and she won’t pay it because, you see, she is not disposed to attend to money matters!... That’s real silly feminine logic. That’s why I never did like, and don’t like now, to have to talk to women. I’d rather sit on a barrel of gunpowder than talk to a woman. Brr!... I feel quite chilly — and it’s all on account of that little bit of fluff! I can’t even see one of these poetic creatures from a distance without breaking out into a cold sweat out of sheer anger. I can’t look at them.
[Enter LUKA with water.]

LUKA. Madam is ill and will see nobody.

SMIRNOV. Get out!
[Exit LUKA]
Ill and will see nobody! No, it’s all right, you don’t see me.... I’m going to stay and will sit here till you give me the money. You can be ill for a week, if you like, and I’ll stay here for a week.... If you’re ill for a year — I’ll stay for a year. I’m going to get my own, my dear! You don’t get at me with your widow’s weeds and your dimpled cheeks! I know those dimples!
[Shouts through the window]
Simeon, take them out! We aren’t going away at once! I’m staying here! Tell them in the stable to give the horses some oats! You fool, you’ve let the near horse’s leg get tied up in the reins again!
[Teasingly]
“Never mind....” I’ll give it you. “Never mind.”
[Goes away from the window]
Oh, it’s bad.... The heat’s frightful, nobody pays up. I slept badly, and on top of everything else here’s a bit of fluff in mourning with “a state of mind.”... My head’s aching.... Shall I have some vodka, what? Yes, I think I will.
[Yells]
Waiter!

[Enter LUKA.]

LUKA. What is it?

SMIRNOV. A glass of vodka!
[Exit LUKA]
Ouf!
[Sits and inspects himself]
I must say I look well! Dust all over, boots dirty, unwashed, unkempt, straw on my waistcoat.... The dear lady may well have taken me for a brigand.
[Yawns]
It’s rather impolite to come into a drawing-room in this state, but it can’t be helped.... I am not here as a visitor, but as a creditor, and there’s no dress specially prescribed for creditors....