Knurov. So what’s the good of it? One fellow goes up to Larisa Dmitriyevna with his compliments, another with tender remarks, and they buzz away so you can’t get in a single word with her. I’d like to see her more often when she’s alone, without any interference.
Vozhevatov. Somebody ought to marry her.
Knurov. Marry her! Not everybody can, and not everybody even wants to. Me, for example, I’m a married man.
Vozhevatov. Then there’s nothing to be done. The grapes are pretty but not for picking,[2] Moky Parmenych.
Knurov. You think so?
Vozhevatov. That’s the way it seems. They don’t follow those procedures. There were a few times when they could have, but they weren’t tempted. It’s got to be marriage even if that means Karandyshov.
Knurov. But it would be nice to make a trip to the Paris exposition with a girl like that.
Vozhevatov. Yes, that wouldn’t be boring, a pleasant trip that. What plans you have, Moky Parmenych!
Knurov. And you’ve never had any plans like that?
Vozhevatov. How could I! I’m green at such things.
I just don’t have any boldness with women. You know, I was brought up in a terribly moral, old-fashioned way.
Knurov. Oh come now! Your chances are better than mine; you have youth, a big thing. And you won’t begrudge the money; you’re buying the boat cheap, so you can take it out of the profits. Still, you must realize it would cost you as much as the Swallow.
Vozhevatov. Every piece of goods has its price, Moky Parmenych. I may be young, but I won’t overdo it. I won’t give any more than I have to.
Knurov. Don’t guarantee it! At your age it wouldn’t take much to fall in love, and then we’d see what calculations you’d make!
Vozhevatov. No, Moky Parmenych, somehow or other I don’t notice that sort of thing in myself.
Knurov. What sort of thing?
Vozhevatov. What they call love.
Knurov. That’s commendable, you’ll make a good merchant. All the same, you’re a lot closer to her than the others.
Vozhevatov. But what does my being close to her amount to? Sometimes I’ll pour her an extra glass of champagne when her mother’s not looking, learn a song from her, bring her novels, the kind they don’t give girls to read.
Knurov. In other words, you’re corrupting her a little.
Vozhevatov. What’s that to me! After all, I’m not forcing myself on her. Why should I worry about her morals? I’m not her guardian.
Knurov. I just can’t get over it. Does Larisa Dmitriyevna really have no other suitors besides Karandyshov?
Vozhevatov. She had some, but she’s terribly naive.
Knurov. Naive, how? You mean she’s stupid?
Vozhevatov. She’s not stupid, but she’s not shrewd at all, she doesn’t take after her mother in that. Her mother’s always shrewd and full of flattering, but she for no reason at all will suddenly come out with something she doesn’t have to.
Knurov. You mean the truth?
Vozhevatov. Yes, the truth. But that’s something that young women without a dowry just can’t do. If she likes somebody, she doesn’t hide it at all. Last year Sergey Sergeyich Paratov showed up, and she couldn’t see enough of him. He kept coming for a couple of months, beat away all the other suitors, and then he flew the coop. Nobody knew where he disappeared to.
Knurov. Whatever possessed him to do that?
Vozhevatov. Who knows? He’s a hard one to figure out. But you should have seen how she loved him, she almost died from grief. How sentimental she was! (He laughs.) She set out to try and catch up with him, but her mother got her at the second stop and brought her back.
Knurov. And were there any suitors after Paratov?
Vozhevatov. Two came from somewhere. One was an old man with the gout. Then there was a manager for some prince or other; that manager had gotten rich, but he was always drunk. Larisa didn’t want to have anything to do with them, but she had to be nice to them, Mama’s orders.
Knurov. Her lot is not a happy one.
Vozhevatov. No, it’s even absurd. Sometimes there were a few tears in her eyes, and you could see she was about to cry, but Mama told her to smile. And then a cashier turned up. He threw his money all about, enough to cover Kharita Ignatyevna with it. He won the field over everybody, but he didn’t strut for long, they arrested him at his home. What a great scandal that was! (He laughs.) For about a month the Ogudalovs couldn’t go anywhere. It was then that Larisa told her mother point-blank, “We’ve put up with enough of this shame. I’ll marry the first one who comes along, whether he’s rich or poor. I’m not going to be choosy.” And up pops Karandyshov with his proposal.
Knurov. Where did this Karandyshov come from?
Vozhevatov. He’s been hanging around their house a long time, about three years. They didn’t chase him away, but they didn’t show him much respect either. When the lull set in and there weren’t any rich suitors in sight they held onto Karandyshov and gave him some invitations so the house wouldn’t be empty. But when some rich guy dropped in, it was simply pitiful to look at Karandyshov. They didn’t even talk to him or even look at him. And there he sat in his corner, playing his different roles, throwing out savage looks, pretending to be in despair. Once he wanted to shoot himself, but nothing came of that, he just made everybody laugh. And here’s the funny part. Once they had a costume party, and Paratov was there. So Karandyshov dressed himself up as a highway robber, took an axe in his hands, and threw wild looks at everybody, especially Sergey Sergeyich.
Knurov. Then what?
Vozhevatov. They took his axe away from him and told him to change his clothes or else he’d have to leave!
Knurov. What it all means is, he’s being rewarded for being faithful. He’s happy, I’m sure.
Vozhevatov. Happy and then some, glowing like an orange. It’s so funny! He’s really a nut. What he ought to do is marry her as soon as he can and take her away to his little estate till the talk dies down. The Ogudalovs would like that. But instead he drags Larisa along the boulevard on his arm with his head raised so high he’d run right into you if you didn’t watch out. And then for some reason he’s taken to wearing glasses, but he never used to wear them. When he bows he hardly nods his head, and he’s taken on a certain air. Before you’d hardly hear a word out of him, but now it’s always, “I this, I that, I want, I wish.”
Knurov. He’s like the Russian peasant. It’s not enough fun just getting drunk. He has to act high and mighty so everybody takes notice. So he gets up on his high horse, and they give him a thrashing or two. Then he’s satisfied and goes off to sleep.
Vozhevatov. Yes, I suppose that’s the sort of thing Karandyshov has to go through.
Knurov. Poor girl! She must suffer just looking at him.
Vozhevatov. He got the idea of decorating his apartment, and here’s what he dreamed up. In his study he put up a cheap tapestry on the wall, and he hung up daggers and pistols from Tula. That would be no surprise if he were a hunter, but he’s never held a gun in his life. So he drags you to his place