The Chekhov Collection: Novellas, Short Stories, Plays, Letters & Diary. Anton Chekhov

and wasted half my wealth on tender feelings, but now — you must excuse me! You won’t get round me like that now! I’ve had enough! Black eyes, passionate eyes, ruby lips, dimpled cheeks, the moon, whispers, timid breathing — I wouldn’t give a brass farthing for the lot, madam! Present company always excepted, all women, great or little, are insincere, crooked, backbiters, envious, liars to the marrow of their bones, vain, trivial, merciless, unreasonable, and, as far as this is concerned [taps his forehead] excuse my outspokenness, a sparrow can give ten points to any philosopher in petticoats you like to name! You look at one of these poetic creatures: all muslin, an ethereal demi-goddess, you have a million transports of joy, and you look into her soul — and see a common crocodile! [He grips the back of a chair; the chair creaks and breaks] But the most disgusting thing of all is that this crocodile for some reason or other imagines that its chef d’oeuvre, its privilege and monopoly, is its tender feelings. Why, confound it, hang me on that nail feet upwards, if you like, but have you met a woman who can love anybody except a lapdog? When she’s in love, can she do anything but snivel and slobber? While a man is suffering and making sacrifices all her love expresses itself in her playing about with her scarf, and trying to hook him more firmly by the nose. You have the misfortune to be a woman, you know from yourself what is the nature of woman. Tell me truthfully, have you ever seen a woman who was sincere, faithful, and constant? You haven’t! Only freaks and old women are faithful and constant! You’ll meet a cat with a horn or a white woodcock sooner than a constant woman!

      POPOVA. Then, according to you, who is faithful and constant in love? Is it the man?

      SMIRNOV. Yes, the man!

      POPOVA. The man! [Laughs bitterly] Men are faithful and constant in love! What an idea! [With heat] What right have you to talk like that? Men are faithful and constant! Since we are talking about it, I’ll tell you that of all the men I knew and know, the best was my late husband…. I loved him passionately with all my being, as only a young and imaginative woman can love, I gave him my youth, my happiness, my life, my fortune, I breathed in him, I worshipped him as if I were a heathen, and… and what then? This best of men shamelessly deceived me at every step! After his death I found in his desk a whole drawerful of love-letters, and when he was alive — it’s an awful thing to remember! — he used to leave me alone for weeks at a time, and make love to other women and betray me before my very eyes; he wasted my money, and made fun of my feelings…. And, in spite of all that, I loved him and was true to him. And not only that, but, now that he is dead, I am still true and constant to his memory. I have shut myself for ever within these four walls, and will wear these weeds to the very end….

      SMIRNOV. [Laughs contemptuously] Weeds!… I don’t understand what you take me for. As if I don’t know why you wear that black domino and bury yourself between four walls! I should say I did! It’s so mysterious, so poetic! When some junker [Note: So in the original.] or some tame poet goes past your windows he’ll think: “There lives the mysterious Tamara who, for the love of her husband, buried herself between four walls.” We know these games!

      POPOVA. [Exploding] What? How dare you say all that to me?

      SMIRNOV. You may have buried yourself alive, but you haven’t forgotten to powder your face!

      POPOVA. How dare you speak to me like that?

      SMIRNOV. Please don’t shout, I’m not your steward! You must allow me to call things by their real names. I’m not a woman, and I’m used to saying what I think straight out! Don’t you shout, either!

      POPOVA. I’m not shouting, it’s you! Please leave me alone!

      SMIRNOV. Pay me my money and I’ll go.

      POPOVA. I shan’t give you any money!

      SMIRNOV. Oh, no, you will.

      POPOVA. I shan’t give you a farthing, just to spite you. You leave me alone!

      SMIRNOV. I have not the pleasure of being either your husband or your fiancé, so please don’t make scenes. [Sits] I don’t like it.

      POPOVA. [Choking with rage] So you sit down?

      SMIRNOV. I do.

      POPOVA. I ask you to go away!

      SMIRNOV. Give me my money…. [Aside] Oh, how angry I am! How angry I am!

      POPOVA. I don’t want to talk to impudent scoundrels! Get out of this! [Pause] Aren’t you going? No?

      SMIRNOV. No.

      POPOVA. No?

      SMIRNOV. No!

      POPOVA. Very well then! [Rings, enter LUKA] Luka, show this gentleman out!

      LUKA. [Approaches SMIRNOV] Would you mind going out, sir, as you’re asked to! You needn’t…

      SMIRNOV. [Jumps up] Shut up! Who are you talking to? I’ll chop you into pieces!

      LUKA. [Clutches at his heart] Little fathers!… What people!… [Falls into a chair] Oh, I’m ill, I’m ill! I can’t breathe!

      POPOVA. Where’s Dasha? Dasha! [Shouts] Dasha! Pelageya! Dasha! [Rings.]

      LUKA. Oh! They’ve all gone out to pick fruit…. There’s nobody at home! I’m ill! Water!

      POPOVA. Get out of this, now.

      SMIRNOV. Can’t you be more polite?

      POPOVA. [Clenches her fists and stamps her foot] You’re a boor! A coarse bear! A Bourbon! A monster!

      SMIRNOV. What? What did you say?

      POPOVA. I said you are a bear, a monster!

      SMIRNOV. [Approaching her] May I ask what right you have to insult me?

      POPOVA. And suppose I am insulting you? Do you think I’m afraid of you?

      SMIRNOV. And do you think that just because you’re a poetic creature you can insult me with impunity? Eh? We’ll fight it out!

      LUKA. Little fathers!… What people!… Water!

      SMIRNOV. Pistols!

      POPOVA. Do you think I’m afraid of you just because you have large fists and a bull’s throat? Eh? You Bourbon!

      SMIRNOV. We’ll fight it out! I’m not going to be insulted by anybody, and I don’t care if you are a woman, one of the “softer sex,” indeed!

      POPOVA. [Trying to interrupt him] Bear! Bear! Bear!

      SMIRNOV. It’s about time we got rid of the prejudice that only men need pay for their insults. Devil take it, if you want equality of rights you can have it. We’re going to fight it out!

      POPOVA. With pistols? Very well!

      SMIRNOV. This very minute.

      POPOVA. This very minute! My husband had some pistols…. I’ll bring them here. [Is going, but turns back] What pleasure it will give me to put a bullet into your thick head! Devil take you! [Exit.]

      SMIRNOV. I’ll bring her down like a chicken! I’m not a little boy or a sentimental puppy; I don’t care about this “softer sex.”

      LUKA. Gracious little fathers!… [Kneels] Have pity on a poor old man, and go away from here! You’ve frightened her to death, and now you want to shoot her!

      SMIRNOV. [Not hearing him] If she fights, well that’s equality of rights, emancipation, and all that! Here the sexes are equal! I’ll shoot her on principle! But what a woman! [Parodying her] “Devil take you! I’ll put a bullet into your thick head.” Eh? How she reddened, how her cheeks shone!… She accepted my challenge! My word, it’s the first time in my life that I’ve seen….

      LUKA. Go away, sir, and I’ll always pray to God for you!

      SMIRNOV. She is a woman! That’s the sort I can understand! A real woman! Not a sour-faced jellybag, but fire, gunpowder, a rocket! I’m even sorry to have to kill her!

      LUKA.