Part 5
NASTASYA TIMOFEYEVNA. Sit down, your excellency! Be so good as to have some of this, your excellency! Only forgive us for not being used to etiquette; we’re plain people!
REVUNOV. [Not hearing] What? Hm... yes. [Pause] Yes.... In the old days everybody used to live simply and was happy. In spite of my rank, I am a man who lives plainly. To-day Andrey comes to me and asks me to come here to the wedding. “How shall I go,” I said, “when I don’t know them? It’s not good manners!” But he says: “They are good, simple, patriarchal people, glad to see anybody.” Well, if that’s the case... why not? Very glad to come. It’s very dull for me at home by myself, and if my presence at a wedding can make anybody happy, then I’m delighted to be here....
ZHIGALOV. Then that’s sincere, is it, your excellency? I respect that! I’m a plain man myself, without any deception, and I respect others who are like that. Eat, your excellency!
APLOMBOV. Is it long since you retired, your excellency?
REVUNOV. Eh? Yes, yes.... Quite true.... Yes. But, excuse me, what is this? The fish is sour... and the bread is sour. I can’t eat this! [APLOMBOV and DASHENKA kiss each other] He, he, he... Your health! [Pause] Yes.... In the old days everything was simple and everybody was glad.... I love simplicity.... I’m an old man. I retired in 1865. I’m 72. Yes, of course, in my younger days it was different, but--[Sees MOZGOVOY] You there... a sailor, are you?
MOZGOVOY. Yes, just so.
REVUNOV. Aha, so... yes. The navy means hard work. There’s a lot to think about and get a headache over. Every insignificant word has, so to speak, its special meaning! For instance, “Hoist her top-sheets and mainsail!” What’s it mean? A sailor can tell! He, he!--With almost mathematical precision!
NUNIN. The health of his excellency Fyodor Yakovlevitch Revunov-Karaulov! [Band plays a flourish. Cheers.]
YATS. You, your excellency, have just expressed yourself on the subject of the hard work involved in a naval career. But is telegraphy any easier? Nowadays, your excellency, nobody is appointed to the telegraphs if he cannot read and write French and German. But the transmission of telegrams is the most difficult thing of all. Awfully difficult! Just listen.
[Taps with his fork on the table, like a telegraphic transmitter.]
REVUNOV. What does that mean?
YATS. It means, “I honour you, your excellency, for your virtues.” You think it’s easy? Listen now. [Taps.]
REVUNOV. Louder; I can’t hear....
YATS. That means, “Madam, how happy I am to hold you in my embraces!”
REVUNOV. What madam are you talking about? Yes.... [To MOZGOVOY] Yes, if there’s a head-wind you must... let’s see... you must hoist your foretop halyards and topsail halyards! The order is: “On the cross-trees to the foretop halyards and topsail halyards” and at the same time, as the sails get loose, you take hold underneath of the foresail and fore-topsail halyards, stays and braces.
A GROOMSMAN. [Rising] Ladies and gentlemen...
REVUNOV. [Cutting him short] Yes... there are a great many orders to give. “Furl the fore-topsail and the foretop-gallant sail!!” Well, what does that mean? It’s very simple! It means that if the top and top-gallant sails are lifting the halyards, they must level the foretop and foretop-gallant halyards on the hoist and at the same time the top-gallants braces, as needed, are loosened according to the direction of the wind...
NUNIN. [To REVUNOV] Fyodor Yakovlevitch, Mme. Zhigalov asks you to talk about something else. It’s very dull for the guests, who can’t understand....
REVUNOV. What? Who’s dull? [To MOZGOVOY] Young man! Now suppose the ship is lying by the wind, on the starboard tack, under full sail, and you’ve got to bring her before the wind. What’s the order? Well, first you whistle up above! He, he!
NUNIN. Fyodor Yakovlevitch, that’s enough. Eat something.
REVUNOV. As soon as the men are on deck you give the order, “To your places!” What a life! You give orders, and at the same time you’ve got to keep your eyes on the sailors, who run about like flashes of lightning and get the sails and braces right. And at last you can’t restrain yourself, and you shout, “Good children!” [He chokes and coughs.]
A GROOMSMAN. [Making haste to use the ensuing pause to advantage] On this occasion, so to speak, on the day on which we have met together to honour our dear...
REVUNOV. [Interrupting] Yes, you’ve got to remember all that! For instance, “Hoist the topsail halyards. Lower the topsail gallants!”
THE GROOMSMAN. [Annoyed] Why does he keep on interrupting? We shan’t get through a single speech like that!
NASTASYA TIMOFEYEVNA. We are dull people, your excellency, and don’t understand a word of all that, but if you were to tell us something appropriate...
REVUNOV. [Not hearing] I’ve already had supper, thank you. Did you say there was goose? Thanks... yes. I’ve remembered the old days.... It’s pleasant, young man! You sail on the sea, you have no worries, and [In an excited tone of voice] do you remember the joy of tacking? Is there a sailor who doesn’t glow at the memory of that manoeuvre? As soon as the word is given and the whistle blown and the crew begins to go up--it’s as if an electric spark has run through them all. From the captain to the cabin-boy, everybody’s excited.
ZMEYUKINA. How dull! How dull! [General murmur.]
REVUNOV. [Who has not heard it properly] Thank you, I’ve had supper. [With enthusiasm] Everybody’s ready, and looks to the senior officer. He gives the command: “Stand by, gallants and topsail braces on the starboard side, main and counter-braces to port!” Everything’s done in a twinkling. Top-sheets and jib-sheets are pulled... taken to starboard. [Stands up] The ship takes the wind and at last the sails fill out. The senior officer orders, “To the braces,” and himself keeps his eye on the mainsail, and when at last this sail is filling out and the ship begins to turn, he yells at the top of his voice, “Let go the braces! Loose the main halyards!” Everything flies about, there’s a general confusion for a moment--and everything is done without an error. The ship has been tacked!
NASTASYA TIMOFEYEVNA. [Exploding] General, your manners.... You ought to be ashamed of yourself, at your age!
REVUNOV. Did you say sausage? No, I haven’t had any... thank you.
NASTASYA TIMOFEYEVNA. [Loudly] I say you ought to be ashamed of yourself at your age! General, your manners are awful!
NUNIN. [Confused] Ladies and gentlemen, is it worth it? Really...
REVUNOV. In the first place, I’m not a general, but a second-class naval captain, which, according to the table of precedence, corresponds to a lieutenant-colonel.
NASTASYA TIMOFEYEVNA. If you’re not a general, then what did you go and take our money for? We never paid you money to behave like that!
REVUNOV. [Upset] What money?
NASTASYA TIMOFEYEVNA. You know what money. You know that you got 25 roubles from Andrey Andreyevitch.... [To NUNIN] And you look out, Andrey! I never asked you to hire a man like that!
NUNIN. There now... let it drop. Is it worth it?
REVUNOV. Paid... hired.... What is it?
APLOMBOV. Just let me ask you this. Did you receive 25 roubles from Andrey Andreyevitch?
REVUNOV. What 25 roubles? [Suddenly realizing] That’s what it is! Now I understand it all.... How mean! How mean!
APLOMBOV. Did you take the money?
REVUNOV. I haven’t taken any money! Get away from me! [Leaves the table] How mean! How low! To insult an old man, a sailor, an officer who has served long and faithfully! If you were decent people I could call somebody out, but what can I do now? [Absently] Where’s the door? Which way do I go? Waiter, show me the way out! Waiter! [Going] How mean! How low! [Exit.]
NASTASYA TIMOFEYEVNA. Andrey, where are those 25 roubles?
NUNIN. Is it worth while bothering about such trifles? What does it matter! Everybody’s happy here, and here you go.... [Shouts] The health of the bride and bridegroom! A march! A march! [The band plays a march] The health of the bride and bridegroom!
ZMEYUKINA. I’m suffocating! Give me atmosphere! I’m suffocating with you all round me!
YATS. [In a transport of delight] My beauty! My beauty! [Uproar.]
A GROOMSMAN. [Trying to shout everybody else down] Ladies and gentlemen! On this occasion, if I may say so...
Curtain.
THE BEAR
CHARACTERS
ELENA IVANOVNA POPOVA, a landowning little widow, with dimples on her cheeks GRIGORY STEPANOVITCH SMIRNOV, a middle-aged landowner LUKA, Popova’s aged footman
[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....
[Enter LUKA with the vodka.]
LUKA. You allow yourself to go very far, sir....
SMIRNOV [Angrily] What?
LUKA. I... er... nothing... I really...
SMIRNOV. Whom are you talking to? Shut up!
LUKA. [Aside] The devil’s come to stay.... Bad luck that brought him.... [Exit.]
SMIRNOV. Oh, how angry I am! So angry that I think I could grind the whole world to dust.... I even feel sick.... [Yells] Waiter!
[Enter POPOVA.]
POPOVA. [Her eyes downcast] Sir, in my solitude I have grown unaccustomed to the masculine voice, and I can’t stand shouting. I must ask you not to disturb my peace.
SMIRNOV. Pay me the money, and I’ll go.
POPOVA. I told you perfectly plainly; I haven’t any money to spare; wait until the day after to-morrow.
SMIRNOV. And I told you perfectly plainly I don’t want the money the day after to-morrow, but to-day. If you don’t pay me to-day, I’ll have to hang myself to-morrow.
POPOVA. But what can I do if I haven’t got the money? You’re so strange!
SMIRNOV. Then you won’t pay me now? Eh?
POPOVA. I can’t.
SMIRNOV. In that case I stay here and shall wait until I get it. [Sits down] You’re going to pay me the day after to-morrow? Very well! I’ll stay here until the day after to-morrow. I’ll sit here all the time.... [Jumps up] I ask you: Have I got to pay the interest to-morrow, or haven’t I? Or do you think I’m doing this for a joke?
POPOVA. Please don’t shout! This isn’t a stable!
SMIRNOV. I wasn’t asking you about a stable, but whether I’d got my interest to pay to-morrow or not?
POPOVA. You don’t know how to behave before women!
SMIRNOV. No, I do know how to behave before women!
POPOVA. No, you don’t! You’re a rude, ill-bred man! Decent people don’t talk to a woman like that!
SMIRNOV. What a business! How do you want me to talk to you? In French, or what? [Loses his temper and lisps] _Madame, je vous prie_.... How happy I am that you don’t pay me.... Ah, pardon. I have disturbed you! Such lovely weather to-day! And how well you look in mourning! [Bows.]
POPOVA. That’s silly and rude.