LITMIR.BIZ

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I told him that, but he's a wild man; he swore and pushed himself into the room; he's in the dining-room now.

      MRS. POPOV. [Excitedly.] Good. Show him in. The impudent——!

      [Luka goes out, centre.

      MRS. POPOV. What a bore people are! What can they want with me? Why do they disturb my peace? [She sighs.] Yes, it is clear I must enter a convent. [Meditatively.] Yes, a convent.

      [Smirnov enters, followed by Luka.

      SMIRNOV. [To Luka.] Fool, you make too much noise! You're an ass! [Discovering Mrs. Popov—politely.] Madam, I have the honor to introduce myself: Lieutenant in the Artillery, retired, country gentleman, Grigori Stepanovitch Smirnov! I'm compelled to bother you about an exceedingly important matter.

      MRS. POPOV. [Without offering her hand.] What is it you wish?

      SMIRNOV. Your deceased husband, with whom I had the honor to be acquainted, left me two notes amounting to about twelve hundred roubles. Inasmuch as I have to pay the interest to-morrow on a loan from the Agrarian Bank, I should like to request, madam, that you pay me the money to-day.

      MRS. POPOV. Twelve hundred—and for what was my husband indebted to you?

      SMIRNOV. He bought oats from me.

      MRS. POPOV. [With a sigh, to Luka.] Don't forget to give Tobby an extra measure of oats.

      [Luka goes out.

      MRS. POPOV. [To Smirnov.] If Nikolai Michailovitch is indebted to you, I shall, of course, pay you, but I am sorry, I haven't the money to-day. To-morrow my manager will return from the city and I shall notify him to pay you what is due you, but until then I cannot satisfy your request. Furthermore, to-day it is just seven months since the death of my husband, and I am not in a mood to discuss money matters.

      SMIRNOV. And I am in the mood to fly up the chimney with my feet in the air if I can't lay hands on that interest to-morrow. They'll seize my estate!

      MRS. POPOV. Day after to-morrow you will receive the money.

      SMIRNOV. I don't need the money day after to-morrow; I need it to-day.

      MRS. POPOV. I'm sorry I can't pay you to-day.

      SMIRNOV. And I can't wait until day after to-morrow.

      MRS. POPOV. But what can I do if I haven't it?

      SMIRNOV. So you can't pay?

      MRS. POPOV. I cannot.

      SMIRNOV. Hm! Is that your last word?

      MRS. POPOV. My last.

      SMIRNOV. Absolutely?

      MRS. POPOV. Absolutely.

      SMIRNOV. Thank you. [He shrugs his shoulders.] And they expect me to stand for all that. The toll-gatherer just now met me in the road and asked me why I was always worrying. Why, in Heaven's name, shouldn't I worry? I need money, I feel the knife at my throat. Yesterday morning I left my house in the early dawn and called on all my debtors. If even one of them had paid his debt! I worked the skin off my fingers! The devil knows in what sort of Jew-inn I slept; in a room with a barrel of brandy! And now at last I come here, seventy versts from home, hope for a little money, and all you give me is moods! Why shouldn't I worry?

      MRS. POPOV. I thought I made it plain to you that my manager will return from town, and then you will get your money.

      SMIRNOV. I did not come to see the manager; I came to see you. What the devil—pardon the language—do I care for your manager?

      MRS. POPOV. Really, sir, I am not used to such language or such manners. I shan't listen to you any further.

      [She goes out, left.

      SMIRNOV. What can one say to that? Moods! Seven months since her husband died! Do I have to pay the interest or not? I repeat the question, have I to pay the interest or not? The husband is dead and all that; the manager is—the devil with him!—travelling somewhere. Now, tell me, what am I to do? Shall I run away from my creditors in a balloon? Or knock my head against a stone wall? If I call on Grusdev he chooses to be "not at home," Iroschevitch has simply hidden himself, I have quarrelled with Kurzin and came near throwing him out of the window, Masutov is ill and this woman has—moods! Not one of them will pay up! And all because I've spoiled them, because I'm an old whiner, dish-rag! I'm too tender-hearted with them. But wait! I allow nobody to play tricks with me, the devil with 'em all! I'll stay here and not budge until she pays! Brr! How angry I am, how terribly angry I am! Every tendon is trembling with anger, and I can hardly breathe! I'm even growing ill! [He calls out.] Servant!

      [Luka enters.

      LUKA. What is it you wish?

      SMIRNOV. Bring me Kvas or water! [Luka goes out.] Well, what can we do? She hasn't it on hand? What sort of logic is that? A fellow stands with the knife at his throat, he needs money, he is on the point of hanging himself, and she won't pay because she isn't in the mood to discuss money matters. Woman's logic! That's why I never liked to talk to women, and why I dislike doing it now. I would rather sit on a powder barrel than talk with a woman. Brr!—I'm getting cold as ice; this affair has made me so angry. I need only to see such a romantic creature from a distance to get so angry that I have cramps in the calves! It's enough to make one yell for help!

      [Enter Luka.

      LUKA. [Hands him water.] Madam is ill and is not receiving.

      SMIRNOV. March! [Luka goes out.] Ill and isn't receiving! All right, it isn't necessary. I won't receive, either! I'll sit here and stay until you bring that money. If you're ill a week, I'll sit here a week. If you're ill a year, I'll sit here a year. As Heaven is my witness, I'll get the money. You don't disturb me with your mourning—or with your dimples. We know these dimples! [He calls out the window.] Simon, unharness! We aren't going to leave right away. I am going to stay here. Tell them in the stable to give the horses some oats. The left horse has twisted the bridle again. [Imitating him.] Stop! I'll show you how. Stop! [Leaves window.] It's awful. Unbearable heat, no money, didn't sleep last night and now—mourning-dresses with moods. My head aches; perhaps I ought to have a drink. Ye-s, I must have a drink. [Calling.] Servant!

      LUKA. What do you wish?

      SMIRNOV. Something to drink! [Luka goes out. Smirnov sits down and looks at his clothes.] Ugh, a fine figure! No use denying that. Dust, dirty boots, unwashed, uncombed, straw on my vest—the lady probably took me for a highwayman. [He yawns.] It was a little impolite to come into a reception-room with such clothes. Oh, well, no harm done. I'm not here as a guest. I'm a creditor. And there is no special costume for creditors.

      LUKA. [Entering with glass.] You take great liberty, sir.

      SMIRNOV. [Angrily.] What?

      LUKA. I—I—I just——

      SMIRNOV. Whom are you talking to? Keep quiet.

      LUKA. [Angrily.] Nice mess! This fellow won't leave!

      [He goes out.

      SMIRNOV. Lord, how angry I am! Angry enough to throw mud at the whole world! I even feel ill! Servant!

      [Mrs. Popov comes in with downcast eyes.

      MRS. POPOV. Sir, in my solitude I have become unaccustomed to the human voice and I cannot stand the sound of loud talking. I beg you, please to cease disturbing my rest.

      SMIRNOV. Pay me my money and I'll leave.

      MRS. POPOV. I told you once, plainly, in your native tongue, that I haven't the money at hand; wait until day after to-morrow.

      SMIRNOV. And I also had the honor of informing you in your native tongue that I need the money, not day after to-morrow, but to-day. If you don't pay me to-day I shall have to hang myself to-morrow.

      MRS. POPOV. But what can I do if I haven't the money?

      SMIRNOV.

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