LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

Boor, boor, boor!

      SMIRNOV. It is high time to do away with the old superstition that it is only the man who is forced to give satisfaction. If there is equity at all let there be equity in all things. There's a limit!

      MRS. POPOV. You wish to fight a duel? Very well.

      SMIRNOV. Immediately.

      MRS. POPOV. Immediately. My husband had pistols. I'll bring them. [She hurries away, then turns.] Oh, what a pleasure it will be to put a bullet in your impudent head. The devil take you!

      [She goes out.

      SMIRNOV. I'll shoot her down! I'm no fledgling, no sentimental young puppy. For me there is no weaker sex!

      LUKA. Oh, sir. [Falls to his knees.] Have mercy on me, an old man, and go away. You have frightened me to death already, and now you want to fight a duel.

      SMIRNOV. [Paying no attention.] A duel. That's equity, emancipation. That way the sexes are made equal. I'll shoot her down as a matter of principle. What can a person say to such a woman? [Imitating her.] "The devil take you. I'll put a bullet in your impudent head." What can one say to that? She was angry, her eyes blazed, she accepted the challenge. On my honor, it's the first time in my life that I ever saw such a woman.

      LUKA. Oh, sir. Go away. Go away!

      SMIRNOV. That is a woman. I can understand her. A real woman. No shilly-shallying, but fire, powder, and noise! It would be a pity to shoot a woman like that.

      LUKA. [Weeping.] Oh, sir, go away.

      [Enter Mrs. Popov.

      MRS. POPOV. Here are the pistols. But before we have our duel, please show me how to shoot. I have never had a pistol in my hand before!

      LUKA. God be merciful and have pity upon us! I'll go and get the gardener and the coachman. Why has this horror come to us?

      [He goes out.

      SMIRNOV. [Looking at the pistols.] You see, there are different kinds. There are special duelling pistols, with cap and ball. But these are revolvers, Smith & Wesson, with ejectors; fine pistols! A pair like that cost at least ninety roubles. This is the way to hold a revolver. [Aside.] Those eyes, those eyes! A real woman!

      MRS. POPOV. Like this?

      SMIRNOV. Yes, that way. Then you pull the hammer back—so—then you aim—put your head back a little. Just stretch your arm out, please. So—then press your finger on the thing like that, and that is all. The chief thing is this: don't get excited, don't hurry your aim, and take care that your hand doesn't tremble.

      MRS. POPOV. It isn't well to shoot inside; let's go into the garden.

      SMIRNOV. Yes. I'll tell you now, I am going to shoot into the air.

      MRS. POPOV. That is too much! Why?

      SMIRNOV. Because—because. That's my business.

      MRS. POPOV. You are afraid. Yes. A-h-h-h, No, no, my dear sir, no flinching! Please follow me. I won't rest until I've made a hole in that head I hate so much. Are you afraid?

      SMIRNOV. Yes, I'm afraid.

      MRS. POPOV. You are lying. Why won't you fight?

      SMIRNOV. Because—because—I—like you.

      MRS. POPOV. [With an angry laugh.] You like me! He dares to say he likes me! [She points to the door.] Go.

      SMIRNOV. [Laying the revolver silently on the table, takes his hat and starts. At the door he stops a moment, gazing at her silently, then he approaches her, hesitating.] Listen! Are you still angry? I was mad as the devil, but please understand me—how can I express myself? The thing is like this—such things are—[He raises his voice.] Now, is it my fault that you owe me money? [Grasps the back of the chair, which breaks.] The devil knows what breakable furniture you have! I like you! Do you understand? I—I'm almost in love!

      MRS. POPOV. Leave! I hate you.

      SMIRNOV. Lord! What a woman! I never in my life met one like her. I'm lost, ruined! I've been caught like a mouse in a trap.

      MRS. POPOV. Go, or I'll shoot.

      SMIRNOV. Shoot! You have no idea what happiness it would be to die in sight of those beautiful eyes, to die from the revolver in this little velvet hand! I'm mad! Consider it and decide immediately, for if I go now, we shall never see each other again. Decide—speak—- I am a noble, a respectable man, have an income of ten thousand, can shoot a coin thrown into the air. I own some fine horses. Will you be my wife?

      MRS. POPOV. [Swings the revolver angrily.] I'll shoot!

      SMIRNOV. My mind is not clear—I can't understand. Servant—water! I have fallen in love like any young man. [He takes her hand and she cries with pain.] I love you! [He kneels.] I love you as I have never loved before. Twelve women I jilted, nine jilted me, but not one of them all have I loved as I love you. I am conquered, lost; I lie at your feet like a fool and beg for your hand. Shame and disgrace! For five years I haven't been in love; I thanked the Lord for it, and now I am caught, like a carriage tongue in another carriage. I beg for your hand! Yes or no? Will you?—Good!

      [He gets up and goes quickly to the door.

      MRS. POPOV. Wait a moment!

      SMIRNOV. [Stopping.] Well?

      MRS. POPOV. Nothing. You may go. But—wait a moment. No, go on, go on. I hate you. Or—no; don't go. Oh, if you knew how angry I was, how angry! [She throws the revolver on to the chair.] My finger is swollen from this thing. [She angrily tears her handkerchief.] What are you standing there for? Get out!

      SMIRNOV. Farewell!

      MRS. POPOV. Yes, go. [Cries out.] Why are you going? Wait—no, go!! Oh, how angry I am! Don't come too near, don't come too near—er—come—no nearer.

      SMIRNOV. [Approaching her.] How angry I am with myself! Fall in love like a schoolboy, throw myself on my knees. I've got a chill! [Strongly.] I love you. This is fine—all I needed was to fall in love. To-morrow I have to pay my interest, the hay harvest has begun, and then you appear! [He takes her in his arms.] I can never forgive myself.

      MRS. POPOV. Go away! Take your hands off me! I hate you—you—this is—

      [A long kiss.

      [Enter Luka with an axe, the gardener with a rake, the coachman with a pitchfork, and workmen with poles.

      LUKA. [Staring at the pair.] Merciful heavens!

      [A long pause.

      MRS. POPOV. [Dropping her eyes.] Tell them in the stable that Tobby isn't to have any oats.

      CURTAIN

THE SEAGULL

       Table of Contents

       CHARACTERS

       ACT I

       ACT II

       ACT III

       ACT IV

      CHARACTERS

       Table of Contents

Скачать книгу