The Collected Works of Anton Chekhov: Plays, Novellas, Short Stories, Diary & Letters. Anton Chekhov
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POPOVA. You’ll have your money the day after tomorrow.
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 tomorrow.
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 tomorrow.
SMIRNOV. And I told you perfectly plainly I don’t want the money the day after tomorrow, but to-day. If you don’t pay me to-day, I’ll have to hang myself tomorrow.
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 tomorrow? Very well! I’ll stay here until the day after tomorrow. I’ll sit here all the time…. [Jumps up] I ask you: Have I got to pay the interest tomorrow, 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 tomorrow 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.
SMIRNOV. [Teasing her] Silly and rude! I don’t know how to behave before women! Madam, in my time I’ve seen more women than you’ve seen sparrows! Three times I’ve fought duels on account of women. I’ve refused twelve women, and nine have refused me! Yes! There was a time when I played the fool, scented myself, used honeyed words, wore jewellery, made beautiful bows. I used to love,