The humour of Russia

by Unknown

Act II. Scene I.

(Agàfia Tikhònovna alone.)

Agàfia. Really, it is a very difficult thing to have to choose. If there were only one or two of them—but to choose out of four!... Nikanòr Ivànovich is very nice-looking, though he’s rather thin. Ivàn Kouzmìch is not bad-looking either. Indeed, to say the truth, Ivàn Pàvlovich is a very fine-looking man, too, although he’s fat. I should just like to know what I am to do! Then Baltazàr Baltazàrovich has great merits, too. Indeed, it’s so difficult to decide that I simply don’t know what to do. If one could put Nikanòr Ivànovich’s lips on to Ivàn Kouzmìch’s nose, and then take a little of Baltazàr Baltazàrovich’s easy way, and just a bit of Ivàn Pàvlovich’s stoutness—I’d make up my mind at once; but now one keeps on thinking and thinking ... really my head has begun to ache! I think the best thing would be to cast lots. It must be as God wills—whoever comes out shall be my husband. I’ll write all their names on bits of paper, and roll them up tight, and then, what must be, will be. (Goes up to table, takes out of a drawer paper and scissors, cuts little slips, writes, and rolls them up while speaking.) A girl’s position is a very trying one, especially if she’s in love. No man can ever enter into that; indeed, they don’t care to understand it. There! now they’re all ready! I’ve only got to put them in my reticule, shut my eyes tight, and what must be will be. (Places slips in reticule, and shuffles them with her hand.) I’m afraid.... Oh! if God willed that Nikanòr Ivànovich should come out! No; why? Better Ivan Kouzmìch! They’re all so nice.... No, no; I won’t decide.... I’ll take whichever one comes out. (Thrusts hand into reticule, and takes out all together.) Oh! oh! they’ve all come out! And my heart beats so! No; it won’t do; I must have one! (Replaces slips in reticule, and shuffles again. Kochkaryòv enters softly and stands behind her.) Oh! if it were Baltazàr.... No; I mean Nikanòr Ivànovich.... No, no; I won’t think; it’s as fate decides!

Koch. Take Ivàn Kouzmìch; he’s the best.

Agàfia. Ah! (Screams, and hides face with both hands, not daring to look round.)

Koch. Why do you start so? Don’t be afraid, it’s I; you’d much better take Ivàn Kouzmìch.

Agàfia. Oh! I’m ashamed! You’ve been listening.

Koch. Never mind; never mind; I’m like one of your own family, you know; you needn’t be bashful with me. Come now, let me see your pretty face.

Agàfia (half uncovering her face). Indeed I’m ashamed!

Koch. There now! Take Ivàn Kouzmìch.

Agàfia. Oh! (Screams, and hides face again.)

Koch. Really, he’s a splendid fellow; he manages that Department wonderfully.... In fact he’s a marvellous fellow!

Agàfia (gradually uncovering her face). Well, but what about the other one, Nikanòr Ivànovich? He’s very nice, too.

Koch. Oh! he’s not fit to be mentioned in the same breath with Ivàn Kouzmìch.

Agàfia. Why not?

Koch. The reason’s plain. Ivàn Kouzmìch is a man.... Well, what you may call a man ... such as you won’t find again.

Agàfia. And Ivàn Pàvlovich?

Koch. Ivàn Pàvlovich! He’s a regular good-for-nothing; they’re all good-for-nothings.

Agàfia. Not all, surely?

Koch. Just look yourself; just compare them; there are all sorts of people; but really, such a set—Ivàn Pàvlovich, Nikanòr Ivànovich—they’re like, Heaven knows what!

Agàfia. Well, but really, they’re very ... modest.

Koch. Modest, indeed! They’re regular bullies and roughs. I suppose you don’t want to be beaten the next day after the wedding?

Agàfia. Oh, dear! Oh, dear! That’s such a dreadful misfortune that there couldn’t be anything worse!

Koch. I should think not! One can’t imagine anything worse.

Agàfia. Then your advice is that I should take Ivàn Kouzmìch?

Koch. Of course you should take Ivàn Kouzmìch. (Aside.) The business seems to go pretty smoothly. I’d better run to the confectioner’s and fetch Podkolyòssin.

Agàfia. Then you think ... Ivàn Kouzmìch?

Koch. Certainly, Ivàn Kouzmìch.

Agàfia. And must I refuse all the others?

Koch. Of course you must.

Agàfia. But how am I to do it? I’m ashamed to.

Koch. What’s there to be ashamed of? Just tell them that you’re too young to marry yet.

Agàfia. Well, but they won’t believe me; they’ll begin asking why, and how, and all that.

Koch. Well, if you want to put an end to it at once, you can simply say, “Get along with you, blockheads!”

Agàfia. But how am I to say that?

Koch. Well, just try. I assure you that, after that, they’ll all run away.

Agàfia. But ... but it sounds ... so rude.

Koch. Well, but you’ll never see them again, so what does it matter?

Agàfia. Even so it doesn’t seem nice; ... they’ll be offended.

Koch. What in the world does it matter if they are? If they could do you any harm that would be another thing; but the worst that can happen is for one of them to spit in your face—that’s all!

Agàfia. There! you see!

Koch. Well, what harm? Why, some people are spat at over and over again! There’s a man I know—such a handsome, fresh-coloured fellow—he was always coaxing and teasing his director to raise his salary, till at last the director lost all patience, and turned round and spat in his face. “There’s your salary!” he said; “let me alone, you demon!” But for all that he raised the salary, and the man was none the worse for having been spat at. What’s there to mind in that? It would be another matter if you hadn’t got a handkerchief near, but you have one in your pocket—you’ve nothing to do but to take it out and dry your face. (Door-bell rings.) There’s some one at the door—one of them, I expect. I shouldn’t care to meet them just now. Isn’t there another way out?

Agàfia. Oh, yes, down the back stairs. But, indeed, I am trembling all over!

Koch. Only keep your presence of mind; everything will be all right. Good-bye! (Aside.) I’ll run and fetch Podkolyòssin. (Exit. Enter Yaìchnitza.)

Yaìch. I purposely came rather early, madam, in order to find you alone and talk with you at leisure. As regards my position, madam, you are, I presume, acquainted with it: I serve as collegiate assessor, I enjoy the good-will of the authorities, and my subordinates are obedient ... only one thing is wanting—a partner to share my life.

Agàfia. Y-yes....

Yaìch. I have at last found that desired partner. It is—yourself. Answer me plainly—yes or no? (Looking at her shoulders; aside.) She’s not like those scraggy foreign women; there’s something of her.

Agàfia. I am still very young.... I do not wish to marry yet....

Yaìch. Don’t wish!... Why, what do you employ a matchmaker for? Perhaps, though, you mean something else—explain to me.... (Door-bell rings.) Confound the people! They won’t let one settle one’s business in peace!

(Enter Zhevàkin.)

Zhev. Pardon me, madam, if I have come too early. (Turns round and sees Yaìchnitza.) Ah! there’s one already.... Ivàn Pàvlovich, my compliments.

Yaìch. (aside). You be hanged with your compliments! (Aloud.) Well, madam, your answer? Say only one word—yes or no?... (Door bell rings; Yaìchnitza spits on the floor.) Damn that bell!

(Enter Anoùchkin.)

Anoùchkin. Perhaps, madam, I have arrived earlier than is becoming and consistent with good breeding. (Sees the others, utters an exclamation, and starts back.) My respects, gentlemen!

Yaìch. (aside). Keep your respects and be damned to you! The very deuce brought your spindle-shanks here—if you’d only tumble and break them!... (Aloud.) Well, madam, how is it to be? Decide. I am a man in office; my time is valuable—yes or no?

Agàfia. (confused.) Oh, no, please, ... I don’t want.... (Aside.) I don’t know a bit what I’m saying!

Yaìch. You don’t want?... In what sense do you mean that?

Agàfia. Oh, I didn’t mean.... I.... Oh, indeed!... (Gathering up her courage.) Get along with you.... (Aside, clasping her hands.) Oh, dear! Oh, dear! what have I said!

Yaìch. “Get ... along with you”?!... What does “get along with you” mean?... Permit me to ask, what do you mean by this? (Places arms akimbo, and advances towards her threateningly.)

Agàfia (stares at him; then screams). Oh! oh! he’s going to beat me! (Exit running. Yaìchnitza stands open-mouthed; Arìna Pantelèymovna, hearing the noise, runs in, looks at him, and screams.)

Arìna. Oh! he’s going to beat us! (Exit running.)

Yaìch. What’s it all about? What can have happened? (Door-bell rings; voice heard without.)

Koch. (without). Go in; go in! What are you stopping for?

Pod. (without). You go first; I’ll come in a minute; I’ll just fasten my strap; it’s come undone.

Koch. (without). I know you’ll sneak away again.

Pod. (without). No, I won’t; I won’t, indeed!

(Enter Kochkaryòv.)

Koch. What next! wants to set a strap right!

Yaìch. (to him). Be so kind as to tell me,—Is the young lady an idiot?

Koch. What do you mean? Has anything happened?

Yaìch. Her behaviour is most extraordinary. All of a sudden she ran away, screaming out, “He’ll beat me! he’ll beat me!” It’s enough to mystify the devil!

Koch. Yes; she gets like that sometimes; she’s weak in her head.

Yaìch. May I ask if you’re a relative of hers?

Koch. Oh! yes; I’m a relative.

Yaìch. What is your relationship to her, if I may inquire?

Koch. A—a—a, really, I don’t know. Let me see—my mother’s aunt was some relation to her father; or else her father was related to my aunt; my wife knows all about it; that’s a woman’s business, you know.

Yaìch. Has her mind been affected long?

Koch. Ever since she was a little child.

Yaìch. A—a—a, yes—of course it would be better if she had more sense. But, after all, it’s not bad to have a foolish wife—once the other considerations are all right, you know.

Koch. But, my good sir, she hasn’t a sixpence!

Yaìch. What! But the stone house?

Koch. Oh! it’s only called stone; but if you knew the way it’s built! It’s just coated over with stucco outside; but the walls are made of all kinds of rubbish—chips, and splinters, and rubble, and what-not.

Yaìch. You don’t say so!

Koch. Of course. Why, don’t you know the way houses are built nowadays? They only build houses so as to be able to mortgage them.

Yaìch. But this house isn’t mortgaged, surely?

Koch. How do you know that? It’s a good deal worse; it’s not only mortgaged, but the interest hasn’t been paid for the last two years. Then they’ve got a brother in the Senate, who has his eye on the house. He’s the most pettifogging hair-splitter that ever was born; the rascal would fleece his own mother of her last petticoat!

Yaìch. But the old matchmaker told me.... Oh! the old hag! A monster in human.... (Aside.) By the bye, though, he may be making it all up. I’ll submit the old woman to a strict interrogation. And, if it’s true, ... oh! I’ll give her something she won’t forget in a hurry!

Anoùch. (to Kochkaryòv). Permit me, too, to trespass on your time with a question. Not being myself acquainted with the French language, I have great difficulty in discovering whether a woman knows French or not. Does the lady of the house——

Koch. She doesn’t know A from B.

Anoùch. Is it possible?

Koch. Oh! I know that very well! She was at boarding-school with my wife; and she was the idle one of the school—always in the dunce’s cap. And as for the French master, he used simply to beat her with a stick.

Anoùch. Just imagine! The first minute that I saw her I had a sort of presentiment that she doesn’t know French.

Yaìch. French be hanged! But that confounded matchmaker.... Oh! the old hag! the old brute! If only you knew the way she described it all! Like a painter; for all the world like a painter! “A house, wings, basements, silver spoons, sledges, nothing to do but to get in and drive!” One hardly ever comes across such a page in a novel! Oh! you old harridan! once I get hold of you!...

(Enter Fèkla. All crowd round her and begin to speak at once.)

Yaìch. Ah—h—h! There she is! Just come here a minute, you old——! Just come here a minute!

Anoùch. How could you deceive me so, Fèkla Ivànovna?

Koch. Now then, my beauty, stand up to the scratch!

Fèkla. I can’t make out a word you say when you deafen me like that.

Yaìch. The house is just built of stucco, you old hag, you! And you told me lies! It’s nothing but garrets, and the very devil knows what.

Fèkla. I don’t know; I didn’t build it. I suppose if they built it with stucco it’s because they liked stucco.

Yaìch. And it’s all mortgaged too, is it? May the devils eat you up, you damned old hag! (Stamps his foot.)

Fèkla. Oh! for shame! using such words! Anybody else would say “Thank you” for all the trouble I’ve taken.

Anoùch. Ah! Fèkla Ivànovna! and you deceived me too; you told me she knew French!

Fèkla. So she does, dear heart, so she does! And German; and all that outlandish gibberish. She can talk all the ways you like.

Anoùch. No, no; I’m afraid she talks nothing but Russian.

Fèkla. And what’s the harm of that? Of course she talks Russian; because Russian’s easier to understand. And if she could do all that heathen jabber, it would be the worse for you, because you wouldn’t be able to understand a word. What have you got against anybody talking good, plain Russian? It’s the proper way to talk; all the saints talked Russian.

Yaìch. Just come here a minute, confound you! Just come here to me!

Fèkla (backing towards the door). Not I! I know you too well! You’ve got a heavy hand; one never knows when you may strike!

Yaìch. Ah, my dove! I’ll pay you out for this! When I take you to the police-station you’ll get a lesson how to deceive honest people. I’ll let you know! And tell the girl from me that she’s a beast! Do you hear? Be sure you tell her. (Exit.)

Fèkla. Well, I never did! He’s in a fine fury! Just because he’s fat, he thinks there’s no one like him in the world. And supposing I say that you’re a beast yourself, what then?

Anoùch. I am bound to say, my good woman, that I did not expect you to have deceived me so. If I had known that the young lady is so uneducated, I ... I simply would never have set foot inside the place. That’s the truth! (Exit.)

Fèkla. Is the man drunk or daft? These fine folk are over hard to please! All that foolish learning has just turned his head! (Kochkaryòv points to Fèkla with his finger, and bursts into a roar of laughter.)

Fèkla. (angrily). What’s all that guffaw about? (Kochkaryòv goes on laughing.) Well, you needn’t go into a fit!

Koch. Matchmaker! matchmaker! She knows her business! she knows how to arrange marriages! (Continues to laugh.)

Fèkla. You’re a wonderful one to laugh; I should think your mother went daft the hour that you were born. (Exit angrily.)

Koch. (continues to laugh). Oh! I can’t!... I can’t really!... It’s too much!... I shall die of laughing!... (Continues to laugh. Zhevàkin looks at him and begins to laugh too.)

Koch. (throws himself into a chair exhausted). Oh!... Oh! dear!... I’m half killed!... If I laugh any more I shall simply die!...

Zhev. I admire your merry character. When I was in the navy, there was a midshipman in Captain Voldyrèv’s squadron—Pyetoukhòv his name was, Antòn Ivànovich—he was very merry too; sometimes, if you’d just lift up one finger—so—he’d set off laughing, and he’d laugh the whole day long. Really, just to look at him was enough to put one into a laughing mood; and at last you’d begin to laugh yourself.

Koch. (recovering his breath). Oh! Lord! have mercy upon us sinners! What has the idiot got into her head? As if she knew how to arrange a marriage! She, indeed! Now, if I arrange a marriage, it’s another matter!

Zhev. Do you seriously mean that you can get people married?

Koch. Of course I do. I can marry anybody to anybody.

Zhev. In that case, marry me to the lady of this house.

Koch. You? What do you want to be married for?

Zhev. How “what for?” Allow me to remark that is rather a strange question. What do people want to get married for?

Koch. But you heard that she has no dowry.

Zhev. That can’t be helped. Of course it’s unfortunate; but with such a very charming girl, so well brought up, one can live even without a dowry. A modest room (gesticulating), here a little entrance-hall, there a small screen or some kind of partition, you know——

Koch. What’s there in her you like so much?

Zhev. To tell you the truth, she took my fancy because she is plump. I’m a great connoisseur in feminine plumpness.

Koch. (looking askance at him; aside). The old mummy may give himself airs; but he’s for all the world like a pouch with the tobacco shaken out. (Aloud.) No; you have no business to be married at all.

Zhev. Why so?

Koch. It’s plain enough why. Look what your figure’s like! Between ourselves, you’ve got a leg like a chicken’s.

Zhev. A chicken’s?

Koch. Certainly. Just see what you look like.

Zhev. What do you mean, though, about a chicken’s leg?

Koch. Just simply a chicken’s.

Zhev. It appears to me, sir, that this approaches to a personality....

Koch. I say this to you because I know you’re a sensible man. I shouldn’t say it to everybody. However, I’ll get you married, if you like, only to another woman.

Zhev. Thank you, no; I must ask you not to marry me to another woman. If you will be so kind, I should prefer this one.

Koch. As you like. I’ll arrange it for you, only with one condition—you musn’t interfere at all; you musn’t even let the young lady see you; I’ll manage it all without you.

Zhev. I don’t quite understand. How “without me?” Of course the young lady must see me.

Koch. Not at all; not at all! Just go home and wait; it’ll all be done by this evening.

Zhev. (rubbing his hands). That’ll be splendid! That’ll be capital! Don’t you think I ought to have my certificate, though—my list of service? Perhaps the young lady would like to see it; I’ll fetch it this minute.

Koch. You needn’t fetch anything; only go home; I’ll let you know this very day. (Exit Zhevàkin.) Yes; and don’t you wish you may get it!... I wonder why on earth Podkolyòssin doesn’t come! It’s very strange! He surely can’t be setting his strap to rights all this time. I’d almost better run and find him.

(Enter Agàfia Tikhònovna.)

Agàfia (looking around). Have they all gone? Is there no one here?

Koch. There’s no one here; they’ve all gone.

Agàfia. Oh! if you knew how I shook and trembled! I never felt like that in my life before. But what a dreadful man that Yaìchnitza is! What a tyrant he would be to his wife! I keep fancying every minute that he’s coming back!

Koch. Oh, no! he won’t come back. I’ll lay my head on it that neither of the two will show his nose here again.

Agàfia. And the third?

Koch. What third?

Zhev. (Poking his head in at the door; aside). I’m simply wild to know what she’ll say about me with that little rosebud of a mouth!

Agàfia. I mean Baltazàr Baltazàrovich.

Zhev. (aside). Ah! that’s it! that’s it! (Rubs his hands.)

Koch. Oh! that creature! I was wondering who you could be talking about. My dear lady, the man’s a complete idiot—Heaven knows what!

Zhev. (aside). What’s that? That I confess I don’t understand.

Agàfia. Do you know, he seems to me a very nice person?

Koch. A drunkard.

Zhev. (aside). I really don’t understand this!

Agàfia. You don’t mean to say he’s a drunkard too?

Koch. Oh! dear me! yes; a thoroughpaced scoundrel.

Zhev. (aloud). Allow me; that I did not ask you to say. If you had said something to my advantage, or in my praise—that would be another matter; but to speak of me in such a manner, to use such words—you may find some one else who will consent, but not your humble servant.

Koch. (aside). Whatever has brought him back again? (Softly to Agàfia.) Look! look! he can hardly stand on his feet. He’s as drunk as a lord; and it’s the same thing every day. Send him about his business and make an end of the whole affair. (Aside.) Podkolyòssin doesn’t come, and doesn’t come, the scoundrel! Oh! I’ll be even with him! (Exit.)

Zhev. (aside). He said he was going to praise me, and instead of that he began abusing me! Very queer man! (Aloud.) Don’t believe him, madam.

Agàfia. Excuse me, I am not well; my head aches. (Going.)

Zhev. It cannot be; there must be something about me that displeases you. (Points to his head.) I hope you don’t mind my having a little bald place here; it’s nothing, really; it’s from fever; the hair will soon grow again.

Agàfia. It is all the same to me whether it grows or not.

Zhev. Madam! indeed.... If I were to put on a black coat, my complexion would be much lighter.

Agàfia. So much the better for you. Good-afternoon. (Exit.)

Zhev. (Alone; calls after her.) Madam! tell me the reason! Say why! What is your objection? Is there any defect in me?... She’s gone! It is a most extraordinary thing! This is the seventeenth time it has happened to me; and always just in the same way. At first everything goes all right; and then, when the critical moment comes, they always refuse me. (Walks up and down the room, meditating.) Yes, I believe this is really the seventeenth girl. And what in the world is it that she wants? I should like to know why ... on what grounds.... (Meditates.) It’s mysterious, very mysterious! Now, if there were anything to object to in me! (Inspecting himself.) I think nobody can say that of me, thank Heaven! It’s very strange! I wonder if I hadn’t better go home, and hunt about in my trunk. I used to have some verses there that no woman could stand against.... There really is no understanding it! Everything seemed to be going all right.... I see I shall have to alter my tack. It’s a pity; it really is a pity. (Exit.)

(Enter Podkolyòssin and Kochkaryòv, looking behind them.)

Koch. He didn’t see us. Did you notice what a long face he went out with?

Pod. She surely hasn’t refused him as well as the others!

Koch. Point blank.

Pod. It must be dreadfully embarrassing to be refused!

Koch. I should think so!

Pod. I still can’t believe she really said straight out that she prefers me to all the others.

Koch. Prefers indeed! She’s simply off her head about you. If you’d heard all the sweet names she gave you—why, she’s over head and ears in love!

Pod. (sniggering contentedly). And you know, really, when a woman likes, she can say such words to you as no man would ever think of—“piggykin-snout,” “my own little cockroach,” “blackie.”...

Koch. Oh, that’s nothing! Once you’re married you’ll find out before two months are over what words a woman knows how to use—enough to melt you all away, my lad!

Pod. (laughing). Really?

Koch. Word of honour! Look here, though, we must get to business. Lay your heart bare before her this very minute, and ask for her hand.

Pod. This very minute! My dear fellow, how can you!

Koch. This minute, certainly; and here she comes. (Enter Agàfia.) Madam, I have brought to your feet the mortal whom you see. There never was a man so desperately in love—poor fellow, I wouldn’t wish an enemy to be in such a state....

Pod. (nudging his arm; softly). I say, old fellow, don’t lay it on too thick....

Koch. (aside to him). All right. (Aside to her.) Help him out, he’s very shy; try to be as easy as possible. Make the most of your eyebrows, or keep your eyes down and then flash them at him suddenly—you know how!—or bend your shoulder somehow and let the dog look at it! I’m sorry, though, you didn’t put on a dress with short sleeves; however, it’s no matter. (Aloud.) Well, I leave you in agreeable company. I’ll just look into your dining-room and kitchen a minute; I must make arrangements—the man I ordered the supper from will be here in a minute; perhaps the wine has come already.... Good-bye! (Aside to Podkolyòssin.) Out with it; don’t be afraid! (Exit.)

Agàfia. Will you sit down, please? (They sit down; silence.)

Pod. Do you like the water, madam?

Agàfia. How do you mean—the water?

Pod. I mean—to go boating in summer, in the suburbs.

Agàfia. Yes, we sometimes make an excursion with friends.

Pod. I wonder what sort of summer we shall have?

Agàfia. It is to be hoped it will be fine. (Silence.)

Pod. What is your favourite flower, madam?

Agàfia. The carnation; it smells so sweet.

Pod. Flowers are very becoming for ladies.

Agàfia. Yes, they make an agreeable occupation. (Silence.) What church did you go to last Sunday?

Pod. To the Voznessénsky, and the week before to the Kazansky Cathedral. But it is all the same—one can pray in any church. (Silence. Podkolyòssin drums on the table with his fingers.) The Ekaterinhof excursions will soon begin now.

Agàfia. In a month, I think.

Pod. Even less than a month.

Agàfia. I expect there will be some pleasant excursions.

Pod. To-day is the eighth—(counts on his fingers)—ninth, tenth, eleventh—in twenty-two days.

Agàfia. Dear me, how soon!

Pod. I don’t count to-day in. (Silence.) What a daring race the Russians are!

Agàfia. How so?

Pod. The working men. They will stand right on the top of anything.... I passed a house to-day that was being plastered; and there stood the plasterer ... afraid of nothing.

Agàfia. Indeed? And where was this?

Pod. On my way, where I always have to pass, going to the Department. I attend regularly every day now. (Silence. Podkolyòssin again drums on the table; at last takes his hat, rises, and bows.)

Agàfia. Going already?

Pod. Yes.... Pardon me, I have perhaps bored you.

Agàfia. How could that be! On the contrary, I ought to thank you for causing me to pass the time so pleasantly.

Pod. (smiling). Really, I am afraid I have bored you.

Agàfia. Oh no, indeed!

Pod. In that case, allow me to come in some other time—some evening.

Agàfia. With the greatest pleasure. (They bow. Exit Podkolyòssin.)

Agàfia (alone). What a superior person! I have only now learned to know him well; it would be difficult not to love him; he is at once modest and judicious. Yes, his friend spoke truly of him; I am only sorry that he went away so soon—I should have liked to hear him talk some more. How delightful it is to talk with him! The best of all is that he doesn’t talk small talk. I wanted to say two or three words to him, but I suddenly felt so timid, and my heart began to beat so.... What an excellent gentleman! ... I’ll go and tell auntie. (Exit.)

(Enter Podkolyòssin and Kochkaryòv.)

Koch. Why go home? Whatever nonsense do you want to go home for?

Pod. What should I stop here for? I’ve said all that’s proper already.

Koch. Then you have made her an offer?

Pod. N—no, that’s the only thing—I haven’t done that yet.

Koch. Well you really are—why didn’t you?

Pod. I should like to know how you expect me, without talking about anything else first, to plump the question that way—“Will you marry me, madam?”

Koch. And I should like to know whatever nonsense were you talking about for a whole half-hour?

Pod. Oh, we talked about all sorts of things; and I acknowledge that I’m delighted. I passed the time most agreeably.

Koch. Look here, man, think yourself; when are you going to get it all done at that rate? It will be time to go to church and be married in an hour.

Pod. Are you gone mad? Be married to-day!...

Koch. Why not?

Pod. To-day!

Koch. But you gave me your word; you said that as soon as the other suitors were got rid of, you were ready to be married at once.

Pod. I’m quite willing to keep my word—only not at once. I must have at least a month breathing-time.

Koch. A month!

Pod. Of course.

Koch. Are you gone right off your head?

Pod. I can’t do with less than a month.

Koch. But, you wooden block, you, I’ve ordered the supper!... Look here, Ivàn Kouzmìch, don’t be obstinate, there’s a good fellow; get married at once!

Pod. My good man, what are you thinking of? How could I do it at once?

Koch. Ivàn Kouzmìch, I ask it of you. If you don’t care to do it for your own sake, do it for mine.

Pod. I tell you I can’t.

Koch. You can, my dear fellow, you can, perfectly well; there now, don’t be so whimsical, don’t, please!

Pod. But indeed I can’t do it; just think how odd it would seem!

Koch. What is there odd about it? Who’s been putting that into your head? Now just be sensible and think it over; you’re a clever fellow—I don’t say that to flatter you, or creep into your good graces; I don’t say it because you’re an aulic counsellor—I say it out of sincere affection for you.... There now, dear old chap—make up your mind—look at the thing as a reasonable man should.

Pod. If the thing were possible I would——

Koch. Ivàn Kouzmìch! My dear friend, my good fellow! If you like I’ll go down on my knees to you!

Pod. But why?

Koch. (kneeling). There! I’m on my knees before you! There now, you see, I entreat you! I’ll never forget it if you’ll do me this one favour—give in, please; please give in!

Pod. I tell you, man, I can’t.

Koch. (rising angrily). Pig!!

Pod. Oh, you can rant if you like!

Koch. Idiot! Blockhead! There never was such an ass!

Pod. Rant away; I don’t care!

Koch. Who have I taken all this trouble for? Who have I been working for? All for your good, you nincompoop! I declare I’ll just throw it all up and leave you in the lurch; what’s it to me?

Pod. Certainly, throw it up if you like. Who asked you to give yourself so much trouble?

Koch. But you’ll come to grief altogether—you can’t manage anything without me. If I don’t get you safely married, you’ll be fooled for the rest of your days.

Pod. What’s that to you?

Koch. Oh, you dunderhead! It’s you I’m trying to help!

Pod. I don’t want your help.

Koch. Then go to the devil!

Pod. Very well, I will.

Koch. That’s the right end for you!

Pod. All right.

Koch. Be off with you! Be off! And I wish you may break your leg! With all my heart I wish a tipsy cabman would drive his shafts down your throat! You’re an old rag, not an official! I give you my word that everything’s over between us. Don’t you dare to show your face in my house again!

Pod. I shan’t. (Exit.)

Koch. (alone). Go to the devil—your old friend! (Opens door and bawls after him.) Fool! (Walks up and down in great agitation.) Now, did anybody in the world ever see such a man? The blockhead! Indeed, to speak the truth, I’m a precious fellow, too! Now just tell me, please—I appeal to you all—am I not an ass and a dolt? Why should I toil and moil for him and argue till my throat aches? What’s he to me, please? He’s no kin of mine! And what am I to him—nurse, maiden aunt, mother-in-law, sponsor? Why, why, why the devil should I take all this trouble and give myself no rest? And all for him—may the foul fiend carry him away! The deuce take it all! Sometimes there’s no making out what a man does a thing for! What a scoundrel! What a sneaking, miserable cad! Oh! you pig-headed brute, you! Wouldn’t I just like to punch your nose and box your ears, and knock out your teeth and——Ah! (Strikes at the air with his fist.) This is the provoking thing about it—he just goes off, and doesn’t care a rap; it all runs off him like water off a duck’s back; that’s what I can’t stand! He’ll just go home to his lodgings and lie on his back and smoke a pipe. Confounded sneak! There are plenty of ugly brutes to be seen, but such a hideous mug passes any man’s power to imagine; you couldn’t invent anything worse if you tried—you couldn’t, really! And he’s just mistaken. I’ll go and fetch him back on purpose, the scoundrel! I won’t let him give the slip like that; I’ll go and bring the sneak back! (Rushes away. Enter Agàfia.)

Agàfia. Really, my heart beats so, I can’t make it out! Whichever way I turn, Ivàn Kouzmìch seems to stand before me. It seems as if one couldn’t escape one’s fate. Just now I wanted to think of something altogether different, but it’s all the same whatever I take up. I’ve tried to wind off some silk and make a reticule, but Ivàn Kouzmìch keeps getting under my hand. (Silence.) And so now, at last, a change of condition awaits me! They will take me, lead me to the church. Then they will leave me alone with a man—oh! I shudder from head to foot when I think of it. Farewell, my maiden life! (Weeps.) All these years I have lived in peace. I have just gone on living, and now I must be married! And to think of all the cares of marriage: children, boys—they always quarrel and fight—and then there’ll be girls, and they’ll grow up, and one must get them married. And one is fortunate if they find good husbands. But supposing they marry drunkards, or people that may any day gamble away anything they have! (Gradually begins to sob again.) I haven’t had time to enjoy my girlhood; I haven’t lived even twenty-seven years unmarried. (Changing her tone.) I wonder why Ivàn Kouzmìch is so long coming! (Enter Podkolyòssin, Kochkaryòv’s hands are seen at the door, shoving him forcibly on to the stage.)

Pod. I have come, madam, to explain a certain matter—only I should wish to know beforehand whether you will not think it strange——

Agàfia (dropping her eyes). What is it?

Pod. No, madam; tell me first, will you think it strange?

Agàfia. I can’t. What is it?

Pod. But confess; I am sure what I am going to say will seem strange to you.

Agàfia. How is that possible? It is a pleasure to hear anything from you.

Pod. But you have never heard this thing from me. (Agàfia drops her eyes lower. Kochkaryòv enters softly, and stands behind Podkolyòssin.) It is about——But perhaps I had better tell you some other time.

Agàfia. What is it?

Pod. It is——It’s true, I wanted to explain to you now; but I still feel a little doubtful.

Koch. (folding his arms, aside). Oh! Gracious heavens! What a man! He’s an old woman’s flannel shoe, not a man. He’s a parody of a man, a burlesque of a man!

Agàfia. Why should you feel doubtful?

Pod. A sort of doubt keeps coming over me.

Koch. (aloud). Oh! how stupid! Oh! how stupid! This is what it’s about, madam: he asks your hand, and wants to tell you that he can’t live, can’t exist without you; he wants to know—do you consent to make him happy?

Pod. (half frightened, excitedly nudging him). I say! don’t!

Koch. Can you decide, madam, to render this mortal happy?

Agàfia. I do not presume to think that I can give happiness——However, I consent.

Koch. Of course, of course; ought to have been settled long ago! Give me your hands!

Pod. In a minute. (Tries to whisper in his ear. Kochkaryòv shakes his fist and frowns at him. Podkolyòssin gives his hand.)

Koch. (joining their hands). Well, may God bless you! I consent, and I approve your union. Marriage is a kind of thing——It’s not like just taking a sledge and going for a drive; it’s of quite a different character; it’s an obligation——I haven’t time now, but I’ll tell you afterwards what sort of obligation it is. Well, Ivàn Kouzmìch, kiss your bride; it is your right to do that now; it is your duty to do it. (Agàfia drops her eyes.) Never mind, madam, it is quite right and proper; let him kiss you!

Pod. No, madam, you must permit me now. (Kisses her, and takes her hand.) What a lovely little hand! Why have you such a lovely little hand? Allow me, madam. I wish that the wedding should be at once—at once, without any delay.

Agàfia. At once? Perhaps that will be too soon.

Pod. I won’t hear of anything! I should like to have it this very minute.

Koch. Bravo! That’s good! That’s a noble fellow! I always had great hopes of you in the future! Indeed, madam, he’s quite right; you’d better go and dress at once. To tell the truth, I’ve sent for the carriage already, and invited the guests; they’re all gone straight to the church. I know your wedding-dress is ready.

Agàfia. Oh! yes; ready long ago. I’ll dress in a minute. (Exit.)

Pod. Well, I thank you, friend! Now I appreciate all your kindness. My own father wouldn’t have done for me what you have done. I see now that you acted from pure friendship. Thank you, old chap! I’ll remember it all my life. (With emotion.) Next spring I’ll certainly go and visit your father’s grave.

Koch. It’s nothing, old man; I’m glad myself. There now; let’s embrace. (Kisses him, first on one cheek, then on the other.) May God give you happiness and prosperity (they kiss), peace and plenty; may you have many children.

Pod. Thank you, friend! Now, at last, only now, I know what life is; a new world has opened before me. Now I see, as it were; that everything moves and lives. I feel, I seem to go off into a mist—I don’t know myself what has come to me. Up till now I never saw or understood all this; I was just like a man that knew nothing; I never thought, never pondered over things; I lived just as any ordinary man does.

Koch. I’m glad, very glad! I’ll just go and see how they’ve set the table; I’ll be back in a minute. (Aside.) All the same, I’d better take away his hat, in case of anything. (Exit, taking hat.)

PODKOLYÒSSIN: “WELL, I DON’T KNOW; IT ISN’T SO HIGH; ONLY ONE STORY.”

Pod (alone). Indeed, what have I been, until now? Have I understood the meaning of life? No, I have understood nothing. What has my bachelor life been worth? What have I done? Of what consequence have I been? I have lived and lived, served, gone to the Department, dined, slept—in a word, I have been a quite ordinary and frivolous man. It is only now I see how foolish are all the people who do not marry. And yet, if you think of it, what a number of people are in that state of blindness! If I were a king anywhere, I would command that everybody should marry, every single person, that there shouldn’t be one bachelor in all my kingdom. Really, to think of it, in a few minutes I shall be married! Suddenly I shall taste such bliss as one only hears about in fairy-tales—bliss that there is no describing, there are no words to describe it. (After a short silence.) All the same, put it how you like—but there’s really something almost dreadful in it when you think it over. For all one’s life, for ever—you can’t get over the fact that you’re tying yourself. And once it’s done, no excuse will help you, no remorse, nothing, nothing—everything’s finished; all is over. Why, even now there’s no way out of it; we shall be before the altar in a few minutes. I couldn’t go away if I wanted to—the carriage is at the door; everything’s ready. I wonder, though, couldn’t I go away? Why no, of course not; there are heaps of people at the door, and everywhere, and they’d ask me why. No, no, it won’t do! By the by, there’s the window open; what if I jumped out. No, no; oh, no; it wouldn’t do; it wouldn’t be proper—and then, it’s so high. (Goes to window.) Well, I don’t know; it isn’t so high; only one story, and that a low one. Why, no, no, of course I can’t; I haven’t even got my hat; I can’t go without a hat, it would seem so queer! Couldn’t I manage without a hat, though, after all? What if I were to try? H—’m. I might as well try. (Clambers on to window-sill and crosses himself.) Lord, give Thy blessing![^[13]] (Jumps down into the street. Heard grunting and groaning without.) Oh! oh! It’s a good height though! Hi, drozhki!

Cabman’s voice (without). Drozhki, sir?

Pod. (without). To the canal, by the Semyònovsky bridge.

Cabman (without). I don’t mind going for ten kopecks.

Pod. (without). All right! Make haste!

(Drozhki is heard to drive away. Enter Agàfia in her wedding-dress, walking timidly and hanging her head.)

Agàfia. I really don’t know what is come to me. I feel ashamed again, and I am trembling all over. Oh! I wish he weren’t in the room just this minute; I wish he’d gone out! (Looking round shyly.) Why, where is he? There’s no one here! Where can he be gone? (Opens door into hall and calls.) Fèkla, where is Ivàn Kouzmìch gone?

Fèkla (without). He’s there.

Agàfia. Where?

Fèkla (entering). But he was sitting in this room!

Agàfia. Well, he isn’t here, you see.

Fèkla. He certainly hasn’t gone out of the room! I was sitting in the hall.

Agàfia. Then where is he?

Fèkla. I’m sure I don’t know. He can’t have gone out by the back door. I wonder if he’s sitting in Arìna Pantelèymovna’s room?

Agàfia. Auntie! Auntie! (Enter Arìna, dressed for wedding.)

Arìna. What’s the matter?

Agàfia. Is Ivàn Kouzmìch in your room?

Arìna. No, he must be here; he hasn’t come into my room.

Fèkla. Well, I know he didn’t go through the hall, for I was sitting there.

Agàfia. But you see yourself he isn’t here. (Enter Kochkaryòv.)

Koch. What’s the matter?

Agàfia. We can’t find Ivàn Kouzmìch.

Koch. Can’t find him? Has he gone out?

Agàfia. No, he hasn’t gone out either.

Koch. What do you mean? Not here and not gone out?

Fèkla. I can’t think where he can have got to. I was in the hall the whole time; never left it for a minute.

Arìna. Well, he certainly didn’t go out by the back stairs.

Koch. Well, but, the devil take it, he couldn’t vanish without going out of the room! I expect he’s hidden himself.... Ivàn Kouzmìch! Where are you? Leave off fooling! Come out, quick! There’s no time for jokes; we ought to be at church by now! (Looks into cupboard, and peeps askance under chairs.) No making it out! But he can’t have gone away; he can’t possibly have gone away! He’s here; there’s his hat in the next room, I put it there on purpose.

Arìna. We’d better ask the girl, she was standing at the street door; perhaps she knows something about it.... Douniàshka! Douniàshka!... (Enter Douniàshka.) Where’s Ivàn Kouzmìch? Have you seen him?

Doun. Please’m, the gentleman jumped out of window. (Agàfia screams and clasps her hands.)

All three together. The window?...

Doun. Yes’m. And if you please’m, when he was out he took a drozhki and drove away.

Arìna. Are you speaking the truth?

Koch. It’s a lie! It can’t be!

Doun. No, it’s not then; he did jump out. And the man as keeps the general shop saw him too. He took a drozhki for ten kopecks, and he drove away.

Arìna (advancing to Kochkaryòv). I suppose, then, little father, that you meant to play off a joke on us, to make a laughing-stock of us? You’ve come here to disgrace us, is that it? Sir, I’ve lived for more than fifty years, and I’ve never been put to such shame as this. And, little father, I’ll spit in your face if you call yourself an honest man! You’re a villain and a scoundrel if you call yourself an honest man! To shame a girl publicly—before every one! I—a peasant wouldn’t do such a thing! And you a noble! All the nobility you’ve got is good for nothing but lies and cheating and rascally tricks!

(Exit, furious, taking the bride with her. Kochkaryòv stands as petrified.)

Fèkla. Well. So this is the gentleman that knows how to manage things! This is the way you get on without a matchmaker! It’s all very well to laugh at my suitors. They may be draggletailed, and anything else you like, but, whatever they are, they don’t jump out of the window. I don’t have that sort, anyhow!

Koch. That’s all nonsense; it can’t be! I’ll run after him and bring him back. (Exit.)

Fèkla. Yes, bring him back, I daresay. Much you know about marriages! If he’d run out by the door it would have been another thing, but when the bridegroom pops out of window all I can say is—I wish you joy!

Curtain.

AT THE POLICE INSPECTOR’S.

By GORBOUNÒV.

PERSONS.

The Police Inspector.

Grigòriev, his servant.

A Shopkeeper.

Ivàn Anàniev, a factory hand.

Time: morning. The Inspector sits in his office reading documents.

Inspector (reads). “Therefore, the Moscow Administration of Public Order——” Grigòriev!

Grigòriev. What is it, yer honour?

Inspector. Tell the cook to do me a herring with apple sauce.

Grigòriev. Yes, yer honour.

Inspector (reads). “To make all proper investigations——” (Enter the Shopkeeper.) Who’s that?

Shopkeeper. It’s only me, little father.

Inspector. And who are you?

Shopkeeper. An inhabitant of the town.

Inspector. What do you want?

Shopkeeper. I came, little father, to humbly beg a favour of you.

Inspector. Well, what now?

Shopkeeper. It’s an odd business, little father.

Inspector. Odd? What sort of business?

Shopkeeper. Well, you see, it’s this way—don’t be angry, your honour, just take three silver roubles for your household expenses.

Inspector. Sit down, please.

Shopkeeper. Oh, I can stand, your honour; ... I don’t mind standing.

Inspector. What’s your business?

Shopkeeper. Your honour is aware that I have a ’ouse in your district, with a wooden fence....

Inspector. Yes.

Shopkeeper. Well, in that ’ouse I’ve got a factory—a weaving factory.

Inspector. Well?

Shopkeeper. Well, you see, sir——

Inspector. Sit down, sit down....

Shopkeeper. Don’t trouble.... Well, on Saturday I was in the town, and I was kept a bit late. Well, I tore off home as hard as my legs would carry me—There! I thought, my wife’ll be waiting—family matters, you know—and the tea’ll all be kept about——

Inspector. Yes, yes, family matters....

Shopkeeper. Well, there’s a hand in my factory—Ivàn Anàniev——

Inspector. Well? I suppose he got drunk, or made a row, or something?

Shopkeeper. It’s worse than that, sir—I’d ’ave put up with that—he’s stolen my cutter.

Inspector. What’s a cutter?

Shopkeeper. Why, you see, sir, it’s a sort of thing, ... for the stuff like that we weave, you know, in our line of business....

Inspector. Ah! I understand.

Shopkeeper. So I said to him: “Ivàn Anàniev, you come with me to the Police Inspector.” And what d’you think he said? “I don’t care for your Inspector,” says he!

Inspector. What’s that!—Grigòriev!...

Shopkeeper. So I said to him: “What d’you mean?” I says; “why, any gentleman can hit you over the head if he likes, and you can’t do anything—let alone, his honour the Inspector,” says I.

Inspector. Grigòriev!

Shopkeeper. You see, your honour, people like us can’t pass over things of that sort, ’cause why?—we should just lose all our capital....

Inspector. Gri—gòriev!

Shopkeeper. And I do say, sir, that for us the Inspector ... it’s like this, you see, ... as if——

(Enter Grigòriev.)

Grigòriev. What is it, yer honour?

Inspector. Blockhead!

Grigòriev. At your honour’s service.

Inspector. Fetch Ivàn Anàniev here.

Grigòriev (opening the door). Kondràtiev! Where’s Ivàn Anàniev? Dost thou know who it is? Fetch him to the master.... Ivàn Ana—à—aniev!

(Enter Ivàn Anàniev.)

Inspector. What is your name?

Ivàn Anàniev. Ha’nt got none; time to die soon.

Inspector. What do you say?

Ivàn Anàniev. Don’t know nothin’.

Inspector. Take him to the lock-up.

Ivàn Anàniev. Koùzma Petròvich ’as jes’ made it all up agin me, ’cause I wouldn’t mix up in any o’ his fine tricks.

Inspector. Take him away.

Grigòriev. Kondràtiev!...

Shopkeeper. Thank you very much, sir. Nothing more to be done, I suppose?

Inspector. Just step into the other office and write out a formal statement.

Shopkeeper. Certainly, sir. (Exit.)

Inspector. Grigòriev!

Grigòriev. What is it, your honour?

Inspector. Give me my uniform.

Grigòriev. Why, your honour, ’tis all mucky and spotty.

Inspector. What!

Grigòriev. I don’t know nothing about it!

Inspector. Can the spots be taken out?

Grigòriev. Oh ay, your honour.

Inspector. How?

Grigòriev. I don’t know.

Inspector. I think with turpentine?

Grigòriev. And I think with turpentine.

Inspector. Only I’m afraid it’ll smell.

Grigòriev. ’Twill stink, your honour.

Inspector. I don’t know, though—perhaps it won’t.

Grigòriev. Of course it won’t, your honour! (Brings back the uniform.) ’Tis ready, your honour.

Inspector. What?

Grigòriev. Nothin’.

Inspector. Does it smell?

Grigòriev. ’T stinks, your honour.

Inspector. Badly?

Grigòriev. Terrible bad, your honour.

Inspector. I don’t know—it’s nothing to hurt, I think; one can’t smell it.

Grigòriev. Of course one can’t. Let me hold it, sir; there you be!

BEFORE THE JUSTICE OF THE PEACE.

By GORBOUNÒV.

(The Justice’s Court. Before the table stand two shopmen from the Apràksin market.)

The Justice of the Peace. You are accused of smearing mustard on the face of a waiter in the hotel Yàgodka.

First Defendant. We had a lark—that’s true enough.

Justice. You broke the mirror.

First Defendant. There—all that’s paid for, and we have given the boy his due.

Justice. Then you acknowledge yourselves guilty?

First Defendant. Guilty? What have I done wrong? If I pay my money down——

Justice. You were together?

Second Defendant. Yes, your honour.

Justice. Do you acknowledge yourself guilty?

Second Defendant. Certainly not!

Justice. It is stated in the accusation that you——

Second Defendant. I dare say! I’d write you all the accusations you like for 2¾d.

Justice. I cannot permit you to express yourself in this manner.

Second Defendant. I wasn’t expressing anything at all!

Justice (to witness). State what happened.

Witness. I dun’no wot ever money they’re a-talkin’ about—I never got no money! They jes’ come in, an’ they was pretty well screwed, both on ’em, an’ they ordered a stew, an’ a big decanter, an’ then a bottle o’ sherry. So when they got very tight, they began blusterin’ away——

First Defendant. If I smeared your ugly face——

Justice. Silence!

First Defendant. Cert’nly sir, only he’s tellin’ a pack of lies!

Advocate. I beg permission to put a question to the witness.

Justice. Who are you?

Advocate. Retained for the defence.

Justice. Afterwards.

Witness. Well, they was blusterin’ away, an’ then they set to an’ began a-cruelly ill-usin’ o’ me.

Justice. How “ill-using”?

Witness. By the air o’ the ‘ed, y’r worship.

Justice. Which of them?

Witness. Why, them there, both on ’em.

First Defendant. That’s all rot.

Advocate. I beg permission to put a question to the witness.

Justice. I told you—afterwards.

Witness. Well, then they begins smearin’ o’ mustard all over me. One gent as was in the coffee-room, he up an’ says, “This is dis—graceful,” says ‘e; and they told ’im, “We’ve paid our money down.”

Justice. Is this a true account?

First Defendant. Maybe; I was screwed pretty tight; I don’t quite recollect. But, even if we did smear him a bit, what’s there to make such a fuss about? It wasn’t turpentine we smeared him with—and then, besides, we paid our money down for it. Well, it’s all one to me; I’ll say “guilty,” if you like.

Justice (to Second Defendant). And you?

Second Defendant. We keep to our former statement.

Advocate. May I speak now?

Justice. You may.

Advocate. May it please y’r worship! The heartfelt repentance brought into court, in accordance with the new statute, dimin’shes.... The law permits of moral conviction, and I therefore beg you to judge my client by moral conviction. I deny—a—any guilt in this case. I have long served in the Administrash’n of Benevo——

Justice. Excuse me. In what condition are you?

Advocate. I beg y’r p—pard’n?

Justice. In what condition have you come here?

Advocate. In w w-what con-d-dish’n?

Justice. I must fine you three roubles. Please to leave the Court.

Advocate. Prompt, just, and merciful.

INCOMPATIBILITY OF TEMPER.

PICTURES FROM MOSCOW LIFE.

By A. N. OSTRÒVSKY.