PODKHALYÚZIN. How can I help loving her, sir? Good gracious, it seems as if I loved her more than anything on earth. But no, Samsón Sílych, how is it possible, sir!
BOLSHÓV. You ought to have said: "I love her, you see, more than anything on earth."
PODKHALYÚZIN. How can I help loving her, sir? Please consider yourself: all day, I think, and all night, I think—Oh, dear me, of course Olimpiáda Samsónovna is a young lady whose like can't be found on earth—But no, that cannot be, sir. What chance have I, sir?
BOLSHÓV. What cannot be, you poor soft-head?
PODKHALYÚZIN. How can it be possible, Samsón Sílych? Knowing you, sir, as I do, like my own father, and Olimpiáda Samsónovna, sir; and again, knowing myself for what I'm worth—what chance have I with my calico snout, sir?
BOLSHÓV. Calico nothing. Your snout'll do! So long as you have brains in your head—and you don't have to borrow any; because God has endowed you in that way. Well, Lázar, suppose I try to make a match between you and Olimpiáda Samsónovna, eh? That indescribable beauty, eh?
PODKHALYÚZIN. Good gracious, would I dare? It may be that Olimpiáda
Samsónovna won't look kindly on me, sir!
BOLSHÓV. Nonsense! I don't have to dance to her piping in my old age! She'll marry the man I tell her to. She's my child: if I want, I can eat her with my mush, or churn her into butter! You just talk to me about it!
PODKHALYÚZIN. I don't dare, Samsón Sílych, talk about it with you, sir! I don't want to appear a scoundrel to you.
BOLSHÓV. Get along with you, you foolish youngster! If I didn't love you, would I talk with you like this? Do you understand that I can make you happy for life? I can simply make your life for you.