Chapter XIII: Part 13

TALL TOURIST. Say, have you any idea of what you have done? Do you realize the enormity of it? You are scoundrels, who for your own sordid personal ends have impiously exploited the finest human sentiment, love of one's neighbor. You have caused us to undergo fear and suffering. You have poisoned our hearts with pity. And now, what is the upshot of it all? The upshot is that this scamp, your vile accomplice, is bound to the rock and not only will he not fall as everybody expects, but he _can't_.

MILITARY WOMAN. What is the matter? He has got to fall.

TOURIST. Policeman! Policeman!

[_The pastor enters, out of breath._]

PASTOR. What? Is he still living? Oh, there he is! What fakirs those Salvationists are.

VOICES. Don't you know that he is bound?

PASTOR. Bound! Bound to what? To life? Well, we are all bound to life until death snaps the cord. But whether he is bound or not bound, I reconciled him with heaven, and that's enough. But those fakirs--

TOURIST. Policeman! Policeman, you must draw up an official report. There is no way out of it.

MILITARY WOMAN [_going for the hotel owner_]. I will not allow myself to be fooled. I saw an aeronaut drop from the clouds and go crash upon a roof. I saw a tiger tear a woman to pieces--

PHOTOGRAPHER. I spoiled three films photographing that scamp. You will have to answer for this, sir. I will hold you responsible.

TOURIST. An official report! An official report! Such a bare-faced deception. Mary, Jimmie, Aleck, Charlie, call a policeman.

HOTEL KEEPER [_drawing back, in despair_]. But, I can't make him fall if he doesn't want to. I did everything in my power, ladies and gentlemen!

MILITARY WOMAN. I will not allow it.

HOTEL KEEPER. Excuse me. I promise you on my word of honor that the next time he will fall. But he doesn't want to, to-day.

UNKNOWN MAN. What's that? What did you say about the next time?

HOTEL KEEPER. You shut up there!

UNKNOWN MAN. For ten dollars?

PASTOR. Pray, what impudence! I just made his peace with heaven when he was in danger of his life. You have heard him threatening to fall on my head, haven't you? And still he is dissatisfied. Adulterer, thief, murderer, coveter of your neighbor's ass--

PHOTOGRAPHER. Ladies and gentlemen, an ass!

SECOND PHOTOGRAPHER. Where, where is an ass?

PHOTOGRAPHER [_calmed_]. I thought I heard one.

SECOND PHOTOGRAPHER. It is you who are an ass. I have become cross-eyed on account of your shouting: "An ass! An ass!"

MARY [_wearily_]. Papa, children, look! A policeman is coming.

[_Excitement and noise. On one side a crowd pulling a policeman,
on the other the hotel keeper; both keep crying: "Excuse me!
Excuse me!"_]

TOURIST. Policeman, there he is, the fakir, the swindler.

PASTOR. Policeman, there he is, the adulterer, the murderer, the coveter of his neighbor's ass--

POLICEMAN. Excuse me, excuse me, ladies and gentlemen. We will bring him to his senses in short order and make him confess.

HOTEL KEEPER. I can't make him fall if he doesn't want to.

POLICEMAN. Hey, you, young man out there! Can you fall or can't you? Confess!

UNKNOWN MAN [_sullenly_]. I don't want to fall!

VOICES. Aha, he has confessed. What a scoundrel!

TALL TOURIST. Write down what I dictate, policeman--"Desiring--for the sake of gain to exploit the sentiment of love of one's neighbor--the sacred feeling--a-a-a--"

TOURIST. Listen, children, they are drawing up an official report. What exquisite choice of language!

TALL TOURIST. The sacred feeling which--

POLICEMAN [_writing with painful effort, his tongue stuck out_]. Love of one's neighbor--the sacred feeling which--

MARY [_wearily_]. Papa, children, look! An advertisement is coming.

[_Enter musicians with trumpets and drums, a man at their head
carrying on a long pole a huge placard with the picture of an
absolutely bald head, and printed underneath: "I was bald."_]

UNKNOWN MAN. Too late. They are drawing up a report here. You had better skidoo!

THE MAN CARRYING THE POLE [_stopping and speaking in a loud voice_]. I had been bald from the day of my birth and for a long time thereafter. That miserable growth, which in my tenth year covered my scalp was more like wool than real hair. When I was married my skull was as bare as a pillow and my young bride--

TOURIST. What a tragedy! Newly married and with such a head! Can you realize how dreadful that is, children?

[_All listen with interest, even the policeman stopping in his
arduous task and inclining his ear with his pen in his hand._]

THE MAN CARRYING THE POLE [_solemnly_]. And the time came when my matrimonial happiness literally hung by a hair. All the medicines recommended by quacks to make my hair grow--

TOURIST. Your note-book, Jimmie.

MILITARY WOMAN. But when is he going to fall?

HOTEL KEEPER [_amiably_]. The next time, lady, the next time. I won't tie him so hard--you understand?

[_Curtain._]

THE BOOR

A COMEDY

BY ANTON TCHEKOFF
TRANSLATED BY HILMAR BAUKAGE.

Copyright, 1915, by Samuel French.

CHARACTERS

HELENA IVANOVNA POPOV [_a young widow, mistress of a country
estate_].
GRIGORJI STEPANOVITCH SMIRNOV [_proprietor of a country estate_].
LUKA [_servant of Mrs. Popov_].
A GARDENER.
A COACHMAN.
_Several Workmen._

PLACE: _The Estate of Mrs. Popov_.
TIME: _The Present_.

[_The stage shows an elegantly furnished reception room._]

Reprinted from "The World's Best Plays by Celebrated European
Authors," edited by Barrett H. Clark, and published by Samuel French,
by permission of, and special arrangements with, Samuel French.

THE BOOR

A COMEDY BY ANTON TCHEKOFF

[_Mrs. Popov discovered in deep mourning, sitting upon a sofa,
gazing steadfastly at a photograph. Luka is also present._]

LUKA. It isn't right, ma'am--You're wearing yourself out! The maid and the cook have gone looking for berries, everything that breathes is enjoying life, even the cat knows how to be happy--slips about the courtyard and catches birds; but you hide yourself here in the house as though you were in a cloister and have no pleasures--Yes, truly, by actual reckoning you haven't left this house for a whole year.

MRS. POPOV. And I shall never leave it--why should I? My life is over. He lies in his grave, and I have buried myself within these four walls. We are both dead.

LUKA. There you are again! It's too awful to listen to, so it is! Nikolai Michailovitch is dead, it was the will of the Lord and the Lord has given him eternal peace. You have grieved over it and that ought to be enough. Now it's time to stop. One can't weep and wear mourning forever! My wife died a few years ago, too. I grieved for her, I wept a whole month--and then it was over. Must one be forever singing lamentations? That would be more than your husband was worth! [_He sighs._] You have forgotten all your neighbors. You don't go out and you won't receive any one. We live,--you'll pardon me--like the spiders, and the good light of day we never see. All the livery is eaten by the mice--As though there weren't any more nice people in the world! But the whole neighborhood is full of gentlefolk. In Riblov the regiment is stationed, officers--simply beautiful! One can't see enough of them! Every Friday a ball, and military music every day. Oh, my dear, dear ma'am, young and pretty as you are, if you'd only let your spirits live! Beauty can't last forever. When ten short years are over, then you'll be glad enough to go out a bit! And meet the officers--and then it'll be too late.

MRS. POPOV [_resolutely_]. Please, don't speak of these things to me again. You know very well that since the death of Nikolai Michailovitch my life is absolutely nothing to me. You think I live, but it only seems that I live. Do you understand? Oh, that his departed soul may see how I love him--Oh, I know, it's no secret to you; he was often unjust towards me, cruel and--he wasn't faithful, but I shall be faithful to the grave and prove to him how I am able to love. There, in the beyond, he'll find me the same, as I was until his death.

LUKA. What is the use of all these words? When you'd so much rather go walking in the garden or order Tobby or Welikan harnessed to the trap, and visit the neighbors.

MRS. POPOV [_weeping_]. Oh!

LUKA. Madam, dear, dear Madam, what is it? In heaven's name?

MRS. POPOV. He loved Tobby so! He always took him when he drove to the Kortschagins or the Vlassovs. What a wonderful horseman he was! How fine he looked! When he pulled at the reins with all his might! Tobby, Tobby, give him an extra measure of oats to-day!

LUKA. Yes, ma'am.

[_A bell rings loudly._]

MRS. POPOV [_shudders_]. What's that? Say that I am receiving no one.

LUKA. Yes, ma'am. [_He goes out center._]

MRS. POPOV [_gazing at the photograph_]. You shall see, Nikol, how I can love and forgive--My love will die only with me--when my poor heart stops beating. [_She smiles through her tears._] And aren't you ashamed? I have been a good, true wife, I have imprisoned myself and I shall remain true until the grave, and you--you--you're not ashamed of yourself, my dear monster! Betrayed me, quarreled with me, left me alone for weeks--

[_Luka enters in great excitement._]

LUKA. Oh, ma'am, some one is asking for you, insists on seeing you--

MRS. POPOV. You told him that since my husband's death I receive no one?

LUKA. I said so, but he won't listen, he says that it is a pressing matter.

MRS. POPOV. I--re--ceive--no--one!

LUKA. 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. What an intruder!

[_Luka goes out center._]

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 go to a cloister. [_Meditatively._] Yes, in a cloister--

[_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, Grigorji Stepanovitch Smirnov! I'm forced 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 rubles. Inasmuch as I have to meet 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 had bought oats from me.

MRS. POPOV [_with a sigh to Luka_]. Don't forget to have Tobby given an extra measure of oats.

[_Luka goes out._]

MRS. POPOV [_to Smirnov_]. If Nikolai Michailovitch is indebted to you, I will of course pay you, but, I am sorry, I haven't the money to-day. To-morrow my manager will be back 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 the 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 sequestrate 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. We shan't forget it. [_He shrugs his shoulders._] And then they expect me to stand for all that. The toll gatherer just now met me in the road and asked, why are you always worrying, Grigorji Stepanovitch? 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 neither used to such language nor 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! And do I have to pay the interest or not? I repeat the question, have I to pay the interest or not? Well yes, the husband is dead and all that, the manager is--the devil with him--traveling somewhere. Now tell me, what am I to do? Shall I run away from my creditors in a balloon? Or push my head into a stone wall? If I call on Grusdev he chooses to be "not at home," Iroschevitch has simply hidden himself, I have quarreled with Kurzin until I came near throwing him out of the window, Masutov is ill and this one in here has--moods! Not one of the crew will pay up! And all because I've spoiled them all, because I'm an old whiner, an old dish rag! I'm too tender hearted with them. But you wait! I'll show you! I permit nobody to play tricks with me, the devil with 'em all! I'll stay here and not budge from the spot until she pays! Brrr! How angry I am, how terribly angry I am! Every tendon is trembling with anger and I can hardly breathe--ah, 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 just at the point of hanging himself, and she won't pay because she isn't in the mood to discuss money matters. See! Pure woman's logic. That's why I never liked to talk to women and why I hate to do 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 only need to see such a romantic creature from the 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 a witness I'll get my 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 well 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. A little 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 guest. I'm a creditor. And there is no special costume for creditors.

LUKA [_entering with glass_]. You take a great deal of 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 of you, please to cease disturbing my quiet.

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 on hand; wait until day after to-morrow.

SMIRNOV. And I also have 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 when I haven't the money? How strange!

SMIRNOV. So you are not going to pay immediately? You're not?

MRS. POPOV. I can't.

SMIRNOV. Then I'll sit here and stay until I get the money. [_He sits._] You will pay day after to-morrow? Excellent! Here I stay until day after to-morrow. [_Jumps up._] I ask you: do I have to pay that interest to-morrow or not? Or do you think I'm joking?

MRS. POPOV. Sir, I beg of you, don't scream! This is not a stable.

SMIRNOV. I'm not asking you about a stable, I'm asking you whether I have to pay that interest to-morrow or not?

MRS. POPOV. You have no idea how a lady should be treated.

SMIRNOV. Oh, yes, I know how to treat ladies.

MRS. POPOV. No, you don't. You are an ill-bred, vulgar person--respectable people don't speak so with ladies.

SMIRNOV. Oh, how remarkable! How do you want one to speak with you? In French perhaps. Madame, je vous prie--how fortunate I am that you won't pay me my money! Pardon me for having disturbed you. What beautiful weather we are having to-day. And how this mourning becomes you. [_He makes an ironic bow._]

MRS. POPOV. Not at all funny--vulgar!

SMIRNOV [_imitating her_]. Not at all funny--vulgar. I don't understand how to behave in the company of ladies. Madam, in the course of my life I have seen more women than you have sparrows. Three times I have fought duels over women, twelve women I threw over and nine threw me over. There was a time when I played the fool, used honeyed language, bows and scrapings. I loved, suffered, sighed to the moon, melted in love's torments. I loved passionately, I loved to madness, in every key, chattered like a magpie on emancipation, sacrificed half my fortune in the tender passion until now the devil knows I've had enough of it. Your obedient servant will let you lead him around by the nose no more. Enough! Black eyes, passionate eyes, coral lips, dimples in cheeks, moonlight whispers, soft, modest sighs,--for all that, madam, I wouldn't pay a copper cent. I am not speaking of the present company but of women in general; from the tiniest to the greatest, they are all conceited, hypocritical, chattering, odious, deceitful from top to toe; vain, petty, cruel with a maddening logic and [_he strikes his forehead_] in this respect, please excuse my frankness, but one sparrow is worth ten of the aforementioned petticoat-philosophers. When one sees one of the romantic creatures before him he imagines that he is looking at some holy being, so wonderful that its one breath could dissolve him in a sea of a thousand charms and delights--but if one looks into the soul--it's nothing but a common crocodile. [_He seizes the arm-chair and breaks it in two._] But the worst of all is that this crocodile imagines that it is a chef-d'oeuvre and that it has a monopoly on all the tender passions. May the devil hang me upside down if there is anything to love about a woman! When she is in love all she knows is how to complain and shed tears. If the man suffers and makes sacrifices she trails her train about and tries to lead him around by the nose. You have the misfortune to be a woman and you naturally know woman's nature; tell me on your honor, have you ever in your life seen a woman who was really true and faithful? You never saw one. Only the old and the deformed are true and faithful. It's easier to find a cat with horns or a white woodcock than a faithful woman.

MRS. POPOV. But just allow me to ask, who is true and faithful in love? The man, perhaps?

SMIRNOV. Yes, indeed! The man!

MRS. POPOV. The man! [_She laughs ironically._] The man is true and faithful in love! Well, that is something new. [_She laughs bitterly._] How can you make such a statement? Men true and faithful! As long as we have gone as far as we have I may as well say that of all the men I have known my husband was the best--I loved him passionately with all my soul, as only a young, sensible woman may love, I gave him my youth, my happiness, my fortune, my life. I worshiped him like a heathen. And what happened? This best of all men betrayed me right and left in every possible fashion. After his death I found his desk filled with a collection of love letters. While he was alive he left me alone for months--it is horrible to even think about it--he made love to other women in my very presence, he wasted my money and made fun of my feelings,--and in spite of all that I trusted him and was true to him. And more than that, he is dead and I am still true to him. I have buried myself within these four walls and I shall wear this mourning to my grave.

SMIRNOV [_laughing disrespectfully_]. Mourning! What on earth do you take me for? As if I didn't know why you wore this black domino and why you buried yourself within these four walls. As if I didn't know! Such a secret! So romantic! Some knight will pass the castle, will gaze up at the windows and think to himself: "Here dwells the mysterious Tamara who, for love of her husband, has buried herself within four walls." Oh, I understand the art!

MRS. POPOV [_springing up_]. What? What do you mean by saying such things to me?

SMIRNOV. You have buried yourself alive, but meanwhile you have not forgotten to powder your nose!

MRS. POPOV. How dare you speak to me so?

SMIRNOV. Don't scream at me, please, I'm not the manager. Just let me call things by their right names. I am not a woman and I am accustomed to speak out what I think. So please don't scream.

MRS. POPOV. I'm not screaming. It is you who are doing the screaming. Please leave me, I beg of you.

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

MRS. POPOV. I won't give you the money.

SMIRNOV. You won't? You won't give me my money?

MRS. POPOV. I don't care what you do. You won't get a kopeck! Leave me alone.

SMIRNOV. As I haven't the pleasure of being either your husband or your fiance please don't make a scene. [_He sits down._] I can't stand it.

MRS. POPOV [_breathing hard_]. You are going to sit down?

SMIRNOV. I already have.

MRS. POPOV. Kindly leave the house!

SMIRNOV. Give me the money.

MRS. POPOV. I don't care to speak with impudent men. Leave! [_Pause._] You aren't going?

SMIRNOV. No.

MRS. POPOV. No?

SMIRNOV. No.

MRS. POPOV. Very well. [_She rings the bell._]

[_Enter Luka._]

MRS. POPOV. Luka, show the gentleman out.

LUKA [_going to Smirnov_]. Sir, why don't you leave when you are ordered? What do you want--

SMIRNOV [_jumping up_]. Whom do you think you are talking to? I'll grind you to powder.

LUKA [_puts his hand to his heart_]. Good Lord! [_He drops into a chair._] Oh, I'm ill, I can't breathe!

MRS. POPOV. Where is Dascha? [_Calling._] Dascha! Pelageja! Dascha! [_She rings._]

LUKA. They're all gone! I'm ill. Water!

MRS. POPOV [_to Smirnov_]. Leave! Get out!

SMIRNOV. Kindly be a little more polite!

MRS. POPOV [_striking her fists and stamping her feet_]. You are vulgar! You're a boor! A monster!

SMIRNOV. Wh--at did you say?

MRS. POPOV. I said you were a boor, a monster!

SMIRNOV [_steps toward her quickly_]. Permit me to ask what right you have to insult me?

MRS. POPOV. Yes, I insult you. What of it? Do you think I am afraid of you?

SMIRNOV. And you think that because you are a romantic creature that you can insult me without being punished? I challenge you! Now you have it.

LUKA. Merciful heaven! Water!

SMIRNOV. We'll have a duel.

MRS. POPOV. Do you think because you have big fists and a steer's neck that I am afraid of you?

SMIRNOV. That is the limit! I allow no one to insult me and I make no exception because you are a woman, one of the "weaker sex"!

MRS. POPOV [_trying to cry him down_]. Boor, boor, boor!

SMIRNOV. It is high time to do away with the old superstition that it is only a 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, that's 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 a person 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 from here.

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 of pistols. 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 rubles. 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 as well to shoot inside, let's go into the garden.

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

MRS. POPOV. That is too much. Why?

SMIRNOV. Because--because--That's my business why.

MRS. POPOV. You are afraid. Yes. A-h-h-h. No, no, my dear sir, no welching. Please follow me. I won't rest myself, until I've made a hole in your head that 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 that he likes me. [_She points to the door._] Go.

SMIRNOV [_laying the revolver silently on the table, takes his hat and goes; at the door he stops a moment gazing at her silently, then he approaches her undecidedly_]. 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._] How is it my fault that you owe me money? [_Grasps the chair back 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_]. 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 threw over, nine were untrue to 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 to the door quickly._]

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 onto 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._] What are you going for? 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. Fallen in love like a school-boy, thrown 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 ax, the gardener with a rake, the coachman
with a pitch-fork, 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._]

HIS WIDOW'S HUSBAND

A COMEDY

BY JACINTO BENEVENTE
TRANSLATED BY JOHN GARRETT UNDERHILL.

Copyright, 1917, by John Garrett Underhill.
All rights reserved.

First presented at the Teatro Principe Alfonso, Madrid, on the evening
of the nineteenth of October, 1908.

CHARACTERS

CAROLINA.
EUDOSIA.
PAQUITA.
FLORENCIO.
CASALONGA.
ZURITA.
VALDIVIESO.

THE SCENE _is laid in a provincial capital_.

Reprinted from "Plays: First Series," by permission of, and special
arrangements with, Mr. John Garrett Underhill and Charles Scribner's
Sons. Applications for permission to produce HIS WIDOW'S HUSBAND
should be addressed to the Society of Spanish Authors, 20 Nassau
Street, New York.

HIS WIDOW'S HUSBAND

A COMEDY BY JACINTO BENEVENTE

[_Carolina is seated as Zurita enters._]

ZURITA. My friend!

CAROLINA. My good Zurita, it is so thoughtful of you to come so promptly! I shall never be able to repay all your kindness.

ZURITA. I am always delighted to be of service to a friend.

CAROLINA. I asked them to look for you everywhere. Pardon the inconvenience, but the emergency was extreme. I am in a terrible position; all the tact in the world can never extricate me from one of those embarrassing predicaments--unless you assist me by your advice.

ZURITA. Count upon my advice; count upon me in anything. However, I cannot believe that you are really in an embarrassing predicament.

CAROLINA. But I am, my friend; and you are the only one who can advise me. You are a person of taste; your articles and society column are the standard of good form with us. Everybody accepts and respects your decisions.

ZURITA. Not invariably, I am sorry to say--especially now that I have taken up the suppression of the hips, which are fatal to the success of any _toilette_. Society was formerly very select in this city, but it is no longer the same, as you no doubt have occasion to know. Too many fortunes have been improvised, too many aristocratic families have descended in the scale. There has been a great change in society. The _parvenus_ dominate--and money is so insolent! People who have it imagine that other things can be improvised--as education, for example, manners, good taste. Surely you must realize that such things cannot be improvised. Distinction is a hothouse plant. We grow too few gardenias nowadays--like you, my friend. On the other hand, we have an abundance of sow-thistles. Not that I am referring to the Nunez family.... How do you suppose those ladies enliven their Wednesday evenings? With a gramophone, my friend, with a gramophone--just like any vulgar cafe; although I must confess that it is an improvement upon the days when the youngest sang, the middle one recited, and all played together. Nevertheless it is horrible. You can imagine my distress.

CAROLINA. You know, of course, that I never take part in their Wednesdays. I never call unless I am sure they are not at home.

ZURITA. But that is no longer a protection; they leave the gramophone. And the maid invites you to wait and entertain yourself with the _Mochuelo_. What is a man to do? It is impossible to resent the records upon the maid. But we are wandering from the subject. You excite my curiosity.

CAROLINA. You know that to-morrow is the day of the unveiling of the statue of my husband, of my previous husband--

ZURITA. A fitting honor to the memory of that great, that illustrious man. This province owes him much, and so does all Spain. We who enjoyed the privilege of calling ourselves his friends, should be delighted to see justice done to his deserts at last, here where political jealousies and intrigues have always belittled the achievements of our eminent men. But Don Patricio Molinete could have no enemies. To-morrow will atone for much of the pettiness of the past.

CAROLINA. No doubt. I feel I ought to be proud and happy, although you understand the delicacy of my position. Now that I have married again, my name is not the same. Yet it is impossible to ignore the fact that once it was mine, especially as everybody knows that we were a model couple. I might perhaps have avoided the situation by leaving town for a few days on account of my health, but then that might have been misinterpreted. People might have thought that I was displeased, or that I declined to participate.

ZURITA. Assuredly. Although your name is no longer the same, owing to circumstances, the force of which we appreciate, that is no reason why you should be deprived of the honor of having borne it worthily at the time. Your present husband has no right to take offense.

CAROLINA. No, poor Florencio! In fact, he was the first to realize that I ought to take a leading part in the rejoicing. Poor Florencio was always poor Patricio's greatest admirer. Their political ideas were the same; they agreed in everything.

ZURITA. Apparently.

CAROLINA. As I have reason to know. Poor Patricio loved me dearly; perhaps that was what led poor Florencio to imagine that there was something in me to justify the affection of that great-hearted and intellectual man. It was enough for me to know that Florencio was Patricio's most intimate friend in order to form my opinion of him. Of course, I recognize that Florencio's gifts will never enable him to shine so brilliantly, but that is not to say that he is wanting in ability. He lacks ambition, that is all. All his desires are satisfied at home with me, at his own fireside. And I am as well pleased to have it so. I am not ambitious myself. The seasons which I spent with my husband in Madrid were a source of great uneasiness to me. I passed the week during which he was Minister of Agriculture in one continual state of anxiety. Twice he nearly had a duel--over some political question. I did not know which way to turn. If he had ever become Prime Minister, as was actually predicted by a newspaper which he controlled, I should have been obliged to take to my bed for the week.

ZURITA. You are not like our senator's wife, Senora Espinosa, nor the wife of our present mayor. They will never rest, nor allow others to do so, until they see their husbands erected in marble.

CAROLINA. Do you think that either Espinosa or the mayor are of a caliber to deserve statues?

ZURITA. Not publicly, perhaps. In a private chapel, in the class of martyrs and husbands, it might not be inappropriate. But I am growing impatient.

CAROLINA. As you say, friend Zurita, it might seem marked for me to leave the city. Yet if I remain I must attend the unveiling of the monument to my poor Patricio; I must be present at the memorial exercises to-night in his honor; I must receive the delegations from Madrid and the other cities, as well as the committees from the rest of the province. But what attitude ought I to assume? If I seem too sad, nobody will believe that my feeling is sincere. On the other hand, it would not be proper to appear altogether reconciled. Then people would think that I had forgotten too quickly. In fact, they think so already.

ZURITA. Oh, no! You were very young when you became a widow. Life was just beginning for you.

CAROLINA. It is a delicate matter, however, to explain to my sisters-in-law. Tell me, what ought I to wear? Anything severe, an attempt at mourning, would be ridiculous, since I am going with my husband; on the other hand, I should not like to suggest a festive spirit. What do you think, friend Zurita? Give me your advice. What would you wear?

ZURITA. It is hard to say; the problem is difficult. Something rich and black, perhaps, relieved by a note of violet. The unveiling of a monument to perpetuate the memory of a great man is not an occasion for mourning. Your husband is partaking already of the joys of immortality, in which no doubt, he anticipates you.

CAROLINA. Thank you so much.

ZURITA. Do not thank me. You have done enough. You have been faithful to his memory. You have married again, but you have married a man who was your husband's most intimate friend. You have not acted like other widows of my acquaintance--Senora Benitez, for example. She has been living for two years with the deadliest enemy her husband had in the province, without any pretense at getting married--which in her case would have been preposterous.

CAROLINA. There is no comparison.

ZURITA. No, my friend; everybody sympathizes with your position, as they ought.

CAROLINA. The only ones who worry me are my sisters-in-law. They insist that my position is ridiculous, and that of my husband still more so. They do not see how we can have the effrontery to present ourselves before the statue.

ZURITA. Senora, I should not hesitate though it were that of the Commander. Your sisters-in-law exaggerate. Your present husband is the only one you have to consider.

CAROLINA. I have no misgivings upon that score. I know that both will appreciate that my feelings are sincere, one in this world, and the other from the next. As for the rest, the rest--

ZURITA. The rest are your friends and your second husband's friends, as we were of the first. We shall all take your part. The others you can afford to neglect.

CAROLINA. Thanks for those words of comfort. I knew that you were a good friend of ours, as you were also of his.

ZURITA. A friend to both, to all three; _si, senora_, to all three. But here is your husband.

[_Don Florencio enters._]

ZURITA. Don Florencio! My friend!

FLORENCIO. My dear Zurita! I am delighted to see you! I wish to thank you for that charming article in memory of our never-to-be-forgotten friend. It was good of you, and I appreciate it. You have certainly proved yourself an excellent friend of his. Thanks, my dear Zurita, thanks! Carolina and I are both indebted to you for your charming article. It brought tears to our eyes. Am I right, Carolina?

CAROLINA. We were tremendously affected by it.

FLORENCIO. Friend Zurita, I am deeply gratified. For the first time in the history of the province, all parties have united to do honor to this region's most eminent son. But have you seen the monument? It is a work of art. The statue is a perfect likeness--it is the man, the man himself! The allegorical features are wonderfully artistic--Commerce, Industry, and Truth taken altogether in the nude. Nothing finer could be wished. You can imagine the trouble, however, we had with the nudes. The conservative element opposed the nudes, but the sculptor declined to proceed if the nudes were suppressed. In the end we won a decisive victory for Art.

CAROLINA. Do you know, I think it would have been just as well not to have had any nudes? What was the use of offending anybody? Several of our friends are going to remain away from the ceremonies upon that account.

FLORENCIO. How ridiculous! That only shows how far we are behind the times. You certainly have no feeling of that sort after having been the companion of that great, that liberal man. I remember the trip we took to Italy together--you surely recollect it, Carolina. I never saw a man so struck with admiration at those marvelous monuments of pagan and Renaissance art. Oh, what a man! What a wonderful man! He was an artist. Ah! Before I forget it, Carolina, Gutierrez asked me for any pictures you have for the special edition of his paper, and I should like to have him publish the verses which he wrote you when you were first engaged. Did you ever see those verses? That man might have been a poet--he might have been anything else for that matter. Talk about letters! I wish you could see his letters. Carolina, let us see some of those letters he wrote you when you were engaged.

CAROLINA. Not now. That is hardly the time....

FLORENCIO. Naturally. In spite of the satisfaction which we feel, these are trying days for us. We are united by our memories. I fear I shall never be able to control myself at the unveiling of the statue.

CAROLINA. Florencio, for heaven's sake, you must! You must control yourself.

ZURITA. Yes, do control yourself. You must.

FLORENCIO. I am controlling myself.

ZURITA. If there is nothing further that I can do....

CAROLINA. No, thank you, Zurita. I am awfully obliged to you. Now that I know what I am to wear, the situation does not seem half so embarrassing.

ZURITA. I understand. A woman's position is never so embarrassing as when she is hesitating as to what to put on.

CAROLINA. Until to-morrow then?

ZURITA. Don Florencio!

FLORENCIO. Thank you again for your charming article. It was admirable! Admirable!

[_Zurita retires._]

FLORENCIO. I see that you feel it deeply! you are touched. So am I. It is foolish to attempt to conceal it.

CAROLINA. I don't know how to express it, but--I am upset.

FLORENCIO. Don't forget the pictures, however, especially the one where the three of us were taken together on the second platform of the Eiffel tower. It was particularly good.

CAROLINA. Yes, something out of the ordinary. Don't you think, perhaps, that our private affairs, our family life.... How do we know whether at this time, in our situation....

FLORENCIO. What are you afraid of? That is the woman of it. How narrow-minded! You ought to be above such pettiness after having been the wife of such an intelligent man. Every detail of the private life of the great has its interest for history. Those of us who knew him, who in a certain sense were his colaborers--you will not accuse me of immodesty--his colaborers in the great work of his life, owe it to history to see that the truth be known.

CAROLINA. Nevertheless I hardly think I would print those letters--much less the verses. Do you remember what they said?

FLORENCIO. Of course, I remember:

"Like a moth on a pin I preserve all your kisses!..."

Everybody makes allowances for poetry. Nobody is going to take seriously what he reads in a poem. He married you anyway. Why should any one object?

CAROLINA. Stop, Florencio! What are you talking about? We are making ourselves ridiculous.

FLORENCIO. Why should we make ourselves ridiculous? Although I shall certainly stand by you, whatever you decide, if for no other reason than that I am your husband, his widow's husband. Otherwise people might think that I wanted you to forget, that I was jealous of his memory; and you know that is not the case. You know how I admired him, how I loved him--just as he did me. Nobody could get along with him as well as I could; he was not easy to get along with, I do not need to tell you that. He had his peculiarities--they were the peculiarities of a great man--but they were great peculiarities. Like all great men, he had an exaggerated opinion of himself. He was horribly stubborn, like all strong characters. Whenever he got on one of his hobbies no power on earth could pry him off of it. It is only out of respect that I do not say he was pig-headed. I was the only one who had the tact and the patience to do anything with him; you know that well enough. How often you said to me: "Oh, Florencio! I can't stand it any longer!" And then I would reason with you and talk to him, and every time that you had a quarrel I was the one who consoled you afterward.

CAROLINA. Florencio, you are perfectly disgusting! You have no right to talk like this.

FLORENCIO. Very well then, my dear. I understand how you feel. This is a time when everybody is dwelling on his virtues, his good qualities, but I want you to remember that that great man had also his faults.

CAROLINA. You don't know what you are talking about.

FLORENCIO. Compare me with him--

CAROLINA. Florencio? You know that in my mind there has never been any comparison. Comparisons are odious.

FLORENCIO. Not necessarily. But of course you have not! You have never regretted giving up his distinguished name, have you, Carolina, for this humble one of mine? Only I want you to understand that if I had desired to shine, if I had been ambitious.... I have talent myself. Now admit it!

CAROLINA. Of course I do, my dear, of course! But what is the use of talking nonsense?

FLORENCIO. What is the matter with you, anyway? You are nervous to-day. It is impossible to conduct a sensible conversation.--Hello! Your sisters-in-law! I am not at home.

CAROLINA. Don't excite yourself. They never ask for you.

FLORENCIO. I am delighted!... Well, I wish you a short session and escape.

CAROLINA. I am in a fine humor for this sort of thing myself.

[_Florencio goes out. Eudosia and Paquita enter._]

EUDOSIA. I trust that we do not intrude?

CAROLINA. How can you ask? Come right in.

EUDOSIA. It seems we find you at home for once.

CAROLINA. So it seems.

PAQUITA. Strange to say, whenever we call you always appear to be out.

CAROLINA. A coincidence.

EUDOSIA. The coincidence is to find you at home. [_A pause._] We passed your husband on the street.

CAROLINA. Are you sure that you would recognize him?

PAQUITA. Oh! he was not alone.

CAROLINA. Is that so?

EUDOSIA. Paquita saw him with Somolino's wife, at Sanchez the confectioner's.

CAROLINA. Very possibly.

PAQUITA. I should not make light of it, if I were you. You know what Somolino's wife is, to say nothing of Sanchez the confectioner.

CAROLINA. I didn't know about the confectioner.

EUDOSIA. No respectable woman, no woman who even pretends to be respectable, would set foot in his shop since he married that French girl.

CAROLINA. I didn't know about the French girl.

EUDOSIA. Yes, he married her--I say married her to avoid using another term. He married her in Bayonne--if you call such a thing marriage--civilly, which is the way French people marry. It is a land of perdition.

CAROLINA. I am very sorry to hear it because I am awfully fond of sweetmeats. I adore _bonbons_ and _marrons glaces_, and nobody here has as good ones as Sanchez, nor anywhere else for that matter.

PAQUITA. In that case you had as well deny yourself, unless you are prepared to invite criticism. Somolino's wife is the only woman who enters the shop and faces the French girl, who gave her a receipt for dyeing her hair on the spot. You must have noticed how she is doing it now.

CAROLINA. I hadn't noticed.

EUDOSIA. It is not jet-black any more; it is baby-pink--so she is having the Frenchwoman manicure her nails twice a week. Have you noticed the condition of her nails? They are the talk of the town.

[_A pause._]

PAQUITA. Well, I trust he is satisfied.

CAROLINA. Who is he?

PAQUITA. I do not call him your husband. Oh, our poor, dear brother!

CAROLINA. I have not the slightest idea what you are talking about.

EUDOSIA. So he has had his way at last and desecrated the statue of our poor brother with the figures of those naked women?

PAQUITA. As large as life.

CAROLINA. But Florencio is not responsible. It was the sculptor and the committee. I cannot see anything objectionable in them myself. There are such figures on all monuments. They are allegorical.

EUDOSIA. I could understand, perhaps, why the statue of Truth should be unclothed. Something of the sort was always expected of Truth. But I must say that Commerce and Industry might have had a tunic at least. Commerce, in my opinion, is particularly indecent.

PAQUITA. We have declined the seats which were reserved for us. They were directly in front and you could see everything.

EUDOSIA. I suppose you still intend to be present? What a pity that there is nobody to give you proper advice!

CAROLINA. As I have been invited, I judge that I shall be welcome as I am.

PAQUITA. Possibly--if it were good form for you to appear at all. But when you exhibit yourself with that man--who was his best friend--after only three short years!

CAROLINA. Three long years.

EUDOSIA. No doubt they seemed long to you. Three years, did I say? They were like days to us who still keep his memory green!