THE BOOR

PERSONS IN THE PLAY

HELENA IVANOVNA POPOV, a young widow, mistress of a country estate

GRIGORI STEPANOVITCH SMIRNOV, proprietor of a country estate
LUKA, servant of MRS. POPOV
A gardener. A Coachman. Several workmen.

TIME: The present.

SCENE: A well-furnished reception-room in MRS. POPOV'S home. MRS.

POPOV is 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.
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. I grieved for her. I wept a whole month--and then it was over. You
have forgotten all your neighbours. You don't go out and you receive no one.
The whole neighbourhood is full of gentlefolk. The regiment is stationed in
Riblov--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, 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 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 so. Do you
understand? I know, it's no secret to you; he was often unjust to me, cruel,
and--he wasn't faithful, but I shall be faithful to the grave and prove to him
how I can 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 neighbours?

MRS. POPOV: [Weeping.] Oh!

LUKA: Dear madam, what is it? In Heaven's name!

MRS. POPOV: He loved Tobby so! He always drove him to the Kortschagins
or the Vlassovs. What a wonderful horseman he was! How fine he looked when
he pulled at the reigns 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? I am at home to no one.

LUKA: Yes, ma'am.

[He goes out, centre.]
MRS. POPOV: [Gazing at the photograph.] Aren't you ashamed? I have been a
good, true wife; I have imprisoned myself and I shall remain true until death,
and you--you--you're not ashamed of yourself, my dear monster! You
quarrelled with me, left me alone for weeks--

[LUKA enters in great excitement.]

LUKA: Oh, ma'am, someone is asking for you, insists on seeing you--

MRS. POPOV: I receive 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: Fine, show him in. The impudent--!

[LUKA goes out, centre.]

[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, Grigori
Stapanovitch Smirnov! I’m sorry to disturb you, but this is important.

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 roubles. Now,
I have to pay the interest tomorrow, so, I should like to request, madam, that
you pay me the money today.
MRS. POPOV: Twelve-hundred--and for what was my husband indebted to
you?

SMIRNOV: He bought oats from me.

MRS. POPOV: [With a sigh, to LUKA.] Don't forget to give Tobby an extra
measure of oats.

[LUKA goes out.]

MRS. POPOV: [To SMINOV.] My husband is indebted to you, I shall, of

course pay you, but you must excuse me-- I don’t have any cash on my he
today. Tomorrow my manager will be back from town and he’ll see that you
get paid, but until then I cannot satisfy your request. Furthermore, today is just
seven months since my husband died, plus I’m in the sad mood to discuss
money matters.

SMIRNOV: And I’m in the mood to fly up the chimney with my feet in the air
if I don’t meet mortgage payment tomorrow. They’ll seize my estate!

MRS. POPOV: Day after tomorrow you will have the money.

SMIRNOV: I don't need the money day after tomorrow; I need it today.

MRS. POPOV: I'm sorry I can't pay you today.

SMIRNOV: And I can't wait until day after to-morrow.

MRS. POPOV: But what can I do? I don’t have the money!

SMIRNOV: That means you won’t pay me?

MRS. POPOV: It means I can’t pay you.

SMIRNOV: Hm! Is that your last word?

MRS. POPOV: My last.

SMIRNOV: Absolutely?

MRS. POPOV: Absolutely.

SMIRNOV: Thank you. [He shrugs his shoulders.] And they expect me to
stand for all that. On my way here, I met my accountant, “ Why are you always
so down in the dumps?” Well, why in Heaven’s name, shouldn’t I worry? I’m
desperate for money. I got up at dawn yesterday and called on all my debtors.
But not one of them came across. The devil knows in what sort of Jew-inn I
slept; in a room with a barrel of brandy! And finally I got here, seventy versts
from home, hope for a little money, and what do I get? “ A sad mood!”. What
kind of mood do you think that puts me in?

MRS. POPOV: I thought I made it plain to you that I’ll pay u as soon as my
manager gets back from town.

SIMONIV: I came to see you, not your manager. What the devil--pardon my
language-- do I care for your manager?

MRS. POPOV: Really, sir, I will not have such language or such manners in
my house. I refuse to listen to you any further.

[She goes out, left.]

SMIRNOV: What can one say to that? Moods! Seven months since her
husband died! Do I have to pay the interest or not? I repeat the question, have I
to pay the interest or not? The husband is dead and all that; the manager is--the
devil with him!--travelling somewhere. Now, tell me, what do you expect me
to do? Flap my wings and fly away from my creditors or bang my head against
a stone wall? Not one of my debtors will pay up! And all because I’ve spoiled
them, because I’m an old whiner dish-rag! I’m such a soft touch with them. But
wait! It’s time to get a little tough, I allow nobody nobody to play tricks with
me. I’ll stay here and not budge until she pays! Brr! How terribly angry I am!
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.]

[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, 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
my witness, I'll get the money. You don't disturb me with your mourning. Ugh,
hottest day of the year, nobody wants to pay me. I couldn’t sleep the whole
night and now I’ve got to deal with some wacky widow and her moods. Ah!
My head aches, I need a drink, yes that’s what I need. Servant!

LUKA: What do you wish?

SMIRNOV: Something to drink! [LUKA goes out. SMIRNOV sits down and
looks at his clothes.] Lord, I’m a mess! Dirt and mud on my boots, unwashed
and uncombed hair. The lady probably took me for a highway ma. Not too
polite, I guess, showing up like this.. but what the hell, I am not here as a guest.
I’m a creditor.

LUKA: [Entering with glass.] Here, sir.

SMIRNOV: [ Drinks ] 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: My dear sir, I have lived so long in my retirement that I have
grown unused and I cannot stand the shouting. I beg you, respect my solitude.

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 at hand; wait until day after tomorrow.

SMIRNOV: And I also told you plainly in your native tongue that I need the
money, not day after tomorrow, but today. I might as well hang myself by the
day after tomorrow, if you don’t pay me today.

MRS. POPOV: But what can I do if I haven't the money?

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

MRS. POPOV: I cannot.

SMIRNOV: Then I'll sit here until I get the money. [He sits down.] You’re
going to pay the day after tomorrow? Excellent! I’ll stay here until day after
tomorrow. [Jumps up.] Don’t you believe that I have to pay the interest
tomorrow? You think I’m joking?
MRS. POPOV: Sir, I beg of you, stop shouting! You’re not stable.
SMIRNOV: I'm not talking about stables, I'm asking you whether I have to pay
that interest to-morrow or not?

MRS. POPOV: You have no idea how to treat a lady.

SMIRNOV: Oh, yes, I have.

MRS. POPOV: No, you have not. You are an ill-bred, vulgar person!
Gentlemen don't speak so to ladies.

SMIRNOV: How remarkable! How do you want one to speak to you? In

French? Madame, je vous prie! Pardon me for having disturbed you. What
beautiful weather we are having to-day! And how this mourning becomes you!

[He makes a low bow with mock ceremony.]

MRS. POPOV: Not at all funny! I think it vulgar!

SMIRNOV: [Imitating her.] Not at all funny--vulgar! I don’t understand how to

behave in lady’s presence. Madam, I have seen more women in my time than
you have sparrows. I have fought 3 duels because of ladies, 12 I jilted and 9
jilted me. Oh, I used to be an idiot, crushes on them and used honey language,
cast my pearls before swine. Well, bow, click my heels, fall in love, suffer, sigh
in the moonlight, freeze up, melt into puddles -- I did it all! I spent half my life
hanging around women. Enough! No more wool over my eyes. I’ve had it!
Dark eyes, coral lips, dimples in cheeks, moonlight whisperer-- for all that,
madam, I wouldn’t pay a kopeck! Present company excepted, but all women
are pretentious, gossipy, deceitful from top to toe, vain, pretty, cruel with
madness logic, and as for part here.. well-- excuse my frankness- but one
sparrow has ten times brain than any philosopher in skirts. Take a good look at
any one these romantic creatures, then take a look at her soul. Pure crocodile.
And the worst part is, the crocodile thinks she has a monopoly on the tender
emotion of love! May the devil hang me upside down if there is anything to
love about a woman. When she’s in love, all she knows is how to complain and
shed tears. A man in love, now, he suffers and sacrifices but a woman, her
loves shows up? How? She swishes her skirt and gets a firm grip on your nose.
You’re a woman, unfortunately, but at least you know what I mean, what a
woman nature’s is like. Now tell me, honestly, have you ever seen a woman
who was faithful and true? No, you haven’t! The only honest and faithful
woman are old and ugly. I bet it’s easier to find a unicorn than a faithful
woman.

MRS. POPOV: But 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 sarcastically.] The man true and faithful
in love! Spread the good news! [Bitterly.] How can you make such a statement?
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 worshipped him like
a heathen. And what happened? This best of men betrayed me in every possible
way. After his death I found his desk filled with love-letters. While he was
alive he left me alone for months. He made love to other women in my very
presence, he spent my money and made fun of my feelings -- despite of
everything 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. I shall wear black until the day I die.

SMIRNOV: [Laughing disrespectfully.] Mourning! What on earth do you take

me for? Like I didn't know why you wore this black domino and why you
buried yourself within these four walls. So mysterious! So romantic! You’re
waiting for some knight that will pass the castle, 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.] How dare you say anything of the kind!

SMIRNOV: You buried yourself alive, but didn’t forget to powder your nose??
MRS. POPOV: How dare you speak so?

SMIRNOV: Don't shout at me, please; I'm not your manager. I’m a man, not a
woman, and I’m used to calling a spade a spade. And please stop shouting.

MRS. POPOV: I'm not screaming. You are! Go away! I beg 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!

SMIRNOV: I don’t have the pleasure of being either your husband or fiancé, so
please don’t make a scene. [He sits down.] I can't stand it.

MRS. POPOV: [Breathing hard.] Dare to sit down?!

SMIRNOV: I already have.

MRS. POPOV: Kindly leave the house!

SMIRNOV: Money first.

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: Be a little more polite, please!

MRS. POPOV: [Striking her fists and stamping her feet.] You are vulgar!
You're a boor! A monster!

SMIRNOV: What did you say?

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

SMIRNOV: [Steps toward her quickly.] And just who said you could insult me
like that?

MRS. POPOV: And what about it? Do you think I’m afraid of you?

SMIRNOV: And you think that because you are a romantic heroine you can
insult me without being punished? I challenge you!

LUKA: Merciful Heaven! Water!

SMIRNOV: We'll have a duel!

MRS. POPOV: And just because you’ve got big fists and a bull neck, I am
afraid of you? You.. you boor!

\SMIRNOV: I allow no one to insult me, and not even 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
the man who is forced to give satisfaction. If there is equity at all let their be
equity in all things. I challenge you to a duel!
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.

[She goes out.]

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

SMIRNOV: [Paying no attention.] A duel. That's equity, emancipation. That

way the sexes are made equal. I'll shoot her down as a matter of principle.
What can a person say to such a woman? [Imitating her.] "The devil take you.
I'll put a bullet in your impudent head." What can one say to that? She was
angry, her eyes blazed, she accepted the challenge. Oh my! It's the first time in
my life that I ever saw such a woman.

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

SMIRNOV: That is a woman. I understand! 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 event touched one before!.

SMIRNOV: Oh my god, seriously? You want to shoot but you have no idea
how to use it?

MRS. POPOV: Yes -- and plus it is you’re the one who challenge me a duel.

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, this is the way to hold a
revolver.. [Aside] Those eyes, those are amazing eyes! A real woman, indeed!

MRS. POPOV: Like this?

SMIRNOV: That’s it, that’s the way. Then you pull the hammer back --so--
then you aim-- put your head back a little. Stretch your arm out… that’s the
way. So-- then press your finger on this little thing here, and that’s all. The
main thing is: don’t get excited, careful aim, and take care that your hand
doesn’t tremble.

MRS. POPOV: We shouldn’t shoot indoors; let’s go inside the garden.

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

MRS. POPOV: That is too much! Why?

SMIRNOV: Because---because. That’s none of your business!

MRS. POPOV: You are afraid. Yes. A-h-h-h. Oh no, my dear sir, no flinching!
Please follow me. I won't rest until I put a bullet through that head of yours that
I hate so much!

SMIRNOV: Yes, I'm afraid.

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

SMIRNOV: Because--because--I--like you.

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

SMIRNOV: [Laying the revolver silently on the table, takes his hat and starts.
At the door he stops a moment, gazing at her silently, then he approaches her,
hesitating.] Listen.. are you still angry? I was mad as the devil, but please
understand me--how can I express myself? Well, the thing is, I.. you see,
nothing like this has ever happened to me before. Now, is it my fault that I like
you? I like you! Do you get me? I--I'm almost in love!

MRS. POPOV: Leave! Or I’ll shoot you!

SMIRNOV: Go ahead then, 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.] Marry you?! I’ll shoot!

SMIRNOV: I’m out of my mind. Servant--water! I have fallen in love like an

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

He gets up and goes quickly to the door.]

MRS. POPOV: Wait a minute!

SMIRNOV: [Stopping.] Well?

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

SMIRNOV: Alright then, farewell!

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

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

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

[A long kiss.]

[Enter LUKA with an axe, the gardener with a rake, the coachman with a
pitchfork, and workmen with poles.]
LUKA: [Staring at the pair.] Merciful heavens!

[A long pause.]

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