Ignatyevna with it. He won the field over everybody, but he didn’t strut for long, they arrested him at his home. What a great scandal that was! (He laughs.) For about a month the Ogudalovs couldn’t go anywhere. It was then that Larisa told her mother point-blank, “We’ve put up with enough of this shame. I’ll marry the first one who comes along, whether he’s rich or poor. I’m not going to be choosy.” And up pops Karandyshov with his proposal.
Knurov. Where did this Karandyshov come from?
Vozhevatov. He’s been hanging around their house a long time, about three years. They didn’t chase him away, but they didn’t show him much respect either. When the lull set in and there weren’t any rich suitors in sight they held onto Karandyshov and gave him some invitations so the house wouldn’t be empty. But when some rich guy dropped in, it was simply pitiful to look at Karandyshov. They didn’t even talk to him or even look at him. And there he sat in his corner, playing his different roles, throwing out savage looks, pretending to be in despair. Once he wanted to shoot himself, but nothing came of that, he just made everybody laugh. And here’s the funny part. Once they had a costume party, and Paratov was there. So Karandyshov dressed himself up as a highway robber, took an axe in his hands, and threw wild looks at everybody, especially Sergey Sergeyich.
Knurov. Then what?
Vozhevatov. They took his axe away from him and told him to change his clothes or else he’d have to leave!
Knurov. What it all means is, he’s being rewarded for being faithful. He’s happy, I’m sure.
Vozhevatov. Happy and then some, glowing like an orange. It’s so funny! He’s really a nut. What he ought to do is marry her as soon as he can and take her away to his little estate till the talk dies down. The Ogudalovs would like that. But instead he drags Larisa along the boulevard on his arm with his head raised so high he’d run right into you if you didn’t watch out. And then for some reason he’s taken to wearing glasses, but he never used to wear them. When he bows he hardly nods his head, and he’s taken on a certain air. Before you’d hardly hear a word out of him, but now it’s always, “I this, I that, I want, I wish.”
Knurov. He’s like the Russian peasant. It’s not enough fun just getting drunk. He has to act high and mighty so everybody takes notice. So he gets up on his high horse, and they give him a thrashing or two. Then he’s satisfied and goes off to sleep.
Vozhevatov. Yes, I suppose that’s the sort of thing Karandyshov has to go through.
Knurov. Poor girl! She must suffer just looking at him.
Vozhevatov. He got the idea of decorating his apartment, and here’s what he dreamed up. In his study he put up a cheap tapestry on the wall, and he hung up daggers and pistols from Tula. That would be no surprise if he were a hunter, but he’s never held a gun in his life. So he drags you to his place and shows it all off to you, and you have to praise him for it or he’ll take offense. He’s a proud man, envious too. He ordered a horse from the country, some nag or other with different colors, and he has a little coachman who wears a coat handed down from a big coachman. And with that camel he takes Larisa Dmitriyevna driving; he sits there so proudly, as if he were driving with a thousand trotters. He walks up from the boulevard and shouts to the constable, “Have them bring my carriage!” So that carriage of his comes driving up with all its music, the screws and nuts all jangling out of tune, and the springs shaking as if they’re alive.
Knurov. I’m sorry for poor Larisa Dmitriyevna. I’m sorry for her.
Vozhevatov. Why are you so sorry for her?
Knurov. Don’t you see? Here’s a woman made for luxury. A precious jewel demands a costly setting.
Vozhevatov. And a good jeweler.
Knurov. That’s the whole truth. A jeweler and not just an ordinary workman; he has to be an artist. If she’s surrounded by poverty and married to a fool besides, she’ll either perish or become common.
Vozhevatov. But I think she’ll throw him over pretty soon. She’s like a dead woman now, but when she recovers and takes a closer look at her husband, sees what he’s like… (Quietly.) There they are now, speak of the devil.
Karandyshov, Madame Ogudalov, and Larisa enter. Vozhevatov stands up and bows. Knurov takes out a newspaper. Larisa sits down on a bench by the railing and looks through binoculars at the Volga.
Mme Ogudalov (walking over to the table). Greetings, gentlemen!
Karandyshov follows her over. Vozhevatov gives his hand to both of them. Knurov silently and not rising from his place gives his hand to Mme Ogudalov, nods slightly to Karandyshov, and buries himself in his newspaper.
Vozhevatov. Kharita Ignatyenva, please sit down. (He moves a chair forward.)
Mme Ogudalov sits down.
Wouldn’t you like some tea?
Karandyshov sits down some distance away.
Mme Ogudalov. All right, I’ll take a cup.
Vozhevatov. Ivan, bring a cup and add some boiling water.
Ivan takes the teapot and goes off.
Karandyshov. What a crazy idea to drink tea at this time of day? It amazes me.
Vozhevatov. It’s a question of thirst, Yuly Kapitonych, but just what I should drink I don’t know. Give me your advice, I’d appreciate it.
Karandyshov (looks at his watch). At the present moment it’s noon, so you could have a small glass of vodka, a chop, and then a small glass of good wine. That’s how I always lunch.
Vozhevatov (to Mme Ogudalov). Now that’s what I call living, Kharita Ignatyenva, it makes a man jealous. (To Karandyshov.) If I could only live one little day in your shoes. A bit of vodka, a bit of wine! But we can’t do that, sir, we might lose our powers of reasoning. You can do what you want, you’re not running through your capital because you don’t have any, but we poor devils were born into the world with a lot of big deals to attend to, so we’re not allowed to lose our reason.
Ivan brings the teapot and a cup.
Kharita Ignatyenva, please! (He pours out a cup and hands it to her.) I drink my tea cold so people won’t say I use hot drinks.
Mme Ogudalov. The tea’s cold all right. Only, Vasya, you poured mine too strong.
Vozhevatov. That doesn’t matter, ma’am. Drink it, for my sake! It won’t do you any harm in the open air.
Karandyshov (to Ivan). Come to my house tonight to serve dinner.
Ivan. Yes, sir, Yuly Kapitonych.
Karandyshov. And listen, my friend, dress up for it.
Ivan. Of course, a frock coat. As if we didn’t understand that, sir.
Karandyshov. Vasily Danilych,
