About this book

Plays by Anton Chekhov, Second Series

Anton Pavlovich Chekhov

friend: last year we lent you our threshing-machine, although on that account we had to put off our own threshing till November, but you behave to us as if we were gipsies. Giving me my own land, indeed! No, really, that’s not at all neighbourly! In my opinion, it’s even impudent, if you want to know.... LOMOV. Then you make out that I’m a land-grabber? Madam, never in my life have I grabbed anybody else’s land, and I shan’t allow anybody to accuse me of having done so.... [Quickly steps to the carafe and drinks more water] Oxen Meadows are mine! NATALYA STEPANOVNA. It’s not true, they’re ours! LOMOV. Mine! NATALYA STEPANOVNA. It’s not true! I’ll prove it! I’ll send my mowers out to the Meadows this very day! LOMOV. What? NATALYA STEPANOVNA. My mowers will be there this very day! LOMOV. I’ll give it to them in the neck! NATALYA STEPANOVNA. You dare! LOMOV. [Clutches at his heart] Oxen Meadows are mine! You understand? Mine! NATALYA STEPANOVNA. Please don’t shout! You can shout yourself hoarse in your own house, but here I must ask you to restrain yourself! LOMOV. If it wasn’t, madam, for this awful, excruciating palpitation, if my whole inside wasn’t upset, I’d talk to you in a different way! [Yells] Oxen Meadows are mine! NATALYA STEPANOVNA. Ours! LOMOV. Mine! NATALYA STEPANOVNA. Ours! LOMOV. Mine! [Enter CHUBUKOV.] CHUBUKOV. What’s the matter? What are you shouting at? NATALYA STEPANOVNA. Papa, please tell to this gentleman who owns Oxen Meadows, we or he? CHUBUKOV. [To LOMOV] Darling, the Meadows are ours! LOMOV. But, please, Stepan Stepanitch, how can they be yours? Do be a reasonable man! My aunt’s grandmother gave the Meadows for the temporary and free use of your grandfather’s peasants. The peasants used the land for forty years and got as accustomed to it as if it was their own, when it happened that... CHUBUKOV. Excuse me, my precious.... You forget just this, that the peasants didn’t pay your grandmother and all that, because the Meadows were in dispute, and so on. And now everybody knows that they’re ours. It means that you haven’t seen the plan. LOMOV. I’ll prove to you that they’re mine! CHUBUKOV. You won’t prove it, my darling. LOMOV. I shall! CHUBUKOV. Dear one, why yell like that? You won’t prove anything just by yelling. I don’t want anything of yours, and don’t intend to give up what I have. Why should I? And you know, my beloved, that if you propose to go on arguing about it, I’d much sooner give up the meadows to the peasants than to you. There! LOMOV. I don’t understand! How have you the right to give away somebody else’s property? CHUBUKOV. You may take it that I know whether I have the right or not. Because, young man, I’m not used to being spoken to in that tone of voice, and so on: I, young man, am twice your age, and ask you to speak to me without agitating yourself, and all that. LOMOV. No, you just think I’m a fool and want to have me on! You call my land yours, and then you want me to talk to you calmly and politely! Good neighbours don’t behave like that, Stepan Stepanitch! You’re not a neighbour, you’re a grabber! CHUBUKOV. What’s that? What did you say? NATALYA STEPANOVNA. Papa, send the mowers out to the Meadows at once! CHUBUKOV. What did you say, sir? NATALYA STEPANOVNA. Oxen Meadows are ours, and I shan’t give them up, shan’t give them up, shan’t give them up! LOMOV. We’ll see! I’ll have the matter taken to court, and then I’ll show you! CHUBUKOV. To court? You can take it to court, and all that! You can! I know you; you’re just on the look-out for a chance to go to court, and all that.... You pettifogger! All your people were like that! All of them! LOMOV. Never mind about my people! The Lomovs have all been honourable people, and not one has ever been tried for embezzlement, like your grandfather! CHUBUKOV. You Lomovs have had lunacy in your family, all of you! NATALYA STEPANOVNA. All, all, all! CHUBUKOV. Your grandfather was a drunkard, and your younger aunt, Nastasya Mihailovna, ran away with an architect, and so on. LOMOV. And your mother was hump-backed. [Clutches at his heart] Something pulling in my side.... My head.... Help! Water! CHUBUKOV. Your father was a guzzling gambler! NATALYA STEPANOVNA. And there haven’t been many backbiters to equal your aunt! LOMOV. My left foot has gone to sleep.... You’re an intriguer.... Oh, my heart!... And it’s an open secret that before the last elections you bri... I can see stars.... Where’s my hat? NATALYA STEPANOVNA. It’s low! It’s dishonest! It’s mean! CHUBUKOV. And you’re just a malicious, double-faced intriguer! Yes! LOMOV. Here’s my hat.... My heart!... Which way? Where’s the door? Oh!... I think I’m dying.... My foot’s quite numb.... [Goes to the door.] CHUBUKOV. [Following him] And don’t set foot in my house again! NATALYA STEPANOVNA. Take it to court! We’ll see! [LOMOV staggers out.] CHUBUKOV. Devil take him! [Walks about in excitement.] NATALYA STEPANOVNA. What a rascal! What trust can one have in one’s neighbours after that! CHUBUKOV. The villain! The scarecrow! NATALYA STEPANOVNA. The monster! First he takes our land and then he has the impudence to abuse us. CHUBUKOV. And that blind hen, yes, that turnip-ghost has the confounded cheek to make a proposal, and so on! What? A proposal! NATALYA STEPANOVNA. What proposal? CHUBUKOV. Why, he came here so as to propose to you. NATALYA STEPANOVNA. To propose? To me? Why didn’t you tell me so before? CHUBUKOV. So he dresses up in evening clothes. The stuffed sausage! The wizen-faced frump! NATALYA STEPANOVNA. To propose to me? Ah! [Falls into an easy-chair and wails] Bring him back! Back! Ah! Bring him here. CHUBUKOV. Bring whom here? NATALYA STEPANOVNA. Quick, quick! I’m ill! Fetch him! [Hysterics.] CHUBUKOV. What’s that? What’s the matter with you? [Clutches at his head] Oh, unhappy man that I am! I’ll shoot myself! I’ll hang myself! We’ve done for her! NATALYA STEPANOVNA. I’m dying! Fetch him! CHUBUKOV. Tfoo! At once. Don’t yell! [Runs out. A pause. NATALYA STEPANOVNA wails.] NATALYA STEPANOVNA. What have they done to me! Fetch him back! Fetch him! [A pause.] [CHUBUKOV runs in.] CHUBUKOV. He’s coming, and so on, devil take him! Ouf! Talk to him yourself; I don’t want to.... NATALYA STEPANOVNA. [Wails] Fetch him! CHUBUKOV. [Yells] He’s coming, I tell you. Oh, what a burden, Lord, to be the father of a grown-up daughter! I’ll cut my throat! I will, indeed! We cursed him, abused him, drove him out, and it’s all you... you! NATALYA STEPANOVNA. No, it was you! CHUBUKOV. I tell you it’s not my fault. [LOMOV appears at the door] Now you talk to him yourself [Exit.] [LOMOV enters, exhausted.] LOMOV. My heart’s palpitating awfully.... My foot’s gone to sleep.... There’s something keeps pulling in my side. NATALYA STEPANOVNA. Forgive us, Ivan Vassilevitch, we were all a little heated.... I remember now: Oxen Meadows really are yours. LOMOV. My heart’s beating awfully.... My Meadows.... My eyebrows are both twitching.... NATALYA STEPANOVNA. The Meadows are yours, yes, yours.... Do sit down.... [They sit] We were wrong.... LOMOV. I did it on principle.... My land is worth little to me, but the principle... NATALYA STEPANOVNA. Yes, the principle, just so.... Now let’s talk of something else. LOMOV. The more so as I have evidence. My aunt’s grandmother gave the land to your father’s grandfather’s peasants... NATALYA STEPANOVNA. Yes, yes, let that pass.... [Aside] I wish I knew how to get him started.... [Aloud] Are you going to start shooting soon? LOMOV. I’m thinking of having a go at the blackcock, honoured Natalya Stepanovna, after the harvest. Oh, have you heard? Just think, what a misfortune I’ve had! My dog Guess, whom you know, has gone lame. NATALYA STEPANOVNA. What a pity! Why? LOMOV. I don’t know.... Must have got twisted, or bitten by some other dog.... [Sighs] My very best dog, to say nothing of the expense. I gave Mironov 125 roubles for him. NATALYA STEPANOVNA. It was too much, Ivan Vassilevitch. LOMOV. I think it was very cheap. He’s a first-rate dog. NATALYA STEPANOVNA. Papa gave 85 roubles for his Squeezer, and Squeezer is heaps better than Guess! LOMOV. Squeezer better than. Guess? What an idea! [Laughs] Squeezer better than Guess! NATALYA STEPANOVNA. Of course he’s better! Of course, Squeezer is young, he may develop a bit, but on points and pedigree he’s better than anything that even Volchanetsky has got. LOMOV. Excuse me, Natalya Stepanovna, but you forget that he is overshot, and an overshot always means the dog is a bad hunter! NATALYA STEPANOVNA. Overshot, is he? The first time I hear it! LOMOV. I assure you that his lower jaw is shorter than the upper. NATALYA STEPANOVNA. Have you measured? LOMOV. Yes. He’s all right at following, of course, but if you want him to get hold of anything... NATALYA STEPANOVNA. In the first place, our Squeezer is a thoroughbred animal, the son of Harness and Chisels, while there’s no getting at the pedigree of your dog at all.... He’s old and as ugly as a worn-out cab-horse. LOMOV. He is old, but I wouldn’t take five Squeezers for him.... Why, how can you?... Guess is a dog; as for Squeezer, well, it’s too funny to argue.... Anybody you like has a dog as good as Squeezer... you may find them under every bush almost. Twenty-five roubles would be a handsome price to pay for him. NATALYA STEPANOVNA. There’s some demon of contradiction in you to-day, Ivan Vassilevitch. First you pretend that the Meadows are yours; now, that Guess is better than Squeezer. I don’t like people who don’t say what they mean, because you know perfectly well that Squeezer is a hundred times better than your silly Guess. Why do you want to say it isn’t? LOMOV. I see, Natalya Stepanovna, that you consider me either blind or a fool. You must realize that Squeezer is overshot! NATALYA STEPANOVNA. It’s not true. LOMOV. He is! NATALYA STEPANOVNA. It’s not true! LOMOV. Why shout, madam? NATALYA STEPANOVNA. Why talk rot? It’s awful! It’s time your Guess was shot, and you compare him with Squeezer! LOMOV. Excuse me; I cannot continue this discussion: my heart is palpitating. NATALYA STEPANOVNA. I’ve noticed that those hunters argue most who know least. LOMOV. Madam, please be silent.... My heart is going to pieces.... [Shouts] Shut up! NATALYA STEPANOVNA. I shan’t shut up until you acknowledge that Squeezer is a hundred times better than your Guess! LOMOV. A hundred times worse! Be hanged to your Squeezer! His head... eyes... shoulder... NATALYA STEPANOVNA. There’s no need to hang your silly Guess; he’s half-dead already! LOMOV. [Weeps] Shut up! My heart’s bursting! NATALYA STEPANOVNA. I shan’t shut up. [Enter CHUBUKOV.] CHUBUKOV. What’s the matter now? NATALYA STEPANOVNA. Papa, tell us truly, which is the better dog, our Squeezer or his Guess. LOMOV. Stepan Stepanovitch, I implore you to tell me just one thing: is your Squeezer overshot or not? Yes or no? CHUBUKOV. And suppose he is? What does it matter? He’s the best dog in the district for all that, and so on. LOMOV. But isn’t my Guess better? Really, now? CHUBUKOV. Don’t excite yourself, my precious one.... Allow me.... Your Guess certainly has his good points.... He’s pure-bred, firm on his feet, has well-sprung ribs, and all that. But, my dear man, if you want to know the truth, that dog has two defects: he’s old and he’s short in the muzzle. LOMOV. Excuse me, my heart.... Let’s take the facts.... You will remember that on the Marusinsky hunt my Guess ran neck-and-neck with the