all enough
settlement. And your mamma also, Agrafena Kondratyevna, is always wanting
her own taste suited; you must be sure to give her a merchant, with a
decoration, who keeps horses, and who crosses himself in the old way[1].
You also have your own notions. How's a person going to please you all?

SCENE VI

_The same and_ FOMINISHNA, _who enters and places vodka and relishes on the
table_.

LIPOCHKA. I won't marry a merchant, not for anything. I won't! As if I was
brought up for that, and learned French[1], and to play the piano, and to
dance! No, no; get him wherever you want to, but get me an aristocrat.

[Footnote 1: Evidently, Bolshov and his family, like many other wealthy
Moscow merchants, belonged to the sect of the Old Believers, one of whose
dearest tenets is that the sign of the cross should be made with two
fingers instead of with three.]

AGRAFENA KONDRATYEVNA. Here, you talk with her.

FOMINISHNA. What put aristocrats into your head? What's the special relish
in them? They don't even grow beards like Christians; they don't go to the
public baths, and don't make pasties on holidays. But, you see, even if
you're married, you'll get sick of nothing but sauce and gravy.

LIPOCHKA. Fominishna, you were born a peasant, and you'll turn up your toes
a peasant. What's your merchant to me? What use would he be? Has he any
ambition to rise in the world? What do I want of his mop?

FOMINISHNA. Not a mop, but the hair that God gave him, miss, that's it.

AGRAFENA KONDRATYEVNA. See what a rough old codger your dad is; he doesn't
trim his beard; yet, somehow, you manage to kiss him.

LIPOCHKA. Dad is one thing, but my husband is another. But why do you
insist, mamma? I have already said that I won't marry a merchant, and I
won't! I'd rather die first; I'll cry to the end of my life; if tears give
out, I'll swallow pepper.

FOMINISHNA. Are you getting ready to bawl? Don't you think of it!--What fun
do you get out of teasing her, Agrafena Kondratyevna?

AGRAFENA KONDRATYEVNA. Who's teasing her? She's mighty touchy.

USTINYA NAUMOVNA. Well, well, if you've got your mind set on a nobleman,
we'll find you one. What sort do you want; rather stout, or rather lean?

LIPOCHKA. Doesn't matter, it's all right if he's rather stout, so long as
he's no shorty. Of course he'd better be tall than an insignificant little
runt! And most of all, Ustinya Naumovna, he mustn't be snub-nosed, and he
absolutely must be dar