nd fight!

SMIRNOV. I'm off my head, I'm in love like a boy, like a fool! [Snatches
her hand, she screams with pain] I love you! [Kneels] I love you as I've
never loved before! I've refused twelve women, nine have refused me,
but I never loved one of them as I love you.... I'm weak, I'm wax, I've
melted.... I'm on my knees like a fool, offering you my hand.... Shame,
shame! I haven't been in love for five years, I'd taken a vow, and now
all of a sudden I'm in love, like a fish out of water! I offer you my
hand. Yes or no? You don't want me? Very well! [Gets up and quickly goes
to the door.]

POPOVA. Stop.

SMIRNOV. [Stops] Well?

POPOVA. Nothing, go away.... No, stop.... No, go away, go away! I hate
you! Or no.... Don't go away! Oh, if you knew how angry I am, how angry
I am! [Throws her revolver on the table] My fingers have swollen because
of all this.... [Tears her handkerchief in temper] What are you waiting
for? Get out!

SMIRNOV. Good-bye.

POPOVA. Yes, yes, go away!... [Yells] Where are you going? Stop.... No,
go away. Oh, how angry I am! Don't come near me, don't come near me!

SMIRNOV. [Approaching her] How angry I am with myself! I'm in love like
a student, I've been on my knees.... [Rudely] I love you! What do I want
to fall in love with you for? To-morrow I've got to pay the interest,
and begin mowing, and here you.... [Puts his arms around her] I shall
never forgive myself for this....

POPOVA. Get away from me! Take your hands away! I hate you! Let's go and
fight!

[A prolonged kiss. Enter LUKA with an axe, the GARDENER with a rake, the
COACHMAN with a pitchfork, and WORKMEN with poles.]

LUKA. [Catches sight of the pair kissing] Little fathers! [Pause.]

POPOVA. [Lowering her eyes] Luka, tell them in the stables that Toby
isn't to have any oats at all to-day.

Curtain.

A TRAGEDIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF

CHARACTERS

IVAN IVANOVITCH TOLKACHOV, the father of a family
ALEXEY ALEXEYEVITCH MURASHKIN, his friend

The scene is laid in St. Petersburg, in MURASHKIN'S flat

[MURASHKIN'S study. Comfortable furniture. MURASHKIN is seated at his
desk. Enter TOLKACHOV holding in his hands a glass globe for a lamp,
a toy bicycle, three hat-boxes, a large parcel containing a dress, a
bin-case of beer, and several little parcels. He looks round stupidly
and lets himself down on the sofa in exhaustion.]

MURASHKIN. How do you do, Ivan Ivanovitch? Delighted to see you! What
bring