The Storm

DIKOY. I know that; but what would you have me do, since I've a temper like that? Why, I know that I must pay, still I can't do it with a good will. You're a friend of mine, and I've to pay you something, and you come and ask me for it, I'm bound to swear at you! Pay I will, if pay I must, but I must swear too. For you've only to hint at money to me, and I feel hot all over in a minute; red-hot all over, and that's all about it. And to be sure at such times, I'd swear at anyone for nothing at all.

MME. KABANOVA.

You've no one over you, and so you think you can do as you like.

DIKOY. No, you hold your tongue! Listen to me! I'll tell you the sort of troubles that happen to me. I had fasted and all ready for sacrament in Lent, and then the evil one thrusts a wretched peasant under my nose. He had come for money,—for wood he had supplied us. And for my sins he must needs show himself at a time like that! I fell into sin, of course, I pitched into him, pitched into him finely, I did, all but thrashed him. There you have it, my temper! Afterwards I asked his pardon, bowed down at his feet, upon my word I did. It's the truth I'm telling you, I bowed down at a peasant's feet. That's what my temper brings me to: on the spot there, in the mud I bowed down at his feet; before everyone, I did.

MME. KABANOVA. But what do you work yourself up into a rage on purpose for? That's not right, my friend!

DIKOY.

On purpose? How d'you mean?

MME. KABANOVA. I've seen you, I know all about it. When you see that people are going to ask you for anything, you go and pick a quarrel purposely with one of your household, so as to work yourself into a rage. For you know that when you're in a rage, no one dare come near you. That's a pretty thing!

DIKOY.

Well, what of it? Who likes parting with his property?

[Glasha comes in.

GLASHA.

Marfa Ignatievna, lunch is served!

MME. KABANOVA.

Well, old friend, come in! Have a taste of what God has sent us!

DIKOY.

Much obliged.

MME. KABANOVA. Pray walk in. (Ushers Dikoy in front and follows him in. Glasha, folding her arms, stands at the gates.)

GLASHA.

If that isn't Boris Grigoritch coming. Sure now he's not after his uncle?

Or may be, just out for a stroll—to be sure, out for a stroll, he must

be. [Enter Boris.

SCENE III

GLASHA, BORIS, later KULIGIN.

BORIS.

Isn't my uncle inside?

GLASHA.

Yes. Do you want him?

BORIS. They sent me from home to find out where he was. But since he's with you let him stop there; no one wants him. At home they're pleased and happy that he's out.

GLASHA.

Our good lady out to marry him, she'd soon make him mind what he's about.

But I mustn't stop here gossiping with you! Good-bye. [Exit.

BORIS. Ah, merciful Heavens! For one glimpse of her! I can't go into the house. No one calls anywhere uninvited in this place. What a life! We are living in the same town, almost next door; yet we barely see each other once a week, and then only in church, or in the street,—and that's all! When a woman's married here she might as well be buried,—it's all the same. (Silence.) If only I had never seen her; it would have been better for me! I can only see her by snatches, and before people,—who are all eyes, staring at one. It's simply heartrending. And yet there's no mastering oneself. If I go out for a walk, I always find myself here at the gate. And what use is there in coming here? There's never any chance of seeing her, and what's more, it may give rise to gossip and do her harm. Well, it's a fine town, certainly!

[He is going, Kuligin comes, meeting him.

KULIGIN.

Well, sir? out for a walk?

BORIS.

Yes, it's very pleasant out now.

KULIGIN. Very pleasant it is, sir, walking now. The stillness, the sweet air, the scent of flowers from the far side of the Volga, the clear sky—

  The space aloft, filled full of stars,

  Stars numberless, space limitless.

Shall we go to the parade, there's not a soul there.

BORIS.

Yes, come along.