The Proposal

CHUBUKÓV: (Aside) He wants me to lend him some money. I won’t. (To him) So! What exactly are you here for, hm? A big strong boy like you.

LÓMOV: You see, I really have the greatest respect for you, Stepán Respéctovich—excuse me, I mean Stepán Excúsemevich. What I mean is—I’m really nervous, as you can plainly see….

CHUBUKÓV: Lover boy! Buddy boy! I can’t tell you how happy I am and everything. And that’s a fact. And all the rest of it. (Gives him a bear hug) I’ve always hoped this would happen. It’s a longtime dream come true. (Sheds a tear) I have always loved you, boy, just like you were my own son, and you know it. God bless you both and all the rest of it.

LÓMOV: It must be cold in here. I’m starting to shiver, just like I was going to take an exam. The main thing is, you have to make up your mind. You just keep thinking about it, you argue back and forth and talk a lot and wait for the ideal woman or for true love, you’ll never get married. Brr…it’s cold in here. Natásha is a very good housekeeper, she’s kind of good-looking, she’s been to school…What more do I need? I’m starting to get that hum in my ears again; it must be my nerves.

LÓMOV: The Lómovs and the Chubukóvs have always been on very friendly terms, almost like we were related. And besides—well, you already know this—and besides, your land and mine are right next door to each other. Take my Meadowland, for instance. It lies right alongside of your birch grove.

NATÁSHA: Excuse me. I don’t mean to interrupt you, but I think you said “my Meadowland.” Are you saying that Meadowland belongs to you?

LÓMOV: Well, yes; as a matter of fact, I am.

NATÁSHA: Well, I never! Meadowland belongs to us, not you!

LÓMOV: I can show you the papers, Natálya Stepánovna!

NATÁSHA: Oh, you’re just teasing! You’re trying to pull my leg! This is all a big joke, isn’t it? We’ve owned that land for going on three hundred years, and all of a sudden you say it doesn’t belong to us. Excuse me, Iván Vassílich, excuse me, but I can’t believe you said that. And believe me, I don’t care one bit about that old meadow: it’s only twelve acres, it’s not worth three hundred rubles, even, but that’s not the point. It’s the injustice of it that hurts. And I don’t care what anybody says—injustice is something I just can’t put up with.

CHUBUKÓV: Every single one of the Lómovs was crazy! All of them!

NATÁSHA: All of them! Every single one!

CHUBUKÓV: Your uncle was a falling-down drunk, and that’s a fact! And your aunt, the youngest one, she used to run around with an architect! An architect! And that’s a fact!

LÓMOV: And your mother was a hunchback! (Clutches his chest) Oh, my God, I’ve got a pain in my side…my head’s beginning to pound!

CHUBUKÓV: And would you believe that wig-worm, that chicken-brain, had the nerve to come here and propose? Hah? He proposed!

NATÁSHA: He proposed what?

CHUBUKÓV: What? He came here to propose to you!

NATÁSHA: To propose? To me? Why didn’t you tell me that before!

CHUBUKÓV: That’s why he was all dressed up in that stupid coat! What a silly sausage!

NATÁSHA: Me? He came to propose to me? Oh, my God, my God! (Collapses into a chair and wails) Oh, make him come back! Make him come back! Oh, please, make him come back! (She has hysterics)

LÓMOV: He has an underslung jaw!

NATÁSHA: (Shouting) It’s not true!

LÓMOV: What are you shouting for?

NATÁSHA: What are you lying for? I can’t stand any more of this. You ought to be getting ready to put your old Guesser out of his misery, and here you are comparing him to our Messer!

LÓMOV: You’ll have to excuse me, I can’t go on with this conversation. I’m having a heart murmur.

LÓMOV: Wait wait wait…here it comes! A heart attack! My shoulder just came undone—where’s my shoulder? I’m going to die! (Collapses into a chair) Get a doctor! (Faints)

CHUBUKÓV: Whippersnapper! Milk sucker! Snoop! You make me sick! (Drinks some water) Sick!

NATÁSHA: What kind of a hunter are you? You can’t even ride a horse! (To Chubukóv) Papa! What’s the matter with him? Papa! Look at him, Papa! (Screeching) Iván Vassílich! He’s dead!

CHUBUKÓV: […] Get some water! Get a doctor! (Puts glass to Lómov’s mouth) Here, drink this…He’s not drinking it…That means he’s really dead…and everything! Oh, what a mess! I’ll kill myself! I’ll kill myself! Why did I wait so long to kill myself? What am I waiting for right now? Give me a knife! Lend me a gun! (Lómov stirs) I think he’s going to live! Here, drink some water. That’s the way.

LÓMOV: Spots…everything is all spots…it’s all cloudy…. Where am I?

CHUBUKÓV: Just get married as soon as you can and then get out of here! She says yes! (Joins Lómov’s and Natásha’s hands) She says yes and all the rest of it. I give you both my blessing and whatever. Only please just leave me in peace!

NATÁSHA: But all the same—you can admit it now, can’t you?—Messer is better than Guesser.

LÓMOV: He’s worse!

NATÁSHA: He’s better!

CHUBUKÓV: And they lived happily ever after! Bring on the champagne!