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 Count’s dog, while your Squeezer was left a whole verst behind.
CHUBUKOV. He got left behind because the Count’s whipper-in hit him with his whip.
LOMOV. And with good reason. The dogs are running after a fox, when Squeezer goes and starts worrying a sheep!
CHUBUKOV. It’s not true!… My dear fellow, I’m very liable to lose my temper, and so, just because of that, let’s stop arguing. You started because everybody is always jealous of everybody else’s dogs. Yes, we’re all like that! You too, sir, aren’t blameless! You no sooner notice that some dog is better than your Guess than you begin with this, that… and the other… and all that…. I remember everything!
LOMOV. I remember too!
CHUBUKOV. [Teasing him] I remember, too…. What do you remember?
LOMOV. My heart… my foot’s gone to sleep…. I can’t…
NATALYA STEPANOVNA. [Teasing] My heart…. What sort of a hunter are you? You ought to go and lie on the kitchen oven and catch blackbeetles, not go after foxes! My heart!
CHUBUKOV. Yes really, what sort of a hunter are you, anyway? You ought to sit at home with your palpitations, and not go tracking animals. You could go hunting, but you only go to argue with people and interfere with their dogs and so on. Let’s change the subject in case I lose my temper. You’re not a hunter at all, anyway!
LOMOV. And are you a hunter? You only go hunting to get in with the Count and to intrigue…. Oh, my heart!… You’re an intriguer!
CHUBUKOV. What? I an intriguer? [Shouts] Shut up!
LOMOV. Intriguer!
CHUBUKOV. Boy! Pup!
LOMOV. Old rat! Jesuit!
CHUBUKOV. Shut up or I’ll shoot you like a partridge! You fool!
LOMOV. Everybody knows that — oh my heart! — your late wife used to beat you…. My feet… temples… sparks…. I fall, I fall!
CHUBUKOV. And you’re under the slipper of your housekeeper!
LOMOV. There, there, there… my heart’s burst! My shoulder’s come off…. Where is my shoulder? I die. [Falls into an armchair] A doctor! [Faints.]
CHUBUKOV. Boy! Milksop! Fool! I’m sick! [Drinks water] Sick!
NATALYA STEPANOVNA. What sort of a hunter are you? You can’t even sit on a horse! [To