The Storm

But why should I give up either? I love both.

MME. KABANOVA. Oh, I daresay, I daresay, you may talk away! I see plain enough that I'm a hindrance to you.

KABANOV. You must think as you please, it's for you to decide in everything. Only I can't comprehend why I was ever born into the world so unlucky as not to be able to please you anyhow.

MME. KABANOVA. What do you mean by whimpering like a sick child! A pretty husband, upon my word! You should just see yourself! Do you suppose your wife will fear you after that?

KABANOV.

Why should she fear me? I'm content, if she loves me.

MME. KABANOVA. Why should she fear you! Why should she fear you! What do you mean? Why, you must be crazy! If she doesn't fear you, she's not likely to fear me. A pretty state of confusion there would be in the house! Why, you're living with her in lawful wedlock, aren't you? Or does the law count for nothing to your thinking? If you do harbour such fools' notions in your brain, you shouldn't talk so before her anyway, nor before your sister, that's a girl still. She'll have to be married too; and if she catches up your silly talk it's her husband will thank us afterwards for the lessons we've taught her. You see how little sense you've got, and yet you want to be independent and live as you like.

KABANOV. But indeed, mamma, I don't want to be independent. How ever could I be independent!

MME. KABANOVA.

So, to your thinking then, kindness is all that's needed with a wife?

Mustn't even scold her then, or threaten her?

KABANOV.

But, indeed, mamma….

MME. KABANOVA (hotly). Wait till she sets up a lover…. Hey! But I daresay that's no consequence either, to your thinking? Hey? Come, speak?

KABANOV.

But, mercy on us, mamma….

MME. KABANOVA (perfectly coolly). Fool! (Sighs) What's the use of talking to a fool! it's simply a sin! (Silence) I'm going home.

KABANOV. We'll come directly too; we'll only take one or two more turns on the parade.

MME. KABANOVA. Very well; do as you like, only mind you don't keep me waiting! You know I don't like that.

KABANOV.

Oh no, mamma! God forbid!

MME. KABANOVA.

Mind you don't then!

[Goes.

SCENE VI

The Same, except MME. KABANOVA.

KABANOV. There, you see how I always catch it from mamma on your account! A nice sort of life I lead!

KATERINA.

Is it my fault?

KABANOV.

I don't know whose fault it is.

VARVARA.

Is it likely you would know?

KABANOV. She used to keep on at me, 'You must get a wife, you must get a wife, I'm longing to see you a married man.' And now she worries my life out, and gives me no peace—all on your account.

VARVARA. Well, it's not her fault! Mother attacks her, and you too. And then you say you love your wife. It makes me sick to look at you. (Turns away.)

KABANOV.

Talk away! What am I to do?

VARVARA.

Mind your own business—hold your tongue, if you can't do anything better.

Why do you stand there shilly-shallying? I can see by your face what's in

your mind.

KABANOV.

Why, what?

VARVARA.

What?—Why, that you want to go in and have a drink with Saviol

Prokofitch. Eh? isn't that it?

KABANOV.

You've hit it, old girl.