a masterpiece of creation, and that it has a monopoly on all the tender passions. May the devil hang me upside down if there is anything to love about a woman! When she is in love, all she knows is how to complain and shed tears. If the man suffers and makes sacrifices she swings her train about and tries to lead him by the nose. You have the misfortune to be a woman, and naturally you know woman's nature; tell me on your honor, have you ever in your life seen a woman who was really true and faithful? Never! Only the old and the deformed are true and faithful. It's easier to find a cat with horns or a white woodcock, than a faithful woman.
Mrs. Popov. But allow me to ask, who is true and faithful in love? The man, perhaps?
Smirnov. Yes, indeed! The man!
Mrs. Popov. The man! (She laughs sarcastically) The man true and faithful in love! Well, that is something new! (Bitterly) How can you make such a statement? Men true and faithful! So long as we have gone thus far, I may as well say that of all the men I have known, my husband was the best; I loved him passionately with all my soul, as only a young, sensible woman may love; I gave him my youth, my happiness, my fortune, my life. I worshipped him like a heathen. And what happened? This best of men betrayed me in every possible way. After his death I found his desk filled with love-letters. While he was alive he left me alone for months—it is horrible even to think about it—he made love to other women in my very presence, he wasted my money and made fun of my feelings,—and in spite of everything, I trusted him and was true to him. And more than that; he is dead and I am still true to him. I have buried myself within these four walls and I shall wear this mourning to my grave.
Smirnov. (Laughing disrespectfully) Mourn-
