Works of Ivan Turgenev (Illustrated) (406 page)

RAKITIN
[turning].
Oh, spare me your thanks, at least. . . .
[Goes out quickly,.]

NATALYA PETROVNA
[alone, after a pause].
He’s a good man. . . . But is it possible I ever loved him?
[Stands up.]
He is right.
He
must go. But how can I dismiss him? I only want to know whether he really cares for that girl. Perhaps it’s all nonsense. . . . How could I be worked up into such a state? What was the object of all that outburst? Well, it can’t be helped now. I want to know what he is going to say. But he must go. ... He must... he must. . . . He may not be willing to answer. . . . He’s afraid of me, of course. . . . Well? So much the better. There’s no need for me to say much to him. . . .
[Lays her hand on her forehead.]
My head aches. Shall I put it off till to - morrow? Yes. I keep fancying they are all watching me to - day. . . . What am I coming to! No, better make an end of it at once. . . . Just one last effort and I am free. . . . Oh yes! I yearn for freedom and peace.

[BELIAYEV
comes in from the outer room.]
Here he is. ...

BELIAYEV
[Going up to her].
Natalya Petrovna, Mihail Alexandritch tells me you want to see me.

NATALYA PETROVNA
[with some effort].
Yes, certainly . . I have to ... speak to you. . . .

BELIAYEV. Speak to me?

NATALYA PETROVNA
[without looking at him].
Yes . . . speak to you.
[A pause.]
I must tell you, Alexey Nikolaitch, I’m . . . I’m displeased with you.

BELIAYEV. May I ask on what ground?

NATALYA PETROVNA. Listen. ... I ... I really don’t know how to begin. However, I must tell you first that my dissatisfaction is not due to any remissness in your work. On the contrary, I am pleased with your methods with Kolya.

BELIAYEV. Then what can it be?

NATALYA PETROVNA
[glancing at him].
You need not be alarmed. . . . Your fault is not so serious. You are young, you have probably never before stayed with strangers, you could not foresee . . .

BELIAYEV. But, Natalya Petrovna. . . .

NATALYA PETROVNA. You want to know what is wrong? I understand your impatience. So I must tell you that Verotchka . . .
[Glancing at him]
Verotchka has confessed everything.

BELIAYEV
[in amazement],
Vera Alexandrovna? What can Vera Alexandrovna have confessed? And what have I to do with it?

NATALYA PETROVNA. So you really don’t know what she can have confessed? You can’t guess?

BELIAYEV. I? No, I can’t.

NATALYA PETROVNA. If so, I beg your pardon. If you really can’t guess, I must apologize. I supposed ... I was mistaken. But allow me to say, I don’t believe you. I understand what makes you say so. ... I respect your discretion.

BELIAYEV I haven’t the least idea what you mean, Natalya Petrovna.

NATALYA PETROVNA. Really? Do you expect to persuade me that you haven’t noticed that child’s feeling for you?

BELIAYEV. Vera Alexandrovna’s feeling for me? I really don’t know what to say to that. . . . Good gracious! I believe I have always behaved with Vera Alexandrovna as

NATALYA PETROVNA. As with everybody else, haven’t you?
[After a brief silence.]
However that may be, whether you are really unaware of it, or are pretending to be, the fact is the girl loves you. She admitted it to me herself. Well, now I am asking you, what do you mean to do?

BELIAYEV
[with embarrassment].
What do I mean to do?

NATALYA PETROVNA
[folding her arms].
Yes.

BELIAYEV. All this is so unexpected, Natalya Petrovna. . . .

NATALYA PETROVNA
[after a pause].
Alexey Nikolaitch, I see ... I have not put the matter properly. You don’t understand me. You think I’m angry with you . . . but I’m . . . only ... a little upset. And that’s very natural. Calm yourself. Let us sit down.
[They sit down.]
I will be frank with you, Alexey Nikolaitch, and you too be a little less reserved with me. You have really no need to be on your guard with me. Vera loves you. . . . Of course, that’s not your fault, I am willing to assume that you are in no way responsible for it. ... But you see, Alexey Nikolaitch, she is an orphan, she is my ward. I am responsible for her, for her future, for her happiness. She is very young, and I feel sure that the feeling you have inspired in her may soon pass off. ... At her age, love does not last long. But you understand, it was my duty to warn you. It’s always dangerous to play with fire . . . and I do not doubt that, knowing her feeling for you, you will adopt a different behaviour with her, will avoid seeing her alone, walking in the garden. . . . Won’t you? I can rely on you. With another man I should be afraid to speak so plainly.

BELIAYEV. Natalya Petrovna, I assure you I appreciate. . . .

NATALYA PETROVNA. I tell you that I do not distrust. . . . Besides, all this will remain a secret between us.

BELIAYEV. I must own, Natalya Petrovna, all you have told me seems to me so strange . . . of course, I can’t venture to disbelieve you, but. . .

NATALYA PETROVNA. Listen, Alexey Nikolaitch. All I said to you just now ... I said it on the supposition that on your side there is nothing . ..
[Breaks off]
because if that’s not so ... of course I don’t know you well, but I do know you well enough to see no reason to make serious objections. You have no fortune . . . but you are young, you have your future before you, and when two people love each other . . . I tell you again, I thought it my duty to warn you, as a man of honour, of the consequences of your friendship with Vera, but if you . . .

BELIAYEV
[in perplexity],
I really don’t know what you mean, Natalya Petrovna.

NATALYA PETROVNA
[hurriedly].
Oh! believe me, I’m not trying to wring out a confession, there’s no need. ... I shall see from your manner how it is. ...
[Glancing at him.]
But I ought to tell you that Vera fancied that you were not quite indifferent to her.

BELIAYEV
[after a brief silence, stands up].
Natalya Petrovna, I see that I can’t go on living in your house.

NATALYA PETROVNA
[firing up].
You might have waited for me to decide that. . . .
[Stands up.]

BELIAYEV. You have been frank with me. Let me be frank with you. I don’t love Vera Alexandrovna, at least, I don’t love her in the way you suppose.

NATALYA PETROVNA. But I didn’t. . .
[Stops short].

BELIAYEV. And if Vera Alexandrovna cares for me, if she fancied, as you say, that I care for her, I don’t want to deceive her; I will tell her the whole truth myself. But after such plain speaking, you must see, Natalya Petrovna, that it would be difficult for me to stay here, my position would be too awkward. I can’t tell you how sorry I shall be to leave . . . but there’s nothing else for me to do. I shall always think of you with gratitude. . . . May I go now? ... I shall come to say good - bye properly later on.

NATALYA PETROVNA
[with affected indifference].
As you please . . . but I own I did not expect this. That was not my object in wishing to speak to you. ... I only wanted to warn you . . . Vera is still a child ... I have perhaps taken it all too seriously. I don’t see the necessity of your leaving us. However, as you please.

BELIAYEV. Natalya Petrovna . . . it’s really impossible for me to go on staying here.

NATALYA PETROVNA. I see you are very ready to leave us!

BELIAYEV. No, Natalya Petrovna, I’m not.

NATALYA PETROVNA. I’m not in the habit of keeping people against their will, but I must own I don’t like it at all.

BELIAYEV
[after some indecision].
Natalya Petrovna, I shouldn’t like to cause you the slightest annoyance. . . . I’ll stay.

NATALYA PETROVNA
[suspiciously].
Ah!
[after a pause.]
I didn’t expect you would change your mind so quickly.’. . . I am grateful, but . . . Let me think it over. Perhaps you are right, perhaps you ought to go. I’ll think it over. I’ll let you know. . . . May I leave you in uncertainty till this evening?

BELIAYEV. I am willing to wait as long as you like.
[Bows and is about to go.]

NATALYA PETROVNA. You promise me.... BEHAYEV
[stopping].
What?

NATALYA PETROVNA. I believe you meant to speak to Vera. . . . I’m not sure that it’s the right thing. But I’ll let you know what I decide. I begin to think that you really ought to go away. Good - bye for now. [BELIAYEV
bows again and goes off into the outer room.
NATALYA PETROVNA
looks after him.]
My mind’s at rest! He does not love her. . . .
[Walks up and down the room.]
And so instead of sending him away, I’ve myself prevented his going. . . . He’ll stay. . . . But what shall I say to Rakitin? What have I done? [
A pause.]
And what right had I to publish abroad the poor girl’s love? I trapped her into confessing it ... a half - confession, and then I go ... so ruthlessly, so brutally. . . .
[Hides her face in her hands.]
Perhaps he was beginning to care for her. . . . What right had I to trample on that flower in the bud? . . . But have I trampled on it? He may have deceived me. ... I tried to deceive him! Oh! no! He’s too good for that. ... He’s not like me! And why was I in such haste? Blurting it all out at once?
[Sighing.]
I needn’t have done it! If I could have foreseen. . . . How sly I was, how I lied to him! And he! How boldly and independently he spoke! ... I felt humbled by him. ... He is a man! I didn’t know him before. . . . He must go away. If he stays ... I feel that I shall end by losing all self - respect. . . . He must go, or I am lost! I will write to him before he has had time to see Vera .... He must go!
[Goes quickly into the study.]

ACT IV

A large unfurnished outer room. The walls are bare, the stone floor is uneven; the ceiling is supported by six brick columns, three each side, covered with whitewash which is peeling off. On Left two open windows and a door into the garden. On Right a door into the corridor leading to the main building; in Centre an iron door opening into the storeroom. Near first column on Right a green garden seat; in a corner spades, watering - cans and flower - pots. Evening. The red rays of the sun fall through the windows on the floor.

KATYA
[comes in from door on Right, goes briskly to the window and stands for some time looking into the garden].
No, he’s not to be seen. They told me he’d gone into the conservatory. I suppose he hasn’t come out yet. Well, I’ll wait till he comes by. There’s no other way he can go. ...
[Sighs and leans against the window.]
They say he’s going away.
[Sighs again.]
However shall we get on without him. . . . Poor young lady! How she did beseech me. . . . And why shouldn’t I oblige her? Let him have a last talk with her. How warm it is to - day. And I do believe it’s beginning to spot with rain. . . .
[Again glances out of window and at once draws back.]
Surely they’re not coming in here? They are. My gracious. . . .
[Tries to run off, but has not time to reach the door before
SHPIGELSKY
and
LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA
come in from the garden.
KATYA
hides behind a column.]

SHPIGELSKY
[shaking his hat].
We can shelter here from the rain .... it will soon be over.

LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA. If you like.

SHPIGELSKY
[looking round].
What is this building? A storehouse or what?

LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA
[pointing to the iron door].
No, the storeroom’s there. This room, I’m told, Arkady Sergeyitch’s father built when he came back from abroad.

SHPIGELSKY. Oh, I see the idea, Venice, if you please.
[Sits down on the seat.]
Let’s sit down. [LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA
sits down.]
You must confess, Lizaveta Bogdanovna, the rain has come in an unlucky moment. It has interrupted our talk at the most touching point.

LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA
[casting down her eyes].
Ignaty Ilyitch... .

SHPIGELSKY. But there’s nobody to hinder our beginning again. . . . You say, by the way, that Anna Semyonovna is out of humour to - day?

LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA. Yes, she’s put out. She actually did not come down to dinner, but had it in her room.

SHPIGELSKY. You don’t say so! What a calamity, upon my word!

LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA. She came upon Natalya Petrovna in tears this morning... with Mihail Alexandritch. . . . Of course he’s almost like one of the family, but still. ... However, Mihail Alexandritch has promised to explain it.

SHPIGELSKY. Ah! well, she need not worry herself. Mihail Alexandritch has never, to my thinking, been a dangerous person, and now he’s less so than ever.

LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA. Why?

SHPIGELSKY. Oh, he talks a bit too cleverly. Where other people would come out in a rash, they work it all off in talk. Don’t be afraid of chatterers in future, Lizaveta Bogdanovna; they’re not dangerous; it’s these silent men, slow in the uptake, with no end of temperament and thick necks, who are dangerous.

LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA
[after a pause].
Tell me, is Natalya Petrovna really ill?

SHPIGELSKY. She’s no more ill than you or I.

LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA. She ate nothing at dinner.

SHPIGELSKY. Illness isn’t the only thing that spoils the appetite.

LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA. Did you dine at Bolshintsov’s?

SHPIGELSKY. Yes. ... I went to see him. And it’s only on your account I came back here, upon my soul.

LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA. Oh, nonsense. And do you know, Ignaty Ilyitch, Natalya Petrovna is cross with you. . . . She said something not very complimentary about you at dinner.

SHPIGELSKY. Really? Ladies don’t like us poor fellows to have sharp eyes, it seems. You must do what they want, you must help them, and you must pretend not to know what they’re up to. A pretty set! But we shall see. And Rakitin, I dare say, looked rather in the dumps, too?

LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA. Yes, he, too, seemed, as it were, out of sorts. . . .

SHPIGELSKY. Hm. And Vera Alexandrovna? And Beliayev?

LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA. Everyone, absolutely everyone seemed depressed. I really can’t imagine what’s the matter with them all to - day.

SHPIGELSKY. If you know too much, you’ll grow old before your time, Lizaveta Bogdanovna. . . . But never mind them. We had better talk about our affairs. The rain hasn’t left off. ... Shall we?

LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA
[casting down her eyes primly].
What are you asking me, Ignaty Ilyitch?

SHPIGELSKY. Oh, Lizaveta Bogdanovna, if you’ll allow me to say so, there’s no need to put on airs, and to drop your eyes like that! We’re not young people, you know! These performances, these sighs and soft nothings -
 
- they don’t suit us. Let us talk calmly, practically, as is proper for people of our years. And so -
 
- this is the question: we like each other ... at least, I presume that you like me.

LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA
[a little affectedly],
Ignaty Ilyitch, really. . . .

SHPIGELSKY. Oh, all right, very well. After all, perhaps, airs and graces are . . . only proper in a lady. So then, we like each other. And in other respects too we are well matched. Of course, I am bound to say about myself that I am not a man of good family: well, you’re not of illustrious birth either. I’m not a rich man; if I were, I shouldn’t be where I am -
 
-
 
-
 
-
 
-
 
-
[Laughs.]
But I’ve a decent practice, not all my patients die; you have, as you say, fifteen thousand roubles of your own, all that’s not at all bad, you see. At the same time, you’re tired, I imagine, of living for ever as a governess, and then fussing round an old lady, backing her up at preference, and falling in with her whims isn’t much fun, I should say. On my side, it’s not so much that I’m weary of bachelor - life, but I’m growing old, and then, my cooks rob me; so you see, it all fits in nicely. But here’s the difficulty, Lizaveta Bogdanovna; we don’t know each other at all, that is, to be exact, you don’t know me ... I know you well enough. I understand your character. I don’t say you have no faults. Being a spinster, you’re little old - maidish, but that’s no harm. In the hands of a good husband, a wife is soft as wax. But I should like you to know me before marriage; or else you’ll, maybe, blame me afterwards. ... I don’t want to deceive you.

LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA
[with dignity].
But, Ignaty Ilyitch, I believe I too have had opportunities of discovering your character.

SHPIGELSKY. You? Oh! nonsense. . . . That’s not a woman’s job. Why, I dare say you imagine I’m a man of cheerful disposition, an amusing fellow, don’t you?

LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA. I have always thought you a very amiable man. . . .

SHPIGELSKY. There you are. You see how easily one may be mistaken. Because I play the fool before outsiders, tell them anecdotes and humour them, you imagine that I’m really a light - hearted man. If I didn’t need these people, I shouldn’t even look at them. ... As it is, whenever I can, without much danger, you know, I turn them into ridicule. ... I don’t deceive myself, though: I’m well aware that certain gentry, who can’t take a step without me and are bored when I’m not there, consider themselves entitled to look down on me; but I pay them out, you may be sure. Natalya Petrovna, for instance. . . . Do you suppose I don’t see through her?
[Mimics
NATALYA PETROVNA.] ‘Dear Doctor, I really like you so much . . . you have such a wicked tongue,’ ha, ha, coo away, my dove, coo away. Ugh! these ladies! And they smile and make eyes at you, while disdain is written on their faces. . . . They despise us, do what you will! I quite understand why she is saying harsh things of me to - day. Upon my soul, these ladies are wonderful people! Because they sprinkle themselves with eau - de - Cologne every day and speak so carelessly -
 
- as though they were just dropping their words for you to pick them up -
 
- they fancy there’s no catching them by the tail. Oh, isn’t there, though! They’re just mortals the same as all of us poor sinners!

LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA. Ignaty Ilyitch . . . you surprise me.

SHPIGELSKY. I knew I should surprise you. So you see I’m not a light - hearted man at all, and not too good - natured even.... But at the same time, I don’t want to make myself out what I never have been. Though I may put it on a bit before the gentry, no one’s ever seen me play the fool in a low way, no one’s ever dared to take insulting liberties with me. Indeed, I think they’re a bit afraid of me; in fact, they know I bite. On one occasion, three years ago, a gentleman -
 
- a regular son of the soil -
 
- by way of fun at the dinner - table, stuck a radish in my hair. What do you think I did? Why, on the spot, without any show of anger, you know, in the most courteous manner, I challenged him to a duel. The son of the soil almost had a stroke, he was so terrified; our host made him apologize -
 
- it made a great sensation. As a matter of fact, I knew beforehand that he wouldn’t fight. So you see, Lizaveta Bogdanovna, my vanity’s immense; but my life’s not been much. My talents are not great either. . . . I got through my studies somehow. I’m not much good as a doctor, it’s no use my pretending to you, and if you’re ever taken ill, I shan’t prescribe for you myself. If I’d had talent and a good education, I should have bolted to the capital. For the aborigines here, no better doctor is wanted, to be sure. As regards my personal character, Lizaveta Bogdanovna, I ought to warn you: at home I’m ill - humoured, silent and exacting, I’m not cross as long as everything’s done for me to my satisfaction; I like to be well fed and to have my habits respected; however, I’m not jealous and I’m not mean, and in my absence, you can do just as you like. Of romantic love and all that between us, you understand it’s needless to speak; and yet I imagine one might live under the same roof with me ... so long as you try to please me, and don’t shed tears in my presence, that I can’t endure! But I’m not given to fault - finding. There you have my confession. Well, what do you say now?

LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA. What am I to say to you, Ignaty Ilyitch? ... If you have not been blackening your character on purpose to ...

SHPIGELSKY. But how have I blackened my character? Don’t forget that another man in my place would, with perfect complacency, have kept quiet about his faults, as you’ve not noticed them, and after the wedding, it’s all up then, it’s too late. But I’m too proud to do that. [LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA
glances at him.]
Yes, yes, too proud . . . you needn’t look at me like that. I don’t mean to pose and lie before my future wife, not if it were for a hundred thousand instead of fifteen thousand, though to a stranger I’m ready to humble myself for a sack of flour. I’m like that. . . . I’ll smirk to a stranger while inwardly I’m thinking, you’re a blockhead, my friend, you’ll be caught by my bait; but with you, I say what I think. That is, let me explain; I don’t say everything I think, even to you; but at any rate, I’m not deceiving you. I must strike you as a very queer fish certainly, but there, wait a bit, one day I’ll tell you the story of my life and you’ll wonder that I’ve come through as well as I have. You weren’t born with a silver spoon in your mouth, I expect, either, but yet, my dear, you can’t conceive what real hopeless poverty is like. . . . I’ll tell you all about that, though, some other time. But now you had better think over the proposition I have had the honour of laying before you. . . . Consider this little matter well, in solitude, and let me know your decision. So far as I can judge, you’re a sensible woman. And by the way, how old are you?