Works of Ivan Turgenev (Illustrated) (423 page)

Tropatchov [turning quickly], Madame?

Olga. May I treat you as an old friend — without ceremony?

Tropatchov. Oh, please. . . .

Olga. You will excuse my leaving you. . . . We have only just arrived. ... I have to look after things. . . .

Tropatchov. Most certainly, Olga Petrovna. . . . And you too, Pavel Nikolaitch, make yourself at home, ha! ha! ha! I’ll have a little chat with these gentlemen. . . .

Olga. Besides — though you are an old friend, I feel ashamed ... in these travelling clothes. ...

Tropatchov [smirking], I couldn’t accept such a . . . such an excuse ... if I did not know that to ladies . . . dress . . . is always ... so to speak . . . always an agreeable . . . [Ends in a muddle, bows and smirks.]

Olga [laughing]. You are malicious. ... I will leave you, gentlemen . . . good - bye. . . . [Goes out into the drawing - room.]

Tropatchov. Pavel Nikolaitch, allow me to congratulate you once again. . . . You are, one may say, a fortunate man.

Yeletsky [smiles and presses his hand]. You are right, Faddey ... I mean Flegont. .. Alexandritch.

Tropatchov. But, I say, perhaps I’m keeping you?

Yeletsky. Not at all, Flegont Alexandritch. Do you know, as you are used to estate management, perhaps you wouldn’t mind. . . .

Tropatchov [swooping upon Yeletsky and pressing the latter’s hand to his stomach]. Make any use of me, Pavel Nikolaitch, I beg.

Yeletsky. What would you say to our going round to the threshing barn before lunch? It’s only a few steps from here — beside the garden.

Tropatchov. Enchante — let us go.

Yeletsky. Take your hat, then. [Loudly.] Boy, who’s there? [Pyotr comes in.] Tell them to serve lunch.

Pyotr. Yes, sir. [Goes out.]

Tropatchov. Karpatchov shall go with us, if you’ve no objection.

Yeletsky. Delighted.... [They go out. Karpatchov follows them.]

Kuzovkin [turning eagerly to Ivanov]. Well, Vanya, tell me now, what do you think of our Olga?

Ivanov. Well, I’m not denying it — she’s nice.

Kuzovkin. And isn’t she kind, Vanya?

Ivanov. Yes, she’s not like him.

Kuzovkin. Why, what’s wrong with him? You must remember, Vanya, he’s an important person, accustomed, you know, to keep up his dignity. He might prefer to be friendly, but you understand: it’s out of the question. That’s expected of them. But, Vanya, did you notice her eyes?

Ivanov. No, Vassily Semyonitch, I didn’t.

Kuzovkin. Well, I wonder at you — I really do! It’s too bad of you, Vanya, it’s too bad.

Ivanov. Perhaps, I’m not denying it. . . . Here is the butler coming.

Kuzovkin [dropping his voice]. What if he is? We’re doing no harm.

[Trembinsky and Pyotr come in. Pyotr is carrying lunch on a tray.]

Trembinsky [moving out the table into the middle of the room]. There, set it down here and mind you don’t break anything. [Pyotr puts down the tray and unfolds the cloth. Trembinsky takes it from him.] Give it me. . . . I’ll see to that, while you go and fetch the wine. . [Pyotr goes out. Trembinsky lays the cloth and looks askance at Kuzovkin.] Dear me, some people — come to think of it, seem born with a silver spoon in their mouth. We poor fellows have to struggle like a fish on the ice to earn a crust of bread, while they get everything for nothing. Where’s the justice of it, I should like to know. It’s a queer business, to be sure.

Kuzovkin [cautiously touches Trembinsky’s shoulder. The latter looks at him in surprise]. You’ve messed it — against the wall. . . .

Trembinsky. Well, I never ... it doesn’t matter . . . let it be.

[Pyotr comes in with bottles and a bowl with champagne bottles in it which he puts on the little table near the door.]

Trembinsky. Come along, look sharp. [Takes bottles and places them on table.] And clear away the draughts. . . . An odd time those gentlemen think fit to play. . . . And what sort of a game? Is that a gentleman’s game? [Pyotr puts away draughts.]

Ivanov [softly to Kuzovkin]. Good - bye, friend.

Kuzovkin [quietly]. Where are you off to?

Ivanov [quietly]. Home.

Kuzovkin [quietly]. Nonsense, do stay.

Yegor [hurriedly looking in from hall], Nartsyss Konstantinitch. . . .

Trembinsky [looking round.]. What is it?

Yegor. Where’s the master gone?

Trembinsky. To the threshing floor. How is it you’re not with him?

Yegor. To the threshing floor! Good Lord! [ft about to run off, but at once draws himself up, puts his hands behind his back, and flattens himself against the door. Yeletsky, Tropatchov and Karpatchov walk in.]

Yeletsky. And so — vous fetes content?

Tropatchov. Tres bien, tres bien, tout est tres bien. Ah, Yegor, good day! [Yegor bows. Tropatchov slaps him on the shoulder.] Here you have a capital fellow, Pavel Nikolaitch
 
You can confidently rely on him. [Yegor bows again and goes out.] And here is lunch. [Goes up to the table.] Why, but this is a regular dinner! Comme c’est bien servi! [ Takes the silver cover off a dish.] Woodcock ... if you please.... We might be at St. George’s. ... What a swine that St. George is! But he does you well. I have spent many a hundred roubles on his dinners!

Yeletsky. Shall we sit down? Boy — chairs!

[Pyotr sets the chairs. Trembinsky fusses round the gentlemen. Yeletsky and Tropatchov sit down.]

Tropatchov [to Karpatchov]. You sit down, too, Karpy.
C’est comme cela que je l’appelle. . . .
Vous permettez?

Yeletsky. Oh, pray do. [To Kuzovkin and Ivanov who have not emerged from their corner.] But why don’t you take your seats, gentlemen? . . . Please come and sit down.

Kuzovkin [bowing]. We humbly thank you.... We’ll stand. . . .

Yeletsky. Do please sit down.

[Kuzovkin and Ivanov timidly sit down to the table. Tropatchov sits on the left {from point of view of his audience) of Yeletsky, Karpatchov at a distance on right, near him Kuzovkin and Ivanov. Trembinsky with a napkin over his arm stands behind Yeletsky, Pyotr near the door.]

Yeletsky [taking cover off a dish]. Well, gentlemen, here’s pot - luck.

Tropatchov [with his mouth full]. Parfait, parfait — you have a wonderful cook, Pavel Nikolaitch.

Yeletsky. You are too kind! And so you think the harvest will be good this year?

Tropatchov [still eating]. I think so. [Drinking a glass of wine.] To your good health! Karpy, why don’t you drink to Pavel Nikolaitch’s health?

Karpatchov [leaping up]. Long life to our worthy host . . . [Empties his glass at one gulp] and blessings of all sorts. . . . [Sits down.]

Yeletsky. Thank you.

Tropatchov [prodding Yeletsky with his elbow, to Karpatchov]. Here’s the man for our Marshal! Eh? What do you say?

Karpatchov. Rather! He ought to be good enough for them!

Tropatchov. I mean it, you know, Pavel Nikolaitch, if it weren’t for your official duties — what marvellous cheese! — if it weren’t for your official duties, you really ought to be our Marshal of Nobility!

Yeletsky. Oh, come. . . .

Tropatchov. No, I’m not joking. [To Kuzovkin.] Why aren’t you drinking to Pavel Nikolaitch’s health, eh? [To Ivanov.] And you too?

Kuzovkin [with some hesitation]. I should be glad. . . .

Tropatchov. Karpy, fill his glass . . . oh, fuller! That’s right, why stand on ceremony?

Kuzovkin [stands up]. To the health of our honoured host... and hostess. [Bows, drinks and sits down. Ivanov, too, bows and drinks in silence.]

Tropatchov. Bravo! [To Yeletsky.] Wait a bit — nous allons rire. He’s rather amusing — one only has to make him drink. [To Kuzovkin, playing with his knife.] Well, how have you been getting on, Mr. What’s - Your - Name? I’ve seen nothing of you for ever so long. Pretty middling, I’ll be bound?

Kuzovkin. Pretty middling as you say, sir.

Tropatchov. Oh, that’s all right, then. And is Vyetrovo coming to you at last or not?

Kuzovkin [looking down]. You are pleased to be joking.

Tropatchov. Dear me, what makes you think that? I take an interest in you. I’m not joking.

Kuzovkin [with a sigh]. Nothing has been decided yet.

Tropatchov. Indeed?

Kuzovkin. Nothing at all.

Tropatchov. You must have a little patience, that’s all! [To Yeletsky, winking.’] Perhaps Pavel Nikolaitch, you are not aware that in the person of Mr. Kuzovkin you see before you a landowner, the real owner — or rather, the heir, the lawful heir of the estate of Vyetrovo, otherwise Ugarovo. ... I say, how many serfs have you?

Kuzovkin. At the eighth census there were forty - two in Vyetrovo; but it isn’t all my share.

Tropatchov [aside to Yeletsky]. He’s crazy over this Vyetrovo. [Aloud.] And how many acres are there in your share?

Kuzovkin [gradually losing his timidity]. Well, after deducting a seventh part and other legal dues — two hundred and fifty acres about.

Tropatchov. And how many serfs come to you?

Kuzovkin. I don’t know how many. A good many have run away.

Yeletsky. But how is it you are not in possession of your estate?

Kuzovkin. There’s a lawsuit, sir.

Yeletsky. A lawsuit with whom?

Kuzovkin. Other claimants turned up. There were arrears of taxes, too, and private debts as well.

Yeletsky. And has the case been going on long?

Kuzovkin [gradually gaining courage], A long time, sir. In the late master’s time — the Kingdom of Heaven be his — it ought to have come to me, but I hadn’t the money. I’d no time to see to it either. I ought to have gone to the town, of course, have made inquiries, and taken steps — but there, I hadn’t an opportunity. The stamped paper alone costs so much. And I’m a poor man, you see.