Works of Ivan Turgenev (Illustrated) (434 page)

Don Balthazar: Good - bye, but I swear upon my honor
      

Don Pablo: That I leave against my will? That’s what you wanted to say, wasn’t it, my friend? Oh, my friend, Don Balthazar, is a real courtier. Good - night, my beautiful and virtuous Senora.

[Both go out. Donna Dolores remains sitting, benumbed. The candle, which Balthazar brought in, remains on the table. After a few moments, Don Bafael comes out of the bedroom. He listens. From below is heard the click of the door shutting.]

Don Eafael: They have gone, Senora!

Donna Dolores [to herself]: That Sangre is terrible! I am afraid. I am cold all over. His looks, his gloomy laughter, — oh, I feel that I am lost.

Don Eafael: Senora!

Donna Dolores [getting up]: Is that you? And you remain? You are not going away?

Don Eafael: Your husband has gone. Margaret is asleep. Good Heavens! How beautiful you look!

Donna Dolores [despairingly]: No, you are merciless. Oh, how I am punished for my wicked desires! [Throws herself on the sofa.]

Don Eafael [looking at her urithout speaking, for a while, then, in a somewhat changed voice]: You call your desires wicked? Poor woman! Listen: I know that you are twenty - seven years old. The best half of your life will soon be gone, and your first happy youth will have withered away. And yet you implicate the last timid wish of your heart; the last cry of your soul, as against its eternal silence! Listen:

you are not the only one who has dreamed her best years away. You are not the only one in whom a desire for happiness has awakened at the same time as the realization of your helplessness. But as long as it isn’t too late, don’t be carried away by false pride. You are afraid of transgression, but you are not at all afraid of old age. How little you know about life! Pardon me. Maybe I don’t know what I am talking about, but life is so short, and the life of a woman is much shorter and much narrower than that of a man, — if we define life as the free development of all our powers. Think! . . .

[Donna Dolores is quiet.] — For Heaven’s sake, try to understand me, Senora! All that I have told you just now, concerns us more than a little; concerns our present situation. I’ll confess to you that I am lightminded, a footless man, as they say; I believe in hardly anything in this world. I do not believe in vices, because I don’t believe in virtues. You don’t want to know by what means I have reached these somewhat gloomy convictions, and the story of a ruined life, with intentions of ruining another, won’t interest you. Moreover, we haven’t much time left for conversation. I’ll confess that I came here with not the best of intentions. My opinion of you was, — but let me keep that to myself. That opinion I entertain not only about you, but about women in general. It is a false opinion, of course, but what can I do? I have been taught that way. You see, I am quite frank with you, and therefore I hope you will believe me, when I tell you that I now entertain the greatest respect for you; that your words, your looks, your timidity, your inexplicable, tragic beauty, — all of which live in you, — in fact, your whole being has made such a deep impression upon me, awakened in me such a pure pity, that I have suddenly become another man. Be calm. I will go away presently, and I give you my word never to bother you again, although I shall not forget you for a long time.

Donna Dolores: You must go, Senor. [4s though to herself.] I am afraid. I think — I won’t live through this night. All these people, — Margaret, Sangre, my husband, — I am afraid of all of them; I am afraid of all of them.

Don Eafael: Poor, poor woman. Truly, I am ready to cry, when I look at you. How pale you are; how you are trembling! How lonesome you look upon this earth! But calm yourself. Your husband doesn’t suspect anything. I’ll go away immediately, and no one, — not a single person in this world, excepting you and I, — will know about our meeting.

Donna Dolores: You think so?

Don Eafael [sitting down near her]: You are not afraid of me any more, are you? You feel that I am touched, — deeply, divinely touched, and that I am in no mood to offend you? [Pointing to the clock which stands on the table.] See, — in ten minutes from now, I shall not be in this room.

Donna Dolores: I believe you.

Don Eafael: We met in a most peculiar way, but Fate didn’t bring us together in vain. At any rate, not in vain as far as I am concerned. I want to say a great deal to you, but, — I don’t know where to begin, since we have only a few more moments. . . .

Donna Dolores: Tell me your name.

Don Eafael: Eafael. Your name is Dolores, isn’t it?

Donna Dolores [gloomily]: Yes, Dolores.

Don Eafael [in a quiet voice]: Dolores! I swear that, before you, I have never loved any woman, and now, I don’t think that I shall ever love another. It is hard for me to part with you, but as long as we cannot change our fates, and since our acquaintance must be broken off, — well, it may be best for me. I am not worthy of you. I know that. At least, I shall have one pure and pleasant memory. Until now, I have tried to forget all the women with whom I have come in contact. . . .

Donna Dolores [gloomily]: Senor . . .

Don Rafael: If you only knew your power over me; if you only knew what a sudden change you have made in me. . . . [Looks at the clock.] — But I am going to be true to my word. Good - bye. It is time for me to go.

Donna Dolores [giving him her hand]: Good - bye, Rafael.

Don Rafael [kissing her hand]: Why have I met you so late? I am so sorry ta part with you.

Donna Dolores: You will never see me again. I shall not live through this night, I tell you.

Don Rafael [lowering his eyes and pointing to the door]: If you want to, — we can both be free!

Donna Dolores: No, Rafael. Death isn’t worse than life.

Don Rafael [decisively]: Good - bye.

Donna Dolores: Good - bye. Don’t forget me.

[Rafael runs to the door. The door opens and Sangre enters.]

Don Rafael [taking a step backwards]: Oh, God!

Don Pablo [to Donna Dolores]: It is I!

[Dolores, screaming, throws herself on the sofa.]

Don Rafael [quickly drawing his sword]: Senor! I am not without arms.

Don Pablo [gloomily]: I see. But you see, I haven’t any weapon.

Don Rafael: I swear upon my honor, that, if you knew, you would know that this lady is blameless.

Don Pablo: I know that. You needn’t swear.

Don Rafael: But I assure you . .

Don Pablo [smiling ironically]: First of all, I don’t ask your assurance, nor your justification; secondly, Senor, your presence here is out of place. Will you please follow me?

Don Rafael: Where will you take me?

Don Pablo: Oh, don’t be afraid
         

Don Rafael [interrupting him]: I fear no one, my dear sir.

Don Pablo: If you fear no one, then follow me.

Don Rafael: But where?

Don Pablo: To the street. No farther than the street, my dear Don Juan. There I will bid you good - bye, until a more agreeable meeting.

Don Rafael: I must apologize to you. I have offended you . . .

Don Pablo [gloomily]: Ah, you confess that you have offended me!

Don Rafael: Oh, now it has come to me! You are not the Senora’s husband.

Don Pablo: I am here on his orders.

Don Rafael: All right. I’ll go, but — [.Mom up nearer to Donna Dolores.]
  

Don Pablo: Senor! Don’t forget yourself.

[Don Rafael bows low to Donna Dolores, and points to Don Pablo pleadingly.]

Don Pablo: I understand . . . but you have no right to even pity her. To - morrow, you may pray for her . . .

Don Rafael: What did you say?

Don Pablo: Oh, nothing, nothing. As you can see, I am an old joker. Don’t you want to
    
[Points to the door.]

Don Eafael: You go first.

Don Pablo: All right. [He goes.]

[Don Eafael looks at Donna Dolores, for the last time, and smiles, then follows Sangre. Dolores remains alone. Margaret enters quietly, and goes up to her.]

Donna Dolores [coming to her senses]: They will kill him! Sangre! Where are they? [Turns around and sees Margaret.] Oh!

Margaret [quietly]: What’s the matter with you, Madam? It looks to me as though you haven’t been to sleep yet. Aren’t you feeling well?

Donna Dolores: Margaret! I know they are looking for my life. Don’t pretend! You know everything. You heard everything, and you told it to my husband. Confess it! Ah, you are laughing! You can’t pretend any more. And why should you now? Tell me: were you ordered to kill me? To give me poison? Oh what? Tell me.

Margaret: I pray, Senora, I do not understand you.

Donna Dolores: You do understand me, Margaret.

Margaret [slowly]: Perhaps, Senora, you — you didn’t do everything quite carefully, but
  

Donna Dolores [falling on her knees]: Tell me the truth. I pray you to tell me the truth. . . .

Margaret [looking at her for a while]: Before me, on your knees! [Bending down to her.] Well, yes, yes, you are right. I am the one who has ruined you, because, — I hate you!

Donna Dolores [surprised]: You hate me?

Margaret: Are you surprised? Don’t you understand the cause of my hatred? Do you remember my daughter, Marie? Tell me: were you any better than she was? Were you brighter? Were you wealthier? And yet she was unfortunate all her life, and you
         

Donna Dolores [gloomily]: Yes, and I, Margaret?

Margaret: You grew up together, and, as a child, you were caressed by all, while no one paid any attention to my daughter. And yet, she was no worse than you. You got married; you became wealthy, and she remained single. I was poor and, therefore, helpless. Oh, Lord! Why did you start to visit us in your rich, velvet clothes, with your golden chains around your neck? [Reproachfully.] You wanted to help us? You wanted to degrade us! Your riches turned my Marie’s head. She began to hate everything; her whole life, our poor room, our little garden, and myself. She struggled a long time, and, finally, ran away. She ran away with a fellow who deceived her and left her. She didn’t want to come back to me, and now, my only child, — the Lord knows where she is roaming around, and with whom! Don’t tell me that you are not to blame for it! I am unfortunate, and am suffering, and someone must be the cause of my suffering, so I have picked you out. You, you ruined my daughter! I know that I am sinning, but I don’t want to do otherwise. My heart is filled with gall, and for this evening, — remain upon your knees! — for this one evening, I am ready and willing to lose Heaven. . . .