Works of Ivan Turgenev (Illustrated) (444 page)

Viera [joyfully]: Well, enough. Give me your hand. You are forgiven.

[Gorski takes her hand quickly and presses it.]
Viera: Nous faisons la paix, bon ami.

Mlle. Beinaime [with an assumed surprise]: Ah!
Est - ce que vous vous etiez querelles?

Viera [semi - audibly]: Oh, naivete!
[Aloud.] Oui, un peu. [To Gorski.]
Well, do you want me to play your mazurka?

Gorski: No; that mazurka is very melancholy. In it is heard a sad tendency to be far off; and I assure you I feel very contented right here. Play something cheerful, lively, bright; something that should playfully glisten in the sun, like a fish in the river . . .

[Viera is thoughtful for a moment, then commences to play a bright waltz.]

Gorski: Oh, Lord! How sweet you are. You resemble that little fish.

Viera [continuing to play]: I see Mr. Mukhin from here. He must feel quite jolly. I am sure he is losing.

Gorski: He doesn’t care.

Viera [after a short pause, during which she continues to play]: Tell me, why does Stanitsyn never fully express his thoughts?

Gorski: Probably he has too many of them.

Viera: You are sore. He is not foolish; he is a very nice man. I like him.

Gorski: He is an excellent, settled man.

Viera: Yes . . . But why do his clothes hang so poorly on him? He always looks as though he were not used to them; or as though he had put them on for the first time.

[Gorski does not answer her but looks at her silently.]

Viera: What are you thinking about?

Gorski: I was thinking ... I was imagining a small room, only not amidst our snows, but somewhere south, in a far - off land . . .

Viera: A few minutes ago, you said you didn’t want to go far away.

Gorski: I don’t want to go alone . . . Not to know anyone, — the sounds of a strange language are not tuneful . . . Through the open window, the fresh sea breezes come, the white window curtains flutter quietly, like a sail, the door opens into the garden, and upon the threshold, under the faint shade of the ivy
     

Viera [slightly confused]: Oh, you are a poet! . . .

Gorski: I am not. I am only’recalling.

Viera: You are recalling?

Gorski: Nature, yes. The rest, which you gave me no chance to express, is a dream.

Viera: Dreams never come true in reality.

Gorski: Who told you that? Mlle. Beinaim6? For Heaven’s sake, leave all similar apothegms of woman’s wisdom to the forty - five - year - old maids and phlegmatic youths. Reality . . . But what vivid, creative imagination will attempt to match reality? Pardon me . . . but any lobster is more imaginative than the Tales of Hoffman; and what poetic creation of any genius can compare . . . well, even with the oak, which is growing in your garden on the hillock?

Viera: I am willing to believe you, Gorski.

Gorski: Believe me, the most exaggerated, the most enraptured happiness, begotten by the capricious imagination of an idle man, cannot compare with that happiness which he can attain ... if he only remains healthy; if his fate does not go against him; if his estate is not sold at auction; and if, finally, he himself knows what he wants.

Viera: Is that all?

Gobski: But we ... but I am well, young, and my estate is not mortgaged.

Viera: But you don’t know what you want. . . .

Gorski [positively]: I do know.

Viera [looking at him]: Well, tell me, if you know . . .

Gorski: You shall have it: I desire that you . . .

[Servant enters from the dining - room.]

Servant: Vladimir Petrovich Stanitsyn!

Viera [getting up quickly]: I cannot receive him now . . . Gorski, I think that finally, I understand you . . . You receive him . . . puisque tout est arrange . . . [Goes into the reception - room.]

Mlle. Beinaime: Eh bien? Elle s’en va?

Gorski [with some agitation]: Oui . . .
Elle est allee voir . . .

Mlle. Beinaime: Quelle petite folle!
[Goes into the reception - room.]

Gorski [after a moment’s silence]: What does this mean? Am I married?...”! think that finally, I understand you.” . . . So that’s where it is tending! “Puisque tout est arrange!” I can’t bear her at this moment! Oh, I am a vain boaster, a vain boaster! How brave I was while I was talking to Mukhin, and now . . . What poetic flights I indulged in! She forgot the customary words, “Ask mother!” Pshaw! . . . What a foolish position! One way ot another, I must put an end to this. — Stanitsyn came at the opportune moment. Oh, fate, oh fate, tell me, please, are you deriding me, or are you helping me? Well, we’ll see . . . Mukhin is a great fellow . . .

[Stanitsyn enters. He is elegantly dressed. In his right hand he is holding his hat; in his left, a basket wrapped up in paper. His face shows agitation. On beholding Gorski, he stops short and blushes a little. Gorski goes to meet him with a most amiable expression and outstretched hand.]

Gorski: How do you do, Vladimir Petrovich? I am glad to see you.

Stanitsyn: And I . . . very . . . How are you? Have you been here long?

Gorski: Since yesterday, Vladimir Petrovich!

Stanitsyn: Is everybody well?

Gorski: Everybody, positively everybody, Vladimir Petrovich, beginning with Anna Vasilevna and ending with the little dog, which you gave to Viera Nikolaevna. Well, how are you?

Stanitsyn: I ... I am all right . . . Where is she?

Gorski: In the reception - room, playing cards.

Stanitsyn: So early! And you
 
?

Gorski: I am here, as you see . . . what have you brought? A present, I am sure.

Stanitsyn: Yes; Viera Nikolaevna said — I sent to Moscow for some candy.

Gorski: To Moscow?

Stanitsyn: Yes; there the candy is better. Where is Viera Nikolaevna? [Puts hat and candy on the table.]

Gorski: I think she is in the reception - room, looking on.

Stanitsyn [looking into the reception - room, timidly]: Who is that new person?

Gorski: Don’t you recognize him? Mukhin, Ivan Pavlych.

Stanitsyn: Oh, yes . . . [Changes his position.]

Gorski: Don’t you want to go into the reception - room? . . . You act as though you were nervous, Vladimir Petrovich!

Stanitsyn: No, I am not . . . travelling, you know . . . dust. Well, my head, you know . . .

[General laughter resounds from the reception - room.

All are shouting: “Without four! Without four!”

Viera says: “I congratulate you, Mr. Mukhin.”]

Stanitsyn [laughing and looking into the reception - room]: What’s the matter there? Has some one lost?

Gorski: Why don’t you go in?

Stanitsyn: To tell the truth, Gorski, I should like & little talk with Viera Nikolaevna.

Gorski: With her alone?

Stanitsyn: Yes; only a few words. I should like to now — during the day — You know yourself . . .

Gorski: Well, then go in and tell her. Take the candy along.

Stanitsyn: That’s right. [Goes up to the door, but hesitates. Suddenly Anna Vasilevna’s voice is heard]: “C’est vous, Waldemar? Bonjour . . . Entrez done” . . . [He goes in.]

Gorski [alone]: I am displeased with myself. I am beginning to grow gloomy and provoked. Oh, Lord, oh, Lord! What am I living through? Why do I feel my heart in my throat? Why do I suddenly begin to feel so disagreeably lively? Why am I always ready, like a school - boy, to play wanton tricks upon everybody, everybody, myself included? If I am not in love, then what’s the object of teasing myself and others? Get married? No; I am not going to get married, especially under threat. And if so, can’t I sacrifice my selfishness? Well, let her triumph — well, may the Lord be with her! [Goes up to the pool table and commences to push the balls around.] Perhaps I’d be better off, if she’d marry . . . No, that’s nonsense ... I’d never be able to see her, any more than my ears. [Continues to push the balls.] Shall I make a bet? If I strike — Pshaw, how childish! [Throws down his cue, goes up to the table, and picks up a book amd reads.] “And this is what happened: Not quite five years after the wedding, the charming, vivacious Marie changed into the corpulent and shouting Marie Bogdanovna . . . Where had all her aspirations and her dreams disappeared?” . . . Oh, novelists, how childish you are! That’s what you are bothering yourselves about! Is it surprising that a man grows older, more corpulent, more foolish? This is what’s painful: the dreams and aspirations remain the same; the eyes hardly grow dim, the first down is hardly off the face, and the husband does not know what to do with himself . . . What’s more, a self - respecting man becomes febrile even before marriage ... I think they are coming in — I must save myself. Pshaw! I feel as in Gogol’s “Marriage” . . . Come what may, I am not going to jump out of the window. I shall most calmly walk into the garden . . . Honor and place for you, Stanitsyn!

[4s he hurriedly withdraws, Viera and Stanitsyn enter from the drawing - room.]

Viera [to Stanitsyn]: What’s that? It seems to me that Gorski is running into the garden.

Stanitsyn: Yes, I confess — told him, that I ... to talk to you alone . . . only a few words . . .

Viera: Oh, you told him . . . What did he say to you?

Stanitsyn: He . . . nothing . . .

Viera: What preparations! You are frightening me ... I hardly understood your note of yesterday . . .

Stanitsyn: The case is this, Viera Nikolaevna . . . Pardon my temerity ... I know ... I am not deserving . . . [Viera moves towards the window; he follows her.] The case is this — I — I dare ask you to marry me . . . [Viera lowers her head in silence.] Oh, Lord, I know very well, that I am not worthy of you ... I know that it is, on my part — But you have known me for a long time — if blind devotion — the fulfillment of the smallest wish — if all that — I beg you to forgive my daring — If all . . . [He stops. Viera gives him her hand silently.’] Is it possible that I cannot even hope? . . .

Viera [quietly]: You do not understand me, Vladimir Petrovich.