Read Works of Ivan Turgenev (Illustrated) Online
Authors: IVAN TURGENEV
Works of Ivan Turgenev (Illustrated) (419 page)
Count. But. . .
Darya [stopping him]. You have noticed me in passing. You know that our paths in life lie so far apart... it costs you nothing to assure me of your... your friendship. .. . But I, Count, I who am doomed to spend my whole life in solitude — I must treasure my peace of mind, I must keep strict watch over my heart, if I don’t want later . . .
Count [interrupting]. Your heart, your heart; vous dites heart? But do you suppose I haven’t a heart too? And how do you know that it, my heart, has not... is not stirred, in fact? You say solitude? But why solitude?
Darya. I expressed myself badly, Count; I am not alone — I have no right to speak of solitude.
Count. I understand, I understand — your husband . . . but surely . . . surely. . . . This is only between us, you know . . . it’s only . . . de la sympathie. [A brief silence.] Only something, I must own, wounds me; it wounds me that you won’t be just to me, that you look on me as some sort..
I don’t know . . . sort of deceiver . . . that you won’t believe in me, in fact. . . .
Darya [after a pause, looking sideways at him]. So I am to believe you, Count?
Count. Ah, vous etes charmante.
[Takes her hand. Darya Ivanovna seems at first about to withdraw it, then leaves it. The Count kisses it ardently.] Yes, believe me, Darya Ivanovna, believe me, I’m not deceiving you. I will keep all my promises. You are going to live in Petersburg. You . . . you . . . will see. And not in solitude . . . I’ll answer for that. You say I shall forget you! If only you don’t forget me!
Darya. Valeryan Nikolaitch!
Count. Now you see yourself how unpleasant, how wounding it is to be doubted! Why, I might just as well fancy that you were playing a part, que ce n’est pas pour mes beaux yeux. . . .
Darya. Valeryan Nikolaitch!
Count [more and more ardent and getting up from his seat]. But no matter what opinion you may have of me! ... I . . . I must tell you that I am devoted to you, heart and soul, that I’m in love with you, in fact, passionately in love with you, passionately, and ready to swear it on my knees!
Darya [getting up~\. On your knees, Count!
Count. Yes, on my knees, if that weren’t considered — well, somewhat theatrical.
Darya. Why so? . . . No, I confess that must be very delightful — for a woman. [Turning quickly to the Count.] Do go down on your knees, Count, if you really are not laughing at me.
Count. With pleasure, Darya Ivanovna, if only that will make you believe me. . . . [With some difficulty kneels down.]
Darya [lets him kneel, then quickly goes up to him]. Good heavens, Count, what are you doing! Get up, I was joking.
Count [tries to get up but cannot]. Never mind, let me be.
Je vous aime, Dorothee. ... Et vous?
Darya. Get up, I entreat you. . . . [From hall appears Stupendyev whom Misha tries in vain to hold back.] Get up. . . . [She makes signs while with difficulty suppressing laughter.] Get up. . . . [The Count looks at her in amazement and notices her signs.] But get up, I tell you. . .
Count. To whom are you signalling?
Darya. Get up, for goodness sake, get up!
Count. Give me your hand.
[During this dialogue Stupendyev has come up to the Count. Misha has remained in the doorway. Darya Ivanovna looks at the Count and at her husband and sinks into a low chair with a peal of laughter. The Count looks round in embarrassment and sees Stupendyev. The latter bows to him. The Count addresses him with annoyance.]
Count. Kindly help me to get up, sir. ... I have . . . somehow . . . fallen on my knees. Do help me!
[Darya Ivanovna leaves off laughing.]
Stupendyev [tries to lift him under the arm - pits]. Certainly, your Excellency. . . . Excuse me . . . if . . . er. . . .
Count [pushing him away and gallantly leaping up]. Oh, very well, very well, you needn’t go on. [Going up to Darya Ivanovna.] Capital, Darya Ivanovna, I am very grateful to you.
Darya [assuming an imploring tone]. How am I to blame, Valeryan Nikolaitch?
Count. Oh, you are not to blame, not in the least! No one can help laughing at what is ridiculous — I’m not reproaching you for it, I assure you; but as far as I could observe, this has all been arranged with your husband beforehand.
Darya. What makes you think that, Count?
Count. Why do I think so? Because one does not usually make signs and laugh in such circumstances.
Stupendyev [who has been listening]. Indeed, your Excellency, nothing was arranged between us, I assure you, your Excellency. [Misha tugs at his coat.]
Count [to Darya Ivanovna with a bitter laugh]. Well, after that, it will be hard for you to deny it. . . . [A pause.] Though there’s really no reason you should. I have thoroughly deserved it.
Darya. Count. ...
Count. Please don’t apologize. [A pause. To himself.] What a disgrace! There’s only one way to get out of this silly position. . . . [Aloud, to Darya Ivanovna.] Darya Ivanovna. . . .
Darya. Yes?
Count. You are expecting perhaps that I shan’t keep my word now, that I’m going away at once, and shan’t forgive you your performance. I might perhaps be justified in doing so, for after all it’s not the thing to make fun of a decent man like this; but I should like you too to find out with whom you have had to do. Madame, je suis un galant homme. Besides, I always respect the fair sex even when I suffer at their hands. ... I will stay to dinner, if Mr. Stupendyev does not object — and I repeat I will keep all my promises, now more than ever. . . .
Darya. Valeryan Nikolaitch, you too I hope will not have such a poor opinion of me; you won’t think, will you, that I don’t appreciate . . . that I am not deeply touched by your generosity? ... I have been to blame towards you, but you will come to know me better, as I have you now. . . .
Count. Oh dear! Why all these protestations? . . . It’s not worth so much gratitude. . . . But how well you play your comedy!
Darya. Count, you know one can only play it well when one feels what one is saying....
Count. Ah, you’re at it again! . . . No, excuse me — I’m not going to be caught twice over. [Turning to Stupendyev.] I must seem very ridiculous to you at this moment, sir; but I will endeavour to prove my desire to be of use to you. . . .
Stupendyev. Your Excellency, I assure you . . . [Aside.] I can’t make head or tail of it.
Darya. And there’s no need you should. . . . Only thank his Excellency.
Stupendyev. Your Excellency, believe me . . .
Count. That’s enough, that’s enough.
Darya. I will thank you in Petersburg, Valeryan Nikolaitch.
Count. And you’ll show me the letter?
Darya. I will, and perhaps with an answer.
Count. Eh bien! il n’y a pas a dire, vous etes charmante apres tout. . . and I regret nothing.
Darya. I may perhaps not be able to say that. . . . [Count strikes an attitude, she smiles.]
Stupendyev [aside, looking at his watch], I came in at a quarter to three instead of at three.
Misha [timidly approaching Darya Ivanovna]. Darya Ivanovna, what about me?... I think you’ve forgotten me.
And I have worked so hard!
Darya [aside], I haven’t forgotten you. . . . [Aloud.] Count, allow me to present to you a young man. [Misha bows.] I take an interest in him and if. . .
Count. You take an interest in him? . . . That is enough. . . . Young man, you may reckon on it, we won’t forget you.
Misha [obsequiously]. Your Excellency . . .
[Apollon comes in from entry.]
Apollon. Dinner. . . .
[Vassilyevna follows him in.]
Vassilyevna. Dinner is ready.
Stupendyev. Ah! your Excellency, please ...
Count [giving his arm to Darya Ivanovna, says to Stupendyev]. You permit me?
Stupendyev. Please, your Excellency. [Count and Darya Ivanovna go towards door.] I came in though, not at three, but at a quarter to ... no matter; I don’t know what it’s all about; but my wife is a great woman!
Misha. Come along, Alexey Ivanitch.
Darya. Count, I must beg you to make allowances for our provincial dinner.
Count. Yes, yes. . . . Au revoir in Petersburg, my provincial lady!
Curtain
CHARACTERS IN THE PLAY
Pavel Nikola yevitch Yeletsky, aged 32, a collegiate councillor, and typical Petersburg official; frigid, formal, precise and quite intelligent; simply dressed, in good taste. A commonplace man, not ill - natured, but cold - hearted.
Olga Petrovna, his wife, aged 21. A kind, soft - hearted creature; dreams of the great world and is afraid of it; loves her husband. Well - bred and well - dressed.
Vassily Semyonitch Kuzovkin, a gentleman by birth, aged 50, who is living in the Yeletskys’ house at their expense. Wears a frock - coat with a stand - up collar and brass buttons.
Flegont Alexandrovitch Tropatchov, a neighbour of the Yeletskys, aged 36. A landowner with 400 serfs, unmarried. Tall, good - looking, loud - voiced, and affected. Has served in the cavalry, and retired with the rank of lieutenant. Visits Petersburg and talks of going abroad. Coarse and even rather base in character. Wears a dark green cut - away coat, pea - green trousers, a check waistcoat, a silk cravat with a huge pin, and patent - leather top - boots. Carries a cane with a gold knob. His hair is cropped short a la malcontent.
Ivan Kuzmitch Ivanov, another neighbour, aged 45. A silent and unassuming person, not without a certain pride of his own. A friend of Kuzovkin’s. Is easily depressed. Wears an old cinnamon - coloured coat, a yellowish waistcoat, faded from much washing, and grey trousers. Very poor.
Karpatchov, another neighbour, about 40. A very stupid man with moustaches, and a bass voice. By way of a follower of Tropatchov’s. Not well - off. Wears a braided coat and full trousers.
Nartsyss Konstantinitch Trembinsky, butler and maitre d’hStel of the Yeletskys. Cunning, clamorous, fussy. Fundamentally a brute. Well - dressed, as befitting the butler in a wealthy household. Speaks correctly, but with a White Russian accent.
Yegor Kartashov, the bailiff, aged 60. A fat, drowsy man. Steals where he can. Dressed in a dark blue coat with long skirts.
Praskovya Ivanovna, the housekeeper, aged 50. A callous, ill - natured and ill - humoured woman. Wears a kerchief and a dark dress.
Masha, a maid, aged 20. A fresh - looking girl.
Anpadist, the tailor, aged 70. A decrepit, worn - out serf, with legs bowed with age, sinking into dotage.
Pyotr, the footman, aged 25. A sturdy young fellow. Fond of fun and joking.
Vaska, the page, aged 14.