A Month in the Country

by Иван S. Тургенев

  NATALYA PETROVNA. And what do you deduce from that, you observant person?

  RAKITIN. I deduce? Nothing.. .. But it worries me.

  NATALYA PETROVNA. Humbly grateful for your sympathy.

  RAKITIN. And besides . . .

  NATALYA PETROVNA [with some impatience]. Please, change the subject.

  [A pause.]

  RAKITIN. You have no plans for going out anywhere to-day?

  NATALYA PETROVNA. No. RAKITIN. Why not? It's so fine.

  NATALYA PETROVNA. Too lazy. [A pause.] Tell me . . . you know Bolshintsov, of course?

  RAKITIN. Our neighbour, Afanasy Ivanitch?

  NATALYA PETROVNA. Yes.

  RAKITIN. What a question! Only the day before yesterday we were playing preference with him in your house.

  NATALYA PETROVNA. I want to know what sort of man he is.

  RAKITIN. Bolshintsov?

  NATALYA PETROVNA. Yes, yes, Bolshintsov.

  RAKITIN. Well, I must say, that I never expected that!

  NATALYA PETROVNA [impatiently]. What didn't you expect?

  RAKITIN. That you would ever be making inquiries about Bolshintsov! A foolish, fat, tedious man--though of course there's no harm in the man.

  NATALYA PETROVNA. He's by no means so foolish or tedious as you think.

  RAKITIN. Perhaps not. I must own, I haven't studied the gentleman very carefully.

  NATALYA PETROVNA [ironically]. You haven't been watching him.

  RAKITIN [with a constrained smile]. And what has induced you? . . .

  NATALYA PETROVNA. Oh, nothing!

  [Again a pause.]

  RAKITIN. Look, Natalya Petrovna, how lovely that dark green oak is against the dark blue sky. It's all bathed in the sunlight and what rich colours. . . . What inexhaustible life and strength in it especially when you compare it with that young birch tree. . . . She looks as though she might pass away in radiance, her tiny leaves gleam with a liquid brilliance, as though melting, yet she is lovely too. . . .

  NATALYA PETROVNA. Do you know, Rakitin, I noticed it ages ago. You have a very delicate feeling for the so-called beauties of nature, and talk very elegantly and cleverly about them ... so elegantly and cleverly that I imagine nature ought to be unutterably grateful for your choice and happy phrases; you dance attendance on her like a perfumed marquis on high red heels dallying with a pretty peasant girl. . . . Only I'll tell you what's wrong, it sometimes seems to me that she could never understand or appreciate your subtle observations, just as the peasant girl wouldn't understand the courtly compliments of the marquis; nature is far simpler, even coarser, than you suppose, because, thank God, she's healthy. . . . Birch trees don't melt or fall into swoons like nervous ladies.

  RAKITIN. Quelle tirade! Nature is healthy . . . that is, in other words, I'm a sickly creature.

  NATALYA PETROVNA. You're not the only sickly creature, we are neither of us too healthy.

  RAKITIN. Oh, I know that way of telling a person the most unpleasant things in the most inoffensive way. . . . Instead of telling him to his face, for instance, you're a fool, my friend, you need only tell him with a good-natured smile, we are both fools, you know.

  NATALYA PETROVNA. You're offended? What nonsense! I only meant to say that we are both . . . since you don't like the word sickly .. . we are both old, very old.

  RAKITIN. In what way are we old? I don't think so of myself.

  NATALYA PETROVNA. Well, listen; here we are sitting ... on this very seat a quarter of an hour ago two really young creatures have been sitting, perhaps.

  RAKITIN. Beliayev and Verotchka? Of course they are younger than we are . . . there's a few years' difference between us, that's all. . . . But that doesn't make us old yet.

  NATALYA PETROVNA. The difference between us is not only in years.

  RAKITIN. Ah! I understand. . . . You envy them . . . their naïveté; their freshness and innocence . . their foolishness, in fact.

  NATALYA PETROVNA. You think so? Oh, you think that they are foolish? You think everybody foolish to-day, I see. No, you don't understand me. And besides . . . foolish? What does that matter? What's the good of being clever, if you're not amusing. Nothing is more depressing than that sort of gloomy cleverness.

  RAKITIN. Hm. . . . Why don't you say it straight out, without these hints? I don't amuse you . . . that's what you mean. Why find fault with cleverness in general on account of one miserable sinner like me?

  NATALYA PETROVNA. No, that's not what I mean. . . . [KATYA comes out from among the bushes.] Have you been picking raspberries, Katya?

  KATYA. Yes, madam.

  NATALYA PETROVNA. Show me. [KATYA goes up to her.] What splendid raspberries! What a colour . . . though your cheeks are redder still. [KATYA smiles and looks down.] Well, run along----

  [KATYA goes out]

  RAKITIN. There's a young creature after your taste.

  NATALYA PETROVNA. Of course. [Gets up]

  RAKITIN. Where are you going?

  NATALYA PETROVNA. First, I want to see what Verotchka's doing . . . it's time she was indoors . . . and secondly I must own I don't like our conversation. We had better drop our disscussions of nature and youth for a time.

  RAKITIN. Perhaps you would rather walk alone?

  NATALYA PETROVNA. To tell the truth, I should. We shall see each other again soon. . . . But we are parting friends? [Holds out her hand to him]

  RAKITIN [getting up]. Yes indeed! [Presses her hand]

  NATALYA PETROVNA. Good-bye for the present. [She opens her parasol and goes off at Left]

  RAKITIN [walks up and down for some time]. What is the matter with her? [A pause.] Simply caprice. But is it? I have never seen that in her before. On the contrary, I know no woman less moody. What is the reason? [Walks to and fro again and suddenly stands still.] Ah, how absurd a man is who has only one idea in his head, one object, one interest in life. . . . Like me, for instance. It was true what she said: one keeps watching trifling things from morning to night, and one grows trivial oneself. . . . That's so; but without her I can't live, in her presence I am more than happy; the feeling can't be called happiness, I belong to her entirely, parting from her would . . . without exaggeration ... be exactly like parting with life. What is wrong with her? What's the meaning of her agitation, the involuntary bitterness of her words? Is she beginning to be weary of me? Hm? [Sits down.] I have never deceived myself, I know very well how she loves me; but I hoped that with time that quiet feeling ... I hoped? Have I the right to hope, dare I hope? I confess my position is pretty absurd . . . almost contemptible. . . . [A pause.] What's the use of talking like that? She's an honest woman, and I'm not a Lovelace. [With a bitter smile.] More's the pity! [Getting up quickly.] Well, that's enough! I must put this nonsense out of my head! [Walking up and down.] What a glorious day! [A pause.] How skilfully she stung me! ... My choice and happy expressions. . . . She's very clever, especially when she's in a bad humour. And what's this sudden adoration of youth and innocence? . . . This tutor. . . . She often talks about him. I must say I see nothing very striking in him. He's simply a student, like all students. Can she .. . impossible! She's out of humour . . . she doesn't know what she wants and so she snaps at me, as children beat their nurse. ... A flattering comparison! But she must go her own way. When this fit of depression and uneasiness is over, she will be the first to laugh at that lanky boy, that raw youth. . . . Your explanation is not bad, Mihail Alex-andritch, but is it true? God knows! Well, we shall see. It's not the first time, my dear fellow, that after endless fretting and pondering you have had suddenly to give up all your subtle conjectures, fold you hands and wait meekly for what is to come. And meanwhile you must recognize it's pretty awkward and bitter for you. . . . But that's what I'm for, it seems. . . . [Looking round.] Ah, here he is, our unsophisticated young man! . . . Just when he's wanted. ... I haven't once had a real talk with him. Let's see what he's like. [BELIAYEV comes in on Left.] Ah! Alexey Nikolaitch! So you have come out for a turn in the fresh air too?<
br />
  BELIAYEV. Yes.

  RAKITIN. Though I must say the air is not so very fresh to-day: the heat's terrific, but in the shade here under these lime trees it's endurable. [A pause.] Did you see Natalya Petrovna?

  BELIAYEV. I met her just now. ... She's gone indoors with Vera Alexandrovna.

  RAKITIN. Wasn't it you I saw here half an hour ago with Vera Alexandrovna?

  BELIAYEV. Yes. .. . We were having a walk.

  RAKITIN. Ah! [Takes his arm.] Well, how do you like living in the country?

  BELIAYEV. I like the country. The only thing is, the shooting is not good here.

  RAKITIN. You're fond of shooting then?

  BELIAYEV. Yes. . . . Aren't you?

  RAKITIN. I? No; I'm a poor shot. I'm too lazy.

  BELIAYEV. I'm lazy too . . . but not in that way.

  RAKITIN. Oh! Are you lazy about reading then?

  BELIAYEV. No, I love reading. But I'm too lazy to work long at a time, especially too lazy to go on doing the same thing.

  RAKITIN [Smiling.] Talking to ladies, for instance?

  BELIAYEV. Ah, you're laughing at me. . . . I'm frightened of ladies.

  RAKITIN [Slightly embarrassed]. What an idea! Why should I laugh at you?

  BELIAYEV. Oh, that's all right. ... I don't mind!

  [A pause.] Tell me where can I get gunpowder about here?

  RAKITIN. You can get it no doubt in the town; it is sold there. But do you want good powder?

  BELIAYEV. No, it's not for shooting, it's for making fireworks.

  RAKITIN. Oh, can you make them?

  BELIAYEV. Yes; I've picked out the right place already, the other side of the pond. I heard it's Natalya Petrovna's name-day next week, so they will come in for that.

  RAKITIN. Natalya Petrovna will be pleased at such an attention from you. She likes you, Alexey Nikolaitch, I may tell you.

  BELIAYEV. I'm very much flattered. . . . Ah, by the way, Mihail Alexandritch, I believe you take a magazine. Could you let me have it to read?

  RAKITIN. Certainly, with pleasure. . . . There's good poetry in it.

  BELIAYEV. I'm not fond of poetry.

  RAKITIN. How's that?

  BELIAYEV. I don't know. Comic verses strike me as far-fetched, besides there aren't many; and sentimental ones. ... I don't know. There's something unreal in them somehow.

  RAKITIN. You prefer novels?

  BELIAYEV. Yes. I like good novels; but critical articles--they appeal to me------

  RAKITIN. Oh, why?

  BELIAYEV. It's a fine man that writes them.

  RAKITIN. And you don't go in for authorship yourself?

  BELIAYEV. Oh no! It's silly to write if you've no talent. It only makes people laugh at you. Besides, it's a queer thing, I wish you would explain it to me, sometimes a man seems sensible enough, but when he takes up a pen he's perfectly hopeless. No, writing's not for us, we must thank God if we understand what's written.

  RAKITIN. Do you know, Alexey Nikolaitch, not many young men have as much common sense as you have.

  BELIAYEV. Thank you for the compliment. going to let off the fireworks the other side of the pond, because I can make Roman candles, and they will be reflected in the water.... [A pause.] I'm

  RAKITIN. That will be beautiful. . , . Excuse me, Alexey Nikolaitch, by the way, do you know French?

  BELIAYEV. No, I translated a novel of Paul de Kock's, 'La Laitiere de Montfermeil,' perhaps you've heard of it, for fifty roubles; but I didn't know a word of French. For instance: quatre-vingt-dix I translated four-twenty-ten. . . . Being hard-up drove me to it, you know. But it's a pity. I should like to know French. It's my cursed laziness. I should like to read Georges Sand in French. But the accent . . . how is one to get over the accent? An, on, en, in, isn't it awful?

  RAKITIN. Well, that's a difficulty that can be got over. . . .

  BELIAYEV. Please tell me, what's the time?

  RAKITIN [looking at his watch]. Half-past one.

  BELIAYEV. Lizaveta Bogdanovna is keeping Kolya a long time at the piano. ... I bet he's dying to be running about.

  RAKITIN [cordially]. But one has to study too, you know, Alexey Nikolaitch. . . .

  BELIAYEV [with a sigh]. You oughtn't to have to say that, Mihail Alexandritch, and I oughtn't to have to hear it. . . . Of course, it would never do for everyone to be a loafer like me.

  RAKITIN. Oh, nonsense. . . .

  BELIAYEV. But I know that only too well.

  RAKITIN. Well, I know too, on the contrary, that just what you regard as a defect, your impulsiveness, your freedom from constraint is what's attractive.

  BELIAYEV. To whom, for instance?

  RAKITIN. Well, to Natalya Petrovna, for example.

  BELIAYEV. Natalya Petrovna? With her I don't feel that I am free, as you call it.

  RAKITIN. Ah! Is that really so?

  BELIAYEV. And after all, Mihail Alexandritch, isn't education the thing that matters most in a man? It's easy for you to talk.... I can't make you out, really. [Suddenly looking round.] What's that? I thought I heard a corncrake calling in the garden. [Is about to go]

  RAKITIN. Perhaps. . . . But where are you off to?

  BELIAYEV. To fetch my gun. . . . [Goes to Left; NATALYA PETROVNA comes in, meeting him.]

  NATALYA PETROVNA [seeing him, suddenly smiles]. Where are you going, Alexey Nikolaitch? BELIAYEV. I was . . . RAKITIN. To fetch his gun. . .. He heard a corncrake in the garden. . . .

  NATALYA PETROVNA. No, please don't shoot in the garden. . . . Let the poor bird live. . . . Besides, you may startle Granny.

  BELIAYEV. I obey, madam.

  NATALYA PETROVNA [laughing]. Oh, Alexey Nikolaitch, aren't you ashamed? 'I obey, madam,' what a way to speak! How can you . . . talk like that? But wait, you see Mihail Alexandritch and I will see to your education. . . . Yes, yes ... we have talked together about you more than once already. . . . There's a plot against you, I warn you. . . . You will let me have a hand in your education, won't you?

  BELIAYEV. Why, of course. ... I shall be only too . . .

  NATALYA PETROVNA. To begin with, don't be shy, it doesn't suit you at all. Yes, we will look after you. [Indicating RAKITIN.] We are old people, you know, he and I, while you are young. You are, aren't you? You will see how good it will be. You will look after Kolya and I .. . we . . , will look after you.

  BELIAYEV. I shall be very grateful. NATALYA PETROVNA. That's right. What have Mihail Alexandritch and you been talking about?

  RAKITIN [smiling]. He has been telling me how he translated a French book without knowing a word of French.

  NATALYA PETROVNA. Ah! Now there, we will teach you French. What have you done with your kite, by the way?

  BELIAYEV. I've taken it indoors. I thought you didn't like it.

  NATALYA PETROVNA [with some embarrassment]. What made you think that? Was it because of Vera . . . because I took Vera indoors? No, that . . No, you were mistaken. [Eagerly.] I tell you what . . . Kolya must have finished his lesson by now. Let us take him and Vera and the kite, shall we? . . . and all of us together fly it in the meadow? Yes?

  BELIAYEV. With pleasure, Natalya Petrovna.

  NATALYA PETROVNA. That's right then. Come, let us go, let us go. [Ho/ding out her arm to him.] But take my arm, how awkward you are! Come along . . . make haste. [They go off quickly to Left.]

  RAKITIN [looking after them]. What eagerness . . . what gaiety. ... I have never seen a look like that on her face. And what a sudden transformation! [A pause.] Souvent femme varie. . . . But ... I am certainly not in her good books to-day. That's clear. [A pause.] Well, we shall see what will come later. [Slowly] Is it possible? . . . [With a gesture of dismissal] It can't be! ... But that smile, that warm, soft, bright look in her eyes. ... O God spare me from knowing the tortures of jealousy, especially a senseless jealousy! [Suddenly looking round.] Hullo, what do I see? [SHPIGELSKY and BOLSHINTSOV enter from Left. RAKITIN goes to meet them] Good day, gentlemen. ... I confess I didn't expect to see you to-day, Shpi
gelsky.... [Shakes hands.]

  SHPIGELSKY. Well, I didn't expect it myself. ... I never imagined. . . . But you see I called in on him [Indicating BOLSHINTSOV] and he was already sitting in his carriage, coming here. So I turned round and came back with him.

  RAKITIN. Well, you are very welcome.

  BOLSHINTSOV. I certainly was intending ...

  SHPIGELSKY [cutting him short]. The servants told us you were all in the garden. . . . Anyway there was nobody in the drawing-room. . .

  RAKITIN. But didn't you meet Natalya Petrovna?

  SHPIGELSKY. When?

  RAKITIN. Why, just now.

  SHPIGELSKY. No. We didn't come here straight from the house. Afanasy Ivanovitch wanted to see whether there were any mushrooms in the copse.

  BOLSHINTSOV [surprised]. I really . . .

  SHPIGELSKY. Oh, there, we know how fond you are of mushrooms. So Natalya Petrovna has gone in? Well then, we can go back again.

  BOLSHINTSOV. Of course.

  RAKITIN. Yes, she has gone in to fetch them all out for a walk.... They are going to fly a kite, I believe.

  SHPIGELSKY. Ah! That's capital. It's just the weather for a walk.

  RAKITIN. You can stay here. . . I'll go in and tell her you have come.

  SHPIGELSKY. Why should you trouble. . . . Really, Mihail Alexandritch . . .

  RAKITIN. No trouble. . . . I'm going in anyway. . . .

  SHPIGELSKY. Oh, well, in that case we won't keep you. . . No ceremony, you know. . . .

  RAKITIN. Good-bye for the present. . . . [Goes out to Left.]

  SHPIGELSKY. Good-bye. [To BOLSHINTSOV.] Well, Afanasy Ivanovitch. . . .

  BOLSHINTSOV [interrupting him]. What did you mean about mushrooms, Ignaty Ilyitch? . . . I'm amazed, what mushrooms?

  SHPIGELSKY. Upon my soul, would you have had me say my Afanasy Ivanovitch was overcome with shyness; he wouldn't go straight in, and insisted on taking another turn?

  BOLSHINTSOV. That's so ... but all the same, mushrooms. ... I don't know, may be I'm mistaken....

  SHPIGELSKY. You certainly are, my dear fellow. I'll tell you what you'd better be thinking about. You see we've come here . . . done as you wished. Look out now and don't make a mess of it.

  BOLSHINTSOV. But, Ignaty Ilyitch, you know you. . . . You told me, I mean ... I should like to know for certain what answer . . .