BELIAYEV. And if Vera Alexandrovna cares for me, if she fancied, as you say, that I care for her, I don't want to deceive her; I will tell her the whole truth myself. But after such plain speaking, you must see, Natalya Petrovna, that it would be difficult for me to stay here, my position would be too awkward. I can't tell you how sorry I shall be to leave . . . but there's nothing else for me to do. I shall always think of you with gratitude. . . . May I go now? ... I shall come to say good-bye properly later on.
NATALYA PETROVNA [with affected indifference]. As you please . . . but I own I did not expect this. That was not my object in wishing to speak to you. ... I only wanted to warn you . . . Vera is still a child ... I have perhaps taken it all too seriously. I don't see the necessity of your leaving us. However, as you please.
BELIAYEV. Natalya Petrovna . . . it's really impossible for me to go on staying here.
NATALYA PETROVNA. I see you are very ready to leave us!
BELIAYEV. No, Natalya Petrovna, I'm not.
NATALYA PETROVNA. I'm not in the habit of keeping people against their will, but I must own I don't like it at all.
BELIAYEV [after some indecision]. Natalya Petrovna, I shouldn't like to cause you the slightest annoyance. . . . I'll stay.
NATALYA PETROVNA [suspiciously]. Ah! [after a pause.] I didn't expect you would change your mind so quickly.'. . . I am grateful, but . . . Let me think it over. Perhaps you are right, perhaps you ought to go. I'll think it over. I'll let you know. . . . May I leave you in uncertainty till this evening?
BELIAYEV. I am willing to wait as long as you like. [Bows and is about to go.]
NATALYA PETROVNA. You promise me.... BEHAYEV [stopping]. What?
NATALYA PETROVNA. I believe you meant to speak to Vera. . . . I'm not sure that it's the right thing. But I'll let you know what I decide. I begin to think that you really ought to go away. Good-bye for now. [BELIAYEV bows again and goes off into the outer room. NATALYA PETROVNA looks after him.] My mind's at rest! He does not love her. . . . [Walks up and down the room.] And so instead of sending him away, I've myself prevented his going. . . . He'll stay. . . . But what shall I say to Rakitin? What have I done? [A pause.] And what right had I to publish abroad the poor girl's love? I trapped her into confessing it ... a half-confession, and then I go ... so ruthlessly, so brutally. . . . [Hides her face in her hands.] Perhaps he was beginning to care for her. . . . What right had I to trample on that flower in the bud? . . . But have I trampled on it? He may have deceived me. ... I tried to deceive him! Oh! no! He's too good for that. ... He's not like me! And why was I in such haste? Blurting it all out at once? [Sighing.] I needn't have done it! If I could have foreseen. . . . How sly I was, how I lied to him! And he! How boldly and independently he spoke! ... I felt humbled by him. ... He is a man! I didn't know him before. . . . He must go away. If he stays ... I feel that I shall end by losing all self-respect. . . . He must go, or I am lost! I will write to him before he has had time to see Vera .... He must go! [Goes quickly into the study.]
ACT IV
A large unfurnished outer room. The walls are bare, the stone floor is uneven; the ceiling is supported by six brick columns, three each side, covered with whitewash which is peeling off. On Left two open windows and a door into the garden. On Right a door into the corridor leading to the main building; in Centre an iron door opening into the storeroom. Near first column on Right a green garden seat; in a corner spades, watering-cans and flower-pots. Evening. The red rays of the sun fall through the windows on the floor.
KATYA [comes in from door on Right, goes briskly to the window and stands for some time looking into the garden]. No, he's not to be seen. They told me he'd gone into the conservatory. I suppose he hasn't come out yet. Well, I'll wait till he comes by. There's no other way he can go. ... [Sighs and leans against the window.] They say he's going away. [Sighs again.] However shall we get on without him. . . . Poor young lady! How she did beseech me. . . . And why shouldn't I oblige her? Let him have a last talk with her. How warm it is to-day. And I do believe it's beginning to spot with rain. . . . [Again glances out of window and at once draws back.] Surely they're not coming in here? They are. My gracious. . . . [Tries to run off, but has not time to reach the door before SHPIGELSKY and LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA come in from the garden. KATYA hides behind a column.]
SHPIGELSKY [shaking his hat]. We can shelter here from the rain .... it will soon be over.
LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA. If you like.
SHPIGELSKY [looking round]. What is this building? A storehouse or what?
LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA [pointing to the iron door]. No, the storeroom's there. This room, I'm told, Arkady Sergeyitch's father built when he came back from abroad.
SHPIGELSKY. Oh, I see the idea, Venice, if you please. [Sits down on the seat.] Let's sit down. [LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA sits down.] You must confess, Lizaveta Bogdanovna, the rain has come in an unlucky moment. It has interrupted our talk at the most touching point.
LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA [casting down her eyes]. Ignaty Ilyitch... .
SHPIGELSKY. But there's nobody to hinder our beginning again. . . . You say, by the way, that Anna Semyonovna is out of humour to-day?
LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA. Yes, she's put out. She actually did not come down to dinner, but had it in her room.
SHPIGELSKY. You don't say so! What a calamity, upon my word!
LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA. She came upon Natalya Petrovna in tears this morning... with Mihail Alexandritch. . . . Of course he's almost like one of the family, but still. ... However, Mihail Alexandritch has promised to explain it.
SHPIGELSKY. Ah! well, she need not worry herself. Mihail Alexandritch has never, to my thinking, been a dangerous person, and now he's less so than ever.
LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA. Why?
SHPIGELSKY. Oh, he talks a bit too cleverly. Where other people would come out in a rash, they work it all off in talk. Don't be afraid of chatterers in future, Lizaveta Bogdanovna; they're not dangerous; it's these silent men, slow in the uptake, with no end of temperament and thick necks, who are dangerous.
LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA [after a pause]. Tell me, is Natalya Petrovna really ill?
SHPIGELSKY. She's no more ill than you or I.
LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA. She ate nothing at dinner.
SHPIGELSKY. Illness isn't the only thing that spoils the appetite.
LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA. Did you dine at Bolshintsov's?
SHPIGELSKY. Yes. ... I went to see him. And it's only on your account I came back here, upon my soul.
LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA. Oh, nonsense. And do you know, Ignaty Ilyitch, Natalya Petrovna is cross with you. . . . She said something not very complimentary about you at dinner.
SHPIGELSKY. Really? Ladies don't like us poor fellows to have sharp eyes, it seems. You must do what they want, you must help them, and you must pretend not to know what they're up to. A pretty set! But we shall see. And Rakitin, I dare say, looked rather in the dumps, too?
LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA. Yes, he, too, seemed, as it were, out of sorts. . . .
SHPIGELSKY. Hm. And Vera Alexandrovna? And Beliayev?
LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA. Everyone, absolutely everyone seemed depressed. I really can't imagine what's the matter with them all to-day.
SHPIGELSKY. If you know too much, you'll grow old before your time, Lizaveta Bogdanovna. . . . But never mind them. We had better talk about our affairs. The rain hasn't left off. ... Shall we?
LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA [casting down her eyes primly]. What are you asking me, Ignaty Ilyitch?
SHPIGELSKY. Oh, Lizaveta Bogdanovna, if you'll allow me to say so, there's no need to put on airs, and to drop your eyes like that! We're not young people, you know! These performances, these sighs and soft nothings--they don't suit us. Let us talk calmly, practically, as is proper for people of our years. And so--this is the question: we like each other ... at least, I presume that you like me.
LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA [a little affectedly], Ignaty Ilyitch, really. . . .
SHPIGELSKY. Oh,
all right, very well. After all, perhaps, airs and graces are . . . only proper in a lady. So then, we like each other. And in other respects too we are well matched. Of course, I am bound to say about myself that I am not a man of good family: well, you're not of illustrious birth either. I'm not a rich man; if I were, I shouldn't be where I am------ [Laughs.] But I've a decent practice, not all my patients die; you have, as you say, fifteen thousand roubles of your own, all that's not at all bad, you see. At the same time, you're tired, I imagine, of living for ever as a governess, and then fussing round an old lady, backing her up at preference, and falling in with her whims isn't much fun, I should say. On my side, it's not so much that I'm weary of bachelor-life, but I'm growing old, and then, my cooks rob me; so you see, it all fits in nicely. But here's the difficulty, Lizaveta Bogdanovna; we don't know each other at all, that is, to be exact, you don't know me ... I know you well enough. I understand your character. I don't say you have no faults. Being a spinster, you're little old-maidish, but that's no harm. In the hands of a good husband, a wife is soft as wax. But I should like you to know me before marriage; or else you'll, maybe, blame me afterwards. ... I don't want to deceive you.
LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA [with dignity]. But, Ignaty Ilyitch, I believe I too have had opportunities of discovering your character.
SHPIGELSKY. You? Oh! nonsense. . . . That's not a woman's job. Why, I dare say you imagine I'm a man of cheerful disposition, an amusing fellow, don't you?
LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA. I have always thought you a very amiable man. . . .
SHPIGELSKY. There you are. You see how easily one may be mistaken. Because I play the fool before outsiders, tell them anecdotes and humour them, you imagine that I'm really a light-hearted man. If I didn't need these people, I shouldn't even look at them. ... As it is, whenever I can, without much danger, you know, I turn them into ridicule. ... I don't deceive myself, though: I'm well aware that certain gentry, who can't take a step without me and are bored when I'm not there, consider themselves entitled to look down on me; but I pay them out, you may be sure. Natalya Petrovna, for instance. . . . Do you suppose I don't see through her? [Mimics NATALYA PETROVNA.] 'Dear Doctor, I really like you so much . . . you have such a wicked tongue,' ha, ha, coo away, my dove, coo away. Ugh! these ladies! And they smile and make eyes at you, while disdain is written on their faces. . . . They despise us, do what you will! I quite understand why she is saying harsh things of me to-day. Upon my soul, these ladies are wonderful people! Because they sprinkle themselves with eau-de-Cologne every day and speak so carelessly--as though they were just dropping their words for you to pick them up--they fancy there's no catching them by the tail. Oh, isn't there, though! They're just mortals the same as all of us poor sinners!
LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA. Ignaty Ilyitch . . . you surprise me.
SHPIGELSKY. I knew I should surprise you. So you see I'm not a light-hearted man at all, and not too good-natured even.... But at the same time, I don't want to make myself out what I never have been. Though I may put it on a bit before the gentry, no one's ever seen me play the fool in a low way, no one's ever dared to take insulting liberties with me. Indeed, I think they're a bit afraid of me; in fact, they know I bite. On one occasion, three years ago, a gentleman --a regular son of the soil--by way of fun at the dinner-table, stuck a radish in my hair. What do you think I did? Why, on the spot, without any show of anger, you know, in the most courteous manner, I challenged him to a duel. The son of the soil almost had a stroke, he was so terrified; our host made him apologize--it made a great sensation. As a matter of fact, I knew beforehand that he wouldn't fight. So you see, Lizaveta Bogdanovna, my vanity's immense; but my life's not been much. My talents are not great either. . . . I got through my studies somehow. I'm not much good as a doctor, it's no use my pretending to you, and if you're ever taken ill, I shan't prescribe for you myself. If I'd had talent and a good education, I should have bolted to the capital. For the aborigines here, no better doctor is wanted, to be sure. As regards my personal character, Lizaveta Bogdanovna, I ought to warn you: at home I'm ill-humoured, silent and exacting, I'm not cross as long as everything's done for me to my satisfaction; I like to be well fed and to have my habits respected; however, I'm not jealous and I'm not mean, and in my absence, you can do just as you like. Of romantic love and all that between us, you understand it's needless to speak; and yet I imagine one might live under the same roof with me ... so long as you try to please me, and don't shed tears in my presence, that I can't endure! But I'm not given to fault-finding. There you have my confession. Well, what do you say now?
LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA. What am I to say to you, Ignaty Ilyitch? ... If you have not been blackening your character on purpose to ...
SHPIGELSKY. But how have I blackened my character? Don't forget that another man in my place would, with perfect complacency, have kept quiet about his faults, as you've not noticed them, and after the wedding, it's all up then, it's too late. But I'm too proud to do that. [LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA glances at him.] Yes, yes, too proud . . . you needn't look at me like that. I don't mean to pose and lie before my future wife, not if it were for a hundred thousand instead of fifteen thousand, though to a stranger I'm ready to humble myself for a sack of flour. I'm like that. . . . I'll smirk to a stranger while inwardly I'm thinking, you're a blockhead, my friend, you'll be caught by my bait; but with you, I say what I think. That is, let me explain; I don't say everything I think, even to you; but at any rate, I'm not deceiving you. I must strike you as a very queer fish certainly, but there, wait a bit, one day I'll tell you the story of my life and you'll wonder that I've come through as well as I have. You weren't born with a silver spoon in your mouth, I expect, either, but yet, my dear, you can't conceive what real hopeless poverty is like. . . . I'll tell you all about that, though, some other time. But now you had better think over the proposition I have had the honour of laying before you. . . . Consider this little matter well, in solitude, and let me know your decision. So far as I can judge, you're a sensible woman. And by the way, how old are you?
LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA. I ... I ... I'm thirty.
SHPIGELSKY [calmly]. And that's not true, you're quite forty.
LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA [firing up], I'm not forty, only thirty-six.
SHPIGELSKY. That's not thirty, anyway. Well, Lizaveta Bogdanovna, that's a habit you must get out of ... especially as thirty-six isn't old for a married woman. And you shouldn't take snuff either. [Getting up.] I fancy the rain has stopped.
LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA [getting up also]. Yes, it has.
SHPIGELSKY. And so you'll give me an answer in a day or two?
LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA. I will tell you my decision to-morrow.
SHPIGELSKY. Now, I like that! That's really sensible! Bravo! Lizaveta Bogdanovna! Come, give me your arm. Let us go indoors.
LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA [taking his arm]. Let us go.
SHPIGELSKY. And by the way, I haven't kissed your hand . . . and I believe it's what's done. Well, for once, here goes! [Kisses her hand. LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA blushes.] That's right. [Moves towards door into garden.]
LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA [stopping]. So you think, Ignaty Ilyitch, that Mihail Alexandritch is really not a dangerous man?
SHPIGELSKY. I think not.
LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA. Do you know what, Ignaty Ilyitch? I fancy that for some time past Natalya Petrovna ... I fancy that Mr. Beliayev. . . . She takes a good deal of I notice of him . .. doesn't she! And Verotchka too, what do you think? Isn't that why to-day? . . .
SHPIGELSKY [interrupting her]. There's one other thing I've forgotten to tell you, Lizaveta Bogdanovna. I'm awfully inquisitive myself, but I can't endure inquisitive women. That is, I'll explain. To my thinking, a wife ought to be inquisitive and observant only with other people (indeed it's an advantage to her husband). . . . You under-stand me--with others only. However, if you really want to know my opinion concerning Natalya Petrovna, Vera Alexandrovna, Mr. Beliayev, and the folks here generally, listen and I'll sing you a little
song. I've a horrible voice but you mustn't mind that.
LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA [with surprise]. A song! SHPIGELSKY. Listen! The first verse:
'Granny had a little kid,
Granny had a little kid,
A little grey kid!
Yes, she did, yes, she did!'
The second verse:
'The kid would in the forest play,
The kid would in the forest play,
Yes, I say, yes, I say,
He would in the forest play.'
LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA. But I don't understand. . . . SHPIGELSKY. Listen then! The third verse:
'The grey wolves ate that little kid [skipping about]
The grey wolves ate that little kid,
They ate him up, they ate him up,
Yes, I say, they ate him up.'
And now let us go. I must have a talk with Natalya Petrovna, by the way. Let us hope she won't bite me. If I'm not mistaken, she still has need of me. Come along.
[They go out into the garden]
KATYA [cautiously coming out from behind the column], They've gone at last! What a spiteful man that doctor is . . . talked and talked and what didn't he say? And what a way to sing! I'm afraid Alexey Nikolaitch may have gone back indoors meanwhile... . Why on earth need they have come in here! [Goes to the window] So Lizaveta Bog-danovna is to be the doctor's wife. . . . [Laughs] So that's it! ... Well, I don't envy her. . . . [Keeps looking out of window] The grass looks as though it had been washed. . . . What a nice smell . . . it's the wild cherry. . . . Oh! here he comes! [After waiting a moment.] Alexey Nikolaitch! . . . Alexey Nikolaitch!
BELIAYEV [behind the scenes]. Who's calling me? Oh! is it you, Katya? [Comes up to window.] What do you want?
KATYA. Come in here. . . . I've something to say to you.
BELIAYEV. Oh! very well. [Moves away from window and a moment later comes in at door.] Here I am.
KATYA. Aren't you wet?
BELIAYEV. No . . . I've been sitting in the greenhouse with Potap . .. he's your uncle, isn't he?
KATYA. Yes, he's my uncle.
BELIAYEV. How pretty you are to-day! [KATYA smiles and looks down. He takes a peach out of his pocket] Would you like it?
A Month in the Country Page 8
