Donna Dolores [getting up slowly]: Thank you, Margaret. I am no longer afraid of you, because I despise you.
Margaret: Those are high - sounding, but idle words! You are still afraid of me.
Donna Dolores [going away to one side]: Oh, Lord! Have mercy upon me. Don’t let me perish.
Margaret: How I laughed at you, inwardly, when you pulled the key so artfully from my belt! I was told to leave the key in your room, but you guessed my mission and relieved me of the trouble. Pardon me, but I can’t refrain from laughing even now. [Donna Dolores looks at her with cold disdain.] So, so! Despise me; I am merry, nevertheless. Now, you will be in my power, and you will not be able to get rid of me. Don Balthazar won’t let you go out of the house, and I shall be right with you all the time. It isn’t an easy job, I confess, but it isn’t easy to earn a living. Now, won’t you go into your room?
Donna Dolores: I shall stay here.
Margaret [sitting down]: At the command of Don Balthazar . . .
Donna Dolores [going outj to herself]: This old woman has calmed me somewhat. I really thought that they were getting ready to kill me. [Both go out.]
[Balthazar and Pablo enter.]
Don Balthazar: I must say, you treated him very magnanimously.
Don Pablo: Really?
Don Balthazar: Why, you escorted him and bowed to him, until he got into the street, and you had the gardener light the way for him! I wouldn’t have let him off as easy as that. I should have told Pepe to escort him in a manner . . .
Don Pablo: Why did you entrust it to me then?
Don Balthazar: Why? . . . why? I thought that you . . .
Don Pablo: That I would call him out, and kill him, and with his blood wash the stain from your honor? Is that what you thought? It is easy enough to get revenge through somebody else. He could have killed me, too. His sword was a good - sized one, and I would have had to depend upon Providence. Isn’t that true, my dear, sincere, and beloved friend? I really believe that that is why you didn’t want to come into the room with me and meet him yourself. A madcap like him could kill a man . . .
Don Balthazar: Sangre! You know that I am not courageous, and I don’t pretend I am. But how could you let a scapegrace like that go off? He must be laughing at us now.
Don Pablo: I don’t think so.
Don Balthazar: Surely he must be laughing at us. Oh, I’am just choking with rage! He’ll tell everybody about the affair, and I followed out your orders with such exactness! No, think as you like . . .
Don Pablo: You will recollect that I demanded from you unconditional obedience. You will recollect that you consented to all of my demands, and therefore please go out of the room.
Don Balthazar: Why?
Don Pablo: I must have a talk with Donna Dolores first.
Don Balthazar: You?
Don Pablo: Listen, my beloved Balthazar: I am quite confident that you will be thankful to me to - morrow. You are older than I am, but ... I let that beloved man go because I didn’t want to make a scene in the neighborhood. I didn’t want to draw upon myself a lot of unpleasantness. Moreover, you know yourself that your honor, in reality, hasn’t suffered any. You and I didn’t take our eyes off that undesirable caller. . . . Your wife has been sufficiently punished for her weak - mindedness. We have frightened her quite a lot. And now you want to kill her! I know you: you are very quick - tempered.
Don Balthazar: Well, not kill her, but, I must confess that I want to avenge my whole grief on her. On the other hand, I am willing to admit, Sangre, that I am very glad that we subjected her, as you said, to a great test. She was very irresponsive.
Don Pablo: You think so? However, in that matter, you are the best judge. In my opinion, she shouldn’t have even talked to him.
Don Balthazar: You are right; you are absolutely right about that. I haven’t any backbone at all. You are absolutely right.
Don Pablo: You know, of course, that she is afraid of me. Quietly and coolly, I shall make clear to her all her fault. For several days to come you must be very kind, but cold towards her. And little by little, everything will return to its usual way. She will hate me all the more, but there is nothing to be done about that. I have made a rule for myself, — to sacrifice everything necessary for the sake of a friend.
Don Balthazar: I know; you are a rare man. Well, have it your way; talk to her. But tell her that I am angry, furiously angry with her. Tell her that — so that she will shudder. Tell her that I am going to keep her locked up under three locks. Tell her . . . tell her . . . well, you know what to tell her. Oh, yes, don’t you think it would be advisable to tell her that we have killed that scamp? And don’t forget to tell her, that . . . well, tell her that she should tremble. Oh, Lord, oh, Lord, I think I am going to die first! I have grown much older this night. That scamp has taken away ten years of my life. But that gentleman isn’t through with me yet. Oh, no, he isn’t! I am going to hire an experienced, silent, and reliable man, and have him tie that scamp’s hands with a rope and then stick a dagger into him.
Don Pabijo: Now you are talking sense! Now you are sensible.
Don Balthazar: Yes, let him stick a dagger into him. And so, you want to be alone with her? All right. I’ll get out.
Don Pablo: Good - bye.
Don Balthazar [turning around]: Now don’t be too easy with her.
Don Pablo: All right.
Don Balthazar: Be severe.
Don Pablo: Yes, sir.
Don Balthazar: Be severe! How sweet he was to her! And she . . . and she . . . well, he was a big fool. That wasn’t a time for being loquacious. Still, I am going to treat her to something. . . . Well, good - bye, Sangre. I’ll go into my room and wait for you. Now be sure, and tell me all the details about it. [Goes out.]
[Don Pablo remains alone. The candle is still on the table.]
Don Pablo [walking to and fro, then raising his head suddenly]: I am determined. [Goes up to the door and knocks.]
[Margaret comes out.]
Don Pablo: Margaret! Ask Donna Dolores to come in to see me.
Margaret: Yes, sir.
Don Pablo [giving her a pocketbook with money]: Then go to sleep, and sleep soundly. You understand me, don’t you?
Margaret [pushing his hand away]: I understand, but I don’t need the money. [She goes out and in a few minutes returns with Donna Dolores.] Don Pablo [to Margaret]: Now you can go.
[Margaret hesitates a little, then goes out.] Don Pablo [to Donna Dolores]: Senora! Don’t you want to sit down? [He points to a chair, but she doesn’t sit down. She leans against the table instead. Sangre shuts all the doors and goes up to her.] Senora!
Donna Dolores [in a weak voice, with her eyes lowered]: I am tired, Senor. Let me have a rest. To - morrow, I shall be ready to explain this strange — [Her voice breaks down.] Don Pablo: To my greatest sorrow, I have not the right to postpone this conversation until to - morrow. Don’t you want a glass of water?
Donna Dolores: No. But let me call your attention to the fact, that I am not obliged to answer your questions. Don Balthazar alone . . . [Don Pablo waits in vain for the end of her sentence.]
Don Pablo: Senora! After all that has happened to - day, I shouldn’t be here alone with you, without special orders from your husband. Moreover, our conversation will not be a very long one, and it will be so interesting to both of us, that you will not complain about being tired or bored to death. You are afraid of me, Senora. I know that. But you are afraid of me because you think that I am a strict and stern man, and not because I am uncouth and disagreeable. And therefore, I hope that you will be frank with me. But you are tired, so please, sit down. [Donna Dolores sits down and Don Pablo sits down near her.] I haven’t even the slightest intention of tormenting you with questions. I know everything, and you know that I know it. Let me ask you just one question. What sort of a feeling was that which seemed to possess you so suddenly while in the presence of a young man? [Donna Dolores is silent.] Senora! Answer me in the same way th
at you would answer your own father. You will admit that Don Balthazar would talk to you very differently. Answer me, then, out of appreciation for my having relieved you of a very disagreeable explanation. If you only knew how much indulgence, even kindness, I feel towards you
Donna Dolores [interrupting him]: You feel towards me, Senor?
Don Pablo: Yes, Dolores, towards you. [After some silence.] I am awaiting your answer.
Donna Dolores: I don’t know what to tell you. Truly, I don’t even know a name for that feeling. It was a momentary forgetfulness, carelessness, foolishness, — unpardonable foolishness.
Don Pablo: I believe you, Senora. And isn’t it true, that you will have forgotten it all by to - morrow? And that you will have forgotten him, too? And your very words, — “unpardonable carelessness”?
Donna Dolores [hesitatingly]: Yes, surely ... or, maybe not. At least, not so soon.
Don Pablo: That’s understood, Senora. Your life, like the life of so many married women, is so monotonous, that such an impression cannot be effaced so quickly. But in your heart, tell me: will you keep to - day’s occurrence long in your heart? [Donna Dolores is silent.] I respect your silence. I understand you, Senora. Listen, Senora: your husband is a most excellent, a most worthy man, but he isn’t young any more, and you, — you are still very young, and therefore, it isn’t surprising that you sometimes indulge in reveries, — not always permissible ones, but unavoidable. Until now, your reveries have never taken any definite form, but now . . . but now, you will know whom to think about, when, during a sleepless night, you sit at the half - open window, gazing at the stars, and moon; at that garden, — at that dark garden, in which he awaited you. Isn’t that true, Senora?
Donna Dolores [confused]: Senor!
Don Pablo: I am not accusing you. In fact, I think that from one point of view, Don Balthazar ought to be glad of to - day’s occurrence. He can feel assured, that from now on, you will try to avoid meetings with Master Bafael. And then, one such recollection will make impossible a new impression of a similar nature. Pardon my frankness, Senora. Perhaps I am mistaken. Perhaps I am calling to your attention, or awakening in you, such thoughts as would otherwise never have entered your mind. Tell me, am I mistaken or not?
Donna Dolores [decisively]: .You are not mistaken.
Don Pablo: How suddenly your eyes flamed up! Oh, yes, you hate me. I can read your hatred for me in your eyes. Yes, you will think long, long about this. [Suddenly raising his voice.] Then know you, Dolores . . . that you have now pronounced your death sentence!
Donna Dolores: What did you say?
Don Pablo: My words surprise you? I am not going to keep anything hidden from you. I have decided to tell you all that I have been carrying in my heart for a long time, and you will listen to me. I swear on my honor, that you will listen to me. [She wants to get up, but he doesn’t let her.] Dolores! Two years ago, I saw you for the first time, and I have dreamt about it since that evening, as a child dreams. I have dreamt of the happiness of being alone with you in your room, because I loved you at first sight; because I love you, Dolores! [Silence.] And now, we are by ourselves, in your room, and I — I am not a bit happy. I feel both gloom and joy; I feel a peculiar burning, tormenting joy. Oh, Lord, how can I express that which I feel! For two years, I have kept an unsatisfying, incomprehensible silence; I have kept that for two years. Is it possible that you haven’t guessed that I love you passionately? Is it possible that I have succeeded so well, in hiding my pain, that I haven’t betrayed myself even once? I remember, that, even when occasionally I used to sit close to you, I didn’t dare look at you, but I felt that my face showed my admiration and love for you. Is it possible that my silence hasn’t been more eloquent than the weak watery phrases of your Safael? [Mimicking Eafael.] “One divine, pure recollection”! Those are the trivialities that women like. [Looking at Dolores, and coming to himself somewhat.] Dolores! I 6ee that you are frightened. An old man like me ought to be ashamed of crying and talking nonsense, but, listen to me: do you want me to tell you my whole life? Listen: when a young man, I wanted to go into a monastery . . . [Stops and laughs.] I think I am out of my mind altogether. [Begins to pace the room.]
[Dolores gets up carefully, and runs to the door. She tries to open it and to scream.]
Don Pablo [going up to her and bringing her back to the chair]: No, you cannot run away.
Donna Dolores: Let me go!
Don Pablo: I am deeply offended by your fear. Oh, yes . . . you not only don’t love me, but you hate me! You are afraid of me!
Donna Dolores: You are mad! Let me out.
Don Pablo: You can’t get out.
Donna Dolores [despairingly]: No, I can’t get out. You may be glad, cat, that you have a mouse within your paws!
Don Pablo: Very well, Madam! I am willing to carry out your comparison. As you say, you are within my paws now. But who told you to come out? The little mouse should have stayed in its hole, instead of coming out to look at the wide world.
Donna Dolores: But I will scream! I’ll call for help
Don Pablo [completely controlling himself]: Stop! That is a childish threat. Or have you really believed me? I confess, I didn’t suspect myself of being such a conversational artist.
[Donna Dolores looks at him piercingly.]
Don Pablo [gloomily]: No, I can’t deceive you. You know, you know now, that I love you.
Donna Dolores: But what do I care about your love? What right does your unsought love, that you are forcing upon me, give you? Shame on you, Senor! For two years, you have lived almost under the same roof with a man whom you call your friend, and for that length of time, you have been carrying in your mind such dishonorable, such traitorous thoughts! And all the while you were so eloquently silent!
Don Pablo: And you expected that I, — not a young man, but ambitious and strong - headed, a man, whose hopes, convictions and beliefs, are all broken like soap - bubbles, — you expected that I would go on chattering, sighing, like that foolish little boy. . . .
Donna Dolores: He is a great deal brighter than you are, Senor, because he, at least, got one step nearer to his point. I confess that I like him. But you, sir, are crafty, arrogant, silent and timid. Such men, — women don’t like!
Don Pablo: If you only knew, Dolores, what a good heart you are trampling under your feet . . .
Donna Dolores: Really? However, every man imagines that his heart is a treasure, — an untouched treasure, — and therefore, I don’t want to deprive you of it.
Don Pablo: Oh, how beautifully you talk, Senora!
Donna Dolores: I can’t compare with you, Senor. “Two years of eloquent . . . silence” . . . “eloquent”! — I like that word.
Don Pablo: Don’t fool with a dagger. You might cut yourself.
Donna Dolores: I am not afraid of you.
Don Pablo: Oh, no, you are not afraid of me, since you have found out that I love you! But take heed! My love is a most peculiar kind. Moreover, I am convinced now, that you don’t love me.
Donna Dolores: You are convinced now! And were you not convinced before?
Don Pablo: Laugh, laugh at me! If you had only known with what feelings I have looked at you; how gladly I would have gone down on my knees for you; with what delight I would have put my head down at your feet and awaited one stray look, given as alms! If I had thought that all that wouldn’t have been in vain . . .
Donna Dolores [laughing venomously]: Who knows?
Don Pablo [looking at her thoughtfully]: And what is it I like about this light - haired girl? How strange! Upon everybody I have met, — like, for instance, Balthazar, — I have had an almost unexplainable influence, but upon her - -
Donna Dolores: I am tired of you.
Don Pablo [taking her hand]: Look me straight in the face. You have no time for joking, believe me. Do you think that you will not be punished for having seen my tears? For two years, you have tormented me so unconcernedly, so indifferently, and now, you are la
ughing at me! And do you think that I cannot avenge myself?
Donna Dolores [in a somewhat quivering voice]: You can’t frighten me. I am in my own house. Like a child, I believed your foolish joke that you played upon me. Yes, yes. Now don’t pretend surprise. I know you made a bargain with Margaret and with my husband, and perhaps, with that young man; but now, as the mistress of the house, I tell you, as a guest, that I am tired of you; that your conversation doesn’t interest me in the least, and regardless of your promises, I ask you to go away. To - morrow, nay, right now, I will tell Don Balthazar all that you have said to me. He won’t stand for this offence.
Works of Ivan Turgenev (Illustrated) Page 352
