But can even a personal, living, imaged God make twice two not be four?
Every believer is bound to answer, he can, and is bound to persuade himself of it.
But if reason sets him revolting against this senselessness?
Then Shakespeare comes to his aid: ‘There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,’ etc.
And if they set about confuting him in the name of truth, he has but to repeat the famous question, ‘What is truth?’ And so, let us drink and be merry, and say our prayers.
July 1881.
THE RUSSIAN TONGUE
In days of doubt, in days of dreary musings on my country’s fate, thou alone art my stay and support, mighty, true, free Russian speech! But for thee, how not fall into despair, seeing all that is done at home? But who can think that such a tongue is not the gift of a great people!
June 1882.
THE END OF PROSE POEMS
The Plays
A MONTH IN THE COUNTRY
A Comedy in Five Acts (1850)
Translated by Constance Garnett, 1899
CONTENTS
CHARACTERS IN THE PLAY
ACT I
ACT II
ACT III
ACT IV
ACT V
CHARACTERS IN THE PLAY
ARKADY SERGEYITCH ISLAYEV, a wealthy landowner, aged 36.
NATALYA PETROVNA, his wife, aged 29.
KOLYA, their son, aged 10.
VERA, their ward, aged 17.
ANNA SEMYONOVNA ISLAYEV, mother of Islayev, aged 58.
LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA, a companion, aged 37.
SCHAAF, a German tutor, aged 45.
MIHAIL ALEXANDROVITCH RAKITIN, a friend of the family, aged 30.
ALEXEY NIKOLAYEVITCH BELIAYEV, a student, Kolya’s tutor, aged zi.
AFANASY IVANOVITCH BOLSHINTSOV, a neighbour, aged 48.
IGNATY ILYITCH SHPIGELSKY, a doctor, aged 40.
MATVEY, a manservant, aged 40.
KATYA, a maidservant, aged 20.
The action takes place on Islayev’s estate.
There is an interval of one day between ACTS I and II, ACTS II and III, and ACTS IV and V.
ACT I
A drawing - room. On Right a card - table and a door into the study; in Centre a door into an outer room; on Left two windows and a round table. Sofas in the corners. At the card - table ANNA SEMYONOVNA, LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA and SCHAAF are playing preference; NATALYA PETROVNA and RAKITIN are sitting at the round table; she is embroidering on canvas; he has a book in his hand. A clock on the wall points to three o’clock.
SCHAAF. Hearts.
ANNA SEMYONOVNA. Again? Why, if you go on like that, my good man, you will beat us every time.
SCHAAF [phlegmatically]. Eight hearts.
ANNA SEMYONOVNA [to LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA]. What a man! There’s no playing with him. [LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA smiles.]
NATALYA PETROVNA [to RAKITIN]. Why have you left off? Go on.
RAKITIN [raising his head slowly], ‘Monte Cristo se redressa haletant. . . .’ Does it interest you, Natalya Petrovna?
NATALYA PETROVNA. Not at all.
RAKITIN. Why are we reading it then?
NATALYA PETROVNA. Well, it’s like this. The other day a woman said to me: ‘You haven’t read Monte Cristo? Oh, you must read it - - it’s charming.’ I made her no answer at the time, but now I can say that I’ve been reading it and found nothing at all charming in it.
RAKITIN. Oh, well, since you have already made up your mind about it. ...
NATALYA PETROVNA. You lazy creature!
RAKITIN. Oh, I don’t mind. . .. [Looking for the place at which he stopped.] ‘Se redressa haletant et. . . .’
NATALYA PETROVNA [interrupting him]. Have you seen Arkady to - day?
RAKITIN. I met him on the dam.... It is being repaired. He was explaining something to the workmen and to make things clearer waded up to his knees in the sand.
NATALYA PETROVNA. He gets too hot over things, he tries to do too much. It’s a failing. Don’t you think so?
RAKITIN. Yes, I agree with you.
NATALYA PETROVNA. How dull that is!... You always agree with me. Go on reading.
RAKITIN. Oh, so you want me to quarrel with you. . . . By all means.
NATALYA PETROVNA. I want ... I want ... I want you to want. ... Go on reading, I tell you.
RAKITIN. I obey, madam. [Takes up the book again.]
SCHAAF. Hearts.
ANNA SEMYONOVNA. What? Again? It’s insufferable! [To NATALYA PETROVNA.] Natasha . . . Natasha! . . .
NATALYA PETROVNA. What is it?
ANNA SEMYONOVNA. Only fancy! Schaaf wins every point. He keeps on - - if it’s not seven, it’s eight.
SCHAAF. And now it’s seven.
ANNA SEMYONOVNA. Do you hear? Its awful.
NATALYA PETROVNA. Yes ... it is.
ANNA SEMYONOVNA. Back me up then! [To NATALTA PETROVNA.] Where’s Kolya?
NATALYA PETROVNA. He’s gone out for a walk with the new tutor.
ANNA SEMYONOVNA. Oh! Lizaveta Bogdanovna, I call on you.
RAKITIN [to NATALYA PETROVNA.] What tutor?
NATALYA PETROVNA. Ah! I forgot to tell you, while you’ve been away, we’ve engaged a new teacher.
RAKITIN. Instead of Dufour?
NATALYA PETROVNA. No ... a Russian teacher. The princess is going to send us a Frenchman from Moscow.
RAKITIN. What sort of man is he, the Russian? An old man?
NATALYA PETROVNA. No, he’s young.... But we only have him for the summer.
RAKITIN. Oh, a holiday engagement.
NATALYA PETROVNA. Yes, that’s what they call it, I believe. And I tell you what, Rakitin, you’re fond of studying people, analysing them, burrowing into them. . . .
RAKITIN. Oh, come, what makes you . . .
NATALYA PETROVNA, Yes, yes.... You study him. I like him. Thin, well made, merry eyes, something spirited in his face. . . . You’ll see. It’s true he is rather awkward . . . and you think that dreadful.
RAKITIN. You are terribly hard on me to - day, Natalya Petrovna.
NATALYA PETROVNA. Joking apart, do study him. I fancy he may make a very fine man. But there, you never can tell!
RAKITIN. That sounds interesting.
NATALYA PETROVNA. Really? [Dreamily.] Go on reading.
RAKITIN. ‘Se redressa haletant et...’
NATALYA PETROVNA [suddenly looking round]. Where’s Vera? I haven’t seen her all day. [With a smile, to RAKITIN.] Put away that book. ... I see we shan’t get any reading done to - day. . . . Better tell me something.
RAKITIN. By all means. . . . What am I to tell you? You know I stayed a few days at the Krinitsyns’. . . . Imagine, the happy pair are bored already.
NATALYA PETROVNA. How could you tell?
RAKITIN. Well, boredom can’t be concealed.... Anything else may be, but not boredom. . . .
NATALYA PETROVNA [looking at him]. Anything else can then?
RAKITIN [after a brief pause]. I think so.
NATALYA PETROVNA [dropping her eyes]. Well, what did you do at the Krinitsyns’?
RAKITIN. Nothing. Being bored with friends is an awful thing; you are at ease, you are not constrained, you like them, there’s nothing to irritate you, and yet you are bored, and there’s a silly ache, like hunger, in your heart.
NATALYA PETROVNA. You must often have been bored with friends.
RAKITIN. As though you don’t know what it is to be with a person whom one loves and who bores one!
NATALYA PETROVNA [slowly]. Whom one loves, that’s saying a great deal. . . . You are too subtle to - day. . . .
RAKITIN. Subtle. . . . Why subtle?
NATALYA PETROVNA. Yes, that’s a weakness of yours. Do you know, Rakitin, you are very clever, of course, but . . . [Pausing] sometimes we talk as though we were making lace. . . . Have you seen people making lace? In stuffy rooms, never moving from their seats. . . . Lace is a fine thing, but a drink of fresh water on a hot day is much better.<
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RAKITIN. Natalya Petrovna, you are . . .
NATALYA PETROVNA. What?
RAKITIN. You are cross with me about something.
NATALYA PETROVNA. Oh, you clever people, how blind you are, though you are so subtle! No, I’m not cross with you.
ANNA SEMYONOVNA. Ah! at last, he has lost the trick! [To NATALYA PETROVNA.] Natasha, our enemy has lost the trick!
SCHAAF [sourly]. It’s Lizaveta Bogdanovna’s fault.
LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA [angrily]. I beg your pardon - - how could I tell Anna Semyonovna had no hearts?
SCHAAF. In future I call not on Lizaveta Bogdanovna.
ANNA SEMYONOVNA [to SCHAAF]. Why, how is she, Lizaveta Bogdanovna, to blame?
SCHAAF [repeats in exactly the same tone of voice]. In future I call not on Lizaveta Bogdanovna.
LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA. As though I care! What next! . . .
RAKITIN. You look somehow different, I see that more and more.
NATALYA PETROVNA [with a shade of curiosity]. Do you mean it?
RAKITIN. Yes, really. I find a change in you.
NATALYA PETROVNA. Yes?... If that’s so, please. . . . You know me so well - - guess what the change is, what has happened to me . . . will you?
RAKITIN. Well. . . . Give me time. . . . [Suddenly KOL YA runs in noisily from the outer room and straight up to ANNA SEMYONOVNA.]
KOLYA. Granny, Granny! Do look what I’ve got! [Shows her a bow and arrows.] Look!
ANNA SEMYONOVNA. Show me, darling. ... Oh what a splendid bow! Who made it for you?
KOLYA. He did ... he. ... [Points to BELIAYEV, who has remained at the door.]
ANNA SEMYONOVNA. Oh! but how well it’s made. . . .
KOLYA. I shot at a tree with it, Granny, and hit it twice. . . . [Skips about.]
NATALYA PETROVNA. Show me, Kolya.
KOLYA [runs to her and while NATALYA PETROVNA is examining the bow]. Oh, maman, you should see how Alexey Nikolaitch climbs trees! He wants to teach me and he’s going to teach me to swim too. He’s going to teach me all sorts of things. [Skips about.]
NATALYA PETROVNA. It is very good of you to do so much for Kolya.
KOLYA [interrupting her, warmly]. I do like him, maman, I love him.
NATALYA PETROVNA [stroking KOLYA’S head]. He has been too softly brought up. ... Make him a sturdy, active boy.
[BELIAYEV bows.]
KOLYA. Alexey Nikolaitch, let’s go to the stable and take Favourite some bread.
BELIAYEV. Very well.
ANNA SEMYONOVNA [to KOLYA]. Come here and give me a kiss first. . . .
KOLYA [running off]. Afterwards, Granny, afterwards! [Runs into the outer room; BELIAYEV goes out after him.]
ANNA SEMYONOVNA [looking after KOLYA]. What a darling boy! [To SCHAAF and LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA.] Isn’t he?
LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA. To be sure he is.
SCHAAF [after a brief pause]. Pass.
NATALYA PETROVNA [with some eagerness to RAKITIN]. Well, how does he strike you?
RAKITIN. Who?
NATALYA PETROVNA [pausing]. That. . . Russian tutor.
RAKITIN. Oh, I beg your pardon - - I’d forgotten him. ... I was so absorbed by the question you asked me. . . . [NATALYA PETROVNA looks at him with a faintly perceptible smile of irony.] But his face . . . certainly. . . . Yes, he has a good face. I like him. Only he seems very shy.
NATALYA PETROVNA. Yes.
RAKITIN [looking at her]. But anyway I can’t quite make out . . .
NATALYA PETROVNA. How if we were to look after him a bit, Rakitin? Will you? Let us finish his education. Here is a splendid opportunity for discreet sensible people like you and me! We are very sensible, aren’t we?
RAKITIN. This young man interests you. If he knew it... he’d be flattered.
NATALYA PETROVNA. Oh, not a bit, believe me! You can’t judge him by what. . . anyone like us would feel in his place. You see he’s not at all like us, Rakitin. That’s where we go wrong, my dear, we study ourselves very carefully and then imagine we understand human nature.
RAKITIN. The heart of another is a dark forest. But what are you hinting at? . . . Why do you keep on sticking pins into me?
NATALYA PETROVNA. Whom is one to stick pins into if not one’s friends? . . . And you are my friend. . . . You know that. [Presses his hand. RAKITIN smiles and beams.] You are my old friend.
RAKITIN. I’m only afraid . . . you may get sick of the old friend.
NATALYA PETROVNA [laughing]. It’s only very nice things one takes enough of for that.
RAKITIN. Perhaps. But that doesn’t make it any better for them.
NATALYA PETROVNA. Nonsense. . . . [Dropping her voice.] As though you don’t know ce que vous etes pour moi.
RAKITIN. Natalya Petrovna, you play with me like a cat with a mouse. . . . But the mouse does not complain.
NATALYA PETROVNA. Oh! poor little mouse!
ANNA SEMYONOVNA. That’s twenty from you, Adam Ivanitch. . . . Aha!
SCHAAF. In future I call not on Lizaveta Bogdanovna.
MATVEY [enters and announces]. Ignaty Ilyitch.
SHPIGELSKY [following him in]. Doctors don’t need showing in. [Exit MATVEY.] My humblest respects to all the family. [Kisses ANNA SEMYONOVNA’S hand.] How do you do, gracious lady. Winning, I expect?
ANNA SEMYONOVNA. Winning indeed! I’ve hardly got my own back and I’m thankful for that. It’s all this villain. [Indicates SCHAAF.]
SHPIGELSKY [to SCHAAF]. Adam Ivanitch, when you’re playing with ladies, it’s too bad. ... I should never have thought it of you.
SCHAAF [muttering through his teeth]. Blaying wif ladies. . . .
SHPIGELSKY [going up to the round table on the left]. Good afternoon, Natalya Petrovna! Good afternoon, Mihail Alexandritch!
NATALYA PETROVNA. Good afternoon, Doctor. How are you?
SHPIGELSKY. I like that inquiry. ... It shows that you are quite well. What can ail me? A respectable doctor is never ill; at the most he just goes and dies. . . Ha! ha!
NATALYA PETROVNA. Sit down. I’m quite well, certainly. . . . But I’m in a bad humour . . . and that’s a sort of illness too, you know.
SHPIGELSKY [sitting down beside NATALYA PETROVNA]. Let me feel your pulse. [Feels her pulse.] Oh, nerves, nerves. . . . You don’t walk enough, Natalya Petrovna, you don’t laugh enough .. . that’s what it is.... Why don’t you see to it, Mihail Alexandritch? But of course I can prescribe some drops.
NATALYA PETROVNA. I’m ready enough to laugh. . . . [Eagerly.] Now, Doctor, . . . you have a spiteful tongue, I like it so much in you, I respect you for it, really ... do tell me something amusing. Mihail Alexandritch is so solemn to - day.
SHPIGELSKY [with a sly glance at RAKITIN]. Ah, it seems, it’s not only the nerves that are upset, there’s just a touch of spleen too. . . .
NATALYA PETROVNA. There you are, at it, too! Be as critical as you like, Doctor, but not aloud. We all know how sharp - sighted you are. You are both so sharp - sighted.
SHPIGELSKY. I obey, madam.
NATALYA PETROVNA. Tell us something funny.
SHPIGELSKY. I obey, madam. Tell us a story straight away, it’s a bit sudden. . . . Allow me a pinch of snuff. [Takes snuff.]
NATALYA PETROVNA. What preparations!
SHPIGELSKY. Well, you see, my dear lady, you must graciously consider there are all sorts of funny stories. One for one person, and one for another. . . . Your neighbour, Mr. Hlopushkin, for instance, roars and laughs till he cries, if I simply hold up my finger . . . while you. . . . But, there, here goes, you know Verenitsyn?
NATALYA PETROVNA. I fancy I’ve met him. I’ve heard of him anyway.
SHPIGELSKY. He has a sister who’s mad. To my thinking, they are either both mad, or both sane; for really there’s nothing to choose between them, but that’s neither here nor there. It’s the finger of destiny, dear lady, everywhere, and in everything. Verenitsyn has a daughter, a greenish little thing, you know, with little pale eyes, and a little red nose, and little yellow teet
h, a charming girl in fact; plays the piano, and talks with a lisp, so everything’s as it should be. She has two hundred serfs of her own besides her aunt’s hundred and fifty. The aunt’s still alive to be sure, and will go on living for years; mad people always live to be old, but one need never despair. She has made a will in her niece’s favour anyway, and, the day before she did it, with my own hand I poured cold water on her head - - it was a complete waste of time for there’s no chance of curing her. Well, so Verenitsyn’s daughter is a bit of a catch, you see. He has begun bringing her out, suitors are turning up, and among others Perekuzov, an anaemic young man, timid but of excellent principles. Well, the father liked our Perekuzov; and the daughter liked him, too. . . . There seemed to be no hitch, simply bless them and haste to the wedding! And, as a matter of fact, all was going swimmingly; Mr. Verenitsyn was already beginning to poke the young man in the ribs and slap him on the back, when all of a sudden, a bolt from the blue, an officer, Ardalion Protobekasov! He saw Verenitsyn’s daughter at the Marshal’s ball, danced three polkas with her, said to her, I suppose, rolling his eyes like this, ‘Oh, how unhappy I am!’ and our young lady was bowled over at once. Tears, sighs, moans. . . . Not a look, not a word for Perekuzov, hysterics at the mere mention of the wedding.... Oh, Lord, there was the deuce of a fuss. Oh well, thinks Verenitsyn, if Protobekasov it is to be, Protobekasov let it be! Luckily he was a man of property too. Protobekasov is invited to give them the honour of his company. He does them the honour, arrives, flirts, falls in love, and finally offers his hand and heart. Verenitsyn’s daughter accepts him joyfully on the spot, you’d suppose. Not a bit of it! Mercy on us, no! Tears again, sighs, hysterics! Her father is at his wits’ end. What’s the meaning of it? What does she want? And what do you suppose she answers? ‘I don’t know,’ she says, ‘which of them I love.’ ‘What!?’ ‘I really don’t know which I love, and so I’d better not marry either, but I am in love!’ Verenitsyn, of course, had an attack of cholera at once; the suitors can’t make head or tail of it either. But she sticks to it. So you see what queer things happen in these parts.
A Sportsman's Sketches: Works of Ivan Turgenev 1 Page 325