Kuzovkin [beginning to become excited by the wine]. With the heirs of Hanginmester, of course.
Tropatchov. But who was that gentleman?
Kuzovkin. A German, to be sure. He bought up the I.O.U.s, or some say, simply took them. That’s my own opinion, too. He just frightened the woman and took them.
Tropatchov. And Katerina, what was she about? And the Polish woman’s son, Ilya?
Kuzovkin. Oh! they are all dead! Ilya was actually burnt to death, when he was intoxicated, in an inn on the high road which was on fire. [To Ivanov.] Oh, leave off tugging at my coat. I’m explaining it all properly to the gentlemen. They insist on hearing it. What’s the harm?
Yeletsky. Let him alone, Mr. Ivanov, we are glad to listen to him.
Kuzovkin [to Ivanov]. There, you see. [To Yeletsky and Tropatchov.] What am I asking for, gentlemen? I ask for nothing but justice, for my lawful right. I’m not acting from ambition. . . . What’s personal ambition to me? Nothing. All I say is, judge between us. If I’m in the wrong, well, then I am; but if I’m in the right — if I’m in the right. . .
Tropatchov [interrupting]. Another glass?
Kuzovkin. No, thank you. You see all I demand is...
Tropatchov. In that case, let me embrace you.
Kuzovkin [somewhat astonished]. I’m greatly honoured. . . . Really, sir. . . .
Tropatchov. Yes, I like you very much. . . . [Embraces him and holds him for some time.] I would kiss you, my dear man, but no, better later on.
Kuzovkin. As you please.
Tropatchov [winking to Karpatchov]. Come, Karpy, now it’s your turn. ...
Karpatchov [with a husky laugh]. Well, Vassily Semyonitch, let me press you to my heart. [Embraces Kuzovkin and twirls round with him. Everyone laughs, each in his own way.]
Kuzovkin [tearing himself out of Karpatchov’s arms]. Leave off, do.
Karpatchov. Come, don’t give yourself airs. . . . [To Tropatchov.] You had better bid him sing us a song, Flegont Alexandritch. . . . He’s our leading singer.
Tropatchov. You sing, dear friend? . . . Oh, do oblige us, give us a taste of your talent!
Kuzovkin [To Karpatchov]. Why do you tell stories about me? As though I could sing!
Karpatchov. You used to sing at table in the old master’s days, didn’t you?
Kuzovkin [dropping his voice]. In the old master’s days. . . . I’ve grown old since then.
Tropatchov. You old, what next!
Karpatchov [pointing to Kuzovkin]. He used to sing — and he used to dance, too.
Tropatchov. You don’t say so! You’re a talented person, I see! You might oblige us. [To Yeletsky.] C’est un peu vulgaire . . . but there, in the country! [Aloud to Kuzovkin.] Come now ... begin ‘As down the Street.’ [Begins singing /V.] Well?
Kuzovkin. Kindly excuse me.
Tropatchov. I say, what a disobliging fellow. . . Yeletsky, do tell him to. . . .
Yeletsky [somewhat uncertainly]. But why don’t you care to sing now, Vassily Semyonitch?
Kuzovkin. Not at my age, Pavel Nikolaitch. Spare me.
Trembinsky [listening and looking with a smile at the gentlemen]. Only lately at the wedding of this gentleman’s brother [Motioning towards Ivanov] he distinguished himself, I’m told.
Tropatchov. There, you see. . . .
Trembinsky. He went hopping all over the room. . .
Tropatchov. Well, if that’s so, you really can’t refuse us. . . . Why won’t you oblige Pavel Nikolaitch and us?
Kuzovkin. I wasn’t forced to, then.
Tropatchov. And now we ask you. You might reflect that your refusal may be set down to ingratitude. Ingratitude ... oh! what a horrid vice!
Kuzovkin. But I’ve really no voice. As to gratitude. . . . No one could be more grateful, and I’m ready to make any sacrifice.
Tropatchov. We don’t ask any sacrifice of you. . . . Only just sing us a song. Come! [Kuzovkin is silent.] Come now!
Kuzovkin [after a brief pause, begins singing: ‘As down the Street’, but his voice breaks almost at the second word]. I can’t, I really can’t.
Tropatchov. Come, come, don’t be shy.
Kuzovkin [glancing at him]. No, sir ... I won’t sing.
Tropatchov. You won’t?
Kuzovkin. I can’t.
Tropatchov. Do you know what then? You see this glass of champagne? I am going to empty it down your neck.
Kuzovkin [,agitatedJ. You won’t do that, sir. I have not deserved that. Nobody has ever treated me. . . . How can you? It’s . . . it’s a shame, sir.
Yeletsky [to Tropatchov]. Finissez. . . . You see he’s distressed.
Tropatchov [to Kuzovkin]. You won’t sing?
Kuzovkin. I cannot sing, sir.
Tropatchov. You won’t? [Approachinghim.’] One...
Kuzovkin [in an imploring voice to Yeletsky]. Pavel Nikolayevitch. . . .
Tropatchov. Two . . . [Coming nearer to Kuzovkin.]
Kuzovkin [staggering, in a voice of despairing anguish]. How can you? . . . What do you treat me like this for? I haven’t the honour of knowing you. .. . And I’m a gentleman after all . . . think of that. ... I can’t sing . . . you could see that for yourself. . . .
Tropatchov. For the last time. . . .
Kuzovkin. Leave off, I tell you. .. . I’m not a clown.
Tropatchov. As though that were anything new for you?
Kuzovkin [growing angry]. You’ll kindly find somebody else to play the fool for you. . . .
Yeletsky. Do leave him alone, really.
Tropatchov. Why, but you know he used to play the fool for your father - in - law.
Kuzovkin. That’s all in the past. [Wipes his face.] Besides, my head’s rather bad to - day, it is, truly.
Yeletsky. Well, you can please yourself.
Kuzovkin [miserably]. Oh, Pavel Nikolayevitch, please don’t be vexed with me.
Yeletsky. Nonsense! What an idea!
Kuzovkin. Another time, truly, I would with pleasure.
[ Trying to assume a good - humoured air.] Generously forgive me to - day, if I’ve been disobliging. . . . I’ve been too hot, gentlemen, but there. . . . I’m old, that’s what it is. . . . And I’ve got out of the way of it, too.
Tropatchov. Well, drink up this glass, anyway.
Kuzovkin [relievedJ. That I will, with pleasure, with the greatest pleasure. [Takes the glass and drinks.] To the health of our honoured guest. . . .
Tropatchov. Come, is a song still impossible?
Kuzovkin [has been for some time more and more affected by the wine; after the last glass, with his apprehensions over, he begins to be intoxicated]. Upon my soul, I can’t, sir. [Laughing.] As a matter of fact ... in old days I used to sing. . . with the best of them. But things are different now. What am I now? Good for nothing . . . that’s the fact. No better than he, here. [Points to Ivanov.] I’m no use now. You must forgive me, though. I’ve grown old . . . that’s what it is. To - day, for instance, I fancy I’ve only drunk two or three glasses, and yet there’s a muddle in here. [Pointing to his head.]
Tropatchov [who has been whispering meanwhile to Karpatchov]. Nonsense. . . . That’s just your fancy. [Karpatchov goes out laughing, leading Pyotr off with him.] Why didn’t you finish telling us about your lawsuit?
Kuzovkin. To be sure, to be sure; I didn’t finish my story. I don’t mind, though, if you wish it. [Laughs.] Only be so kind . . . allow me to sit down. My legs . . . somehow . . . won’t obey. . . .
Tropatchov [gives him a chair]. Oh yes, do.
Kuzovkin [«Vj down facing the audience, and speaks slowly and languidly, rapidly becoming more and more drunk]. Where did I stop? Hanginmester. That Hanginmester was a German, of course. He doesn’t care. He served in the Commissariat department — so I expect he made his fortune stealing by the sackful there — so now he says — the I.O.U.’s mine. And I’m a gentleman. What was I going to say?
Oh, he says: either pay or give me your estate, either pay . . . or give . . . your est
ate . . . either pay ... or give me . . . your estate.
Tropatchov. You’re asleep, my friend, wake up.
Kuzovkin [starts and again sinks into drowsiness. He can hardly speak by now]. Who? I? What an idea . . . never mind. I’m not asleep. We sleep at night, and it’s daytime now. It isn’t night now, is it? I’m talking about Hanginmester. That Hanginmester — Han - gin - mester — Hanginmester — he was my real enemy. They tell me this and that, but I say no, Hanginmester — Han - gin - mester he’s the man that wronged me. [Karpatchov comes in with a huge fool’s cap made of sugar wrapping - paper and, winking at Tropatchov, steals up behind Kuzovkin. Trembinsky is choking with laughter. Ivanov, pale and crushed, looks up from under his brows.] And I know why he doesn’t like me ... I know he’s been trying to injure me all my life . . . ever since I was a child. [Karpatchov cautiously puts the fool’s cap on Kuzovkin’s head.] But I forgive him. . . God bless him.... God bless him....
[Everyone is laughing. Kuzovkin stops and looks round in bewilderment. Ivanov goes up to him, takes him by the arm and says through his teeth: ‘Look what they’ve put on your head . . . you see they’re making a fool of you. . . .’ Kuzovkin raises his hands to his head, feels the cap, slowly lowers his hands to his face, covers his eyes, and suddenly begins sobbing, muttering through his tears: ‘What for, what for, what for . . .’ but does not remove the cap. Tropatchov, Trembinsky and Karpatchov go on laughing. Pyotr laughs too, peeping in at the door.]
Yeletsky. Hush, Vassily Semyonitch, aren’t you ashamed to cry over such a trifling matter?
Kuzovkin [taking his hands from his face]. Over such a trifling matter. . . . No, it’s not a trifling matter, Pavel Nikolaitch. [Stands up and throws the cap on the floor.]
The very day of your arrival... the very first day.... [His voice breaks.} This is how you treat an old man ... an old man, Pavel Nikolaitch! Like this! What are you trampling me in the mud for? What have I done to you? And I was so looking forward, I was delighted to see you. What’s it for, Pavel Nikolaitch?
Tropatchov. Come, shut up . . . what are you saying?
Kuzovkin [growing paler and more distracted.]. I’m not speaking to you . . . you’ve been allowed to make a mock of me . . . you’re pleased. It’s you I’m speaking to, Pavel Nikolaitch. Because for the gift of a crust of bread and an old cast - off pair of boots your late father - in - law thought fit to make a clown of me — must you do the same? Oh well... his precious gifts were paid for with my blood, with bitter tears. ... So you must make me pay, too? Oh, Pavel Nikolaitch! for shame, for shame, sir! And you a cultured gentleman from Petersburg.
Yeletsky [haughtily]. Let me tell you, you are forgetting yourself. Go to your room and sleep it off. .. . You can’t stand upright. . . .
Kuzovkin [more and more carried away]. I will sleep it off, Pavel Nikolaitch, I will. . . . Perhaps I am drunk; but who made me drunk? That’s not what matters, Pavel Nikolaitch. But you had better take note! Here you’ve made me a laughing - stock before everybody, you’ve rolled me in the dirt, on the very first day you are here . . . while if I liked, if I were to say the word. . . .
Ivanov [in a low voice]. Vassily, think what you’re doing. . ..
Kuzovkin. Leave me alone! Yes, honoured sir, if I chose . . .
Yeletsky. Oh, he’s hopelessly drunk! He doesn’t know what he’s saying!
Kuzovkin. Excuse me, sir. I am drunk, but I do know what I’m saying. Here you now are a grand gentleman, a Petersburg official, a cultured man, of course . . .
while I’m a clown, a fool, without a farthing of my own; I’m a beggar, living on the bread of others. . . . But do you know who I am? Here you are married . . . and who is it you have married?
Yeletsky [tries to draw Tropatchov away]. Pray excuse it, I never expected such idiocy.. . . Tropatchov. It’s my fault, I confess. . . . Yeletsky [to Trembinsky]. Take him away, please.
[Tries to go into the drawing - room.] Kuzovkin. Wait a minute, gracious sir . . . you haven’t told me yet who it is you have married. . . .
[Olga appears at the drawing - room door and stands still in amazement. Her husband makes signs to her to go away. She does not understand them.] Yeletsky [to Kuzovkin]. Go away, go away. . . . Trembinsky [approaches Kuzovkin and takes him by the arm]. Come along.
Kuzovkin [pushing him away]. Don’t touch me, you! [Following Yeletsky.] You’re a gentleman, a distinguished man, aren’t you? You’ve married Olga Petrovna Korin . . . the Korins are an old noble family, too . . . but do you know who she is, Olga Petrovna? She’s . . . she’s my daughter! [Olga disappears.]
Yeletsky [stands as though thunderstruck]. You . . . you’ve gone out of your mind.
Kuzovkin [after a pause, clutching his headJ. Yes, I’ve gone out of my mind. [Runs off staggering. . . Ivanov following him.]
Yeletsky [turning to Tropatchov]. He’s mad. . . . Tropatchov. Oh. . . . Oh, of course! [Both go quietly into the drawing - room. Trembinsky and Karpatchov stare at each other in amazement.]
The Curtain Falls
ACT II
A drawing - room richly furnished in old - fashioned style. On Right (from audience) a door into the dining - room, on Left door into Olga Petrovna’s study. Olga is sitting on the sofa; near her stands Praskovya Ivanovna.
Praskovya Ivanovna [after a brief silence]. So then, mistress dear, which of the maids will you please to have wait on you personally?
Olga [with some impatience]. Whichever you like.
Praskovya Ivanovna. Akulina, the one who squints, is a good girl; so is Marfa, Martchuk’s daughter; will you choose them?
Olga. Very well. But what’s the name of that girl... who’s rather nice - looking ... in a light - blue dress?
Praskovya Ivanovna [puzzled]. Light - blue? . . . Oh, yes, to be sure! It’s Masha you are graciously inquiring about. It’s as your ladyship wishes — but she is such a saucy girl, there’s no doing anything with her! Unruly altogether — and not nice in her behaviour either. But as you please, my lady.
Olga. I liked her face, but if she’s badly behaved. .. .
Praskovya Ivanovna. Very badly, very. She wouldn’t do, she doesn’t deserve it. [After a brief pause.] Oh, my lady, how pretty you have grown. How like your dear mamma you are! You’re our little darling. It’s a joy to look at you. . . . Let me kiss your little hand, my lady.
Olga. Very well then, Praskovya, you can go.
Praskovya Ivanovna. Yes, ma’am. Is there nothing you want?
Olga. No, nothing.
Praskovya Ivanovna. So I’ll send Akulina and Marfa. . . .
Olga. Yes, you can go now. [Praskovya is going out.] Oh, send word to Pavel Nikolaitch that I want to see him. . . .
Praskovya Ivanovna. Yes, ma’am. [Goes out.]
Olga [alone]. What does it mean? What did I hear yesterday? ... I couldn’t sleep all night. That old man must have been mad. . . [Stands up and walks about the room.] ‘She is my . . .’ Yes, yes, those were the words. But it’s madness. . . . [Stops] Paul has no suspicion yet . . . Oh, here he is.
[Yeletsky comes in.]
Yeletsky [going up to her with an anxious expression]. You wanted to see me, Olya?
Olga. Yes, I wanted to ask you. ... In the garden . . . the paths by the pond are all overgrown with grass. . . . They’ve been weeded in front of the house — but those have been forgotten. . . . Tell them.
Yeletsky. I have given orders about it already.
Olga. Ah! thanks.... And tell them to buy some bells in the town — to put on my cows’ necks. . . .
Yeletsky. It shall be done, [ft about to go.] No more orders for me?
Olga. Why . . . are you so busy?
Yeletsky. They have brought the accounts from the counting - house.
Olga. Oh! Well then, I won’t keep you. . . . We might drive to the copse before dinner. . . .
Yeletsky. Of course. [Again is about to go.]
Olga [lets him reach the door]. Paul. . . .
Yeletsky [turning round]. Yes?<
br />
Olga. Tell me, please . . . I’d no chance to ask you about it yesterday . . . what was the meaning of that scene yesterday morning... at lunch?
Yeletsky. Oh . . . nothing really. It’s only vexing that anything so unpleasant should have happened on the very day of our arrival. However, I was a little to blame. They must needs make that old man, Kuzovkin, drunk — that is, it was really our neighbour Monsieur Tropatchov who thought of it . . . and at first he certainly was rather amusing; he babbled away telling us a long yarn, but later on he began to be noisy and say all sorts of silly things, but it didn’t matter.... It’s not worth talking about.
Works of Ivan Turgenev (Illustrated) Page 345