Works of Ivan Turgenev (Illustrated)

by Ivan Turgenev

  Don Rafael [quickly coming out from under the balcony]: What would you do, beautiful Senora?

  [Donna Dolores jumps up, frightened, and stands immovable.]

  Don Rafael [bowing low]: Senora! Your humble and respectful admirer is still waiting for an answer.

  Donna Dolores [tw a trembling voice]: What . . . Admirer! I am seeing you for the first time.

  Don Rafael [aside] So am I. [Aloud.] Senora! I have loved you for a long time. What am I talking about! — Love you? I am passionately, desperately in love with you! You have never noticed me, but that is because I have tried in every way not to be seen by you. I was afraid to draw the suspicion of your husband upon either the one or the other of us.

  [Donna Dolores starts to go away.]

  Don Rafael [despairingly]: You want to go away? And just now, you were complaining of your loneliness, your melancholy! Pardon me, but if you will avoid all acquaintances, how can you expect to rid yourself of your melancholy? It is true, our acquaintance has begun in a most peculiar way, but what of that? I am sure that you became acquainted with your husband in a most usual way.

  Donna Dolores: Surely, I don’t know. . . .

  Don Rafael [pleadingly]: Oh, remain! Please remain. If you only knew . . . [He sighs.]

  Donna Dolores: But where could you have seen me?

  Don Rafael [semi - audibly]: Oh, innocent little dove! [Aloud] Where? You ask where? Here, and not only here, but also there — [pointing to the house with his finger] — there. [To himself.] I must puzzle her.

  Donna Dolores: It is not possible.

  Don Rafael: Listen to me; you don’t know me. You don’t know what dangers I have spurned; how often I have risked my honor, my life, and all because I have wanted to see you once in a while, even from a distance, — to see you,’ to hear your voice, or — [lowering his voice] — or admire you, or torment myself with your peaceful sleep. [To himself.] Bravo!

  Donna Dolores: You are frightening me. [Shuddering.] Oh, Lord, I think I hear Margaret’s voice. [Starts to go.]

  Don Rafael: Don’t go away, beautiful Senora, don’t go away. Your husband isn’t at home, is he?

  Donna Dolores: No.

  Don Rafael: Just realize that merely by your presence you are causing another man, — that is, me, — such happiness, — in a word, the greatest happiness! Don’t be cruel; stay, I pray you!

  Donna Dolores: But, pardon me, — people might think . . .

  Don Rafael: What could they think? Isn’t this a public street? Hasn’t everyone a right to walk on this street? I walk by — [walks] — and suddenly change my mind and turn around — [turns around.] What is there reprehensible about that, — or suspicious? I like this spot . . . and you are sitting on the balcony. You like to sit outdoors. Who could forbid your sitting on your own balcony? You are looking down; you are meditating; you don’t pay the slightest attention to what is going on in the street. I do not ask you to talk to me, though I am extremely much obliged to you for CARELESSNESS 7

  your condescension. You will sit there, and I will pace to and fro and admire you. [Begins to pace.]

  Donna Dolores [semi - audibly]: Oh, God! Oh, God! What am I living through! My mind is aflame. I can hardly breathe. I never expected such an occurrence. . . .

  Don Rafael [singing softly]:

  “Sweet love will never come, Without it, I shall die. . . .

  Without it, I shall languish, Shall languish, pine and sigh —

  But love will never come, Sweet love will never come.”

  Donna Dolores [in a weak voice]: Senor . . . Don Rafael: Senora . . .

  Donna Dolores: Surely, I think it would be best for you to go away. My husband, Don Balthazar, is very jealous. . . . And I love my husband. Don Rafael: Oh, I don’t doubt that. Donna Dolores: You don’t doubt it? Don Rafael: I thought you said you were afraid of your husband?

  Donna Dolores [confused]: I? . . . You didn’t . . . But I am not alone here. That cross old Margaret. . . . [From a window on the top floor, Margaret looks out, cautiously.] Don Rafael: I am not afraid of her. Donna Dolores: But the gardener, Pepe, a giant . . . Don Rafael [somewhat uneasy]: A giant? A giant? [Looking at his hat.] I am not afraid of him.

  Donna Dolores: My husband will be back presently.

  Don Rafael: We’ll let him pass by. However, you mustn’t forget, that in case of danger, you can hide yourself at a moment’s notice.

  Donna Dolores: But the night . . .

  Don Rafael: The night! Oh, the night, the divine night! Do you like the night - time? The very word, “night,” sends me into ecstasies.

  Donna Dolores: Ssh! For Heaven’s sake . . .

  Don Rafael: Pardon me. I won’t talk any more. But to sing in the street is permitted to everyone. You will hear the song of a friend of mine, a poet from Seville, a student. [He paces the street and sings softly]:

  By moonlight, ere dawn break, A moment’s brief bliss, I seek at thy bidding, And one silent kiss. . . .

  Beneath thy broad casement, Cut high in the wall, I stand in black shadow, My cloak like a pall.

  By starshine, the nightingale’s Passion - choked bar! . . .

  Come, answer his summons, Appear, oh my star!

  So long as we live —

  Till we go to the grave, Make this one night remembered, What it took, what it gave.

  On foot lightly tripping, With heart scarcely beating, With quick, frightened glances, Come down to me, sweeting.

  In triumph unending, The high steps ascending, I shall gaze in thine eyes, On my knees lowly bending.

  All tremors will vanish, The last fear grow pale. . . .

  Thy dear lisp will die on Thy lips in betrayal.

  .....

  Or sleepst thou, hands folded, Thy lover forgot —

  And doth the sweet summons Of dawn stir thee not?

  Donna Dolores [semi - audibly]: I must go away. . . . I cannot . . . what will this result in? [Looks around.] No one sees us; no one hears us . . . Ssh . . . [Don Rafael goes up to the balcony quickly.] Senor! You are sure that I am a virtuous woman, are you not? [Don Rafael bows low.] You don’t think for a moment . . . mischievous . . . nothing impossible . . . you understand me? — You wouldn’t interpret anything impossible?

  Don Rafael [to himself]: What does that mean?

  Donna Dolores: I think that you know, yourself, that a piece of mischief is all right only when it ends quickly. . . .

  I think we have been mischievous enough. I wish you a good and restful night.

  Don Rafael: A peaceful night! It is easy for you to say that.

  Donna Dolores: I am sure that you will sleep quietly. But, if you like . . . [Somewhat confused.] Some other time . . .

  Don Rafael [to himself]: Aha!

  Donna Dolores: I advise you not to come here any more, because somebody might see you. I am very much surprised that you haven’t been seen already.

  [Margaret smiles.]

  Donna Dolores: If you only knew how afraid I am. . . . [Don Rafael sighs.] Come Sundays, to the convent. I am there sometimes — with my husband.

  Don Rafael [aside]: Your humble servant has passed his sixteenth birthday. [Aloud.] Senora! You don’t know me yet. This is what I intend to do: I intend to get up on this stone — [He does everything as he says — get hold of this fence . . .

  Donna Dolores [terrified and almost screaming]: For Heaven’s sake, what are you doing?

  Don Rafael [very coldly]: If you scream, Senora, people will gather. They will get hold of me and, perhaps, kill me. And you will be the cause of my death! [He climbs up on the fence.]

  Donna Dolores [with increased terror]: Why have you climbed up on the fence?

  Don Rafael: Why? I am going to jump into your garden. I am going to hunt for your pretty little footprints on the sand paths. [To himself.] Aha, I am getting pretty eloquent! [Aloud.] I’ll pluck a flower as a souvenir. How

  ever, good - bye, — that is, au revoir. It is awfully hard to sit on the top of a fence. [Aside.] The
re is no one in the garden. I’ll get down. [Jumps off the fence.]

  Donna Dolores: He is crazy! He is running into the garden, knocking at the door! Oh, I am lost, I am lost! I’ll run and shut myself up in my room. Maybe no one will see me. No, I positively don’t want any unusual occurrences. [Goes away.]

  [Margaret disappears too. Presently, Don Balthazar enters.]

  Don Balthazar: It is quite pleasant to walk around a little bit in the evening. . . . Ah, here I am at home. It’s time, it’s time to be home. I have walked a little too long. I think it must be ten o’clock now. However, I will sleep all the better for it. Upstairs, my dear, incomparable, priceless wife is waiting for me. It is quite pleasant. So help me God, it is delightful. I never have liked to enjoy myself in any old way. . . . Why, thank God, I have lots of time, and a long lease on life. Why should I hurry then? I have never liked to hurry, even as a child. I remember, when a good juicy, ripe pear was given to me, I did not eat it right away, as the other foolish boys and madcaps used to do. I would sit down, stealthily take the pear out of my pocket, examine it on all sides, kiss it, pat it, put it to my lips and take it away again. I would admire it from near and far; then I would close my eyes and bite into it. ... I really ought to have been born a cat. I do the same tricks even now. For instance, I could go in to my wife at once, — to my amiable, dear young wife. But why? I’d rather wait a little while. I know that she is safe, and unhurt. Margaret looks after her, and Pepe doesn’t take his eyes off her, either. My dear little wife really ought to be watched closely. And Sangre!

  He is a real friend, a priceless treasure. People say that there is no friendship in this world. That’s all nonsense; idle talk. For instance, I, — I have a rather cowardly disposition, but what can I do? I confess . . . and though I get angry at those impudent fellows, at those weathercocks, who look insolently at every woman, even when they’re in church, still, I strengthen my heart and I keep quiet about it. I suffer it in silence. But my Pablo ... oh, my Pablo! — Just let any one dare to look once too many times at my Dolores! And he does all that just on account of his friendship for me. At first, I thought — [Laughs.] — the saying true: that old husbands are very jealous. I even thought that Sangre himself . . . [Laughs still louder.] — but now, I am very calm. He doesn’t say even a word to her; he doesn’t even look at her. He is always scowling and she is afraid of him. Oh, Lord, how afraid she is of him! I keep telling him: “Pablo, listen. Be a little kinder, Pablo.” And he retorts: “You be kind. That’s your business. You are old; you can please her with kindness. I am surly, and the better for it. I am surly, and you are jolly. I am bitters; you are honey.” Sometimes, he tells me some bitter truths, — that dear Pablo of mine. He does it because he is sincerely attached to me. He is a rare man. . . . However, it is time for me to go in. [He turns around, sees Margaret before him.] How are you, how are you, Margaret? Well, is the Madam in good health? Is she? I have come back. Take my cane.

  Margaret: Senor Don Balthazar d’Esturiz!

  Don Balthazar: Well?

  Margaret: My master! Senor!

  Don Balthazar: Have you lost your mind, woman? What’s the matter with you? What do you want?

  Margaret: Don Balthazar! A young man got into your house.

  Don Balthazar; What . . . Wait . . . Hold . . . Trrrrrr ... A young man . . . You are lying, you witch!

  Margaret: A young, handsome stranger, in a blue mantle, with a white feather.

  Don Balthazar [hardly able to catch his breath]: A white man ... in a mantle . . . with a strange feather! [Grabs her hand.] Where? How? No, stop! Wait! Yell! Scream! . . . [She starts to scream, but he puts his hand on her mouth.] No, don’t yell. Bun. Where? Sangre! Where is Sangre? How is that, — in my house? Oh, help me, Mar - , garet, help me! I think I am going to die.

  [Sangre enters.]

  Don Pablo [beholding the scene]: What does this mean? Balthazar!

  Don Balthazar [jumping up and embracing him]: Is that you! Is that you! Oh, my saviour! Sangre, save me. Help me. Quick! Catch him, catch him. Just imagine . • • [To Margaret.] How did he get in here, eh? Why didn’t you scream, huh? I think you were in a plot with him, yourself, you old witch!

  Margaret [whispering]: Stop hollering! He might hear you. [To Sangre.] This is what happened. As soon as Don Balthazar had gone away, I started to get ready to go to see my aunt. I was told that she was on her dying bed. I don’t know what delayed me, but suddenly, I heard someone talking in the street. Then the same person began to sing rather loud. ... I knew that Donna Dolores was sitting alone on the balcony. ... I went up to the window and I saw a young man in front of the house. [Looking laughingly at Don Balthazar.] He was quite a handsome young man.

  He is a real friend, a priceless treasure. People say that there is no friendship in this world. That’s all nonsense; idle talk. For instance, I, — I have a rather cowardly disposition, but what can I do? I confess . . . and though I get angry at those impudent fellows, at those weathercocks, who look insolently at every woman, even when they’re in church, still, I strengthen my heart and I keep quiet about it. I suffer it in silence. But my Pablo ... oh, my Pablo! — Just let any one dare to look once too many times at my Dolores! And he does all that just on account of his friendship for me. At first, I thought — [Laughs.] — the saying true: that old husbands are very jealous. I even thought that Sangre himself . . . [Laughs still louder.] — but now, I am very calm. He doesn’t say even a word to her; he doesn’t even look at her. He is always scowling and she is afraid of him. Oh, Lord, how afraid she is of him! I keep telling him: “Pablo, listen. Be a little kinder, Pablo.” And he retorts: “You be kind. That’s your business. You are old; you can please her with kindness. I am surly, and the better for it. I am surly, and you are jolly. I am bitters; you are honey.” Sometimes, he tells me some bitter truths, — that dear Pablo of mine. He does it because he is sincerely attached to me. He is a rare man. . . . However, it is time for me to go in. [He turns around, sees Margaret before him.] How are you, how are you, Margaret? Well, is the Madam in good health? Is she? I have come back. Take my cane.

  Margaret: Senor Don Balthazar d’Esturiz!

  Don Balthazar: Well?

  Margaret: My master! Senor!

  Don Balthazar: Have you lost your mind, woman? What’s the matter with you? What do you want?

  Margaret: Don Balthazar! A young man got into your house.

  Don Balthazar: What . . . Wait . . . Hold . . . Trrrrrr ... A young man . . . You are lying, you witch!

  Margaret: A young, handsome stranger, in a blue mantle, with a white feather.

  Don Balthazar [hardly able to catch his breath]: A white man ... in a mantle . . . with a strange feather! [Grabs her hand.] Where? How? No, stop! Wait! Yell! Scream! . . . [iSTie starts to scream, but he puts his hand on her mouth.] No, don’t yell. Bun. Where? Sangr6! Where is Sangre? How is that, — in my house? Oh, help me, Margaret, help me! I think I am going to die.

  [Sangre enters.]

  Don Pablo [beholding the scene]: What does this mean? Balthazar!

  Don Balthazar [jumping up and embracing him]: Is that you! Is that you! Oh, my saviour! Sangr6, save me. Help me. Quick! Catch him, catch him. Just imagine . . . [To Margaret.] How did he get in here, eh? Why didn’t you scream, huh? I think you were in a plot with him, yourself, you old witch!

  Margaret [whispering]: Stop hollering! He might hear you. [To Sangre.] This is what happened. As soon as Don Balthazar had gone away, I started to get ready to go to see my aunt. I was told that she was on her dying bed. I don’t know what delayed me, but suddenly, I heard someone talking in the street. Then the same person began to sing rather loud. ... I knew that Donna Dolores was sitting alone on the balcony. ... I went up to the window and I saw a young man in front of the house. [Looking laughingly at Don Balthazar.] He was quite a handsome young man.