Zhazikov [takes the note and looks it over carelessly]: Well, so it is.
Matvei [to Blinov]: How do you do, sir? How do you do, Vasili Vasilevich? Permit me to shake your hand.
Blinov [giving him his hand]: How do you do, brother?
Matvei: How are you getting along?
Blinov: Very well.
Matvei: Thank the Lord!
Zhazikov [throwing the note on the floor]: These people are good for nothing? Matvei! I’ve got to get dressed.
Matvei: Will you put on the patent - leather boots?
Zhazikov: It doesn’t matter . . .
Blinov: Aren’t you dressed? Pull your coat on.
Zhazikov: That’s right! Let’s go.
Blinov: Let’s go. You’ll show me the tragedy and the girls. . . .
Matvei [quietly, to Zhazikov]: Well, when shall we go home to the country, sir?
Zhazikov [going away with Blinov]: What’s got into your bead? To the devil with the country. . . .
[They go out.]
Matvei [with a sigh]: It’s too bad. [Sighs, looking after Blinov.] Gone are the good days! How changed is the nobility!
Curtain
WHERE IT IS THIN, THERE IT BREAKS
Comedy in One Act
Translated by M.S. Mandell
CONTENTS
CHARACTERS
WHERE IT IS THIN, THERE IT BREAKS
CHARACTERS
Anna Vasilevna Libanova, a land owner, 40 years
Viera Nikolaevna, her daughter, 19 years
Mlle. Beinaime, companion and governess, 42 years
Varvara Ivanovna Morozova, a relative of Libanova, 45 years
Vladimir Petrovich Stanitsyn, a neighbor, 28 years
Evgeni Andreevich Gorski, a neighbor, 26 years
Ivan Pavlych Mukhin, a neighbor, 30 years
Captain Chukhanov, 50 years
A Steward
A Servant
WHERE IT IS THIN, THERE IT BREAKS
The action takes place in Libanova’s estate.
Scene: The sitting - room of a wealthy land owner. On the right, a door leading into the reception - room; in the background, a door to the dining - room; on the left, a glass door leading into the garden. Pictures on the walls. In the foreground, a table covered with periodicals; a grand piano severed chairs; towards the rear, a pool table; in the corner, a large wall - clock.
Gorski [entering]: No one here? So much the better. What time is it? Half - past nine. [After a moment’s thought.] This is the decisive day. . . . Yes. . . . Yes. . . . [Goes up to the table, picks up a periodical and sits down.] Journal des Debates, April 3rd, new style, and it is July now! Hm! We’ll have to see what’s new in it. [Begins to read.]
[Mukiiin comes in from the dining - room.]
Gorski [beholding him]: Bah, bah, bah, Mukhin! By what fate? When did you come here?
Mukhin: To - night; but I left the city yesterday evening at 6 o’clock. My driver lost the way.
Gorski: I didn’t even know that you were acquainted with Mme. de Libanoff.
Mukhin: I am here for the first time. I was introduced to Mme. de Libanoff, as you call her, at the Governor’s ball. I danced with her daughter and merited an invitation. [Looks around.] She has a nice house.
Gorski: Sure enough. It is the finest house in the state. [Shows him the Journal des Delates.] Look, “We receive the Telegraph.” Joking aside; they live well here. It is such an agreeable combination: Russian country life in a French vie de chateau . . . You’ll see for yourself. The hostess, — she is a rich widow, and the daughter
Mukhin [interrupting him]: The daughter is quite an amiable
Gorski: Oh! [after a short pause] Yes.
Mukhin: What’s her name?
Gorski [triumphantly]: Her name is Yiera Nikolaevna . . . Quite a dowry goes with her.
Mukhin: That does not interest me. You know I am not inclined to marry.
Gorski: You are not inclined to marry? [Looks him over from head to foot.] But you dress to please the girls.
Mukhin: Are you not jealous?
Gorski: Nonsense. Let’s sit down and chat a little, until the ladies come down to tea.
Mukhin: I am ready to sit down now [stis down], but we’ll chat later. You’d better tell me in a few words who the people of this house are. You’re an old - timer here.
Gorski: Yes, the last twenty years of her life, my deceased mother hated Mme. Libanoff. We are old acquaintances. I visited her when she lived in St. Petersburg, and ran into her when she lived abroad. So you want to know who they are? All right. Mme. de Libanoff, — thus her cards read, with the addition: nee Ssalotopine, — Mme. de Libanoff is a good woman. She lives herself, and gives others a chance to live. She does not belong to the highest society; but she is well known in St. Petersburg. General Monplezir has stopped in her house while in that city. Her husband died early; otherwise, she would have got into society. She conducts herself very nicely. She is a little sentimental and has been greatly pampered. She receives company neither carelessly nor affably. She has no real style. She deserves praise for not being nervous, or speaking in undertones, or gossiping. She keeps her house in good order and manages her estate herself. She has quite a business head on her shoulders. A relative of hers, Morozova, Yarvara Ivanovna, lives with her. She is quite a respectable widow, but poor. I suspect that she is as mad as a dog and I am quite sure that she hates her benefactress. Then there is a French governess, who pours out tea, sighs for Paris, and loves le petit mot pour rire; rolls her eyes at the surveyors and architects who run after her; and as Preference is best played three - handed, they keep her, and the ruined ex - captain, who looks like a hero and a bully, but in reality is only a base fellow and a flatterer, merely for the board. All these people never leave the house; but Mme. Libanova also has other friends. I can’t name them all. Oh, yes: I forgot to mention one of the regular visitors, Dr. Gutman, Karl Karlych. He is a handsome young man, with silken side whiskers. He does not know his business, but he kisses Anna Yasilevna’s hand very gracefully. Anna Vasilevna has no objection to it, and her hands are quite nice, — a little fat, but white, and the finger tips are bent upwards.
Mukhin [impatiently]: Why not say something about the daughter?
Gobski: Wait a while. I’ve saved her for the last. However, what shall I say about Viera Nikolaevna? Truly, I don’t know. Who can understand a girl of eighteen? She is still fermenting, like young wine. But she may make a fine woman. She is very subtle, bright, and has a lot of character. She has a very tender heart. She wants to live; she is quite egoistic. She will soon be married.
Mukhin: Who is the man?
Gorski: I don’t know, but I am sure she will not remain an old maid.
Mukhin: That’s understood: a rich girl
Gorski: Not because she is rich.
Mukhin: Then, because what?
Gorski: Because she knows that a woman’s life begins after she is married; and she wants to live. What time is it?
Mukhin [after looking at the clock]: Ten o’clock.
Gorski: Ten! Then I still have time. Listen! There is a terrible struggle between Yiera Nikolaevna and myself. Do you know why I came here yesterday morning at a breakneck pace?
Mukhin: I don’t know. Why?
Gorski: Because a young man, whom you know, will ask for her hand to - day.
Mukhin: Who is it?
Gorski: Stanitsyn.
Mukhin: Vladimir Stanitsyn?
Gorski: Vladimir Petrovich Stanitsyn, the ex - guard lieutenant, a great friend of mine, a capital fellow. I want you to understand that I, myself, introduced him into this house. Even more: I did so with the view of having him marry Viera Nikolaevna. He is a kind, modest fellow; not any too bright, not over industrious; a lover of home. A better husband no girl could ask for. And she understands that; and I, as an old friend, wish her well.
Mukhin: Then you have come here to be an eyewitness of your protege’s happiness?
Gorski
: On the contrary: I have come here with the express purpose of undoing the match.
Mukhin: I don’t understand you.
Gorski: Hm! It’s very clear to me.
Mukhin: Do you want to marry the girl, or what?
Gorski: No, I don’t want to marry her, and I don’t want her to get married.
Mukhin: You are in love with her.
Gorski: I don’t think so.
Mukhin: You love her, but you are afraid to say so.
Gorski: Nonsense! I am willing to tell you everything.
Mukhin: Well, then you are asking for her hand —
Gorski: No! At any rate, I don’t intend to marry her.
Mukhin: You are quite modest, I must say.
Gorski: No, listen: I will talk to you frankly. The case is this: I know, and know it to a certainty, that were I to ask for her hand, she would give me preference over our mutual friend, Vladimir Petrovich. Her mother thinks that Stanitsyn and I are the two most respectable men of marriageable age. She would not be against it. Viera thinks that I am in love with her, and she knows that I fear marriage more than fire. She wants to triumph over my timidity, and she is waiting — She won’t wait very long. She won’t wait long, because she is afraid of losing Stanitsyn. She doesn’t want to lose this youth, who is consumed by his love for her, as a candle is consumed by fire. There is another reason why she won’t wait for me. She is beginning to understand me through and through, the rogue! She is beginning to suspect me! It is true, she is afraid to press me too hard; but, on the other hand, she wants to know my intentions.
That’s why there is quite a struggle between us. I feel, however, that this is the decisive day. This little snake will either slide out of my hand, or she will poison me. However, I am not losing hope: she may do neither the one nor the other. There is a very bad feature about it: Stanitsyn is so much in love with her, that he is incapable of being either jealous or mad; and on account of this, he walks around with an open mouth and pleading eyes. He is terribly funny; but one cannot accomplish anything with jokes. One must keep a sweet temper. I have tried that since yesterday, but I cannot keep it up — that’s what surprises me. I have ceased to understand myself.
Mukhin: How did you begin to do that?
Gorski: Just like this: “I have already told you that I came here yesterday quite early. One evening, a few days ago, I found out about Stanitsyn’s intentions. How I found it out, I need not tell you in detail. Stanitsyn is confiding and talkative. I do not know whether Yiera Nikolaevna prefers her admirer’s proposal or not, — it depends upon her, — only, yesterday, she paid particular attention to me. You cannot imagine how hard it is, even for one who has had experience, to bear the penetrating look of those young but bright eyes, especially when they twinkle a little. Most likely, she was surprised at my behavior towards her. I have the reputation for being a funny, cold - blooded man and I am glad of it; with such a reputation, life is easy. Yesterday, however, I felt forced to assume an expression of care and affection. To tell the truth, I did feel some little agitation and my heart grew softer. You know me, my dear Mukhin: you know that even in the happiest moments of a man’s life, I am unable to cease observing; and Viera offered yesterday a most attractive opportunity for observation. She tried to allure, if not to love. I am not deserving of such honor. At any rate, she became quite interesting and it frightened me. She neither trusted nor understood herself, — all this so prettily reflected on her youthful face. I did not leave her for a minute during the whole day, and towards evening, I began to feel that I was losing control over myself. Oh, Mukhin! Mukhin! Continual contact with a young shoulder, young breath, is a dangerous pastime! In the evening, we went into the garden. The weather was delightful, — an inexpressible calm was in the air. Mile. Beinaime came out on the balcony with a candle in her hand, and the flame did not flicker. We walked together long, in view of the house, over the soft sand of the path alongside the pond; and the stars glimmered quietly in the sky and the water. The complaisant but careful Mile. Beinaime watched us from the balcony. I proposed to Viera Nikolaevna to get into a boat. She consented. I began to row, and quietly we reached the middle of the pond. “Ou allez - vous done?” resounded the French girl’s voice. “Nulle part,” I shouted out and put down the oars. “Nulle part,” I repeated and added, semi - audibly, “nous sommes trop bien ici.” Viera dropped her eyes, smiled, and commenced to draw pictures on the water with the point of her parasol. A charming dreamy smile spread over her youthful cheeks. She wanted to speak, and only sighed, but happily, as only children do. Well, what else shall I tell you? I relegated to the devil all my precautions, intentions, and observations; was happy and foolish, and quoted poetry by heart. Don’t you believe it? So help me God! I did, and even with a little quivering in my voice. At supper, I sat close to her. Yes, — it is all very well. My business is in excellent condition, and if I should want to get married, — but here is where the trouble comes in — you can’t fool her — no, sir. Some people say that women are excellent fencers with the sword, and one certainly can’t knock the sword out of their hand. However, we’ll see to - day. At any rate, I passed a most enjoyable evening. Why are you so pensive, Ivan Pavlych?
Mukhin: I? I am thinking that if you are not in love with Viera Nikolaevna, you are either a queer fellow, or an unbearable egoist.
Gorski: It’s possible; it’s possible; but who — Hush! They are coming. Aux armes! I am relying upon your discretion.
Mukhin: Oh, that’s understood.
Gorski [looking at the drawing - room door]: Ah, Mile.
Beinaime — always first — unwillingly Tea is waiting for her. [Mlle. Beinaime enters. Mukhin gets up and bows. Gorski goes up to her.] Mademoiselle, J’ai l’honneur de vous saluer.
Mlle. Beinaime [crossing to the dining - room and looking at Gorski]: Bien le bonjour, monsieur.
Gorski: Toujours fraiche comme une rose. Mlle. Beinaime (with a grimace): Et vous toujours galant. Venez, j’ai quelque chose a vous dire. [Goes into the dining - room with Gorski.]
Mukhin [alone]: What a queer fellow that Gorski is! Who asked him to pick me out as his confidant? Well, I have come on business, — if it is possible.
[The glass doors open quickly. Viera enters, dressed in white. She carries a fresh rose. Mukhin, somewhat confused, looks around and bows. Viera stops in suspense.]
Mukhin: You . . . you don’t recognize me? I am . . .
Viera: Oh, Mr. — Mr. — Mukhin; I did not expect
When did you come?
Mukhin: To - night. Just imagine, my driver
Viera [interrupting]: Mama will be very glad. I hope you’ll remain for a while [Looks around.]
Mukhin: Are you looking for Gorski? He has just stepped out.
Viera: What makes you think that I am looking for Gorski?
Mukhin [somewhat confused]: I — I thought
Viera: Are you acquainted with him?
Mukhin: For a long time. We were in the government service.
Viera [going up to the window]: What beautiful weather we are having to - day!
Mukhin: Have you been in the garden?
Viera: Yes, I got up quite early. [Looks at the hem of her dress, and her shoes.] The dew is quite heavy.
Mukhin [smiling]: And your rose is laden with dew drops.
Viera [looking at the rose]: Yes
Mukhin: May I ask, for whom you picked it?
Viera: What do you mean, by “for whom”? For myself.
Mukhin [emphatically]: Oh!
[Gorski enters from the dining - room.]
Gorski: Do you want tea, Mukhin? [Beholding Viera.] How do you do, Viera Nikolaevna?
Viera: How do you do?
Mukhin [
Gorski: Viera Nikolaevna, give me your hand. . . . [Viera silently gives him her hand.] What’s the matter with you?
Viera: Tell me, Evgeni A
ndreevich, is your friend Mr. Mukhin foolish?
Gorski [perplexed]: I don’t know; they say he is not foolish. But why do you ask?
Viera: Are you very friendly with him?
Gorski: I am acquainted with him. Why, did he say something to you?
Viera [hurriedly]: No, no, I just asked What a beautiful morning!
Works of Ivan Turgenev (Illustrated) Page 356