Works of Ivan Turgenev (Illustrated) (415 page)

Come, is that so? I’m not a girl now, of course, and memories have become precious to me, too . . . such as they are. ... I shall have no others, and half my life, more than half is over. [Smiles.] But they are a long time. And what do I ask? What am I struggling for? The merest nothing. For him to give us a chance to move to Petersburg, to find us a post there — is nothing. And Alexey Ivanitch will be glad of any post. . .. Can I fail to get even that? If so, it’s right I should stay in a provincial town . . . I deserve nothing better. . . . [Pressing her hands to her cheeks.] I’m in a fever with this suspense, these thoughts; my cheeks are simply burning. [Apause.] Well, so much thebetter. [Hearing a sound in the study.] Theyare coming — the battle is beginning.... Oh cowardly, ill - timed fears, away with you! [Takes up a book and leans back on the sofa. Stupendyev and Count Lyubin come in.]

Count. And so I can rely on you, my good Alexey Ivanitch?

Stupendyev. Your Excellency, I am ready for my part to do all in my power. .. .

Count. Very much obliged to you. And I’ll send you the deeds very shortly. ... I am going home to - day, and to - morrow or the day after...

Stupendyev. Oh yes, yes.

Count [goingup to Darya Ivanovna]. Darya Ivanovna, excuse me, please; to - day unfortunately I cannot stay any longer, but I hope some other time.

Darya. Won’t you dine with us, Count? [Gets up.]

Count. Thank you for the invitation, but. . .

Darya. And I have been so looking forward. ... I was hoping you would spend a little time with us! Of course we must not presume to detain you. . . .

Count. You are too kind, but really . . if you knew — I am so busy. .. .

Darya. Think how long it is since we’ve met. . . and God knows when we shall see each other again! You are such a rare bird in these parts. . . .

Stupendyev. Just so, your Excellency, a phcenix, one must say. . . .

Darya [interrupting him]. Besides, you can’t be back in time for dinner at home now. ... I can assure you that you will dine better here than anywhere in the town.

Stupendyev. You see we knew your Excellency was coming.

Darya [interrupting him]. So you will stay, won’t you?

Count [with some constraint]. You ask me so charmingly that I cannot refuse. . . .

Darya. Ah! [Takes his hat and puts it on the piano.]

Count [to Darya], I confess when I set off this morning I did not expect to have the pleasure of meeting you. [A pause.] Your town is not bad as far as I have seen it.

Stupendyev. For a provincial town, your Excellency, it’s not so bad.

Darya [sitting down]. Sit down, Count, please. . . . [Count sits down.] You can’t imagine how happy I am, how delighted to see you here. [To Stupendyev.J Oh! by the way, Alexis, Misha is asking for you.

Stupendyev. What does he want?

Darya. I don’t know; but he seems very anxious to see you; please go to him.

Stupendyev. But how can I... with his Excellency.. just now it’s impossible.

Count. Oh, don’t stand on ceremony, please. You leave me in very agreeable company. [Passes his hand over his hair with an indifferent air.]

Stupendyev. But what’s he in such a hurry about?

Darya. He wants you; go along, mon ami.

Stupendyev [after a pause.] Very well. . . . But I’ll be back in a minute ... to your Excellency. . . . [Bows; Count bows to him. Stupendyev goes out into study, saying to himself: ‘What can be the matter with him all of a sudden?’ A brief silence follows. Count looks sideways at Darya with a faint smile, and shakes his head.]

Darya [casting down her eyes]. Have you come into our parts for long, your Excellency?

Count. For two months or so; I shall go as soon as my business is settled.

Darya. You are staying at Spasskoye?

Count. Yes, on my mother’s estate.

Darya. In the same house?

Count. Yes. I must own it’s rather cheerless living there now. It’s so dilapidated, it’s almost in ruins; next year I mean to pull it down.

Darya. You say it’s cheerless living there now. . . . I can’t tell, my memories of it are so very pleasant. Can you really think of pulling it down?

Count. Do you regret it?

Darya. I should think so! I spent the happiest years of my life in it. Besides, the memory of my benefactress, your dear mother. . . . You understand . . .

Count [cutting her short]. Oh yes, yes, I understand. [A pause.] Well in old days certainly it was pleasant there. . . .

Darya. You’ve not forgotten?

Count. What?

Darya [again casting down her eyes]. The old days?

Count [

Darya. I’m not trying to. . . . I am just as old as you were then, Count — twenty - eight.

Count. Was I really as old as that then? I think you must be mistaken. . . .

Darya. Oh, no, Count, I’m not mistaken. ... I remember too well everything that concerns you. . . .

Count [with a forced laugh]. How old I am if that’s so!

Darya. You old? Nonsense!

Count. Well, so be it; I won’t dispute that with you. [A pause.] Yes, that was a good time! Do you remember our early morning walks in the lime avenue before breakfast? [Darya casts down her eyes.] Come, tell me, do you remember them?

Darya. I have told you already, Count, that we who live in the country cannot forget the past, particularly when nothing like it has happened since. For you now — it’s quite another thing!

Count [still more animated]. No, Darya Ivanovna, you really mustn’t think that. I’m speaking seriously. Of course in big cities, there are so many distractions, especially for a young man; of course life is so full of noise and variety. . . . But I can assure you, Darya Ivanovna, the first, you know, the first early impressions are never effaced, and at times in the midst of the giddy whirl the heart. . . the heart, weary, you understand, of frivolity . . . simply longs, you know, for . . .

Darya. Oh, yes, Count, I agree with you; first impressions do not pass away. I know it from experience.

Count. Ah! \A pause.] Confess, Darya Ivanovna, you must be rather dull here?

Darya [speaking slowly], I don’t say that. At first, certainly, it was hard for me to get used to this different style of living, but then . . . my husband is such a kind, excellent man!

Count. Oh, yes ... I quite agree. . . He is a most worthy man, most worthy, but. . .

Darya. Then I . . I got used to it. I need little to make me happy. Home, family life ... [Dropping her voice] and a few happy memories. . . .

Count. You have such memories?

Darya. Yes, like everyone else; they make it easier to put up with being bored.

Count. So then you are bored at times, all the same?

Darya. Do you wonder at it, Count? You remember I had the good fortune to be brought up in your mother’s house. Compare what I was accustomed to in my youth with my surroundings now. Of course neither my position nor my birth — nothing, in fact — gave me the right to expect that I should go on living as I had begun; but you said yourself: the first impressions are never effaced, and it’s impossible to expel from the memory [Bowing her head] what good sense would urge one to forget.
  
I will be open with you, Count. Do you suppose that I don’t feel how poor . . . and ridiculous . . . everything here must seem to you? That page - boy racing away from you like a hare, that cook — and ... and perhaps I myself....

Count. You, Darya Ivanovna? Why, you must be joking! I assure you . . . No, indeed I am surprised. . . .

Darya. I’ll tell you what you’re surprised at, Count. You’re surprised that I have not quite lost the habits of my youth yet, that I’ve not had time to become altogether provincial.... Is that surprise very flattering, do you think?

Count. How wickedly you turn my words, Darya Ivanovna!

Darya. Perhaps; but let us leave that, please. There are wounds which hurt when touched, even after they have healed. Besides, I am completely reconciled to my lot, I live alone in my obscure little corner; and if your arrival had not stirred many memories, all this would not have come into my mind. I should never have spoken of it, at any rate. I feel ashamed indeed that instead of trying to entertain you, so far as possible . . .

Count. But what do you take me for, allow me to ask? Do you suppose that I don’t value your confidence, that I am not able to appreciate it? But you are unfair to yourself. It can’t be true, I won’t believe it, that you with your intelligence, your education, can have lived here without attracting friends.

Darya. Absolutely, I assure you, Count. And I don’t in the least regret it. Let me tell you: I have pride. That is all that is left me from my past. I have no desire to attract people who do not attract me. . . . Besides, we are poor, we are dependent on other people; all that hinders intimacy — such intimacy as would not be wounding to me. Such intimacy is out of the question. . . . And I prefer solitude. Besides, solitude has no terrors for me — I read, I study; I am fortunate in having a husband who is an honest man. . . .

Count. Yes, one can see that at once.

Darya. My husband, of course, has his peculiarities. ... I say this so freely to you because with your keen insight you cannot have failed to notice them — but he is an excellent man. And I should not complain of anything, I should be quite contented, if only....

Count. If what?

Darya. If... at times ... unforeseen .. . circumstances . . did not trouble my peace.

Count. I can’t venture to interpret your words, Darya Ivanovna.... What circumstances? You spoke j ust now of memories. . . .

Darya [looking him straight in the face with an innocent expression]. I will tell you, Count; I am going to be quite open with you. Indeed, I’m not good at pretence at any time, and with you it would be simply absurd. Can you imagine that it means nothing to a woman to see a man whom she had known in her youth, known in an utterly different world, in different surroundings — and to see him as I see you now . . . [Count stealthily straightens his hairJ ... to talk with him, to recall the past. . .

Count [interrupting her]. And do you imagine that it means nothing to a man, whom destiny has, so to speak tossed about the world — that it means nothing to him to meet a woman like you, who has kept all... all the charm of youth, the . . . the intelligence, the elegance — cette grace?