gardeners--or another servants' hall--don't you think, Shpigelsky?
SHPIGELSKY. To be sure it could.
ISLAYEV. Let us go by the garden, Natasha. [Goes towards the garden door. Throughout the scene he has not once looked at RAKITIN. In the doorway he turns half round.'] Well, gentlemen. Let us go in to tea.
[Goes out with NATALYA PETROVNA.]
SHPIGELSKY [to RAKITIN]. Well, Mihail Alexandritch, come along. . . . Give me your arm. . . . It's clear we are destined to follow in the rear. . . .
RAKITIN [wrathfully]. Oh, Doctor, I'm sick of you.
SHPIGELSKY [with affected good-humour]. Ah, Mihail Alexandritch, if only you know how sick I am of myself! [RAKITIN cannot help smiling.] Come along, come along. [They go out into the garden.]
ACT V
[The scene is the same as in the 1st and 3rd Acts. Morning. ISLAYEV is sitting at the table looking through papers. He suddenly jumps up.]
ISLAYEV. No! impossible. I can't work to-day. I can't get it out of my mind. [Walks up and down.] I confess I didn't expect this; I didn't expect I should be so upset... as I am now. How is one to act? . . . that's the problem. [Ponders and suddenly shouts.'] Matvey!
MATVEY [entering]. Yes, Sir?
ISLAYEV. Send the bailiff to me. . . . And tell the men digging at the dam to wait for me. . . . Run along.
MATVEY. Yes, Sir. [Goes out.]
ISLAYEV [going back to the table and turning over the papers]. Yes . . . it's a problem!
ANNA SEMYONOVNA [comes in and goes up to ISLAYEV]. Arkasha. . . .
ISLAYEV. Ah! it's you, Mamma. How are you this morning?
ANNA SEMYONOVNA [sitting down on the sofa]. I'm quite well, thank God. [Sighs.] I'm quite well. [Sighs still more audibly.] Thank God. [Seeing that ISLAYEV is not attending to her, she sighs very emphatically, with a faint moan.]
ISLAYEV. You're sighing . .. what's the matter?
ANNA SEMYONOVNA [sighs again but less emphatically]. Oh! Arkasha, as though you don't know what makes me sigh!
ISLAYEV. What do you want to say?
ANNA SEMYONOVNA [after a pause]. I'm your mother, Arkasha. Of course you're a man, grown-up and sensible; but still--I'm your mother. It's a great word--mother!
ISLAYEV. Please explain.
ANNA SEMYONOVNA. You know what I am hinting at, my dear. Your wife, Natasha ... of course, she's an excellent woman . . . and her conduct hitherto has been most exemplary . . . but she is still so young, Arkasha! And youth... .
ISLAYEV. I see what you want to say. . . . You fancy her relations with Rakitin. . . .
ANNA SEMYONOVNA. God forbid! I never thought of such a thing.
ISLAYEV. You didn't let me finish. . . . You fancy her relations with Rakitin are not altogether . . . clear. These mysterious conversations, these tears--all strike you as strange.
ANNA SEMYONOVNA. Well, Arkasha, has he told you at last what their talks were about? . . . He has told me nothing.
ISLAYEV. I haven't asked him, Mamma, and he is apparently in no hurry to satisfy my curiosity.
ANNA SEMYONOVNA. Then what do you intend to do now?
ISLAYEV. Do, Mamma? Why, nothing.
ANNA SEMYONOVNA. Nothing?
ISLAYEV. Why, certainly, nothing.
ANNA SEMYONOVNA [getting up]. I must say, I'm surprised to hear it. Of course you are master in your own house and know better than I do what is for the best. But only think of the consequences. . . .
ISLAYEV. Really, Mamma, there's no need to worry yourself.
ANNA SEMYONOVNA. My dear, I'm a mother . . . you know best. [A pause.] I must own I came to see whether I could do anything to help.
ISLAYEV [earnestly]. No, as far as that goes, I must beg you, Mamma, not to trouble yourself. . . . Pray don't!
ANNA SEMYONOVNA. As you wish, Arkasha, as you wish. I won't say another word. I have warned you, I have done my duty, and now I won't open my lips, [A brief silence.]
ISLAYEV. Are you going anywhere to-day?
ANNA SEMYONOVNA. Only I must warn you; you are too trustful, my dear boy; you judge everybody by yourself! Believe me, true friends are only too rare nowadays!
ISLAYEV [with impatience]. Mamma. . . .
ANNA SEMYONOVNA. Oh, I'll say no more, I'll say no more! And what's the use, an old woman like me! I'm in my dotage, I suppose! But I was brought up on different principles, and have tried to instil them in you . . . there, there, go on with your work, I won't interrupt you. . . . I'm going. [Goes to door and stops.] Well, you know best. [Goes out.]
ISLAYEV [looking after her]. Queer that people who really love you have such a passion for poking their fingers into your wounds. And of course they're convinced it's doing you good ... that's what's so funny! I don't blame Mother, though; of course she means well, and how could she help giving advice? But that's no matter. . . . [Sitting down.] How am I to act? [After a moment's thought, gets up.] Oh! the more simply, the better! Diplomatic subtleties don't suit me. ... I should be the first to make a muddle of them. [Rings, MATVEY enters.] Is Mihail Alexandritch at home, do you know?
MATVEY. Yes, Sir. I saw his honour in the billiard-room just now.
ISLAYEV. Ah, well, ask him to come to me.
MATVEY. Yes, Sir. [Goes out.]
ISLAYEV [walking up and down]. I'm not used to these upheavals. ... I hope they won't happen often . . . strong as I am, I can't stand them. [Puts his hand on his heart.] Ough! . . . [RAKITIN, embarrassed, comes in from the outer room.]
RAKITIN. You sent for me?
ISLAYEV. Yes. . . . [A pause,] Michel, you know you owe me something?
RAKITIN. I owe you?
ISLAYEV. Why, yes. Have you forgotten your promise? About . . . Natasha's tears . . . and altogether . . . When my Mother and I came upon you, you remember--you told me you had a secret which you would explain.
RAKITIN. I said a secret?
ISLAYEV. You said so.
RAKITIN. But what secret could we have? We had had a talk.
ISLAYEV. What about? And why was she crying?
RAKITIN. You know, Arkady . . . there are moments in in the life of a woman . . . even the happiest. . .
ISLAYEV. Rakitin, stop, we can't go on like this. I can't bear to see you in such a position. . . . Your confusion distresses me more than it does yourself. [Takes his hand.] We are old friends--you've known me from a child; I don't know how to pretend and you have always been open with me. Let me put one question to you. ... I give you my word beforehand that I shall not doubt the sincerity of your answer. You love my wife, don't you? [RAKITIN looks at ISLAYEV.] You understand me, you love her as ... Well, that is you love her with the sort of love that . . . it's difficult to admit to her husband?
RAKITIN [after a pause, in a toneless voice]. Yes, I love your wife . . . with that sort of love.
