A Month in the Country

A large unfurnished outer room. The walls are bare, the stone floor is uneven; the ceiling is supported by six brick columns, three each side, covered with whitewash which is peeling off. On Left two open windows and a door into the garden. On Right a door into the corridor leading to the main building; in Centre an iron door opening into the storeroom. Near first column on Right a green garden seat; in a corner spades, watering-cans and flower-pots. Evening. The red rays of the sun fall through the windows on the floor.

KATYA [comes in from door on Right, goes briskly to the window and stands for some time looking into the garden]. No, he's not to be seen. They told me he'd gone into the conservatory. I suppose he hasn't come out yet. Well, I'll wait till he comes by. There's no other way he can go. ... [Sighs and leans against the window.] They say he's going away. [Sighs again.] However shall we get on without him. . . . Poor young lady! How she did beseech me. . . . And why shouldn't I oblige her? Let him have a last talk with her. How warm it is to-day. And I do believe it's beginning to spot with rain. . . . [Again glances out of window and at once draws back.] Surely they're not coming in here? They are. My gracious. . . . [Tries to run off, but has not time to reach the door before SHPIGELSKY and LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA come in from the garden. KATYA hides behind a column.]

SHPIGELSKY [shaking his hat]. We can shelter here from the rain .... it will soon be over.

LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA. If you like.

SHPIGELSKY [looking round]. What is this building? A storehouse or what?

LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA [pointing to the iron door]. No, the storeroom's there. This room, I'm told, Arkady Sergeyitch's father built when he came back from abroad.

SHPIGELSKY. Oh, I see the idea, Venice, if you please. [Sits down on the seat.] Let's sit down. [LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA sits down.] You must confess, Lizaveta Bogdanovna, the rain has come in an unlucky moment. It has interrupted our talk at the most touching point.

LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA [casting down her eyes]. Ignaty Ilyitch... .

SHPIGELSKY. But there's nobody to hinder our beginning again. . . . You say, by the way, that Anna Semyonovna is out of humour to-day?

LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA. Yes, she's put out. She actually did not come down to dinner, but had it in her room.

SHPIGELSKY. You don't say so! What a calamity, upon my word!

LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA. She came upon Natalya Petrovna in tears this morning... with Mihail Alexandritch. . . . Of course he's almost like one of the family, but still. ... However, Mihail Alexandritch has promised to explain it.

SHPIGELSKY. Ah! well, she need not worry herself. Mihail Alexandritch has never, to my thinking, been a dangerous person, and now he's less so than ever.

LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA. Why?

SHPIGELSKY. Oh, he talks a bit too cleverly. Where other people would come out in a rash, they work it all off in talk. Don't be afraid of chatterers in future, Lizaveta Bogdanovna; they're not dangerous; it's these silent men, slow in the uptake, with no end of temperament and thick necks, who are dangerous.

LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA [after a pause]. Tell me, is Natalya Petrovna really ill?

SHPIGELSKY. She's no more ill than you or I.

LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA. She ate nothing at dinner.

SHPIGELSKY. Illness isn't the only thing that spoils the appetite.

LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA. Did you dine at Bolshintsov's?

SHPIGELSKY. Yes. ... I went to see him. And it's only on your account I came back here, upon my soul.

LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA. Oh, nonsense. And do you know, Ignaty Ilyitch, Natalya Petrovna is cross with you. . . . She said something not very complimentary about you at dinner.

SHPIGELSKY. Really? Ladies don't like us poor fellows to have sharp eyes, it seems. You must do what they want, you must help them, and you must pretend not to know what they're up to. A pretty set! But we shall see. And Rakitin, I dare say, looked rather in the dumps, too?

LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA. Yes, he, too, seemed, as it were, out of sorts. . . .

SHPIGELSKY. Hm. And Vera Alexandrovna? And Beliayev?

LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA. Everyone, absolutely everyone seemed depressed. I really can't imagine what's the matter with them all to-day.

SHPIGELSKY. If you know too much, you'll grow old before your time, Lizaveta Bogdanovna. . . . But never mind them. We had better talk about our affairs. The rain hasn't left off. ... Shall we?

LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA [casting down her eyes primly]. What are you asking me, Ignaty Ilyitch?

SHPIGELSKY. Oh, Lizaveta Bogdanovna, if you'll allow me to say so, there's no need to put on airs, and to drop your eyes like that! We're not young people, you know! These performances, these sighs and soft nothings-- they don't suit us. Let us talk calmly, practically, as is proper for people of our years. And so--this is the question: we like each other ... at least, I presume that you like me.

LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA [a little affectedly], Ignaty Ilyitch, really. . . .

SHPIGELSKY. Oh, all right, very well. After all, perhaps, airs and graces are . . . only proper in a lady. So then, we like each other. And in other respects too we are well matched. Of course, I am bound to say about myself that I am not a man of good family: well, you're not of illustrious birth either. I'm not a rich man; if I were, I shouldn't be where I am------ [Laughs.] But I've a decent practice, not all my patients die; you have, as you say, fifteen thousand roubles of your own, all that's not at all bad, you see. At the same time, you're tired, I imagine, of living for ever as a governess, and then fussing round an old lady, backing her up at preference, and falling in with her whims isn't much fun, I should say. On my side, it's not so much that I'm weary of bachelor-life, but I'm growing old, and then, my cooks rob me; so you see, it all fits in nicely. But here's the difficulty, Lizaveta Bogdanovna; we don't know each other at all, that is, to be exact, you don't know me ... I know you well enough. I understand your character. I don't say you have no faults. Being a spinster, you're little old-maidish, but that's no harm. In the hands of a good husband, a wife is soft as wax. But I should like you to know me before marriage; or else you'll, maybe, blame me afterwards. ... I don't want to deceive you.

LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA [with dignity]. But, Ignaty Ilyitch, I believe I too have had opportunities of discovering your character.

SHPIGELSKY. You? Oh! nonsense. . . . That's not a woman's job. Why, I dare say you imagine I'm a man of cheerful disposition, an amusing fellow, don't you?

LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA. I have always thought you a very amiable man. . . .

SHPIGELSKY. There you are. You see how easily one may be mistaken. Because I play the fool before outsiders, tell them anecdotes and humour them, you imagine that I'm really a light-hearted man. If I didn't need these people, I shouldn't even look at them. ... As it is, whenever I can, without much danger, you know, I turn them into ridicule. ... I don't deceive myself, though: I'm well aware that certain gentry, who can't take a step without me and are bored when I'm not there, consider themselves entitled to look down on me; but I pay them out, you may be sure. Natalya Petrovna, for instance. . . . Do you suppose I don't see through her? [Mimics NATALYA PETROVNA.] 'Dear Doctor, I really like you so much . . . you have such a wicked tongue,' ha, ha, coo away, my dove, coo away. Ugh! these ladies! And they smile and make eyes at you, while disdain is written on their faces. . . . They despise us, do what you will! I quite understand why she is saying harsh things of me to-day. Upon my soul, these ladies are wonderful people! Because they sprinkle themselves with eau- de-Cologne every day and speak so carelessly--as though they were just dropping their words for you to pick them up--they fancy there's no catching them by the tail. Oh, isn't there, though! They're just mortals the same as all of us poor sinners!

LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA. Ignaty Ilyitch . . . you surprise me.

SHPIGELSKY. I knew I should surprise you. So you see I'm not a light-hearted man at all, and not too good- natured even.... But at the same time, I don't want to make myself out what I never have been. Though I may put it on a bit before the gentry, no one's ever seen me play the fool in a low way, no one's ever dared to take insulting liberties with me. Indeed, I think they're a bit afraid of me; in fact, they know I bite. On one occasion, three years