A Month in the Country

ANNA SEMYONOVNA. Winning indeed! I've hardly got my own back and I'm thankful for that. It's all this villain. [Indicates SCHAAF.]

SHPIGELSKY [to SCHAAF]. Adam Ivanitch, when you're playing with ladies, it's too bad. ... I should never have thought it of you.

SCHAAF [muttering through his teeth]. Blaying wif ladies. . . .

SHPIGELSKY [going up to the round table on the left]. Good afternoon, Natalya Petrovna! Good afternoon, Mihail Alexandritch!

NATALYA PETROVNA. Good afternoon, Doctor. How are you?

SHPIGELSKY. I like that inquiry. ... It shows that you are quite well. What can ail me? A respectable doctor is never ill; at the most he just goes and dies. . . Ha! ha!

NATALYA PETROVNA. Sit down. I'm quite well, certainly. . . . But I'm in a bad humour . . . and that's a sort of illness too, you know.

SHPIGELSKY [sitting down beside NATALYA PETROVNA]. Let me feel your pulse. [Feels her pulse.] Oh, nerves, nerves. . . . You don't walk enough, Natalya Petrovna, you don't laugh enough .. . that's what it is.... Why don't you see to it, Mihail Alexandritch? But of course I can prescribe some drops.

NATALYA PETROVNA. I'm ready enough to laugh. . . . [Eagerly.] Now, Doctor, . . . you have a spiteful tongue, I like it so much in you, I respect you for it, really ... do tell me something amusing. Mihail Alexandritch is so solemn to-day.

SHPIGELSKY [with a sly glance at RAKITIN]. Ah, it seems, it's not only the nerves that are upset, there's just a touch of spleen too. . . .

NATALYA PETROVNA. There you are, at it, too! Be as critical as you like, Doctor, but not aloud. We all know how sharp-sighted you are. You are both so sharp-sighted.

SHPIGELSKY. I obey, madam.

NATALYA PETROVNA. Tell us something funny.

SHPIGELSKY. I obey, madam. Tell us a story straight away, it's a bit sudden. . . . Allow me a pinch of snuff. [Takes snuff.]

NATALYA PETROVNA. What preparations!

SHPIGELSKY. Well, you see, my dear lady, you must graciously consider there are all sorts of funny stories. One for one person, and one for another. . . . Your neighbour, Mr. Hlopushkin, for instance, roars and laughs till he cries, if I simply hold up my finger . . . while you. . . . But, there, here goes, you know Verenitsyn?

NATALYA PETROVNA. I fancy I've met him. I've heard of him anyway.

SHPIGELSKY. He has a sister who's mad. To my thinking, they are either both mad, or both sane; for really there's nothing to choose between them, but that's neither here nor there. It's the finger of destiny, dear lady, everywhere, and in everything. Verenitsyn has a daughter, a greenish little thing, you know, with little pale eyes, and a little red nose, and little yellow teeth, a charming girl in fact; plays the piano, and talks with a lisp, so everything's as it should be. She has two hundred serfs of her own besides her aunt's hundred and fifty. The aunt's still alive to be sure, and will go on living for years; mad people always live to be old, but one need never despair. She has made a will in her niece's favour anyway, and, the day before she did it, with my own hand I poured cold water on her head--it was a complete waste of time for there's no chance of curing her. Well, so Verenitsyn's daughter is a bit of a catch, you see. He has begun bringing her out, suitors are turning up, and among others Perekuzov, an anaemic young man, timid but of excellent principles. Well, the father liked our Perekuzov; and the daughter liked him, too. . . . There seemed to be no hitch, simply bless them and haste to the wedding! And, as a matter of fact, all was going swimmingly; Mr. Verenitsyn was already beginning to poke the young man in the ribs and slap him on the back, when all of a sudden, a bolt from the blue, an officer, Ardalion Protobekasov! He saw Verenitsyn's daughter at the Marshal's ball, danced three polkas with her, said to her, I suppose, rolling his eyes like this, 'Oh, how unhappy I am!' and our young lady was bowled over at once. Tears, sighs, moans. . . . Not a look, not a word for Perekuzov, hysterics at the mere mention of the wedding.... Oh, Lord, there was the deuce of a fuss. Oh well, thinks Verenitsyn, if Protobekasov it is to be, Protobekasov let it be! Luckily he was a man of property too. Protobekasov is invited to give them the honour of his company. He does them the honour, arrives, flirts, falls in love, and finally offers his hand and heart. Verenitsyn's daughter accepts him joyfully on the spot, you'd suppose. Not a bit of it! Mercy on us, no! Tears again, sighs, hysterics! Her father is at his wits' end. What's the meaning of it? What does she want? And what do you suppose she answers? 'I don't know,' she says, 'which of them I love.' 'What!?' 'I really don't know which I love, and so I'd better not marry either, but I am in love!' Verenitsyn, of course, had an attack of cholera at once; the suitors can't make head or tail of it either. But she sticks to it. So you see what queer things happen in these parts.

NATALYA PETROVNA. I don't see anything wonderful in that. . . . Surely it's possible to love two people at once?

RAKITIN. Ah! you think so....

NATALYA PETROVNA [slowly], I think so. ... I don't know, though . . . perhaps it only shows one doesn't love either.

SHPIGELSKY [taking snuff and looking now at NATALYA PETROVNA, now at RAKITIN]. So that's how it is.

NATALYA PETROVNA [eagerly to SHPIGELSKY] Your story is very good, but you haven't made me laugh.

SHPIGELSKY. Oh, my dear lady, who'll make you laugh just now? That's not what you want at the moment.

NATALYA PETROVNA. What is it I want then?

SHPIGELSKY [with an affectedly meek air]. The Lord only knows!

NATALYA PETROVNA. Oh, how tiresome you are, as bad as Rakitin.

SHPIGELSKY. You do me too much honour upon my word.. ..

[NATALYA PETROVNA makes an impatient gesture]

ANNA SEMYONOVNA [getting up]. Well, well, at last. . . . [Sighs.] My legs are quite stiff from sitting so long. [LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA and SCHAAF stand up also] O-ooh!

NATALYA PETROVNA [stands up and goes to them]. Why do you sit still so long? [RAKITIN and SHPIGELSKY stand up.]

ANNA SEMYONOVNA. You owe me seventy kopecks, my good sir. [SCHAAF bows frigidly] You can't punish us all the time. [To NATALYA PETROVNA.] You look pale, Natasha? Are you quite well? Shpigelsky, is she quite well?

SHPIGELSKY [who has been whispering something to RAKITIN]. Oh, perfectly!

ANNA SEMYONOVNA. That's right. . . . I'll go and have a little rest before dinner. . . . I'm dreadfully tired! Liza, come along. . . . Oh, my legs, my legs. . . .

[Goes into the outer room with LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA. NATALYA PETROVNA walks with her to the door. SHPIGELSKY, RAKITIN and SCHAAF are left in the front of the stage]

SHPIGELSKY [offering SCHAAF his snuff-box]. Well, Adam Ivanitch, wie befinden Sie sich?

SCHAAF [taking a pinch with dignity]. Quite vell. And you?

SHPIGELSKY: Thank you kindly, pretty middling. [Aside to RAKITIN.] So you don't know what's the matter with Natalya Petrovna to-day?

RAKITIN. I don't, really.

SHPIGELSKY. Well, if you don't. .. [Turns round and goes to meet NATALYA PETROVNA who is coming back from the door.] I have a little matter to talk to you about, Natalya Petrovna.

NATALYA PETROVNA [going to the window]. Really! What is it?

SHPIGELSKY. I must speak to you alone. . . . NATALYA PETROVNA. Oh dear!... You alarm me.... [RAKITIN meanwhile has taken SCHAAF'S arm and walks to and fro with him,