Works of Ivan Turgenev (Illustrated) (438 page)

[A girl of about sixteen enters. She has a bundle in her hand. She has on a hat and coat.]

Zhazikov [smiling pleasantly]: What do you wish?

Matvei: She is from the wash woman.

Zhazikov [somewhat confused]: Oh! So what do you want?

Girl [giving him a bill]: I want to get the money.

Zhazikov [indifferently]: Ah! [Looks at the bill.] Very well. Eleven rubles and fifty kopecks — Very well. Come in to - morrow, please.

Girl: Arina Matvieevna told me to get it to - day.

Zhazikov: I should like to pay you to - day — [Smiling.] — with pleasure; but I have no change, — that is, believe me, no change at all.

Girl: I’ll change it for you in the store.

Zhazikov: No, you had better come in again. [Playing with the bath - robe tassels.] To - morrow, or, if you like, this afternoon, after dinner.

Girl: No, please pay now. Arina Matvieevna will scold me if I don’t bring the money.

Zhazikov: What a cruel woman! To scold you is the height of injustice. I declare — I cannot understand — What’s your name, my dear?

Girl: Matriona.

Zhazikov: My dear Matriona, I like you very much.

Girl: No, no; please give me the money — the amount on the bill.

Zhazikov: Believe me, I’ll pay — the full amount. I am in despair. . . . [Bell rings.] The devil take them! Goodbye, my dear, until to - morrow. Come to - morrow, and I’ll pay the full amount. Good - bye, my little angel.

Girl: No, no, don’t . . .

[Zhazikov hides back of the screen.]

Matvei: Go, go, my dear; go
  

Girl: But Arina Matvieevna will scold me to death.

Matvei: Well, go, go! [Gently pushes her on.]

Zhazikov [shouting to Matvei]: Get her out the back way! Do you hear? Otherwise she may run into somebody. [To himself.] How disgusting! How odious! She is a peach, though. I’ll have to . . . [Bell. Hides again.]

Man’s Voice [hoarse and coarse]: Home?

Matvei’s Voice: No, sir.

Man’s Voice: You are lying!

Matvei’s Voice: Honest to God
         

Man’s Voice: What’s the matter with your master? Is he making fun of me? Who does he think I am, — his errand boy? I gave him money and he wants me to run after it every day. Give me a piece of paper and a pen — I’ll write him a note.

Matvei’s Voice: All right.

Man’s Voice: Take my coat off, you cur!

[An Unknown Man enters. He is of medium height, stocky, with black side - whiskers. Matvei gives him paper and pen. He sits down at the table, grumbles, and writes. Dead silence reigns back of the screen.]

Man [getting up]: Give this to your master. Do you hear me?

Matvei: Yes, sir.

Man: And tell him, your master, that I don’t like to joke. Ill put your master in jail; tell him that. I’ll fix him!

[Goes out, puts his rubbers on noisily in the vestibule. The door closes. Zhazikov comes out after a minute or two.]

Zhazikov [indignantly]: Scoundrel! He wants to frighten me. Oh, no; not me! He doesn’t know me! [Reads note.] Scoundrel! Scoundrel! Contemptible scoundrel! [Tears the note to pieces.] Uncouth, ignorant boor!

I am no better than he for getting in with him. Threaten me! [Paces the room in agitation.] I must take steps . . . [BeZZ.] Heavens! [Disappears behind the screen again.]

Matvei’s Voice: What do you want?

Driveb’s Voice: Yesterday, I drove your master
       

Matvei’s Voice: Where did you take him?

Driver’s Voice: To Podiacheski; and from there to the Sands.

Matvei’s Voice: Then what do you want?

Driver’s Voice: He told me to come for the money to - day.

Matvei’s Voice: How much?

Driver’s Voice: Thirty kopecks.

Matvei’s Voice: Come to - morrow.

Driver’s Voice [after a short silence]: Yes, sir.

Zhazikov [coming out from behind the screen]: Yes, I can see plainly that I need more money. In fact, it is absolutely necessary that I should have some. Matvei! [Matvei enters.] Do you know where General Schentsel lives?

Matvei: I do.

Zhazikov: Take a letter over there. Go, I’ll call you. [iSt’is down at the table and writes.] What abominable pens! I’ll have to get some in the English store. [Reads aloud.] “Your Excellency — Permit me to have recourse to you with a humble . . . [Fixes it.] — most humble request: Can you let me have three hundred rubles in cash for a few days? I feel ashamed to bother you; but I hope you will forgive me. I, for my part, will be extremely much obliged to you; and will positively return it to you in full, on time. I beg to remain, Sincerely and devotedly yours” ... I think that is all right. It sounds a little too familiar, but that doesn’t matter. It only shows a little independence, freedom, easi

ness. But that’s nothing. I am not without a social position in life. I am a nobleman! Something will come out of this. . . . Matvei! [Matvei enters.] Here, take this over there. But please don’t tarry there. You ought to return soon; he lives right in this neighborhood.

Matvei [going out]: Why tarry?

Zhazikov: Well, something will come out of that. I think he will let me have it. He is a good man and he likes me. I haven’t touched my tea yet! It must be cold. [Drinks.] It is cold! Well, it can’t be helped. [After a short pause.] I must do something. . . . No, I can’t; I’ll wait for Matvei. He will bring something. Suppose he should not find him home? . . . What time is it? [Goes up to the clock.] Half - past eleven. [Becomes thoughtful.] Shall I try to write something? . . . What shall I write? [Lies down on the sofa.] It’s terrible! [Shudders.] Matvei! .. . No, not yet. [Recites.]

“It’s sad to think that in vain Youth was given us . . .”

Yes, that’s it: sad. Pushkin is a great poet. . . . What’s the matter with Matvei? [Thinks.] To tell the truth, I’ve done wrong in not entering military service. First, it would have been better; secondly, I have, — I feel within me that I have, — the ability for tactics — I certainly have that. . . . Well, it can’t be helped now.

[Matvei enters.]

Zhazikov [hiding his head in the pillows and covering his face with his hands, he shouts]: I know, I know. ... He was not at home? Well, he was not at home? . . . Well, speak quickly!

Matvei: No, he was at home.

Zhazikov [lifting his head]: Oh, he was at home? . . . Have you got an answer?

Matvei: Yes, sir, I have.

Zhazikov [turning away his head and stretching out his hand]: Give it to me, give it to me. . . . [Feels the letter.] It is empty. [Looks at it closely.] Well! [Takes the letter away from his eyes.] That’s my letter!

Matvei: He wrote on the back of your letter.

Zhazikov: Well, I understand, I understand! He refused. . . . What a lobster! I can’t even read his answer. [Throws the letter away.] I know what’s there. . . . [Picks up the letter.] However, it is better to read it over; maybe he doesn’t refuse altogether. Perhaps he promises — [To Matvei.] He gave you the letter himself?

Matvei: No, sir; he sent it out by a man.

Zhazikov: Mmm. . . . Well, I’ll read it; there is nothing lost. [Reads and smiles ironically.] He is a great fellow, he is a great fellow. . . . “My dear Timofei Petrovich, I cannot comply with your request. However, I beg to remain. . . .” However, he begs to remain! There is good will! There are kind relations for you! [Throws the letter away.] May the devil take him!

Matvei [with a sigh]: It has been an unlucky day!

Zhazikov: Now you have to put your say in! Get out of here. I must work, do you understand me? [Matvei goes out. Zhazikov paces the room awhile.] It’s bad, it’s bad. . . . [Site down at the table.] I must get to work. [Stretches himself, takes up a French novel, opens it at random, and begins to read.]

[Matvei enters.]

Matvei [semi - audibly]: Timofei PetrovicK . . .

Zhazikov: Well, what do you want?

Matvei [semi - audibly]: Sidor came.

Zhazikov [semi - audibly]: What has he come for?

Matvei [semi - audibly]: He says that he needs the money. His master is going back to the country and is going to take him along. So he came to ask for his money.

Zhazikov [semi - audibly]: How much do I owe him?

Matvei [semi - audibly]: With interest, it amounts to about fifty rubles.

Zhazikov [semiraudibly]: Did you tell him that I was home?

Matvei [semi - audibly]: No.

Zhazikov [semi - audibly]: Good; but how is it that I heard no bell?

Matvei [semi - audibly]: He came the back way.

Zhazikov [whispering angrily]: Why do you let them come in the back way? How is it that they know the back way? They might come in some day and rob me. That’s disorder and I do not like it. The front way is the way to come in.

Matvei [whisperingly]: Yes, sir. I’ll send him away now. Only, he asked me when he should come for the money.

Zhazikov [in an undertone]: When — when — well, in about a week or so
 

Matvei [in an undertone]: Yes, sir; only, Timofei Petrovich, try to have it for him.

Zhazikov: Why? Is he related to you?

Matvei: He is.

Zhazikov: That’s why you are trying so hard for him! Well, go, go. . . . All right. I’ll pay him. Go!

[Matvei goes out.]

Zhazikov: They are all looking out for their own. I know them; they are all of a kind. [Takes to reading the French novel again; but suddenly lifts his head.] I didn’t expect that from his Excellency; and he is a friend of my father’s, and an army colleague of his. [Gets up, stands before the looking - glass, and sings.]