SCHAAF. In future I call not on Lizaveta Bogdanovna.
ANNA SEMYONOVNA [to SCHAAF]. Why, how is she, Lizaveta Bogdanovna, to blame?
SCHAAF [repeats in exactly the same tone of voice]. In future I call not on Lizaveta Bogdanovna.
LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA. As though I care! What next! . . .
RAKITIN. You look somehow different, I see that more and more.
NATALYA PETROVNA [with a shade of curiosity]. Do you mean it?
RAKITIN. Yes, really. I find a change in you.
NATALYA PETROVNA. Yes?... If that's so, please. . . . You know me so well--guess what the change is, what has happened to me . . . will you?
RAKITIN. Well. . . . Give me time. . . . [Suddenly KOL YA runs in noisily from the outer room and straight up to ANNA SEMYONOVNA.]
KOLYA. Granny, Granny! Do look what I've got! [Shows her a bow and arrows.] Look!
ANNA SEMYONOVNA. Show me, darling. ... Oh what a splendid bow! Who made it for you?
KOLYA. He did ... he. ... [Points to BELIAYEV, who has remained at the door.]
ANNA SEMYONOVNA. Oh! but how well it's made. . . .
KOLYA. I shot at a tree with it, Granny, and hit it twice. . . . [Skips about.]
NATALYA PETROVNA. Show me, Kolya.
KOLYA [runs to her and while NATALYA PETROVNA is examining the bow]. Oh, maman, you should see how Alexey Nikolaitch climbs trees! He wants to teach me and he's going to teach me to swim too. He's going to teach me all sorts of things. [Skips about.]
NATALYA PETROVNA. It is very good of you to do so much for Kolya.
KOLYA [interrupting her, warmly]. I do like him, maman, I love him.
NATALYA PETROVNA [stroking KOLYA'S head]. He has been too softly brought up. ... Make him a sturdy, active boy.
[BELIAYEV bows.]
KOLYA. Alexey Nikolaitch, let's go to the stable and take Favourite some bread.
BELIAYEV. Very well.
ANNA SEMYONOVNA [to KOLYA]. Come here and give me a kiss first. . . .
KOLYA [running off]. Afterwards, Granny, afterwards! [Runs into the outer room; BELIAYEV goes out after him.]
ANNA SEMYONOVNA [looking after KOLYA]. What a darling boy! [To SCHAAF and LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA.] Isn't he?
LIZAVETA BOGDANOVNA. To be sure he is.
SCHAAF [after a brief pause]. Pass.
NATALYA PETROVNA [with some eagerness to RAKITIN]. Well, how does he strike you?
RAKITIN. Who?
NATALYA PETROVNA [pausing]. That. . . Russian tutor.
RAKITIN. Oh, I beg your pardon--I'd forgotten him. ... I was so absorbed by the question you asked me. . . . [NATALYA PETROVNA looks at him with a faintly perceptible smile of irony.] But his face . . . certainly. . . . Yes, he has a good face. I like him. Only he seems very shy.
NATALYA PETROVNA. Yes.
RAKITIN [looking at her]. But anyway I can't quite make out . . .
NATALYA PETROVNA. How if we were to look after him a bit, Rakitin? Will you? Let us finish his education. Here is a splendid opportunity for discreet sensible people like you and me! We are very sensible, aren't we?
RAKITIN. This young man interests you. If he knew it... he'd be flattered.
NATALYA PETROVNA. Oh, not a bit, believe me! You can't judge him by what. . . anyone like us would feel in his place. You see he's not at all like us, Rakitin. That's where we go wrong, my dear, we study ourselves very carefully and then imagine we understand human nature.
RAKITIN. The heart of another is a dark forest. But what are you hinting at? . . . Why do you keep on sticking pins into me?
NATALYA PETROVNA. Whom is one to stick pins into if not one's friends? . . . And you are my friend. . . . You know that. [Presses his hand. RAKITIN smiles and beams.] You are my old friend.
RAKITIN. I'm only afraid . . . you may get sick of the old friend.
NATALYA PETROVNA [laughing]. It's only very nice things one takes enough of for that.
RAKITIN. Perhaps. But that doesn't make it any better for them.
NATALYA PETROVNA. Nonsense. . . . [Dropping her voice.] As though you don't know ce que vous etes pour moi.
RAKITIN. Natalya Petrovna, you play with me like a cat with a mouse. . . . But the mouse does not complain.
NATALYA PETROVNA. Oh! poor little mouse!
ANNA SEMYONOVNA. That's twenty from you, Adam Ivanitch. . . . Aha!
SCHAAF. In future I call not on Lizaveta Bogdanovna.
MATVEY [enters and announces]. Ignaty Ilyitch.
SHPIGELSKY [following him in]. Doctors don't need showing in. [Exit MATVEY.] My humblest respects to all the family. [Kisses ANNA SEMYONOVNA'S hand.] How do you do, gracious lady. Winning, I expect?
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.