Fruits of Culture. Tolstoy Leo
Well, I don't know. Ask my mother.
PORTER. I don't know whose it is, Miss; I was ordered to bring it here and receive the money.
BETSY. Well then, wait.
MÁRYA KONSTANTÍNOVNA. Is it still that costume for the charade?
BETSY. Yes, a charming costume. But mamma won't take it or pay for it.
MÁRYA KONSTANTÍNOVNA. But why not?
BETSY. You'd better ask mamma. She doesn't grudge Vovo 500 roubles for his dogs, but 100 is too much for a dress. I can't act dressed like a scarecrow. [Pointing to Peasants] And who are these?
GREGORY. Peasants who have come to buy some land or other.
BETSY. And I thought they were the beaters. Are you not beaters?
FIRST PEASANT. No, no, lady. We have come to see Leoníd Fyódoritch about the signing into our possession of the title-deeds to some land.
BETSY. Then how is it? Vovo was expecting some beaters who were to come to-day. Are you sure you are not the beaters? [The Peasants are silent] How stupid they are! [Goes to Vasíly Leoníditch's door] Vovo? [Laughs].
MÁRYA KONSTANTÍNOVNA. But we met him just now upstairs!
BETSY. Why need you remember that? Vovo, are you there?
Petrístchef enters.
PETRÍSTCHEF. Vovo is not here, but I am prepared to fulfil on his behalf anything that may be required. How do you do? How do you do, Márya Konstantínovna? [Shakes hands long and violently with Betsy, and then with Márya Konstantínovna].
SECOND PEASANT. See, it's as if he were pumping water!
BETSY. You can't replace him, – still you're better than nobody. [Laughs] What are these affairs of yours with Vovo?
PETRÍSTCHEF. What affairs? Our affairs are fie-nancial, that is, our business is fie! It's also nancial, and besides it is financial.
BETSY. What does nancial mean?
PETRÍSTCHEF. What a question! It means nothing, that's just the point.
BETSY. No, no, you have missed fire. [Laughs].
PETRÍSTCHEF. One can't always hit the mark, you know. It's something like a lottery. Blanks and blanks again, and at last you win! [Theodore Ivánitch goes into the study].
BETSY. Well, this was blank then; but tell me, were you at the Mergásofs' last night?
PETRÍSTCHEF. Not exactly at the Mère Gásof's, but rather at the Père Gásof's, or better still, at the Fils Gásof's.
BETSY. You can't do without puns. It's an illness. And were the Gypsies there?3 [Laughs].
PETRÍSTCHEF [sings] “On their aprons silken threads, little birds with golden heads!” …
BETSY. Happy mortals! And we were yawning at Fofo's.
PETRÍSTCHEF [continues to sing] “And she promised and she swore, She would ope' her … her … her …” how does it go on, Márya Konstantínovna?
MÁRYA KONSTANTÍNOVNA. “Closet door.”
PETRÍSTCHEF. How? What? How, Márya Konstantínovna?
BETSY. Cessez, vous devenez impossible!4
PETRÍSTCHEF. J'ai cessé, j'ai bébé, j'ai dédé…5
BETSY. I see the only way to rid ourselves of your wit is to make you sing! Let us go into Vovo's room, his guitar is there. Come, Márya Konstantínovna, come! [Exeunt Betsy, Márya Konstantínovna, and Petrístchef].
FIRST PEASANT. Who be they?
GREGORY. One is our young lady, the other is a girl who teaches her music.
FIRST PEASANT. Administrates learning, so to say. And ain't she smart? A reg'lar picture!
SECOND PEASANT. Why don't they marry her? She is old enough, I should say.
GREGORY. Do you think it's the same as among you peasants, – marry at fifteen?
FIRST PEASANT. And that man, for example, is he also in the musitional line?
GREGORY [mimicking him] “Musitional” indeed! You don't understand anything!
FIRST PEASANT. That's just so. And stupidity, one might say, is our ignorance.
THIRD PEASANT. Oh Lord! [Gipsy songs and guitar accompaniment are heard from Vasíly Leoníditch's room].
Enter Simon, followed by Tánya, who watches the meeting between father and son.
GREGORY [to Simon] What do you want?
SIMON. I have been to Mr. Kaptchítch.
GREGORY. Well, and what's the answer?
SIMON. He sent word he couldn't possibly come to-night.
GREGORY. All right, I'll let them know. [Exit].
SIMON [to his father] How d'you do, father! My respects to Daddy Efím and Daddy Mítry! How are all at home?
SECOND PEASANT. Very well, Simon.
FIRST PEASANT. How d'you do, lad?
THIRD PEASANT. How d'you do, sonny?
SIMON [smiles] Well, come along, father, and have some tea.
SECOND PEASANT. Wait till we've finished our business. Don't you see we are not ready yet?
SIMON. Well, I'll wait for you by the porch. [Wishes to go away].
TÁNYA [running after him] I say, why didn't you tell him anything?
SIMON. How could I before all those people? Give me time, I'll tell him over our tea. [Exit].
Theodore Ivánitch enters and sits down by the window.
FIRST PEASANT. Respected sir, how's our business proceeding?
THEODORE IVÁNITCH. Wait a bit, he'll be out presently, he's just finishing.
TÁNYA [to Theodore Ivánitch] And how do you know, Theodore Ivánitch, he is finishing?
THEODORE IVÁNITCH. I know that when he has finished questioning, he reads the question and answer aloud.
TÁNYA. Can one really talk with spirits by means of a saucer?
THEODORE IVÁNITCH. It seems so.
TÁNYA. But supposing they tell him to sign, will he sign?
THEODORE IVÁNITCH. Of course he will.
TÁNYA. But they do not speak with words?
THEODORE IVÁNITCH. Oh, yes. By means of the alphabet. He notices at which letter the saucer stops.
TÁNYA. Yes, but at a si-ance?..
Enter Leoníd Fyódoritch.
LEONÍD FYÓDORITCH. Well, friends, I can't do it! I should be very glad to, but it is quite impossible. If it were for ready money it would be a different matter.
FIRST PEASANT. That's just so. What more could any one desire? But the people are so inpennycuous – it is quite impossible!
LEONÍD FYÓDORITCH. Well, I can't do it, I really can't. Here is your document; I can't sign it.
THIRD PEASANT. Show some pity, master; be merciful!
SECOND PEASANT. How can you act so? It is doing us a wrong.
LEONÍD FYÓDORITCH. Nothing wrong about it, friends. I offered it you in summer, but then you did not agree; and now I can't agree to it.
THIRD PEASANT. Master, be merciful! How are we to get along? We have so little land. We'll say nothing about the cattle; a hen, let's say, there's no room to let
The Gypsy choirs are very popular in Moscow.
BETSY. Cease! You are becoming quite unbearable!
PETRÍSTCHEF. I have C said (