LIZAVETA

To me you’ve always seemed a very agreeable man . . .

SHPIGELSKY

There you have it. You see how easy it is to be mistaken. Because I clown around with other people, tell them jokes, fawn on them, you’ve decided I’m really a cheerful man. If I didn’t need these other people, I wouldn’t even look at them . . . Whenever I can, without any risk, I make fun of them . . . But I’m not fooling myself. I know that certain people, who need me at every step, who are bored without me, think they have the right to despise me. And I pay them back in kind. Take Natalya Petrovna . . . You think I don’t see through her? (Imitating Natalya Petrovna) “My dear doctor, I really do like you so much . . . you have such a wicked tongue . . .” heh, heh, coo away, my dove, coo away. Ohh, these ladies! They smile at you, and narrow their eyes at you, and there’s disgust written all over their faces . . . We make them squeamish, but what can you do? I know why she said bad things about me today. Really, these ladies are amazing! Because they douse themselves with perfume each day and speak so carelessly, as if letting the words drop—here, pick that up!—they think they can get away with anything. But they can’t! They’re the same mortals as us sinners!

LIZAVETA

Ignaty Ilyich . . . You surprise me.

SHPIGELSKY

I knew I’d surprise you. So you see, I’m not that cheerful, maybe not even very nice . . . But with you I don’t want to pass myself off as somebody I’m not. I may clown around with these people, but they know I’m no buffoon. Nobody’s ever thrown a pie in my face. I could even say they’re a little afraid of me. They know I can bite. Once, some three years ago, a certain gentleman of the dumb farmer type was fool enough to smear horseradish in my hair at the table. What do you think? Right there and then, without getting angry, in the most courteous way, I challenged him to a duel. The dumb farmer nearly had a heart attack; the host made him apologize—the effect was extraordinary! I must admit, I knew beforehand he’d never fight. So you see, Lizaveta Bogdanovna, I’m as vain as they come; but this is how my life has turned out. I also have no great talents . . . As a student, I was so-so. I’m a bad doctor, there’s no point hiding it from you; if you get sick, it won’t be me who treats you. If I had talent and education, I’d have skipped off to the capital. But, of course, the locals don’t need any better. As for my personal character, I must warn you, Lizaveta Bogdanovna, that at home I’m sullen, taciturn, demanding; I don’t mind being well served and well gratified; I like my habits to be noted and my food to be tasty. On the other hand, I’m not jealous or stingy, and when I’m away, you can do whatever you like. You realize that there’s no point talking about any sort of romantic love between us; still, I suppose it’s possible to live under the same roof with me . . . As long as I’m gratified and there’s no weeping in my presence, because I can’t stand tears! And I don’t nag. There’s my confession. Well, ma’am, what do you say now?