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diff --git a/2466-0.txt b/2466-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..eb908f2 --- /dev/null +++ b/2466-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,12125 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook of Virgin Soil, by Ivan S. Turgenev + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you +will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before +using this eBook. + +Title: Virgin Soil + +Author: Ivan S. Turgenev + +Translator: R. S. Townsend + +Release Date: January 8, 2009 [eBook #2466] +[Most recently updated: February 20, 2023] + +Language: English + +Produced by: Martin Adamson + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK VIRGIN SOIL *** + + + + +VIRGIN SOIL + +By Ivan S. Turgenev + + +Translated from the Russian by R. S. Townsend + + + + +INTRODUCTION + +Turgenev was the first writer who was able, having both Slavic and +universal imagination enough for it, to interpret modern Russia to +the outer world, and Virgin Soil was the last word of his greater +testament. It was the book in which many English readers were destined +to make his acquaintance about a generation ago, and the effect of it +was, like Swinburne’s Songs Before Sunrise, Mazzini’s Duties of Man, +and other congenial documents, to break up the insular confines in +which they had been reared and to enlarge their new horizon. Afterwards +they went on to read Tolstoi, and Turgenev’s powerful and antipathetic +fellow-novelist, Dostoievsky, and many other Russian writers: but as +he was the greatest artist of them all, his individual revelation of +his country’s predicament did not lose its effect. Writing in prose +he achieved a style of his own which went as near poetry as narrative +prose can do without using the wrong music: while over his realism or +his irony he cast a tinge of that mixed modern and oriental fantasy +which belonged to his temperament. He suffered in youth, and suffered +badly, from the romantic malady of his century, and that other malady +of Russia, both expressed in what M. Haumand terms his “Hamletisme.” +But in Virgin Soil he is easy and almost negligent master of his +instrument, and though he is an exile and at times a sharply embittered +one, he gathers experience round his theme as only the artist can who +has enriched his art by having outlived his youth without forgetting +its pangs, joys, mortifications, and love-songs. + +In Nejdanov it is another picture of that youth which we see—youth +reduced to ineffectiveness by fatalism and by the egoism of the lyric +nature which longs to gain dramatic freedom, but cannot achieve it. +It is one of a series of portraits, wonderfully traced psychological +studies of the Russian dreamers and incompatibles of last mid-century, +of which the most moving figure is the hero of the earlier novel, +Dimitri Rudin. If we cared to follow Turgenev strictly in his growth +and contemporary relations, we ought to begin with his Sportsman’s Note +Book. But so far as his novels go, he is the last writer to be taken +chronologically. He was old enough in youth to understand old age in the +forest, and young enough in age to provide his youth with fresh hues for +another incarnation. Another element of his work which is very finely +revealed and brought to a rare point of characterisation in Virgin Soil, +is the prophetic intention he had of the woman’s part in the new order. +For the real hero of the tale, as Mr. Edward Garnett has pointed out in +an essay on Turgenev, is not Nejdanov and not Solomin; the part is cast +in the woman’s figure of Mariana who broke the silence of “anonymous +Russia.” Ivan Turgenev had the understanding that goes beneath the old +delimitation of the novelist hide-bound by the law—“male and female +created he them.” + +He had the same extreme susceptibility to the moods of nature. He +loved her first for herself, and then with a sense of those inherited +primitive associations with her scenes and hid influences which still +play upon us to-day; and nothing could be surer than the wilder or tamer +glimpses which are seen in this book and in its landscape settings of +the characters. But Russ as he is, he never lets his scenery hide his +people: he only uses it to enhance them. He is too great an artist to +lose a human trait, as we see even in a grotesque vignette like that of +Fomishka and Fimishka, or a chance picture like that of the Irish girl +once seen by Solomin in London. + +Turgenev was born at Orel, son of a cavalry colonel, in 1818. He died +in exile, like his early master in romance Heine—that is in Paris—on +the 4th of September, 1883. But at his own wish his remains were +carried home and buried in the Volkoff Cemetery, St. Petersburg. The +grey crow he had once seen in foreign fields and addressed in a fit of +homesickness— + + “Crow, crow, + You are grizzled, I know, + But from Russia you come; + Ah me, there lies home!” + +called him back to his mother country, whose true son he remained +despite all he suffered at her hands, and all the delicate revenges of +the artistic prodigal that he was tempted to take. + +E. R. + + +The following is the list of Turgenev’s chief works: + +ENGLISH TRANSLATIONS OF WORKS: Russian Life in the interior: or, the +Experiences of a Sportsman, from French version, by J. D. Meiklejohn, +1855; Annals of a Sportsman, from French version, by F. P. Abbott, 1885; +Tales from the Notebook of a Sportsman, from the Russian, by E. Richter, +1895; Fathers and Sons, from the Russian, by E. Schuyler, 1867, 1883; +Smoke: or, Life at Baden, from French version, 1868, by W. F. West, +1872, 1883; Liza: or, a Nest of Nobles, from the Russian, by W. R. S. +Ralston, 1869, 1873, 1884; On the Eve, a tale, from the Russian, by C. +E. Turner, 1871; Dimitri Roudine, from French and German versions, 1873, +1883; Spring Floods, from the Russian, by S. M. Batts, 1874; from the +Russian, by E. Richter, 1895; A Lear of the Steppe, From the French, by +W. H. Browne, 1874; Virgin Soil, from the French, by T. S. Perry, 1877, +1883, by A. W. Dilke, 1878; Poems in Prose, from the Russian, 1883; +Senilia, Poems in Prose, with a Biographical Sketch of the Author, by S. +J. Macmillan, 1890; First Love, and Punin and Baburin from the Russian, +with a Biographical Introduction, by S. Jerrold, 1884; Mumu, and the +Diary of a Superfluous Man, from the Russian, by H. Gersoni, 1884; +Annouchka, a tale, from the French version, by F. P. Abbott, 1884; +from the Russian (with An Unfortunate Woman), by H. Gersoni, 1886; The +Unfortunate One, from the Russian, by A. R. Thompson, 1888 (see above +for Gersoni’s translation); The Watch, from the Russian, by J. E. +Williams, 1893. + +WORKS: Novels, translated by Constance Garnett, 15 vols., 1894-99. +1906. Novels and Stories, translated by Isabel F. Hapgood, with an +Introduction by Henry James, 1903, etc. + +LIFE: See above, Biographical Introductions to Poems in Prose and First +Love; E. M. Arnold, Tourguéneff and his French Circle, translated from +the work of E. Halperine-Kaminsky, 1898; J. A. T. Lloyd, Two Russian +Reformers: Ivan Turgenev, Leo Tolstoy, 1910. + + + + + +VIRGIN SOIL + + + “To turn over virgin soil it is necessary to use a deep plough + going well into the earth, not a surface plough gliding lightly + over the top.”—From a Farmer’s Notebook. + + + + +I + +At one o’clock in the afternoon of a spring day in the year 1868, a +young man of twenty-seven, carelessly and shabbily dressed, was toiling +up the back staircase of a five-storied house on Officers Street in +St. Petersburg. Noisily shuffling his down-trodden goloshes and slowly +swinging his heavy, clumsy figure, the man at last reached the very top +flight and stopped before a half-open door hanging off its hinges. He +did not ring the bell, but gave a loud sigh and walked straight into a +small, dark passage. + +“Is Nejdanov at home?” he called out in a deep, loud voice. + +“No, he’s not. I’m here. Come in,” an equally coarse woman’s voice +responded from the adjoining room. + +“Is that Mashurina?” asked the new-comer. + +“Yes, it is I. Are you Ostrodumov?” + +“Pemien Ostrodumov,” he replied, carefully removing his goloshes, and +hanging his shabby coat on a nail, he went into the room from whence +issued the woman’s voice. + +It was a narrow, untidy room, with dull green coloured walls, badly +lighted by two dusty windows. The furnishings consisted of an iron +bedstead standing in a corner, a table in the middle, several chairs, +and a bookcase piled up with books. At the table sat a woman of about +thirty. She was bareheaded, clad in a black stuff dress, and was smoking +a cigarette. On catching sight of Ostrodumov she extended her broad, red +hand without a word. He shook it, also without saying anything, dropped +into a chair and pulled a half-broken cigar out of a side pocket. +Mashurina gave him a light, and without exchanging a single word, or so +much as looking at one another, they began sending out long, blue puffs +into the stuffy room, already filled with smoke. + +There was something similar about these two smokers, although their +features were not a bit alike. In these two slovenly figures, with their +coarse lips, teeth, and noses (Ostrodumov was even pock-marked), there +was something honest and firm and persevering. + +“Have you seen Nejdanov?” Ostrodumov asked. + +“Yes. He will be back directly. He has gone to the library with some +books.” + +Ostrodumov spat to one side. + +“Why is he always rushing about nowadays? One can never get hold of +him.” + +Mashurina took out another cigarette. + +“He’s bored,” she remarked, lighting it carefully. + +“Bored!” Ostrodumov repeated reproachfully. “What self-indulgence! One +would think we had no work to do. Heaven knows how we shall get through +with it, and he complains of being bored!” + +“Have you heard from Moscow?” Mashurina asked after a pause. + +“Yes. A letter came three days ago.” + +“Have you read it?” + +Ostrodumov nodded his head. + +“Well? What news?” + +“Some of us must go there soon.” + +Mashurina took the cigarette out of her mouth. + +“But why?” she asked. “They say everything is going on well there.” + +“Yes, that is so, but one man has turned out unreliable and must be +got rid of. Besides that, there are other things. They want you to come +too.” + +“Do they say so in the letter?” + +“Yes.” + +Mashurina shook back her heavy hair, which was twisted into a small +plait at the back, and fell over her eyebrows in front. + +“Well,” she remarked; “if the thing is settled, then there is nothing +more to be said.” + +“Of course not. Only one can’t do anything without money, and where are +we to get it from?” + +Mashurina became thoughtful. + +“Nejdanov must get the money,” she said softly, as if to herself. + +“That is precisely what I have come about,” Ostrodumov observed. + +“Have you got the letter?” Mashurina asked suddenly. + +“Yes. Would you like to see it?” + +“I should rather. But never mind, we can read it together presently.” + +“You need not doubt what I say. I am speaking the truth,” Ostrodumov +grumbled. + +“I do not doubt it in the least.” They both ceased speaking and, as +before, clouds of smoke rose silently from their mouths and curled +feebly above their shaggy heads. + +A sound of goloshes was heard from the passage. + +“There he is,” Mashurina whispered. + +The door opened slightly and a head was thrust in, but it was not the +head of Nejdanov. + +It was a round head with rough black hair, a broad wrinkled forehead, +bright brown eyes under thick eyebrows, a snub nose and a humorously-set +mouth. The head looked round, nodded, smiled, showing a set of tiny +white teeth, and came into the room with its feeble body, short arms, +and bandy legs, which were a little lame. As soon as Mashurina and +Ostrodumov caught sight of this head, an expression of contempt mixed +with condescension came over their faces, as if each was thinking +inwardly, “What a nuisance!” but neither moved nor uttered a single +word. The newly arrived guest was not in the least taken aback by this +reception, however; on the contrary it seemed to amuse him. + +“What is the meaning of this?” he asked in a squeaky voice. “A duet? Why +not a trio? And where’s the chief tenor?” + +“Do you mean Nejdanov, Mr. Paklin?” Ostrodumov asked solemnly. + +“Yes, Mr. Ostrodumov.” + +“He will be back directly, Mr. Paklin.” + +“I am glad to hear that, Mr. Ostrodumov.” + +The little cripple turned to Mashurina. She frowned, and continued +leisurely puffing her cigarette. + +“How are you, my dear... my dear... I am so sorry. I always forget your +Christian name and your father’s name.” + +Mashurina shrugged her shoulders. + +“There is no need for you to know it. I think you know my surname. What +more do you want? And why do you always keep on asking how I am? You see +that I am still in the land of the living!” + +“Of course!” Paklin exclaimed, his face twitching nervously. “If you had +been elsewhere, your humble servant would not have had the pleasure of +seeing you here, and of talking to you! My curiosity is due to a bad, +old-fashioned habit. But with regard to your name, it is awkward, +somehow, simply to say Mashurina. I know that even in letters you only +sign yourself Bonaparte! I beg pardon, Mashurina, but in conversation, +however—” + +“And who asks you to talk to me, pray?” + +Paklin gave a nervous, gulpy laugh. + +“Well, never mind, my dear. Give me your hand. Don’t be cross. I know +you mean well, and so do I.... Well?” + +Paklin extended his hand, Mashurina looked at him severely and extended +her own. + +“If you really want to know my name,” she said with the same expression +of severity on her face, “I am called Fiekla.” + +“And I, Pemien,” Ostrodumov added in his bass voice. + +“How very instructive! Then tell me, Oh Fiekla! and you, Oh Pemien! why +you are so unfriendly, so persistently unfriendly to me when I—” + +“Mashurina thinks,” Ostrodumov interrupted him, “and not only Mashurina, +that you are not to be depended upon, because you always laugh at +everything.” + +Paklin turned round on his heels. + +“That is the usual mistake people make about me, my dear Pemien! In the +first place, I am not always laughing, and even if I were, that is no +reason why you should not trust me. In the second, I have been flattered +with your confidence on more than one occasion before now, a convincing +proof of my trustworthiness. I am an honest man, my dear Pemien.” + +Ostrodumov muttered something between his teeth, but Paklin continued +without the slightest trace of a smile on his face. + +“No, I am not always laughing! I am not at all a cheerful person. You +have only to look at me!” + +Ostrodumov looked at him. And really, when Paklin was not laughing, when +he was silent, his face assumed a dejected, almost scared expression; +it became funny and rather sarcastic only when he opened his lips. +Ostrodumov did not say anything, however, and Paklin turned to Mashurina +again. + +“Well? And how are your studies getting on? Have you made any +progress in your truly philanthropical art? Is it very hard to help an +inexperienced citizen on his first appearance in this world?” + +“It is not at all hard if he happens to be no bigger than you are!” + Mashurina retorted with a self-satisfied smile. (She had quite recently +passed her examination as a midwife. Coming from a poor aristocratic +family, she had left her home in the south of Russia about two years +before, and with about twelve shillings in her pocket had arrived in +Moscow, where she had entered a lying-in institution and had worked +very hard to gain the necessary certificate. She was unmarried and +very chaste.) “No wonder!” some sceptics may say (bearing in mind the +description of her personal appearance; but we will permit ourselves to +say that it was wonderful and rare). + +Paklin laughed at her retort. + +“Well done, my dear! I feel quite crushed! But it serves me right for +being such a dwarf! I wonder where our host has got to?” + +Paklin purposely changed the subject of conversation, which was rather a +sore one to him. He could never resign himself to his small stature, nor +indeed to the whole of his unprepossessing figure. He felt it all the +more because he was passionately fond of women and would have given +anything to be attractive to them. The consciousness of his pitiful +appearance was a much sorer point with him than his low origin and +unenviable position in society. His father, a member of the lower middle +class, had, through all sorts of dishonest means, attained the rank of +titular councillor. He had been fairly successful as an intermediary +in legal matters, and managed estates and house property. He had made a +moderate fortune, but had taken to drink towards the end of his life and +had left nothing after his death. + +Young Paklin, he was called Sila—Sila Samsonitch, [Meaning strength, +son of Samson] and always regarded this name as a joke against himself, +was educated in a commercial school, where he had acquired a good +knowledge of German. After a great many difficulties he had entered +an office, where he received a salary of five hundred roubles a year, +out of which he had to keep himself, an invalid aunt, and a humpbacked +sister. At the time of our story Paklin was twenty-eight years old. +He had a great many acquaintances among students and young people, +who liked him for his cynical wit, his harmless, though biting, +self-confident speeches, his one-sided, unpedantic, though genuine, +learning, but occasionally they sat on him severely. Once, on arriving +late at a political meeting, he hastily began excusing himself. “Paklin +was afraid!” some one sang out from a corner of the room, and everyone +laughed. Paklin laughed with them, although it was like a stab in his +heart. “He is right, the blackguard!” he thought to himself. Nejdanov +he had come across in a little Greek restaurant, where he was in the +habit of taking his dinner, and where he sat airing his rather free +and audacious views. He assured everyone that the main cause of his +democratic turn of mind was the bad Greek cooking, which upset his +liver. + +“I wonder where our host has got to?” he repeated. “He has been out of +sorts lately. Heaven forbid that he should be in love!” + +Mashurina scowled. + +“He has gone to the library for books. As for falling in love, he has +neither the time nor the opportunity.” + +“Why not with you?” almost escaped Paklin’s lips. + +“I should like to see him, because I have an important matter to talk +over with him,” he said aloud. + +“What about?” Ostrodumov asked. “Our affairs?” + +“Perhaps yours; that is, our common affairs.” + +Ostrodumov hummed. He did not believe him. “Who knows? He’s such a busy +body,” he thought. + +“There he is at last!” Mashurina exclaimed suddenly, and her small +unattractive eyes, fixed on the door, brightened, as if lit up by an +inner ray, making them soft and warm and tender. + +The door opened, and this time a young man of twenty-three, with a cap +on his head and a bundle of books under his arm, entered the room. It +was Nejdanov himself. + + + + +II + +At the sight of visitors he stopped in the doorway, took them in at a +glance, threw off his cap, dropped the books on to the floor, walked +over to the bed, and sat down on the very edge. An expression of +annoyance and displeasure passed over his pale handsome face, which +seemed even paler than it really was, in contrast to his dark-red, wavy +hair. + +Mashurina turned away and bit her lip; Ostrodumov muttered, “At last!” + +Paklin was the first to approach him. + +“Why, what is the matter, Alexai Dmitritch, Hamlet of Russia? Has +something happened, or are you just simply depressed, without any +particular cause?” + +“Oh, stop! Mephistopheles of Russia!” Nejdanov exclaimed irritably. “I +am not in the mood for fencing with blunt witticisms just now.” + +Paklin laughed. + +“That’s not quite correct. If it is wit, then it can’t be blunt. If +blunt, then it can’t be wit.” + +“All right, all right! We know you are clever!” + +“Your nerves are out of order,” Paklin remarked hesitatingly. “Or has +something really happened?” + +“Oh, nothing in particular, only that it is impossible to show one’s +nose in this hateful town without knocking against some vulgarity, +stupidity, tittle-tattle, or some horrible injustice. One can’t live +here any longer!” + +“Is that why your advertisement in the papers says that you want a place +and have no objection to leaving St. Petersburg?” Ostrodumov asked. + +“Yes. I would go away from here with the greatest of pleasure, if some +fool could be found who would offer me a place!” + +“You should first fulfill your duties here,” Mashurina remarked +significantly, her face still turned away. + +“What duties?” Nejdanov asked, turning towards her. + +Mashurina bit her lip. “Ask Ostrodumov.” + +Nejdanov turned to Ostrodumov. The latter hummed and hawed, as if to +say, “Wait a minute.” + +“But seriously,” Paklin broke in, “have you heard any unpleasant news?” + +Nejdanov bounced up from the bed like an india-rubber ball. “What more +do you want?” he shouted out suddenly, in a ringing voice. “Half of +Russia is dying of hunger! The Moscow News is triumphant! They want +to introduce classicism, the students’ benefit clubs have been closed, +spies everywhere, oppression, lies, betrayals, deceit! And it is not +enough for him! He wants some new unpleasantness! He thinks that I am +joking.... Basanov has been arrested,” he added, lowering his voice. “I +heard it at the library.” + +Mashurina and Ostrodumov lifted their heads simultaneously. + +“My dear Alexai Dmitritch,” Paklin began, “you are upset, and for a very +good reason. But have you forgotten in what times and in what country we +are living? Amongst us a drowning man must himself create the straw to +clutch at. Why be sentimental over it? One must look the devil straight +in the face and not get excited like children—” + +“Oh, don’t, please!” Nejdanov interrupted him desperately, frowning as +if in pain. “We know you are energetic and not afraid of anything—” + +“I—not afraid of anything?” Paklin began. + +“I wonder who could have betrayed Basanov?” Nejdanov continued. “I +simply can’t understand!” + +“A friend no doubt. Friends are great at that. One must look alive! I +once had a friend, who seemed a good fellow; he was always concerned +about me and my reputation. ‘I say, what dreadful stories are being +circulated about you!’ he would greet me one day. ‘They say that you +poisoned your uncle and that on one occasion, when you were introduced +into a certain house, you sat the whole evening with your back to the +hostess and that she was so upset that she cried at the insult! What +awful nonsense! What fools could possibly believe such things!’ Well, +and what do you think? A year after I quarrelled with this same friend, +and in his farewell letter to me he wrote, ‘You who killed your own +uncle! You who were not ashamed to insult an honourable lady by sitting +with your back to her,’ and so on and so on. Here are friends for you!” + +Ostrodumov and Mashurina exchanged glances. + +“Alexai Dmitritch!” Ostrodumov exclaimed in his heavy bass voice; he was +evidently anxious to avoid a useless discussion. “A letter has come from +Moscow, from Vassily Nikolaevitch.” + +Nejdanov trembled slightly and cast down his eyes. + +“What does he say?” he asked at last. + +“He wants us to go there with her.” Ostrodumov indicated to Mashurina +with his eyebrows. + +“Do they want her too?” + +“Yes.” + +“Well, what’s the difficulty?” + +“Why, money, of course.” + +Nejdanov got up from the bed and walked over to the window. + +“How much do you want?” + +“Not less than fifty roubles.” + +Nejdanov was silent. + +“I have no money just now,” he whispered at last, drumming his fingers +on the window pane, “but I could get some. Have you got the letter?” + +“Yes, it... that is... certainly....” + +“Why are you always trying to keep things from me?” Paklin exclaimed. +“Have I not deserved your confidence? Even if I were not fully in +sympathy with what you are undertaking, do you think for a moment that I +am in a position to turn around or gossip?” + +“Without intending to, perhaps,” Ostrodumov remarked. + +“Neither with nor without intention! Miss Mashurina is looking at me +with a smile... but I say—” + +“I am not smiling!” Mashurina burst out. + +“But I say,” Paklin went on, “that you have no tact. You are utterly +incapable of recognising your real friends. If a man can laugh, then you +think that he can’t be serious—” + +“Is it not so?” Mashurina snapped. + +“You are in need of money, for instance,” Paklin continued with new +force, paying no attention to Mashurina; “Nejdanov hasn’t any. I could +get it for you.” + +Nejdanov wheeled round from the window. + +“No, no. It is not necessary. I can get the money. I will draw some of +my allowance in advance. Now I recollect, they owe me something. Let us +look at the letter, Ostrodumov.” + +Ostrodumov remained motionless for a time, then he looked around, stood +up, bent down, turned up one of the legs of his trousers, and carefully +pulled a piece of blue paper out of his high boot, blew at it for some +reason or another, and handed it to Nejdanov. The latter took the piece +of paper, unfolded it, read it carefully, and passed it on to Mashurina. +She stood up, also read it, and handed it back to Nejdanov, although +Paklin had extended his hand for it. Nejdanov shrugged his shoulders and +gave the secret letter to Paklin. The latter scanned the paper in his +turn, pressed his lips together significantly, and laid it solemnly on +the table. Ostrodumov took it, lit a large match, which exhaled a strong +odour of sulphur, lifted the paper high above his head, as if showing it +to all present, set fire to it, and, regardless of his fingers, put +the ashes into the stove. No one moved or pronounced a word during this +proceeding; all had their eyes fixed on the floor. Ostrodumov looked +concentrated and business-like, Nejdanov furious, Paklin intense, and +Mashurina as if she were present at holy mass. + +About two minutes went by in this way, everyone feeling uncomfortable. +Paklin was the first to break the silence. + +“Well?” he began. “Is my sacrifice to be received on the altar of the +fatherland? Am I permitted to bring, if not the whole at any rate, +twenty-five or thirty roubles for the common cause?” + +Nejdanov flared up. He seemed to be boiling over with annoyance, which +was not lessened by the solemn burning of the letter—he was only +waiting for an opportunity to burst out. + +“I tell you that I don’t want it, don’t want, don’t want it! I’ll not +allow it and I’ll not take it! I can get the money. I can get it at +once. I am not in need of anyone’s help!” + +“My dear Alexai,” Paklin remarked, “I see that you are not a democrat in +spite of your being a revolutionist!” + +“Why not say straight out that I’m an aristocrat?” + +“So you are up to a certain point.” + +Nejdanov gave a forced laugh. + +“I see you are hinting at the fact of my being illegitimate. You can +save yourself the trouble, my dear boy. I am not likely to forget it.” + +Paklin threw up his arms in despair. + +“Aliosha! What is the matter with you? How can you twist my words so? I +hardly know you today.” + +Nejdanov shrugged his shoulders. + +“Basanov’s arrest has upset you, but he was so careless—” + +“He did not hide his convictions,” Mashurina put in gloomily. “It is not +for us to sit in judgment upon him!” + +“Quite so; only he might have had a little more consideration for +others, who are likely to be compromised through him now.” + +“What makes you think so?” Ostrodumov bawled out in his turn. “Basanov +has plenty of character, he will not betray anyone. Besides, not every +one can be cautious you know, Mr. Paklin.” + +Paklin was offended and was about to say something when Nejdanov +interrupted him. + +“I vote we leave politics for a time, ladies and gentlemen!” he +exclaimed. + +A silence ensued. + +“I ran across Skoropikin today,” Paklin was the first to begin. “Our +great national critic, aesthetic, and enthusiast! What an insufferable +creature! He is forever boiling and frothing over like a bottle of sour +kvas. A waiter runs with it, his finger stuck in the bottle instead of +a cork, a fat raisin in the neck, and when it has done frothing and +foaming there is nothing left at the bottom but a few drops of some +nasty stuff, which far from quenching any one’s thirst is enough to +make one ill. He’s a most dangerous person for young people to come in +contact with.” + +Paklin’s true and rather apt comparison raised no smile on his +listeners’ faces, only Nejdanov remarked that if young people were +fools enough to interest themselves in aesthetics, they deserved no pity +whatever, even if Skoropikin did lead them astray. + +“Of course,” Paklin exclaimed with some warmth—the less sympathy he met +with, the more heated he became—“I admit that the question is not +a political one, but an important one, nevertheless. According to +Skoropikin, every ancient work of art is valueless because it is old. If +that were true, then art would be reduced to nothing more or less than +mere fashion. A preposterous idea, not worth entertaining. If art has +no firmer foundation than that, if it is not eternal, then it is utterly +useless. Take science, for instance. In mathematics do you look upon +Euler, Laplace, or Gauss as fools? Of course not. You accept their +authority. Then why question the authority of Raphael and Mozart? I must +admit, however, that the laws of art are far more difficult to define +than the laws of nature, but they exist just the same, and he who fails +to see them is blind, whether he shuts his eyes to them purposely or +not.” + +Paklin ceased, but no one uttered a word. They all sat with tightly +closed mouths as if feeling unutterably sorry for him. + +“All the same,” Ostrodumov remarked, “I am not in the least sorry for +the young people who run after Skoropikin.” + +“You are hopeless,” Paklin thought. “I had better be going.” + +He went up to Nejdanov, intending to ask his opinion about smuggling +in the magazine, the “Polar Star”, from abroad (the “Bell” had already +ceased to exist), but the conversation took such a turn that it was +impossible to raise the question. Paklin had already taken up his hat, +when suddenly, without the slightest warning, a wonderfully pleasant, +manly baritone was heard from the passage. The very sound of this voice +suggested something gentle, fresh, and well-bred. + +“Is Mr. Nejdanov at home?” + +They all looked at one another in amazement. + +“Is Mr. Nejdanov at home?” the baritone repeated. + +“Yes, he is,” Nejdanov replied at last. + +The door opened gently and a man of about forty entered the room and +slowly removed his glossy hat from his handsome, closely cropped head. +He was tall and well-made, and dressed in a beautiful cloth coat with +a gorgeous beaver collar, although it was already the end of April. He +impressed Nejdanov and Paklin, and even Mashurina and Ostrodumov, +with his elegant, easy carriage and courteous manner. They all rose +instinctively on his entrance. + + + + +III + +The elegantly dressed man went up to Nejdanov with an amiable smile +and began: “I have already had the pleasure of meeting you and even +speaking to you, Mr. Nejdanov, the day before yesterday, if you +remember, at the theatre.” (The visitor paused, as though waiting for +Nejdanov to make some remark, but the latter merely bowed slightly and +blushed.) “I have come to see you about your advertisement, which I +noticed in the paper. I should like us to have a talk if your visitors +would not mind....” (He bowed to Mashurina, and waved a grey-gloved +hand in the direction of Paklin and Ostrodumov.) + +“Not at all,” Nejdanov replied awkwardly. “Won’t you sit down?” + +The visitor bowed from the waist, drew a chair to himself, but did not +sit down, as every one else was standing. He merely gazed around the +room with his bright though half-closed eyes. + +“Goodbye, Alexai Dmitritch,” Mashurina exclaimed suddenly. “I will come +again presently.” + +“And I too,” Ostrodumov added. + +Mashurina did not take the slightest notice of the visitor as she passed +him, but went straight up to Nejdanov, gave him a hearty shake of the +hand, and left the room without bowing to anyone. Ostrodumov followed +her, making an unnecessary noise with his boots, and snorting out once +or twice contemptuously, “There’s a beaver collar for you!” + +The visitor accompanied them with a polite though slightly inquisitive +look, and then directed his gaze to Paklin, hoping the latter would +follow their example, but Paklin withdrew into a corner and settled +down. A peculiarly suppressed smile played on his lips ever since the +appearance of the stranger. The visitor and Nejdanov also sat down. + +“My name is Sipiagin. You may perhaps have heard of me,” the visitor +began with modest pride. + +We must first relate how Nejdanov had met him at the theatre. + +There had been a performance of Ostrovsky’s play “Never Sit in Another +Man’s Sledge”, on the occasion of the great actor Sadovsky’s coming from +Moscow. Rusakov, one of the characters in the play, was known to be one +of his favourite parts. Just before dinner on that day, Nejdanov went +down to the theatre to book a ticket, but found a large crowd already +waiting there. He walked up to the desk with the intention of getting a +ticket for the pit, when an officer, who happened to be standing behind +him, thrust a three-rouble note over Nejdanov’s head and called out to +the man inside: “He” (meaning Nejdanov) “will probably want change. I +don’t. Give me a ticket for the stalls, please. Make haste, I’m in a +hurry!” + +“Excuse me, sir, I want a ticket for the stalls myself!” Nejdanov +exclaimed, throwing down a three-rouble note, all the ready money +he possessed. He got his ticket, and in the evening appeared in the +aristocratic part of the Alexandrinsky Theatre. + +He was badly dressed, without gloves and in dirty boots. He was +uncomfortable and angry with himself for feeling uncomfortable. A +general with numerous orders glittering on his breast sat on his right, +and on his left this same elegant Sipiagin, whose appearance two days +later at Nejdanov’s so astonished Mashurina and Ostrodumov. The general +stared at Nejdanov every now and again, as though at something indecent, +out of place, and offensive. Sipiagin looked at him sideways, but did +not seem unfriendly. All the people surrounding him were evidently +personages of some importance, and as they all knew one another, they +kept exchanging remarks, exclamations, greetings, occasionally even over +Nejdanov’s head. He sat there motionless and ill at ease in his spacious +armchair, feeling like an outcast. Ostrovsky’s play and Sadovsky’s +acting afforded him but little pleasure, and he felt bitter at heart. +When suddenly, Oh wonder! During one of the intervals, his neighbour +on the left, not the glittering general, but the other with no marks +of distinction on his breast, addressed him politely and kindly, but +somewhat timidly. He asked him what he thought of Ostrovsky’s play, +wanted to know his opinion of it as a representative of the new +generation. Nejdanov, overwhelmed and half frightened, his heart beating +fast, answered at first curtly, in monosyllables, but soon began to be +annoyed with his own excitement. “After all,” he thought, “am I not +a man like everybody else?” And began expressing his opinions quite +freely, without any restraint. He got so carried away by his subject, +and spoke so loudly, that he quite alarmed the order-bedecked general. +Nejdanov was a strong admirer of Ostrovsky, but could not help feeling, +in spite of the author’s great genius, his evident desire to throw a +slur on modern civilisation in the burlesqued character of Veherov, in +“Never Sit in Another Man’s Sledge”. + +His polite neighbour listened to him attentively, evidently interested +in what he said. He spoke to him again in the next interval, not about +the play this time, but about various matters of everyday life, about +science, and even touched upon political questions. He was decidedly +interested in his eloquent young companion. Nejdanov did not feel in +the least constrained as before, but even began to assume airs, as if +saying, “If you really want to know, I can satisfy your curiosity!” The +general’s annoyance grew to indignation and even suspicion. + +After the play Sipiagin took leave of Nejdanov very courteously, but did +not ask his name, neither did he tell him his own. While waiting for his +carriage, he ran against a friend, a certain Prince G., an aide-de-camp. + +“I watched you from my box,” the latter remarked, through a perfumed +moustache. “Do you know whom you were speaking to?” + +“No. Do you? A rather clever chap. Who is he?” + +The prince whispered in his ear in French. “He is my brother... +illegitimate.... His name is Nejdanov. I will tell you all about it +someday. My father did not in the least expect that sort of thing, +that was why he called him Nejdanov. [The unexpected.] But he looked +after him all right. Il lui a fait un sort. We make him an allowance +to live on. He is not stupid. Had quite a good education, thanks to my +father. But he has gone quite off the track—I think he’s a republican. +We refuse to have anything to do with him. Il est impossible. Goodbye, +I see my carriage is waiting.” + +The prince separated. + +The next day Sipiagin noticed Nejdanov’s advertisement in the paper and +went to see him. + +“My name is Sipiagin,” he repeated, as he sat in front of Nejdanov, +surveying him with a dignified air. “I see by your advertisement that +you are looking for a post, and I should like to know if you would be +willing to come to me. I am married and have a boy of eight, a very +intelligent child, I may say. We usually spend the summer and autumn in +the country, in the province of S., about five miles from the town of +that name. I should like you to come to us for the vacation to teach +my boy Russian history and grammar. I think those were the subjects you +mentioned in your advertisement. I think you will get on with us all +right, and I am sure you will like the neighbourhood. We have a large +house and garden, the air is excellent, and there is a river close +by. Well, would you like to come? We shall only have to come to terms, +although I do not think,” he added, with a slight grimace, “that there +will be any difficulty on that point between us.” + +Nejdanov watched Sipiagin all the time he was speaking. He gazed at his +small head, bent a little to one side, his low, narrow, but intelligent +forehead, his fine Roman nose, pleasant eyes, straight lips, out of +which his words flowed graciously; he gazed at his drooping whiskers, +kept in the English fashion, gazed and wondered. “What does it all +mean?” he asked himself. “Why has this man come to seek me out? This +aristocrat and I! What have we in common? What does he see in me?” + +He was so lost in thought that he did not open his lips when Sipiagin, +having finished speaking, evidently awaited an answer. Sipiagin cast a +look into the corner where Paklin sat, also watching him. “Perhaps the +presence of a third person prevents him from saying what he would +like,” flashed across Sipiagin’s mind. He raised his eyebrows, as if in +submission to the strangeness of the surroundings he had come to of his +own accord, and repeated his question a second time. + +Nejdanov started. + +“Of course,” he began hurriedly, “I should like to... with +pleasure... only I must confess... I am rather surprised... having no +recommendations... and the views I expressed at the theatre were more +calculated to prejudice you—” + +“There you are quite mistaken Alexai—Alexai Dmitritch—have I got the +name right?” Sipiagin asked with a smile. “I may venture to say that I +am well known for my liberal and progressive opinions. On the contrary, +what you said the other evening, with the exception perhaps of any +youthful characteristics, which are always rather given to exaggeration, +if you will excuse my saying so, I fully agreed with, and was even +delighted with your enthusiasm.” + +Sipiagin spoke without the slightest hesitation, his words flowing from +him as a stream. + +“My wife shares my way of thinking,” he continued, “her views are, +if anything, more like yours than mine, which is not surprising, +considering that she is younger than I am. When I read your name in the +paper the day after our meeting—and by the way, you announced your name +and address contrary to the usual custom—I was rather struck by the +coincidence, having already heard it at the theatre. It seemed to +me like the finger of fate. Excuse my being so superstitious. As for +recommendations, I do not think they are necessary in this case. I, like +you, am accustomed to trusting my intuition. May I hope that you will +come?” + +“Yes, I will come,” Nejdanov replied, “and will try to be worthy of your +confidence. But there is one thing I should like to mention. I could +undertake to teach your boy, but am not prepared to look after him. I do +not wish to undertake anything that would interfere with my freedom.” + +Sipiagin gave a slight wave of the hand, as if driving away a fly. + +“You may be easy on that point. You are not made that way. I only wanted +a tutor, and I have found one. Well, now, how about terms? Financial +terms, that is. Base metal!” + +Nejdanov did not know what to say. + +“I think,” Sipiagin went on, bending forward and touching Nejdanov with +the tips of his fingers, “that decent people can settle such things in +two words. I will give you a hundred roubles a month and all travelling +expenses. Will you come?” + +Nejdanov blushed. + +“That is more than I wanted to ask... because I—” + +“Well,” Sipiagin interrupted him, “I look upon the matter as settled, +and consider you as a member of our household.” He rose from his +chair, and became quite gay and expansive, as if he had just received a +present. A certain amiable familiarity, verging on the playful, began to +show itself in all his gestures. “We shall set out in a day or two,” he +went on, in an easy tone. “There is nothing I love better than meeting +spring in the country, although I am a busy, prosaic sort of person, +tied to town.... I want you to count your first month as beginning from +today. My wife and boy have already started, and are probably in Moscow +by now. We shall find them in the lap of nature. We will go alone, like +two bachelors, ha, ha!” Sipiagin laughed coquettishly, through his nose. +“And now—” + +He took a black and silver pocketbook out of his overcoat pocket and +pulled out a card. + +“This is my address. Come and see me tomorrow at about twelve o’clock. +We can talk things over further. I should like to tell you a few of my +views on education. We can also decide when to start.” + +Sipiagin took Nejdanov’s hand. “By the way,” he said, lowering his voice +and bending his head a little to one side, “if you are in need of money, +please do not stand on ceremony. I can let you have a month’s pay in +advance.” + +Nejdanov was at a loss to know what to say. He gazed, with the same +puzzled expression, at the kind, bright face, which was so strange yet +so close to him, smiling encouragingly. + +“You are not in need of any?” Sipiagin asked in a whisper. + +“I will tell you tomorrow, if I may,” Nejdanov said at last. + +“Well, goodbye, then. Till tomorrow.” Sipiagin dropped Nejdanov’s hand +and turned to go out. + +“I should like to know,” Nejdanov asked suddenly, “who told you my name? +You said you heard it at the theatre.” + +“Someone who is very well known to you. A relative of yours, I think. +Prince G.” + +“The aide-de-camp?” + +“Yes.” + +Nejdanov flushed even redder than before, but did not say anything. +Sipiagin shook his hand again, without a word this time, then bowing +first to him and then to Paklin, put on his hat at the door, and +went out with a self-satisfied smile on his lips, denoting the deep +impression the visit must have produced upon him. + + + + +IV + +Sipiagin had barely crossed the threshold when Paklin jumped up, and +rushing across to Nejdanov began showering congratulations upon him. + +“What a fine catch!” he exclaimed laughing, scarcely able to stand +still. “Do you know who he is? He’s quite a celebrity, a chamberlain, +one of our pillars of society, a future minister!” + +“I have never heard of him,” Nejdanov remarked dejectedly. + +Paklin threw up his arms in despair. + +“That’s just where we are mistaken, Alexai Dmitritch! We never know +anyone. We want to do things, to turn the whole world upside down, +and are living outside this very world, amidst two or three friends, +jostling each other in our narrow little circle!” + +“Excuse me,” Nejdanov put in. “I don’t think that is quite true. We +certainly do not go amongst the enemy, but are constantly mixing with +our own kind, and with the masses.” + +“Just a minute!” Paklin interrupted, in his turn. “Talking of enemies +reminds me of Goethe’s lines— + + _Wer den Dichter will versteh’n Muss im Dichter’s lande geh’n._ + +and I say— + + _Wer den Feinde will versteh’n Muss im Feinde’s lande geh’n._ + +To turn one’s back on one’s enemies, not to try and understand their +manner of life, is utterly stupid! Yes, utterly stu-pid! If I want to +shoot a wolf in the forest, I must first find out his haunts. You talked +of coming in contact with the people just now. My dear boy! In 1862 the +Poles formed their revolutionary bands in the forest; we are just about +to enter that same forest, I mean the people, where it is no less dark +and dense than in the other.” + +“Then what would you have us do?” + +“The Hindus cast themselves under the wheels of the Juggernaut,” Paklin +continued; “they were mangled to pieces and died in ecstasy. We, also, +have our Juggernaut—it crushes and mangles us, but there is no ecstasy +in it.” + +“Then what would you have us do?” Nejdanov almost screamed at him. +“Would you have us write preachy novels?” + +Paklin folded his arms and put his head on one side. + +“You, at any rate, could write novels. You have a decidedly literary +turn of mind. All right, I won’t say anything about it. I know you don’t +like it being mentioned. I know it is not very exciting to write the +sort of stuff wanted, and in the modern style too. ‘“Oh, I love you,” + she bounded—’” + +“It’s all the same to me,” he replied, scratching himself. + +“That is precisely why I advise you to get to know all sorts and +conditions, beginning from the very highest. We must not be entirely +dependent on people like Ostrodumov! They are very honest, worthy folk, +but so hopelessly stupid! You need only look at our friend. The very +soles of his boots are not like those worn by intelligent people. Why +did he hurry away just now? Only because he did not want to be in the +same room with an aristocrat, to breathe the same air—” + +“Please don’t talk like that about Ostrodumov before me!” Nejdanov burst +out. “He wears thick boots because they are cheaper!” + +“I did not mean it in that sense,” Paklin began. + +“If he did not wish to remain in the same room with an aristocrat,” + Nejdanov continued, raising his voice, “I think it very praiseworthy on +his part, and what is more, he is capable of sacrificing himself, will +face death, if necessary, which is more than you or I will ever do!” + +Paklin made a sad grimace, and pointed to his scraggy, crippled legs. + +“Now do I look like a warrior, my dear Alexai Dmitritch? But enough of +this. I am delighted that you met this Sipiagin, and can even foresee +something useful to our cause as a result of it. You will find yourself +in the highest society, will come in contact with those wonderful +beauties one hears about, women with velvety bodies on steel springs, as +it says in ‘Letters on Spain’. Get to know them, my dear fellow. If you +were at all inclined to be an Epicurean, I should really be afraid to +let you go. But those are not the objects with which you are going, are +they?” + +“I am going away,” Nejdanov said, “to earn my living. And to get away +from you all,” he added to himself. + +“Of course, of course! That is why I advise you to learn. Fugh! What a +smell this gentleman has left behind him!” Paklin sniffed the air. “The +very ambrosia that the governor’s wife longed for in Gogol’s ‘Revisor’!” + +“He discussed me with Prince G.,” Nejdanov remarked dejectedly. “I +suppose he knows my whole history now.” + +“You need not suppose; you may be quite sure of it! But what does it +matter? I wouldn’t mind betting that that was the very reason for his +wanting to engage you. You will be able to hold your own with the best +of them. You are an aristocrat yourself by blood, and consequently +an equal. However, I have stayed too long. I must go back to the +exploiter’s, to my office. Goodbye.” + +Paklin went to the door, but stopped and turned back. + +“I say, Aliosha,” he began in a persuasive tone of voice, “you have only +just refused me, and I know you will not be short of money now; but, all +the same, do allow me to sacrifice just a little for the cause. I can’t +do anything else, so let me help with my pocket! I have put ten roubles +on the table. Will you take them?” + +Nejdanov remained motionless, and did not say anything. “Silence means +consent! Thanks!” Paklin exclaimed gaily and vanished. + +Nejdanov was left alone. He continued gazing out into the narrow, gloomy +court, unpenetrated by the sun even in summer, and he felt sad and +gloomy at heart. + +We already know that Nejdanov’s father was Prince G., a rich +adjutant-general. His mother was the daughter of the general’s +governess, a pretty girl who died on the day of Nejdanov’s birth. He +received his early education in a boarding school kept by a certain +Swiss, a very energetic and severe pedagogue, after which he entered the +university. His great ambition was to study law, but his father, who +had a violent hatred for nihilists, made him go in for history and +philology, or for “aesthetics” as Nejdanov put it with a bitter smile. +His father used to see him about four times a year in all, but was, +nevertheless, interested in his welfare, and when he died, left him a +sum of six thousand roubles “in memory of Nastinka” his mother. Nejdanov +received the interest on this money from his brothers the Princes G., +which they were pleased to call an allowance. + +Paklin had good reason to call him an aristocrat. Everything about him +betokened his origin. His tiny ears, hands, feet, his small but fine +features, delicate skin, wavy hair; his very voice was pleasant, +although it was slightly guttural. He was highly strung, frightfully +conceited, very susceptible, and even capricious. The false position he +had been placed in from childhood had made him sensitive and irritable, +but his natural generosity had kept him from becoming suspicious +and mistrustful. This same false position was the cause of an utter +inconsistency, which permeated his whole being. He was fastidiously +accurate and horribly squeamish, tried to be cynical and coarse in +his speech, but was an idealist by nature. He was passionate and +pure-minded, bold and timid at the same time, and, like a repentant +sinner, ashamed of his sins; he was ashamed alike of his timidity and +his purity, and considered it his duty to scoff at all idealism. He had +an affectionate heart, but held himself aloof from everybody, was easily +exasperated, but never bore ill-will. He was furious with his father +for having made him take up “aesthetics,” openly interested himself in +politics and social questions, professed the most extreme views (which +meant more to him than mere words), but secretly took a delight in art, +poetry, beauty in all its manifestations, and in his inspired moments +wrote verses. It is true that he carefully hid the copy-book in which +they were written, and none of his St. Petersburg friends, with +the exception of Paklin, and he only by his peculiar intuitiveness, +suspected its existence. Nothing hurt or offended Nejdanov more than the +smallest allusion to his poetry, which he regarded as an unpardonable +weakness in himself. His Swiss schoolmaster had taught him a great many +things, and he was not afraid of hard work. He applied himself readily +and zealously, but did not work consecutively. All his friends loved +him. They were attracted by his natural sense of justice, his kindness, +and his pure-mindedness, but Nejdanov was not born under a lucky star, +and did not find life an easy matter. He was fully conscious of this +fact and felt utterly lonely in spite of the untiring devotion of his +friends. + +He stood meditating at the window. Sad, oppressive thoughts rose up in +his mind one after another about the prospective journey, the new and +unexpected change that was coming into his life. He had no regrets at +the thought of leaving St. Petersburg, as he would leave nothing behind +that was especially dear to him, and he knew that he would be back in +the autumn; but he was pervaded by the spirit of indecision, and an +involuntary melancholy came over him. + +“A fine tutor I shall make!” flashed across his mind. “Am I cut out for +a schoolmaster?” He was ready to reproach himself for having undertaken +the duties of a tutor, and would have been unjust in doing so. Nejdanov +was sufficiently cultured, and, in spite of his uncertain temperament, +children grew readily fond of him and he of them. His depression was +due to that feeling which takes possession of one before any change +of place, a feeling experienced by all melancholy, dreaming people and +unknown to those of energetic, sanguine temperaments, who always rejoice +at any break in the humdrum of their daily existence, and welcome a +change of abode with pleasure. Nejdanov was so lost in his meditations +that his thoughts began quite unconsciously to take the form of words. +His wandering sensations began to arrange themselves into measured +cadences. + +“Damn!” he exclaimed aloud. “I’m wandering off into poetry!” He shook +himself and turned away from the window. He caught sight of Paklin’s +ten-rouble note, put it in his pocket, and began pacing up and down the +room. + +“I must get some money in advance,” he thought to himself. “What a good +thing this gentleman suggested it. A hundred roubles... a hundred from +my brothers—their excellencies.... I want fifty to pay my debts, fifty +or seventy for the journey—and the rest Ostrodumov can have. Then there +are Paklin’s ten roubles in addition, and I dare say I can get something +from Merkulov—” + +In the midst of these calculations the rhythmic cadences began to +reassert themselves. He stood still, as if rooted to the spot, with +fixed gaze. After a while his hands involuntarily found their way to the +table drawer, from which he pulled out a much-used copy-book. He dropped +into a chair with the same fixed look, humming softly to himself and +every now and again shaking back his wavy hair, began writing line after +line, sometimes scratching out and rewriting. + +The door leading into the passage opened slightly and Mashurina’s head +appeared. Nejdanov did not notice her and went on writing. Mashurina +stood looking at him intently for some time, shook her head, and drew +it back again. Nejdanov sat up straight, and suddenly catching sight of +her, exclaimed with some annoyance: “Oh, is that you?” and thrust the +copy-book into the drawer again. + +Mashurina came into the room with a firm step. + +“Ostrodumov asked me to come,” she began deliberately. + +“He would like to know when we can have the money. If you could get it +today, we could start this evening.” + +“I can’t get it today,” Nejdanov said with a frown. “Please come +tomorrow.” + +“At what time?” + +“Two o’clock.” + +“Very well.” + +Mashurina was silent for a while and then extended her hand. + +“I am afraid I interrupted you. I am so sorry. But then... I am going +away... who knows if we shall ever meet again.... I wanted to say +goodbye to you.” + +Nejdanov pressed her cold, red fingers. “You know the man who was here +today,” he began. “I have come to terms with him, and am going with him. +His place is down in the province of S., not far from the town itself.” + +A glad smile lit up Mashurina’s face. + +“Near S. did you say? Then we may see each other again perhaps. They +might send us there!” Mashurina sighed. “Oh, Alexai Dmitritch—” + +“What is it?” Nejdanov asked. + +Mashurina looked intense. + +“Oh, nothing. Goodbye. It’s nothing.” She squeezed Nejdanov’s hand a +second time and went out. + +“There is not a soul in St. Petersburg who is so attached to me as +this eccentric person,” he thought. “I wish she had not interrupted me +though. However, I suppose it’s for the best.” + +The next morning Nejdanov called at Sipiagin’s townhouse and was shown +into a magnificent study, furnished in a rather severe style, but +quite in keeping with the dignity of a statesman of liberal views. The +gentleman himself was sitting before an enormous bureau, piled up +with all sorts of useless papers, arrayed in the strictest order, and +numerous ivory paper-knives, which had never been known to cut anything. +During the space of an hour Nejdanov listened to the wise, courteous, +patronising speeches of his host, received a hundred roubles, and ten +days later was leaning back in the plush seat of a reserved first-class +compartment, side by side with this same wise, liberal politician, being +borne along to Moscow on the jolting lines of the Nikolaevsky Railway. + + + + +V + +In the drawing room of a large stone house with a Greek front—built in +the twenties of the present century by Sipiagin’s father, a +well-known landowner, who was distinguished by the free use of his +fists—Sipiagin’s wife, Valentina Mihailovna, a very beautiful woman, +having been informed by telegram of her husband’s arrival, sat expecting +him every moment. The room was decorated in the best modern taste. +Everything in it was charming and inviting, from the walls hung in +variegated cretonne and beautiful curtains, to the various porcelain, +bronze, and crystal knickknacks arranged upon the tables and cabinets; +the whole blending together into a subdued harmony and brightened by +the rays of the May sun, which was streaming in through the wide-open +windows. The still air, laden with the scent of lily-of-the-valley +(large bunches of these beautiful spring flowers were placed about the +room), was stirred from time to time by a slight breeze from without, +blowing gently over the richly grown garden. + +What a charming picture! And the mistress herself, Valentina Mihailovna +Sipiagina, put the finishing touch to it, gave it meaning and life. She +was a tall woman of about thirty, with dark brown hair, a fresh dark +complexion, resembling the Sistine Madonna, with wonderfully deep, +velvety eyes. Her pale lips were somewhat too full, her shoulders +perhaps too square, her hands rather too large, but, for all that, +anyone seeing her as she flitted gracefully about the drawing room, +bending from her slender waist to sniff at the flowers with a smile on +her lips, or arranging some Chinese vase, or quickly readjusting her +glossy hair before the looking-glass, half-closing her wonderful eyes, +anyone would have declared that there could not be a more fascinating +creature. + +A pretty curly-haired boy of about nine burst into the room and stopped +suddenly on catching sight of her. He was dressed in a Highland costume, +his legs bare, and was very much befrizzled and pomaded. + +“What do you want, Kolia?” Valentina Mihailovna asked. Her voice was as +soft and velvety as her eyes. + +“Mamma,” the boy began in confusion, “auntie sent me to get some +lilies-of-the-valley for her room.... She hasn’t got any—” + +Valentina Mihailovna put her hand under her little boy’s chin and raised +his pomaded head. + +“Tell auntie that she can send to the gardener for flowers. These are +mine. I don’t want them to be touched. Tell her that I don’t like to +upset my arrangements. Can you repeat what I said?” + +“Yes, I can,” the boy whispered. + +“Well, repeat it then.” + +“I will say... I will say... that you don’t want.” + +Valentina Mihailovna laughed, and her laugh, too, was soft. + +“I see that one can’t give you messages as yet. But never mind, tell her +anything you like.” + +The boy hastily kissed his mother’s hand, adorned with rings, and rushed +out of the room. + +Valentina Mihailovna looked after him, sighed, walked up to a golden +wire cage, on one side of which a green parrot was carefully holding +on with its beak and claws. She teased it a little with the tip of her +finger, then dropped on to a narrow couch, and picking up a number of +the “Revue des Deux Mondes” from a round carved table, began turning +over its pages. + +A respectful cough made her look round. A handsome servant in livery and +a white cravat was standing by the door. + +“What do you want, Agafon?” she asked in the same soft voice. + +“Simion Petrovitch Kollomietzev is here. Shall I show him in?” + +“Certainly. And tell Mariana Vikentievna to come to the drawing room.” + +Valentina Mihailovna threw the “Revue des Deux Mondes” on the table, +raised her eyes upwards as if thinking—a pose which suited her +extremely. + +From the languid, though free and easy, way in which Simion Petrovitch +Kollomietzev, a young man of thirty-two, entered the room; from the way +in which he brightened suddenly, bowed slightly to one side, and drew +himself up again gracefully; from the manner in which he spoke, not +too harshly, nor too gently; from the respectful way in which he kissed +Valentina Mihailovna’s hand, one could see that the new-comer was not +a mere provincial, an ordinary rich country neighbour, but a St. +Petersburg grandee of the highest society. He was dressed in the latest +English fashion. A corner of the coloured border of his white cambric +pocket handkerchief peeped out of the breast pocket of his tweed coat, +a monocle dangled on a wide black ribbon, the pale tint of his suede +gloves matched his grey checked trousers. He was clean shaven, and his +hair was closely cropped. His features were somewhat effeminate, with +his large eyes, set close together, his small flat nose, full red lips, +betokening the amiable disposition of a well-bred nobleman. He was +effusion itself, but very easily turned spiteful, and even vulgar, when +any one dared to annoy him, or to upset his religious, conservative, +or patriotic principles. Then he became merciless. All his elegance +vanished like smoke, his soft eyes assumed a cruel expression, ugly +words would flow from his beautiful mouth, and he usually got the best +of an argument by appealing to the authorities. + +His family had once been simple gardeners. His great-grandfather +was called Kolomientzov after the place in which he was born; his +grandfather used to sign himself Kolomietzev; his father added another +_l_ and wrote himself Kollomietzev, and finally Simion Petrovitch +considered himself to be an aristocrat of the bluest blood, with +pretensions to having descended from the well-known Barons von +Gallenmeier, one of whom had been a field-marshal in the Thirty Years’ +War. Simion Petrovitch was a chamberlain, and served in the ministerial +court. His patriotism had prevented him from entering the diplomatic +service, for which he was cut out by his personal appearance, +education, knowledge of the world, and his success with women. _Mais +quitter la Russie? Jamais!_ Kollomietzev was rich and had a great many +influential friends. He passed for a promising, reliable young man _un +peu fèodal dans ses opinions_, as Prince B. said of him, and Prince +B. was one of the leading lights in St. Petersburg official circles. +Kollomietzev had come away on a two months’ leave to look after his +estate, that is, to threaten and oppress his peasants a little more. +“You can’t get on without that!” he used to say. + +“I thought that your husband would have been here by now,” he began, +rocking himself from one leg to the other. He suddenly drew himself up +and looked down sideways—a very dignified pose. + +Valentina Mihailovna made a grimace. + +“Would you not have come otherwise?” + +Kollomietzev drew back a pace, horrified at the imputation. + +“Valentina Mihailovna!” he exclaimed. “How can you possibly say such a +thing?” + +“Well, never mind. Sit down. My husband will be here soon. I have sent +the carriage to the station to meet him. If you wait a little, you will +be rewarded by seeing him. What time is it?” + +“Half-past two,” Kollomietzev replied, taking a large gold enamelled +watch out of his waistcoat pocket and showing it to Valentina +Mihailovna. “Have you seen this watch? A present from Michael, the +Servian Prince Obrenovitch. Look, here are his initials. We are great +friends—go out hunting a lot together. Such a splendid fellow, with an +iron hand, just what an administrator ought to be. He will never allow +himself to be made a fool of. Not he! Oh dear no!” + +Kollomietzev dropped into an armchair, crossed his legs, and began +leisurely pulling off his left glove. + +“We are badly in need of such a man as Michael in our province here,” he +remarked. + +“Why? Are you dissatisfied with things here?” + +Kollomietzev made a wry face. + +“It’s this abominable county council! What earthly use is it? Only +weakens the government and sets people thinking the wrong way.” (He +gesticulated with his left hand, freed from the pressure of the glove.) +“And arouses false hopes.” (Kollomietzev blew on his hand.) “I have +already mentioned this in St. Petersburg, _mais bah!_ they won’t listen to +me. Even your husband—but then he is known to be a confirmed liberal!” + +Valentina Mihailovna sat up straight. + +“What do I hear? You opposed to the government, Monsieur Kollomietzev?” + +“I—not in the least! Never! What an idea! _Mais j’ai mon franc parler._ +I occasionally allow myself to criticise, but am always obedient.” + +“And I, on the contrary, never criticise and am never obedient.” + +“_Ah! Mais c’est un mot!_ Do let me repeat it to my friend _Ladislas_. +_Vous savez_, he is writing a society novel, read me some of it. +Charming! _Nous aurons enfin le grand monde russe peint par lui-même.”_ + +“Where is it to be published?” + +“In the ‘Russian Messenger’, of course. It is our ‘Revue des Deux +Mondes’. I see you take it, by the way.” + +“Yes, but I think it rather dull of late.” + +“Perhaps, perhaps it is. ‘The Russian Messenger’, too, has also gone off +a bit,” using a colloquial expression. + +Kollomietzev laughed. It amused him to have said “gone off a bit.” _“Mais +c’est un journal qui se respecte,”_ he continued, “and that is the main +thing. I am sorry to say that I interest myself very little in Russian +literature nowadays. It has grown so horribly vulgar. A cook is now +made the heroine of a novel. A mere cook, _parole d’honneur_! Of course, +I shall read Ladislas’ novel. _Il y aura le petit mot pour rire_, and he +writes with a purpose! He will completely crush the nihilists, and I +quite agree with him. His ideas _sont très correctes_.” + +“That is more than can be said of his past,” Valentina Mihailovna +remarked. + +_“Ah! jeton une voile sur les erreurs de sa jeunesse!”_ Kollomietzev +exclaimed, pulling off his other glove. + +Valentina Mihailovna half-closed her exquisite eyes and looked at him +coquettishly. + +“Simion Petrovitch!” she exclaimed, “why do you use so many French words +when speaking Russian? It seems to me rather old-fashioned, if you will +excuse my saying so.” + +“But, my dear lady, not everyone is such a master of our native tongue +as you are, for instance. I have a very great respect for the +Russian language. There is nothing like it for giving commands or for +governmental purposes. I like to keep it pure and uncorrupted by other +languages and bow before Karamzin; but as for an everyday language, how +can one use Russian? For instance, how would you say, in Russian, _de +tout à l’heure, c’est un mot_? You could not possibly say ‘this is a +word,’ could you?” + +“You might say ‘a happy expression.’” + +Kollomietzev laughed. + +“A happy expression! My dear Valentina Mihailovna. Don’t you feel that +it savours of the schoolroom; that all the salt has gone out of it?” + +“I am afraid you will not convince me. I wonder where Mariana is?” She +rang the bell and a servant entered. + +“I asked to have Mariana Vikentievna sent here. Has she not been told?” + +The servant had scarcely time to reply when a young girl appeared behind +him in the doorway. She had on a loose dark blouse, and her hair was +cut short. It was Mariana Vikentievna Sinitska, Sipiagin’s niece on the +mother’s side. + + + + +VI + +“I am sorry, Valentina Mihailovna,” Mariana said, drawing near to her, +“I was busy and could not get away.” + +She bowed to Kollomietzev and withdrew into a corner, where she sat down +on a little stool near the parrot, who began flapping its wings as soon +as it caught sight of her. + +“Why so far away, Mariana?” Valentina Mihailovna asked, looking after +her. “Do you want to be near your little friend? Just think, Simion +Petrovitch,” she said, turning to Kollomietzev, “our parrot has simply +fallen in love with Mariana!” + +“I don’t wonder at it!” + +“But he simply can’t bear me!” + +“How extraordinary! Perhaps you tease him.” + +“Oh, no, I never tease him. On the contrary, I feed him with sugar. +But he won’t take anything out of my hand. It is a case of sympathy and +antipathy.” + +Mariana looked sternly at Valentina Mihailovna and Valentina Mihailovna +looked at her. These two women did not love one another. + +Compared to her aunt Mariana seemed plain. She had a round face, a large +aquiline nose, big bright grey eyes, fine eyebrows, and thin lips. +Her thick brown hair was cut short; she seemed retiring, but there was +something strong and daring, impetuous and passionate, in the whole of +her personality. She had tiny little hands and feet, and her healthy, +lithesome little figure reminded one of a Florentine statuette of the +sixteenth century. Her movements were free and graceful. + +Mariana’s position in the Sipiagin’s house was a very difficult one. Her +father, a brilliant man of Polish extraction, who had attained the rank +of general, was discovered to have embezzled large state funds. He +was tried and convicted, deprived of his rank, nobility, and exiled +to Siberia. After some time he was pardoned and returned, but was too +utterly crushed to begin life anew, and died in extreme poverty. His +wife, Sipiagin’s sister, did not survive the shock of the disgrace and +her husband’s death, and died soon after. Uncle Sipiagin gave a home to +their only child, Mariana. She loathed her life of dependence and longed +for freedom with all the force of her upright soul. There was a constant +inner battle between her and her aunt. Valentina Mihailovna looked upon +her as a nihilist and freethinker, and Mariana detested her aunt as +an unconscious tyrant. She held aloof from her uncle and, indeed, from +everyone else in the house. She held aloof, but was not afraid of them. +She was not timid by nature. + +“Antipathy is a strange thing,” Kollomietzev repeated. “Everybody knows +that I am a deeply religious man, orthodox in the fullest sense of the +word, but the sight of a priest’s flowing locks drives me nearly mad. It +makes me boil over with rage.” + +“I believe hair in general has an irritating effect upon you, Simion +Petrovitch,” Mariana remarked. “I feel sure you can’t bear to see it cut +short like mine.” + +Valentina Mihailovna lifted her eyebrows slowly, then dropped her head, +as if astonished at the freedom with which modern young girls entered +into conversation. Kollomietzev smiled condescendingly. + +“Of course,” he said, “I can’t help feeling sorry for beautiful curls +such as yours, Mariana Vikentievna, falling under the merciless snip of +a pair of scissors, but it doesn’t arouse antipathy in me. In any case, +your example might even ... even ... convert me!” + +Kollomietzev could not think of a Russian word, and did not like using a +French one, after what his hostess had said. + +“Thank heaven,” Valentina Mihailovna remarked, “Mariana does not wear +glasses and has not yet discarded collars and cuffs; but, unfortunately, +she studies natural history, and is even interested in the woman +question. Isn’t that so, Mariana?” + +This was evidently said to make Mariana feel uncomfortable, but Mariana, +however, did not feel uncomfortable. + +“Yes, auntie,” she replied, “I read everything I can get hold of on the +subject. I am trying to understand the woman question.” + +“There is youth for you!” Valentina Mihailovna exclaimed, turning to +Kollomietzev. “Now you and I are not at all interested in that sort of +thing, are we?” + +Kollomietzev smiled good-naturedly; he could not help entering into the +playful mood of his amiable hostess. + +“Mariana Vikentievna,” he began, “is still full of the ideals.. . the +romanticism of youth ... which ... in time—” + +“Heaven, I was unjust to myself,” Valentina Mihailovna interrupted him; +“I am also interested in these questions. I am not quite an old lady +yet.” + +“Of course. So am I in a way,” Kollomietzev put in hastily. “Only I +would forbid such things being talked about!” + +“Forbid them being talked about?” Mariana asked in astonishment. + +“Yes! I would say to the public, ‘Interest yourselves in these things as +much as you like, but talk about them ... sh.’” He layed his finger +on his lips. + +“I would, at any rate, forbid speaking through _the press_ under any +conditions!” + +Valentina Mihailovna laughed. + +“What? Would you have a commission appointed by the ministers for +settling these questions?” + +“Why not? Don’t you think we could do it better than these ignorant, +hungry loafers who know nothing and imagine themselves to be men of +genius? We could appoint Boris Andraevitch as president.” + +Valentina Mihailovna laughed louder still. + +“You had better take care, Boris Andraevitch is sometimes such a +Jacobin—” + +“Jacko, jacko, jacko,” the parrot screamed. Valentina Mihailovna waved +her handkerchief at him. “Don’t interrupt an intelligent conversation! +Mariana, do teach him manners!” + +Mariana turned to the cage and began stroking the parrot’s neck with her +finger; the parrot stretched towards her. + +“Yes,” Valentina Mihailovna continued, “Boris Andraevitch astonishes me, +too, sometimes. There is a certain strain in him... a certain strain... +of the tribune.” + +_“C’est parce qu’il est orateur!”_ Kollomietzev exclaimed +enthusiastically in French. “Your husband is a marvellous orator and is +accustomed to success ... _ses propres paroles le grisent_ ... and then +his desire for popularity.... By the way, he is rather annoyed just now, +is he not? _Il boude?_ Eh?” + +Valentina Mihailovna looked at Mariana. + +“I haven’t noticed it,” she said after a pause. “Yes,” Kollomietzev +continued pensively, “he was rather overlooked at Easter.” + +Valentina Mihailovna indicated Mariana with her eyes. Kollomietzev +smiled and screwed up his eyes, conveying to her that he understood. +“Mariana Vikentievna,” he exclaimed suddenly, in an unnecessarily loud +tone of voice, “do you intend teaching at the school again this year?” + +Mariana turned round from the cage. + +“Are you interested to know, Simion Petrovitch?” + +“Certainly. I am very much interested.” + +“Would you forbid it?” + +“I would forbid nihilists even so much as to think of schools. I would +put all schools into the hands of the clergy, and with an eye on them I +wouldn’t mind running one myself!” + +“Really! I haven’t the slightest idea what I shall do this year. Last +year things were not at all successful. Besides, how can you get a +school together in the summer?” + +Mariana blushed deeply all the time she was speaking, as if it cost her +some effort. She was still very self-conscious. + +“Are you not sufficiently prepared?” Valentina Mihailovna asked +sarcastically. + +“Perhaps not.” + +“Heavens!” Kollomietzev exclaimed. “What do I hear? Oh ye gods! Is +preparation necessary to teach peasants the alphabet?” + +At this moment Kolia ran into the drawing room shouting “Mamma! mamma! +Papa has come!” And after him, waddling on her stout little legs, +appeared an old grey-haired lady in a cap and yellow shawl, and also +announced that Boris had come. + +This lady was Sipiagin’s aunt, and was called Anna Zaharovna. Everyone +in the drawing room rushed out into the hall, down the stairs, and on +to the steps of the portico. A long avenue of chipped yews ran straight +from these steps to the high road—a carriage and four was already +rolling up the avenue straight towards them. Valentina Mihailovna, +standing in front, waved her pocket handkerchief, Kolia shrieked with +delight, the coachman adroitly pulled up the steaming horses, a footman +came down headlong from the box and almost pulled the carriage door +off its hinges in his effort to open it—and then, with a condescending +smile on his lips, in his eyes, over the whole of his face, Boris +Andraevitch, with one graceful gesture of the shoulders, dropped his +cloak and sprang to the ground. Valentina Mihailovna gracefully threw +her arms round his neck and they kissed three times. Kolia stamped +his little feet and pulled at his father’s coat from behind, but +Boris Andraevitch first kissed Anna Zaharovna, quickly threw off his +uncomfortable, ugly Scotch cap, greeted Mariana and Kollomietzev, who +had also come out (he gave Kollomietzev a hearty shake of the hand in +the English fashion), and then turned to his little son, lifted him +under the arms, and kissed him. + +During this scene Nejdanov half guiltily scrambled out of the carriage +and, without removing his cap, stood quietly near the front wheel, +looking out from under his eyebrows. Valentina Mihailovna, when +embracing her husband, had cast a penetrating look over his shoulder at +this new figure. Sipiagin had informed her that he was bringing a tutor. + +Everyone continued exchanging greetings and shaking hands with the +newly-arrived host as they all moved up the broad stairs, lined on +either side with the principal men and maid servants. They did not come +forward to kiss the master’s hand (an Asiatic custom they had abandoned +long ago), but bowed respectfully. Sipiagin responded to their +salutations with a slight movement of the nose and eyebrows, rather than +an inclination of the head. + +Nejdanov followed the stream up the wide stairs. As soon as they reached +the hall, Sipiagin, who had been searching for Nejdanov with his eyes, +introduced him to his wife, Anna Zaharovna, and Mariana, and said to +Kolia, “This is your tutor. Mind you do as he tells you. Give him your +hand.” Kolia extended his hand timidly, stared at him fixedly, but +finding nothing particularly interesting about his tutor, turned to his +“papa” again. Nejdanov felt uncomfortable, just as he had done at the +theatre. He wore an old shabby coat, and his face and hands were covered +with dust from the journey. Valentina Mihailovna said something kindly +to him, but he did not quite catch what it was and did not reply. +He noticed that she was very bright, and clung to her husband +affectionately. He did not like Kolia’s befrizzled and pomaded head, and +when his eye fell on Kollomietzev, thought, “What a sleek individual.” He +paid no attention to the others. Sipiagin turned his head once or twice +in a dignified manner, as if looking round at his worldly belongings, a +pose that set off to perfection his long drooping whiskers and somewhat +small round neck. Then he shouted to one of the servants in a loud +resonant voice, not at all husky from the journey, “Ivan! Take this +gentleman to the green room and see to his luggage afterwards!” He then +told Nejdanov that he could change and rest awhile, and that dinner +would be served at five o’clock. Nejdanov bowed and followed Ivan to the +“green” room, which was situated on the second floor. + +The whole company went into the drawing room. The host was welcomed all +over again. An old blind nurse appeared and made him a courtesy. Out of +consideration for her years, Sipiagin gave her his hand to kiss. He +then begged Kollomietzev to excuse him, and retired to his own room +accompanied by his wife. + + + + +VII + +The room into which the servant conducted Nejdanov was beautifully neat +and spacious, with wide-open windows looking on to the garden. A gentle +breeze stirred the white curtains, blowing them out high like sails +and letting them fall again. Golden reflections glided lightly over the +ceiling; the whole room was filled with the moist freshness of spring. +Nejdanov dismissed the servant, unpacked his trunk, washed, and changed. +The journey had thoroughly exhausted him. The constant presence of a +stranger during the last two days, the many fruitless discussions, had +completely upset his nerves. A certain bitterness, which was neither +boredom nor anger, accumulated mysteriously in the depths of his being. +He was annoyed with himself for his lack of courage, but his heart +ached. He went up to the window and looked out into the garden. It was +an old-fashioned garden, with rich dark soil, such as one rarely sees +around Moscow, laid out on the slope of a hill into four separate parts. +In front of the house there was a flower garden, with straight gravel +paths, groups of acacias and lilac, and round flower beds. To the left, +past the stable yard, as far down as the barn, there was an orchard, +thickly planted with apples, pears, plums, currants, and raspberries. +Beyond the flower garden, in front of the house, there was a large +square walk, thickly interlaced with lime trees. To the right, the view +was shut out by an avenue of silver poplars; a glimpse of an orangery +could be seen through a group of weeping willows. The whole garden was +clothed in its first green leaves; the loud buzz of summer insects +was not yet heard; the leaves rustled gently, chaffinches twittered +everywhere; two doves sat cooing on a tree; the note of a solitary +cuckoo was heard first in one place, then in another; the friendly +cawing of rooks was carried from the distance beyond the mill pond, +sounding like the creaking of innumerable cart wheels. Light clouds +floated dreamily over this gentle stillness, spreading themselves out +like the breasts of some huge, lazy birds. + +Nejdanov gazed and listened, drinking in the cool air through +half-parted lips. + +His depression left him and a wonderful calmness entered his soul. + +Meanwhile he was being discussed in the bedroom below. Sipiagin was +telling his wife how he had met him, what Prince G. had said of him, and +the gist of their talks on the journey. + +“A clever chap!” he repeated, “and well educated, too. It’s true he’s a +revolutionist, but what does it matter? These people are ambitious, at +any rate. As for Kolia, he is too young to be spoiled by any of this +nonsense.” + +Valentina Mihailovna listened to her husband affectionately; an amused +smile played on her lips, as if he were telling her of some naughty +amusing prank. It was pleasant to her to think that her _seigneur et +maître_, such a respectable man, of important position, could be as +mischievous as a boy of twenty. Standing before the looking-glass in a +snow-white shirt and blue silk braces, Sipiagin was brushing his hair +in the English fashion with two brushes, while Valentina Mihailovna, +her feet tucked under her, was sitting on a narrow Turkish couch, +telling him various news about the house, the paper mill, which, alas, +was not going well, as was to be expected; about the possibilities of +changing the cook, about the church, of which the plaster had come off; +about Mariana, Kollomietzev.... + +Between husband and wife there existed the fullest confidence and good +understanding; they certainly lived in “love and harmony,” as people +used to say in olden days. When Sipiagin, after finishing his toilet, +asked chivalrously for his wife’s hand and she gave him both, and +watched him with an affectionate pride as he kissed them in turn, the +feeling expressed in their faces was good and true, although in her it +shone out of a pair of eyes worthy of Raphael, and in him out of the +ordinary eyes of a mere official. + +On the stroke of five Nejdanov went down to dinner, which was announced +by a Chinese gong, not by a bell. The whole company was already +assembled in the dining room. Sipiagin welcomed him again from behind +his high cravat, and showed him to a place between Anna Zaharovna and +Kolia. Anna Zaharovna was an old maid, a sister of Sipiagin’s father; +she exhaled a smell of camphor, like a garment that had been put away +for a long time, and had a nervous, dejected look. She had acted as +Kolia’s nurse or governess, and her wrinkled face expressed displeasure +when Nejdanov sat down between her and her charge. Kolia looked sideways +at his new neighbour; the intelligent boy soon saw that his tutor was +shy and uncomfortable, that he did not raise his eyes, and scarcely ate +anything. This pleased Kolia, who had been afraid that his tutor would +be cross and severe. Valentina Mihailovna also watched Nejdanov. + +“He looks like a student,” she thought to herself. “He’s not accustomed +to society, but has a very interesting face, and the colour of his hair +is like that of the apostle whose hair the old Italian masters always +painted red—and his hands are clean!” Indeed, everybody at the table +stared at Nejdanov, but they had mercy on him, and left him in peace +for the time being. He was conscious of this, and was pleased and angry +about it at the same time. + +Sipiagin and Kollomietzev carried on the conversation. They talked about +the county council, the governor, the highway tax, the peasants buying +out the land, about mutual Moscow and St. Petersburg acquaintances, +Katkov’s lyceum, which was just coming into fashion, about the +difficulty of getting labour, penalties, and damage caused by cattle, +even of Bismarck, the war of 1866, and Napoleon III., whom Kollomietzev +called a hero. Kollomietzev gave vent to the most retrograde opinions, +going so far as to propose, in jest it is true, a toast given by a +certain friend of his on a names-day banquet, “I drink to the only +principle I acknowledge, the whip and Roedeger!” + +Valentina Mihailovna frowned, and remarked that it was _de très mauvais +goût_. + +Sipiagin, on the contrary, expressed the most liberal views, refuted +Kollomietzev’s arguments politely, though with a certain amount of +disdain, and even chaffed him a little. + +“Your terror of emancipation, my dear Simion Petrovitch,” he said, “puts +me in mind of our much respected friend, Alexai Ivanovitch Tveritinov, +and the petition he sent in, in the year 1860. He insisted on reading +it in every drawing room in St. Petersburg. There was one rather good +sentence in it about our liberated serf, who was to march over the face +of the fatherland bearing a torch in his hand. You should have seen our +dear Alexai Ivanovitch, blowing out his cheeks and blinking his little +eyes, pronounce in his babyish voice, ‘T-torch! t-torch! Will march with +a t-torch!’ Well, the emancipation is now an established fact, but where +is the peasant with the torch?” + +“Tveritinov was only slightly wrong,” Kollomietzev said solemnly. “Not +the peasants will march with the torch, but others.” + +At the words, Nejdanov, who until then had scarcely noticed Mariana, +who sat a little to one side, exchanged glances with her, and instantly +felt that this solemn girl and he were of the same convictions, of the +same stamp. She had made no impression on him whatever when Sipiagin +had introduced them; then why did he exchange glances with her in +particular? He wondered if it was not disgraceful to sit and listen +to such views without protesting and by reason of his silence letting +others think that he shared them. Nejdanov looked at Mariana a second +time, and her eyes seemed to say, “Wait a while... the time is not +ripe.... It isn’t worth it... later on... there is plenty of time in +store.” + +He was happy to think that she understood him, and began following the +conversation again. Valentina Mihailovna supported her husband, and was, +if anything, even more radical in her expressions than he. She could not +understand, “simply could not un-der-stand, how an educated young man +could hold such antiquated views.” + +“However,” she added, “I am convinced that you only say these things for +the sake of argument. And you, Alexai Dmitritch,” she added to Nejdanov, +with a smile (he wondered how she had learned his Christian name and +his father’s name), “I know, do not share Simion Petrovitch’s fears; my +husband told me about your talks on the journey.” + +Nejdanov blushed, bent over his plate, and mumbled something; he did not +feel shy, but was simply unaccustomed to conversing with such brilliant +personages. Madame Sipiagin continued smiling to him; her husband nodded +his head patronisingly. Kollomietzev stuck his monocle between his +eyebrow and nose and stared at the student who dared not to share his +“fears.” But it was difficult to embarrass Nejdanov in this way; on the +contrary, he instantly sat up straight, and in his turn fixed his +gaze on the fashionable official. Just as instinctively as he had +felt Mariana to be a comrade, so he felt Kollomietzev to be an enemy! +Kollomietzev felt it too; he removed his monocle, turned away, and +tried to laugh carelessly—but it did not come off somehow. Only Anna +Zaharovna, who secretly worshipped him, was on his side, and became even +angrier than before with the unwelcome neighbour separating her from +Kolia. + +Soon after this dinner came to an end. The company went out on the +terrace to drink coffee. Sipiagin and Kollomietzev lit up cigars. +Sipiagin offered Nejdanov a regalia, but the latter refused. + +“Why, of course!” Sipiagin exclaimed; “I’ve forgotten that you only +smoke your own particular cigarettes!” + +“A curious taste!” Kollomietzev muttered between his teeth. + +Nejdanov very nearly burst out, “I know the difference between a regalia +and a cigarette quite well, but I don’t want to be under an obligation +to anyone!” but he contained himself and held his peace. He put down +this second piece of insolence to his enemy’s account. + +“Mariana!” Madame Sipiagin suddenly called, “don’t be on ceremony with +our new friend... smoke your cigarette if you like. All the more so, +as I hear,” she added, turning to Nejdanov, “that among you all young +ladies smoke.” + +“Yes,” Nejdanov remarked dryly. This was the first remark he had made to +Madame Sipiagina. + +“I don’t smoke,” she continued, screwing up her velvety eyes +caressingly. “I suppose I am behind the times.” + +Mariana slowly and carefully took out a cigarette, a box of matches, +and began to smoke, as if on purpose to spite her aunt. Nejdanov took a +light from Mariana and also began smoking. + +It was a beautiful evening. Kolia and Anna Zaharovna went into the +garden; the others remained for some time longer on the terrace enjoying +the fresh air. The conversation was very lively. Kollomietzev condemned +modern literature, and on this subject, too, Sipiagin showed himself +a liberal. He insisted on the utter freedom and independence of +literature, pointed out its uses, instanced Chateaubriand, whom the +Emperor Alexander Pavlitch had invested with the order of St. Andrew! +Nejdanov did not take part in the discussion; Madame Sipiagina watched +him with an expression of approval and surprise at his modesty. + +They all went in to drink tea in the drawing room. + +“Alexai Dmitritch,” Sipiagin said to Nejdanov, “we are addicted to the +bad habit of playing cards in the evening, and even play a forbidden +game, stukushka.... I won’t ask you to join us, but perhaps Mariana will +be good enough to play you something on the piano. You like music, I +hope.” And without waiting for an answer Sipiagin took up a pack of +cards. Mariana sat down at the piano and played, rather indifferently, +several of Mendelssohn’s “Songs Without Words”. _Charmant! Charmant! quel +touché!_ Kollomietzev called out from the other end of the room, but +the exclamation was only due to politeness, and Nejdanov, in spite of +Sipiagin’s remark, showed no passion for music. + +Meanwhile Sipiagin, his wife, Kollomietzev, and Anna Zaharovna sat +down to cards. Kolia came to say goodnight, and, receiving his parents’ +blessing and a large glass of milk instead of tea, went off to bed. His +father called after him to inform him that tomorrow he was to begin his +lessons with Alexai Dmitritch. A little later, seeing Nejdanov wandering +aimlessly about the room and turning over the photographic albums, +apparently without any interest, Sipiagin begged him not to be on +ceremony and retire if he wished, as he was probably tired after the +journey, and to remember that the ruling principle of their house was +liberty. + +Nejdanov took advantage of this and bowing to all present went out. In +the doorway he knocked against Mariana, and, looking into her eyes, was +convinced a second time that they would be comrades, although she +showed no sign of pleasure at seeing him, but, on the contrary, frowned +heavily. + +When he went in, his room was filled with a sweet freshness; the windows +had stood wide open all day. In the garden, opposite his window, a +nightingale was trilling out its sweet song; the evening sky became +covered with the warm glow of the rising moon behind the rounded tops of +the lime trees. Nejdanov lit a candle; a grey moth fluttered in from the +dark garden straight to the flame; she circled round it, whilst a gentle +breeze from without blew on them both, disturbing the yellow-bluish +flame of the candle. + +“How strange!” Nejdanov thought, lying in bed; “they seem good, +liberal-minded people, even humane... but I feel so troubled in my +heart. This chamberlain... Kollomietzev.... However, morning is wiser +than evening.... It’s no good being sentimental.” + +At this moment the watchman knocked loudly with his stick and called +out, “I say there—” + +“Take care,” answered another doleful voice. “Fugh! Heavens! It’s like +being in prison!” Nejdanov exclaimed. + + + + +VIII + +Nejdanov awoke early and, without waiting for a servant, dressed and +went out into the garden. It was very large and beautiful this garden, +and well kept. Hired labourers were scraping the paths with their +spades, through the bright green shrubs a glimpse of kerchiefs could +be seen on the heads of the peasant girls armed with rakes. Nejdanov +wandered down to the pond; the early morning mist had already lifted, +only a few curves in its banks still remained in obscurity. The sun, not +yet far above the horizon, threw a rosy light over the steely silkiness +of its broad surface. Five carpenters were busy about the raft, a +newly-painted boat was lightly rocking from side to side, creating a +gentle ripple over the water. The men rarely spoke, and then in somewhat +preoccupied tones. Everything was submerged in the morning stillness, +and everyone was occupied with the morning work; the whole gave one a +feeling of order and regularity of everyday life. Suddenly, at the other +end of the avenue, Nejdanov got a vision of the very incarnation of +order and regularity—Sipiagin himself. + +He wore a brown coat, something like a dressing gown, and a checkered +cap; he was leaning on an English bamboo cane, and his newly-shaven face +shone with satisfaction; he was on the round of inspecting his estate. +Sipiagin greeted Nejdanov kindly. + +“Ah!” he exclaimed, “I see you are one of the early birds!” (He +evidently wanted to express his approval by this old saying, which was +a little out of place, of the fact that Nejdanov, like himself, did not +like lying in bed long.) “At eight o’clock we all take tea in the dining +room, and we usually breakfast at twelve. I should like you to give +Kolia his first lesson in Russian grammar at ten o’clock, and a lesson +in history at two. I don’t want him to have any lessons tomorrow, as it +will be his name-day, but I would like you to begin today.” + +Nejdanov bowed his head, and Sipiagin took leave of him in the French +fashion, quickly lifting his hand several times to his lips and nose, +and walked away, whistling and waving his cane energetically, not at all +like an important official and state dignitary, but like a jolly Russian +country gentleman. + +Until eight o’clock Nejdanov stayed in the garden, enjoying the shadows +cast by the old trees, the fresh air, the singing of the birds, until +the sound of a gong called him to the house. On his entrance he found +the whole company already assembled in the dining room. Valentina +Mihailovna greeted him in a friendly manner; she seemed to him +marvellously beautiful in her morning gown. Mariana looked stern and +serious as usual. + +Exactly at ten o’clock Nejdanov gave Kolia his first lesson before +Valentina Mihailovna, who had asked him if she might be present, and sat +very quietly the whole time. Kolia proved an intelligent boy; after the +inevitable moments of incertitude and discomfort, the lesson went +off very well, and Valentina Mihailovna was evidently satisfied with +Nejdanov, and spoke to him several times kindly. He tried to hold aloof +a little—but not too much so. Valentina Mihailovna was also present at +the second lesson, this time on Russian history. She announced, with +a smile, that in this subject she needed instruction almost as much +as Kolia. She conducted herself just as quietly as she had done at the +first lesson. + +Between two and five o’clock Nejdanov stayed in his own room writing +letters to his St. Petersburg friends. He was neither bored nor in +despair; his overstrained nerves had calmed down somewhat. However, they +were set on edge again at dinner, although Kollomietzev was not present, +and the kind attention of host and hostess remained unchanged; but it +was this very attention that made Nejdanov angry. To make matters worse, +the old maiden lady, Anna Zaharovna, was obviously antagonistic, Mariana +continued serious, and Kolia rather unceremoniously kicked him under the +table. Sipiagin also seemed out of sorts. He was extremely dissatisfied +with the manager of his paper mill, a German, to whom he paid a large +salary. Sipiagin began by abusing Germans in general, then announced +that he was somewhat of a Slavophil, though not a fanatic, and mentioned +a certain young Russian, by the name of Solomin, who, it was said, +had successfully established another mill belonging to a neighbouring +merchant; he was very anxious to meet this Solomin. + +Kollomietzev came in the evening; his own estate was only about ten +miles away from “Arjanov,” the name of Sipiagin’s village. There also +came a certain justice of the peace, a squire, of the kind so admirably +described in the two famous lines of Lermontov— + + Behind a cravat, frock coat to the heels... + Moustache, squeaky voice—and heavy glance. + +Another guest arrived, with a dejected look, without a tooth in his +head, but very accurately dressed. After him came the local doctor, a +very bad doctor, who was fond of coming out with learned expressions. +He assured everyone, for instance, that he liked Kukolnik better than +Pushkin because there was a great deal of “protoplasm” about him. They +all sat down to play cards. Nejdanov retired to his own room, and read +and wrote until midnight. + +The following day, the 9th of May, was Kolia’s patron-saint’s day. + +Although the church was not a quarter of a mile off, the whole household +drove to mass in three open carriages with footmen at the back. +Everything was very festive and gorgeous. Sipiagin decorated himself +with his order, Valentina Mihailovna was dressed in a beautiful pale +lavender-coloured Parisian gown, and during the service read her prayers +out of a tiny little prayer hook bound in red velvet. This little book +was a matter of great concern among several old peasants, one of whom, +unable to contain himself any longer, asked of his neighbour: “What is +she doing? Lord have mercy on us! Is she casting a spell?” The sweet +scent of the flowers, which filled the whole church, mingled with the +smell of the peasant’s coats, tarred boots and shoes, the whole being +drowned by the delicious, overpowering scent of incense. + +In the choir the clerks and sacristans tried their very hardest to sing +well, and with the help of the men from the factory attempted something +like a concert! There was a moment when an almost painful sensation came +over the congregation. The tenor’s voice (it belonged to one of the men +from the factory, who was in the last stages of consumption) rose high +above the rest, and without the slightest restraint trilled out long +chromatic flat minor notes; they were terrible these notes! but to stop +them would have meant the whole concert going to pieces. ... However, +the thing went off without any mishap. Father Kiprian, a priest of +the most patriarchal appearance, dressed in the full vestments of the +church, delivered his sermon out of a copy-book. Unfortunately, the +conscientious father had considered it necessary to introduce the names +of several very wise Assyrian kings, which caused him some trouble in +pronunciation. He succeeded in showing a certain amount of learning, but +perspired very much in the effort! + +Nejdanov, who for a long time had not been inside a church, stood in a +corner amidst the peasant women, who kept casting sidelong glances at +him in between crossing themselves, bowing piously to the ground, and +wiping their babies’ noses. But the peasant girls in their new coats +and beaded head-dresses, and the boys in their embroidered shirts, +with girdles round their waists, stared intently at the new worshipper, +turning their faces straight towards him.... Nejdanov, too, looked at +them, and many things rose up in his mind. + +After mass, which lasted a very long time—the service of St. Nikolai +the Miraculous is well known to be one of the longest in the Orthodox +Church—all the clergy, at Sipiagin’s invitation, returned to his +house, and, after going through several additional ceremonies, such as +sprinkling the room with holy water, they all sat down to an abundant +breakfast, interspersed with the usual congratulations and rather +wearisome talk. The host and hostess, who never took breakfast at such +an early hour, broke the rule on this occasion. Sipiagin even went so +far as to relate an anecdote, quite proper, of course, but nevertheless +amusing, in spite of his dignity and red ribbon, and caused Father +Kiprian to be filled with gratitude and amazement. To show that he, too, +could tell something worth hearing on occasion, the good father related +a conversation he had had with the bishop, when the latter, on a tour +round his diocese, had invited all the clergy of the district to come +and see him at the monastery in the town. “He is very severe with us,” + Father Kiprian assured everyone. “First he questioned us about our +parish, about our arrangements, and then he began to examine us.... +He turned to me also: ‘What is your church’s dedication day?’ ‘The +Transfiguration of our Lord,’ I replied. ‘Do you know the hymn for that +day?’ ‘I think so.’ ‘Sing it.’ ‘Thou wert transfigured on the mountain, +Christ our Lord,’ I began. ‘Stop! Do you know the meaning of the +Transfiguration?’ ‘To be quite brief,’ I replied, ‘our Lord wished to +show himself to His disciples in all His glory.’ ‘Very well,’ he said, +‘here is a little image in memory of me.’ I fell at his feet. ‘I thank +you, your Holiness....’ I did not go away from him empty-handed.” + +“I have the honour of knowing his Holiness personally,” Sipiagin said +solemnly. “A most worthy pastor!” + +“Most worthy!” Father Kiprian agreed; “only he puts too much faith in +the ecclesiastical superintendents!” + +Valentina Mihailovna referred to the peasant school, and spoke of +Mariana as the future schoolmistress; the deacon (who had been appointed +supervisor of the school), a man of strong athletic build, with long +waving hair, bearing a faint resemblance to the well-groomed tail of an +Orlov race courser, quite forgetting his vocal powers, gave forth such a +volume of sound as to confuse himself and frighten everybody else. Soon +after this the clergy took their leave. + +Kolia, in his new coat decorated with golden buttons, was the hero of +the day. He was given presents, he was congratulated, his hands were +kissed at the front door and at the back door by servants, workmen from +the factory, old women and young girls and peasants; the latter, in +memory of the days of serfdom, hung around the tables in front of the +house, spread out with pies and small bottles of vodka. The happy boy +was shy and pleased and proud, all at the same time; he caressed his +parents and ran out of the room. At dinner Sipiagin ordered champagne, +and before drinking his son’s health made a speech. He spoke of the +significance of “serving the land,” and indicated the road he wished his +Nikolai to follow (he did not use the diminutive of the boy’s name), +of the duty he owed, first to his family; secondly to his class, to +society; thirdly to the people—“Yes, my dear ladies and gentlemen, to +the people; and fourthly, to the government!” By degrees Sipiagin became +quite eloquent, with his hand under the tail of his coat in imitation of +Robert Peel. He pronounced the word “science” with emotion, and finished +his speech by the Latin exclamation, _laboremus!_ which he instantly +translated into Russian. Kolia, with a glass in his hand, went over to +thank his father and to be kissed by the others. + +Nejdanov exchanged glances with Mariana again.... + +They no doubt felt the same, but they did not speak to each other. + +However, Nejdanov was more amused than annoyed with the whole +proceeding, and the amiable hostess, Valentina Mihailovna, seemed to him +to be an intelligent woman, who was aware that she was playing a part, +but pleased to think that there was someone else intelligent enough +to understand her. Nejdanov probably had no suspicion of the degree in +which he was flattered by her attitude towards him. + +On the following day lessons were renewed, and life fell back in its +ordinary rut. + +A week flew by in this way. Nejdanov’s thoughts and experiences during +that time may be best gathered from an extract of a letter he wrote to +a certain Silin, an old school chum and his best friend. Silin did not +live in St. Petersburg, but in a distant provincial town, with an old +relative on whom he was entirely dependent. His position was such that +he could hardly dream of ever getting away from there. He was a man of +very poor health, timid, of limited capacity, but of an extraordinarily +pure nature. He did not interest himself in politics, but read anything +that came in his way, played on the flute as a resource against +boredom, and was afraid of young ladies. Silin was passionately fond +of Nejdanov—he had an affectionate heart in general. Nejdanov did not +express himself to anyone as freely as he did to Vladimir Silin; when +writing to him he felt as if he were communicating to some dear and +intimate soul, dwelling in another world, or to his own conscience. +Nejdanov could not for a moment conceive of the idea of living together +again with Silin, as comrades in the same town. He would probably have +lost interest in him, as there was little in common between them, but he +wrote him long letters gladly with the fullest confidence. With others, +on paper at any rate, he was not himself, but this never happened when +writing to Silin. The latter was not a master in the art of writing, and +responded only in short clumsy sentences, but Nejdanov had no need of +lengthy replies; he knew quite well that his friend swallowed every +word of his, as the dust in the road swallows each drop of rain, that +he would keep his secrets sacredly, and that in his hopeless solitude he +had no other interests but his, Nejdanov’s, interests. He had never told +anyone of his relation with Silin, a relation that was very dear to him. + +“Well, my dear friend, my pure-hearted Vladimir!” Thus he wrote to +him; he always called him pure-hearted, and not without good cause. +“Congratulate me; I have fallen upon green pasture, and can rest awhile +and gather strength. I am living in the house of a rich statesman, +Sipiagin, as tutor to his little son; I eat well (have never eaten +so well in my life!), sleep well, and wander about the beautiful +country—but, above all, I have for a time crept out from under the wing +of my St. Petersburg friends. At first it was horribly boring, but I +feel a bit better now. I shall soon have to go into harness again, that +is, put up with the consequences of what I have undertaken (the reason +I was allowed to come here). For a time, at any rate, I can enjoy the +delights of a purely animal existence, expand in the waist, and write +verses if the mood seizes me. I will give you my observations another +time. The estate seems to me well managed on the whole, with the +exception, perhaps, of the factory, which is not quite right; some of +the peasants are unapproachable, and the hired servants have servile +faces—but we can talk about these things later on. My host and +hostess are courteous, liberal-minded people; the master is for +ever condescending, and bursts out from time to time in torrents of +eloquence, a most highly cultured person! His lady, a picturesque +beauty, who has all her wits about her, keeps such a close watch on +one, and is so soft! I should think she has not a bone in her body! I am +rather afraid of her, you know what sort of a ladies’ man I make! There +are neighbours—but uninteresting ones; then there is an old lady in the +house who makes me feel uncomfortable.... Above all, I am interested +in a certain young lady, but whether she is a relative or simply a +companion here the Lord only knows! I have scarcely exchanged a couple +of words with her, but I feel that we are birds of a feather....” + +Here followed a description of Mariana’s personal appearance and of all +her habits; then he continued: + +“That she is unhappy, proud, ambitious, reserved, but above all +unhappy, I have not the smallest doubt. But why she is unhappy, I have +as yet failed to discover. That she has an upright nature is quite +evident, but whether she is good-natured or not remains to be seen. Are +there really any good-natured women other than stupid ones? Is goodness +essential? However, I know little about women. The lady of the house +does not like her, and I believe it is mutual on either side.... But +which of them is in the right is difficult to say. I think that the +mistress is probably in the wrong ... because she is so awfully polite +to her; the _other’s_ brows twitch nervously when she is speaking to +her patroness. She is a most highly-strong individual, like myself, and +is just as easily _upset_ as I am, although perhaps not in the same way. + +“When all this can be disentangled, I will write to you again. + +“She hardly ever speaks to me, as I have already told you, but in the +few words she has addressed to me (always rather sudden and unexpected) +there was a ring of rough sincerity which I liked. By the way, how long +is that relative of yours going to bore you to death? When is he going +to die? + +“Have you read the article in the ‘European Messenger’ about the latest +impostors in the province of Orenburg? It happened in 1834, my dear! I +don’t like the journal, and the writer of the article is a conservative, +but the thing is interesting and calculated to give one ideas....” + + + + +IX + +May had reached its second half; the first hot summer days had already +set in. + +After his history lesson one day, Nejdanov wandered out into the garden, +and from thence into a birch wood adjoining it on one side. Certain +parts of this wood had been cleared by merchants about fifteen years +ago, but these clearings were already densely overgrown by young +birches, whose soft silver trunks encircled by grey rings rose as +straight as pillars, and whose bright green leaves sparkled as if they +had just been washed and polished. The grass shot up in sharp tongues +through the even layers of last year’s fallen leaves. Little narrow +paths ran here and there, from which yellow-beaked blackbirds rose with +startled cries, flying close to the earth into the wood as hard as they +could go. + +After wandering about for half an hour, Nejdanov sat down on the stump +of a tree, surrounded by old greyish splinters, lying in heaps, exactly +as they had fallen when cut down by the axe. Many a time had these +splinters been covered by the winter’s snow and been thawed by the +spring sun, but nobody had touched them. + +Nejdanov leaned against a solid wall of young birches casting a heavy +though mild shade. He was not thinking of anything in particular, but +gave himself up to those peculiar sensations of spring which in the +heart of young and old alike are always mixed with a certain degree of +sadness—the keen sadness of awaiting in the young and of settled regret +in the old. + +Nejdanov was suddenly awakened by approaching footsteps. + +It did not sound like the footsteps of one person, nor like a peasant in +heavy boots, or a barefooted peasant woman; it seemed as if two people +were advancing at a slow, measured pace. The slight rustling of a +woman’s dress was heard. + +Suddenly a deep man’s voice was heard to say: + +“Is this your last word? Never?” + +“Never!” a familiar woman’s voice repeated, and a moment later from a +bend in the path, hidden from view by a young tree, Mariana appeared, +accompanied by a swarthy man with black eyes, an individual whom +Nejdanov had never seen before. + +They both stood still as if rooted to the spot on catching sight of him, +and he was so taken aback that he did not rise from the stump he was +sitting on. Mariana blushed to the roots of her hair, but instantly +gave a contemptuous smile. It was difficult to say whether the smile was +meant for herself, for having blushed, or for Nejdanov. Her companion +scowled—a sinister gleam was seen in the yellowish whites of his +troubled eyes. He exchanged glances with Mariana, and without saying a +word they turned their backs on Nejdanov and walked away as slowly as +they had come, while Nejdanov followed them with a look of amazement. + +Half an hour later he returned home to his room, and when, at the sound +of the gong, he appeared in the drawing room, the dark-eyed stranger +whom he had seen in the wood was already there. Sipiagin introduced +Nejdanov to him as his _beaufrère’a_, Valentina Mihailovna’s +brother—Sergai Mihailovitch Markelov. + +“I hope you will get to know each other and be friends, gentlemen,” + Sipiagin exclaimed with the amiable, stately, though absent-minded smile +characteristic of him. + +Markelov bowed silently; Nejdanov responded in a similar way, and +Sipiagin, throwing back his head slightly and shrugging his shoulders, +walked away, as much as to say, “I’ve brought you together, but whether +you become friends or not is a matter of equal indifference to me!” + +Valentina Mihailovna came up to the silent pair, standing motionless, +and introduced them to each other over again; she then turned to her +brother with that peculiarly bright, caressing expression which she +seemed able to summon at will into her wonderful eyes. + +“Why, my dear _Serge_, you’ve quite forgotten us! You did not even come +on Kolia’s nameday. Are you so very busy? My brother is making some +sort of new arrangement with his peasants,” she remarked, turning to +Nejdanov. “So very original—three parts of everything for them and one +for himself; even then he thinks that he gets more than his share.” + +“My sister is fond of joking,” Markelov said to Nejdanov in his turn, +“but I am prepared to agree with her; for _one_ man to take a quarter +of what belongs to a _hundred_, is certainly too much.” + +“Do you think that I am fond of joking, Alexai Dmitritch?” Madame +Sipiagina asked with that same caressing softness in her voice and in +her eyes. + +Nejdanov was at a loss for a reply, but just then Kollomietzev was +announced. The hostess went to meet him, and a few moments later a +servant appeared and announced in a sing-song voice that dinner was +ready. + +At dinner Nejdanov could not keep his eyes off Mariana and Markelov. +They sat side by side, both with downcast eyes, compressed lips, and an +expression of gloomy severity on their angry faces. Nejdanov wondered +how Markelov could possibly be Madame Sipiagina’s brother; they were so +little like each other. There was only one point of resemblance +between them, their dark complexions; but the even colour of Valentina +Mihailovna’s face, arms, and shoulders constituted one of her charms, +while in her brother it reached to that shade of swarthiness which +polite people call “bronze,” but which to the Russian eye suggests a +brown leather boot-leg. + +Markelov had curly hair, a somewhat hooked nose, thick lips, sunken +cheeks, a narrow chest, and sinewy hands. He was dry and sinewy all +over, and spoke in a curt, harsh, metallic voice. The sleepy look +in his eyes, the gloomy expression, denoted a bilious temperament! +He ate very little, amused himself by making bread pills, and every +now and again would fix his eyes on Kollomietzev. The latter had +just returned from town, where he had been to see the governor upon +a rather unpleasant matter for himself, upon which he kept a tacit +silence, but was very voluble about everything else. Sipiagin sat on +him somewhat when he went a little too far, but laughed a good deal at +his anecdotes and _bon mots_, although he thought _qu’il est un affreux +réactionnaire_. Kollomietzev declared, among other things, how he went +into raptures at what the peasants, _oui, oui! les simples mougiks!_ +call lawyers. “Liars! Liars!” he shouted with delight. _“Ce peuple +russe est délicieux!”_ He then went on to say how once, when going +through a village school, he asked one of the children what a babugnia +was, and nobody could tell him, not even the teacher himself. He then +asked what a pithecus was, and no one knew even that, although he had +quoted the poet Himnitz, ‘The weakwitted pithecus that mocks the other +beasts.’ Such is the deplorable condition of our peasant schools! + +“But,” Valentina Mihailovna remarked, “I don’t know myself what are +these animals!” + +“Madame!” Kollomietzev exclaimed, “there is no necessity for you to +know!” + +“Then why should the peasants know?” + +“Because it is better for them to know about these animals than about +Proudhon or Adam Smith!” + +Here Sipiagin again intervened, saying that Adam Smith was one of the +leading lights in human thought, and that it would be well to imbibe his +principles (he poured himself out a glass of wine) with the (he lifted +the glass to his nose and sniffed at it) mother’s milk! He swallowed the +wine. Kollomietzev also drank a glass and praised it highly. + +Markelov payed no special attention to Kollomietzev’s talk, but glanced +interrogatively at Nejdanov once or twice; he flicked one of his little +bread pills, which just missed the nose of the eloquent guest. + +Sipiagin left his brother-in-law in peace; neither did Valentina +Mihailovna speak to him; it was evident that both husband and wife +considered Markelov an eccentric sort of person whom it was better not +to provoke. + +After dinner Markelov went into the billiard room to smoke a pipe, and +Nejdanov withdrew into his own room. + +In the corridor he ran against Mariana. He wanted to slip past her, when +she stopped him with a quick movement of the hand. + +“Mr. Nejdanov,” she said in a somewhat unsteady tone of voice, “it ought +to be all the same to me what you think of me, but still I find it... I +find it...” (she could not think of a fitting word) “I find it necessary +to tell you that when you met me in the wood today with Mr. Markelov... +you must no doubt have thought, when you saw us both confused, that we +had come there by appointment.” + +“It did seem a little strange to me—” Nejdanov began. “Mr. Markelov,” + Mariana interrupted him, “proposed to me... and I refused him. That is +all I wanted to say to you. Goodnight. Think what you like of me.” + +She turned away and walked quickly down the corridor. + +Nejdanov entered his own room and sat down by the window musing. “What +a strange girl—why this wild issue, this uninvited explanation? Is it a +desire to be original, or simply affectation—or pride? Pride, no doubt. +She can’t endure the idea... the faintest suspicion, that anyone should +have a wrong opinion of her. What a strange girl!” + +Thus Nejdanov pondered, while he was being discussed on the terrace +below; every word could be heard distinctly. + +“I have a feeling,” Kollomietzev declared, “a feeling, that he’s +a revolutionist. When I served on a special commission at the +governor-general’s of Moscow _avec Ladislas_, I learned to scent these +gentlemen as well as nonconformists. I believe in instinct above +everything.” Here Kollomietzev related how he had once caught an old +sectarian by the heel somewhere near Moscow, on whom he had looked in, +accompanied by the police, and who nearly jumped out of his cottage +window. “He was sitting quite quietly on his bench until that moment, +the blackguard!” + +Kollomietzev forgot to add that this old man, when put into prison, +refused to take any food and starved himself to death. + +“And your new tutor,” Kollomietzev went on zealously, “is a +revolutionist, without a shadow of a doubt! Have you noticed that he is +never the first to bow to anyone?” + +“Why should he?” Madame Sipiagina asked; “on the contrary, that is what +I like about him.” + +“I am a guest in the house in which he serves,” Kollomietzev exclaimed, +“yes, serves for money, _comme un salarié_.... Consequently I am his +superior.... He _ought_ to bow to me first.” + +“My dear Kollomietzev, you are very particular,” Sipiagin put in, +laying special stress on the word _dear_. “I thought, if you’ll forgive +my saying so, that we had outgrown all that. I pay for his services, +his work, but he remains a free man.” + +“He does not feel the bridle, _le frein!_ All these revolutionists are +like that. I tell you I can smell them from afar! Only _Ladislas_ can +compare with me in this respect. If this tutor were to fall into my +hands wouldn’t I give it to him! I would make him sing a very different +tune! How he would begin touching his cap to me—it would be a pleasure +to see him!” + +“Rubbish, you swaggering little braggart!” Nejdanov almost shouted +from above, but at this moment the door opened and, to his great +astonishment, Markelov entered the room. + + + + +X + +Nejdanov rose to meet him, and Markelov, coming straight up to him, +without any form of greeting, asked him if he was Alexai Dmitritch, a +student of the St. Petersburg University. + +“Yes,” Nejdanov replied. + +Markelov took an unsealed letter out of a side pocket. + +“In that case, please read this. It is from Vassily Nikolaevitch,” he +added, lowering his voice significantly. + +Nejdanov unfolded and read the letter. It was a semi-official circular +in which Sergai Markelov was introduced as one of “us,” and absolutely +trustworthy; then followed some advice about the urgent necessity of +united action in the propaganda of their well-known principles. +The circular was addressed to Nejdanov, as being a person worthy of +confidence. + +Nejdanov extended his hand to Markelov, offered him a chair, and sat +down himself. + +Markelov, without saying a word, began lighting a cigarette; Nejdanov +followed his example. + +“Have you managed to come in contact with the peasants here?” Markelov +asked at last. + +“No, I haven’t had time as yet.” + +“How long have you been here?” + +“About a fortnight.” + +“Have you much to do?” + +“Not very much.” + +Markelov gave a severe cough. + +“H’m! The people here are stupid enough. A most ignorant lot. They +must be enlightened. They’re wretchedly poor, but one can’t make them +understand the cause of their poverty.” + +“Your brother-in-law’s old serfs, as far as one can judge, do not seem +to be poor,” Nejdanov remarked. + +“My brother-in-law knows what he is about; he is a perfect master at +humbugging people. His peasants are certainly not so badly off; but he +has a factory; that is where we must turn our attention. The slightest +dig there will make the ants move. Have you any books with you?” + +“Yes, a few.” + +“I will get you some more. How is it you have so few?” + +Nejdanov made no reply. Markelov also ceased, and began sending out +puffs of smoke through his nostrils. + +“What a pig this Kollomietzev is!” he exclaimed suddenly. “At dinner I +could scarcely keep from rushing at him and smashing his impudent face +as a warning to others. But no, there are more important things to be +done just now. There is no time to waste getting angry with fools for +saying stupid things. The time has now come to prevent them _doing_ +stupid things.” + +Nejdanov nodded his head and Markelov went on smoking. “Among the +servants here there is only one who is any good,” he began again. “Not +your man, Ivan, he has no more sense than a fish, but another one, +Kirill, the butler.” (Kirill was known to be a confirmed drunkard.) +“He is a drunken debauchee, but we can’t be too particular. What do you +think of my sister?” he asked, suddenly fixing his yellowish eyes on +Nejdanov. “She is even more artful than my brother-in-law. What do you +think of her?” + +“I think that she is a very kind and pleasant lady...besides, she is +very beautiful.” + +“H’m! With what subtlety you St. Petersburg gentlemen express +yourselves! I can only marvel at it. Well, and what about—” he began, +but his face darkened suddenly, and he did not finish the sentence. “I +see that we must have a good talk,” he went on. “It is quite impossible +here. Who knows! They may be listening at the door. I have a suggestion. +Today is Saturday; you won’t be giving lessons to my nephew tomorrow, +will you?” + +“I have a rehearsal with him at three o’clock.” + +“A rehearsal! It sounds like the stage. My sister, no doubt, invented +the word. Well, no matter. Would you like to come home with me now? My +village is about ten miles off. I have some excellent horses who will +get us there in a twinkling. You could stay the night and the morning, +and I could bring you back by three o’clock tomorrow. Will you come?” + +“With pleasure,” Nejdanov replied. Ever since Markelov’s appearance he +had been in a state of great excitement and embarrassment. This sudden +intimacy made him feel ill at ease, but he was nevertheless drawn to +him. He felt certain that the man before him was of a sufficiently blunt +nature, but for all that honest and full of strength. Moreover, the +strange meeting in the wood, Mariana’s unexpected explanation.... + +“Very well!” Markelov exclaimed. “You can get ready while I order the +carriage to be brought out. By the way, I hope you won’t have to ask +permission of our host and hostess.” + +“I must tell them. I don’t think it would be wise to go away without +doing so.” + +“I’ll tell them,” Markelov said. “They are engrossed in their cards just +now and will not notice your absence. My brother-in-law aims only at +governmental folk, and the only thing he can do well is to play at +cards. However, it is said that many succeed in getting what they +want through such means. You’ll get ready, won’t you? I’ll make all +arrangements immediately.” + +Markelov withdrew, and an hour later Nejdanov sat by his side on the +broad leather-cushioned seat of his comfortable old carriage. The little +coachman on the box kept on whistling in wonderfully pleasant bird-like +notes; three piebald horses, with plaited manes and tails, flew like +the wind over the smooth even road; and already enveloped in the first +shadows of the night (it was exactly ten o’clock when they started), +trees, bushes, fields, meadows, and ditches, some in the foreground, +others in the background, sailed swiftly towards them. + +Markelov’s tiny little village, Borsionkov, consisting of about two +hundred acres in all, and bringing him in an income of seven hundred +roubles a year, was situated about three miles away from the provincial +town, seven miles off from Sipiagin’s village. To get to Borsionkov from +Sipiagin’s, one had to go through the town. Our new friends had scarcely +time to exchange a hundred words when glimpses of the mean little +dwellings of shopkeepers on the outskirts of the town flashed past them, +little dwellings with shabby wooden roofs, from which faint patches +of light could be seen through crooked little windows; the wheels soon +rattled over the town bridge, paved with cobble stones; the carriage +gave a jerk, rocked from side to side, and swaying with every jolt, +rolled past the stupid two-storied stone houses, with imposing frontals, +inhabited by merchants, past the church, ornamented with pillars, +past the shops.... It was Saturday night and the streets were already +deserted—only the taverns were still filled with people. Hoarse drunken +voices issued from them, singing, accompanied by the hideous sounds of +a concertina. Every now and again a door opened suddenly, letting forth +the red reflection of a rush-light and a filthy, overpowering smell of +alcohol. Almost before every tavern door stood little peasant carts, +harnessed with shaggy, big-bellied, miserable-looking hacks, whose heads +were bowed submissively as if asleep; a tattered, unbelted peasant in a +big winter cap, hanging like a sack at the back of his head, came out +of a tavern door, and leaning his breast against the shafts, stood there +helplessly fumbling at something with his hands; or a meagre-looking +factory worker, his cap awry, his shirt unfastened, barefooted, his +boots having been left inside, would take a few uncertain steps, stop +still, scratch his back, groan suddenly, and turn in again.... + +“Drink will be the ruin of the Russian!” Markelov remarked gloomily. + +“It’s from grief, Sergai Mihailovitch,” the coachman said without +turning round. He ceased whistling on passing each tavern and seemed to +sink into his own thoughts. + +“Go on! Go on!” Markelov shouted angrily, vigorously tugging at his own +coat collar. They drove through the wide market square reeking with the +smell of rush mats and cabbages, past the governor’s house with coloured +sentry boxes standing at the gate, past a private house with turrets, +past the boulevard newly planted with trees that were already dying, +past the hotel court-yard, filled with the barking of dogs and the +clanging of chains, and so on through the town gates, where they +overtook a long, long line of waggons, whose drivers had taken advantage +of the evening coolness, then out into the open country, where they +rolled along more swiftly and evenly over the broad road, planted on +either side with willows. + +We must now say a few words about Markelov. He was six years older than +his sister, Madame Sipiagina, and had been educated at an artillery +school, which he left as an ensign, but sent in his resignation when he +had reached the rank of lieutenant, owing to a certain unpleasantness +that passed between him and his commanding officer, a German. Ever +since then he always detested Germans, especially Russian Germans. He +quarrelled with his father on account of his resignation, and never +saw him again until just before his death, after which he inherited the +little property and settled on it. In St. Petersburg he often came in +contact with various brilliant people of advanced views, whom he simply +worshipped, and who finally brought him around to their way of thinking. +Markelov had read little, mostly books relating to the thing that +chiefly interested him, and was especially attached to Herzen. He +retained his military habits, and lived like a Spartan and a monk. A few +years ago he fell passionately in love with a girl who threw him over in +a most unceremonious manner and married an adjutant, also a German. He +consequently hated adjutants too. He tried to write a series of special +articles on the shortcomings of our artillery, but had not the remotest +idea of exposition and never finished a single article; he continued, +however, covering large sheets of grey paper with his large, awkward, +childish handwriting. Markelov was a man obstinate and fearless to +desperation, never forgiving or forgetting, with a constant sense +of injury done to himself and to all the oppressed, and prepared for +anything. His limited mind was for ever knocking against one point; what +was beyond his comprehension did not exist, but he loathed and +despised all deceit and falsehood. With the upper classes, with the +“reactionaries” as he called them, he was severe and even rude, but +with the people he was simple, and treated a peasant like a brother. +He managed his property fairly well, his head was full of all sorts +of socialist schemes, which he could no more put into practice than he +could finish his articles on the shortcomings of the artillery. He never +succeeded in anything, and was known in his regiment as “the failure.” + Of a sincere, passionate, and morbid nature, he could at a given moment +appear merciless, blood-thirsty, deserving to be called a brute; at +another, he would be ready to sacrifice himself without a moment’s +hesitation and without any idea of reward. + +At about two miles away from the town the carriage plunged suddenly into +the soft darkness of an aspen wood, amidst the rustling of invisible +leaves, the fresh moist odour of the forest, with faint patches of light +from above and a mass of tangled shadows below. The moon had already +risen above the horizon, broad and red like a copper shield. Emerging +from the trees, the carriage came upon a small low farm house. Three +illuminated windows stood out sharply on the front of the house, which +shut out the moon’s disc; the wide, open gate looked as if it was never +shut. Two white stage-horses, attached to the back of a high trap, were +standing in the courtyard, half in obscurity; two puppies, also white, +rushed out from somewhere and gave forth piercing, though harmless, +barks. People were seen moving in the house—the carriage rolled up to +the doorstep, and Markelov, climbing out and feeling with difficulty for +the iron carriage step, put on, as is usually the case, by the domestic +blacksmith in the most inconvenient possible place, said to Nejdanov: +“Here we are at home. You will find guests here whom you know very well, +but little expect to meet. Come in, please.” + + + + +XI + +The guests turned out to be no other than our old friends Mashurina and +Ostrodumov. They were both sitting in the poorly-furnished drawing +room of Markelov’s house, smoking and drinking beer by the light of +a kerosene lamp. Neither of them showed the least astonishment when +Nejdanov came in, knowing beforehand that Markelov had intended bringing +him back, but Nejdanov was very much surprised on seeing them. On his +entrance Ostrodumov merely muttered “Good evening,” whilst Mashurina +turned scarlet and extended her hand. Markelov began to explain that +they had come from St. Petersburg about a week ago, Ostrodumov to remain +in the province for some time for propaganda purposes, while Mashurina +was to go on to K. to meet someone, also in connection with the cause. +He then went on to say that the time had now come for them to do +something practical, and became suddenly heated, although no one had +contradicted him. He bit his lips, and in a hoarse, excited tone of +voice began condemning the horrors that were taking place, saying that +everything was now in readiness for them to start, that none but cowards +could hold back, that a certain amount of violence was just as necessary +as the prick of the lancet to the abscess, however ripe it might be! The +lancet simile was not original, but one that he had heard somewhere. He +seemed to like it, and made use of it on every possible occasion. + +Losing all hope of Mariana’s love, it seemed that he no longer cared +for anything, and was only eager to get to work, to enter the field of +action as soon as possible. He spoke harshly, angrily, but straight to +the point like the blow of an axe, his words falling from his pale lips +monotonously, ponderously, like the savage bark of a grim old watch dog. +He said that he was well acquainted with both the peasants and factory +men of the neighbourhood, and that there were possible people among +them. Instanced a certain Eremy, who, he declared, was prepared to go +anywhere at a moment’s notice. This man, Eremy, who belonged to the +village Goloplok, was constantly on his lips. At nearly every tenth word +he thumped his right hand on the table and waved the left in the air, +the forefinger standing away from the others. This sinewy, hairy +hand, the finger, hoarse voice, flashing eyes, all produced a strong +impression on his hearers. + +Markelov had scarcely spoken to Nejdanov on the journey, and all his +accumulated wrath burst forth now. Ostrodumov and Mashurina expressed +their approval every now and again by a look, a smile, a short +exclamation, but a strange feeling came over Nejdanov. He tried to make +some sort of objection at first, pointing out the danger of hasty action +and mentioned certain former premature attempts. He marvelled at the +way in which everything was settled beyond a shadow of a doubt, without +taking into consideration the special circumstances, or even trying to +find out what the masses really wanted. At last his nerves became so +highly strung that they trembled like the strings of an instrument, and +with a sort of despair, almost with tears in his eyes, he began speaking +at the top of his voice, in the same strain as Markelov, going even +farther than he had done. What inspired him would be difficult to say; +was it remorse for having been inactive of late, annoyance with himself +and with others, a desire to drown the gnawings of an inner pain, or +merely to show off before his comrades, whom he had not seen for some +time, or had Markelov’s words really had some effect upon him, fired his +blood? They talked until daybreak; Ostrodumov and Mashurina did not once +rise from their seats, while Markelov and Nejdanov remained on their +feet all the time. Markelov stood on the same spot for all the world +like a sentinel, and Nejdanov walked up and down the room with nervous +strides, now slowly, now hurriedly. They spoke of the necessary means +and measures to be employed, of the part each must take upon himself, +selected and tied up various bundles of pamphlets and leaflets, +mentioned a certain merchant, Golushkin, a nonconformist, as a very +possible man, although uneducated, then a young propagandist, +Kisliakov, who was very clever, but had an exaggerated idea of his own +capabilities, and also spoke of Solomin.... + +“Is that the man who manages a cotton factory?” Nejdanov asked, +recalling what Sipiagin had said of him at table. + +“Yes, that is the man,” Markelov replied. “You should get to know him. +We have not sounded him as yet, but I believe he is an extremely capable +man.” + +Eremy of Goloplok was mentioned again, together with Sipiagin’s servant, +Kirill, and a certain Mendely, known under the name of “Sulks.” The +latter it seemed was not to be relied upon. He was very bold when sober, +but a coward when drunk, and was nearly always drunk. + +“And what about your own people?” Nejdanov asked of Markelov. “Are there +any reliable men among them?” + +Markelov thought there were, but did not mention anyone by name, +however. He went on to talk of the town tradespeople, of the +public-school boys, who they thought might come in useful if matters +were to come to fisticuffs. Nejdanov also inquired about the gentry of +the neighbourhood, and learned from Markelov that there were five or six +possible young men—among them, but, unfortunately, the most radical of +them was a German, “and you can’t trust a German, you know, he is sure +to deceive you sooner or later!” They must wait and see what information +Kisliakov would gather. Nejdanov also asked about the military, but +Markelov hesitated, tugged at his long whiskers, and announced at +last that with regard to them nothing certain was known as yet, unless +Kisliakov had made any discoveries. + +“Who is this Kisliakov?” Nejdanov asked impatiently. + +Markelov smiled significantly. + +“He’s a wonderful person,” he declared. “I know very little of him, +have only met him twice, but you should see what letters he writes! +Marvellous letters! I will show them to you and you can judge for +yourself. He is full of enthusiasm. And what activity the man is capable +of! He has rushed over the length and breadth of Russia five or six +times, and written a twelve-page letter from every place!” + +Nejdanov looked questioningly at Ostrodumov, but the latter was sitting +like a statue, not an eyebrow twitching. Mashurina was also motionless, +a bitter smile playing on her lips. + +Nejdanov went on to ask Markelov if he had made any socialist +experiments on his own estate, but here Ostrodumov interrupted him. + +“What is the good of all that?” he asked. “All the same, it will have to +be altered afterwards.” + +The conversation turned to political channels again. The mysterious +inner pain again began gnawing at Nejdanov’s heart, but the keener the +pain, the more positively and loudly he spoke. He had drunk only +one glass of beer, but it seemed to him at times that he was quite +intoxicated. His head swam around and his heart beat feverishly. + +When the discussion came to an end at last at about four o’clock in the +morning, and they all passed by the servant asleep in the anteroom on +their way to their own rooms, Nejdanov, before retiring to bed, stood +for a long time motionless, gazing straight before him. He was filled +with wonder at the proud, heart-rending note in all that Markelov had +said. The man’s vanity must have been hurt, he must have suffered, but +how nobly he forgot his own personal sorrows for that which he held to +be the truth. “He is a limited soul,” Nejdanov thought, “but is it not a +thousand times better to be like that than such... such as I feel myself +to be?” + +He immediately became indignant at his own self-depreciation. + +“What made me think that? Am I not also capable of self-sacrifice? Just +wait, gentlemen, and you too, Paklin. I will show you all that although +I am aesthetic and write verses—” + +He pushed back his hair with an angry gesture, ground his teeth, +undressed hurriedly, and jumped into the cold, damp bed. + +“Goodnight, I am your neighbour,” Mashurina’s voice was heard from the +other side of the door. + +“Goodnight,” Nejdanov responded, and remembered suddenly that during the +whole evening she had not taken her eyes off him. + +“What does she want?” he muttered to himself, and instantly felt +ashamed. “If only I could get to sleep!” + +But it was difficult for him to calm his overwrought nerves, and the sun +was already high when at last he fell into a heavy, troubled sleep. + +In the morning he got up late with a bad headache. He dressed, went up +to the window of his attic, and looked out upon Markelov’s farm. It +was practically a mere nothing; the tiny little house was situated in a +hollow by the side of a wood. A small barn, the stables, cellar, and +a little hut with a half-bare thatched roof, stood on one side; on the +other a small pond, a strip of kitchen garden, a hemp field, another hut +with a roof like the first one; in the distance yet another barn, a tiny +shed, and an empty threshing floor—this was all the “wealth” that met +the eye. It all seemed poor and decaying, not exactly as if it had been +allowed to run wild, but as though it had never flourished, like a young +tree that had not taken root well. + +When Nejdanov went downstairs, Mashurina was sitting in the dining room +at the samovar, evidently waiting for him. She told him that Ostrodumov +had gone away on business, in connection with the cause, and would not +be back for about a fortnight, and that their host had gone to look +after his peasants. As it was already at the end of May, and there was +no urgent work to be done, Markelov had thought of felling a small birch +wood, with such means as he had at his command, and had gone down there +to see after it. + +Nejdanov felt a strange weariness at heart. So much had been said the +night before about the impossibility of holding back any longer, about +the necessity of making a beginning. “But how could one begin, now, at +once?” he asked himself. It was useless talking it over with Mashurina, +there was no hesitation for her. She knew that she had to go to K., and +beyond that she did not look ahead. Nejdanov was at a loss to know what +to say to her, and as soon as he finished his tea took his hat and went +out in the direction of the birch wood. On the way he fell in with some +peasants carting manure, a few of Markelov’s former serfs. He entered +into conversation with them, but was very little the wiser for it. They, +too, seemed weary, but with a normal physical weariness, quite unlike +the sensation experienced by him. They spoke of their master as a +kind-hearted gentleman, but rather odd, and predicted his ruin, because +he would go his own way, instead of doing as his forefathers had done +before him. “And he’s so clever, you know, you can’t understand what he +says, however hard you may try. But he’s a good sort.” A little farther +on Nejdanov came across Markelov himself. + +He was surrounded by a whole crowd of labourers, and one could see from +the distance that he was trying to explain something to them as hard as +he could, but suddenly threw up his arms in despair, as if it were of +no use. His bailiff, a small, short-sighted young man without a trace of +authority or firmness in his bearing, was walking beside him, and merely +kept on repeating, “Just so, sir,” to Markelov’s great disgust, who had +expected more independence from him. Nejdanov went up to Markelov, and +on looking into his face was struck by the same expression of spiritual +weariness he was himself suffering from. Soon after greeting one +another, Markelov began talking again of last night’s “problems” (more +briefly this time), about the impending revolution, the weary expression +never once leaving his face. He was smothered in perspiration and dust, +his voice was hoarse, and his clothes were covered all over with bits of +wood shavings and pieces of green moss. The labourers stood by +silently, half afraid and half amused. Nejdanov glanced at Markelov, and +Ostrodumov’s remark, “What is the good of it all? All the same, it will +have to be altered afterwards,” flashed across his mind. One of the men, +who had been fined for some offence, began begging Markelov to let him +off. The latter got angry, shouted furiously, but forgave him in the +end. “All the same, it will have to be altered afterwards.” + +Nejdanov asked him for horses and a conveyance to take him home. +Markelov seemed surprised at the request, but promised to have +everything ready in good time. They turned back to the house together, +Markelov staggering as he walked. + +“What is the matter with you?” Nejdanov asked. + +“I am simply worn out!” Markelov began furiously. “No matter what you +do, you simply can’t make these people understand anything! They are +utterly incapable of carrying out an order, and do not even understand +plain Russian. If you talk of ‘part’, they know what that means +well enough, but the word ‘participation’ is utterly beyond their +comprehension, just as if it did not belong to the Russian language. +They’ve taken it into their heads that I want to give them a part of the +land!” + +Markelov had tried to explain to the peasants the principles of +cooperation with a view to introducing it on his estate, but they were +completely opposed to it. “The pit was deep enough before, but now +there’s no seeing the bottom of it,” one of them remarked, and all the +others gave forth a sympathetic sigh, quite crushing poor Markelov. He +dismissed the men and went into the house to see about a conveyance and +lunch. + +The whole of Markelov’s household consisted of a man servant, a cook, +a coachman, and a very old man with hairy ears, in a long-skirted linen +coat, who had once been his grandfather’s valet. This old man was for +ever gazing at Markelov with a most woe-begone expression on his face. +He was too old to do anything, but was always present, huddled together +by the door. + +After a lunch of hard-boiled eggs, anchovies, and cold hash (the +man handing them pepper in an old pomade pot and vinegar in an old +eau-de-cologne bottle), Nejdanov took his seat in the same carriage in +which he had come the night before. This time it was harnessed to two +horses, not three, as the third had been newly shod, and was a little +lame. + +Markelov had spoken very little during the meal, had eaten nothing +whatever, and breathed with difficulty. He let fall a few bitter remarks +about his farm and threw up his arms in despair. “All the same, it will +have to be altered afterwards!” + +Mashurina asked Nejdanov if she might come with him as far as the town, +where she had a little shopping to do. “I can walk back afterwards or, +if need be, ask the first peasant I meet for a lift in his cart.” + +Markelov accompanied them to the door, saying that he would soon send +for Nejdanov again, and then ... then (he trembled suddenly, but pulled +himself together) they would have to settle things definitely. Solomin +must also come. He (Markelov) was only waiting to hear from Vassily +Nikolaevitch, and that as soon as he heard from him there would be +nothing to hinder them from making a “beginning,” as the masses (the +same masses who failed to understand the word “participation”) refused +to wait any longer! + +“Oh, by the way, what about those letters you wanted to show me? What is +the fellow’s name... Kisliakov?” Nejdanov asked. + +“Later on... I will show them to you later on. We can do it all at the +same time.” + +The carriage moved. + +“Hold yourself in readiness!” Markelov’s voice was heard again, as he +stood on the doorstep. And by his side, with the same hopeless dejection +in his face, straightening his bent back, his hands clasped behind him, +diffusing an odour of rye bread and mustiness, not hearing a single +word that was being said around him, stood the model servant, his +grandfather’s decrepit old valet. + +Mashurina sat smoking silently all the way, but when they reached the +town gates she gave a loud sigh. + +“I feel so sorry for Sergai Mihailovitch,” she remarked, her face +darkening. + +“He is over-worked, and it seems to me his affairs are in a bad way,” + Nejdanov said. + +“I was not thinking of that.” + +“What were you thinking of then?” + +“He is so unhappy and so unfortunate. It would be difficult to find a +better man than he is, but he never seems to get on.” + +Nejdanov looked at her. + +“Do you know anything about him?” + +“Nothing whatever, but you can see for yourself. Goodbye, Alexai +Dmitritch.” Mashurina clambered out of the carriage. + +An hour later Nejdanov was rolling up the courtyard leading to +Sipiagin’s house. He did not feel well after his sleepless night and the +numerous discussions and explanations. + +A beautiful face smiled to him out of the window. It was Madame +Sipiagina welcoming him back home. + +“What glorious eyes she has!” he thought. + + + + +XII + +A great many people came to dinner. When it was over, Nejdanov took +advantage of the general bustle and slipped away to his own room. He +wanted to be alone with his own thoughts, to arrange the impressions +he had carried away from his recent journey. Valentina Mihailovna had +looked at him intently several times during dinner, but there had been +no opportunity of speaking to him. Mariana, after the unexpected freak +which had so bewildered him, was evidently repenting of it, and seemed +to avoid him. Nejdanov took up a pen to write to his friend Silin, +but he did not know what to say to him. There were so many conflicting +thoughts and sensations crowding in upon him that he did not attempt to +disentangle them, and put them off for another day. + +Kollomietzev had made one of the guests at dinner. Never before had this +worthy shown so much insolence and snobbish contemptuousness as on this +occasion, but Nejdanov simply ignored him. + +He was surrounded by a sort of mist, which seemed to hang before him +like a filmy curtain, separating him from the rest of the world. +And through this film, strange to say, he perceived only three +faces—women’s faces—and all three were gazing at him intently. They +were Madame Sipiagina, Mashurina, and Mariana. What did it mean? Why +particularly these three? What had they in common, and what did they +want of him? + +He went to bed early, but could not fall asleep. He was haunted by sad +and gloomy reflections about the inevitable end—death. These thoughts +were familiar to him, many times had he turned them over this way +and that, first shuddering at the probability of annihilation, then +welcoming it, almost rejoicing in it. Suddenly a peculiarly familiar +agitation took possession of him.... He mused awhile, sat down at the +table, and wrote down the following lines in his sacred copy-book, +without a single correction: + +When I die, dear friend, remember This desire I tell to thee: Burn thou +to the last black ember All my heart has writ for me. Let the fairest +flowers surround me, Sunlight laugh about my bed, Let the sweetest +of musicians To the door of death be led. Bid them sound no strain +of sadness—Muted string or muffled drum; Come to me with songs of +gladness—Whirling in the wild waltz come! I would hear—ere yet I hear +not—Trembling strings their cadence keep, Chords that quiver: so I also +Tremble as I fall asleep. Memories of life and laughter, Memories of +earthly glee, As I go to the hereafter All my lullaby shall be. + +When he wrote the word “friend” he thought of Silin. He read the verses +over to himself in an undertone, and was surprised at what had come from +his pen. This scepticism, this indifference, this almost frivolous lack +of faith—how did it all agree with his principles? How did it agree +with what he had said at Markelov’s? He thrust the copybook into the +table drawer and went back to bed. But he did not fall asleep until +dawn, when the larks had already begun to twitter and the sky was +turning paler. + +On the following day, soon after he had finished his lesson and was +sitting in the billiard room, Madame Sipiagina entered, looked round +cautiously, and coming up to him with a smile, invited him to come into +her boudoir. She had on a white barège dress, very simple, but extremely +pretty. The embroidered frills of her sleeves came down as far as the +elbow, a broad ribbon encircled her waist, her hair fell in thick curls +about her neck. Everything about her was inviting and caressing, with +a sort of restrained, yet encouraging, caressiveness, everything; the +subdued lustre of her half-closed eyes, the soft indolence of her voice, +her gestures, her very walk. She conducted Nejdanov into her boudoir, a +cosy, charming room, filled with the scent of flowers and perfumes, the +pure freshness of feminine garments, the constant presence of a woman. +She made him sit down in an armchair, sat down beside him, and began +questioning him about his visit, about Markelov’s way of living, with +much tact and sweetness. She showed a genuine interest in her brother, +although she had not once mentioned him in Nejdanov’s presence. One +could gather from what she said that the impression Mariana had made +on her brother had not escaped her notice. She seemed a little +disappointed, but whether it was due to the fact that Mariana did not +reciprocate his feelings, or that his choice should have fallen upon +a girl so utterly unlike him, was not quite clear. But most of all she +evidently strove to soften Nejdanov, to arouse his confidence towards +her, to break down his shyness; she even went so far as to reproach him +a little for having a false idea of her. + +Nejdanov listened to her, gazed at her arms, her shoulders, and from +time to time cast a look at her rosy lips and her unruly, massive curls. +His replies were brief at first; he felt a curious pressure in his +throat and chest, but by degrees this sensation gave way to another, +just as disturbing, but not devoid of a certain sweetness.... He was +surprised that such a beautiful aristocratic lady of important position +should take the trouble to interest herself in him, a simple student, +and not only interest herself, but flirt with him a little besides. He +wondered, but could not make out her object in doing so. To tell the +truth, he was little concerned about the object. Madame Sipiagina went +on to speak of Kolia, and assured Nejdanov that she wished to become +better acquainted with him only so that she might talk to him seriously +about her son, get to know his views on the education of Russian +children. It might have seemed a little curious that such a wish should +have come upon her so suddenly, but the root of the matter did not lie +in what Valentina Mihailovna had said. She had been seized by a wave of +sensuousness, a desire to conquer and bring to her feet this rebellious +young man. + +Here it is necessary to go back a little. Valentina Mihailovna was +the daughter of a general who had been neither over-wise nor +over-industrious in his life. He had received only one star and a +buckle as a reward for fifty years’ service. She was a Little Russian, +intriguing and sly, endowed, like many of her countrywomen, with a very +simple and even stupid exterior, from which she knew how to extract the +maximum of advantage. Valentina Mihailovna’s parents were not rich, but +they had managed to educate her at the Smolny Convent, where, although +considered a republican, she was always in the foreground and very well +treated on account of her excellent behaviour and industriousness. On +leaving the convent she settled with her mother (her brother had gone +into the country, and her father, the general with the star and buckle, +had died) in a very clean, but extremely chilly, apartment, in which you +could see your own breath as you talked. Valentina Mihailovna used to +make fun of it and declare it was like being in church. She was very +brave in bearing with all the discomforts of a poor, pinched existence, +having a wonderfully sweet temper. With her mother’s help, she managed +both to keep up and make new connections and acquaintances, and was even +spoken of in the highest circles as a very nice well-bred girl. She had +several suitors, had fixed upon Sipiagin from them all, and had very +quickly and ingeniously made him fall in love with her. However, he +was soon convinced that he could not have made a better choice. She +was intelligent, rather good than ill-natured, at bottom cold and +indifferent, but unable to endure the idea that anyone should be +indifferent to her. + +Valentina Mihailovna was possessed of that peculiar charm, the +characteristic of all “charming” egoists, in which there is neither +poetry nor real sensitiveness, but which is often full of superficial +gentleness, sympathy, sometimes even tenderness. But these charming +egoists must not be thwarted. They are very domineering and cannot +endure independence in others. Women like Madame Sipiagina excite and +disturb people of inexperienced and passionate natures, but are fond of +a quiet and peaceful life themselves. Virtue comes easy to them, they +are placid of temperament, but a constant desire to command, to attract, +and to please gives them mobility and brilliance. They have an iron +will, and a good deal of their fascination is due to this will. It is +difficult for a man to hold his ground when the mysterious sparks +of tenderness begin to kindle, as if involuntarily, in one of these +unstirred creatures; he waits for the hour to come when the ice will +melt, but the rays only play over the transparent surface, and never +does he see it melt or its smoothness disturbed! + +It cost Madame Sipiagina very little to flirt, knowing full well that it +involved no danger for herself, but to take the lustre out of another’s +eyes and see them sparkle again, to see another’s cheeks become flushed +with desire and dread, to hear another’s voice tremble and break +down, to disturb another’s soul—oh, how sweet it was to her soul! How +delightful it was late at night, when she lay down in her snow-white bed +to an untroubled sleep, to remember all these agitated words and looks +and sighs. With what a self-satisfied smile she retired into herself, +into the consciousness of her inaccessibility, her invulnerability, and +with what condescension she abandoned herself to the lawful embrace of +her well-bred husband! It was so pleasant that for a little time she +was filled with emotion, ready to do some kind deed, to help a fellow +creature.... Once, after a secretary of legation, who was madly in +love with her, had attempted to cut his throat, she founded a small +alms-house! She had prayed for him fervently, although her religious +feelings from earliest childhood had not been strongly developed. + +And so she talked to Nejdanov, doing everything she could to bring him +to her feet. She allowed him to come near her, she revealed herself +to him, as it were, and with a sweet curiosity, with a half-maternal +tenderness, she watched this handsome, interesting, stern radical +softening towards her quietly and awkwardly. A day, an hour, a minute +later and all this would have vanished without leaving a trace, but for +the time being it was pleasant, amusing, rather pathetic, and even a +little sad. Forgetting his origin, and knowing that such interest is +always appreciated by lonely people happening to fall among strangers, +she began questioning him about his youth, about his family.... But +guessing from his curt replies that she had made a mistake, Valentina +Mihailovna tried to smooth things over and began to unfold herself still +more before him, as a rose unfolds its fragrant petals on a hot summer’s +noon, closing them again tightly at the first approach of the evening +coolness. + +She could not fully smooth over her blunder, however. Having been +touched on a sensitive spot, Nejdanov could not regain his former +confidence. That bitterness which he always carried, always felt at +the bottom of his heart, stirred again, awakening all his democratic +suspicions and reproaches. “That is not what I’ve come here for,” he +thought, recalling Paklin’s admonition. He took advantage of a pause in +the conversation, got up, bowed slightly, and went out “very foolishly” + as he could not help saying to himself afterwards. + +His confusion did not escape Valentina Mihailovna’s notice, and judging +by the smile with which she accompanied him, she had put it down to her +own advantage. + +In the billiard room Nejdanov came across Mariana. She was standing +with her back to the window, not far from the door of Madame Sipiagina’s +boudoir, with her arms tightly folded. Her face was almost in complete +shadow, but she fixed her fearless eyes on Nejdanov so penetratingly, +and her tightly closed lips expressed so much contempt and insulting +pity, that he stood still in amazement.... + +“Have you anything to say to me?” he asked involuntarily. + +Mariana did not reply for a time. + +“No... yes I have, though not now.” + +“When?” + +“You must wait awhile. Perhaps—tomorrow, perhaps—never. I know so +little—what are you really like?” + +“But,” Nejdanov began, “I sometimes feel... that between us—” + +“But you hardly know me at all,” Mariana interrupted him. “Well, wait a +little. Tomorrow, perhaps. Now I have to go to... my mistress. Goodbye, +till tomorrow.” + +Nejdanov took a step or two in advance, but turned back suddenly. + +“By the way, Mariana Vikentievna... may I come to school with you one +day before it closes? I should like to see what you do there.” + +“With pleasure.... But it was not the school about which I wished to +speak to you.” + +“What was it then?” + +“Tomorrow,” Mariana repeated. + +But she did not wait until the next day, and the conversation between +her and Nejdanov took place on that same evening in one of the linden +avenues not far from the terrace. + + + + + +XIII + +She came up to him first. + +“Mr. Nejdanov,” she began, “it seems that you are quite enchanted with +Valentina Mihailovna.” + +She turned down the avenue without waiting for a reply; he walked by her +side. + +“What makes you think so?” + +“Is it not a fact? In that case she behaved very foolishly today. I can +imagine how concerned she must have been, and how she tried to cast her +wary nets!” + +Nejdanov did not utter a word, but looked at his companion sideways. + +“Listen,” she continued, “it’s no use pretending; I don’t like Valentina +Mihailovna, and you know that well enough. I may seem unjust... but I +want you to hear me first—” + +Mariana’s voice gave way. She suddenly flushed with emotion; under +emotion she always gave one the impression of being angry. + +“You are no doubt asking yourself, ‘Why does this tiresome young lady +tell me all this?’ just as you must have done when I spoke to you... +about Mr. Markelov.” + +She bent down, tore off a small mushroom, broke it to pieces, and threw +it away. + +“You are quite mistaken, Mariana Vikentievna,” Nejdanov remarked. “On +the contrary, I am pleased to think that I inspire you with confidence.” + +This was not true, the idea had only just occurred to him. + +Mariana glanced at him for a moment. Until then she had persistently +looked away from him. + +“It is not that you inspire me with confidence exactly,” she went on +pensively; “you are quite a stranger to me. But your position—and +mine—are very similar. We are both alike—unhappy; that is a bond +between us.” + +“Are you unhappy?” Nejdanov asked. + +“And you, are you not?” Mariana asked in her turn. Nejdanov did not say +anything. + +“Do you know my story?” she asked quickly. “The story of my father’s +exile? Don’t you? Well, here it is: He was arrested, tried, convicted, +deprived of his rank ... and everything ... and sent to Siberia, where +he died.... My mother died too. My uncle, Mr. Sipiagin, my mother’s +brother, brought me up.... I am dependent upon him—he is my benefactor +and—Valentina Mihailovna is my benefactress.... I pay them back with +base ingratitude because I have an unfeeling heart.... But the bread of +charity is bitter—and I can’t bear insulting condescensions—and can’t +endure to be patronised. I can’t hide things, and when I’m constantly +being hurt I only keep from crying out because I’m too proud to do so.” + +As she uttered these disjointed sentences, Mariana walked faster and +faster. Suddenly she stopped. “Do you know that my aunt, in order to get +rid of me, wants to marry me to that hateful Kollomietzev? She knows my +ideas... in her eyes I’m almost a nihilist—and he! It’s true he doesn’t +care for me... I’m not good-looking enough, but it’s possible to sell +me. That would also be considered charity.” + +“Why didn’t you—” Nejdanov began, but stopped short. + +Mariana looked at him for an instant. + +“You wanted to ask why I didn’t accept Mr. Markelov, isn’t that so? +Well, what could I do? He’s a good man, but it’s not my fault that I +don’t love him.” + +Mariana walked on ahead, as if she wished to save her companion the +necessity of saying anything to this unexpected confession. + +They both reached the end of the avenue. Mariana turned quickly down a +narrow path leading into a dense fir grove; Nejdanov followed her. He +was under the influence of a twofold astonishment; first, it puzzled him +that this shy girl should suddenly become so open and frank with him, +and secondly, that he was not in the least surprised at this frankness, +that he looked upon it, in fact, as quite natural. + +Mariana turned round suddenly, stopped in the middle of the path with +her face about a yard from Nejdanov’s, and looked straight into his +eyes. + +“Alexai Dmitritch,” she said, “please don’t think my aunt is a bad +woman. She is not. She is deceitful all over, she’s an actress, a +poser—she wants everyone to bow down before her as a beauty and worship +her as a saint! She will invent a pretty speech, say it to one person, +repeat it to a second, a third, with an air as if it had only just come +to her by inspiration, emphasising it by the use of her wonderful eyes! +She understands herself very well—she is fully conscious of looking +like a Madonna, and knows that she does not love a living soul! She +pretends to be forever worrying over Kolia, when in reality does nothing +but talk about him with clever people. She does not wish harm to any +one... is all kindness, but let every bone in your body be broken before +her very eyes... and she wouldn’t care a straw! She would not move +a finger to save you, and if by any chance it should happen to be +necessary or useful to her...then heaven have mercy on you....” + +Mariana ceased. Her wrath was choking her. She could not contain +herself, and had resolved on giving full vent to it, but words failed +her. Mariana belonged to a particular class of unfortunate beings, very +plentiful in Russia, whom justice satisfies, but does not rejoice, while +injustice, against which they are very sensitive, revolts them to their +innermost being. All the time she was speaking, Nejdanov watched her +intently. Her flushed face, her short, untidy hair, the tremulous +twitching of her thin lips, struck him as menacing, significant, and +beautiful. A ray of sunlight, broken by a net of branches, lay across +her forehead like a patch of gold. And this tongue of fire seemed to +be in keeping with the keen expression of her face, her fixed wide-open +eyes, the earnest sound of her voice. + +“Tell me why you think me unhappy,” Nejdanov observed at last. “Do you +know anything about me?” + +“Yes.” + +“What do you know? Has anyone been talking to you about me?” + +“I know about your birth.” + +“Who told you?” + +“Why, Valentina Mihailovna, of course, whom you admire so much. +She mentioned in my presence, just in passing you know, but quite +intentionally, that there was a very interesting incident in your life. +She was not condoling the fact, but merely mentioned it as a person of +advanced views who is above prejudice. You need not be surprised; in the +same way she tells every visitor that comes that my father was sent +to Siberia for taking bribes. However much she may think herself an +aristocrat, she is nothing more than a mere scandal-monger and a poser. +That is your Sistine Madonna!” + +“Why is she mine in particular?” + +Mariana turned away and resumed her walk down the path. + +“Because you had such a long conversation together,” she said, a lump +rising in her throat. + +“I scarcely said a word the whole time,” Nejdanov observed. “It was she +who did the talking.” + +Mariana walked on in silence. A turn in the path brought them to the end +of the grove in front of which lay a small lawn; a weeping silver birch +stood in the middle, its hollow trunk encircled by a round seat. Mariana +sat down on this seat and Nejdanov seated himself at her side. The long +hanging branches covered with tiny green leaves were waving gently over +their heads. Around them masses of lily-of-the-valley could be seen +peeping out from amidst the fine grass. The whole place was filled with +a sweet scent, refreshing after the very heavy resinous smell of the +pine trees. + +“So you want to see the school,” Mariana began; “I must warn you that +you will not find it very exciting. You have heard that our principal +master is the deacon. He is not a bad fellow, but you can’t imagine what +nonsense he talks to the children. There is a certain boy among them, +called Garacy, an orphan of nine years old, and, would you believe it, +he learns better than any of the others!” + +With the change of conversation, Mariana herself seemed to change. She +turned paler, became more composed, and her face assumed an expression +of embarrassment, as if she were repenting of her outburst. She +evidently wished to lead Nejdanov into discussing some “question” or +other about the school, the peasants, anything, so as not to continue in +the former strain. But he was far from “questions” at this moment. + +“Mariana Vikentievna,” he began; “to be quite frank with you, I little +expected all that has happened between us.” (At the word “happened” she +drew herself up.) “It seems to me that we have suddenly become very... +very intimate. That is as it should be. We have for some time past been +getting closer to one another, only we have not expressed it in words. +And so I will also speak to you frankly. It is no doubt wretched for you +here, but surely your uncle, although he is limited, seems a kind man, +as far as one can judge. Doesn’t he understand your position and take +your part?” + +“My uncle, in the first place, is not a man, he’s an official, a +senator, or a minister, I forget which; and in the second, I don’t want +to complain and speak badly of people for nothing. It is not at all +hard for me here, that is, nobody interferes with me; my aunt’s petty +pin-pricks are in reality nothing to me.... I am quite free.” + +Nejdanov looked at her in amazement. + +“In that case... everything that you have just told me—” + +“You may laugh at me if you like,” she said. “If I am unhappy—it is +not as a result of my own sorrows. It sometimes seems to me that I +suffer for the miserable, poor and oppressed in the whole of Russia.... +No, it’s not exactly that. I suffer—I am indignant for them, I rebel +for them.... I am ready to go to the stake for them. I am unhappy +because I am a ‘young lady,’ a parasite, that I am completely unable +to do anything ... anything! When my father was sent to Siberia and I +remained with my mother in Moscow, how I longed to go to him! It was +not that I loved or respected him very much, but I wanted to know, +to see with my own eyes, how the exiled and banished live.... How +I loathed myself and all these placid, rich, well-fed people! And +afterwards, when he returned home, broken in body and soul, and began +humbly busying himself, trying to work ... oh ... how terrible it +was! It was a good thing that he died... and my poor mother too. But, +unfortunately, I was left behind.... What for? Only to feel that I have +a bad nature, that I am ungrateful, that there is no peace for me, that +I can do nothing—nothing for anything or anybody!” + +Mariana turned away—her hand slid on to the seat. Nejdanov felt sorry +for her; he touched the drooping hand. Mariana pulled it away quickly; +not that Nejdanov’s action seemed unsuitable to her, but that he should +on no account think that she was asking for sympathy. + +Through the branches of the pines a glimpse of a woman’s dress could be +seen. Mariana drew herself up. + +“Look, your Madonna has sent her spy. That maid has to keep a watch on +me and inform her mistress where I am and with whom. My aunt very likely +guessed that I was with you, and thought it improper, especially after +the sentimental scene she acted before you this afternoon. Anyhow, it’s +time we were back. Let us go.” + +Mariana got up. Nejdanov rose also. She glanced at him over her +shoulder, and suddenly there passed over her face an almost childish +expression, making her embarrassment seem charming. + +“You are not angry with me, are you? You don’t think I have been trying +to win your sympathy, do you? No, I’m sure you don’t,” she went on +before Nejdanov had time to make any reply; “you are like me, just as +unhappy, and your nature... is bad, like mine. We can go to the school +together tomorrow. We are excellent friends now, aren’t we?” + +When Mariana and Nejdanov drew near to the house, Valentina Mihailovna +looked at them from the balcony through her lorgnette, shook her head +slowly with a smile on her lips, then returning through the open +glass door into the drawing-room, where Sipiagin was already seated at +preferences with their toothless neighbour, who had dropped in to tea, +she drawled out, laying stress on each syllable: “How damp the air is! +It’s not good for one’s health!” + +Mariana and Nejdanov exchanged glances; Sipiagin, who had just scored +a trick from his partner, cast a truly ministerial glance at his wife, +looking her over from top to toe, then transferred this same cold, +sleepy, but penetrating glance to the young couple coming in from the +dark garden. + + + + + +XIV + +Two more weeks went by; everything in its accustomed order. Sipiagin +fixed everyone’s daily occupation, if not like a minister, at any rate +like the director of a department, and was, as usual, haughty, humane, +and somewhat fastidious. Kolia continued taking lessons; Anna Zaharovna, +still full of spite, worried about him constantly; visitors came +and went, talked, played at cards, and did not seem bored. Valentina +Mihailovna continued amusing herself with Nejdanov, although her +customary affability had become mixed with a certain amount of +good-natured sarcasm. Nejdanov had become very intimate with Mariana, +and discovered that her temper was even enough and that one could +discuss most things with her without hitting against any violent +opposition. He had been to the school with her once or twice, but with +the first visit had become convinced that he could do nothing there. +It was under the entire control of the deacon, with Sipiagin’s full +consent. The good father did not teach grammar badly, although his +method was rather old-fashioned, but at examinations he would put the +most absurd questions. For instance, he once asked Garacy how he would +explain the expression, “The waters are dark under the firmament,” to +which Garacy had to answer, by the deacon’s own order, “It cannot be +explained.” However, the school was soon closed for the summer, not to +be opened again until the autumn. + +Bearing in mind the suggestion of Paklin and others, Nejdanov did all +he could to come in contact with the peasants, but soon found that he +was only learning to understand them, in so far as he could make any +observation and doing no propaganda whatever! Nejdanov had lived in a +town all his life and, consequently, between him and the country people +there existed a gulf that could not be crossed. He once happened to +exchange a few words with the drunken Kirill, and even with Mendely the +Sulky, but besides abuse about things in general he got nothing out +of them. Another peasant, called Fituvy, completely nonplussed him. +This peasant had an unusually energetic countenance, almost like some +brigand. “Well, this one seems hopeful at any rate,” Nejdanov thought. +But it turned out that Fituvy was a miserable wretch, from whom the +mir had taken away his land, because he, a strong healthy man, _would +not_ work. “I can’t,” he sobbed out, with deep inward groans, “I can’t +work! Kill me or I’ll lay hands on myself!” And he ended by begging +alms in the streets! With a face out of a canvas of Rinaldo Rinaldini! +As for the factory men, Nejdanov could not get hold of them at all; +these fellows were either too sharp or too gloomy. He wrote a long +letter to his friend Silin about the whole thing, in which he bitterly +regretted his incapacity, putting it down to the vile education he had +received and to his hopelessly aesthetic nature! He suddenly came to +the conclusion that his vocation in the field of propaganda lay not +in speaking, but in writing. But all the pamphlets he planned did not +work out somehow. Whatever he attempted to put down on paper, according +to him, was too drawn out, artificial in tone and style, and once or +twice—oh horror! he actually found himself wandering off into verse, or +on a sceptical, personal effusion. He even decided to speak about this +difficulty to Mariana, a very sure sign of confidence and intimacy! He +was again surprised to find her sympathetic, not towards his literary +attempts, certainly, but to the moral weakness he was suffering from, +a weakness with which she, too, was somewhat familiar. Mariana’s +contempt for aestheticism was no less strong than his, but for all that +the main reason why she did not accept Markelov was because there was +not the slightest trace of the aesthetic in his nature! She did not +for a moment admit this to herself. It is often the case that what is +strongest in us remains only a half-suspected secret. + +Thus the days went by slowly, with little variety, but with sufficient +interest. + +A curious change was taking place in Nejdanov. He felt dissatisfied with +himself, that is, with his inactivity, and his words had a constant ring +of bitter self-reproach. But in the innermost depths of his being there +lurked a sense of happiness very soothing to his soul. Was it a result +of the peaceful country life, the summer, the fresh air, dainty food, +beautiful home, or was it due to the fact that for the first time in +his life he was tasting the sweetness of contact with a woman’s soul? +It would be difficult to say. But he felt happy, although he complained, +and quite sincerely, to his friend Silin. + +The mood, however, was abruptly destroyed in a single day. + +On the morning of this day Nejdanov received a letter from Vassily +Nikolaevitch, instructing him, together with Markelov, to lose no +time in coming to an understanding with Solomin and a certain merchant +Golushkin, an Old Believer, living at S. This letter upset Nejdanov very +much; it contained a note of reproach at his inactivity. The bitterness +which had shown itself only in his words now rose with full force from +the depths of his soul. + +Kollomietzev came to dinner, disturbed and agitated. “Would you believe +it!” he shouted almost in tears, “what horrors I’ve read in the papers! +My friend, my beloved Michael, the Servian prince, has been assassinated +by some blackguards in Belgrade. This is what these Jacobins and +revolutionists will bring us to if a firm stop is not put to them all!” + Sipiagin permitted himself to remark that this horrible murder was +probably not the work of Jacobins, “of whom there could hardly be any in +Servia,” but might have been committed by some of the followers of the +Karageorgievsky party, enemies of Obrenovitch. Kollomietzev would not +hear of this, and began to relate, in the same tearful voice, how the +late prince had loved him and what a beautiful gun he had given him! +Having spent himself somewhat and got rather irritable, he at last +turned from foreign Jacobins to home-bred nihilists and socialists, and +ended by flying into a passion. He seized a large roll, and breaking it +in half over his soup plate, in the manner of the stylish Parisian in +the “Café-Riche,” announced that he would like to tear limb from limb, +reduce to ashes, all those who objected to anybody or to anything! These +were his very words. “It is high time! High time!” he announced, raising +the spoon to his mouth; “yes, high time!” he repeated, giving his glass +to the servant, who was pouring out sherry. He spoke reverentially about +the great Moscow publishers, and _Ladislas, notre bon et cher Ladislas_, +did not leave his lips. At this point, he fixed his eyes on Nejdanov, +seeming to say: “There, this is for you! Make what you like of it! I +mean this for you! And there’s a lot more to come yet!” The latter, +no longer able to contain himself, objected at last, and began in a +slightly unsteady tone of voice (not due to fear, of course) defending +the ideals, the hopes, the principles of the modern generation. +Kollomietzev soon went into a squeak—his anger always expressed itself +in falsetto—and became abusive. Sipiagin, with a stately air, began +taking Nejdanov’s part; Valentina Mihailovna, of course, sided with her +husband; Anna Zaharovna tried to distract Kolia’s attention, looking +furiously at everybody; Mariana did not move, she seemed turned to +stone. + +Nejdanov, hearing the name of _Ladislas_ pronounced at least for the +twentieth time, suddenly flared up and thumping the palm of his hand on +the table burst out: + +“What an authority! As if we do not know who this Ladislas is! A born +spy, nothing more!” + +“W-w-w-what—what—did you say?” Kollomietzev stammered cut, choking +with rage. “How dare you express yourself like that of a man who is +respected by such people as Prince Blasenkramf and Prince Kovrishkin!” + +Nejdanov shrugged his shoulders. + +“A very nice recommendation! Prince Kovrishkin, that enthusiastic +flunky—” + +“Ladislas is my friend,” Kollomietzev screamed, “my comrade—and I—” + +“So much the worse for you,” Nejdanov interrupted him. “It means that +you share his way of thinking, in which case my words apply to you too.” + +Kollomietzev turned deadly pale with passion. + +“W-what? How? You—ought to be—on the spot—” + +“What would you like to do with me _on the spot_?” Nejdanov asked with +sarcastic politeness. Heaven only knows what this skirmish between these +two enemies might have led to, had not Sipiagin himself put a stop to it +at the very outset. Raising his voice and putting on a serious air, in +which it was difficult to say what predominated most, the gravity of an +important statesman or the dignity of a host, he announced firmly that +he did not wish to hear at his table such immoderate expressions, that +he had long ago made it a rule, a sacred rule, he added, to respect +every sort of conviction, so long as (at this point he raised his +forefinger ornamented with a signet ring) it came within the limits of +decent behaviour; that if he could not help, on the one hand, condemning +Mr. Nejdanov’s intemperate words, for which only his extreme youth could +be blamed, he could not, on the other, agree with Mr. Kollomietzev’s +embittered attack on people of an opposite camp, an attack, he felt +sure, that was only due to an over-amount of zeal for the general +welfare of society. + +“Under my roof,” he wound up, “under the Sipiagin’s roof, there are +no Jacobins and no spies, only honest, well-meaning people, who, once +learning to understand one another, would most certainly clasp each +other by the hand!” + +Neither Nejdanov nor Kollomietzev ventured on another word, but they +did not, however, clasp each other’s hands. Their moment for a mutual +understanding had not arrived. On the contrary, they had never yet +experienced such a strong antipathy to one another. + +Dinner ended in an awkward, unpleasant silence. Sipiagin attempted to +relate some diplomatic anecdote, but stopped half-way through. Mariana +kept looking down at her plate persistently, not wishing to betray her +sympathy with what Nejdanov had said. She was by no means afraid, but +did not wish to give herself away before Madame Sipiagina. She felt +the latter’s keen, penetrating glance fixed on her. And, indeed, +Madame Sipiagina did not take her eyes either off her or Nejdanov. His +unexpected outburst at first came as a surprise to the intelligent +lady, but the next moment a light suddenly dawned upon her, so that she +involuntarily murmured, “Ah!” She suddenly divined that Nejdanov was +slipping away from her, this same Nejdanov who, a short time ago, was +ready to come to her arms. “Something has happened.... Is it Mariana? Of +course it’s Mariana...She likes him... and he—” + +“Something must be done.” Thus she concluded her reflections, while +Kollomietzev was choking with indignation. Even when playing preference +two hours later, he pronounced the word “Pass!” or “I buy!” with an +aching heart. A hoarse tremulo of wounded pride could be detected in his +voice, although he pretended to scorn such things! Sipiagin was the only +one really pleased with the scene. It had afforded him an opportunity of +showing off the power of his eloquence and of calming the rising storm. +He knew Latin, and Virgil’s _Quos ego_ was not unfamiliar to him. He did +not consciously compare himself to Neptune, but thought of him with a +kind of sympathetic feeling. + + + + + +XV + +As soon as it was convenient for him to do so, Nejdanov retired to his +own room and locked himself in. He did not want to see anyone, anyone +except Mariana. Her room was situated at the very end of a long +corridor, intersecting the whole of the upper story. Nejdanov had only +once been there for a few moments, but it seemed to him that she would +not mind if he knocked at her door, now that she even wished to speak to +him herself. It was already fairly late, about ten o’clock. The host and +hostess had not considered it necessary to disturb him after what had +taken place at the dinner table. Valentina Mihailovna inquired once +or twice about Mariana, as she too had disappeared soon after dinner. +“Where is Mariana Vikentievna?” she asked first in Russian, then in +French, addressing herself to no one in particular, but rather to the +walls, as people often do when greatly astonished, but she soon became +absorbed in the game. + +Nejdanov paced up and down the room several times, then turned down the +corridor and knocked gently at Mariana’s door. There was no response. He +knocked again—then he turned the handle of the door. It was locked. +But he had hardly got back to his own room and sat down, when the door +creaked softly and Mariana’s voice was heard: “Alexai Dmitritch, was +that _you_ came to me?” + +He jumped up instantly and rushed out into the corridor. Mariana was +standing at his door with a candle in her hand, pale and motionless. + +“Yes... I—” he murmured. + +“Come,” she said, turning down the corridor, but before reaching the end +she stopped and pushed open a low door. Nejdanov looked into a small, +almost bare room. + +“We had better go in here, Alexai Dmitritch, no one will disturb us +here.” + +Nejdanov obeyed. Mariana put the candlestick on a window-sill and turned +to him. + +“I understand why you wanted to see me,” she began. “It is wretched for +you to live in this house, and for me too.” + +“Yes, I wanted to see you, Mariana Vikentievna,” Nejdanov replied, “but +I do not feel wretched here since I’ve come to know you.” + +Mariana smiled pensively. + +“Thank you, Alexai Dmitritch. But tell me, do you really intend stopping +here after all that has happened?” + +“I don’t think they will keep me—I shall be dismissed,” Nejdanov +replied. + +“But don’t you intend going away of your own accord?” + +“I... No!” + +“Why not?” + +“Do you want to know the truth? Because _you_ are here.” Mariana +lowered her head and moved a little further down the room. + +“Besides,” Nejdanov continued, “I _must_ stay here. You know +nothing—but I want—I feel that I must tell you everything.” He +approached Mariana and seized her hand; she did not take it away, but +only looked straight into his face. “Listen!” he exclaimed with sudden +force, “Listen!” + +And instantly, without stopping to sit down, although there were two +or three chairs in the room, still standing before her and holding her +hand, with heated enthusiasm and with an eloquence, surprising even to +himself, he began telling her all his plans, his intentions, his +reason for having accepted Sipiagin’s offer, about all his connections, +acquaintances, about his past, things that he had always kept hidden +from everybody. He told her about Vassily Nikolaevitch’s letters, +everything—even about Silin! He spoke hurriedly, without a single pause +or the smallest hesitation, as if he were reproaching himself for not +having entrusted her with all his secrets before—as if he were +begging her pardon. She listened to him attentively, greedily; she +was bewildered at first, but this feeling soon wore off. Her heart was +overflowing with gratitude, pride, devotion, resoluteness. Her face and +eyes shone; she laid her other hand on Nejdanov’s—her lips parted in +ecstasy. She became marvellously beautiful! + +He ceased at last, and suddenly seemed to see _this_ face for the first +time, although it was so dear and so familiar to him. He gave a deep +sigh. + +“Ah! how well I did to tell you everything!” He was scarcely able to +articulate the words. + +“Yes, how well—how well!” she repeated, also in a whisper. She imitated +him unconsciously—her voice, too, gave way. “And it means,” she +continued, “that I am at your disposal, that I want to be useful to your +cause, that I am ready to do anything that may be necessary, go wherever +you may want me to, that I have always longed with my whole soul for all +the things that you want—” + +She also ceased. Another word—and her emotion would have dissolved into +tears. All the strength and force of her nature suddenly softened as +wax. She was consumed with a thirst for activity, for self-sacrifice, +for immediate self-sacrifice. + +A sound of footsteps was heard from the other side of the door—light, +rapid, cautious footsteps. + +Mariana suddenly drew herself up and disengaged her hands; her mood +changed, she became quite cheerful, a certain audacious, scornful +expression flitted across her face. + +“I know who is listening behind the door at this moment,” she remarked, +so loudly that every word could be heard distinctly in the corridor; +“Madame Sipiagina is listening to us... but it makes no difference to +me.” + +The footsteps ceased. + +“Well?” Mariana asked, turning to Nejdanov. “What shall I do? How shall +I help you? Tell me... tell me quickly! What shall I do?” + +“I don’t know yet,” Nejdanov replied. “I have received a note from +Markelov—” + +“When did you receive it? When?” + +“This evening. He and I must go and see Solomin at the factory +tomorrow.” + +“Yes... yes.... What a splendid man Markelov is! Now he’s a real +friend!” + +“Like me?” + +“No—not like you.” + +“How?” + +She turned away suddenly. + +“Oh! Don’t you understand what you have become for me, and what I am +feeling at this moment?” + +Nejdanov’s heart beat violently; he looked down. This girl who loved +him—a poor, homeless wretch, who trusted him, who was ready to +follow him, pursue the same cause together with him—this wonderful +girl—Mariana—became for Nejdanov at this moment the incarnation of +all earthly truth and goodness—the incarnation of the love of mother, +sister, wife, all the things he had never known; the incarnation of his +country, happiness, struggle, freedom! + +He raised his head and encountered her eyes fixed on him again. + +Oh, how this sweet, bright glance penetrated to his very soul! + +“And so,” he began in an unsteady voice, “I am going away tomorrow.... +And when I come back, I will tell... you—” (he suddenly felt it awkward +to address Mariana as “you”) “tell you everything that is decided upon. +From now on everything that I do and think, everything, I will tell thee +first.” + +“Oh, my dear!” Mariana exclaimed, seizing his hand again. “I promise +thee the same!” + +The word “thee” escaped her lips just as simply and easily as if they +had been old comrades. + +“Have you got the letter?” + +“Here it is.” + +Mariana scanned the letter and looked up at him almost reverently. + +“Do they entrust you with such important commissions?” He smiled in +reply and put the letter back in his pocket. “How curious,” he said, “we +have come to know of our love, we love one another—and yet we have not +said a single word about it.” + +“There is no need,” Mariana whispered, and suddenly threw her arms +around his neck and pressed her head closely against his breast. They +did not kiss—it would have seemed to them too commonplace and rather +terrible—but instantly took leave of one another, tightly clasping each +other’s hands. + +Mariana returned for the candle which she had left on the window-sill +of the empty room. Only then a sort of bewilderment came over her; she +extinguished the candle and, gliding quickly along the dark corridor, +entered her own room, undressed and went to bed in the soothing +darkness. + + + + + +XVI + +On awakening the following morning, Nejdanov did not feel the slightest +embarrassment at what had taken place the previous night, but was, on +the contrary, filled with a sort of quiet joy, as if he had fulfilled +something which ought to have been done long ago. Asking for two days’ +leave from Sipiagin, who consented readily, though with a certain amount +of severity, Nejdanov set out for Markelov’s. Before his departure he +managed to see Mariana. She was also not in the least abashed, looked +at him calmly and resolutely, and called him “dear” quite naturally. +She was very much concerned about what he might hear at Markelov’s, and +begged him to tell her everything. + +“Of course!” he replied. “After all,” he thought, “why should we be +disturbed? In our friendship personal feeling played only... a secondary +part, and we are united forever. In the name of the cause? Yes, in the +name of the cause!” + +Thus Nejdanov thought, and he did not himself suspect how much truth and +how much falsehood there lay in his reflections. + +He found Markelov in the same weary, sullen frame of mind. After a very +impromptu dinner they set out in the well-known carriage to the merchant +Falyeva’s cotton factory where Solomin lived. (The second side horse +harnessed to the carriage was a young colt that had never been in +harness before. Markelov’s own horse was still a little lame.) + +Nejdanov’s curiosity had been aroused. He very much wanted to become +closer acquainted with a man about whom he had heard so much of late. +Solomin had been informed of their coming, so that as soon as the two +travellers stopped at the gates of the factory and announced who they +were, they were immediately conducted into the hideous little wing +occupied by the “engineering manager.” He was at that time in the +main body of the building, and while one of the workmen ran to fetch +him, Nejdanov and Markelov managed to go up to the window and look +around. The factory was apparently in a very flourishing condition +and over-loaded with work. From every corner came the quick buzzing +sound of unceasing activity; the puffing and rattling of machines, the +creaking of looms, the humming of wheels, the whirling of straps, while +trolleys, barrels, and loaded carts were rolling in and out. Orders +were shouted out at the top of the voice amidst the sound of bells and +whistles; workmen in blouses with girdles round their waists, their +hair fastened with straps, work girls in print dresses, hurried quickly +to and fro, harnessed horses were led about.... It represented the hum +of a thousand human beings working with all their might. Everything +went at full speed in fairly regular order, but not only was there +an absence of smartness and neatness, but there was not the smallest +trace or cleanliness to be seen anywhere. On the contrary, in every +corner one was struck by neglect, dirt, grime; here a pane of glass was +broken, there the plaster was coming off; in another place the boards +were loose; in a third, a door gaped wide open. A large filthy puddle +covered with a coating of rainbow-coloured slime stood in the middle +of the main yard; farther on lay a heap of discarded bricks; scraps +of mats and matting, boxes, and pieces of rope lay scattered here and +there; shaggy, hungry-looking dogs wandered to and fro, too listless +to bark; in a corner, under the fence, sat a grimy little boy of about +four, with an enormous belly and dishevelled head, crying hopelessly, +as if he had been forsaken by the whole world; close by a sow likewise +besmeared in soot and surrounded by a medley of little suckling-pigs +was devouring some cabbage stalks; some ragged clothes were stretched +on a line—and such stuffiness and stench! In a word, just like a +Russian factory—not like a French or a German one. + +Nejdanov looked at Markelov. + +“I have heard so much about Solomin’s superior capabilities,” he began, +“that I confess all this disorder surprises me. I did not expect it.” + +“This is not disorder, but the usual Russian slovenliness,” Markelov +replied gloomily. “But all the same, they are turning over millions. +Solomin has to adjust himself to the old ways, to practical things, and +to the owner himself. Have you any idea what Falyeva is like?” + +“Not in the least.” + +“He is the biggest skinflint in Moscow. A regular bourgeois.” + +At this moment Solomin entered the room. Nejdanov was just as +disillusioned about him as he had been about the factory. At the first +glance he gave one the impression of being a Finn or a Swede. He was +tall, lean, broad-shouldered, with colourless eyebrows and eyelashes; +had a long sallow face, a short, rather broad nose, small greenish eyes, +a placid expression, coarse thick lips, large teeth, and a divided chin +covered with a suggestion of down. He was dressed like a mechanic or a +stoker in an old pea-jacket with baggy pockets, with an oil-skin cap on +his head, a woollen scarf round his neck, and tarred boots on his feet. +He was accompanied by a man of about forty in a peasant coat, who had an +extraordinarily lively gipsy-like face, coal-black piercing eyes, with +which he scanned Nejdanov as soon as he entered the room. Markelov was +already known to him. This was Pavel, Solomin’s _factotum_. + +Solomin approached the two visitors slowly and without a word, pressed +the hand of each in turn in his own hard bony one. He opened a drawer, +pulled out a sealed letter, which he handed to Pavel, also without +a word, and the latter immediately left the room. Then he stretched +himself, threw away his cap with one wave of the hand, sat down on +a painted wooden stool and, pointing to a couch, begged Nejdanov and +Markelov to be seated. + +Markelov first introduced Nejdanov, whom Solomin again shook by the +hand, then he went on to “business,” mentioning Vassily Nikolaevitch’s +letter, which Nejdanov handed to Solomin. And while the latter was +reading it carefully, his eyes moving from line to line, Nejdanov sat +watching him. Solomin was near the window and the sun, already low +in the horizon, was shining full on his tanned face covered with +perspiration, on his fair hair covered with dust, making it sparkle like +a mass of gold. His nostrils quivered and distended as he read, and +his lips moved as though he were forming every word. He held the letter +raised tightly in both hands, and when he had finished returned it to +Nejdanov and began listening to Markelov again. The latter talked until +he had exhausted himself. + +“I am afraid,” Solomin began (his hoarse voice, full of youth +and strength, was pleasing to Nejdanov’s ear), “it will be rather +inconvenient to talk here. Why not go to your place? It is only a +question of seven miles. You came in your carriage, did you not?” + +“Yes.” + +“Well, I suppose you can make room for me. I shall have finished my +work in about an hour, and will be quite free. We can talk things +over thoroughly. You are also free, are you not?” he asked, turning to +Nejdanov. + +“Until the day after tomorrow.” + +“That’s all right. We can stay the night at your place, Sergai +Mihailovitch, I suppose?” + +“Of course you may!” + +“Good. I shall be ready in a minute. I’ll just make myself a little more +presentable.” + +“And how are things at your factory?” Nejdanov asked significantly. + +Solomin looked away. + +“We can talk things over thoroughly,” he remarked a second time. +“Please excuse me a moment.... I’ll be back directly.... I’ve forgotten +something.” + +He went out. Had he not already produced a good impression on Nejdanov, +the latter would have thought that he was backing out, but such an idea +did not occur to him. + +An hour later, when from every story, every staircase and door of the +enormous building, a noisy crowd of workpeople came streaming out, the +carriage containing Markelov, Nejdanov, and Solomin drove out of the +gates on to the road. + +“Vassily Fedotitch! Is it to be done?” Pavel shouted after Solomin, whom +he had accompanied to the gate. + +“No, not now,” Solomin replied. “He wanted to know about some night +work,” he explained, turning to his companions. + +When they reached Borsionkov they had some supper, merely for the sake +of politeness, and afterwards lighted cigars and began a discussion, one +of those interminable, midnight Russian discussions which in degree and +length are only peculiar to Russians and unequalled by people of any +other nationality. During the discussion, too, Solomin did not come up +to Nejdanov’s expectation. He spoke little—so little that one might +almost have said that he was quite silent. But he listened attentively, +and whenever he made any remark or gave an opinion, did so briefly, +seriously, showing a considerable amount of common-sense. Solomin did +not believe that the Russian revolution was so near at hand, but not +wishing to act as a wet blanket on others, he did not intrude his +opinions or hinder others from making attempts. He looked on from a +distance as it were, but was still a comrade by their side. He knew +the St. Petersburg revolutionists and agreed with their ideas up to a +certain point. He himself belonged to the people, and fully realised +that the great bulk of them, without whom one can do nothing, were still +quite indifferent, that they must first be prepared, by quite different +means and for entirely different ends than the upper classes. So he held +aloof, not from a sense of superiority, but as an ordinary man with a +few independent ideas, who did not wish to ruin himself or others in +vain. But as for listening, there was no harm in that. + +Solomin was the only son of a deacon and had five sisters, who were all +married to priests or deacons. He was also destined for the church, but +with his father’s consent threw it up and began to study mathematics, +as he had taken a special liking to mechanics. He entered a factory of +which the owner was an Englishman, who got to love him like his own son. +This man supplied him with the means of going to Manchester, where he +stayed for two years, acquiring an excellent knowledge of the English +language. With the Moscow merchant he had fallen in but a short time +ago. He was exacting with his subordinates, a manner he had acquired +in England, but they liked him nevertheless, and treated him as one of +themselves. His father was very proud of him, and used to speak of him +as a steady sort of man, but was very grieved that he did not marry and +settle down. + +During the discussion, as we have already said, Solomin sat silent the +whole time; but when Markelov began enlarging upon the hopes they put +on the factory workers, Solomin remarked, in his usual laconic way, that +they must not depend too much on them, as factory workers in Russia were +not what they were abroad. “They are an extremely mild set of people +here.” + +“And what about the peasants?” + +“The peasants? There are a good many sweaters and money-lenders among +them now, and there are likely to be more in time. This kind only look +to their own interests, and as for the others, they are as ignorant as +sheep.” + +“Then where are we to turn to?” Solomin smiled. + +“Seek and ye shall find.” + +There was a constant smile on his lips, but the smile was as full of +meaning as the man himself. With Nejdanov he behaved in a very peculiar +manner. He was attracted to the young student and felt an almost tender +sympathy for him. At one part of the discussion, where Nejdanov broke +out into a perfect torrent of words, Solomin got up quietly, moved +across the room with long strides, and shut a window that was standing +open just above Nejdanov’s head. + +“You might catch cold,” he observed, in answer to the orator’s look of +amazement. + +Nejdanov began to question him about his factory, asking if any +cooperative experiments had been made, if anything had been done so that +the workers might come in for a share of the profits. + +“My dear fellow!” Solomin exclaimed, “I instituted a school and a tiny +hospital, and even then the owner struggled like a bear!” + +Solomin lost his temper once in real earnest on hearing of some legal +injustice about the suppression of a workman’s association. He banged +his powerful fist on the table so that everything on it trembled, +including a forty-pound weight, which happened to be lying near the ink +pot. + +When Markelov and Nejdanov began discussing ways and means of executing +their plans, Solomin listened with respectful curiosity, but did not +pronounce a single word. Their talk lasted until four o’clock in the +morning, when they had touched upon almost everything under the sun. +Markelov again spoke mysteriously of Kisliakov’s untiring journeys and +his letters, which were becoming more interesting than ever. He promised +to show them to Nejdanov, saying that he would probably have to take +them away with him, as they were rather lengthy and written in an +illegible handwriting. He assured him that there was a great deal of +learning in them and even poetry, not of the frivolous kind, but poetry +with a socialistic tendency! + +From Kisliakov, Markelov went on to the military, to adjutants, Germans, +even got so far as his articles on the shortcomings of the artillery, +whilst Nejdanov spoke about the antagonism between Heine and Borne, +Proudhon, and realism in art. Solomin alone sat listening and +reflecting, the smile never leaving his lips. Without having uttered a +single word, he seemed to understand better than the others where the +essential difficulty lay. + +The hour struck four. Nejdanov and Markelov could scarcely stand on +their legs from exhaustion, while Solomin was as fresh as could be. They +parted for the night, having agreed to go to town the next day to see +the merchant Golushkin, an Old Believer, who was said to be very zealous +and promised proselytes. + +Solomin doubted whether it was worth while going, but agreed to go in +the end. + + + + +XVII + +Markelov’s guests were still asleep when a messenger with a letter +came to him from his sister, Madame Sipiagina. In this letter Valentina +Mihailovna spoke about various little domestic details, asked him to +return a book he had borrowed, and added, by the way, in a postscript, +the very “amusing” piece of news that his old flame Mariana was in love +with the tutor Nejdanov and he with her. This was not merely gossip, but +she, Valentina Mihailovna, had seen with her own eyes and heard with her +own ears. Markelov’s face grew blacker than night, but he did not utter +a word. He ordered the book to be returned, and when he caught sight of +Nejdanov coming downstairs, greeted him just as usual and did not even +forget to give him the promised packet of Kisliakov’s letters. He did +not stay with him however, but went out to see to the farm. + +Nejdanov returned to his own room and glanced through the letters. +The young propagandist spoke mostly about himself, about his unsparing +activity. According to him, during the last month, he had been in +no less than eleven provinces, nine towns, twenty-nine villages, +fifty-three hamlets, one farmhouse, and seven factories. Sixteen nights +he had slept in hay-lofts, one in a stable, another even in a cow-shed +(here he wrote, in parenthesis, that fleas did not worry him); he +had wheedled himself into mud-huts, workmen’s barracks, had preached, +taught, distributed pamphlets, and collected information; some things he +had made a note of on the spot; others he carried in his memory by the +very latest method of mnemonics. He had written fourteen long letters, +twenty-eight shorter ones, and eighteen notes, four of which were +written in pencil, one in blood, and another in soot and water. All +this he had managed to do because he had learned how to divide his time +systematically, according to the examples set by men such as Quintin +Johnson, Karrelius, Sverlitskov, and other writers and statisticians. +Then he went on to talk of himself again, of his guiding star, saying +how he had supplemented Fourier’s passions by being the first to +discover the “fundaments, the root principle,” and how he would not +go out of this world without leaving some trace behind him; how he was +filled with wonder that he, a youth of twenty-four, should have solved +all the problems of life and science; that he would turn the whole of +Russia up-side-down, that he would “shake her up!” “Dixi!!” he added at +the end of the paragraph. This word “Dixi” appeared very frequently in +Kisliakov’s letters, and always with a double exclamation mark. In one +of the letters there were some verses with a socialist tendency, written +to a certain young lady, beginning with the words— + + Love not me, but the idea! + +Nejdanov marvelled inwardly, not so much at Kisliakov’s conceit, as at +Markelov’s honest simplicity. “Bother aestheticism! Mr. Kisliakov may be +even useful,” he thought to himself instantly. + +The three friends gathered together for tea in the dining-room, but +last night’s conversation was not renewed between them. Not one of them +wished to talk, but Solomin was the only one who sat silent peacefully. +Both Nejdanov and Markelov seemed inwardly agitated. After tea they +set out for the town. Markelov’s old servant, who was sitting on the +doorstep, accompanied his former master with his habitual dejected +glance. + +The merchant Golushkin, with whom it was necessary to acquaint +Nejdanov, was the son of a wealthy merchant in drugs, an Old Believer, +of the Thedosian sect. He had not increased the fortune left to him +by his father, being, as the saying goes, a _joueur_, an Epicurean in +the Russian fashion, with absolutely no business abilities. He was +a man of forty, rather stout and ugly, pock-marked, with small eyes +like a pig’s. He spoke hurriedly, swallowing his words as it were, +gesticulated with his hands, threw his legs about and went into roars +of laughter at everything. On the whole, he gave one the impression of +being a stupid, spoiled, conceited bounder. He considered himself a +man of culture because he dressed in the German fashion, kept an open +house (though it was not overly clean), frequented the theatre, and +had many protégées among variety actresses, with whom he conversed in +some extraordinary jargon meant to be French. His principal passion was +a thirst for popularity. “Let the name of Golushkin thunder through +the world! As once Suvorov or Potyomkin, then why not now Kapiton +Golushkin?” It was this very passion, conquering even his innate +meanness, which had thrown him, as he himself expressed it not without +a touch of pride, “into the arms of the opposition” (formerly he used +to say “position,” but had learned better since then) and brought +him in contact with the nihilists. He gave expression to the most +extreme views, scoffed at his own Old Believer’s faith, ate meat in +Lent, played cards, and drank champagne like water. He never got into +difficulties, because he said, “Wherever necessary, I have bribed the +authorities. All holes are stitched up, all mouths are closed, all ears +are stopped.” + +He was a widower without children. His sister’s sons fawned around him +continuously, but he called them a lot of ignorant louts, barbarians, +and would hardly look at them. He lived in a large, stone house, kept in +rather a slovenly manner. Some of the rooms were furnished with foreign +furniture, others contained nothing but a few painted wooden chairs and +a couch covered with American cloth. There were pictures everywhere of +an indifferent variety. Fiery landscapes, purple seascapes, fat naked +women with pink-coloured knees and elbows, and “The Kiss” by Moller. In +spite of the fact that Golushkin had no family, there were a great many +menials and hangers-on collected under his roof. He did not receive them +from any feeling of generosity, but simply from a desire to be popular +and to have someone at his beck and call. “My clients,” he used to say +when he wished to throw dust in one’s eyes. He read very little, but had +an excellent memory for learned expressions. + +The young people found Golushkin in his study, where he was sitting +comfortably wrapped up in a long dressing-gown, with a cigar between his +lips, pretending to be reading a newspaper. On their entrance he +jumped up, rushed up to them, went red in the face, shouted for some +refreshments to be brought quickly, asked them some questions, laughed +for no reason in particular, and all this in one breath. He knew +Markelov and Solomin, but had not yet met Nejdanov. On hearing that the +latter was a student, he broke into another laugh, pressed his hand a +second time, exclaiming: + +“Splendid! Splendid! We are gathering forces! Learning is light, +ignorance is darkness—I had a wretched education myself, but I +understand things; that’s how I’ve got on!” + +It seemed to Nejdanov that Golushkin was shy and embarrassed—and +indeed it really was so. “Take care, brother Kapiton! Mind what you +are about!” was his first thought on meeting a new person. He soon +recovered himself however, and began in the same hurried, lisping, +confused tone of voice, talking about Vassily Nikolaevitch, about his +temperament, about the necessity of pro-pa-ganda (he knew this word +quite well, but articulated it slowly), saying that he, Golushkin, +had discovered a certain promising young chap, that the time had now +come, that the time was now ripe for... for the lancet (at this word he +glanced at Markelov, but the latter did not stir). He then turned to +Nejdanov and began speaking of himself in no less glowing terms than +the distinguished correspondent Kisliakov, saying that he had long +ago ceased being a fool, that he fully recognised the rights of the +proletariat (he remembered this word splendidly), that although he had +actually given up commerce and taken to banking instead with a view to +increasing his capital, yet only so that this same capital could at any +given moment be called upon for the use... for the use of the cause, +that is to say, for the use of the people, and that he, Golushkin, in +reality, despised wealth! At this point a servant entered with some +refreshment; Golushkin cleared his throat significantly, asked if they +would not partake of something, and was the first to gulp down a glass +of strong pepper-brandy. The guests partook of refreshments. Golushkin +thrust huge pieces of caviar into his mouth and drank incessantly, +saying every now and again, “Come, gentlemen, come, some splendid +Macon, please!” Turning to Nejdanov, he began asking him where he +had come from, where he was staying and for how long, and on hearing +that he was staying at Sipiagin’s, exclaimed: “I know this gentleman! +Nothing in him whatever!” and instantly began abusing all the +landowners in the province because, he said, not only were they void of +public spirit, but they did not even understand their own interests. + +But, strange to say, in spite of his being so abusive, his eyes wandered +about uneasily. Nejdanov could not make him out at all, and wondered +what possible use he could be to them. Solomin was silent as usual and +Markelov wore such a gloomy expression that Nejdanov could not help +asking what was the matter with him. Markelov declared that it was +nothing in a tone in which people commonly let you understand that there +is something wrong, but that it does not concern you. Golushkin again +started abusing someone or other and then went on to praise the new +generation. “Such clever chaps they are nowadays! Clever chaps!” Solomin +interrupted him by asking about the hopeful young man whom he had +mentioned and where he had discovered him. Golushkin laughed, repeating +once or twice, “Just wait, you will see! You will see!” and began +questioning him about his factory and its “rogue” of an owner, to +which Solomin replied in monosyllables. Then Golushkin poured them all +champagne, and bending over to Nejdanov, whispered in his ear, “To the +republic!” and drank off his glass at a gulp. Nejdanov merely put +his lips to the glass; Solomin said that he did not take wine in the +morning; and Markelov angrily and resolutely drank his glass to the last +drop. He was torn by impatience. “Here we are coolly wasting our time +and not tackling the real matter in hand.” He struck a blow on the +table, exclaiming severely, “Gentlemen!” and began to speak. + +But at this moment there entered a sleek, consumptive-looking man with a +long neck, in a merchant’s coat of nankeen, and arms outstretched like +a bird. He bowed to the whole company and, approaching Golushkin, +communicated something to him in a whisper. + +“In a minute! In a minute!” the latter exclaimed, hurriedly. +“Gentlemen,” he added, “I must ask you to excuse me. Vasia, my clerk, +has just told me of such a little piece of news” (Golushkin expressed +himself thus purposely by way of a joke) “which absolutely necessitates +my leaving you for awhile. But I hope, gentlemen, that you will come and +have dinner with me at three o’clock. Then we shall be more free!” + +Neither Solomin nor Nejdanov knew what to say, but Markelov replied +instantly, with that same severity in his face and voice: + +“Of course we will come.” + +“Thanks very much,” Golushkin said hastily, and bending down to +Markelov, added, “I will give a thousand roubles for the cause in any +case.... Don’t be afraid of that!” + +And so saying, he waved his right hand three times, with the thumb and +little finger sticking out. “You may rely on me!” he added. + +He accompanied his guests to the door, shouting, “I shall expect you at +three!” + +“Very well,” Markelov was the only one to reply. + +“Gentlemen!” Solomin exclaimed as soon as they found themselves in the +street, “I am going to take a cab and go straight back to the factory. +What can we do here until dinnertime? A sheer waste of time, kicking our +heels about, and I am afraid our worthy merchant is like the well-known +goat, neither good for milk nor for wool.” + +“The wool is there right enough,” Markelov observed gloomily. “He +promised to give us some money. Don’t you like him? Unfortunately, we +can’t pick and choose. People do not run after us exactly.” + +“I am not fastidious,” Solomin said calmly. “I merely thought that +my presence would not do much good. However,” he added, glancing at +Nejdanov with a smile, “I will stay if you like. Even death is bearable +in good company.” + +Markelov raised his head. + +“Supposing we go into the public garden. The weather is lovely. We can +sit and look at the people.” + +“Come along.” + +They moved on; Markelov and Solomin in front, Nejdanov in the rear. + + + + + +XVIII + +Strange was the state of Nejdanov’s soul. In the last two days so many +new sensations, new faces.... For the first time in his life he had come +in close contact with a girl whom in all probability he loved. He was +present at the beginning of the movement for which in all probability +he was to devote his whole life.... Well? Was he glad? No.... Was he +wavering? Was he afraid? Confused? Oh, certainly not! Did he at any rate +feel that straining of the whole being, that longing to be among the +first ranks, which is always inspired by the first approach of the +battle? Again, No. Did he really believe in this cause? Did he believe +in his love? “Oh, cursed aesthetic! Sceptic!” his lips murmured +inaudibly. Why this weariness, this disinclination to speak, unless it +be shouting or raving? What is this inner voice that he wishes to drown +by his shrieking? But Mariana, this delightful, faithful comrade, +this pure, passionate soul, this wonderful girl, does she not love him +indeed? And these two beings in front of him, this Markelov and Solomin, +whom he as yet knew but little, but to whom he was attracted so +much, were they not excellent types of the Russian people—of Russian +life—and was it not a happiness in itself to be closely connected with +them? Then why this vague, uneasy, gnawing sensation? Why this sadness? +If you’re such a melancholy dreamer, his lips murmured again, what sort +of a revolutionist will you make? You ought to write verses, languish, +nurse your own insignificant thoughts and sensations, amuse yourself +with psychological fancies and subtleties of all sorts, but don’t at +any rate mistake your sickly, nervous irritability and caprices for +the manly wrath, the honest anger, of a man of convictions! Oh Hamlet! +Hamlet! Thou Prince of Denmark! How escape from the shadow of thy +spirit? How cease to imitate thee in everything, even to revelling +shamelessly in one’s own self-depreciation? Just then, as the echo of +his own thoughts, he heard a familiar squeaky voice exclaim, “Alexai! +Alexai! Hamlet of Russia! Is it you I behold?” and raising his eyes, +to his great astonishment, saw Paklin standing before him! Paklin, in +Arcadian attire, consisting of a summer suit of flesh-colour, without +a tie, a large straw hat, trimmed with pale blue ribbon, pushed to the +back of his head, and patent shoes! + +He limped up to Nejdanov quickly and seized his hand. + +“In the first place,” he began, “although we are in the public garden, +we must for the sake of old times embrace and kiss.... One! two! three! +Secondly, I must tell you, that had I not run across you to-day you +would most certainly have seen me tomorrow. I know where you live and +have come to this town expressly to see you... how and why I will tell +you later. Thirdly, introduce me to your friends. Tell me briefly who +they are, and tell them who I am, and then let us proceed to enjoy +ourselves!” + +Nejdanov responded to his friend’s request, introduced them to each +other, explaining who each was, where he lived, his profession, and so +on. + +“Splendid!” Paklin exclaimed. “And now let me lead you all far from the +crowd, though there is not much of it here, certainly, to a secluded +seat, where I sit in hours of contemplation enjoying nature. We will get +a magnificent view of the governor’s house, two striped sentry boxes, +three gendarmes, and not a single dog! Don’t be too much surprised at +the volubility of my remarks with which I am trying so hard to amuse +you. According to my friends, I am the representative of Russian wit... +probably that is why I am lame.” + +Paklin conducted the friends to the “secluded seat” and made them sit +down, after having first got rid of two beggar women installed on it. +Then the young people proceeded to “exchange ideas,” a rather dull +occupation mostly, particularly at the beginning, and a fruitless one +generally. + +“Stop a moment!” Paklin exclaimed, turning to Nejdanov, “I must first +tell you why I’ve come here. You know that I usually take my sister away +somewhere every summer, and when I heard that you were coming to this +neighbourhood I remembered there were two wonderful creatures living in +this very town, husband and wife, distant relations of ours... on our +mother’s side. My father came from the lower middle class and my mother +was of noble blood.” (Nejdanov knew this, but Paklin mentioned the fact +for the benefit of the others.) “These people have for a long time been +asking us to come and see them. Why not? I thought. It’s just what I +want. They’re the kindest creatures and it will do my sister no end of +good. What could be better? And so here we are. And really I can’t +tell you how jolly it is for us here! They’re such dears! Such original +types! You must certainly get to know them! What are you doing here? +Where are you going to dine? And why did you come here of all places?” + +“We are going to dine with a certain Golushkin—a merchant here,” + Nejdanov replied. + +“At what time?” + +“At three o’clock.” + +“Are you going to see him on account... on account—” + +Paklin looked at Solomin who was smiling and at Markelov who sat +enveloped in his gloom. + +“Come, Aliosha, tell them—make some sort of Masonic sign ... tell them +not to be on ceremony with me ... I am one of you—of your party.” + +“Golushkin is also one of us,” Nejdanov observed. + +“Why, that’s splendid! It is still a long way off from three o’clock. +Suppose we go and see my relatives!” + +“What an idea! How can we——” + +“Don’t be alarmed, I take all the responsibility upon myself. Imagine, +it’s an oasis! Neither politics, literature, nor anything modern ever +penetrates there. The little house is such a squat one, such as one +rarely sees nowadays; the very smell in it is antique; the people +antique, the air antique...whatever you touch is antique, Catherine +II. powder, crinolines, eighteenth century! And the host and hostess... +imagine a husband and wife both very old, of the same age, without a +wrinkle, chubby, round, neat little people, just like two poll-parrots; +and kind to stupidity, to saintliness, there is no end to their +kindness! I am told that excessive kindness is often a sign of moral +weakness.... I cannot enter into these subtleties, but I know that my +dear old people are goodness itself. They never had any children, the +blessed ones! That is what they call them here in the town; blessed +ones! They both dress alike, in a sort of loose striped gown, of such +good material, also a rarity, not to be found nowadays. They are +exactly like one another, except that one wears a mob-cap, the other a +skull-cap, which is trimmed with the same kind of frill, only without +ribbons. If it were not for these ribbons, you would not know one from +the other, as the husband is clean-shaven. One is called Fomishka, the +other Fimishka. I tell you one ought to pay to go and look at them! They +love one another in the most impossible way; and if you ever go to see +them, they welcome you with open arms. And so gracious; they will show +off all their little parlour tricks to amuse you. But there is only +one thing they can’t stand, and that is smoking, not because they are +nonconformists, but because it doesn’t agree with them.... Of course, +nobody smoked in their time. However, to make up for that, they don’t +keep canaries—this bird was also very little known in their day. I’m +sure you’ll agree that that’s a comfort at any rate! Well? Will you +come?” + +“I really don’t know,” Nejdanov began. + +“Wait a moment! I forgot to tell you; their voices, too, are exactly +alike; close your eyes and you can hardly tell which is speaking. +Fomishka, perhaps, speaks just a little more expressively. You are about +to enter on a great undertaking, my dear friends; may be on a terrible +conflict.... Why not, before plunging into the stormy deep, take a dip in +to—” + +“Stagnant water,” Markelov put in. + +“Stagnant if you like, but not putrid. There are ponds in the steppes +which never get putrid, although there is no stream flowing through +them, because they have springs at the bottom. My old people have their +springs flowing in the depths of their hearts, as pure and as fresh +as can be. The question is this: do you want to see how people lived +a hundred or a hundred and fifty years ago? If so, then make haste and +follow me. Or soon the day, the hour will come—it’s bound to be the +same hour for them both—when my little parrots will be thrown off their +little perches—and everything antique will end with them. The squat +little house will tumble down and the place where it stood will be +overgrown with that which, according to my grandmother, always grows +over the spot where man’s handiwork has been—that is, nettles, burdock, +thistles, wormwood, and dock leaves. The very street will cease to +be—other people will come and never will they see anything like it +again, never, through all the long ages!” + +“Well,” Nejdanov exclaimed, “let us go at once!” + +“With the greatest of pleasure,” Solomin added. “That sort of thing is +not in my line, still it will be interesting, and if Mr. Paklin really +thinks that we shall not be putting anyone out by our visit... then... +why not—” + +“You may be at ease on that score!” Paklin exclaimed in his turn. “They +will be delighted to see you—and nothing more. You need not be on +ceremony. I told you—they were blessed ones. We will get them to sing +to us! Will you come too, Mr. Markelov?” + +Markelov shrugged his shoulders impatiently. + +“You can hardly leave me here alone! We may as well go, I suppose.” The +young people rose from the seat. + +“What a forbidding individual that is you have with you,” Paklin +whispered to Nejdanov, indicating Markelov. “The very image of John the +Baptist eating locusts... only locusts, without the honey! But the other +is splendid!” he added, with a nod of the head in Solomin’s direction. +“What a delightful smile he has! I’ve noticed that people smile like +that only when they are far above others, but without knowing it +themselves.” + +“Are there really such people?” Nejdanov asked. + +“They are scarce, but there are,” Paklin replied. + + + + + +XIX + +Fomishka and Fimishka, otherwise Foma Lavrentievitch and Efimia Pavlovna +Subotchev, belonged to one of the oldest and purest branches of the +Russian nobility, and were considered to be the oldest inhabitants in +the town of S. They married when very young and settled, a long time +ago, in the little wooden ancestral house at the very end of the town. +Time seemed to have stood still for them, and nothing “modern” ever +crossed the boundaries of their “oasis.” Their means were not great, +but their peasants supplied them several times a year with all the live +stock and provisions they needed, just as in the days of serfdom, +and their bailiff appeared once a year with the rents and a couple of +woodcocks, supposed to have been shot in the master’s forests, of which, +in reality, not a trace remained. They regaled him with tea at the +drawing-room door, made him a present of a sheep-skin cap, a pair of +green leather mittens, and sent him away with a blessing. + +The Subotchevs’ house was filled with domestics and menials just as +in days gone by. The old man-servant Kalliopitch, clad in a jacket +of extraordinarily stout cloth with a stand-up collar and small steel +buttons, announced, in a sing-song voice, “Dinner is on the table,” + and stood dozing behind his mistress’s chair as in days of old. The +sideboard was under his charge, and so were all the groceries and +pickles. To the question, had he not heard of the emancipation, he +invariably replied: “How can one take notice of every idle piece of +gossip? To be sure the Turks were emancipated, but such a dreadful thing +had not happened to him, thank the Lord!” A girl, Pufka, was kept in the +house for entertainment, and the old nurse Vassilievna used to come in +during dinner with a dark kerchief on her head, and would relate all +the news in her deep voice—about Napoleon, about the war of 1812, about +Antichrist and white niggers—or else, her chin propped on her hand, +with a most woeful expression on her face, she would tell of a dream she +had had, explaining what it meant, or perhaps how she had last read her +fortune at cards. The Subotchevs’ house was different from all other +houses in the town. It was built entirely of oak, with perfectly square +windows, the double casements for winter use were never removed all the +year round. It contained numerous little ante-rooms, garrets, closets, +and box-rooms, little landings with balustrades, little statues on +carved wooden pillars, and all kinds of back passages and sculleries. +There was a hedge right in front and a garden at the back, in which +there was a perfect nest of out-buildings: store rooms and cold-store +rooms, barns, cellars and ice-cellars; not that there were many goods +stored in them—some of them, in fact, were in an extremely delapidated +condition—but they had been there in olden days and were consequently +allowed to remain. + +The Subotchevs had only two ancient shaggy saddle horses, one of which, +called the Immovable, had turned grey from old age. They were harnessed +several times a month to an extraordinary carriage, known to the whole +town, which bore a faint resemblance to a terrestrial globe with a +quarter of it cut away in front, and was upholstered inside with some +foreign, yellowish stuff, covered with a pattern of huge dots, looking +for all the world like warts. The last yard of this stuff must have +been woven in Utrecht or Lyons in the time of the Empress Elisabeth! +The Subotchev’s coachman, too, was old—an ancient, ancient old man with +a constant smell of tar and cart-oil about him. His beard began just +below the eyes, while the eyebrows fell in little cascades to meet it. +He was called Perfishka, and was extremely slow in his movements. It +took him at least five minutes to take a pinch of snuff, two minutes +to fasten the whip in his girdle, and two whole hours to harness the +Immovable alone. If when out driving in their carriage the Subotchevs +were ever compelled to go the least bit up or down hill, they would +become quite terrified, would cling to the straps, and both cry aloud, +“Oh Lord ... give ... the horses ... the horses ... the strength of +Samson ... and make us ... as light as a feather!” + +The Subotchevs were regarded by everyone in the town as very eccentric, +almost mad, and indeed they too felt that they were not in keeping with +modern times. This, however, did not grieve them very much, and they +quietly continued to follow the manner of life in which they had been +born and bred and married. One custom of that time, however, did not +cling to them; from their earliest childhood they had never punished +any of their servants. If one of them turned out to be a thief or a +drunkard, then they bore with him for a long time, as one bears with bad +weather, and when their patience was quite exhausted they would get rid +of him by passing him on to someone else. “Let others bear with him +a little,” they would say. But any such misfortune rarely happened to +them, so rarely that it became an epoch in their lives. They would +say, for instance, “Oh, it was long ago; it happened when we had that +impudent Aldoshka with us,” or “When grandfather’s fur cap with +the fox’s tail was stolen!” Such caps were still to be found at the +Subotchevs’. Another distinguishing characteristic of the old world +was missing in them; neither Fomishka nor Fimishka were very religious. +Fomishka was even a follower of Voltaire, while Fimishka had a mortal +dread of the clergy and believed them to be possessed of the evil eye. +“As soon as a priest comes into my house the cream turns sour!” she used +to say. They rarely went to church and fasted in the Catholic fashion, +that is, ate eggs, butter, and milk. This was known in the town and did +not, of course, add to their reputation. But their kindness conquered +everybody; and although the Subotchevs were laughed at and called cranks +and blessed ones, still they were respected by everyone. No one cared +to visit them, however, but they were little concerned about this, too. +They were never dull when in each other’s company, were never apart, and +never desired any other society. + +Neither Fomishka nor Fimishka had ever been ill, and if one or the +other ever felt the slightest indisposition they would both drink some +concoction made of lime-flower, rub warm oil on their stomachs, or drop +hot candle grease on the soles of their feet and the little ailment +would soon pass over. They spent their days exactly alike. They got up +late, drank chocolate in tiny cups shaped like small mortars (tea, they +declared, came into fashion after their time), and sat opposite +one another chatting (they were never at a loss for a subject of +conversation!), or read out of “Pleasant Recreations”, “The World’s +Mirror”, or “Aonides”, or turned over the leaves of an old album, bound +in red morocco, with gilt edges. This album had once belonged, as the +inscription showed, to a certain Madame Barbe de Kabyline. How and +why it had come into their possession they did not know. It contained +several French and a great many Russian poems and prose extracts, of +which the following reflections on Cicero form a fair example—“The +disposition in which Cicero undertook the office of quaestor may be +gathered from the following: Calling upon the gods to testify to the +purity of his sentiments in every rank with which he had hitherto been +honoured, he considered himself bound by the most sacred bonds to the +fulfilment of this one, and denied himself the indulgence, not only of +such pleasures as are forbidden by law, but refrained even from such +light amusements which are considered indispensable by all.” Below +was written, “Composed in Siberia in hunger and cold.” An equally good +specimen was a poem entitled “Tirsis”, which ran like this— + +The universe is steeped in calm, The delightful sparkling dew Soothing +nature like a balm Gives to her, her life anew. Tersis alone with aching +heart, Is torn by sadness and dismay, When dear Aneta doth depart What +is there to make him gay? + +And the impromptu composition of a certain captain who had visited the +place in the year 1790, dated May 6th— + +N’er shall I forget thee, Village that to love I’ve grown, But I ever +shall regret thee And the hours so quickly flown, Hours which I was +honoured in Spending with your owner’s kin, The five dearest days of my +life will hold Passed amongst most worthy people, Merry ladies, young +and old, And other interesting people. + +On the last page of the album, instead of verses, there were various +recipes for remedies against stomach troubles, spasms, and worms. The +Subotchevs dined exactly at twelve o’clock and only ate old-fashioned +dishes: curd fritters, pickled cabbage, soups, fruit jellies, minced +chicken with saffron, stews, custards, and honey. They took an +after-dinner nap for an hour, not longer, and on waking up would sit +opposite one another again, drinking bilberry wine or an effervescent +drink called “forty-minds,” which nearly always squirted out of +the bottle, affording them great amusement, much to the disgust of +Kalliopitch, who had to wipe up the mess afterwards. He grumbled at +the cook and housekeeper as if they had invented this dreadful drink on +purpose. “What pleasure does it give one?” he asked; “it only spoils the +furniture.” Then the old people again read something, or got the dwarf +Pufka to entertain them, or sang old-fashioned duets. Their voices +were exactly alike, rather high-pitched, not very strong or steady, and +somewhat husky, especially after their nap, but not without a certain +amount of charm. Or, if need be, they played at cards, always the same +old games—cribbage, écarté, or double-dummy whist. Then the samovar +made its appearance. The only concession they made to the spirit of the +age was to drink tea in the evening, though they always considered it an +indulgence, and were convinced that the nation was deteriorating, owing +to the use of this “Chinese herb.” On the whole, they refrained from +criticising modern times or from exulting their own. They had lived like +this all their lives, but that others might live in a different and even +better way they were quite willing to admit, so long as they were not +compelled to conform to it. At seven o’clock Kalliopitch produced the +inevitable supper of cold hash, and at nine the high striped feather-bed +received their rotund little bodies in its soft embrace, and a calm, +untroubled sleep soon descended upon their eyelids. Everything in the +little house became hushed; the little lamp before the icon glowed and +glimmered, the funny innocent little pair slept the sound sleep of the +just, amidst the fragrant scent of musk and the chirping of the cricket. + +To these two odd little people, or poll-parrots as Paklin called them, +who were taking care of his sister, he now conducted his friends. + +Paklin’s sister was a clever girl with a fairly attractive face. She had +wonderfully beautiful eyes, but her unfortunate deformity had completely +broken her spirit, deprived her of self-confidence, joyousness, made her +mistrustful and even spiteful. She had been given the unfortunate name +of Snandulia, and to Paklin’s request that she should be re-christened +Sophia, she replied that it was just as it should be; a hunchback ought +to be called Snandulia; so she stuck to her strange name. She was an +excellent musician and played the piano very well. “Thanks to my long +fingers,” she would say, not without a touch of bitterness. “Hunchbacks +always have fingers like that.” + +The visitors came upon Fomishka and Fimishka at the very minute when +they had awakened from their afternoon nap and were drinking bilberry +wine. + +“We are going into the eighteenth century!” Paklin exclaimed as they +crossed the threshold of the Subotchevs’ house. + +And really they were confronted by the eighteenth century in the very +hall, with its low bluish screens, ornamented with black silhouettes +cut out of paper, of powdered ladies and gentlemen. Silhouettes, first +introduced by Lavater, were much in vogue in the eighties of last +century. + +The sudden appearance of such a large number of guests—four all at +once—produced quite a sensation in the usually quiet house. A hurried +sound of feet, both shod and unshod, was heard, several women thrust +their heads through the door and instantly drew them back again, +someone was pushed, another groaned, a third giggled, someone whispered +excitedly, “Be quiet, do!” + +At last Kalliopitch made his appearance in his old coat, and opening the +drawing-room door announced in a loud voice: + +“Sila Samsonitch with some other gentlemen, sir!” + +The Subotchevs were less disturbed than their servants, although the +eruption of four full-sized men into their drawing-room, spacious though +it was, did in fact surprise them somewhat. But Paklin soon reassured +them, introducing Nejdanov, Solomin, and Markelov in turn, as good quiet +people, not “governmental.” + +Fomishka and Fimishka had a horror of governmental, that is to say, +official people. + +Snandulia, who appeared at her brother’s request, was far more disturbed +and agitated than the old couple. + +They asked, both together and in exactly the same words, if their guests +would be pleased to partake of some tea, chocolate, or an effervescent +drink with jam, but learning that they did not require anything, having +just lunched with the merchant Golushkin and that they were returning +there to dinner, they ceased pressing them, and, folding their arms +in exactly the same manner across their stomachs, they entered into +conversation. It was a little slow at first, but soon grew livelier. + +Paklin amused them very much by relating the well known Gogol anecdote +about a superintendent of police, who managed to push his way into a +church already so packed with people that a pin could scarcely drop, +and about a pie which turned out to be no other than this same +superintendent himself. The old people laughed till the tears rolled +down their cheeks. They had exactly the same shrill laugh and both +went red in the face from the effort. Paklin noticed that people of the +Subotchev type usually went into fits of laughter over quotations +from Gogol, but as his object at the present moment was not so much +in amusing them as in showing them off to his friends, he changed his +tactics and soon managed to put them in an excellent humour. + +Fomishka produced a very ancient carved wooden snuff-box and showed it +to the visitors with great pride. At one time one could have discerned +about thirty-six little human figures in various attitudes carved on its +lid, but they were so erased as to be scarcely visible now. Fomishka, +however, still saw them and could even count them. He would point to one +and say, “Just look! this one is staring out of the window.... He has +thrust his head out!” but the place indicated by his fat little finger +with the nail raised was just as smooth as the rest of the box. He then +turned their attention to an oil painting hanging on the wall just above +his head. It represented a hunter in profile, galloping at full speed on +a bay horse, also in profile, over a snow plain. The hunter was clad in +a tall white sheepskin hat with a pale blue point, a tunic of +camel’s hair edged with velvet, and a girdle wrought in gold. A glove +embroidered in silk was gracefully tucked into the girdle, and a dagger +chased in black and silver hung at the side. In one hand the plump, +youthful hunter carried an enormous horn, ornamented with red tassels, +and the reins and whip in the other. The horse’s four legs were all +suspended in the air, and on every one of them the artist had carefully +painted a horseshoe and even indicated the nails. “Look,” Fomishka +observed, pointing with the same fat little finger to four semi-circular +spots on the white ground, close to the horse’s legs, “he has even put +the snow prints in!” Why there were only four of these prints and not +any to be seen further back, on this point Fomishka was silent. + +“This was I!” he added after a pause, with a modest smile. + +“Really!” Nejdanov exclaimed, “were you ever a hunting man?” + +“Yes. I was for a time. Once the horse threw me at full gallop and I +injured my _kurpey_. Fimishka got frightened and forbade me; so I have +given it up since then.” + +“What did you injure?” Nejdanov asked. + +“My _kurpey_,” Fomishka repeated, lowering his voice. + +The visitors looked at one another. No one knew what _kurpey_ meant; at +least, Markelov knew that the tassel on a Cossack or Circassian cap was +called a _kurpey_, but then how could Fomishka have injured that? But +no one dared to question him further. + +“Well, now that you have shown off,” Fimishka remarked suddenly, “I +will show off too.” And going up to a small _bonheur du jour_, as they +used to call an old-fashioned bureau, on tiny, crooked legs, with a +round lid which fitted into the back of it somewhere when opened, she +took out a miniature in water colour, in an oval bronze frame, of a +perfectly naked little child of four years old with a quiver over her +shoulders fastened across the chest with pale blue ribbons, trying the +points of the arrows with the tip of her little finger. The child was +all smiles and curls and had a slight squint. + +“And that was I,” she said. + +“Really?” + +“Yes, as a child. When my father was alive a Frenchman used to come +and see him, such a nice Frenchman too! He painted that for my father’s +birthday. Such a nice man! He used to come and see us often. He would +come in, make such a pretty courtesy and kiss your hand, and when going +away would kiss the tips of his own fingers so prettily, and bow to +the right, to the left, backwards and forwards! He was such a nice +Frenchman!” + +The guests praised his work; Paklin even declared that he saw a certain +likeness. + +Here Fomishka began to express his views on the modern French, saying +that they had become very wicked nowadays! + +“What makes you think so, Foma Lavrentievitch?” + +“Look at the awful names they give themselves nowadays!” + +“What, for instance?” + +“Nogent Saint Lorraine, for instance! A regular brigand’s name!” + +Fomishka asked incidentally who reigned in Paris now, and when told that +it was Napoleon, was surprised and pained at the information. + +“How?... Such an old man—” he began and stopped, looking round in +confusion. + +Fomishka had but a poor knowledge of French, and read Voltaire in +translation; he always kept a translated manuscript of “Candide” in the +bible box at the head of his bed. He used to come out with expressions +like: “This, my dear, is _fausse parquet_,” meaning suspicious, untrue. +He was very much laughed at for this, until a certain learned Frenchman +told him that it was an old parliamentary expression employed in his +country until the year 1789. + +As the conversation turned upon France and the French, Fimishka resolved +to ask something that had been very much on her mind. She first thought +of addressing herself to Markelov, but he looked too forbidding, so she +turned to Solomin, but no! He seemed to her such a plain sort of person, +not likely to know French at all, so she turned to Nejdanov. + +“I should like to ask you something, if I may,” she began; “excuse me, +my kinsman Sila Samsonitch makes fun of me and my woman’s ignorance.” + +“What is it?” + +“Supposing one wants to ask in French, ‘What is it?’ must one say +‘Kese-kese-kese-la?’” + +“Yes.” + +“And can one also say ‘Kese-kese-la?’” + +“Yes.” + +“And simply ‘Kese-la?’” + +“Yes, that’s right.” + +“And does it mean the same thing?” + +“Yes, it does.” + +Fimishka thought awhile, then threw up her arms. + +“Well, Silushka,” she exclaimed; “I am wrong and you are right. But +these Frenchmen.... How smart they are!” + +Paklin began begging the old people to sing them some ballad. They +were both surprised and amused at the idea, but consented readily on +condition that Snandulia accompanied them on the harpsichord. In a +corner of the room there stood a little spinet, which not one of them +had noticed before. Snandulia sat down to it and struck several chords. +Nejdanov had never heard such sour, toneless, tingling, jangling notes, +but the old people promptly struck up the ballad, “Was it to Mourn.” + +Fomisha began— + + “In love God gave a heart + Of burning passion to inspire + That loving heart with warm desire.” + + “But there is agony in bliss” + +Fimishka chimed in. + + “And passion free from pain there is, + Ah! where, where? tell me, tell me this,” + + “Ah! where, where? Tell me, tell me this,” + +Fomisha put in. + + “Ah! where, where? tell me, tell me this,” + +Fimishka repeated. + + “Nowhere in all the world, nowhere, + Love bringeth grief and black despair,” + +they sang together, + + “And that, love’s gift is everywhere,” + +Fomisha sang out alone. + +“Bravo!” Paklin exclaimed. “We have had the first verse, now please sing +us the second.” + +“With the greatest of pleasure,” Fomishka said, “but what about the +trill, Snandulia Samsonovna? After my verse there must be a trill.” + +“Very well, I will play your trill,” Snandulia replied. Fomishka began +again— + + “Has ever lover lovéd true + And kept his heart from grief and rue? + He loveth but to weep anew” + +and then Fimishka— + + “Yea—hearts that love at last are riven + As ships that hopelessly have striven + For life. To what end were they given?” + +“To what end were they given?” + +Fomishka warbled out and waited for Snandulia to play the trill. + + “To what end were they given?” + +he repeated, and then they struck up together— + + “Then take, Oh God, the heart away, + Away, away, take hearts away, + Away, away, away today.” + +“Bravo! Bravo!” the company exclaimed, all with exception of Markelov. + +“I wonder they don’t feel like clowns?” Nejdanov thought. “Perhaps they +do, who knows? They no doubt think there is no harm in it and may be +even amusing to some people. If one looks at it in that light, they are +quite right! A thousand times right!” + +Under the influence of these reflections he began paying compliments to +the host and hostess, which they acknowledged with a courtesy, performed +while sitting in their chairs. At this moment Pufka the dwarf and Nurse +Vassilievna made their appearance from the adjoining room (a bedroom or +perhaps the maids’ room) from whence a great bustle and whispering had +been going on for some time. Pufka began squealing and making hideous +grimaces, while the nurse first quietened her, then egged her on. + +Solomin’s habitual smile became even broader, while Markelov, who had +been for some time showing signs of impatience, suddenly turned to +Fomishka: + +“I did not expect that you,” he began in his severe manner, “with your +enlightened mind—I’ve heard that you are a follower of Voltaire—could +be amused with what ought to be an object for compassion—with +deformity!” Here he remembered Paklin’s sister and could have bitten his +tongue off. + +Fomishka went red in the face and muttered: “You see ... it is not my +fault ... she herself——” + +Pufka simply flew at Markelov. + +“How dare you insult our masters?” she screamed out in her lisping +voice. “What is it to you that they took me in, brought me up, and gave +me meat and drink? Can’t you bear to see another’s good fortune, eh? +Who asked you to come here? You fusty, musty, black-faced villain with +a moustache like a beetle’s!” Here Pufka indicated with her thick short +fingers what his moustache was like; while Nurse Vassilievna’s toothless +mouth was convulsed with laughter, re-echoed in the adjoining room. + +“I am not in a position to judge you,” Markelov went on. “To protect the +homeless and deformed is a very praiseworthy work, but I must say that +to live in ease and luxury, even though without injury to others, not +lifting a finger to help a fellow-creature, does not require a great +deal of goodness. I, for one, do not attach much importance to that sort +of virtue!” + +Here Pufka gave forth a deafening howl. She did not understand a word of +what Markelov had said, but she felt that the “black one” was scolding, +and how dared he! Vassilievna also muttered something, while Fomishka +folded his hands across his breast and turned to his wife. “Fimishka, my +darling,” he began, almost in tears; “do you hear what the gentleman is +saying? We are both wicked sinners, Pharisees.... We are living on +the fat of the land, oh! oh! oh! We ought to be turned out into the +street... with a broom in our hands to work for our living! Oh! oh!” + +At these mournful words Pufka howled louder than ever, while Fimishka +screwed up her eyes, opened her lips, drew in a deep breath, ready to +retaliate, to speak. + +God knows how it would have ended had not Paklin intervened. + +“What is the matter?” he began, gesticulating with his hands and +laughing loudly. “I wonder you are not ashamed of yourselves! Mr. +Markelov only meant it as a joke. He has such a solemn face that it +sounded a little severe and you took him seriously! Calm yourself! +Efimia Pavlovna, darling, we are just going, won’t you tell us our +fortunes at cards? You are such a good hand at it. Snandulia, do get the +cards, please!” + +Fimishka glanced at her husband, who seemed completely reassured, so she +too quieted down. + +“I have quite forgotten how to tell fortunes, my dear. It is such a long +time since I held the cards in my hand.” + +But quite of her own accord she took an extraordinary, ancient pack of +cards out of Snandalia’s hand. + +“Whose fortune shall I tell?” + +“Why everybody’s, of course!” Paklin exclaimed. “What a dear old thing +she is.... You can do what you like with her,” he thought. “Tell us +all our fortunes, granny dear,” he said aloud. “Tell us our fates, our +characters, our futures, everything!” + +She began shuffling the cards, but threw them down suddenly. + +“I don’t need cards!” she exclaimed. “I know all your characters +without that, and as the character, so is the fate. This one,” she said, +pointing to Solomin, “is a cool, steady sort of man. That one,” she +said, pointing threateningly at Markelov, “is a fiery, disastrous man.” + (Pufka put her tongue out at him.) “And as for you,” she looked at +Paklin, “there is no need to tell you—you know quite well that you’re +nothing but a giddy goose! And that one—” + +She pointed to Nejdanov, but hesitated. + +“Well?” he asked; “do please tell me what sort of a man I am.” + +“What sort of a man are you,” Fimishka repeated slowly. “You are +pitiable—that is all!” + +“Pitiable! But why?” + +“Just so. I pity you—that is all I can say.” + +“But why do you pity me?” + +“Because my eyes tell me so. Do you think I am a fool? I am cleverer +than you, in spite of your red hair. I pity you—that is all!” + +There was a brief silence—they all looked at one another, but did not +utter a word. + +“Well, goodbye, dear friends,” Paklin exclaimed. “We must have bored +you to death with our long visit. It is time for these gentlemen to be +going, and I am going with them. Goodbye, thanks for your kindness.” + +“Goodbye, goodbye, come again. Don’t be on ceremony,” Fomishka and +Fimishka exclaimed together. Then Fomishka suddenly drawled out: + +“Many, many, many years of life. Many—” + +“Many, many,” Kalliopitch chimed in quite unexpectedly, when opening the +door for the young men to pass out. + +The whole four suddenly found themselves in the street before the squat +little house, while Pufka’s voice was heard from within: + +“You fools!” she cried. “You fools!” + +Paklin laughed aloud, but no one responded. Markelov looked at each +in turn, as though he expected to hear some expression of indignation. +Solomin alone smiled his habitual smile. + + + + + +XX + +“Well,” Paklin was the first to begin, “we have been to the eighteenth +century, now let us fly to the twentieth! Golushkin is such a go-ahead +man that one can hardly count him as belonging to the nineteenth.” + +“Why, do you know him?” + +“What a question! Did you know my poll-parrots?” + +“No, but you introduced us.” + +“Well, then, introduce me. I don’t suppose you have any secrets to +talk over, and Golushkin is a hospitable man. You will see; he will be +delighted to see a new face. We are not very formal here in S.” + +“Yes,” Markelov muttered, “I have certainly noticed an absence of +formality about the people here.” + +Paklin shook his head. + +“I suppose that was a hit for me... I can’t help it ... I deserve it, no +doubt. But may I suggest, my new friend, that you throw off those sad, +oppressive thoughts, no doubt due to your bilious temperament... and +chiefly—” + +“And you sir, my new friend,” Markelov interrupted him angrily, “allow +me to tell you, by way of a warning, that I have never in my life been +given to joking, least of all today! And what do you know about my +temperament, I should like to know? It strikes me that it is not so very +long since we first set eyes on one another.” + +“There, there, don’t get angry and don’t swear. I believe you without +that,” Paklin exclaimed. “Oh you,” he said, turning to Solomin, “you, +whom the wise Fimishka called a cool sort of man, and there certainly is +something restful about you—do you think I had the slightest intention +of saying anything unpleasant to anyone or of joking out of place? +I only suggested going with you to Golushkin’s. Besides, I’m such a +harmless person; it’s not my fault that Mr. Markelov has a bilious +complexion.” + +Solomin first shrugged one shoulder, then the other. It was a habit of +his when he did not quite know what to say. + +“I don’t think,” he said at last, “that you could offend anyone, Mr. +Paklin, or that you wished to—and why should you not come with us +to Mr. Golushkin? We shall, no doubt, spend our time there just as +pleasantly as we did at your kinsman’s—and just as profitably most +likely.” + +Paklin threatened him with his finger. + +“Oh! I see, you can be wicked too if you like! However, you are also +coming to Golushkin’s, are you not?” + +“Of course I am. I have wasted the day as it is.” + +“Well then, _en avant, marchons_! To the twentieth century! To the +twentieth century! Nejdanov, you are an advanced man, lead the way!” + +“Very well, come along; only don’t keep on repeating the same jokes lest +we should think you are running short.” + +“I have still enough left for you, my dear friends,” Paklin said gaily +and went on ahead, not by leaping, but by limping, as he said. + +“What an amusing man!” Solomin remarked as he was walking along +arm-in-arm with Nejdanov; “if we should ever be sent to Siberia, which +Heaven forbid, there will be someone to entertain us at any rate.” + +Markelov walked in silence behind the others. + +Meanwhile great preparations were going on at Golushkin’s to produce +a “chic” dinner. (Golushkin, as a man of the highest European culture, +kept a French cook, who had formerly been dismissed from a club for +dirtiness.) A nasty, greasy fish soup was prepared, various _pâtés chauds_ +and fricassés and, most important of all, several bottles of champagne +had been procured and put into ice. + +The host met the young people with his characteristic awkwardness, +bustle, and much giggling. He was delighted to see Paklin as the latter +had predicted and asked of him, “Is he one of us? Of course he is! I +need not have asked,” he said, without waiting for a reply. He began +telling them how he had just come from that “old fogey” the governor, +and how the latter worried him to death about some sort of charity +institution. It was difficult to say what satisfied Golushkin most, the +fact that he was received at the governor’s, or that he was able to +abuse that worthy before these advanced, young men. Then he introduced +them to the promised proselyte, who turned out to be no other than the +sleek consumptive individual with the long neck whom they had seen +in the morning, Vasia, Golushkin’s clerk. “He hasn’t much to say,” +Golushkin declared, “but is devoted heart and soul to our cause.” To +this Vasia bowed, blushed, blinked his eyes, and grinned in such a +manner that it was impossible to say whether he was merely a vulgar +fool or an out-and-out knave and blackguard. + +“Well, gentlemen, let us go to dinner,” Golushkin exclaimed. + +They partook of various kinds of salt fish to give them an appetite and +sat down to the table. Directly after the soup, Golushkin ordered the +champagne to be brought up, which came out in frozen little lumps as +he poured it into the glasses. “For our ... our enterprise!” Golushkin +exclaimed, winking at the servant, as much as to say, “One must be +careful in the presence of strangers.” The proselyte Vasia continued +silent, and though he sat on the very edge of his chair and conducted +himself generally with a servility quite out of keeping with the +convictions to which, according to his master, he was devoted body and +soul, yet gulped down the wine with an amazing greediness. The others +made up for his silence, however, that is, Golushkin and Paklin, +especially Paklin. Nejdanov was inwardly annoyed, Markelov angry and +indignant, just as indignant, though in a different way, as he had been +at the Subotchevs’; Solomin was observant. + +Paklin was in high spirits and delighted Golushkin with his sharp, +ready wit. The latter had not the slightest suspicion that the “little +cripple” every now and again whispered to Nejdanov, who happened to be +sitting beside him, the most unflattering remarks at his, Golushkin’s, +expense. He thought him “a simple sort of fellow” who might be +patronised; that was probably why he liked him. Had Paklin been sitting +next him he would no doubt have poked him in the ribs or slapped him on +the shoulder, but as it was, he merely contented himself by nodding and +winking in his direction. Between him and Nejdanov sat Markelov, like a +dark cloud, and then Solomin. Golushkin went into convulsions at every +word Paklin said, laughed on trust in advance, holding his sides and +showing his bluish gums. Paklin soon saw what was expected of him and +began abusing everything (it being an easy thing for him), everything +and everybody; conservatives, liberals, officials, lawyers, +administrators, landlords, county councils and district councils, Moscow +and St. Petersburg. “Yes, yes, yes,” Golushkin put in, “that’s just +how it is! For instance, our mayor here is a perfect ass! A hopeless +blockhead! I tell him one thing after another, but he doesn’t understand +a single word; just like our governor!” + +“Is your governor a fool then?” Paklin asked. + +“I told you he was an ass!” + +“By the way, does he speak in a hoarse voice or through his nose?” + +“What do you mean?” Golushkin asked somewhat bewildered. + +“Why, don’t you know? In Russia all our important civilians speak in +a hoarse voice and our great army men speak through the nose. Only our +very highest dignitaries do both at the same time.” + +Golushkin roared with laughter till the tears rolled down his cheeks. + +“Yes, yes,” he spluttered, “if he talks through his nose ... then he’s +an army man!” + +“You idiot!” Paklin thought to himself. + +“Everything is rotten in this country, wherever you may turn!” he bawled +out after a pause. “Everything is rotten, everything!” + +“My dear Kapiton Andraitch,” Paklin began suggestively (he had just +asked Nejdanov in an undertone, “Why does he throw his arms about as if +his coat were too tight for him?”), “my dear Kapiton Andraitch, believe +me, half measures are of no use!” + +“Who talks of half measures!” Golushkin shouted furiously (he had +suddenly ceased laughing), “there’s only one thing to be done; it must +all be pulled up by the roots: Vasia, drink!” + +“I am drinking, Kapiton Andraitch,” the clerk observed, emptying a glass +down his throat. + +Golushkin followed his suit. + +“I wonder he doesn’t burst!” Paklin whispered to Nejdanov. + +“He’s used to it!” the latter replied. + +But the clerk was not the only one who drank. Little by little the wine +affected them all. Nejdanov, Markelov, and even Solomin began taking +part in the conversation. + +At first disdainfully, as if annoyed with himself for doing so, for not +keeping up his character, Nejdanov began to hold forth. He maintained +that the time had now come to leave off playing with words; that the +time had come for “action,” that they were now on sure ground! And +then, quite unconscious of the fact that he was contradicting himself, +he began to demand of them to show him what real existing elements they +had to rely on, saying that as far as he could see society was utterly +unsympathetic towards them, and the people were as ignorant as could be. +Nobody made any objection to what he said, not because there was nothing +to object to, but because everyone was talking on his own account. +Markelov hammered out obstinately in his hoarse, angry, monotonous voice +(“just as if he were chopping cabbage,” Paklin remarked). Precisely what +he was talking about no one could make out, but the word “artillery” + could be heard in a momentary hush. He was no doubt referring to the +defects he had discovered in its organisation. Germans and adjutants +were also brought in. Solomin remarked that there were two ways of +waiting, waiting and doing nothing and waiting while pushing things +ahead at the same time. + +“We don’t want moderates,” Markelov said angrily. + +“The moderates have so far been working among the upper classes,” + Solomin remarked, “and we must go for the lower.” + +“We don’t want it! damnation! We don’t want it!” Golushkin bawled out +furiously. “We must do everything with one blow! With one blow, I say!” + +“What is the use of extreme measures? It’s like jumping out of the +window.” + +“And I’ll jump too, if necessary!” Golushkin shouted. “I’ll jump! and +so will Vasia! I’ve only to tell him and he’ll jump! eh, Vasia? You’ll +jump, eh?” + +The clerk finished his glass of champagne. + +“Where you go, Kapiton Andraitch, there I follow. I shouldn’t dare do +otherwise.” + +“You had better not, or I’ll make mincemeat of you!” + +Soon a perfect babel followed. + +Like the first flakes of snow whirling round and round in the mild +autumn air, so words began flying in all directions in Golushkin’s hot, +stuffy dining-room; all kinds of words, rolling and tumbling over one +another: progress, government, literature, the taxation question, the +church question, the woman question; the law-court question, realism, +nihilism, communism, international, clerical, liberal, capital, +administration, organisation, association, and even crystallisation! +It was just what Golushkin wanted; this uproar seemed to him the real +thing. He was triumphant. “Look at us! out of the way or I’ll knock +you on the head! Kapiton Golushkin is coming!” At last the clerk Vasia +became so tipsy that he began to giggle and talk to his plate. All +at once he jumped up shouting wildly, “What sort of devil is this +_pro_gymnasium?” + +Golushkin sprang up too, and throwing back his hot, flushed face, on +which an expression of vulgar self-satisfaction was curiously mingled +with a feeling of terror, a secret misgiving, he bawled out, “I’ll +sacrifice another thousand! Get it for me, Vasia!” To which Vasia +replied, “All right!” + +Just then Paklin, pale and perspiring (he had been drinking no less than +the clerk during the last quarter of an hour), jumped up from his seat +and, waving both his arms above his head, shouted brokenly, “Sacrifice! +Sacrifice! What pollution of such a holy word! Sacrifice! No one dares +live up to thee, no one can fulfill thy commands, certainly not one of +us here—and this fool, this miserable money-bag opens its belly, lets +forth a few of its miserable roubles, and shouts ‘Sacrifice!’ And wants +to be thanked, expects a wreath of laurels, the mean scoundrel!” + +Golushkin either did not hear or did not understand what Paklin was +saying, or perhaps took it only as a joke, because he shouted again, +“Yes, a thousand roubles! Kapiton Golushkin keeps his word!” And so +saying he thrust his hand into a side pocket. “Here is the money, +take it! Tear it to pieces! Remember Kapiton!” When under excitement +Golushkin invariably talked of himself in the third person, as children +often do. Nejdanov picked up the notes which Golushkin had flung on the +table covered with wine stains. Since there was nothing more to wait +for, and the hour was getting late, they rose, took their hats, and +departed. + +They all felt giddy as soon as they got out into the fresh air, +especially Paklin. + +“Well, where are we going to now?” he asked with an effort. + +“I don’t know were you are going, but I’m going home,” Solomin replied. + +“Back to the factory?” + +“Yes.” + +“Now, at night, and on foot?” + +“Why not? I don’t think there are any wolves or robbers here—and my +legs are quite strong enough to carry me. It’s cooler walking at night.” + +“But hang it all, it’s four miles!” + +“I wouldn’t mind if it were more. Good-bye, gentlemen.” Solomin buttoned +his coat, pulled his cap over his forehead, lighted a cigar, and walked +down the street with long strides. + +“And where are you going to?” Paklin asked, turning to Nejdanov. + +“I’m going home with him.” He pointed to Markelov, who was standing +motionless, his hands crossed on his breast. “We have horses and a +conveyance.” + +“Very well.... And I’m going to Fomishka’s and Fimishka’s oasis. And +do you know what I should like to say? There’s twaddle here and twaddle +there, only that twaddle, the twaddle of the eighteenth century, is +nearer to the Russian character than the twaddle of the twentieth +century. Goodbye, gentlemen. I’m drunk, so don’t be offended at what I +say, only a better woman than my sister Snandulia... is not to be found +on God’s earth, although she is a hunchback and called Snandulia. That’s +how things are arranged in this world! She ought to have such a name. Do +you know who Saint Snandulia was? She was a virtuous woman who used to +visit prisons and heal the wounds of the sick. But... goodbye! goodbye, +Nejdanov, thou man to be pitied! And you, officer... ugh! misanthrope! +goodbye!” He dragged himself away, limping and swaying from side to +side, towards the oasis, while Markelov and Nejdanov sought out the +posting inn where they had left their conveyance, ordered the horses to +be harnessed, and half an hour later were driving along the high road. + + + + + +XXI + +The sky was overcast with low-hanging clouds, and though it was light +enough to see the cart-ruts winding along the road, still to the right +and left no separate object could be distinguished, everything blending +together into dark, heavy masses. It was a dim, unsettled kind of night; +the wind blew in terrific gusts, bringing with it the scent of rain and +wheat, which covered the broad fields. When they passed the oak which +served as a signpost and turned down a by-road, driving became more +difficult, the narrow track being quite lost at times. The coach moved +along at a slower pace. + +“I hope we’re not going to lose our way!” Nejdanov remarked; he had been +quite silent until then. + +“I don’t think so,” Markelov responded. “Two misfortunes never happen in +one day.” + +“But what was the first misfortune?” + +“A day wasted for nothing. Is that of no importance?” + +“Yes... certainly... and then this Golushkin! We shouldn’t have drank so +much wine. My head is simply splitting.” + +“I wasn’t thinking of Golushkin. We got some money from him at any rate, +so our visit wasn’t altogether wasted.” + +“But surely you’re not really sorry that Paklin took us to his... what +did he call them... poll-parrots?” + +“As for that, there’s nothing to be either sorry or glad about. I’m not +interested in such people. That wasn’t the misfortune I was referring +to.” + +“What was it then?” + +Markelov made no reply, but withdrew himself a little further into his +corner, as if he were muffling himself up. Nejdanov could not see his +face very clearly, only his moustache stood out in a straight black +line, but he had felt ever since the morning that there was something in +Markelov that was best left alone, some mysteriously unknown worry. + +“I say, Sergai Mihailovitch,” Nejdanov began, “do you really attach any +importance to Mr. Kisliakov’s letters that you gave me today? They are +utter nonsense, if you’ll excuse my saying so.” + +Markelov drew himself up. + +“In the first place,” he began angrily, “I don’t agree with you about +these letters—I find them extremely interesting... and conscientious! +In the second place, Kisliakov works very hard and, what is more, he is +in earnest; he _believes_ in our cause, believes in the revolution! And +I must say that _you_, Alexai Dmitritch, are very luke-warm—_you_ don’t +believe in our cause!” + +“What makes you think so?” Nejdanov asked slowly. + +“It is easy to see from your very words, from your whole behaviour. +Today, for instance, at Golushkin’s, who said that he failed to see any +elements that we could rely on? You! Who demanded to have them pointed +out to him? You again! And when that friend of yours, that grinning +buffoon, Mr. Paklin, stood up and declared with his eyes raised to +heaven that not one of us was capable of self-sacrifice, who approved +of it and nodded to him encouragingly? Wasn’t it you? Say what you like +of yourself...think what you like of yourself, you know best... that +is your affair, but I know people who could give up everything that is +beautiful in life—even love itself—to serve their convictions, to be +true to them! Well, _you_ ... couldn’t have done that, today at any +rate!” + +“Today? Why not today in particular?” + +“Oh, don’t pretend, for heaven’s sake, you happy Don Juan, you +myrtle-crowned lover!” Markelov shouted, quite forgetting the coachman, +who, though he did not turn round on the box, must have heard every +word. It is true the coachman was at that moment more occupied with the +road than with what the gentlemen were saying behind him. He loosened +the shaft-horse carefully, though somewhat nervously, she shook her +head, backed a little, and went down a slope which had no business there +at all. + +“I’m afraid I don’t quite understand you,” Nejdanov observed. + +Markelov gave a forced, malicious laugh. + +“So you don’t understand me! ha, ha, ha! I know everything, my dear sir! +I know whom you made love to yesterday, whom you’ve completely conquered +with your good looks and honeyed words! I know who lets you into her +room... after ten o’clock at night!” + +“Sir!” the coachman exclaimed suddenly, turning to Markelov, “hold the +reins, please. I’ll get down and have a look. I think we’ve gone off the +track. There seems a sort of ravine here.” + +The carriage was, in fact, standing almost on one side. Markelov seized +the reins which the coachman handed to him and continued just as loudly: + +“I don’t blame you in the least, Alexai Dmitritch! You took advantage +of.... You were quite right. No wonder that you’re not so keen about +our cause now... as I said before, you have something else on your mind. +And, really, who can tell beforehand what will please a girl’s heart or +what man can achieve what she may desire?” + +“I understand now,” Nejdanov began; “I understand your vexation and can +guess... who spied on us and lost no time in letting you know—” “It does +not seem to depend on merit,” Markelov continued, pretending not to +have heard Nejdanov, and purposely drawling out each word in a sing-song +voice, “no extraordinary spiritual or physical attractions.... Oh no! +It’s only the damned luck of all... bastards!” + +The last sentence Markelov pronounced abruptly and hurriedly, but +suddenly stopped as if turned to stone. + +Nejdanov felt himself grow pale in the darkness and tingled all over. He +could scarcely restrain himself from flying at Markelov and seizing him +by the throat. “Only blood will wipe out this insult,” he thought. + +“I’ve found the road!” the coachman cried, making his appearance at +the right front wheel, “I turned to the left by mistake—but it doesn’t +matter, we’ll soon be home. It’s not much farther. Sit still, please!” + +He got onto the box, took the reins from Markelov, pulled the +shaft-horse a little to one side, and the carriage, after one or two +jerks, rolled along more smoothly and evenly. The darkness seemed to +part and lift itself, a cloud of smoke could be seen curling out of a +chimney, ahead some sort of hillock, a light twinkled, vanished, then +another.... A dog barked. + +“That’s our place,” the coachman observed. “Gee up, my pretties!” + +The lights became more and more numerous as they drove on. + +“After the way in which you insulted me,” Nejdanov said at last, “you +will quite understand that I couldn’t spend the night under your roof, +and I must ask you, however unpleasant it may be for me to do so, to be +kind enough to lend me your carriage as soon as we get to your house to +take me back to the town. Tomorrow I shall find some means of getting +home, and will then communicate with you in a way which you doubtless +expect.” + +Markelov did not reply at once. + +“Nejdanov,” he exclaimed suddenly, in a soft, despairing tone of voice, +“Nejdanov! For Heaven’s sake come into the house if only to let me +beg for your forgiveness on my knees! Nejdanov! forget... forget +my senseless words! Oh, if some one only knew how wretched I feel!” + Markelov struck himself on the breast with his fist, a groan seemed to +come from him. “Nejdanov. Be generous.... Give me your hand.... Say +that you forgive me!” + +Nejdanov held out his hand irresolutely—Markelov squeezed it so hard +that he could almost have cried out. + +The carriage stopped at the door of the house. + +“Listen to me, Nejdanov,” Markelov said to him a quarter of an hour +later in his study, “listen.” (He addressed him as “thou,” and in this +unexpected “_thou_” addressed to a man whom he knew to be a successful +rival, whom he had only just cruelly insulted, wished to kill, to tear +to pieces, in this familiar word “thou” there was a ring of irrevocable +renunciation, sad, humble supplication, and a kind of claim.... Nejdanov +recognised this claim and responded to it by addressing him in the same +way.) “Listen! I’ve only just told you that I’ve refused the happiness +of love, renounced everything to serve my convictions.... It wasn’t +true, I was only bragging! Love has never been offered to me, I’ve had +nothing to renounce! I was born unlucky and will continue so for the +rest of my days ... and perhaps it’s for the best. Since I can’t get +that, I must turn my attention to something else! If you can combine +the one with the other... love and be loved ... and serve the cause at +the same time, you’re lucky! I envy you ... but as for myself ... I +can’t. You happy man! You happy man! I can’t.” + +Markelov said all this softly, sitting on a low stool, his head bent +and arms hanging loose at his sides. Nejdanov stood before him lost in a +sort of dreamy attentiveness, and though Markelov had called him a happy +man, he neither looked happy nor did he feel himself to be so. + +“I was deceived in my youth,” Markelov went on; “she was a remarkable +girl, but she threw me over... and for whom? For a German! for an +adjutant! And Mariana—” + +He stopped. It was the first time he had pronounced her name and it +seemed to burn his lips. + +“Mariana did not deceive me. She told me plainly that she did not care +for me .... There is nothing in me she could care for, so she gave +herself to you. Of course, she was quite free to do so.” + +“Stop a minute!” Nejdanov exclaimed. “What are you saying? What do you +imply by the words ‘gave herself’? I don’t know what your sister told +you, but I assure you—” + +“I didn’t mean physically, but morally, that is, with the heart and +soul,” Markelov interrupted him. He was obviously displeased with +Nejdanov’s exclamation. “She couldn’t have done better. As for +my sister, she didn’t, of course, wish to hurt me. It can make no +difference to her, but she no doubt hates you and Mariana too. She did +not tell me anything untrue... but enough of her!” + +“Yes,” Nejdanov thought to himself, “she does hate us.” + +“It’s all for the best,” Markelov continued, still sitting in the same +position. “The last fetters have been broken; there is nothing to hinder +me now! It doesn’t matter that Golushkin is an ass, and as for +Kisliakov’s letters, they may perhaps be absurd, but we must consider +the most important thing. Kisliakov says that everything is ready. +Perhaps you don’t believe that too.” + +Nejdanov did not reply. + +“You may be right, but if we’ve to wait until everything, absolutely +everything, is ready, we shall never make a beginning. If we weigh _all_ +the consequences beforehand we’re sure to find some bad ones among them. +For instance, when our forefathers emancipated the serfs, do you think +they could foresee that a whole class of money-lending landlords would +spring up as a result of the emancipation? Landlords who sell a peasant +eight bushels of rotten rye for six roubles and in return for it get +labour for the whole six roubles, then the same quantity of good +sound rye and interest on top of that! Which means that they drain the +peasants to the last drop of blood! You’ll agree that our emancipators +could hardly have foreseen that. Even if they had foreseen it, they +would still have been quite right in freeing the serfs without weighing +all the consequences beforehand! That is why I have decided!” + +Nejdanov looked at Markelov with amazement, but the latter turned to one +side and directed his gaze into a corner of the room. He sat with his +eyes closed, biting his lips and chewing his moustache. + +“Yes, I’ve decided!” he repeated, striking his knee with his brown hairy +hand. “I’m very obstinate.... It’s not for nothing that I’m half a Little +Russian.” + +He got up, dragged himself into his bedroom, and came back with a small +portrait of Mariana in a glazed frame. + +“Take this,” he said in a sad, though steady voice. “I drew it some time +ago. I don’t draw well, but I think it’s like her.” (It was a pencil +sketch in profile and was certainly like Mariana.) “Take it, Alexai; +it is my bequest, and with this portrait I give you all my rights.... +I know I never had any... but you know what I mean! I give you up +everything, and her.... She is very good, Alexai—” + +Markelov ceased; his chest heaved visibly. + +“Take it. You are not angry with me, are you? Well, take it then. It’s +no use to me... now.” + +Nejdanov took the portrait, but a strange sensation oppressed his +heart. It seemed to him that he had no right to take this gift; that +if Markelov knew what was in his, Nejdanov’s, heart, he would not have +given it him. He stood holding the round piece of cardboard, carefully +set in a black frame with a mount of gold paper, not knowing what to do +with it. “Why, this is a man’s whole life I’m holding in my hand,” he +thought. He fully realised the sacrifice Markelov was making, but why, +why especially to him? Should he give back the portrait? No! that would +be the grossest insult. And after all, was not the face dear to him? Did +he not love her? + +Nejdanov turned his gaze on Markelov not without some inward misgiving. +“Was he not looking at him, trying to guess his thoughts?” But Markelov +was standing in a corner biting his moustache. + +The old servant came into the room carrying a candle. Markelov started. + +“It’s time we were in bed, Alexai,” he said. “Morning is wiser than +evening. You shall have the horses tomorrow. Goodbye.” + +“And goodbye to you too, old fellow,” he added turning to the servant +and slapping him on the shoulder. “Don’t be angry with me!” + +The old man was so astonished that he nearly dropped the candle, and +as he fixed his eyes on his master there was an expression in them of +something other, something more, than his habitual dejection. + +Nejdanov retired to his room. He was feeling wretched. His head was +aching from the wine he had drunk, there were ringing noises in his +ears, and stars jumping about in front of his eyes, even though he shut +them. Golushkin, Vasia the clerk, Fomishka and Fimishka, were dancing +about before him, with Mariana’s form in the distance, as if distrustful +and afraid to come near. Everything that he had said or done during the +day now seemed to him so utterly false, such useless nonsense, and the +thing that ought to be done, ought to be striven for, was nowhere to be +found; unattainable, under lock and key, in the depths of a bottomless +pit. + +He was filled with a desire to go to Markelov and say to him, “Here, +take back your gift, take it back!” + +“Ugh! What a miserable thing life is!” he exclaimed. + +He departed early on the following morning. Markelov was already +standing at the door surrounded by peasants, but whether he had asked +them to come, or they had come of their own accord, Nejdanov did not +know. Markelov said very little and parted with him coldly, but it +seemed to Nejdanov that he had something of importance to communicate to +him. + +The old servant made his appearance with his usual melancholy +expression. + +The carriage soon left the town behind it, and coming out into the open +country began flying at a furious rate. The horses were the same, but +the driver counted on a good tip, as Nejdanov lived in a rich house. +And as is usually the case, when the driver has either had a drink, or +expects to get one, the horses go at a good pace. + +It was an ordinary June day, though the air was rather keen. A steady, +high wind was blowing, but raising no dust in the road, owing to last +night’s rain. The laburnums glistened, rustling to and fro in the +breeze; a ripple ran over everything. From afar the cry of the quail was +carried over the hills, over the grassy ravines, as if the very cry was +possessed of wings; the rooks were bathing in the sunshine; along the +straight, bare line of the horizon little specks no bigger than +flies could be distinguished moving about. These were some peasants +re-ploughing a fallow field. + +Nejdanov was so lost in thought that he did not see all this. He went +on and on and did not even notice when they drove through Sipiagin’s +village. + +He trembled suddenly as he caught sight of the house, the first story +and Mariana’s window. “Yes,” he said to himself, a warm glow entering +his heart, “Markelov was right. She is a good girl and I love her.” + + + + +XXII + +Nejdanov changed his clothes hurriedly and went in to give Kolia his +lesson. On the way he ran across Sipiagin in the dining-room. He bowed +to him with chilling politeness, muttered through his teeth, “Got back +all right?” and went into his study. The great statesman had already +decided in his ministerial mind that as soon as the vacation came to +an end he would lose no time in packing off to St. Petersburg “this +extremely revolutionary young tutor,” but meanwhile would keep an eye +on him. _Je n’ai pas eu la main heureuse cette fois-ci_, he thought +to himself, still _j’aurais pu tomber pire_. Valentina Mihailovna’s +sentiments towards Nejdanov however, were not quite so negative; she +simply could not endure the idea that he, “a mere boy,” had slighted +her! Mariana had not been mistaken, Valentina Mihailovna had listened +at the door in the corridor; the illustrious lady was not above such +proceedings. Although she had said nothing to her “flighty” niece +during Nejdanov’s absence, still she had let her plainly understand that +everything was known to her, and that if she had not been so painfully +sorry for her, and did not despise her from the bottom of her heart, she +would have been most frightfully angry at the whole thing. + +An expression of restrained inward contempt played over her face. She +raised her eyebrows in scorn and pity when she looked at or spoke +to Mariana, and she would fix her wonderful eyes, full of tender +remonstrance and painful disgust, on the willful girl, who, after all +her “fancies and eccentricities,” had ended by kissing an insignificant +undergraduate... in a dark room! + +Poor Mariana! Her severe, proud lips had never tasted any man’s kisses. + +Valentina Mihailovna had not told her husband of the discovery she had +made. She merely contented herself by addressing a few words to Mariana +in his presence, accompanied by a significant smile, quite irrelevant to +the occasion. She regretted having written to her brother, but was, +on the whole, more pleased that the thing was done than be spared the +regret and the letter not written. + +Nejdanov got a glimpse of Mariana at lunch in the dining-room. It seemed +to him that she had grown thinner and paler. She was not looking her +best on that day, but the penetrating glance she turned on him directly +he entered the room went straight to his heart. Valentina Mihailovna +looked at him constantly, as though she were inwardly congratulating +him. “Splendid! Very smart!” he read on her face, while she was studying +his to find out if Markelov had shown him the letter. She decided in the +end that he had. + +On hearing that Nejdanov had been to the factory of which Solomin was +the manager, Sipiagin began asking him various questions about it, but +was soon convinced from the young man’s replies that he had seen nothing +there and dropped into a majestic silence, as if reproaching himself +for having expected any practical knowledge from such an inexperienced +individual! On going out of the room Mariana managed to whisper to +Nejdanov: “Wait for me in the birch grove at the end of the garden. I’ll +be there as soon as possible.” + +“She is just as familiar with me as Markelov was,” he thought to +himself, and a strange, pleasant sensation came over him. How strange it +would have seemed to him if she had suddenly become distant and formal +again, if she had turned away from him. He felt that such a thing would +have made him utterly wretched, but was not sure in his own mind whether +he loved her or not. She was dear to him and he felt the need of her +above everything—this he acknowledged from the bottom of his heart. + +The grove Mariana mentioned consisted of some hundreds of big old +weeping-birches. The wind had not fallen and the long tangled branches +were tossing hither and thither like loosened tresses. The clouds, still +high, flew quickly over the sky, every now and again obscuring the +sun and making everything of an even hue. Suddenly it would make its +appearance again and brilliant patches of light would flash out once +more through the branches, crossing and recrossing, a tangled pattern of +light and shade. The roar of the trees seemed to be filled with a kind +of festive joy, like to the violent joy with which passion breaks into +a sad, troubled heart. It was just such a heart that Nejdanov carried in +his bosom. He leaned against the trunk of a tree and waited. He did not +really know what he was feeling and had no desire to know, but it seemed +to him more awful, and at the same time easier, than at Markelov’s. +Above everything he wanted to see her, to speak to her. The knot that +suddenly binds two separate existences already had him in its grasp. +Nejdanov thought of the rope that is flung to the quay to make fast a +ship. Now it is twisted about the post and the ship stops.... Safe in +port! Thank God! + +He trembled suddenly. A woman’s dress could be seen in the distance +coming along the path. It was Mariana. But whether she was coming +towards him or going away from him he could not tell until he noticed +that the patches of light and shade glided over her figure from below +upwards. So she was coming towards him; they would have glided from +above downwards had she been going away from him. A few moments longer +and she was standing before him with her bright face full of welcome and +a caressing light in her eyes. A glad smile played about her lips. He +seized the hand she held out to him, but could not say a single word; +she also was silent. She had walked very quickly and was somewhat out +of breath, but seemed glad that he was pleased to see her. She was the +first to speak. + +“Well,” she began, “tell me quickly what you’ve decided.” + +Nejdanov was surprised. + +“Decided? Why, was it necessary to decide anything just now?” + +“Oh, you know what I mean. Tell me what you talked about, whom you’ve +seen—if you’ve met Solomin. Tell me everything, everything. But wait +a moment; let us go on a little further. I know a spot not quite so +conspicuous as this.” + +She made him come with her. He followed her obediently over the tall +thin grass. + +She led him to the place she mentioned, and they sat down on the trunk +of a birch that had been blown down in a storm. + +“Now begin!” she said, and added directly afterwards, “I am so glad to +see you again! I thought these two days would never come to an end! Do +you know, I’m convinced that Valentina Mihailovna listened to us.” + +“She wrote to Markelov about it,” Nejdanov remarked. + +“Did she?” + +Mariana was silent for a while. She blushed all over, not from shame, +but from another, deeper feeling. + +“She is a wicked, spiteful woman!” she said slowly and quietly. “She +had no right to do such a thing! But it doesn’t matter. Now tell me your +news.” + +Nejdanov began talking and Mariana listened to him with a sort of stony +attention, only stopping him when she thought he was hurrying over +things, not giving her sufficient details. However, not all the details +of his visit were of equal interest to her; she laughed over Fomishka +and Fimishka, but they did not interest her. Their life was too remote +from hers. + +“It’s just like hearing about Nebuchadnezzar,” she remarked. + +But she was very keen to know what Markelov had said, what Golushkin had +thought (though she soon realised what sort of a bird he was), and above +all wanted to know Solomin’s opinion and what sort of a man he was. +These were the things that interested her. “But when? when?” was a +question constantly in her mind and on her lips the whole time Nejdanov +was talking, while he, on the other hand, seemed to try and avoid +everything that might give a definite answer to that question. He began +to notice himself that he laid special stress on those details that were +of least interest to Mariana. He pulled himself up, but returned to them +again involuntarily. Humorous descriptions made her impatient, a +sceptic or dejected tone hurt her. It was necessary to keep strictly +to everything concerning the “cause,” and however much he said on the +subject did not seem to weary her. It brought back to Nejdanov’s mind +how once, before he had entered the university, when he was staying with +some friends of his in the country one summer, he had undertaken to +tell the children some stories; they had also paid no attention to +descriptions, personal expressions, personal sensations, they had also +demanded nothing but facts and figures. Mariana was not a child, but she +was like a child in the directness and simplicity of her feelings. + +Nejdanov was sincerely enthusiastic in his praise of Markelov, and +expressed himself with particular warmth about Solomin. While uttering +the most enthusiastic expressions about him, he kept asking himself +continually why he had such a high opinion of this man. He had not said +anything very brilliant and, in fact, some of his words were in direct +opposition to his (Nejdanov’s) own convictions. “His head is screwed +on the right way,” he thought. “A cool, steady man, as Fimishka said; +a powerful man, of calm, firm strength. He knows what he wants, has +confidence in himself, and arouses confidence in others. He has no +anxieties and is well-balanced! That is the main thing; he has balance, +just what is lacking in me!” Nejdanov ceased speaking and became lost in +meditation. Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder. + +“Alexai! What is the matter with you?” Mariana asked. + +He took her tiny, strong hand from his shoulder and kissed it for the +first time. Mariana laughed softly, surprised that such a thing should +have occurred to him. She in her turn became pensive. + +“Did Markelov show you Valentina Mihailovna’s letter?” she asked at +last. + +“Yes, he did.” + +“Well, and how is he?” + +“Markelov? He is the most honourable, most unselfish man in existence! +He—” + +Nejdanov wanted to tell Mariana about the portrait, but pulled himself +up and added, “He is the soul of honour!” + +“Oh yes, I know.” + +Mariana became pensive again. She suddenly turned to Nejdanov on the +trunk they were both sitting on and asked quickly: + +“Well? What have you decided on?” + +Nejdanov shrugged his shoulders. + +“I’ve already told you, dear, that we’ve decided nothing as yet; we must +wait a little longer.” + +“But why?” + +“Those were our last instructions.” (“I’m lying,” Nejdanov thought to +himself.) + +“From whom?” + +“Why, you know... from Vassily Nikolaevitch. And then we must wait until +Ostrodumov comes back.” + +Mariana looked questioningly at Nejdanov. “But tell me, have you ever +seen this Vassily Nikolaevitch?” + +“Yes. I’ve seen him twice ... for a minute or two.” + +“What is he like? Is he an extraordinary man?” + +“I don’t quite know how to tell you. He is our leader now and directs +everything. We couldn’t get on without discipline in our movement; we +must obey someone.” (“What nonsense I’m talking!” Nejdanov thought.) + +“What is he like to look at?” + +“Oh, he’s short, thick-set, dark, with high cheek-bones like a +Kalmick... a rather coarse face, only he has very bright, intelligent +eyes.” + +“And what does he talk like?” + +“He does not talk, he commands.” + +“Why did they make him leader?” + +“He is a man of strong character. Won’t give in to anyone. Would sooner +kill if necessary. People are afraid of him.” + +“And what is Solomin like?” Mariana asked after a pause. + +“Solomin is also not good-looking, but has a nice, simple, honest face. +Such faces are to be found among schoolboys of the right sort.” + +Nejdanov had described Solomin accurately. + +Mariana gazed at him for a long, long time, then said, as if to herself: + +“You have also a nice face. I think it would be easy to get on with +you.” + +Nejdanov was touched; he took her hand again and raised it to his lips. + +“No more gallantries!” she said laughing. Mariana always laughed when +her hand was kissed. “I’ve done something very naughty and must ask you +to forgive me.” + +“What have you done?” + +“Well, when you were away, I went into your room and saw a copy-book of +verses lying on your table” (Nejdanov shuddered; he remembered having +left it there), “and I must confess to you that I couldn’t overcome my +curiosity and read the contents. Are they your verses?” + +“Yes, they are. And do you know, Mariana, that one of the strongest +proofs that I care for you and have the fullest confidence in you is +that I am hardly angry at what you have done?” + +“Hardly! Then you are just a tiny bit. I’m so glad you call me Mariana. +I can’t call you Nejdanov, so I shall call you Alexai. There is a poem +which begins, ‘When I die, dear friend, remember,’ is that also yours?” + +“Yes. Only please don’t talk about this any more.... Don’t torture me.” + +Mariana shook her head. + +“It’s a very sad poem.... I hope you wrote it before we became intimate. +The verses are good though ... as far as I can judge. I think you have +the making of a literary man in you, but you have chosen a better and +higher calling than literature. It was good to do that kind of work when +it was impossible to do anything else.” + +Nejdanov looked at her quickly. + +“Do you think so? I agree with you. Better ruin there, than success +here.” + +Mariana stood up with difficulty. + +“Yes, my dear, you are right!” she exclaimed, her whole face beaming +with triumph and emotion, “you are right! But perhaps it may not mean +ruin for us yet. We shall succeed, you will see; we’ll be useful, our +life won’t be wasted. We’ll go among the people.... Do you know any +sort of handicraft? No? Never mind, we’ll work just the same. We’ll +bring them, our brothers, everything that we know.... If necessary, I +can cook, wash, sew.... You’ll see, you’ll see.... And there won’t be +any kind of merit in it, only happiness, happiness—” + +Mariana ceased and fixed her eyes eagerly in the distance, not that +which lay before her, but another distance as yet unknown to her, which +she seemed to see.... She was all aglow. + +Nejdanov bent down to her waist. + +“Oh, Mariana!” he whispered. “I am not worthy of you!” + +She trembled all over. + +“It’s time to go home!” she exclaimed, “or Valentina Mihailovna will be +looking for us again. However, I think she’s given me up as a bad job. +I’m quite a black sheep in her eyes.” + +Mariana pronounced the last words with such a bright joyful expression +that Nejdanov could not help laughing as he looked at her and repeating, +“black sheep!” + +“She is awfully hurt,” Mariana went on, “that you are not at her feet. +But that is nothing. The most important thing is that I can’t stay here +any longer. I must run away.” + +“Run away?” Nejdanov asked. + +“Yes.... You are not going to stay here, are you? We’ll go away +together.... We must work together.... You’ll come with me, won’t you?” + +“To the ends of the earth!” Nejdanov exclaimed, his voice ringing with +sudden emotion in a transport of gratitude. “To the ends of the earth!” + At that moment he would have gone with her wherever she wanted, without +so much as looking back. + +Mariana understood him and gave a gentle, blissful sigh. + +“Then take my hand, dearest—only don’t kiss it—press it firmly, like a +comrade, like a friend—like this!” + +They walked home together, pensive, happy. The young grass caressed +their feet, the young leaves rustled about them, patches of light and +shade played over their garments—and they both smiled at the wild +play of the light, at the merry gusts of wind, at the fresh, sparkling +leaves, at their own youth, and at one another. + + + + + +XXIII + +The dawn was already approaching on the night after Golushkin’s dinner +when Solomin, after a brisk walk of about five miles, knocked at the +gate in the high wall surrounding the factory. The watchman let him in +at once and, followed by three house-dogs wagging their tails with great +delight, accompanied him respectfully to his own dwelling. He seemed to +be very pleased that the chief had got back safely. + +“How did you manage to get here at night, Vassily Fedotitch? We didn’t +expect you until tomorrow.” + +“Oh, that’s all right, Gavrilla. It’s much nicer walking at night.” + +The most unusually friendly relations existed between Solomin and his +workpeople. They respected him as a superior, treated him as one of +themselves, and considered him to be very learned. “Whatever Vassily +Fedotitch says,” they declared, “is sacred! Because he has learned +everything there is to be learned, and there isn’t an Englishman who can +get around him!” And in fact, a certain well-known English manufacturer +had once visited the factory, but whether it was that Solomin could +speak to him in his own tongue or that he was really impressed by his +knowledge is uncertain; he had laughed, slapped him on the shoulder, and +invited him to come to Liverpool with him, saying to the workmen, in his +broken Russian, “Oh, he’s all right, your man here!” At which the men +laughed a great deal, not without a touch of pride. “So that’s what he +is! Our man!” + +And he really was theirs and one of them. Early the next morning his +favourite Pavel woke him, prepared his things for washing, told him +various news, and asked him various questions. They partook of some +tea together hastily, after which Solomin put on his grey, greasy +working-jacket and set out for the factory; and his life began to go +round again like some huge flywheel. + +But the thread had to be broken again. Five days after Solomin’s return +home there drove into the courtyard a smart little phaeton, harnessed +to four splendid horses and a footman in pale green livery, whom Pavel +conducted to the little wing, where he solemnly handed Solomin a letter +sealed with an armorial crest, from “His Excellency Boris Andraevitch +Sipiagin.” In this letter, which exhaled an odour, not of perfume, but +of some extraordinarily respectable English smell and was written in +the third person, not by a secretary, but by the gentleman himself, +the cultured owner of the village Arjanov, he begged to be excused for +addressing himself to a man with whom he had not the honour of being +personally acquainted, but of whom he, Sipiagin, had heard so many +flattering accounts, and ventured to invite Mr. Solomin to come and +see him at his house, as he very much wanted to ask his valuable advice +about a manufacturing enterprise of some importance he had embarked +upon. In the hope that Mr. Solomin would be kind enough to come, he, +Sipiagin, had sent him his carriage, but in the event of his being +unable to do so on that day, would he be kind enough to choose any other +day that might be convenient for him and the same carriage would be +gladly put at his disposal. Then followed the usual polite signature and +a postscript written in the first person: + +“I hope that you will not refuse to take dinner with us _quite simply_. +No dress clothes.” (The words “quite simply” were underlined.) +Together with this letter the footman (not without a certain amount of +embarrassment) gave Solomin another letter from Nejdanov. It was just a +simple note, not sealed with wax but merely stuck down, containing +the following lines: “Do please come. You’re wanted badly and may be +extremely useful. I need hardly say not to Mr. Sipiagin.” + +On finishing Sipiagin’s letter Solomin thought, “How else can I go if +not simply? I haven’t any dress clothes at the factory.... And what the +devil should I drag myself over there for? It’s just a waste of time!” +But after reading Nejdanov’s note, he scratched the back of his neck +and walked over to the window, irresolute. + +“What answer am I to take back, sir?” the footman in green livery asked +slowly. + +Solomin stood for some seconds longer at the window. + +“I am coming with you,” he announced, shaking back his hair and passing +his hand over his forehead—“just let me get dressed.” + +The footman left the room respectfully and Solomin sent for Pavel, had +a talk with him, ran across to the factory once more, then putting on a +black coat with a very long waist, which had been made by a provincial +tailor, and a shabby top-hat which instantly gave his face a wooden +expression, took his seat in the phaeton. He suddenly remembered that he +had forgotten his gloves, and called out to the “never-failing” Pavel, +who brought him a pair of newly-washed white kid ones, the fingers of +which were so stretched at the tips that they looked like long biscuits. +Solomin thrust the gloves into his pocket and gave the order to start. +Then the footman jumped onto the box with an unnecessary amount of +alacrity, the well-bred coachman sang out in a falsetto voice, and the +horses started off at a gallop. + +While the horses were bearing Solomin along to Sipiagin’s, that +gentleman was sitting in his drawing-room with a halfcut political +pamphlet on his knee, discussing him with his wife. He confided to her +that he had written to him with the express purpose of trying to get him +away from the merchant’s factory to his own, which was in a very bad way +and needed reorganising. Sipiagin would not for a moment entertain +the idea that Solomin would refuse to come, or even so much as appoint +another day, though he had himself suggested it. + +“But ours is a paper-mill, not a spinning-mill,” Valentina Mihailovna +remarked. + +“It’s all the same, my dear, machines are used in both, and he’s a +mechanic.” + +“But supposing he turns out to be a specialist!” + +“My dear! In the first place there are no such things as specialists in +Russia; in the second, I’ve told you that he’s a mechanic!” + +Valentina Mihailovna smiled. + +“Do be careful, my dear. You’ve been unfortunate once already with young +men; mind you don’t make a second mistake.” + +“Are you referring to Nejdanov? I don’t think I’ve been altogether +mistaken with regard to him. He has been a good tutor to Kolia. And +then you know _non bis in idem_! Excuse my being pedantic.... It means, +things don’t repeat themselves!” + +“Don’t you think so? Well, _I_ think that everything in the world +repeats itself ... especially what’s in the nature of things ... and +particularly among young people.” + +_“Que voulez-vous dire?”_ asked Sipiagin, flinging the pamphlet on the +table with a graceful gesture of the hand. + +_“Ouvrez les yeux, et vous verrez!”_ Madame Sipiagina replied. They always +spoke to one another in French. + +“H’m!” Sipiagin grunted. “Are you referring to that student?” + +“Yes, I’m referring to him.” + +“H’m! Has he got anything on here, eh?” (He passed his hand over his +forehead.) + +“Open your eyes!” + +“Is it Mariana, eh?” (The second “eh” was pronounced more through the +nose than the first one.) + +“Open your eyes, I tell you!” + +Sipiagin frowned. + +“We must talk about this later on. I should just like to say now that +this Solomin may feel rather uncomfortable.... You see, he is not used +to society. We must be nice to him so as to make him feel at his ease. +Of course, I don’t mean this for you, you’re such a dear, that I think +you could fascinate anyone if you chose. _J’en sais quelque chose, +madame!_ I mean this for the others, if only for——” + +He pointed to a fashionable grey hat lying on a shelf. It belonged to +Mr. Kollomietzev, who had been in Arjanov since the morning. + +“_Il est très cassant_ you know. He has far too great a contempt for the +people for my liking. And he has been so frightfully quarrelsome and +irritable of late. Is his little affair _there_ not getting on well?” + +Sipiagin nodded his head in some indefinite direction, but his wife +understood him. + +“Open your eyes, I tell you again!” + +Sipiagin stood up. + +“Eh?” (This “eh” was pronounced in a quite different tone, much lower.) +“Is that how the land lies? They had better take care I don’t open them +too wide!” + +“That is your own affair, my dear. But as for that new young man of +yours, you may be quite easy about him. I will see that everything is +all right. Every precaution will be taken.” + +It turned out that no precautions were necessary, however. Solomin was +not in the least alarmed or embarrassed. + +As soon as he was announced Sipiagin jumped up, exclaiming in a voice +loud enough to be heard in the hall, “Show him in, of course show him +in!” He then went up to the drawing-room door and stood waiting. No +sooner had Solomin crossed the threshold, almost knocking against +Sipiagin, when the latter extended both his hands, saying with an +amiable smile and a friendly shake of the head, “How very nice of you to +come.... I can hardly thank you enough.” Then he led him up to Valentina +Mihailovna. + +“Allow me to introduce you to my wife,” he said, gently pressing his +hand against Solomin’s back, pushing him towards her as it were. “My +dear, here is our best local engineer and manufacturer, Vassily... +Fedosaitch Solomin.” + +Madame Sipiagina stood up, raised her wonderful eyelashes, smiled +sweetly as to an acquaintance, extended her hand with the palm upwards, +her elbow pressed against her waist, her head bent a little to the +right, in the attitude of a suppliant. Solomin let the husband and wife +go through their little comedy, shook hands with them both, and sat +down at the first invitation to do so. Sipiagin began to fuss about him, +asking if he would like anything, but Solomin assured him that he wanted +nothing and was not in the least bit tired from the journey. + +“Then may we go to the factory?” Sipiagin asked, a little shame-faced, +not daring to believe in so much condescension on the part of his guest. + +“As soon as you like, I’m quite ready,” Solomin replied. “How awfully +good of you! Shall we drive or would you like to walk?” + +“Is it a long way?” + +“About half a mile.” + +“It’s hardly worthwhile bringing out the carriage.” + +“Very well. Ivan! my hat and stick! Make haste! And you’ll see about +some dinner, little one, won’t you? My hat, quick!” + +Sipiagin was far more excited than his visitor, and calling out once +more, “Why don’t they give me my hat,” he, the stately dignitary, +rushed out like a frolicsome schoolboy. While her husband was talking to +Solomin, Valentina Mihailovna looked at him stealthily, trying to make +out this new “young man.” He was sitting in an armchair, quite at his +ease, his bare hands laid on his knee (he had not put on the gloves +after all), calmly, although not without a certain amount of curiosity, +looking around at the furniture and pictures. “I don’t understand,” + she thought, “he’s a plebeian—quite a plebeian—and yet behaves so +naturally!” Solomin did indeed carry himself naturally, not with any +view to effect, as much as to say “Look what a splendid fellow I am!” + but as a man whose thoughts and feelings are simple, direct, and strong +at the same time. Madame Sipiagina wanted to say something to him, but +was surprised to find that she did not quite know how to begin. + +“Heavens!” she thought. “This mechanic is making me quite nervous!” + +“My husband must be very grateful to you,” she remarked at last. “It was +so good of you to sacrifice a few hours of your valuable time—” + +“My time is not so very valuable, madame,” he observed. “Besides, I’ve +not come here for long.” + +_“Voilà où l’ours a montré sa patte,”_ she thought in French, but at this +moment her husband appeared in the doorway, his hat on his head and a +walking stick in his hand. + +“Are you ready, Vassily Fedosaitch?” he asked in a free and easy tone, +half turned towards him. + +Solomin rose, bowed to Valentina Mihailovna, and walked out behind +Sipiagin. + +“This way, this way, Vassily Fedosaitch!” Sipiagin called out, just +as if they were groping their way through a tangled forest and Solomin +needed a guide. “This way! Do be careful, there are some steps here, +Vassily Fedosaitch!” + +“If you want to call me by my father’s Christian name,” Solomin said +slowly, “then it isn’t Fedosaitch, but Fedotitch.” + +Sipiagin was taken aback and looked at him over his shoulder. + +“I’m so sorry, Vassily Fedotitch.” + +“Please don’t mention it.” + +As soon as they got outside they ran against Kollomietzev. + +“Where are you off to?” the latter asked, looking askance at Solomin. +“Are you going to the factory? _C’est là l’individu en question?_” + +Sipiagin opened his eyes wide and shook his head slightly by way of +warning. + +“Yes, we’re going to the factory. I want to show all my sins and +transgressions to this gentleman, who is an engineer. Allow me to +introduce you. Mr. Kollomietzev, a neighbouring landowner, Mr. Solomin.” + +Kollomietzev nodded his head twice in an off-hand manner without looking +at Solomin, but the latter looked at him and there was a sinister gleam +in his half-closed eyes. + +“May I come with you?” Kollomietzev asked. “You know I’m always ready to +learn.” + +“Certainly, if you like.” + +They went out of the courtyard into the road and had scarcely taken +twenty steps when they ran across a priest in a woven cassock, who was +wending his way homeward. Kollomietzev left his two companions and, +going up to him with long, firm strides, asked for his blessing and gave +him a sounding smack on his moist, red hand, much to the discomfiture +of the priest, who did not in the least expect this sort of outburst. +He then turned to Solomin and gave him a defiant look. He had evidently +heard something about him and wanted to show off and get some fun out of +this learned scoundrel. + +_“C’est une manifestation, mon cher?”_ Sipiagin muttered through his +teeth. + +Kollomietzev giggled. + +_“Oui, mon cher, une manifestation nécessaire par temps qui court!”_ + +They got to the factory and were met by a Little Russian with an +enormous beard and false teeth, who had taken the place of the former +manager, a German, whom Sipiagin had dismissed. This man was there in a +temporary capacity and understood absolutely nothing; he merely kept +on saying “Just so... yes... that’s it,” and sighing all the time. They +began inspecting the place. Several of the workmen knew Solomin by sight +and bowed to him. He even called out to one of them, “Hallo, Gregory! +You here?” Solomin was soon convinced that the place was going badly. +Money was simply thrown away for no reason whatever. The machines turned +out to be of a very poor kind; many of them were quite superfluous and +a great many necessary ones were lacking. Sipiagin kept looking +into Solomin’s face, trying to guess his opinion, asked a few timid +questions, wanted to know if he was at any rate satisfied with the order +of the place. + +“Oh, the order is all right,” Solomin replied, “but I doubt if you can +get anything out of it.” + +Not only Sipiagin, but even Kollomietzev felt, that in the factory +Solomin was quite at home, was familiar with every little detail, was +master there in fact. He laid his hand on a machine as a rider on his +horse’s neck; he poked a wheel with his finger and it either stood still +or began whirling round; he took some paper pulp out of a vat and it +instantly revealed all its defects. + +Solomin said very little, took no notice of the Little Russian at all, +and went out without saying anything. Sipiagin and Kollomietzev followed +him. + +Sipiagin was so upset that he did not let any one accompany him. He +stamped and ground his teeth with rage. + +“I can see by your face,” he said turning to Solomin, “that you are +not pleased with the place. Of course, I know that it’s not in a very +excellent condition and doesn’t pay as yet. But please ... give me your +candid opinion as to what you consider to be the principal failings and +as to what one could do to improve matters.” + +“Paper-manufacturing is not in my line,” Solomin began, “but I can tell +you one thing. I doubt if the aristocracy is cut out for industrial +enterprises.” + +“Do you consider it degrading for the aristocracy?” Kollomietzev asked. + +Solomin smiled his habitual broad smile. + +“Oh dear no! What is there degrading about it? And even if there were, I +don’t think the aristocracy would be overly particular.” + +“What do you mean?” + +“I only meant,” Solomin continued, calmly, “that the gentry are not used +to that kind of business. A knowledge of commerce is needed for that; +everything has to be put on a different footing, you want technical +training for it. The gentry don’t understand this. We see them starting +woollen, cotton, and other factories all over the place, but they nearly +always fall into the hands of the merchants in the end. It’s a pity, +because the merchants are even worse sweaters. But it can’t be helped, I +suppose.” + +“To listen to you one would think that all questions of finance were +above our nobility!” Kollomietzev exclaimed. + +“Oh no! On the other hand the nobility are masters at it. For getting +concessions for railways, founding banks, exempting themselves from some +tax, or anything like that, there is no one to beat them! They make huge +fortunes. I hinted at that just now, but it seemed to offend you. I had +regular industrial enterprises in my mind when I spoke; I say _regular_, +because founding private public houses, petty little grocers’ shops, or +lending the peasants corn or money at a hundred or a hundred and fifty +percent, as many of our landed gentry are now doing, I cannot consider +as genuine financial enterprises.” + +Kollomietzev did not say anything. He belonged to that new species of +money-lending landlord whom Markelov had mentioned in his last talk +with Nejdanov, and was the more inhuman in his demands that he had no +personal dealings with the peasants themselves. He never allowed them +into his perfumed European study, and conducted all his business with +them through his manager. He was boiling with rage while listening +to Solomin’s slow, impartial speech, but he held his peace; only the +working of the muscles of his face betrayed what was passing within him. + +“But allow me, Vassily Fedotitch,” Sipiagin began; “what you have just +said may have been quite true in former days, when the nobility had +quite different privileges and were altogether in a different position; +but now, after all the beneficial reforms in our present industrial +age, why should not the nobility turn their attention and bring their +abilities into enterprises of this nature? Why shouldn’t they be able to +understand what is understood by a simple illiterate merchant? They are +not suffering from lack of education and one might even claim, without +any exaggeration, that they are, in a certain sense, the representatives +of enlightenment and progress.” + +Boris Andraevitch spoke very well; his eloquence would have made a great +stir in St. Petersburg, in his department, or maybe in higher quarters, +but it produced no effect whatever on Solomin. + +“The nobility cannot manage these things,” Solomin repeated. + +“But why, I should like to know? Why?” Kollomietzev almost shouted. + +“Because there is too much of the bureaucrat about them.” + +“Bureaucrat?” Kollomietzev laughed maliciously. “I don’t think you quite +realise what you’re saying, Mr. Solomin.” + +Solomin continued smiling. + +“What makes you think so, Mr. Kolomentzev?” (Kollomietzev shuddered at +hearing his name thus mutilated.) “I assure you that I always realise +what I am saying.” + +“Then please explain what you meant just now!” + +“With pleasure. I think that every bureaucrat is an outsider and was +always such. The nobility have now become ‘outsiders.’” + +Kollomietzev laughed louder than ever. + +“But, my dear sir, I really don’t understand what you mean!” + +“So much the worse for you. Perhaps you will if you try hard enough.” + +“Sir!” + +“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” Sipiagin interposed hastily, trying to catch +someone’s eye, “please, please... Kallomeitzeff, _je vous prie de vous +calmer_. I suppose dinner will soon be ready. Come along, gentlemen!” + +“Valentina Mihailovna!” Kollomietzev cried out five minutes later, +rushing into her boudoir. “I really don’t know what your husband is +doing! He has brought us one nihilist and now he’s bringing us another! +Only this one is much worse!” + +“But why?” + +“He is advocating the most awful things, and what do you think? He +has been talking to your husband for a whole hour, and not once, _not +once_, did he address him as Your Excellency! _Le vagabond!_” + + + + + +XXIV + +Just before dinner Sipiagin called his wife into the library. He wanted +to have a talk with her alone. He seemed worried. He told her that the +factory was really in a bad way, that Solomin struck him as a capable +man, although a little stiff, and thought it was necessary to continue +being _aux petits soins_ with him. + +“How I should like to get hold of him!” he repeated once or twice. +Sipiagin was very much annoyed at Kollomietzev’s being there. “Devil +take the man! He sees nihilists everywhere and is always wanting to +suppress them! Let him do it at his own house I He simply can’t hold his +tongue!” + +Valentina Mihailovna said that she would be delighted to be _aux petits +soins_ with the new visitor, but it seemed to her that he had no need of +these _petits soins_ and took no notice of them; not rudely in any way, +but he was quite indifferent; very remarkable in a man _du commun_. + +“Never mind.... Be nice to him just the same!” Sipiagin begged of her. + +Valentina Mihailovna promised to do what he wanted and fulfilled +her promise conscientiously. She began by having a _tête-à-tête_ with +Kollomietzev. What she said to him remains a secret, but he came to the +table with the air of a man who had made up his mind to be discreet and +submissive at all costs. This “resignation” gave his whole bearing a +slight touch of melancholy; and what dignity... oh, what dignity there +was in every one of his movements! Valentina Mihailovna introduced +Solomin to everybody (he looked more attentively at Mariana than at +any of the others), and made him sit beside her on her right at table. +Kollomietzev sat on her left, and as he unfolded his serviette screwed +up his face and smiled, as much as to say, “Well, now let us begin our +little comedy!” Sipiagin sat on the opposite side and watched him with +some anxiety. By a new arrangement of Madame Sipiagina, Nejdanov was not +put next to Mariana as usual, but between Anna Zaharovna and Sipiagin. +Mariana found her card (as the dinner was a stately one) on her +serviette between Kollomietzev and Kolia. The dinner was excellently +served; there was even a “menu”—a painted card lay before each person. + +Directly soup was finished, Sipiagin again brought the conversation +round to his factory, and from there went on to Russian manufacture in +general. Solomin, as usual, replied very briefly. As soon as he began +speaking, Mariana fixed her eyes upon him. Kollomietzev, who was sitting +beside her, turned to her with various compliments (he had been asked +not to start a dispute), but she did not listen to him; and indeed he +pronounced all his pleasantries in a half-hearted manner, merely to +satisfy his own conscience. He realised that there was something between +himself and this young girl that could not be crossed. + +As for Nejdanov, something even worse had come to pass between him and +the master of the house. For Sipiagin, Nejdanov had become simply a +piece of furniture, or an empty space that he quite ignored. These new +relations had taken place so quickly and unmistakably that when Nejdanov +pronounced a few words in answer to a remark of Anna Zaharovna’s, +Sipiagin looked round in amazement, as if wondering where the sound came +from. + +Sipiagin evidently possessed some of the characteristics for which +certain of the great Russian bureaucrats are celebrated for. + +After the fish, Valentina Mihailovna, who had been lavishing all her +charms on Solomin, said to her husband in English that she noticed their +visitor did not drink wine and might perhaps like some beer. Sipiagin +called aloud for ale, while Solomin calmly turned towards Valentina +Mihailovna, saying, “You may not be aware, madame, that I spent over two +years in England and can understand and speak English. I only mentioned +it in case you should wish to say anything private before me.” Valentina +Mihailovna laughed and assured him that this precaution was altogether +unnecessary, since he would hear nothing but good of himself; inwardly +she thought Solomin’s action rather strange, but delicate in its own +way. + +At this point Kollomietzev could no longer contain himself. “And so +you’ve been in England,” he began, “and no doubt studied the manners and +customs there. Do you think them worth imitating?” + +“Some yes, others no.” + +“Brief but not clear,” Kollomietzev remarked, trying not to notice the +signs Sipiagin was making to him. “You were speaking of the nobility +this morning.... No doubt you’ve had the opportunity of studying the +English landed gentry, as they call them there.” + +“No, I had no such opportunity. I moved in quite a different sphere. But +I formed my own ideas about these gentlemen.” + +“Well, do you think that such a landed gentry is impossible among us? Or +that we ought not to want it in any case?” + +“In the first place, I certainly do think it impossible, and in the +second, it’s hardly worthwhile wanting such a thing.” + +“But why, my dear sir?” Kollomietzev asked; the polite tone was intended +to soothe Sipiagin, who sat very uneasily on his chair. + +“Because in twenty or thirty years your landed gentry won’t be here in +any case.” + +“What makes you think so?” + +“Because by that time the land will fall into the hands of people in no +way distinguished by their origin.” + +“Do you mean the merchants?” + +“For the most part probably the merchants.” + +“But how will it happen?” + +“They’ll buy it, of course.” + +“From the gentry?” + +“Yes; from the gentry.” + +Kollomietzev smiled condescendingly. “If you recollect you said the very +same thing about factories that you’re now saying about the land.” + +“And it’s quite true.” + +“You will no doubt be very pleased about it!” + +“Not at all. I’ve already told you that the people won’t be any the +better off for the change.” + +Kollomietzev raised his hand slightly. “What solicitude on the part of +the people, imagine!” + +“Vassily Fedotitch!” Sipiagin called out as loudly as he could, “they +have brought you some beer! _Voyons, Siméon!_” he added in an undertone. + +But Kollomietzev would not be suppressed. + +“I see you haven’t a very high opinion of the merchant class,” he began +again, turning to Solomin, “but they’ve sprung from the people.” + +“So they have.” + +“I thought that you considered everything about the people, or relating +to the people, as above criticism!” + +“Not at all! You are quite mistaken. The masses can be condemned for a +great many things, though they are not always to blame. Our merchant +is an exploiter and uses his capital for that purpose. He thinks that +people are always trying to get the better of him, so he tries to get +the better of them. But the people—” + +“Well, what about the people?” Kollomietzev asked in falsetto. + +“The people are asleep.” + +“And would you like to wake them?” + +“That would not be a bad thing to do.” + +“Aha! aha! So that’s what—” + +“Gentlemen, gentlemen!” Sipiagin exclaimed imperatively. He felt that +the moment had come to put an end to the discussion, and he did put +an end to it. With a slight gesture of his right hand, while the elbow +remained propped on the table, he delivered a long and detailed speech. +He praised the conservatives on the one hand and approved of the +liberals on the other, giving the preference to the latter as he counted +himself of their numbers. He spoke highly of the people, but drew +attention to some of their weaknesses; expressed his full confidence +in the government, but asked himself whether _all_ its officials were +faithfully fulfilling its benevolent designs. He acknowledged the +importance of literature, but declared that without the utmost caution +it was dangerous. He turned to the West with hope, then became doubtful; +he turned to the East, first sighed, then became enthusiastic. Finally +he proposed a toast in honour of the trinity: Religion, Agriculture, and +Industry! + +“Under the wing of authority!” Kollomietzev added sternly. + +“Under the wing of wise and benevolent authority,” Sipiagin corrected +him. + +The toast was drunk in silence. The empty space on Sipiagin’s left, in +the form of Nejdanov, did certainly make several sounds of disapproval; +but arousing not the least attention became quiet again, and the dinner, +without any further controversy, reached a happy conclusion. + +Valentina Mihailovna, with a most charming smile, handed Solomin a cup +of coffee; he drank it and was already looking round for his hat when +Sipiagin took him gently by the arm and led him into his study. There he +first gave him an excellent cigar and then made him a proposal to enter +his factory on the most advantageous terms. “You will be absolute master +there, Vassily Fedotitch, I assure you!” Solomin accepted the cigar and +declined the offer about the factory. He stuck to his refusal, however +much Sipiagin insisted. + +“Please don’t say ‘no’ at once, my dear Vassily Fedotitch! Say, at +least, that you’ll think it over until tomorrow!” + +“It would make no difference. I wouldn’t accept your proposal.” + +“Do think it over till tomorrow, Vassily Fedotitch! It won’t cost you +anything.” + +Solomin agreed, came out of the study, and began looking for his hat +again. But Nejdanov, who until that moment had had no opportunity of +exchanging a word with him, came up to him and whispered hurriedly: + +“For heaven’s sake don’t go yet, or else we won’t be able to have a +talk!” + +Solomin left his hat alone, the more readily as Sipiagin, who had +observed his irresoluteness, exclaimed: + +“Won’t you stay the night with us?” + +“As you wish.” + +The grateful glance Mariana fixed on him as she stood at the +drawing-room window set him thinking. + + + + + +XXV + +Until his visit Mariana had pictured Solomin to herself as quite +different. At first sight he had struck her as undefined, characterless. +She had seen many such fair, lean, sinewy men in her day, but the more +she watched him, the longer she listened to him, the stronger grew her +feeling of confidence in him—for it was confidence he inspired her +with. This calm, not exactly clumsy, but heavy man, was not only +incapable of lying or bragging, but one could rely on him as on a stone +wall. He would not betray one; more than that, he would understand and +help one. It seemed to Mariana that he aroused such a feeling, not only +in herself alone, but in everyone present. The things he spoke about had +no particular interest for her. She attached very little significance +to all this talk about factories and merchants, but the way in which +he spoke, the manner in which he looked round and smiled, pleased her +immensely. + +A straightforward man... at any rate! this was what appealed to her. It +is a well-known fact, though not very easy to understand, that Russians +are the greatest liars on the face of the earth, yet there is nothing +they respect more than truth, nothing they sympathise with more. And +then Solomin, in Mariana’s eyes, was surrounded by a particular halo, as +a man who had been recommended by Vassily Nikolaevitch himself. During +dinner she had exchanged glances with Nejdanov several times on his +account, and in the end found herself involuntarily comparing the two, +not to Nejdanov’s advantage. Nejdanov’s face was, it is true, handsomer +and pleasanter to look at than Solomin’s, but the very face expressed a +medley of troubled sensations: embarrassment, annoyance, impatience, and +even dejection. + +He seemed to be sitting on hot coals; tried to speak, but did not, and +laughed nervously. Solomin, on the other hand, seemed a little bored, +but looked quite at home and utterly independent of what was going on +around him. “We must certainly ask advice of this man,” Mariana thought, +“he is sure to tell us something useful.” It was she who had sent +Nejdanov to him after dinner. + +The evening went very slowly; fortunately dinner was not over until late +and not very long remained before bedtime. Kollomietzev was sulky and +said nothing. + +“What is the matter with you?” Madame Sipiagina asked half-jestingly. +“Have you lost anything?” + +“Yes, I have,” Kollomietzev replied. “There is a story about a certain +officer in the lifeguards who was very much grieved that his soldiers +had lost a sock of his. ‘Find me my sock!’ he would say to them, and I +say, find me the word ‘sir!’ The word ‘sir’ is lost, and with it every +sense of respect towards rank!” + +Madame Sipiagina informed Kollomietzev that she would not help him in +the search. + +Emboldened by the success of his speech at dinner, Sipiagin delivered +two others, in which he let fly various statesmanlike reflections about +indispensable measures and various words—_des mots_—not so much witty +as weighty, which he had especially prepared for St. Petersburg. He even +repeated one of these words, saying beforehand, “If you will allow +the expression.” Above all, he declared that a certain minister had +an “idle, unconcentrated mind,” and was given “to dreaming.” And not +forgetting that one of his listener’s was a man of the people, he lost +no opportunity in trying to show that he too was a Russian through +and through, and steeped in the very root of the national life! For +instance, to Kollomietzev’s remark that the rain might interfere with +the haymaking, he replied, “If the hay is black, then the buckwheat will +be white;” then he made use of various proverbs like: “A store without +a master is an orphan,” “Look before you leap,” “When there’s bread then +there’s economy,” “If the birch leaves are as big as farthings by St. +Yegor’s day, the dough can be put into tubs by the feast of Our Lady +of Kazan.” He sometimes went wrong, however, and would get his proverbs +very much mixed; but the society in which these little slips occurred +did not even suspect that _notre bon Russe_ had made a mistake, and, +thanks to Prince Kovrishkin, it had got used to such little blunders. +Sipiagin pronounced all these proverbs in a peculiarly powerful, gruff +voice—_d’une voix rustique_. Similar sayings let loose at the proper time +and place in St. Petersburg would cause influential high-society ladies +to exclaim, _“Comme il connait bien les moeurs de notre people!”_ and +great statesmen would add, _“Les moeurs et les besoins!”_ + +Valentina Mihailovna fussed about Solomin as much as she could, but +her failure to arouse him disheartened her. On passing Kollomietzev +she said involuntarily, in an undertone: _“Mon Dieu, que je me sens +fatiguée!”_ to which he replied with an ironical bow: _“Tu l’as voulu, +George Daudin!”_ + +At last, after the usual outburst of politeness and amiability, which +appears on the faces of a bored assembly on the point of breaking up, +after sudden handshakings and friendly smiles, the weary guests and +weary hosts separated. + +Solomin, who had been given almost the best bedroom on the second floor, +with English toilette accessories and a bathroom attached, went in to +Nejdanov. + +The latter began by thanking him heartily for having agreed to stay. + +“I know it’s a sacrifice on your part—” + +“Not at all,” Solomin said hastily. “There was no sort of sacrifice +required. Besides I couldn’t refuse you.” + +“Why not?” + +“Because I’ve taken a great liking to you.” + +Nejdanov was surprised and glad at the same time, while Solomin pressed +his hand. Then he seated himself astride on a chair, lighted a cigar, +and leaning both his elbows against the back, began: + +“Now tell me what’s the matter.” + +Nejdanov also seated himself astride on a chair in front of Solomin, but +did not light a cigar. + +“So you want to know what’s the matter.... The fact is, I want to run +away from here.” + +“Am I to understand that you want to leave this house? As far as I can +see there is nothing to prevent you.” + +“Not leave it, but run away from it.” + +“Why? Do they want to detain you? Perhaps you’ve taken some money +in advance.... If so, you’ve only to say the word and I should be +delighted——” + +“I’m afraid you don’t understand me, my dear Solomin. I said run away +and not leave, because I’m not going away alone.” + +Solomin raised his head. + +“With whom then?” + +“With the girl you’ve seen here today.” + +“With her! She has a very nice face. Are you in love with one another? +Or have you simply decided to go away together because you don’t like +being here?” + +“We love each other.” + +“Ah!” Solomin was silent for a while. “Is she related to the people +here?” + +“Yes. But she fully shares our convictions and is prepared for +anything.” + +Solomin smiled. + +“And you, Nejdanov, are you prepared?” + +Nejdanov frowned slightly. + +“Why ask? You will see when the time comes.” + +“I do not doubt you, Nejdanov. I only asked because it seemed to me that +besides yourself nobody else was prepared.” + +“And Markelov?” + +“Why, of course, Markelov! But then, he was born prepared.” + +At this moment someone knocked at the door gently, but hastily, and +opened it without waiting for an answer. It was Mariana. She immediately +came up to Solomin. + +“I feel sure,” she began, “that you are not surprised at seeing me here +at this time of night. He” (Mariana pointed to Nejdanov) “has no doubt +told you everything. Give me your hand, please, and believe me an honest +girl is standing before you.” + +“I am convinced of that,” Solomin said seriously. + +He had risen from his chair as soon as Mariana had appeared. “I had +already noticed you at table and was struck by the frank expression of +your eyes. Nejdanov told me about your intentions. But may I ask why you +want to run away.” + +“What a question! The cause with which I am fully in sympathy ... don’t +be surprised. Nejdanov has kept nothing from me.... The great work is +about to begin ... and am I to remain in this house, where everything is +deceit and falsehood? People I love will be exposed to danger, and I——” + +Solomin stopped her by a wave of the hand. + +“Calm yourself. Sit down, please, and you sit down too, Nejdanov. Let us +all sit down. Listen to me! If you have no other reason than the one +you have mentioned, then there’s no need for you to run away as yet. +The work will not begin so soon as you seem to anticipate. A little more +prudent consideration is needed in this matter. It’s no good plunging in +too soon, believe me.” + +Mariana sat down and wrapped herself up in a large plaid, which she had +thrown over her shoulders. + +“But I can’t stay here any longer! I am being insulted by everybody. +Only today that idiot Anna Zaharovna said before Kolia, alluding to my +father, that a bad tree does not bring forth good fruit! Kolia was +even surprised, and asked what it meant. Not to speak of Valentina +Mihailovna!” + +Solomin stopped her again, this time with a smile. + +Mariana felt that he was laughing at her a little, but this smile could +not have offended any one. + +“But, my dear lady, I don’t know who Anna Zaharovna is, nor what tree +you are talking about. A foolish woman says some foolish things to you +and you can’t endure it! How will you live in that case? The whole +world is composed of fools. Your reason is not good enough. Have you any +other?” + +“I am convinced,” Nejdanov interposed in a hollow voice, “that Mr. +Sipiagin will turn me out of the house tomorrow of his own accord. +Someone must have told him. He treats me... in the most contemptuous +manner.” + +Solomin turned to Nejdanov. + +“If that’s the case, then why run away?” + +Nejdanov did not know what to say. + +“But I’ve already told you—,” he began. + +“He said that,” Mariana put in, “because I am going with him.” + +Solomin looked at her and shook his head good-naturedly. + +“In that case, my dear lady, I say again, that if you want to leave here +because you think the revolution is about to break out—” + +“That was precisely why we asked you to come,” Mariana interrupted him; +“we wanted to find out exactly how matters stood.” + +“If that’s your reason for going,” Solomin continued, “I repeat once +more, you can stay at home for some time to come yet, but if you want +to run away because you love each other and can’t be united otherwise, +then—” + +“Well? What then?” + +“Then I must first congratulate you and, if need be, give you all the +help in my power. I may say, my dear lady, that I took a liking to you +both at first sight and love you as brother and sister.” + +Mariana and Nejdanov both went up to him on the right and left and each +clasped a hand. + +“Only tell us what to do,” Mariana implored. “Supposing the revolution +is still far off, there must be preparatory work to be done, a thing +impossible in this house, in the midst of these surroundings. We should +so gladly go together.... Show us what we can do; tell us where to +go.... Send us anywhere you like! You will send us, won’t you?” + +“Where to?” + +“To the people.... Where can one go if not among the people?” + +“Into the forest,” Nejdanov thought, calling to mind Paklin’s words. + +Solomin looked intently at Mariana. + +“Do you want to know the people?” + +“Yes; that is, we not only want to get to know them, but we want to +work... to toil for them.” + +“Very well. I promise you that you shall get to know them. I will give +you the opportunity of doing as you wish. And you, Nejdanov, are you +ready to go for her... and for them?” + +“Of course I am,” he said hastily. “Juggernaut,” another word of +Paklin’s, flashed across his mind. “Here it comes thundering along, the +huge chariot.... I can hear the crash and rumble of its wheels.” + +“Very well,” Solomin repeated pensively. “But when do you want to go +away?” + +“Tomorrow, if possible,” Mariana observed. + +“Very good. But where?” + +“Sh, sh—” Nejdanov whispered. “Someone is walking along the corridor.” + +They were all silent for a time. + +“But where do you want to go to?” Solomin asked again, lowering his +voice. + +“We don’t know,” Mariana replied. + +Solomin glanced at Nejdanov, but the latter merely shook his head. + +Solomin stretched out his hand and carefully snuffed the candle. + +“I tell you what, my children,” he said at last, “come to me at the +factory. It’s not beautiful there, but safe, at any rate. I will hide +you. I have a little spare room there. Nobody will find you. If only you +get there, we won’t give you up. You might think that there are far too +many people about, but that’s one of its good points. Where there is a +crowd it’s easy to hide. Will you come? Will you?” + +“How can we thank you enough!” Nejdanov exclaimed, whilst Mariana, who +was at first a little taken aback by the idea of the factory, added +quickly: + +“Of course, of course! How good of you! But you won’t leave us there +long, will you? You will send us on, won’t you?” + +“That will depend entirely on yourselves.... If you should want to get +married that could also be arranged at the factory. I have a neighbour +there close by—a cousin of mine, a priest, and very friendly. He would +marry you with the greatest of pleasure.” + +Mariana smiled to herself, while Nejdanov again pressed Solomin’s hand. + +“But I say, won’t your employer, the owner of the factory, be annoyed +about it. Won’t he make it unpleasant for you?” he asked after a pause. + +Solomin looked askance at Nejdanov. + +“Oh, don’t bother about me! It’s quite unnecessary. So long as things at +the factory go on all right it’s all the same to my employer. You need +neither of you fear the least unpleasantness. And you need not be afraid +of the workpeople either. Only let me know what time to expect you.” + +Nejdanov and Mariana exchanged glances. + +“The day after tomorrow, early in the morning, or the day after that. We +can’t wait any longer. As likely as not they’ll tell me to go tomorrow.” + +“Well then,” Solomin said, rising from his chair. “I’ll wait for you +every morning. I won’t leave the place for the rest of the week. Every +precaution will be taken.” + +Mariana drew near to him (she was on her way to the door). “Goodbye, my +dear kind Vassily Fedotitch... that is your name, isn’t it?” + +“That’s right.” + +“Goodbye till we meet again. And thank you so much!” + +“Goodbye, good night!” + +“Goodbye, Nejdanov; till tomorrow,” she added, and went out quickly. + +The young men remained for some time motionless, and both were silent. + +“Nejdanov...” Solomin began at last, and stopped. “Nejdanov...” he began +a second time, “tell me about this girl... tell me everything you can. +What has her life been until now? Who is she? Why is she here?” + +Nejdanov told Solomin briefly what he knew about her. “Nejdanov,” + he said at last, “you must take great care of her, because... if... +anything... were to happen, you would be very much to blame. Goodbye.” + +He went out, while Nejdanov stood still for a time in the middle of the +room, and muttering, “Oh dear! It’s better not to think!” threw himself +face downwards on the bed. + +When Mariana returned to her room she found a note on the table +containing the following: + +“I am sorry for you. You are ruining yourself. Think what you are doing. +Into what abysses are you throwing yourself with your eyes shut. For +whom and for what?—V.” + +There was a peculiarly fine fresh scent in the room; evidently +Valentina Mihailovna had only just left it. Mariana took a pen and wrote +underneath: “You need not be sorry for me. God knows which of us two +is more in need of pity. I only know that I wouldn’t like to be in your +place for worlds.—M.” She put the note on the table, not doubting that +it would fall into Valentina Mihailovna’s hand. + +On the following morning, Solomin, after seeing Nejdanov and definitely +declining to undertake the management of Sipiagin’s factory, set out for +home. He mused all the way home, a thing that rarely occurred with +him; the motion of the carriage usually had a drowsy effect on him. He +thought of Mariana and of Nejdanov; it seemed to him that if he had been +in love—he, Solomin—he would have had quite a different air, would +have looked and spoken differently. “But,” he thought, “such a thing has +never happened to me, so I can’t tell what sort of an air I would have.” + He recalled an Irish girl whom he had once seen in a shop behind a +counter; recalled her wonderful black hair, blue eyes, and thick lashes, +and how she had looked at him with a sad, wistful expression, and how he +had paced up and down the street before her window for a long time, how +excited he had been, and had kept asking himself if he should try and +get to know her. He was in London at the time, where he had been sent +by his employer with a sum of money to make various purchases. He very +nearly decided to remain in London and send back the money, so strong +was the impression produced on him by the beautiful Polly. (He had got +to know her name, one of the other girls had called her by it.) He had +mastered himself, however, and went back to his employer. Polly was more +beautiful than Mariana, but Mariana had the same sad, wistful expression +in her eyes... and Mariana was a Russian. + +“But what am I doing?” Solomin exclaimed in an undertone, “bothering +about other men’s brides!” and he shook back the collar of his coat, as +if he wanted to shake off all superfluous thoughts. Just then he drove +up to the factory and caught sight of the faithful Pavel in the doorway +of his little dwelling. + + + + + +XXVI + +Solomin’s refusal greatly offended Sipiagin; so much so, that he +suddenly found that this home-bred Stevenson was not such a wonderful +engineer after all, and that though he was not perhaps a complete +poser, yet gave himself airs like the plebeian he was. “All these +Russians when they imagine they know a thing become insufferable! _Au +fond_ Kollomietzev was right!” Under the influence of such hostile +and irritable sensations, the statesman—_en herbe_—was even more +unsympathetic and distant in his intercourse with Nejdanov. He told +Kolia that he need not take lessons that day and that he must try to +be more independent in future. He did not, however, dismiss the tutor +himself as the latter had expected, but continued to ignore him. But +Valentina Mihailovna did not ignore Mariana. A dreadful scene took +place between them. + +About two hours before dinner they suddenly found themselves alone in +the drawing-room. They both felt that the inevitable moment for the +battle had arrived and, after a moment’s hesitation, instinctively drew +near to one another. Valentina Mihailovna was slightly smiling, Mariana +pressed her lips firmly together; both were pale. When walking across +the room, Valentina Mihailovna looked uneasily to the right and left +and tore off a geranium leaf. Mariana’s eyes were fixed straight on the +smiling face coming towards her. Madame Sipiagina was the first to stop, +and drumming her finger-tips on the back of a chair began in a free and +easy tone: + +“Mariana Vikentievna, it seems that we have entered upon a +correspondence with one another.... Living under the same roof as we do +it strikes me as being rather strange. And you know I am not very fond +of strange things.” + +“I did not begin the correspondence, Valentina Mihailovna.” + +“That is true. As it happens, I am to blame in that. Only I could not +think of any other means of arousing in you a feeling... how shall I +say? A feeling—” + +“You can speak quite plainly, Valentina Mihailovna. You need not be +afraid of offending me.” + +“A feeling... of propriety.” + +Valentina Mihailovna ceased; nothing but the drumming of her fingers +could be heard in the room. + +“In what way do you think I have failed to observe the rules of +propriety?” Mariana asked. + +Valentina Mihailovna shrugged her shoulders. + +“_Ma chère, vous n’êtes plus un enfant_—I think you know what I mean. Do +you suppose that your behaviour could have remained a secret to me, to +Anna Zaharovna, to the whole household in fact? However, I must say you +are not over-particular about secrecy. You simply acted in bravado. Only +Boris Andraevitch does not know what you have done.... But he is occupied +with far more serious and important matters. Apart from him, everybody +else knows, everybody!” + +Mariana’s pallor increased. + +“I must ask you to express yourself more clearly, Valentina Mihailovna. +What is it you are displeased about?” + +_“L’insolente!”_ Madame Sipiagina thought, but contained herself. + +“Do you want to know why I am displeased with you, Mariana? Then I must +tell you that I disapprove of your prolonged interviews with a young man +who is very much beneath you in birth, breeding, and social position. +I am displeased... no! this word is far too mild—I am shocked at your +late... your night visits to this young man! And where does it happen? +Under my own roof! Perhaps you see nothing wrong in it and think that +it has nothing to do with me, that I should be silent and thereby screen +your disgraceful conduct. As an honourable woman... _oui, mademoiselle, +je l’ai été, je le suis, et je le serai toujours!_ I can’t help being +horrified at such proceedings!” + +Valentina Mihailovna threw herself into an armchair as if overcome by +her indignation. Mariana smiled for the first time. + +“I do not doubt your honour—past, present, and to come,” she began; +“and I mean this quite sincerely. Your indignation is needless. I have +brought no shame on your house. The young man whom you alluded to... +yes, I have certainly... fallen in love with him.” + +“You love Mr. Nejdanov?” + +“Yes, I love him.” + +Valentina Mihailovna sat up straight in her chair. + +“But, Mariana! he’s only a student, of no birth, no family, and he +is younger than you are!” (These words were pronounced not without a +certain spiteful pleasure.) “What earthly good can come of it? What do +you see in him? He is only an empty-headed boy.” + +“That was not always your opinion of him, Valentina Mihailovna.” + +“For heaven’s sake leave me out of the question, my dear!.... _Pas tant +d’esprit que ça, je vous prie._ The thing concerns you and your future. +Just consider for a moment. What sort of a match is this for you?” + +“I must confess, Valentina Mihailovna, that I did not look at it in that +light.” + +“What? What did you say? What am I to think? Let us assume that you +followed the dictates of your heart, but then it must end in marriage +sometime or other.” + +“I don’t know... I had not thought of that.” + +“You had not thought of that? You must be mad!” + +Mariana turned away. + +“Let us make an end of this conversation, Valentina Mihailovna. It won’t +lead to anything. In any case we won’t understand each other.” + +Valentina Mihailovna started up. + +“I can’t, I won’t put an end to this conversation! It’s far too +serious.... I am responsible for you before...” + +Valentina Mihailovna was going to say God, but hesitated and added, +“before the whole world! I can’t be silent when I hear such utter +madness! And why can’t I understand you, pray? What insufferable pride +these young people have nowadays! On the contrary, I understand you only +too well... I can see that you are infected with these new ideas, which +will only be your ruin. It will be too late to turn back then.” + +“Maybe; but believe me, even if we perish, we will not so much as +stretch out a finger that you might save us!” + +“Pride again! This awful pride! But listen, Mariana, listen to me,” she +added, suddenly changing her tone. She wanted to draw Mariana nearer +to herself, but the latter stepped back a pace. _“Ecoutez-moi, je vous +en conjure!_ After all, I am not so old nor so stupid that it should +be impossible for us to understand each other! _Je ne suis pas une +encroûtée._ I was even considered a republican as a girl ... no less +than you. Listen, I won’t pretend that I ever had any motherly feeling +towards you... and it is not in your nature to complain of that.... +But I always felt, and feel now, that I owed certain duties towards +you, and I have always endeavoured to fulfil them. Perhaps the match I +had in my mind for you, for which both Boris Andraevitch and I would +have been ready to make any sacrifice ... may not have been fully in +accordance with your ideas ... but in the bottom of my heart—” + +Mariana looked at Valentina Mihailovna, at her wonderful eyes, her +slightly painted lips, at her white hands, the parted fingers adorned +with rings, which the elegant lady so energetically pressed against the +bodice of her silk dress.... Suddenly she interrupted her. + +“Did you say a match, Valentina Mihailovna? Do you call that heartless, +vulgar friend of yours, Mr. Kollomietzev, ‘a match?’” + +Valentina Mihailovna took her fingers from her bodice. “Yes, Mariana +Vikentievna! I am speaking of that cultured, excellent young man, Mr. +Kollomietzev, who would make a wife happy and whom only a mad-woman +could refuse! Yes, only a mad-woman!” + +“What can I do, _ma tante_? It seems that I am mad!” + +“Have you anything serious against him?” + +“Nothing whatever. I simply despise him.” Valentina Mihailovna shook her +head impatiently and dropped into her chair again. + +“Let us leave him. _Retournons à nos moutons._ And so you love Mr. +Nejdanov?” + +“Yes.” + +“And do you intend to continue your interviews with him?” + +“Yes.” + +“But supposing I forbid it?” + +“I won’t listen to you.” + +Valentina Mihailovna sprang up from her chair. + +“What! You won’t listen to me! I see.... And that is said to me by a +girl who has known nothing but kindness from me, whom I have brought up +in my own house, that is said to me ... said to me——” + +“By the daughter of a disgraced father,” Mariana put in, sternly. “Go +on, don’t be on ceremonies!” + +_“Ce n’est pas moi qui vous le fait dire, mademoiselle!_ In any case, +_that_ is nothing to be proud of! A girl who lives at my expense——” + +“Don’t throw that in my face, Valentina Mihailovna! It would cost you +more to keep a French governess for Kolia.... It is I who give him +French lessons!” + +Valentina Mihailovna raised a hand holding a scented cambric +pocket-handkerchief with a large white monogram embroidered in one +corner and tried to say something, but Mariana continued passionately: + +“You would have been right, a thousand times right, if, instead of +counting up all your petty benefits and sacrifices, you could have been +in a position to say ‘the girl I loved’ ... but you are too honest to lie +about that!” Mariana trembled feverishly. “You have always hated me. And +even now you are glad in the bottom of your heart—that same heart +you have just mentioned—glad that I am justifying your constant +predictions, covering myself with shame and scandal—you are only +annoyed because part of this shame is bound to fall on your virtuous, +aristocratic house!” + +“You are insulting me,” Valentina Mihailovna whispered. “Be kind enough +to leave the room!” + +But Mariana could no longer contain herself. “Your household, you said, +all your household, Anna Zaharovna and everybody knows of my behaviour! +And every one is horrified and indignant.... But am I asking anything of +you, of all these people? Do you think I care for their good opinion? +Do you think that eating your bread has been sweet? I would prefer the +greatest poverty to this luxury. There is a gulf between me and +your house, an interminable gulf that cannot be crossed. You are an +intelligent woman, don’t you feel it too? And if you hate me, what do +you think I feel towards you? We won’t go into unnecessary details, it’s +too obvious.” + +_“Sortez, sortez, vous dis-je ...”_ Valentina Mihailovna repeated, stamping +her pretty little foot. + +Mariana took a few steps towards the door. + +“I will rid you of my presence directly, only do you know what, +Valentina Mihailovna? They say that in Racine’s ‘Bajazet’ even Rachel’s +_sortez!_ was not effective, and you don’t come anywhere near her! +Then, what was it you said ... _Je suis une honnête femme, je l’ai été +et le serai toujours?_ But I am convinced that I am far more honest +than you are! Goodbye!” + +Mariana went out quickly and Valentina Mihailovna sprang up from her +chair. She wanted to scream, to cry, but did not know what to scream +about, and the tears would not come at her bidding. + +So she fanned herself with her pocket-handkerchief, but the strong scent +of it affected her nerves still more. She felt miserable, insulted.... +She was conscious of a certain amount of truth in what she had just +heard, but how could anyone be so unjust to her? “Am I really so bad?” + she thought, and looked at herself in a mirror hanging opposite between +two windows. The looking-glass reflected a charming face, somewhat +excited, the colour coming and going, but still a fascinating face, with +wonderful soft, velvety eyes.... + +“I? I am bad?” she thought again.... “With such eyes?” + +But at this moment her husband entered the room and she again covered +her face with her pocket-handkerchief. + +“What is the matter with you?” he asked anxiously. “What is the matter, +Valia?” (He had invented this pet name, but only allowed himself to use +it when they were quite alone, particularly in the country.) + +At first she declared that there was nothing the matter, but ended by +turning around in her chair in a very charming and touching manner and, +flinging her arms round his shoulders (he stood bending over her) and +hiding her face in the slit of his waistcoat, told him everything. +Without any hypocrisy or any interested motive on her part, she tried +to excuse Mariana as much as she could, putting all the blame on her +extreme youth, her passionate temperament, and the defects of her early +education. In the same way she also, without any hidden motive, blamed +herself a great deal, saying, “With a daughter of mine this would +never have happened! I would have looked after her quite differently!” + Sipiagin listened to her indulgently, sympathetically, but with a severe +expression on his face. He continued standing in a stooping position +without moving his head so long as she held her arms round his +shoulders; he called her an angel, kissed her on the forehead, declared +that he now knew what course he must pursue as head of the house, +and went out, carrying himself like an energetic humane man, who was +conscious of having to perform an unpleasant but necessary duty. + +At eight o’clock, after dinner, Nejdanov was sitting in his room writing +to his friend Silin. + +“MY DEAR VLADIMIR,—I write to you at a critical moment of my life. I +have been dismissed from this house, I am going away from here. That in +itself would be nothing—I am not going alone. The girl I wrote to you +about is coming with me. We are drawn together by the similarity of our +fate in life, by our loneliness, convictions, aspirations, and, above +all, by our mutual love. Yes, we love each other. I am convinced that +I could not experience the passion of love in any other form than that +which presents itself to me now. But I should not be speaking the +truth if I were to say that I had no mysterious fear, no misgivings at +heart.... Everything in front of us is enveloped in darkness and we are +plunging into that darkness. I need not tell you what we are going +for and what we have chosen to do. Mariana and I are not in search of +happiness or vain delight; we want to enter the fight together, side by +side, supporting each other. Our aim is clear to us, but we do not know +the roads that lead to it. Shall we find, if not help and sympathy at +any rate, the opportunity to work? Mariana is a wonderfully honest girl. +Should we be fated to perish, I will not blame myself for having enticed +her away, because now no other life is possible for her. But, Vladimir, +Vladimir! I feel so miserable.... I am torn by doubt, not in my feelings +towards her, of course, but ... I do not know! And it is too late to turn +back. Stretch out your hands to us from afar, and wish us patience, the +power of self-sacrifice, and love... most of all love. And ye, Russian +people, unknown to us, but beloved by us with all the force of our +beings, with our hearts’ blood, receive us in your midst, be kind to us, +and teach us what we may expect from you. Goodbye, Vladimir, goodbye!” + +Having finished these few lines Nejdanov set out for the village. + +The following night, before daybreak, he stood on the outskirts of the +birch grove, not far from Sipiagin’s garden. A little further on behind +the tangled branches of a nut-bush stood a peasant cart harnessed to +a pair of unbridled horses. Inside, under the seat of plaited rope, a +little grey old peasant was lying asleep on a bundle of hay, covered up +to the ears with an old patched coat. Nejdanov kept looking eagerly at +the road, at the clumps of laburnums at the bottom of the garden; the +still grey night lay around; the little stars did their best to outshine +one another and were lost in the vast expanse of sky. To the east the +rounded edges of the spreading clouds were tinged with a faint flush of +dawn. Suddenly Nejdanov trembled and became alert. Something squeaked +near by, the opening of a gate was heard; a tiny feminine creature, +wrapped up in a shawl with a bundle slung over her bare arm, walked +slowly out of the deep shadow of the laburnums into the dusty road, +and crossing over as if on tip-toe, turned towards the grove. Nejdanov +rushed towards her. + +“Mariana?” he whispered. + +“It’s I!” came a soft reply from under the shawl. + +“This way, come with me,” Nejdanov responded, seizing her awkwardly by +the bare arm, holding the bundle. + +She trembled as if with cold. He led her up to the cart and woke the +peasant. The latter jumped up quickly, instantly took his seat on the +box, put his arms into the coat sleeves, and seized the rope that served +as reins. The horses moved; he encouraged them cautiously in a voice +still hoarse from a heavy sleep. Nejdanov placed Mariana on the seat, +first spreading out his cloak for her to sit on, wrapped her feet in a +rug, as the hay was rather damp, and sitting down beside her, gave the +order to start. The peasant pulled the reins, the horses came out of +the grove, snorting and shaking themselves, and bumping and rattling its +small wheels the cart rolled out on to the road. Nejdanov had his +arm round Mariana’s waist, while she, raising the shawl with her cold +fingers and turning her smiling face towards him, exclaimed: “How +beautifully fresh the air is, Aliosha!” + +“Yes,” the peasant replied, “there’ll be a heavy dew!” + +There was already such a heavy dew that the axles of the cart wheels as +they caught in the tall grass along the roadside shook off whole showers +of tiny drops and the grass looked silver-grey. + +Mariana again trembled from the cold. + +“How cold it is!” she said gaily. “But freedom, Aliosha, freedom!” + + + + +XXVII + +Solomin rushed out to the factory gates as soon as he was informed that +some sort of gentleman, with a lady, who had arrived in a cart, was +asking for him. Without a word of greeting to his visitors, merely +nodding his head to them several times, he told the peasant to drive +into the yard, and asking him to stop before his own little dwelling, +helped Mariana out of the cart. Nejdanov jumped out after her. Solomin +conducted them both through a long dark passage, up a narrow, crooked +little staircase at the back of the house, up to the second floor. He +opened a door and they all went into a tiny neat little room with two +windows. + +“I’m so glad you’ve come!” Solomin exclaimed, with his habitual smile, +which now seemed even broader and brighter than usual. + +“Here are your rooms. This one and another adjoining it. Not much to +look at, but never mind, one can live here and there’s no one to spy +on you. Just under your window there is what my employer calls a flower +garden, but which I should call a kitchen garden. It lies right up +against the wall and there are hedges to right and left. A quiet little +spot. Well, how are you, my dear lady? And how are you, Nejdanov?” + +He shook hands with them both. They stood motionless, not taking off +their things, and with silent, half-bewildered, half-joyful emotion +gazed straight in front of them. + +“Well? Why don’t you take your things off?” Solomin asked. “Have you +much luggage?” + +Mariana held up her little bundle. + +“I have only this.” + +“I have a portmanteau and a bag, which I left in the cart. I’ll go +and—” + +“Don’t bother, don’t bother.” Solomin opened the door. “Pavel!” he +shouted down the dark staircase, “run and fetch the things from the +cart!” + +“All right!” answered the never-failing Pavel. + +Solomin turned to Mariana, who had taken off her shawl and was +unfastening her cloak. + +“Did everything go off happily?” he asked. + +“Quite... not a soul saw us. I left a letter for Madame Sipiagina. +Vassily Fedotitch, I didn’t bring any clothes with me, because +you’re going to send us...” (Mariana wanted to say to the people, but +hesitated). “They wouldn’t have been of any use in any case. I have +money to buy what is necessary.” + +“We’ll see to that later on.... Ah!” he exclaimed, pointing to Pavel who +was at that moment coming in together with Nejdanov and the luggage from +the cart, “I can recommend you my best friend here. You may rely on +him absolutely, as you would on me. Have you told Tatiana about the +samovar?” he added in an undertone. + +“It will soon be ready,” Pavel replied; “and cream and everything.” + +“Tatiana is Pavel’s wife and just as reliable as he is,” Solomin +continued. “Until you get used to things, my dear lady, she will look +after you.” + +Mariana flung her cloak on to a couch covered with leather, which was +standing in a corner of the room. + +“Will you please call me Mariana, Vassily Fedotitch; I don’t want to be +a lady, neither do I want servants.... I did not go away from there to +be waited on. Don’t look at my dress—I hadn’t any other. I must change +all that now.” + +Her dress of fine brown cloth was very simple, but made by a St. +Petersburg dressmaker. It fitted beautifully round her waist and +shoulders and had altogether a fashionable air. + +“Well, not a servant if you like, but a help, in the American fashion. +But you must have some tea. It’s early yet, but you are both tired, no +doubt. I have to be at the factory now on business, but will look in +later on. If you want anything, ask Pavel or Tatiana.” + +Mariana held out both her hands to him quickly. + +“How can we thank you enough, Vassily Fedotitch?” She looked at him with +emotion. Solomin stroked one of her hands gently. “I should say it’s +not worth thanking for, but that wouldn’t be true. I had better say +that your thanks give me the greatest of pleasure. So we are quits. Good +morning. Come along, Pavel.” + +Mariana and Nejdanov were left alone. + +She rushed up to him and looked at him with the same expression with +which she had looked at Solomin, only with even greater delight, +emotion, radiance: “Oh, my dear!” she exclaimed. “We are beginning a new +life... at last! At last! You can’t believe how this poor little room, +where we are to spend a few days, seems sweet and charming compared to +those hateful palaces! Are you glad?” + +Nejdanov took her hands and pressed them against his breast. + +“I am happy, Mariana, to begin this new life with you! You will be my +guiding star, my support, my strength—” + +“Dear, darling Aliosha! But stop—we must wash and tidy ourselves a +little. I will go into my room... and you... stay here. I won’t be a +minute—” + +Mariana went into the other room and shut the door. A minute later she +opened it half-way and, putting her head through, said: “Isn’t Solomin +nice!” Then she shut the door again and the key turned in the lock. + +Nejdanov went up to the window and looked out into the garden.... One +old, very old, apple tree particularly attracted his attention. He shook +himself, stretched, opened his portmanteau, but took nothing out of it; +he became lost in thought.... + +A quarter of an hour later Mariana returned with a beaming, +freshly-washed face, brimming over with gaiety, and a few minutes later +Tatiana, Pavel’s wife, appeared with the samovar, tea things, rolls, and +cream. + +In striking contrast to her gipsy-like husband she was a typical +Russian—buxom, with masses of flaxen hair, which she wore in a +thick plait twisted round a horn comb. She had coarse though pleasant +features, good-natured grey eyes, and was dressed in a very neat though +somewhat faded print dress. Her hands were clean and well-shaped, +though large. She bowed composedly, greeted them in a firm, clear +accent without any sing-song about it, and set to work arranging the tea +things. + +Mariana went up to her. + +“Let me help you, Tatiana. Only give me a napkin.” + +“Don’t bother, miss, we are used to it. Vassily Fedotitch told me to. +If you want anything please let us know. We shall be delighted to do +anything we can.” + +“Please don’t call me miss, Tatiana. I am dressed like a lady, but I +am... I am quite—” + +Tatiana’s penetrating glance disconcerted Mariana; she ceased. + +“And what are you then?” Tatiana asked in her steady voice. + +“If you really want to know... I am certainly a lady by birth. But I +want to get rid of all that. I want to become like all simple women.” + +“Oh, I see! You want to become simplified, like so many do nowadays.” + +“What did you say, Tatiana? To become simplified?” + +“Yes, that’s a word that has sprung up among us. To become simplified +means to be like the common people. Teaching the people is all very +well in its way, but it must be a difficult task, very difficult! I hope +you’ll get on.” + +“To become simplified!” Mariana repeated. “Do you hear, Aliosha, you and +I have now become simplified!” + +“Is he your husband or your brother?” Tatiana asked, carefully washing +the cups with her large, skilful hands as she looked from one to the +other with a kindly smile. + +“No,” Mariana replied; “he is neither my husband nor my brother.” + +Tatiana raised her head. + +“Then you are just living together freely? That also happens very often +now. At one time it was to be met with only among nonconformists, but +nowadays other folks do it too. Where there is God’s blessing you can +live in peace without the priest’s aid. We have some living like that at +the factory. Not the worst of folk either.” + +“What nice words you use, Tatiana! ‘Living together freely’... I like +that. I’ll tell you what I want to ask of you, Tatiana. I want to make +or buy a dress, something like yours, only a little plainer. Then I want +shoes and stockings and a kerchief—everything like you have. I’ve got +some money.” + +“That’s quite easy, miss.... There, there, don’t be cross. I won’t call +you miss if you don’t like it. But what am I to call you?” + +“Call me Mariana.” + +“And what is your father’s Christian name?” + +“Why do you want my father’s name? Call me simply Mariana, as I call you +Tatiana.” + +“I don’t like to somehow. You had better tell me.” + +“As you like. My father’s name was Vikent. And what was your father’s?” + +“He was called Osip.” + +“Then I shall call you Tatiana Osipovna.” + +“And I’ll call you Mariana Vikentievna. That will be splendid.” + +“Won’t you take a cup of tea with us, Tatiana Osipovna?” + +“For once I will, Mariana Vikentievna, although Egoritch will scold me +afterwards.” + +“Who is Egoritch?” + +“Pavel, my husband.” + +“Sit down, Tatiana Osipovna.” + +“Thank you, Mariana Vikentievna.” + +Tatiana sat down and began sipping her tea and nibbling pieces of sugar. +She kept turning the lump of sugar round in her fingers, screwing up her +eye on the side on which she bit it. Mariana entered into conversation +with her and she replied quite at her ease, asked questions in her turn, +and volunteered various pieces of information. She simply worshipped +Solomin and put her husband only second to him. She did not, however, +care for the factory life. + +“It’s neither town nor country here. I wouldn’t stop an hour if it were +not for Vassily Fedotitch!” + +Mariana listened to her attentively, while Nejdanov, sitting a little to +one side, watched her and wondered at her interest. For Mariana it was +all so new, but it seemed to him that he had seen crowds of women like +Tatiana and spoken to them hundreds of times. + +“Do you know, Tatiana Osipovna?” Mariana began at last; “you think that +we want to teach the people, but we want to serve them.” + +“Serve them? Teach them; that’s the best thing you can do for them. Look +at me, for instance. When I married Egoritch I didn’t so much as know +how to read and write. Now I’ve learned, thanks to Vassily Fedotitch. +He didn’t teach me himself, he paid an old man to do it. It was he who +taught me. You see I’m still young, although I’m grown up.” + +Mariana was silent. + +“I wanted to learn some sort of trade, Tatiana Osipovna,” Mariana began; +“we must talk about that later on. I’m not good at sewing, but if I +could learn to cook, then I could go out as a cook.” + +Tatiana became thoughtful. + +“Why a cook? Only rich people and merchants keep cooks; the poor do +their own cooking. And to cook at a mess for workmen... why you couldn’t +do that!” + +“But I could live in a rich man’s house and get to know poor people. How +else can I get to know them? I shall not always have such an opportunity +as I have with you.” + +Tatiana turned her empty cup upside down on the saucer. + +“It’s a difficult matter,” she said at last with a sigh, “and can’t be +settled so easily. I’ll do what I can, but I’m not very clever. We must +talk it over with Egoritch. He’s clever if you like! Reads all sorts +of books and has everything at his fingers’ ends.” At this point she +glanced at Mariana who was rolling up a cigarette. + +“You’ll excuse me, Mariana Vikentievna, but if you really want to become +simplified you must give that up.” She pointed to the cigarette. “If you +want to be a cook, that would never do. Everyone would see at once that +you are a lady.” + +Mariana threw the cigarette out of the window. + +“I won’t smoke any more.... It’s quite easy to give that up. Women of the +people don’t smoke, so I suppose I ought not to.” + +“That’s quite true, Mariana Vikentievna. Our men indulge in it, but not +the women. And here’s Vassily Fedotitch coming to see you. Those are +his steps. You ask him. He’ll arrange everything for you in the best +possible way.” + +Solomin’s voice was heard at the door. + +“Can I come in?” + +“Come in, come in!” Mariana called out. + +“It’s an English habit of mine,” Solomin observed as he came in. “Well, +and how are you getting on? Not homesick yet, eh? I see you’re having +tea with Tatiana. You listen to her, she’s a sensible person. My +employer is coming today. It’s rather a nuisance. He’s staying to +dinner. But it can’t be helped. He’s the master.” + +“What sort of a man is he?” Nejdanov asked, coming out of his corner. + +“Oh, he’s not bad... knows what he’s about. One of the new generation. +He’s very polite, wears cuffs, and has his eyes about him no less than +the old sort. He would skin a flint with his own hands and say, ‘Turn +to this side a little, please... there is still a living spot here... I +must clean it!’ He’s nice enough to me, because I’m necessary to him. +I just looked in to say that I may not get a chance of seeing you +again today. Dinner will be brought to you here, and please don’t show +yourselves in the yard. Do you think the Sipiagins will make a search +for you, Mariana? Will they make a hunt?” + +“I don’t think so,” Mariana replied. + +“And I think they will,” Nejdanov remarked. + +“It doesn’t matter either way,” Solomin continued. “You must be a little +careful at first, but in a short time you can do as you like.” + +“Yes; only there’s one thing,” Nejdanov observed, “Markelov must know +where I am; he must be informed.” + +“But why?” + +“I am afraid it must be done—for the cause. He must always know my +whereabouts. I’ve given my word. But he’s quite safe, you know!” + +“Very well. We can send Pavel.” + +“And will my clothes be ready for me?” + +“Your special costume you mean? Why, of course... the same masquerade. +It’s not expensive at any rate. Goodbye. You must be tired. Come, +Tatiana.” + +Mariana and Nejdanov were left alone again. + + + + + +XXVIII + +First they clasped each other’s hands, then Mariana offered to help him +tidy his room. She immediately began unpacking his portmanteau and bag, +declining his offer of help on the ground that she must get used to work +and wished to do it all herself. She hung his clothes on nails which she +discovered in the table drawer and knocked into the wall with the back +of a hairbrush for want of a hammer. Then she arranged his linen in a +little old chest of drawers standing in between the two windows. + +“What is this?” she asked suddenly. “Why, it’s a revolver. Is it loaded? +What do you want it for?” + +“It is not loaded... but you had better give it to me. You want to know +why I have it? How can one get on without a revolver in our calling?” + +She laughed and went on with her work, shaking each thing out separately +and beating it with her hand; she even stood two pairs of boots under +the sofa; the few books, packet of papers, and tiny copy-book of verses +she placed triumphantly upon a three-cornered table, calling it a +writing and work table, while the other, a round one, she called a +dining and tea table. Then she took up the copy-book of verses in both +hands and, raising it on a level with her face, looked over the edge at +Nejdanov and said with a smile: + +“We will read this together when we have some time to spare, won’t we?” + +“Give it to me! I’ll burn it!” Nejdanov burst out. “That’s all it’s fit +for!” + +“Then why did you take it with you? No, I won’t let you burn it. +However, authors are always threatening to burn their things, but they +never do. I will put it in my room.” + +Nejdanov was just about to protest when Mariana rushed into the next +room with the copy-book and came back without it. + +She sat down beside him, but instantly got up again. “You have not yet +been in my room; would you like to see it? It’s quite as nice as yours. +Come and look.” + +Nejdanov rose and followed her. Her room, as she called it, was somewhat +smaller than his, but the furniture was altogether smarter and newer. +Some flowers in a crystal vase stood on the window-sill and there was an +iron bedstead in a corner. + +“Isn’t Solomin a darling!” Mariana exclaimed. “But we mustn’t get too +spoiled. I don’t suppose we shall often have rooms like these. Do you +know what I’ve been thinking? It would be rather nice if we could get a +place together so that we need not part! It will probably be difficult,” + she added after a pause; “but we must think of it. But all the same, you +won’t go back to St. Petersburg, will you?” + +“What should I do in St. Petersburg? Attend lectures at the university +or give lessons? That’s no use to me now.” + +“We must ask Solomin,” Mariana observed. “He will know best.” + +They went back to the other room and sat down beside each other again. +They praised Solomin, Tatiana, Pavel; spoke of the Sipiagins and how +their former life had receded from them far into the distance, as +if enveloped in a mist; then they clasped each other’s hand again, +exchanged tender glances; wondered what class they had better go among +first, and how to behave so that people should not suspect them. + +Nejdanov declared that the less they thought about that, and the more +naturally they behaved, the better. + +“Of course! We want to become simple, as Tatiana says.” + +“I didn’t mean it in that sense,” Nejdanov began; “I meant that we must +not be self-conscious.” + +Mariana suddenly burst out laughing. + +“Do you remember, Aliosha, how I said that we had both become +simplified?” + +Nejdanov also laughed, repeated “simplified,” and began musing. Mariana +too became pensive. + +“Aliosha!” she exclaimed. + +“What is it?” + +“It seems to me that we are both a little uncomfortable. Young—_des +nouveaux mariés_,” she explained, “when away on their honeymoon no doubt +feel as we do. They are happy... all is well with them—but they feel +uncomfortable.” + +Nejdanov gave a forced smile. + +“You know very well, Mariana, that we are not young ... in that sense.” + +Mariana rose from her chair and stood before him. + +“That depends on yourself.” + +“How?” + +“Aliosha, you know, dear, that when you tell me, as a man of honour... +and I will believe you because I know you are honourable; when you tell +me that you love me with that love... the love that gives one person the +right over another’s life, when you tell me that—I am yours.” + +Nejdanov blushed and turned away a little. + +“When I tell you that....” + +“Yes, then! But you see, Aliosha, you don’t say that to me now.... Oh +yes, Aliosha, you are truly an honourable man. Enough of this! Let us +talk of more serious things.” + +“But I do love you, Mariana!” + +“I don’t doubt that... and shall wait. But there, I have not quite +finished arranging your writing table. Here is something wrapped up, +something hard.” + +Nejdanov sprang up from his chair. + +“Don’t touch that, Mariana.... Leave it alone, please!” + +Mariana looked at him over her shoulder and raised her eyebrows in +amazement. + +“Is it a mystery? A secret? Have you a secret?” + +“Yes... yes...” Nejdanov stammered out, and added by way of explanation, +“it’s a portrait.” + +The word escaped him unawares. The packet Mariana held in her hand was +her own portrait, which Markelov had given Nejdanov. + +“A portrait?” she drawled out. “Is it a woman’s?” + +She handed him the packet, which he took so clumsily that it slipped out +of his hand and fell open. + +“Why... it’s my portrait!” Mariana exclaimed quickly. “I suppose I may +look at my own portrait.” She took it out of Nejdanov’s hand. + +“Did you do it?” + +“No... I didn’t.” + +“Who then? Markelov?” + +“Yes, you’ve guessed right.” + +“Then how did it come to be in your possession?” + +“He gave it to me.” + +“When?” + +Nejdanov told her when and under what circumstances. While he was +speaking Mariana glanced from him to the portrait. The same thought +flashed across both their minds. “If _he_ were in this room, then _he_ +would have the right to demand...” But neither Mariana nor Nejdanov gave +expression to this thought in words, perhaps because each was conscious +what was in the other’s mind. + +Mariana quietly wrapped the portrait up again in its paper and put it on +the table. + +“What a good man he is!” she murmured. “I wonder where he is now?” + +“Why, at home of course. Tomorrow or the day after I must go and see +him about some books and pamphlets. He promised to give me some, but +evidently forgot to do so before I left.” + +“And do you think, Aliosha, that when he gave you this portrait he +renounced everything... absolutely everything?” + +“I think so.” + +“Do you think you will find him at home?” + +“Of course.” + +“Ah!” Mariana lowered her eyes and dropped her hands at her sides. “But +here comes Tatiana with our dinner,” she exclaimed suddenly. “Isn’t she +a dear!” + +Tatiana appeared with the knives and forks, serviettes, plates and +dishes. While laying the table she related all the news about the +factory. “The master came from Moscow by rail and started running from +floor to floor like a madman. Of course he doesn’t understand anything +and does it only for show—to set an example so to speak. Vassily +Fedotitch treats him like a child. The master wanted to make some +unpleasantness, but Vassily Fedotitch soon shut him up. ‘I’ll throw +it up this minute,’ he said, so he soon began to sing small. They are +having dinner now. The master brought someone with him. A Moscow swell +who does nothing but admire everything. He must be very rich, I think, +by the way he holds his tongue and shakes his head. And so stout, very +stout! A real swell! No wonder there’s a saying that ‘Moscow lies at the +foot of Russia and everything rolls down to her.’” + +“How you notice everything!” Mariana exclaimed. + +“Yes, I do rather,” Tatiana observed. “Well, here is your dinner. Come +and have it and I’ll sit and look at you for a little while.” + +Mariana and Nejdanov sat down to table, whilst Tatiana sat down on the +window-sill and rested her cheek in her hand. + +“I watch you...” she observed. “And what dear, young, tender creatures +you are. You’re so nice to look at that it quite makes my heart ache. +Ah, my dear! You are taking a heavier burden on your shoulders than you +can bear. It’s people like you that the tsar’s folk are ready to put +into prison.” + +“Nothing of the kind. Don’t frighten us,” Nejdanov remarked. “You know +the old saying, ‘As you make your bed so you must lie on it.’” + +“Yes, I know. But the beds are so narrow nowadays that you can’t get out +of them!” + +“Have you any children?” Mariana asked to change the subject. + +“Yes, I have a boy. He goes to school now. I had a girl too, but she’s +gone, the little bird! An accident happened to her. She fell under a +wheel. If only it had killed her at once! But no, she suffered a long +while. Since then I’ve become more tender-hearted. Before I was as wild +and hard as a tree!” + +“Why, did you not love your Pavel?” + +“But that’s not the same. Only a girl’s feelings. And you—do you love +_him_?” + +“Of course I do.” + +“Very much?” + +“Ever so much.” + +“Really?...” Tatiana looked from one to the other, but said nothing +more. + +“I’ll tell you what I would like. Could you get me some coarse, strong +wool? I want to knit some stockings...plain ones.” + +Tatiana promised to have everything done, and clearing the table, went +out of the room with her firm, quiet step. + +“Well, what shall we do now?” Mariana asked, turning to Nejdanov, and +without, waiting for a reply, continued, “Since our real work does not +begin until tomorrow, let us devote this evening to literature. Would +you like to? We can read your poems. I will be a severe critic, I +promise you.” + +It took Nejdanov a long time before he consented, but he gave in at +last and began reading aloud out of his copybook. Mariana sat close to +him and gazed into his face as he read. She had been right; she turned +out to be a very severe critic. Very few of the verses pleased her. +She preferred the purely lyrical, short ones, to the didactic, as she +expressed it. Nejdanov did not read well. He had not the courage to +attempt any style, and at the same time wanted to avoid a dry tone. It +turned out neither the one thing nor the other. Mariana interrupted +him suddenly by asking if he knew Dobrolubov’s beautiful poem, which +begins, “To die for me no terror holds.” She read it to him—also not +very well—in a somewhat childish manner. + + [To die for me no terror holds, + Yet one fear presses on my mind, + That death should on me helpless play + A satire of the bitter kind. + + For much I fear that o’er my corse + The scalding tears of friends shall flow, + And that, too late, they should with zeal + Fresh flowers upon my body throw. + + That fate sardonic should recall + The ones I loved to my cold side, + And make me lying in the ground, + The object of love once denied. + + That all my aching heart’s desires, + So vainly sought for from my birth, + Should crowd unbidden, smiling kind + Above my body’s mound of earth.] + +Nejdanov thought that it was too sad and too bitter. He could not +have written a poem like that, he added, as he had no fears of any one +weeping over his grave... there would be no tears. + +“There will be if I outlive you,” Mariana observed slowly, and lifting +her eyes to the ceiling she asked, in a whisper, as if speaking to +herself: + +“How did he do the portrait of me? From memory?” + +Nejdanov turned to her quickly. + +“Yes, from memory.” + +Mariana was surprised at his reply. It seemed to her that she merely +thought the question. “It is really wonderful...” she continued in +the same tone of voice. “Why, he can’t draw at all. What was I talking +about?” she added aloud. “Oh yes, it was about Dobrolubov’s poems. One +ought to write poems like Pushkin’s, or even like Dobrolubov’s. It is +not poetry exactly, but something nearly as good.” + +“And poems like mine one should not write at all. Isn’t that so?” + Nejdanov asked. + +“Poems like yours please your friends, not because they are good, but +because _you_ are a good man and they are like you.” + +Nejdanov smiled. + +“You have completely buried them and me with them!” Mariana slapped his +hand and called him naughty. Soon after she announced that she was tired +and wanted to go to bed. + +“By the way,” she added, shaking back her short thick curls, “do you +know that I have a hundred and thirty roubles? And how much have you?” + +“Ninety-eight.” + +“Oh, then we are rich... for simplified folk. Well, good night, until +tomorrow.” + +She went out, but in a minute or two her door opened slightly and he +heard her say, “Goodnight!” then more softly another “Goodnight!” and +the key turned in the lock. + +Nejdanov sank on to the sofa and covered his face with his hands. Then +he got up quickly, went to her door and knocked. + +“What is it?” was heard from within. + +“Not till tomorrow, Mariana... not till tomorrow!” + +“Till tomorrow,” she replied softly. + + + + + +XXIX + +Early the next morning Nejdanov again knocked at Mariana’s door. + +“It is I,” he replied in answer to her “Who’s that?” “Can you come out to +me?” + +“In a minute.” + +She came out and uttered a cry of alarm. At first she did not recognise +him. He had on a long-skirted, shabby, yellowish nankin coat, with small +buttons and a high waist; his hair was dressed in the Russian fashion +with a parting straight down the middle; he had a blue kerchief round +his neck, in his hand he held a cap with a broken peak, on his feet a +pair of dirty leather boots. + +“Heavens!” Mariana exclaimed. “How ugly you look!” and thereupon threw +her arms round him and kissed him quickly. “But why did you get yourself +up like this? You look like some sort of shopkeeper, or pedlar, or a +retired servant. Why this long coat? Why not simply like a peasant?” + +“Why?” Nejdanov began. He certainly did look like some sort of +fishmonger in that garb, was conscious of it himself, and was annoyed +and embarrassed at heart. He felt uncomfortable, and not knowing what to +do with his hands, kept patting himself on the breast with the fingers +outspread, as though he were brushing himself. + +“Because as a peasant I should have been recognised at once Pavel says, +and that in this costume I look as if I had been born to it ... which is +not very flattering to my vanity, by the way.” + +“Are you going to begin at once?” Mariana asked eagerly. + +“Yes, I shall try, though in reality—” + +“You are lucky!” Mariana interrupted him. + +“This Pavel is a wonderful fellow,” Nejdanov continued. “He can see +through and through you in a second, and will suddenly screw up his face +as if he knew nothing, and would not interfere with anything for the +world. He works for the cause himself, yet laughs at it the whole time. +He brought me the books from Markelov; he knows him and calls him Sergai +Mihailovitch; and as for Solomin, he would go through fire and water for +him.” + +“And so would Tatiana,” Mariana observed. “Why are people so devoted to +him?” + +Nejdanov did not reply. + +“What sort of books did Pavel bring you?” Mariana asked. + +“Oh, nothing new. ‘The Story of the Four Brothers,’ and then the +ordinary, well-known ones, which are far better I think.” + +Mariana looked around uneasily. + +“I wonder what has become of Tatiana? She promised to come early.” + +“Here I am!” Tatiana exclaimed, coming in with a bundle in her hand. She +had heard Mariana’s exclamation from behind the door. + +“There’s plenty of time. See what I’ve brought you!” + +Mariana flew towards her. + +“Have you brought it?” + +Tatiana patted the bundle. + +“Everything is here, quite ready. You have only to put the things on and +go out to astonish the world.” + +“Come along, come along, Tatiana Osipovna, you are a dear——” + +Mariana led her off to her own room. + +Left alone, Nejdanov walked up and down the room once or twice with a +peculiarly shuffling gait (he imagined that all shopkeepers walked like +that), then he carefully sniffed at his sleeves, the inside of his cap, +made a grimace, looked at himself in the little looking-glass hanging in +between the windows, and shook his head; he certainly did not look very +prepossessing. “So much the better,” he thought. Then he took several +pamphlets, thrust them into his side pocket, and began to practise +speaking like a shopkeeper. “That sounds like it,” he thought, “but +after all there is no need of acting, my get-up is convincing enough.” + Just then he recollected a German exile, who had to make his escape +right across Russia with only a poor knowledge of the language. But +thanks to a merchant’s cap which he had bought in a provincial town, he +was taken everywhere for a merchant and had successfully made his way +across the frontier. + +At this moment Solomin entered. + +“I say!” he exclaimed. “Arrayed in all your war paint? Excuse me, my +dear fellow, but in that garb one can hardly speak to you respectfully.” + +“Please don’t. I had long meant to ask you—” + +“But it’s early as yet. It doesn’t matter if you only want to get used +to it, only you must not go out yet. My employer is still here. He’s in +bed.” + +“I’ll go out later on,” Nejdanov responded. “I’ll explore the +neighbourhood a little, until further orders come.” + +“Capital! But I tell you what, Alexai.... I may call you Alexai, may I +not?” + +“Certainly, or Lexy if you like,” Nejdanov added with a smile. + +“No; there is no need to overdo things. Listen. Good counsel is +better than money, as the saying goes. I see that you have pamphlets. +Distribute them wherever you like, only not in the factory on any +account!” + +“Why not?” + +“In the first place, because it won’t be safe for you; in the second, +because I promised the owner not to do that sort of thing here. You see +the place is his after all, and then something has already been done... +a school and so on. You might do more harm than good. Further than +that, you may do as you like, I shall not hinder you. But you must not +interfere with my workpeople.” + +“Caution is always useful,” Nejdanov remarked with a sarcastic smile. + +Solomin smiled his characteristic broad smile. + +“Yes, my dear Alexai, it’s always useful. But what do I see? Where are +we?” + +The last words referred to Mariana, who at that moment appeared in the +doorway of her room in a print dress that had been washed a great many +times, with a yellow kerchief over her shoulders and a red one on her +head. Tatiana stood behind her, smiling good-naturedly. Mariana seemed +younger and brighter in her simple garment and looked far better than +Nejdanov in his long-skirted coat. + +“Vassily Fedotitch, don’t laugh, please,” Mariana implored, turning as +red as a poppy. + +“There’s a nice couple!” Tatiana exclaimed, clapping her hands. “But +you, my dear, don’t be angry, you look well enough, but beside my little +dove you’re nowhere.” + +“And, really, she is charming,” Nejdanov thought; “oh, how I love her!” + +“Look now,” Tatiana continued, “she insisted on changing rings with me. +She has given me a golden ring and taken my silver one.” + +“Girls of the people do not wear gold rings,” Mariana observed. + +Tatiana sighed. + +“I’ll take good care of it, my dear; don’t be afraid.” + +“Well, sit down, sit down both of you,” Solomin began; he had been +standing all the while with his head bent a little to one side, gazing +at Mariana. “In olden days, if you remember, people always sat down +before starting on a journey. And you have both a long and wearisome one +before you.” + +Mariana, still crimson, sat down, then Nejdanov and Solomin, and last +of all Tatiana took her seat on a thick block of wood. Solomin looked at +each of them in turn. + + “Let us step back a pace, + Let us step back a bit, + To see with what grace + And how nicely we sit,” + +he said with a frown. Suddenly he burst out laughing, but so +good-naturedly that no one was in the least offended, on the contrary, +they all began to feel merry too. Only Nejdanov rose suddenly. + +“I must go now,” he said; “this is all very nice, but rather like a +farce. Don’t be uneasy,” he added, turning to Solomin. “I shall not +interfere with your people. I’ll try my tongue on the folk around about +and will tell you all about it when I come back, Mariana, if there is +anything to tell. Wish me luck!” + +“Why not have a cup of tea first?” Tatiana remarked. + +“No thanks. If I want any I can go into an eating-house or into a public +house.” + +Tatiana shook her head. + +“Goodbye, goodbye... good luck to you!” Nejdanov added, entering upon +his role of small shopkeeper. But before he had reached the door Pavel +thrust his head in from the passage under his very nose, and handing him +a thin, long staff, cut out all the way down like a screw, he said: + +“Take this, Alexai Dmitritch, and lean on it as you walk. And the +farther you hold it away from yourself the better it will look.” + +Nejdanov took the staff without a word and went out. Tatiana wanted to +go out too, but Mariana stopped her. + +“Wait a minute, Tatiana Osipovna. I want you.” + +“I’ll be back directly with the samovar. Your friend has gone off +without tea, he was in such a mighty hurry. But that is no reason why +you should not have any. Later on things will be clearer.” + +Tatiana went out and Solomin also rose. Mariana was standing with her +back to him, but when at last she turned towards him, rather surprised +that he had not said a single word, she saw in his face, in his eyes +that were fixed on her, an expression she had not seen there before; an +expression of inquiry, anxiety, almost of curiosity. She became confused +and blushed again. Solomin, too, was ashamed of what she had read in his +face and began talking louder than was his wont. + +“Well, well, Mariana, and so you have made a beginning.” + +“What sort of beginning, Vassily Fedotitch? Do you call this a +beginning? Alexai was right. It’s as if we were acting a farce.” + +Solomin sat down again. + +“But, Mariana... what did you picture the beginning to be like? Not +standing behind the barricades waving a flag and shouting, ‘Hurrah for +the republic!’ Besides, that is not a woman’s work. Now, today you will +begin teaching some Lukeria, something good for her, and a difficult +matter it will be, because you won’t understand your Lukeria and she +won’t understand you, and on top of it she will imagine that what you +are teaching is of no earthly use to her. In two or three weeks you will +try your hand on another Lukeria, and meanwhile you will be washing a +baby here, teaching another the alphabet, or handing some sick man his +medicine. That will be your beginning.” + +“But sisters of mercy do that, Vassily Fedotitch! What is the use of +all this, then?” Mariana pointed to herself and round about with a vague +gesture. “I dreamt of something else.” + +“Did you want to sacrifice yourself?” + +Mariana’s eyes glistened. + +“Yes, yes, yes!” + +“And Nejdanov?” + +Mariana shrugged her shoulders. + +“What of Nejdanov? We shall go together... or I will go alone.” + +Solomin looked at her intently. + +“Do you know, Mariana... excuse the coarse expression... but, to my +mind, combing the scurfy head of a gutter child is a sacrifice; a great +sacrifice of which not many people are capable.” + +“I would not shirk that, Vassily Fedotitch.” + +“I know you would not. You are capable of doing that and will do it, +until something else turns up.” + +“But for that sort of thing I must learn of Tatiana!” + +“You could not do better. You will be washing pots and plucking +chickens.... And, who knows, maybe you will save your country in that +way!” + +“You are laughing at me, Vassily Fedotitch.” + +Solomin shook his head slowly. + +“My dear Mariana, believe me, I am not laughing at you. What I said was +the simple truth. You are already, all you Russian women, more capable +and higher than we men.” + +Mariana raised her eyes. + +“I would like to live up to your idea of us, Solomin... and then I +should be ready to die.” + +Solomin stood up. + +“No, it is better to live! That’s the main thing. By the way, would you +like to know what is happening at the Sipiagins? Won’t they do anything? +You have only to drop Pavel a hint and he will find out everything in a +twinkling.” + +Mariana was surprised. + +“What a wonderful person he is!” + +“Yes, he certainly is wonderful. And should you want to marry Alexai, +he will arrange that too with Zosim, the priest. You remember I told you +about him. But perhaps it is not necessary as yet, eh?” + +“No, not yet.” + +“Very well.” Solomin went up to the door dividing the two rooms, +Mariana’s and Nejdanov’s, and examined the lock. + +“What are you doing?” Mariana asked. “Does it lock all right?” + +“Yes,” Mariana whispered. + +Solomin turned to her. She did not raise her eyes. + +“Then there is no need to bother about the Sipiagins,” he continued +gaily, “is there?” + +Solomin was about to go out. + +“Vassily Fedotitch...” + +“Yes...” + +“Why is it you are so talkative with me when you are usually so silent? +You can’t imagine what pleasure it gives me.” + +“Why?” Solomin took both her soft little hands in his big hard ones. +“Why, did you ask? Well, I suppose it must be because I love you so +much. Good-bye.” + +He went out. Mariana stood pensive looking after him. In a little while +she went to find Tatiana who had not yet brought the samovar. She had +tea with her, washed some pots, plucked a chicken, and even combed out +some boy’s tangled head of hair. + +Before dinner she returned to her own rooms and soon afterwards Nejdanov +arrived. + +He came in tired and covered with dust and dropped on to the sofa. She +immediately sat down beside him. + +“Well, tell me what happened.” + +“You remember the two lines,” he responded in a weary voice: + + “It would have been so funny + Were it not so sad.” + +“Do you remember?” + +“Of course I do.” + +“Well, these lines apply admirably to my first expedition, excepting +that it was more funny than sad. I’ve come to the conclusion that there +is nothing easier than to act a part. No one dreamed of suspecting me. +There was one thing, however, that I had not thought of. You must be +prepared with some sort of yarn beforehand, or else when any one asks +you where you’ve come from and why you’ve come, you don’t know what to +say. But, however, even that is not so important. You’ve only to stand a +drink and lie as much as you like.” + +“And you? Did you lie?” + +“Of course I did, as much as I could. And then I’ve discovered that +absolutely everyone you come across is discontented, only no one cares +to find out the remedy for this discontent. I made a very poor show at +propaganda, only succeeded in leaving a couple of pamphlets in a room +and shoving a third into a cart. What may come of them the Lord only +knows! I ran across four men whom I offered some pamphlets. The first +asked if it was a religious book and refused to take it; the second +could not read, but took it home to his children for the sake of the +picture on the cover; the third seemed hopeful at first, but ended by +abusing me soundly and also not taking it; the fourth took a little +book, thanked me very much, but I doubt if he understood a single word I +said to him. Besides that, a dog bit my leg, a peasant woman threatened +me with a poker from the door of her hut, shouting, ‘Ugh! you pig! You +Moscow rascals! There’s no end to you!’ and then a soldier shouted after +me, ‘Hi, there! We’ll make mince-meat of you!’ and he got drunk at my +expense!” + +“Well, and what else?” + +“What else? I’ve got a blister on my foot; one of my boots is horribly +large. And now I’m as hungry as a wolf and my head is splitting from the +vodka.” + +“Why, did you drink much?” + +“No, only a little to set the example, but I’ve been in five +public-houses. I can’t endure this beastliness, vodka. Goodness knows +why our people drink it. If one must drink this stuff in order to become +simplified, then I had rather be excused!” + +“And so no one suspected you?” + +“No one, with the exception, perhaps, of a bar-man, a stout individual +with pale eyes, who did look at me somewhat suspiciously. I overheard +him saying to his wife, ‘Keep an eye on that carroty-haired one with +the squint.’ (I was not aware until that moment that I had a squint.) +‘There’s something wrong about him. See how he’s sticking over his +vodka.’ What he meant by ‘sticking’ exactly, I didn’t understand, but +it could hardly have been to my credit. It reminded me of the _mauvais +ton_ in Gogol’s “Revisor”, do you remember? Perhaps because I tried +to pour my vodka under the table. Oh dear! It is difficult for an +aesthetic creature like me to come in contact with real life.” + +“Never mind. Better luck next time,” Mariana said consolingly. “But I am +glad you see the humorous side of this, your first attempt. You were not +really bored, were you?” + +“No, it was rather amusing. But I know that I shall think it all over +now and it will make me miserable.” + +“But I won’t let you think about it! I will tell you everything I did. +Dinner will be here in a minute. By the way, I must tell you that +I washed the saucepan Tatiana cooked the soup in.... I’ll tell you +everything, every little detail.” + +And so she did. Nejdanov listened and could not take his eyes off her. +She stopped several times to ask why he looked at her so intently, but +he was silent. + +After dinner she offered to read Spielhagen aloud to him, but had +scarcely got through one page when he got up suddenly and fell at her +feet. She stood up; he flung both his arms round her knees and began +uttering passionate, disconnected, and despairing words. He wanted to +die, he knew he would soon die.... She did not stir, did not resist. +She calmly submitted to his passionate embraces, and calmly, even +affectionately, glanced down upon him. She laid both her hands on his +head, feverishly pressed to the fold of her dress, but her calmness had +a more powerful effect on him than if she had repulsed him. He got up +murmuring: “Forgive me, Mariana, for today and for yesterday. Tell me +again that you are prepared to wait until I am worthy of your love, and +forgive me.” + +“I gave you my word. I never change.” + +“Thank you, dear. Goodbye.” + +Nejdanov went out and Mariana locked the door of her room. + + + + + +XXX + +A fortnight later, in the same room, Nejdanov sat bending over his +three-legged table, writing to his friend Silin by the dim light of a +tallow candle. (It was long past midnight. Muddy garments lay scattered +on the sofa, on the floor, just where they had been thrown off. A fine +drizzly rain pattered against the window-panes and a strong, warm wind +moaned about the roof of the house.) + +MY DEAR VLADIMIR,—I am writing to you without giving my address and +will send this letter by a messenger to a distant posting-station as my +being here is a secret, and to disclose it might mean the ruin not of +myself alone. It is enough for you to know that for the last two weeks +I have been living in a large factory together with Mariana. We ran away +from the Sipiagins on the day on which I last wrote to you. A friend has +given us shelter here. For convenience sake I will call him Vassily. He +is the chief here and an excellent man. Our stay is only of a temporary +nature; we will move on when the time for action comes. But, however, +judging by events so far, the time is hardly likely ever to come! +Vladimir, I am horribly miserable. I must tell you before everything +that although Mariana and I ran away together, we have so far been +living like brother and sister. She loves me and told me she would be +mine if I feel I have the right to ask it of her. + +Vladimir, I do not feel that I have the right! She trusts me, believes +in my honour—I cannot deceive her. I know that I never loved nor will +ever love any one more than her (of that I am convinced), but for all +that, how can I unite her fate forever with mine? A living being to +a corpse? Well, if not a complete corpse, at any rate, a half-dead +creature. Where would one’s conscience be? I can hear you say that if +passion was strong enough the conscience would be silent. But that is +just the point; I am a corpse, an honest, well-meaning corpse if +you like, but a corpse nevertheless. Please do not say that I always +exaggerate. Everything I have told you is absolutely true. Mariana is +very reserved and is at present wrapped up in her activities in which +she believes, and I? + +Well, enough of love and personal happiness and all that. It is now +a fortnight since I have been going among “the people,” and really it +would be impossible to imagine anything more stupid than they are. Of +course the fault lies probably more in me than in the work itself. I +am not a fanatic. I am not one of those who regenerate themselves by +contact with the people and do not lay them on my aching bosom like a +flannel bandage—I want to influence them. But how? How can it be done? +When I am among them I find myself listening all the time, taking things +in, but when it comes to saying anything—I am at a loss for a word! I +feel that I am no good, a bad actor in a part that does not suit him. +Conscientiousness or scepticism are absolutely of no use, nor is a +pitiful sort of humour directed against oneself. It is worse than +useless! I find it disgusting to look at the filthy rags I carry about +on me, the masquerade as Vassily calls it! They say you must first +learn the language of the people, their habits and customs, but rubbish, +rubbish, rubbish, I say! You have only to _believe_ in what you say +and say what you like! I once happened to hear a sectarian prophet +delivering a sermon. Goodness only knows what arrant nonsense he talked, +a sort of gorgeous mix-up of ecclesiastical learning, interspersed with +peasant expressions, not even in decent Russian, but in some outlandish +dialect, but he took one by storm with his enthusiasm—went straight to +the heart. There he stood with flashing eyes, the voice deep and firm, +with clenched fist—as though he were made of iron! No one understood +what he was saying, but everyone bowed down before him and followed +him. But when I begin to speak, I seem like a culprit begging for +forgiveness. I ought to join the sectarians, although their wisdom is +not great... but they have faith, faith! + +Mariana too has faith. She works from morning until night with +Tatiana—a peasant woman here, as good as can be and not by any means +stupid; she says, by the way, that we want to become simplified and +calls us simple souls. Mariana is about working with this woman from +morning until night, scarcely sitting down for a moment, just like a +regular ant! She is delighted that her hands are turning red and rough, +and in the midst of these humble occupations is looking forward to the +scaffold! She has even attempted to discard shoes; went out somewhere +barefoot and came back barefoot. I heard her washing her feet for a long +time afterwards and then saw her come out, treading cautiously; they +were evidently sore, poor thing, but her face was radiant with smiles +as though she had found a treasure or been illuminated by the sun. Yes, +Mariana is a brick! But when I try to talk to her of my feelings, +a certain shame comes over me somehow, as though I were violating +something that was not my own, and then that glance... Oh, that +awful devoted, irresistible glance! “Take me,” it seems to say, “_but +remember_....” Enough of this! Is there not something higher and better +in this world? In other words, put on your filthy coat and go among the +people.... Oh, yes, I am just going. + +How I loathe this irritability, sensitiveness, impressionable-ness, +fastidiousness, inherited from my aristocratic father! What right had +he to bring me into this world, endowed with qualities quite unsuited +to the sphere in which I must live? To create a bird and throw it in the +water? An aesthetic amidst filth! A democrat, a lover of the people, yet +the very smell of their filthy vodka makes me feel sick! + +But it’s too bad blaming my father. He was not responsible for my +becoming a democrat. + +Yes, Vladimir, I am in a bad plight. Grey, depressing thoughts are +continually haunting me. Can it be, you will be asking me, that I have +not met with anything consoling, any good living personality, however +ignorant he might not be? How shall I tell you? I have run across +someone—a decent clever chap, but unfortunately, however hard I may try +to get nearer him, he has no need of either me or my pamphlets—that is +the root of the matter! Pavel, a factoryhand here (he is Vassily’s right +hand, a clever fellow with his head screwed on the right way, a future +“head,” I think I wrote to you about him), well this Pavel has a friend, +a peasant called Elizar, also a smart chap, as free and courageous as +one would wish, but as soon as we get together there seems a dead wall +between us! His face spells one big “No!” Then there was another man I +ran across—he was a rather quarrelsome type by the way. “Don’t you try +to get around me, sir,” he said. “What I want to know is would you give +up your land now, or not?” “But I’m not a gentleman,” I remonstrated. +“Bless you!” he exclaimed, “you a common man and no more sense than that! +Leave me alone, please!” + +Another thing I’ve noticed is that if anyone listens to you readily +and takes your pamphlets at once, he is sure to be of an undesirable, +brainless sort. Or you may chance upon some frightfully talkative +individual who can do nothing but keep on repeating some favourite +expression. One such nearly drove me mad; everything with him was +“production.” No matter what you said to him he came out with his +“production,” damn him! Just one more remark. + +Do you remember some time ago there used to be a great deal of talk +about “superfluous” people—Hamlets? Such “superfluous people” are now +to be met with among the peasants! They have their own characteristics +of course and are for the most part inclined to consumption. They are +interesting types and come to us readily, but as far as the cause is +concerned they are ineffective, like all other Hamlets. Well, what can +one do? Start a secret printing press? There are pamphlets enough as it +is, some that say, “Cross yourself and take up the hatchet,” and others +that say simply, “Take up the hatchet” without the crossing. Or should +one write novels of peasant life with plenty of padding? They wouldn’t +get published, you know. Perhaps it might be better to take up the +hatchet after all? But against whom, with whom, and what for? So that +our state soldier may shoot us down with the state rifle? It would only +be a complicated form of suicide! It would be better to make an end of +yourself—you would at any rate know when and how, and choose the spot +to aim at. + +I am beginning to think that if some war were to break out, some +people’s war—I would go and take part in it, not so as to free others +(free others while one’s own are groaning under the yoke!!), but to make +an end of myself.... + +Our friend Vassily, who gave us shelter here, is a lucky man. He +belongs to our camp, but is so calm and quiet. He doesn’t want to hurry +over things. I should have quarrelled with another, but I can’t with +him. The secret lies not in his convictions, but in the man himself. +Vassily has a character that you can’t kindle, but he’s all right +nevertheless. He is with us a good deal, with Mariana. What surprises +me is that although I love her and she loves me (I see you smiling at +this, but the fact remains!) we have nothing to talk about, while she +is constantly discussing and arguing with him and listening too. I am +not jealous of him; he is trying to find a place for her somewhere, at +any rate, she keeps on asking him to do so, but it makes me feel bitter +to look at them both. And would you believe it—I have only to drop a +hint about marrying and she would agree at once and the priest Zosim +would put in an appearance, “Isaiah, rejoice!” and the rest of it. But +this would not make it any easier for me and _nothing would be changed +by it_.... Whatever you do, there is no way out of it! Life has cut me +short, my dear Vladimir, as our little drunken tailor used to say, you +remember, when he used to complain about his wife. + +I have a feeling that it can’t go on somehow, that something is +preparing.... + +Have I not again and again said that the time has come for action? Well, +so here we are in the thick of it. + +I can’t remember if I told you anything about another friend of mine—a +relative of the Sipiagins. He will get himself into such a mess that it +won’t be easy for him to get out of it. + +I quite meant finishing this letter and am still going on. It seems to +me that nothing matters and yet I scribble verses. I don’t read them to +Mariana and she is not very anxious to hear them, but you have sometimes +praised my poor attempts and most of all you’ll keep them to yourself. +I have been struck by a common phenomenon in Russia.... But, however, let +the verses speak for themselves— + + +SLEEP + + After long absence I return to my native land, + Finding no striking change there. + The same dead, senseless stagnation; crumbling houses, crumbling + walls, + And the same filth, dirt, poverty, and misery. + Unchanged the servile glance, now insolent, now dejected. + Free have our people become, and the free arm + Hangs as before like a whip unused. + All, all as before. In one thing only may we equal + Europe, Asia, and the World! + Never before has such a fearful sleep oppressed our land. + + All are asleep, on all sides are they; + Through town and country, in carts and in sledges, + By day or night, sitting or standing, + The merchant and the official, and the sentinel at his post + In biting snow and burning heat—all sleep. + The judged ones doze, and the judge snores, + And peasants plough and reap like dead men, + Father, mother, children; all are asleep. + He who beats, and he who is beaten. + Alone the tavern of the tsar ne’er closes a relentless eye. + So, grasping tight in hand the bottle, + His brow at the Pole and his heel in the Caucasus, + Holy Russia, our fatherland, lies in eternal sleep. + +I am sorry, Vladimir. I never meant to write you such a melancholy +letter without a few cheering words at the end. (You will no doubt +tumble across some defects in the lines!) When shall I write to you +again? Shall I ever write? But whatever happens to me I am sure you will +never forget, + +Your devoted friend, + +A. N. + +_P.S._—Our people are asleep.... But I have a feeling that if anything +does wake them, it will not be what we think.... + +After writing the last line, Nejdanov flung down the pen. “Well, now +you must try and sleep and forget all this nonsense, scribbler!” he +exclaimed, and lay down on the bed. But it was long before he fell +asleep. + +The next morning Mariana woke him passing through his room on her way to +Tatiana. He had scarcely dressed when she came back. She seemed excited, +her face expressing delight and anxiety at the same time. + +“Do you know, Aliosha, they say that in the province of T., quite near +here, it has already begun!” + +“What? What has begun? Who said so?” + +“Pavel. They say the peasants are rising, refusing to pay taxes, +collecting in mobs.” + +“Have you heard that yourself?” + +“Tatiana told me. But here is Pavel himself. You had better ask him.” + +Pavel came in and confirmed what Mariana had said. + +“There is certainly some disturbance in T.,” he began, shaking his beard +and screwing up his bright black eyes. “Sergai Mihailovitch must have +had a hand in it. He hasn’t been home for five days.” + +Nejdanov took his cap. + +“Where are you off to?” Mariana asked. + +“Why there of course,” he replied, not raising his eyes and frowning, “I +am going to T.” + +“Then I will come with you. You’ll take me, won’t you? Just let me get a +shawl.” + +“It’s not a woman’s work,” Nejdanov said irritably with his eyes still +fixed on the floor. + +“No, no! You do well to go, or Markelov would think you a coward ... but +I’m coming with you.” + +“I am not a coward,” Nejdanov observed gloomily. + +“I meant to say that he would have thought us both cowards. I am coming +with you.” + +Mariana went into her own room to get a shawl, while Pavel gave an +inward ha, ha, and quickly vanished. He ran to warn Solomin. + +Mariana had not yet appeared, when Solomin came into Nejdanov’s room. +The latter was standing with his face to the window, his forehead +resting on the palm of his hand and his elbow on the window-pane. +Solomin touched him on the shoulder. He turned around quickly; +dishevelled and unwashed, Nejdanov had a strange wild look. Solomin, +too, had changed during the last days. His face was yellow and drawn and +his upper front teeth showed slightly—he, too, seemed agitated as far +as it was possible for his well-balanced temperament to be so. + +“Markelov could not control himself after all,” he began. “This may turn +out badly both for him and for others.” + +“I want to go and see what’s going on there,” Nejdanov observed. + +“And I too,” Mariana added as she appeared in the doorway. + +Solomin turned to her quickly. + +“I would not advise you to go, Mariana. You may give yourself away—and +us, without meaning to, and without the slightest necessity. Let +Nejdanov go and see how the land lies, if he wants to—and the sooner +he’s back the better! But why should you go?” + +“I don’t want to be parted from him.” + +“You will be in his way.” + +Mariana looked at Nejdanov. He was standing motionless with a set sullen +expression on his face. + +“But supposing there should be danger?” she asked. + +Solomin smiled. + +“Don’t be afraid... when there’s danger I will let you go.” + +Mariana took off her shawl without a word and sat down. Solomin then +turned to Nejdanov. + +“It would be a good thing for you to look about a little, Alexai. I dare +say they exaggerate. Only do be careful. But, however, you will not +be going alone. Come back as quickly as you can. Will you promise? +Nejdanov? Will you promise?” + +“Yes.” + +“For certain?” + +“I suppose so, since everybody here obeys you, including Mariana.” + +Nejdanov went out without saying goodbye. Pavel appeared from somewhere +out of the darkness and ran down the stairs before him with a great +clatter of his hob-nailed boots. Was _he_ then to accompany Nejdanov? + +Solomin sat down beside Mariana. + +“You heard Nejdanov’s last word?” + +“Yes. He is annoyed that I listen to you more than to him. But it’s +quite true. I love _him_ and listen to you. He is dear to me... and you +are near to me.” + +Solomin stroked her hand gently. + +“This is a very unpleasant business,” he observed at last. “If Markelov +is mixed up in it then he’s a lost man.” + +Mariana shuddered. + +“Lost?” + +“Yes. He doesn’t do things by halves—and won’t hide things for the sake +of others.” + +“Lost!” Mariana whispered again as the tears rolled down her cheeks. +“Oh, Vassily Fedotitch! I feel so sorry for him. But what makes you +think that he won’t succeed? Why must he inevitably be lost?” + +“Because in such enterprises the first always perish even if they come +off victorious. And in this thing not only the first and second, but the +tenth and twentieth will perish—” + +“Then we shall never live to see it?” + +“What you have in your mind—never. We shall never see it with our eyes; +with these living eyes of ours. But with our spiritual ... but that +is another matter. We may see it in that way now; there is nothing to +hinder us.” + +“Then why do you—” + +“What?” + +“Why do you follow this road?” + +“Because there is no other. I mean that my aims are the same as +Markelov’s—but our paths are different.” + +“Poor Sergai Mihailovitch!” Mariana exclaimed sadly. Solomin passed his +hand cautiously over hers. + +“There, there, we know nothing as yet. We’ll see what news Pavel brings +back. In our calling one must be brave. The English have a proverb +‘Never say die.’ A very good proverb, I think, much better than our +Russian, ‘When trouble knocks, open the gates wide!’ We mustn’t meet +trouble half way.” + +Solomin stood up. + +“And the place you were going to find me?” Mariana asked suddenly. The +tears were still shining on her cheeks, but there was no sadness in her +eyes. Solomin sat down again. + +“Are you in such a great hurry to get away from here?” + +“Oh, no! Only I wanted to do something useful.” + +“You are useful here, Mariana. Don’t leave us yet, wait a little longer. +What is it?” Solomin asked of Tatiana who was just coming in. + +“Some sort of female is asking for Alexai Dmitritch,” Tatiana replied, +laughing and gesticulating with her hands. + +“I said that there was no such person living here, that we did not know +him at all, when she—” + +“Who is she?” + +“Why the female of course. She wrote her name on this piece of paper +and asked me to bring it here and let her in, saying that if Alexai +Dmitritch was really not at home, she could wait for him.” + +On the paper was written in large letters “Mashurina.” + +“Show her in,” Solomin said. “You don’t mind my asking her in here, +Mariana, do you? She is also one of us.” + +“Not at all.” + +A few moments later Mashurina appeared in the doorway, in the same dress +in which we saw her at the beginning of the first chapter. + + + + + + +XXXI + +“Is Nejdanov not at home?” she asked, then catching sight of Solomin, +came up to him and extended her hand. + +“How do you do, Solomin?” She threw a side-glance at Mariana. + +“He will be back directly,” Solomin said. “But tell me how you came to +know—” + +“Markelov told me. Besides several people in the town already know that +he’s here.” + +“Really?” + +“Yes. Somebody must have let it out. Besides Nejdanov has been +recognised.” + +“For all the dressing up!” Solomin muttered to himself. “Allow me to +introduce you,” he said aloud, “Miss Sinitska, Miss Mashurina! Won’t you +sit down?” + +Mashurina nodded her head slightly and sat down. “I have a letter for +Nejdanov and a message for you, Solomin.” + +“What message? And from whom?” + +“From someone who is well known to you.... Well, is everything ready +here?” + +“Nothing whatever.” + +Mashurina opened her tiny eyes as wide as she could. + +“Nothing?” + +“Nothing.” + +“Absolutely nothing?” + +“Absolutely nothing.” + +“Is that what I am to say?” + +“Exactly.” + +Mashurina became thoughtful and pulled a cigarette out of her pocket. + +“Can I have a light?” + +“Here is a match.” + +Mashurina lighted her cigarette. + +“They expected something different,” she began, “Altogether different +from what you have here. However, that is your affair. I am not going to +stay long. I only want to see Nejdanov and give him the letter.” + +“Where are you going to?” + +“A long way from here.” (She was going to Geneva, but did not want +Solomin to know as she did not quite trust him, and besides a stranger +was present. Mashurina, who scarcely knew a word of German, was being +sent to Geneva to hand over to a person absolutely unknown to her a +piece of cardboard with a vine-branch sketched on it and two hundred and +seventy-nine roubles.) + +“And where is Ostrodumov? Is he with you?” + +“No, but he’s quite near. Got stuck on the way. He’ll be here when he’s +wanted. Pemien can look after himself. There is no need to worry about +him.” + +“How did you get here?” + +“In a cart of course. How else could I have come? Give me another match, +please.” + +Solomin gave her a light. + +“Vassily Fedotitch!” A voice called out suddenly from the other side of +the door. “Can you come out?” + +“Who is it? What do you want?” + +“Do come, please,” the voice repeated insistently. “Some new workmen +have come. They’re trying to explain something, and Pavel Egoritch is +not there.” + +Solomin excused himself and went out. Mashurina fixed her gaze on +Mariana and stared at her for so long that the latter began to feel +uncomfortable. + +“Excuse me,” Mashurina exclaimed suddenly in her hard abrupt voice, “I +am a plain woman and don’t know how to put these things. Don’t be angry +with me. You need not tell me if you don’t wish to. Are you the girl who +ran away from the Sipiagins?” + +“Yes,” Mariana replied, a little surprised. + +“With Nejdanov?” + +“Yes.” + +“Please give me your hand... and forgive me. You must be good since he +loves you.” + +Mariana pressed Mashurina’s hand. + +“Have you known him long?” + +“I knew him in St. Petersburg. That was what made me talk to you. Sergai +Mihailovitch has also told me—” + +“Oh Markelov! Is it long since you’ve seen him?” + +“No, not long. But he’s gone away now.” + +“Where to?” + +“Where he was ordered.” + +Mariana sighed. + +“Oh, Miss Mashurina, I fear for him.” + +“In the first place, I’m not miss. You ought to cast off such manners. +In the second, you say... ‘I fear,’ and that you must also cast +aside. If you do not fear for yourself, you will leave off fearing +for others. You must not think of yourself, nor fear for yourself. I +dare say it’s easy for me to talk like that. I am ugly, while you are +beautiful. It must be so much harder for you.” (Mariana looked down and +turned away.) “Sergai Mihailovitch told me.... He knew I had a letter +for Nejdanov.... ‘Don’t go to the factory,’ he said, ‘don’t take the +letter. It will upset everything there. Leave them alone! They are +both happy.... Don’t interfere with them!’ I should be glad not to +interfere, but what shall I do about the letter?” + +“Give it to him by all means,” Mariana put in. “How awfully good +Sergai Mihailovitch is! Will they kill him, Mashurina... or send him to +Siberia?” + +“Well, what then? Don’t people come back from Siberia? And as for losing +one’s life; it is not all like honey to everybody. To some it is sweet, +to others bitter. His life has not been over-sweet.” + +Mashurina gave Mariana a fixed searching look. + +“How beautiful you are!” she exclaimed, “just like a bird! I don’t think +Alexai is coming.... I’ll give you the letter. It’s no use waiting any +longer.” + +“I will give it him, you may be sure.” + +Mashurina rested her cheek in her hand and for a long, long time did not +speak. + +“Tell me,” she began, “forgive me for asking... do you love him?” + +“Yes.” + +Mashurina shook her heavy head. + +“There is no need to ask if he loves you. However, I had better be +going, otherwise I shall be late. Tell him that I was here... give him +my kind regards. Tell him Mashurina was here. You won’t forget my name, +will you? Mashurina. And the letter... but say, where have I put it?” + +Mashurina stood up, turned round as though she were rummaging in her +pockets for the letter, and quickly raising a small piece of folded +paper to her lips, swallowed it. “Oh, dear me! What have I done with +it? Have I lost it? I must have dropped it. Dear me! Supposing some one +should find it! I can’t find it anywhere. It’s turned out exactly as +Sergai Mihailovitch wanted after all!” + +“Look again,” Mariana whispered. Mashurina waved her hand. + +“It’s no good. I’ve lost it.” + +Mariana came up to her. + +“Well, then, kiss me.” + +Mashurina suddenly put her arms about Mariana and pressed her to her +bosom with more than a woman’s strength. + +“I would not have done this for anybody,” she said, a lump rising in her +throat, “against my conscience ... the first time! Tell him to be more +careful.... And you too. Be cautious. It will soon be very dangerous +for everybody here, very dangerous. You had better both go away, while +there’s still time.... Goodbye!” she added loudly with some severity. +“Just one more thing ... tell him ... no, it’s not necessary. It’s +nothing.” + +Mashurina went out, banging the door behind her, while Mariana stood +perplexed in the middle of the room. + +“What does it all mean?” she exclaimed at last. “This woman loves him +more than I do! What did she want to convey by her hints? And why did +Solomin disappear so suddenly, and why didn’t he come back again?” + +She began pacing up and down the room. A curious sensation of fear, +annoyance, and amazement took possession of her. Why did she not go with +Nejdanov? Solomin had persuaded her not to... but where is Solomin? And +what is going on around here? Of course Mashurina did not give her the +letter because of her love for Nejdanov. But how could she decide to +disregard orders? Did she want to appear magnanimous? What right had +she? And why was she, Mariana, so touched by her act? An unattractive +woman interests herself in a young man.... What is there extraordinary +about it? And why should Mashurina assume that Mariana’s attachment to +Nejdanov is stronger than the feelings of duty? And did Mariana ask for +such a sacrifice? And what could the letter have contained? A call for +speedy action? Well, and what then? + +And Markelov? He is in danger ... and what are we doing? Markelov spares +us both, gives us the opportunity of being happy, does not part us.... +What makes him do it? Is it also magnaminity ... or contempt? + +And did we run away from that hateful house merely to live like turtle +doves? + +Thus Mariana pondered, while the feeling of agitation and annoyance grew +stronger and stronger within her. Her pride was hurt. Why had everyone +forsaken her? _Everyone._ This stout woman had called her a bird, a +beauty ... why not quite plainly, a doll? And why did Nejdanov not go +alone, but with Pavel? It’s just as if he needed someone to look after +him! And what are really Solomin’s convictions? It’s quite clear that +he’s not a revolutionist! And could any one really think that he does +not treat the whole thing seriously? + +These were the thoughts that whirled round, chasing one another and +becoming entangled in Mariana’s feverish brain. Pressing her lips +closely together and folding her arms like a man, she sat down by the +window at last and remained immovable, straight up in her chair, all +alertness and intensity, ready to spring up at any moment. She had no +desire to go to Tatiana and work; she wanted to wait alone. And she sat +waiting obstinately, almost angrily. From time to time her mood seemed +strange and incomprehensible even to herself.... Never mind. “Am I +jealous?” flashed across her mind, but remembering poor Mashurina’s +figure she shrugged her shoulders and dismissed the idea. + +Mariana had been waiting for a long time when suddenly she heard the +sound of two persons’ footsteps coming up the stairs. She fixed her +eyes on the door... the steps drew nearer. The door opened and Nejdanov, +supported under the arm by Pavel, appeared in the doorway. He was deadly +pale, without a cap, his dishevelled hair hung in wet tufts over his +forehead, he stared vacantly straight in front of him. Pavel helped him +across the room (Nejdanov’s legs were weak and shaky) and made him sit +down on the couch. + +Mariana sprang up from her seat. + +“What is the meaning of this? What’s the matter with him? Is he ill?” + +As he settled Nejdanov, Pavel answered her with a smile, looking at her +over his shoulder. + +“You needn’t worry. He’ll soon be all right. It’s only because he’s not +used to it.” + +“What’s the matter?” Mariana persisted. + +“He’s only a little tipsy. Been drinking on an empty stomach; that’s +all.” + +Mariana bent over Nejdanov. He was half lying on the couch, his head +sunk on his breast, his eyes closed. He smelled of vodka; he was quite +drunk. + +“Alexai!” escaped her lips. + +He raised his heavy eyelids with difficulty, and tried to smile. + +“Well, Mariana!” he stammered out, “you’ve always talked of +sim-plif-ication... so here I am quite simplified. Because the people +are always drunk... and so...” + +He ceased, then muttered something indistinctly to himself, closed his +eyes, and fell asleep. Pavel stretched him carefully on the couch. + +“Don’t worry, Mariana Vikentievna,” he repeated. “He’ll sleep an hour or +two and wake up as fresh as can be.” + +Mariana wanted to ask how this had happened, but her questions would +have detained Pavel and she wanted to be alone... she did not wish Pavel +to see him in this disgusting state before her. She walked away to the +window while Pavel, who instantly understood her, carefully covered +Nejdanov’s legs with the skirts of his coat, put a pillow under his +head, and observing once again, “It’s nothing,” went out on tiptoe. + +Mariana looked round. Nejdanov’s head was buried in the pillow and on +his pale face there was an expression of fixed intensity as on the face +of one dangerously ill. + +“I wonder how it happened?” she thought. + + + + + + +XXXII + +It happened like this. + +Sitting down beside Pavel in the cart, Nejdanov fell into a state of +great excitement. As soon as they rolled out of the courtyard onto the +high road leading to T. he began shouting out the most absurd things to +the peasants he met on the way. “Why are you asleep? Rouse yourself! The +time has come! Down with the taxes! Down with the landlords!” + +Some of the peasants stared at him in amazement, others passed on +without taking any notice of him, thinking that he was drunk; one even +said when he got home that he had met a Frenchman on the way who was +jabbering away at something he did not understand. Nejdanov had common +sense enough to know that what he was doing was unutterably stupid and +absurd had he not got himself up to such a pitch of excitement that he +was no longer able to discriminate between sense and nonsense. Pavel +tried to quiet him, saying that it was impossible to go on like that; +that they were quite near a large village, the first on the borders of +T., and that there they could look round.... But Nejdanov would not +calm down, and at the same time his face bore a sad, almost despairing, +expression. Their horse was an energetic, round little thing, with a +clipped mane on its scraggy neck. It tugged at the reins, and its strong +little legs flew as fast as they could, just as if it were conscious +of bearing important people to the scene of action. Just before they +reached the village, Nejdanov saw a group of about eight peasants +standing by the side of the road at the closed doors of a granary. He +instantly jumped out of the cart, rushed up to them, and began shouting +at them, thumping his fists and gesticulating for about five minutes. +The words “For Freedom! March on! Put the shoulder to the wheel!” could +be distinguished from among the rest of his confused words. + +The peasants, who had met before the granary for the purpose of +discussing how to fill it once more—if only to show that they +were doing something (it was the communal granary and consequently +empty)—fixed their eyes on Nejdanov and seemed to listen to him with +the greatest attention, but they had evidently not understood a word he +had said, for no sooner was his back turned, shouting for the last time +“Freedom!” as he rushed away, when one of them, the most sagacious of +the lot, shook his head saying, “What a severe one!” “He must be an +officer,” another remarked, to which the wise one said: “We know all +about that—he doesn’t talk for nothing. We’ll have to pay the piper.” + +“Heavens! what nonsense this all is!” Nejdanov thought to himself, as he +sat down next to Pavel in the cart. “But then none of us know how to get +at the people—perhaps this is the right way after all! Who knows? Go +on! Does your heart ache? Let it!” + +They found themselves in the main street of the village in the middle +of which a number of people were gathered together before a tavern. +Nejdanov, paying no heed to Pavel, who was trying to hold him back, +leapt down from the cart with a cry of “Brothers!” The crowd made way +for him and he again began preaching, looking neither to right nor left, +as if furious and weeping at the same time. But things turned out quite +differently than with his former attempt at the barn. An enormous fellow +with a clean-shaven, vicious face, in a short greasy coat, high boots, +and a sheepskin cap, came up to him and clapped him on the shoulder. + +“All right! my fine fellow!” he bawled out in a wheezy voice; “but +wait a bit! good deeds must be rewarded. Come along in here. It’ll be +much better talking in there.” He pulled Nejdanov into the tavern, +the others streamed in after them. “Michaitch!” the fellow shouted, +“twopennyworth! My favourite drink! I want to treat a friend. Who he +is, what’s his family, and where he’s from, only the devil knows! +Drink!” he said, turning to Nejdanov and handing him a heavy, full +glass, wet all over on the outside, as though perspiring, “drink, if +you really have any feeling for us!” “Drink!” came a chorus of voices. +Nejdanov, who seemed as if in a fever, seized the glass and with a +cry of “I drink to you, children!” drank it off at a gulp. Ugh! He +drank it off with the same desperate heroism with which he would have +flung himself in storming a battery or on a line of bayonets. But what +was happening to him? Something seemed to have struck his spine, his +legs, burned his throat, his chest, his stomach, made the tears come +into his eyes. A shudder of disgust passed all over him. He began +shouting at the top of his voice to drown the throbbing in his head. +The dark tavern room suddenly became hot and thick and suffocating—and +people, people everywhere! Nejdanov began talking, talking incessantly, +shouting furiously, in exasperation, shaking broad rough hands, kissing +prickly beards. ... The enormous fellow in the greasy coat kissed him +too, nearly breaking his ribs. This fellow turned out to be a perfect +fiend. “I’ll wring the neck,” he shouted, “I’ll wring the neck of +anyone who dares to offend our brother! And what’s more, I’ll make +mincemeat of him too... I’ll make him cry out! That’s nothing to me. +I was a butcher and know how to do such jobs!” At this he held up an +enormous fist covered with freckles. Someone again shouted, “Drink!” +and Nejdanov again swallowed a glass of the filthy poison. But this +second time was truly awful! Blunt hooks seemed to be tearing him to +pieces inside. His head was in a whirl, green circles swam before his +eyes. A hubbub arose... Oh horror! a third glass. Was it possible he +emptied that too? He seemed to be surrounded by purple noses, dusty +heads of hair, tanned necks covered with nets of wrinkles. Rough hands +seized him. “Go on!” they bawled out in angry voices, “talk away! The +day before yesterday another stranger talked like that. Go on....” The +earth seemed reeling under Nejdanov’s feet, his voice sounded strange +to his own ears as though coming from a long way off.... Was it death +or what? + +And suddenly he felt the fresh air blowing about his face, no more +pushing and shoving, no more stench of spirits, sheep-skin, tar, nor +leather.... He was again sitting beside Pavel in the cart, struggling at +first and shouting, “Where are you off to? Stop! I haven’t had time to +tell them anything—I must explain...” and then added, “and what are +your own ideas on the subject, you sly-boots?” + +“It would certainly be well if there were no gentry and the land +belonged to us, of course,” Pavel replied, “but there’s been no such +order from the government.” He quietly turned the horse’s head and, +suddenly lashing it on the back with the reins, set off at full gallop, +away from this din and uproar, back to the factory. + +Nejdanov sat dozing, rocked by the motion of the cart, while the +wind played pleasantly about his face and kept back gloomy depressing +thoughts. + +He was annoyed that he had not been allowed to say all that he had +wanted to say.... Again the wind caressed his overheated face. + +And then—a momentary glimpse of Mariana—a burning sense of shame—and +sleep, deep, sound sleep.... + +Pavel told Solomin all this afterwards, not hiding the fact that he did +not attempt to prevent Nejdanov from drinking—otherwise he could not +have got him out of the whirl. The others would not have let him go. + +“When he seemed to be getting very feeble, I asked them to let him off, +and they agreed to, on condition that I gave them a shilling, so I gave +it them.” + +“You acted quite rightly,” Solomin said, approvingly. + +Nejdanov slept, while Mariana sat at the window looking out into the +garden. Strange to say the angry, almost wicked, thoughts that had +been tormenting her until Nejdanov and Pavel arrived had completely +disappeared. Nejdanov himself was not in the least repulsive or +disgusting to her; she was only sorry for him. She knew quite well that +he was not a debauchee, a drunkard, and was wondering what she would say +to him when he woke up; something friendly and affectionate to minimise +the first sting of conscience and shame. “I must try and get him to tell +me himself how it all happened,” she thought. + +She was not disturbed, but depressed—hopelessly depressed. It seemed +as if a breath of the real atmosphere of the world towards which she was +striving had blown on her suddenly, making her shudder at its coarseness +and darkness. What Moloch was this to which she was going to sacrifice +herself? + +But no! It could not be! This was merely an incident, it would soon pass +over. A momentary impression that had struck her so forcibly because it +had happened so unexpectedly. She got up, walked over to the couch on +which Nejdanov was lying, took out her pocket-handkerchief and wiped his +pale forehead, which was painfully drawn, even in sleep, and smoothed +back his hair.... + +She pitied him as a mother pities her suffering child. But it was +somewhat painful for her to look at him, so she went quietly into her +own room, leaving the door unlocked. + +She did not attempt to take any work in her hand. She sat down and +thoughts began crowding in upon her. She felt how the time was slipping +away, how one minute flew after another, and the sensation was even +pleasant to her. Her heart beat fast and again she seemed to be waiting +for something. + +What has become of Solomin? + +The door creaked softly and Tatiana came into the room. “What do you +want?” Mariana asked with a shade of annoyance. + +“Mariana Vikentievna,” Tatiana began in an undertone, “don’t worry, my +dear. Such things happen every day. Besides, the Lord be thanked—” + +“I am not worrying at all, Tatiana Osipovna,” Mariana interrupted her. +“Alexai Dmitritch is a little indisposed, nothing very serious!” + +“That’s all right! I wondered why you didn’t come, and thought there +might be something the matter with you. But still I wouldn’t have come +in to you. It’s always best not to interfere. But someone has come—a +little lame man, the Lord knows who he is—and demands to see Alexai +Dmitritch! I wonder what for? This morning that female came for him and +now this little cripple. ‘If Alexai Dmitritch is not at home,’ he says, +‘then I must see Vassily Fedotitch! I won’t go away without seeing him. +It’s on a very urgent matter.’ We wanted to get rid of him, as we did +of that woman, told him Vassily Fedotitch was not at home, but he is +determined to see him even if he has to wait until midnight. There he +is walking about in the yard. Come and have a look at him through the +little window in the corridor. Perhaps you’ll recognise him.” + +Mariana followed Tatiana out into the corridor, and on passing Nejdanov +was again struck by that painful frown on his forehead and passed her +pocket-handkerchief over it a second time. + +Through the dusty little window she caught a glimpse of the visitor whom +Tatiana had spoken of. He was unknown to her. At this moment Solomin +appeared from a corner of the house. + +The little cripple rushed up to him and extended his hand. Solomin +pressed it. He was obviously acquainted with him. They both +disappeared.... Soon their footsteps were heard coming up the stairs. +They were coming to see her.... + +Mariana fled into her own room and remained standing in the middle of +it, hardly able to breathe. She was mortally afraid... but of what? She +did not know herself. + +Solomin’s head appeared through the door. + +“Mariana Vikentievna, can I come in? I have brought someone whom it’s +absolutely necessary for you to see.” + +Mariana merely nodded her head in reply and behind Solomin in +walked—Paklin. + + + + +XXXIII + +“I am a friend of your husband’s,” he said, bowing very low, as if +anxious to conceal his frightened face, “and also of Vassily Fedotitch. +I hear Alexai Dmitritch is asleep and not very well. Unfortunately, I +have brought bad news. I have already told Vassily Fedotitch something +about it and am afraid decisive measures will have to be taken.” + +Paklin’s voice broke continually, like that of a man who was tortured +by thirst. The items of news he had to communicate were certainly very +unpleasant ones. Some peasants had seized Markelov and brought him to +the town. The stupid clerk had betrayed Golushkin, who was now under +arrest, he in his turn was betraying everything and everybody, wanted to +go over to the Orthodox Church, had offered to present a portrait of the +Bishop Filaret to the public school, and had already given five thousand +roubles to be distributed among crippled soldiers. There was not a +shadow of a doubt that he had informed against Nejdanov; the police +might make a raid upon the factory any moment. Vassily Fedotitch was +also in danger. “As for myself,” Paklin added, “I am surprised that +I’m still allowed to roam at large, although it’s true that I’ve never +really interested myself in practical politics or taken part in any +schemes. I have taken advantage of this oversight on the part of the +police to put you on your guard and find out what had best be done to +avoid any unpleasantness.” + +Mariana listened to Paklin to the end. She did not seem alarmed; on the +other hand she was quite calm. But something must really be done! She +fixed her eyes on Solomin. + +He was also composed; only around his lips there was the faintest +movement of the muscles; but it was not his habitual smile. + +Solomin understood the meaning of Mariana’s glance; she waited for him +to say what had best be done. + +“It’s a very awkward business,” he began; “I don’t think it would do +Nejdanov any harm to go into hiding for a time. But, by the way, how did +you get to know that he was here, Mr. Paklin?” + +Paklin gave a wave of the hand. + +“A certain individual told me. He had seen him preaching about the +neighbourhood and had followed him, though with no evil intent. He is a +sympathiser. Excuse me,” he added, turning to Mariana, “is it true that +our friend Nejdanov has been very... very careless?” + +“It’s no good blaming him now,” Solomin began again. “What a pity we +can’t talk things over with him now, but by tomorrow he will be all +right again. The police don’t do things as quickly as you seem to +imagine. You will have to go away with him, Mariana Vikentievna.” + +“Certainly,” she said resolutely, a lump rising in her throat. + +“Yes,” Solomin said, “we must think it over, consider ways and means.” + +“May I make a suggestion?” Paklin began. “It entered my head as I was +coming along here. I must tell you, by the way, that I dismissed the +cabman from the town a mile away from here.” + +“What is your suggestion?” Solomin asked. + +“Let me have some horses at once and I’ll gallop off to the Sipiagins.” + +“To the Sipiagins!” Mariana exclaimed. “Why?” + +“You will see.” + +“But do you know them?” + +“Not at all! But listen. Do think over my suggestion thoroughly. It +seems to me a brilliant one. Markelov is Sipiagin’s brother-in-law, +his wife’s brother, isn’t that so? Would this gentleman really make +no attempt to save him? And as for Nejdanov himself, granting that Mr. +Sipiagin is most awfully angry with him, still he has become a relation +of his by marrying you. And the danger hanging over our friend—” + +“I am not married,” Mariana observed. + +Paklin started. + +“What? Haven’t managed it all this time! Well, never mind,” he added, +“one can pretend a little. All the same, you will get married directly. +There seems nothing else to be done! Take into consideration the fact +that up until now Sipiagin has not persecuted you, which shows him to +be a man capable of a certain amount of generosity. I see that you don’t +like the expression—well, a certain amount of pride. Why should we not +take advantage of it? Consider for yourself!” + +Mariana raised her head and passed her hand through her hair. + +“You can take advantage of whatever you like for Markelov, Mr. Paklin... +or for yourself, but Alexai and I do not desire the protection or +patronage of Mr. Sipiagin. We did not leave his house only to go +knocking at his door as beggars. The pride and generosity of Mr. +Sipiagin and his wife have nothing whatever to do with us!” + +“Such sentiments are extremely praiseworthy,” Paklin replied (“How +utterly crushed!” he thought to himself), “though, on the other hand, if +you think of it.... However, I am ready to obey you. I will exert myself +only on Markelov’s account, our good Markelov! I must say, however, +that he is not his blood relation, but only related to him through his +wife—whilst you——” + +“Mr Paklin, I beg of you!” + +“I’m sorry.... Only I can’t tell you how disappointing it is—Sipiagin is +a very influential man.” + +“Have you no fears for yourself?” Solomin asked. + +Paklin drew himself up. + +“There are moments when one must not think of oneself!” he said proudly. +And he was thinking of himself all the while. Poor little man! he wanted +to run away as fast as he could. On the strength of the service rendered +him, Sipiagin might, if need be, speak a word in his favour. For +he too—say what he would—was implicated, he had listened and had +chattered a little himself. + +“I don’t think your suggestion is a bad one,” Solomin observed at last, +“although there is not much hope of success. At any rate there is no harm +in trying.” + +“Of course not. Supposing they pitch me out by the scruff of the neck, +what harm will it do?” + +“That won’t matter very much” (“_Merci_,” Paklin thought to himself). +“What is the time?” Solomin asked. “Five o’clock. We mustn’t dawdle. You +shall have the horses directly. Pavel!” + +But instead of Pavel, Nejdanov appeared in the doorway. He staggered +and steadied himself on the doorpost. He opened his mouth feebly, looked +around with his glassy eyes, comprehending nothing. Paklin was the first +to approach him. + +“Aliosha!” he exclaimed, “don’t you know me?” Nejdanov stared at him, +blinking slowly. + +“Paklin?” he said at last. + +“Yes, it is I. Aren’t you well?” + +“No... I’m not well. But why are you here?” + +“Why?”... But at this moment Mariana stealthily touched Paklin on the +elbow. He turned around and saw that she was making signs to him. “Oh, +yes!” he muttered. “Yes.... You see, Aliosha,” he added aloud, “I’ve +come here upon a very important matter and must go away at once. Solomin +will tell you all about it—and Mariana—Mariana Vikentievna. They both +fully approve of what I am going to do. The thing concerns us all. No, +no,” he put in hastily in response to a look and gesture from Mariana. +“The thing concerns Markelov; our mutual friend Markelov; it concerns +him alone. But I must say goodbye now. Every minute is precious. +Goodbye, Aliosha.... We’ll see each other again sometime. Vassily +Fedotitch, can you come with me to see about the horses?” + +“Certainly. Mariana, I wanted to ask you to be firm, but that is not +necessary. You’re a brick!” + +“Yes, yes,” Paklin chimed in, “you are just like a Roman maiden in +Cato’s time! Cato of Utica! We must be off, Vassily Fedotitch, come +along!” + +“There’s plenty of time,” Solomin observed with a faint smile. Nejdanov +stood on one side to allow them room to pass out, but there was the same +vacant expression in his eyes. After they had gone he took a step or two +forward and sat down on a chair facing Mariana. + +“Alexai,” she began, “everything has been found out. Markelov has been +seized by the very peasants he was trying to better, and is now under +arrest in this town, and so is the merchant with whom you dined once. +I dare say the police will soon be here for us too. Paklin has gone to +Sipiagin.” + +“Why?” Nejdanov asked in a scarcely audible whisper. But there was a +keen look in his eyes—his face assumed it’s habitual expression. The +stupor had left him instantly. + +“To try and find out if he would be willing to intercede.” + +Nejdanov sat up straight. + +“For us?” + +“No, for Markelov. He wanted to ask him to intercede for us too... but +I wouldn’t let him. Have I done well, Alexai?” + +“Have you done well?” Nejdanov asked and without rising from his chair, +stretched out his arms to her. “Have you done well?” he repeated, +drawing her close to him, and pressing his face against her waist, +suddenly burst into tears. + +“What is the matter? What is the matter with you?” Mariana exclaimed. +And as on the day when he had fallen on his knees before her, trembling +and breathless in a torrent of passion, she laid both her hands on his +trembling head. But what she felt now was quite different from what she +had felt then. Then she had given herself up to him—had submitted to +him and only waited to hear what he would say next, but now she pitied +him and only wondered what she could do to calm him. + +“What is the matter with you?” she repeated. “Why are you crying? Not +because you came home in a somewhat... strange condition? It can’t be! +Or are you sorry for Markelov—afraid for me, for yourself? Or is it for +our lost hopes? You did not really expect that everything would go off +smoothly!” + +Nejdanov suddenly lifted his head. + +“It’s not that, Mariana,” he said, mastering his sobs by an effort, “I +am not afraid for either of us... but... I am sorry——” + +“For whom?” + +“For you, Mariana! I am sorry that you should have united your fate with +a man who is not worthy of you.” + +“Why not?” + +“If only because he can be crying at a moment as this!” + +“It is not you but your nerves that are crying!” + +“You can’t separate me from my nerves! But listen, Mariana, look me in +the face; can you tell me now that you do not regret—” + +“What?” + +“That you ran away with me.” + +“No!” + +“And would you go with me further? Anywhere?” + +“Yes!” + +“Really? Mariana... really? + +“Yes. I have given you my word, and so long as you remain the man I +love—I shall not take it back.” + +Nejdanov remained sitting on the chair, Mariana standing before him. His +arms were about her waist, her’s were resting on his shoulders. + +“Yes, no,” Nejdanov thought... “when I last held her in my arms like +this, her body was at least motionless, but now I can feel it—against +her will, perhaps—shrink away from me gently!” + +He loosened his arms and Mariana did in fact move away from him a +little. + +“If that’s so,” he said aloud, “if we must run away from here before the +police find us... I think it wouldn’t be a bad thing if we were to get +married. We may not find another such accommodating priest as Father +Zosim!” + +“I am quite ready,” Mariana observed. + +Nejdanov gave her a searching glance. + +“A Roman maiden!” he exclaimed with a sarcastic half-smile. “What a +feeling of duty!” + +Mariana shrugged her shoulders. + +“We must tell Solomin.” + +“Yes... Solomin...” Nejdanov drawled out. “But he is also in danger. The +police would arrest him too. It seems to me that he also took part in +things and knew even more than we did.” + +“I don’t know about that,” Mariana observed. “He never speaks of +himself!” + +“Not as I do!” Nejdanov thought. “That was what she meant to imply. +Solomin... Solomin!” he added after a pause. “Do you know, Mariana, I +should not be at all sorry if you had linked your fate forever with a +man like Solomin... or with Solomin himself.” + +Mariana gave Nejdanov a penetrating glance in her turn. “You had no +right to say that,” she observed at last. + +“I had no right! In what sense am I to take that? Does it mean that +you love me, or that I ought not to touch upon this question generally +speaking?” + +“You had no right,” Mariana repeated. + +Nejdanov lowered his head. + +“Mariana!” he exclaimed in a slightly different tone of voice. + +“Yes?” + +“If I were to ask you now ... now ... you know what.... But no, I will +not ask anything of you ... goodbye.” + +He got up and went out; Mariana did not detain him. Nejdanov sat down on +the couch and covered his face with his hands. He was afraid of his own +thoughts and tried to stop thinking. He felt that some sort of dark, +underground hand had clutched at the very root of his being and would +not let him go. He knew that the dear, sweet creature he had left in +the next room would not come out to him and he dared not go to her. What +for? What would he say to her? + +Firm, rapid footsteps made him open his eyes. Solomin passed through his +room, knocked at Mariana’s door, and went in. + +“Honour where honour is due!” Nejdanov whispered bitterly. + + + + + +XXXIV + +It was already ten o’clock in the evening; in the drawing-room of the +Arjanov house Sipiagin, his wife, and Kollomietzev were sitting over +a game at cards when a footman entered and announced that an unknown +gentleman, a certain Mr. Paklin, wished to see Boris Andraevitch upon a +very urgent business. + +“So late!” Valentina Mihailovna exclaimed, surprised. + +“What?” Boris Andraevitch asked, screwing up his handsome nose; “what did +you say the gentleman’s name was?” + +“Mr. Paklin, sir.” + +“Paklin!” Kollomietzev exclaimed; “a real country name. Paklin ... +Solomin ... _De vrais noms ruraux, hein?_” + +“Did you say,” Boris Andraevitch continued, still turned towards the +footman with his nose screwed up, “that the business was an urgent one?” + +“The gentleman said so, sir.” + +“H’m.... No doubt some beggar or intriguer.” + +“Or both,” Kollomietzev chimed in. + +“Very likely. Ask him into my study.” Boris Andraevitch got up. “_Pardon, +ma bonne._ Have a game of écarté till I come back, unless you would like +to wait for me. I won’t be long.” + +_“Nous causerons.... Allez!”_ Kollomietzev said. + +When Sipiagin entered his study and caught sight of Paklin’s poor, +feeble little figure meekly leaning up against the door between the wall +and the fireplace, he was seized by that truly ministerial sensation of +haughty compassion and fastidious condescension so characteristic of the +St. Petersburg bureaucrat. “Heavens! What a miserable little wretch!” he +thought; “and lame too, I believe!” + +“Sit down, please,” he said aloud, making use of some of his most +benevolent baritone notes and throwing back his head, sat down before +his guest did. “You are no doubt tired from the journey. Sit down, +please, and tell me about this important matter that has brought you so +late.” + +“Your excellency,” Paklin began, cautiously dropping into an arm-chair, +“I have taken the liberty of coming to you—” + +“Just a minute, please,” Sipiagin interrupted him, “I think I’ve seen +you before. I never forget faces. But er... er... really... where have I +seen you?” + +“You are not mistaken, your excellency. I had the honour of meeting +you in St. Petersburg at a certain person’s who... who has since... +unfortunately... incurred your displeasure—” + +Sipiagin jumped up from his chair. + +“Why, at Mr. Nejdanov’s? I remember now. You haven’t come from him by +the way, have you?” + +“Not at all, your excellency; on the contrary...I—” + +Sipiagin sat down again. + +“That’s good. For had you come on his account I should have asked you to +leave the house at once. I cannot allow any mediator between myself +and Mr. Nejdanov. Mr. Nejdanov has insulted me in a way which cannot +be forgotten.... I am above any feelings of revenge, but I don’t wish +to know anything of him, nor of the girl—more depraved in mind than in +heart” (Sipiagin had repeated this phrase at least thirty times since +Mariana ran away), “who could bring herself to abandon a home that had +sheltered her, to become the mistress of a nameless adventurer! It is +enough for them that I am content to forget them.” + +At this last word Sipiagin waved his wrist into space. + +“I forget them, my dear sir!” + +“Your excellency, I have already told you that I did not come from them +in particular, but I may inform your excellency that they are legally +married....” (“It’s all the same,” Paklin thought; “I said that I would +lie and so here I am. Never mind!”) + +Sipiagin moved his head from left to right on the back of his chair. + +“It does not interest me in the least, sir. It only makes one foolish +marriage the more in the world—that’s all. But what is this urgent +matter to which I am indebted for the pleasure of your visit?” + +“Ugh! you cursed director of a department!” Paklin thought, “I’ll soon +make you pull a different face!” “Your wife’s brother,” he said aloud, +“Mr. Markelov, has been seized by the peasants whom he had been inciting +to rebellion, and is now under arrest in the governor’s house.” + +Sipiagin jumped up a second time. + +“What... what did you say?” he blurted out, not at all in his accustomed +ministerial baritones, but in an extremely undignified manner. + +“I said that your brother-in-law has been seized and is in chains. As +soon as I heard of it, I procured horses and came straight away to tell +you. I thought that I might be rendering a service to you and to the +unfortunate man whom you may be able to save!” + +“I am extremely grateful to you,” Sipiagin said in the same feeble tone +of voice, and violently pressing a bell, shaped like a mushroom, he +filled the whole house with its clear metallic ring. “I am extremely +grateful to you,” he repeated more sharply, “but I must tell you that +a man who can bring himself to trample under foot all laws, human +and divine, were he a hundred times related to me—is in my eyes not +unfortunate; he is a criminal!” + +A footman came in quickly. + +“Your orders, sir?” + +“The carriage! the carriage and four horses this minute! I am going to +town. Philip and Stepan are to come with me!” The footman disappeared. +“Yes, sir, my brother-in-law is a criminal! I am going to town not to +save him! Oh, no!” + +“But, your excellency—” + +“Such are my principles, my dear sir, and I beg you not to annoy me by +your objections!” + +Sipiagin began pacing up and down the room, while Paklin stared with +all his might. “Ugh! you devil!” he thought, “I heard that you were a +liberal, but you’re just like a hungry lion!” + +The door was flung open and Valentina Mihailovna came into the room with +hurried steps, followed by Kollomietzev. + +“What is the matter, Boris? Why have you ordered the carriage? Are you +going to town? What has happened?” + +Sipiagin went up to his wife and took her by the arm, between the elbow +and wrist. “_Il faut vous armer de courage, ma chère._ Your brother has +been arrested.” + +“My brother? Sergai? What for?” + +“He has been preaching socialism to the peasants.” (Kollomietzev gave +a faint little scream.) “Yes! preaching revolutionary ideas, making +propaganda! They seized him—and gave him up. He is now under arrest in +the town.” + +“Madman! But who told you?” + +“This Mr.... Mr.... what’s his name? Mr. Konopatin brought the news.” + +Valentina Mihailovna glanced at Paklin; the latter bowed dejectedly. +(“What a glorious woman!” he thought. Even in such difficult moments... +alas! how susceptible Paklin was to feminine beauty!) + +“And you want to go to town at this hour?” + +“I think the governor will still be up.” + +“I always said it would end like this,” Kollomietzev put in. “It +couldn’t have been otherwise! But what dears our peasants are really! +_Pardon, madame, c’est votre frère! Mais la vérité avant tout!_” + +“Do you really intend going to town, Boris?” Valentina Mihailovna asked. + +“I feel absolutely certain,” Kollomietzev continued, “that that +_tutor_, Mr. Nejdanov, is mixed up in this. _J’en mettrais ma main au +feu._ It’s all one gang! Haven’t they seized him? Don’t you know?” + +Sipiagin waved his wrist again. + +“I don’t know—and don’t want to know! By the way,” he added, turning to +his wife, _“il paraît qu’il sont mariés._” + +“Who said so? That same gentleman?” Valentina Mihailovna looked at +Paklin again, this time with half-closed eyes. + +“Yes.” + +“In that case,” Kollomietzev put in, “he must know where they are. Do +you know where they are? Do you know? Eh? Do you know?” + +Kollomietzev took to walking up and down in front of Paklin as if to +cut off his way, although the latter had not betrayed the slightest +inclination of wanting to run away. “Why don’t you speak? Answer me! Do +you know, eh? Do you know?” + +“Even if I knew,” Paklin began, annoyed; his wrath had risen up in him +at last and his eyes flashed fire: “even if I knew I would not tell +you.” + +“Oh... oh...” Kollomietzev muttered. “Do you hear? Do you hear? This one +too—this one too is of their gang!” + +“The carriage is ready!” a footman announced loudly. Sipiagin with a +quick graceful movement seized his hat, but Valentina Mihailovna was so +insistent in her persuasions for him to put off the journey until the +morning and brought so many convincing arguments to bear—such as: that +it was pitch dark outside, that everybody in town would be asleep, that +he would only upset his nerves and might catch cold—that Sipiagin at +length came to agree with her. + +“I obey!” he exclaimed, and with the same graceful gesture, not so rapid +this time, replaced his hat on the table. + +“I shall not want the carriage now,” he said to the footman, “but see +that it’s ready at six o’clock in the morning! Do you hear? You can +go now! But stay! See that the gentleman’s carriage is sent off and the +driver paid! What? Did you say anything, Mr. Konopatin? I am going +to take you to town with me tomorrow, Mr. Konopatin! What did you say? I +can’t hear.... Do you take vodka? Give Mr. Konopatin some vodka! No? You +don’t drink? In that case ... Feodor! take the gentleman into the green +room! Goodnight, Mr. Kono——” + +Paklin lost all patience. + +“Paklin!” he shouted, “my name is Paklin!” + +“Oh, yes... it makes no difference. A bit alike, you know. What a +powerful voice you have for your spare build! Till tomorrow, Mr. +Paklin.... Have I got it right this time? _Siméon, vous viendrez avec +nous?_” + +_“Je crois bien!”_ + +Paklin was conducted into the green room and locked in. He distinctly +heard the key turned in the English lock as he got into bed. He scolded +himself severely for his “brilliant idea” and slept very badly. + +He was awakened early the next morning at half-past five and given +coffee. As he drank it a footman with striped shoulder-knots stood over +him with the tray in his hand, shifting from one leg to the other as +though he were saying, “Hurry up! the gentlemen are waiting!” He +was taken downstairs. The carriage was already waiting at the door. +Kollomietzev’s open carriage was also there. Sipiagin appeared on the +steps in a cloak made of camel’s hair with a round collar. Such cloaks +had long ago ceased to be worn except by a certain important dignitary +whom Sipiagin pandered to and wished to imitate. On important official +occasions he invariably put on this cloak. + +Sipiagin greeted Paklin affably, and with an energetic movement of +the hand pointed to the carriage and asked him to take his seat. “Mr. +Paklin, you are coming with me, Mr. Paklin! Put your bag on the box, Mr. +Paklin! I am taking Mr. Paklin,” he said, emphasising the word “Paklin” + with special stress on the letter _a_. “You have an awful name like that +and get insulted when people change it for you—so here you are then! +Take your fill of it! Mr. Paklin! Paklin!” The unfortunate name rang out +clearly in the cool morning air. It was so keen as to make Kollomietzev, +who came out after Sipiagin, exclaim several times in French: +“Brrr! brrr! brrr!” He wrapped his cloak more closely about him and +seated himself in his elegant carriage with the hood thrown back. (Had +his poor friend Michael Obrenovitch, the Servian prince, seen it, he +would certainly have bought one like it at Binder’s.... _“Vous savez +Binder, le grand carrossier des Champs Elysées?”_) + +Valentina Mihailovna, still in her night garments, peeped out from +behind the half-open shutters of her bedroom. Sipiagin waved his hand to +her from the carriage. + +“Are you quite comfortable, Mr. Paklin? Go on!” + +_“Je vous recommande mon frère, épargnez-le!”_ Valentina Mihailovna said. + +_“Soyez tranquille!”_ Kollomietzev exclaimed, glancing up at her quickly +from under the brim of his travelling cap—one of his own special design +with a cockade in it—_“C’est surtout l’autre, qu’il faut pincer!”_ + +“Go on!” Sipiagin exclaimed again. “You are not cold, Mr. Paklin? Go +on!” + +The two carriages rolled away. + +For about ten minutes neither Sipiagin nor Paklin pronounced a single +word. The unfortunate Sila, in his shabby little coat and crumpled cap, +looked even more wretched than usual in contrast to the rich background +of dark blue silk with which the carriage was upholstered. He looked +around in silence at the delicate pale blue blinds, which flew up +instantly at the mere press of a button, at the soft white sheep-skin +rug at their feet, at the mahogany box in front with a movable desk for +letters and even a shelf for books. (Boris Andraevitch never worked in +his carriage, but he liked people to think that he did, after the manner +of Thiers, who always worked when travelling.) Paklin felt shy. Sipiagin +glanced at him once or twice over his clean-shaven cheek, and with a +pompous deliberation pulled out of a side-pocket a silver cigar-case +with a curly monogram and a Slavonic band and offered him... really +offered him a cigar, holding it gently between the second and third +fingers of a hand neatly clad in an English glove of yellow dogskin. + +“I don’t smoke,” Paklin muttered. + +“Really!” Sipiagin exclaimed and lighted the cigar himself, an excellent +regalia. + +“I must tell you... my dear Mr. Paklin,” he began, puffing gracefully +at his cigar and sending out delicate rings of delicious smoke, “that I +am... really... very grateful to you. I might have... seemed... a +little severe... last night... which does not really... do justice to +my character... believe me.” (Sipiagin purposely hesitated over his +speech.) “But just put yourself in my place, Mr. Paklin!” (Sipiagin +rolled the cigar from one corner of his mouth to the other.) “The +position I occupy places me... so to speak... before the public eye, +and suddenly, without any warning... my wife’s brother... compromises +himself... and me, in this impossible way! Well, Mr. Paklin? But perhaps +you think that it’s nothing?” + +“I am far from thinking that, your excellency.” + +“You don’t happen to know exactly why... and where he was arrested?” + +“I heard that he was arrested in T. district.” + +“Who told you so?” + +“A certain person.” + +“Of course it could hardly have been a bird. But who was this person?” + +“An assistant... of the director of the governor’s office—” + +“What’s his name?” + +“The director’s?” + +“No, the assistant’s.” + +“His name is... Ulyashevitch. He is a very honest man, your excellency. +As soon as I heard of the affair, I hastened to tell you.” + +“Yes, yes. I am very grateful to you indeed. But what utter madness! +downright madness! Don’t you think so, Mr. Paklin?” + +“Utter madness!” Paklin exclaimed, while the perspiration rolled down +his back in a hot stream, “it just shows,” he continued, “the folly of +not understanding the peasant. Mr. Markelov, so far as I know him, has +a very kind and generous heart, but he has no conception of what the +Russian peasant is really like.” (Paklin glanced at Sipiagin who sat +slightly turned towards him, gazing at him with a cold, though not +unfriendly, light in his eyes.) “The Russian peasant can never be +induced to revolt except by taking advantage of that devotion of his +to some high authority, some tsar. Some sort of legend must be +invented—you remember Dmitrius the pretender—some sort of royal sign +must be shown him, branded on the breast.” + +“Just like Pugatchev,” Sipiagin interrupted him in a tone of voice which +seemed to imply that he had not yet forgotten his history and that +it was really not necessary for Paklin to go on. “What madness! what +madness!” he added, and became wrapped in the contemplation of the rings +of smoke as they rose quickly one after another from the end of his +cigar. + +“Your excellency,” Paklin began apologetically, “I have just said that I +didn’t smoke... but it was not true. I do smoke and your cigar smells so +nice—” + +“Eh? What?” Sipiagin asked as if waking up; and without giving Paklin +time to repeat his request, he proved in the most unmistakable manner +that he had heard every word, and had merely asked his questions for the +sake of dignity, by offering him his cigar-case. + +Paklin took a cigar gratefully and lighted it with care. + +“Here’s a good opportunity,” he thought, but Sipiagin had anticipated +him. + +“I remember your saying...” he began carelessly, stopping to look at his +cigar and pulling his hat lower over his forehead, “you spoke... of... +of that friend of yours, who married my ... niece. Do you ever see them? +They’ve settled not far from here, eh?” + +(“Take care! be on your guard, Sila!” Paklin thought.) + +“I have only seen them once, your excellency. They are living.. . +certainly... not very far from here.” + +“You quite understand, I hope,” Sipiagin continued in the same tone, +“that I can take no further serious interest—as I explained to +you—either in that frivolous girl or in your friend. Heaven knows that +I have no prejudices, but really, you will agree with me, this is too +much! So foolish, you know. However, I suppose they were more drawn +together by politics.. .” (“politics!” he repeated, shrugging his +shoulders) “than by any other feeling!” + +“I think so too, your excellency!” + +“Yes, Mr. Nejdanov was certainly revolutionary. To do him justice he +made no secret of his opinions.” + +“Nejdanov,” Paklin ventured, “may have been carried away, but his +heart—” + +“Is good,” Sipiagin put in; “I know, like Markelov’s. They all have good +hearts. He has no doubt also been mixed up in this affair... and will be +implicated.... I suppose I shall have to intercede for him too!” + +Paklin clasped his hands to his breast. + +“Oh, your excellency! Extend your protection to him! He fully... +deserves... your sympathy.” + +Sipiagin snorted. + +“You think so?” + +“At any rate if not for him... for your niece’s sake; for his wife!” + (“Heavens! What lies I’m telling,” Paklin thought.) + +Sipiagin half-closed his eyes. + +“I see that you’re a very devoted friend. That’s a very good quality, +very praiseworthy, young man. And so you said they lived in this +neighbourhood?” + +“Yes, your excellency; in a large establishment—” Here Paklin bit his +tongue. + +“Why, of course, at Solomin’s! that’s where they are! However, I knew it +all along. I’ve been told so; I’ve already been informed.” (Mr. +Sipiagin did not know this in the least, and no one had told him, but +recollecting Solomin’s visit and their midnight interview, he promptly +threw out this bait, which caught Paklin at once.) + +“Since you know that,” he began and bit his tongue a second time.... But +it was already too late. A single glance at Sipiagin made him realise +that he had been playing with him as a cat plays with a mouse. + +“I must say, your excellency,” the unfortunate Paklin stammered out; “I +must say, that I really know nothing—” + +“But I ask you no questions! Really! What do you take me and yourself +for?” Sipiagin asked haughtily, and promptly withdrew into his +ministerial heights. + +And Paklin again felt himself a mean little ensnared creature. Until +that moment he had kept the cigar in the corner of his mouth away from +Sipiagin and puffed at it quietly, blowing the smoke to one side; now he +took it out of his mouth and ceased smoking altogether. + +“My God!” he groaned inwardly, while the perspiration streamed down his +back more and more, “what have I done? I have betrayed everything and +everybody.... I have been duped, been bought over by a good cigar!! I am +a traitor! What shall I do now to help matters? Oh God!” + +But there was nothing to be done. Sipiagin dozed off in a haughty, +dignified, ministerial manner, enveloped in his stately cloak. + + + + +XXXV + +The governor of S. was one of those good-natured, happy-go-lucky, +worldly generals who, endowed with wonderfully clean, snow-white bodies +and souls to match, of good breeding and education, are turned out of a +mill where they are never ground down to becoming the “shepherds of +the people.” Nevertheless they prove themselves capable of a tolerable +amount of administrative ability—do little work, but are forever +sighing after St. Petersburg and paying court to all the pretty women of +the place. These are men who in some unaccountable way become useful to +their province and manage to leave pleasant memories behind them. The +governor had only just got out of bed, and was comfortably seated before +his dressing-table in his night-shirt and silk dressing-gown, bathing +his face and neck with eau-de-cologne after having removed a whole +collection of charms and coins dangling from it, when he was informed of +the arrival of Sipiagin and Kollomietzev upon some urgent business. He +was very familiar with Sipiagin, having known him from childhood and +constantly run across him in St. Petersburg drawing-rooms, and lately he +had begun to ejaculate a respectful “Ah!” every time his name occurred +to him—as if he saw in him a future statesman. Kollomietzev he did not +know so well and respected less in consequence of various unpleasant +complaints that had been made against him; however, he looked upon him +as a man _qui fera chemin_ in any case. + +He ordered his guests to be shown into his study, where he soon joined +them, as he was, in his silk dressing-gown, and not so much as excusing +himself for receiving them in such an unofficial costume, shook hands +with them heartily. Only Sipiagin and Kollomietzev appeared in the +governor’s study; Paklin remained in the drawing-room. On getting out +of the carriage he had tried to slip away, muttering that he had some +business at home, but Sipiagin had detained him with a polite firmness +(Kollomietzev had rushed up to him and whispered in his ear: _“Ne le +lâcher pas! Tonnerre de tonnerres!”_) and taken him in. He had not, +however, taken him to the study, but had asked him, with the same polite +firmness, to wait in the drawing-room until he was wanted. Even here +Paklin had hoped to escape, but a robust gendarme at Kollomietzev’s +instruction appeared in the doorway; so Paklin remained. + +“I dare say you’ve guessed what has brought me to you, _Voldemar_,” + Sipiagin began. + +“No, my dear, no, I can’t,” the amiable Epicurean replied, while a smile +of welcome played about his rosy cheeks, showing a glimpse of shiny +teeth, half hidden by his silky moustache. + +“What? Don’t you know about Markelov?” + +“What do you mean? What Markelov?” the governor repeated with the same +joyful expression on his face. He did not remember, in the first place, +that the man who was arrested yesterday was called Markelov, and, in +the second, he had quite forgotten that Sipiagin’s wife had a brother +of that name. “But why are you standing, Boris? Sit down. Would you like +some tea?” + +Sipiagin’s mind was far from tea. + +When at last he explained why they had both appeared, the governor +uttered an exclamation of pain and struck himself on the forehead, while +his face assumed a sympathetic expression. + +“Dear me! what a misfortune! And he’s here now—today.... You know we +never keep _that sort_ with us for more than one night at the outside, +but the chief of police is out of town, so your brother-in-law has been +detained. He is to be sent on tomorrow. Dear me! what a dreadful thing! +What your wife must have gone through! What would you like me to do?” + +“I would like to have an interview with him here, if it is not against +the law.” + +“My dear boy! laws are not made for men like you. I do feel so sorry for +you.... _C’est affreux, tu sais!_” + +He gave a peculiar ring. An adjutant appeared. + +“My dear baron, do please make some arrangement there....” He told him +what he wanted and the baron vanished. “Only think, _mon cher ami_, the +peasants nearly killed him. They tied his hands behind him, flung him +in a cart, and brought him here! And he’s not in the least bit angry +or indignant with them you know! He was so calm altogether that I was +amazed! But you will see for yourself. _C’est un fanatique tranquille._” + +_“Ce sont les pires,”_ Kollomietzev remarked sarcastically. The governor +looked up at him from under his eyebrows. “By the way, I must have a +word with you, Simion Petrovitch.” + +“Yes; what about?” + +“I don’t like things at all—” + +“What things?” + +“You know that peasant who owed you money and came here to complain—” + +“Well?” + +“He’s hanged himself.” + +“When?” + +“It’s of no consequence when; but it’s an ugly affair.” + +Kollomietzev merely shrugged his shoulders and moved away to the window +with a graceful swing of the body. At this moment the adjutant brought +in Markelov. + +The governor had been right; he was unnaturally calm. Even his habitual +moroseness had given place to an expression of weary indifference, which +did not change when he caught sight of his brother-in-law. Only in the +glance which he threw on the German adjutant, who was escorting him, +there was a momentary flash of the old hatred he felt towards such +people. His coat had been torn in several places and hurriedly stitched +up with coarse thread; his forehead, eyebrows, and the bridge of his +nose were covered with small scars caked with clotted blood. He had not +washed, but had combed his hair. + +“Sergai Mihailovitch!” Sipiagin began excitedly, taking a step or two +towards him and extending his right hand, only so that he might touch +him or stop him if he made a movement in advance, “Sergai Mihailovitch! +I am not here to tell you of our amazement, our deep distress—you can +have no doubt of that! You _wanted_ to ruin yourself and have done +so! But I’ve come to tell you ... that ... that ... to give you the +chance of hearing sound common-sense through the voice of honour and +friendship. You can still mitigate your lot and, believe me, I will +do all in my power to help you, as the honoured head of this province +can bear witness!” At this point Sipiagin raised his voice. “A real +penitence of your wrongs and a full confession without reserve which +will be duly presented in the proper quarters——” + +“Your excellency,” Markelov exclaimed suddenly, turning towards the +governor—the very sound of his voice was calm, though it was a little +hoarse; “I thought that you wanted to see me in order to cross-examine +me again, but if I have been brought here solely by Mr. Sipiagin’s wish, +then please order me to be taken back again. We cannot understand one +another. All he says is so much Greek to me.” + +“Greek, eh!” Kollomietzev shrieked. “And to set peasants rioting, is +that Greek too? Is that Greek too, eh?” + +“What have you here, your excellency? A landowner of the secret police? +And how zealous he is!” Markelov remarked, a faint smile of pleasure +playing about his pale lips. + +Kollomietzev stamped and raged, but the governor stopped him. + +“It serves you right, Simion Petrovitch. You shouldn’t interfere in what +is not your business.” + +“Not my business ... not my business.... It seems to me that it’s the +business of every nobleman——” + +Markelov scanned Kollomietzev coldly and slowly, as if for the last time +and then turned to Sipiagin. + +“If you really want to know my views, my dear brother-in-law, here they +are. I admit that the peasants had a right to arrest me and give me up +if they disapproved of what I preached to them. They were free to +do what they wanted. I came to them, not they to me. As for the +government—if it does send me to Siberia, I’ll go without grumbling, +although I don’t consider myself guilty. The government does its work, +defends itself. Are you satisfied?” + +Sipiagin wrung his hands in despair. + +“Satisfied!! What a word! That’s not the point, and it is not for us +to judge the doings of the government. The question, my dear Sergai, +is whether you feel” (Sipiagin had decided to touch the tender strings) +“the utter unreasonableness, senselessness, of your undertaking and are +prepared to repent; and whether I can answer for you at all, my dear +Sergai.” + +Markelov frowned. + +“I have said all I have to say and don’t want to repeat it.” + +“But don’t you repent? Don’t you repent?” + +“Oh, leave me alone with your repentance! You want to steal into my very +soul? Leave that, at any rate, to me.” + +Sipiagin shrugged his shoulders. + +“You were always like that; never would listen to common-sense. You have +a splendid chance of getting out of this quietly, honourably——” + +“Quietly, honourably,” Markelov repeated savagely. “We know those words. +They are always flung at a man when he’s wanted to do something mean! +That is what these fine phrases are for!” + +“We sympathise with you,” Sipiagin continued reproachfully, “and you +hate us.” + +“Fine sympathy! To Siberia and hard labour with us; that is your +sympathy. Oh, let me alone! let me alone! for Heaven’s sake!” + +Markelov lowered his head. + +He was agitated at heart, though externally calm. He was most of all +tortured by the fact that he had been betrayed—and by whom? By Eremy of +Goloplok! That same Eremy whom he had trusted so much! That Mendely the +sulky had not followed him, had really not surprised him. Mendely was +drunk and was consequently afraid. But Eremy! For Markelov, Eremy stood +in some way as the personification of the whole Russian people, and +Eremy had deceived him! Had he been mistaken about the thing he was +striving for? Was Kisliakov a liar? And were Vassily Nikolaevitch’s +orders all stupid? And all the articles, books, works of socialists and +thinkers, every letter of which had seemed to him invincible truth, were +they all nonsense too? Was it really so? And the beautiful simile of +the abscess awaiting the prick of the lancet—was that, too, nothing more +than a phrase? “No! no!” he whispered to himself, and the colour spread +faintly over his bronze-coloured face; “no! All these things are true, +true... only I am to blame. I did not know how to do things, did not +put things in the right way! I ought simply to have given orders, and +if anyone had tried to hinder, or object—put a bullet through his head! +there is nothing else to be done! He who is against us has no right to +live. Don’t they kill spies like dogs, worse than dogs?” + +All the details of his capture rose up in Markelov’s mind. First the +silence, the leers, then the shrieks from the back of the crowd... +someone coming up sideways as if bowing to him, then that sudden +rush, when he was knocked down. His own cries of “What are you doing, +my boys?” and their shouts, “A belt! A belt! tie him up!” Then the +rattling of his bones ... unspeakable rage ... filth in his mouth, his +nostrils.... “Shove him in the cart! shove him in the cart!” someone +roared with laughter.... + +“I didn’t go about it in the right way....” That was the thing that +most tormented him. That he had fallen under the wheel was his personal +misfortune and had nothing to do with the cause—it was possible to bear +that ... but Eremy! Eremy!! + +While Markelov was standing with his head sunk on his breast, Sipiagin +drew the governor aside and began talking to him in undertones. He +flourished two fingers across his forehead, as though he would suggest +that the unfortunate man was not quite right in his head, in order to +arouse if not sympathy, at any rate indulgence towards the madman. The +governor shrugged his shoulders, opened and shut his eyes, regretted +his inability to do anything, but made some sort of promise in the +end. _“Tous les égards ... certainement, tous les égards,”_ the soft, +pleasant words flowed through his scented moustache. “But you know the +law, my boy!” + +“Of course I do!” Sipiagin responded with a sort of submissive severity. + +While they were talking in the corner, Kollomietzev could scarcely stand +still in one spot. He walked up and down, hummed and hawed, showed every +sign of impatience. At last he went up to Sipiagin, saying hastily, +_“Vous oublier l’autre!”_ + +“Oh, yes!” Sipiagin exclaimed loudly. “_Merci de me l’avoir rappelé._ +Your excellency,” he said, turning to the governor (he purposely +addressed his friend Voldemar in this formal way, so as not to +compromise the prestige of authority in Markelov’s presence), “I must +draw your attention to the fact that my brother-in-law’s mad attempt +has certain ramifications, and one of these branches, that is to say, +one of the suspected persons, is to be found not very far from here, in +this town. I’ve brought another with me,” he added in a whisper, “he’s +in the drawing-room. Have him brought in here.” + +“What a man!” the governor thought with admiration, gazing respectfully +at Sipiagin. He gave the order and a minute later Sila Paklin stood +before him. + +Paklin bowed very low to the governor as he came in, but catching sight +of Markelov before he had time to raise himself, remained as he +was, half bent down, fidgetting with his cap. Markelov looked at him +vacantly, but could hardly have recognised him, as he withdrew into his +own thoughts. + +“Is this the branch?” the governor asked, pointing to Paklin with a long +white finger adorned with a turquoise ring. + +“Oh, no!” Sipiagin exclaimed with a slight smile. “However, who knows!” + he added after a moment’s thought. “Your excellency,” he said aloud, +“the gentleman before you is Mr. Paklin. He comes from St. Petersburg +and is a close friend of a certain person who for a time held the +position of tutor in my house and who ran away, taking with him a +certain young girl who, I blush to say, is my niece.” + +“Ah! _oui, oui,_” the governor mumbled, shaking his head, “I heard the +story.... The princess told me——” + +Sipiagin raised his voice. + +“That person is a certain Mr. Nejdanov, whom I strongly suspect of +dangerous ideas and theories—” + +_“Un rouge à tous crins,”_ Kollomietzev put in. + +“Yes, dangerous ideas and theories,” Sipiagin repeated more +emphatically. “He must certainly know something about this propaganda. +He is... in hiding, as I have been informed by Mr. Paklin, in the +merchant Falyaeva’s factory—” + +At these words Markelov threw another glance at Paklin and gave a slow, +indifferent smile. + +“Excuse me, excuse me, your excellency,” Paklin cried, “and you, Mr. +Sipiagin, I never... never—” + +“Did you say the merchant Falyaeva?” the governor asked, turning to +Sipiagin and merely shaking his fingers in Paklin’s direction, as much +as to say, “Gently, my good man, gently.” “What is coming over our +respectable, bearded merchants? Only yesterday one was arrested in +connection with this affair. You may have heard of him—Golushkin, a +very rich man. But he’s harmless enough. He won’t make revolutions; he’s +grovelling on his knees already.” + +“The merchant Falyaeva has nothing whatever to do with it,” Sipiagin +began; “I know nothing of his ideas; I was only talking of his factory +where Mr. Nejdanov is to be found at this very moment, as Mr. Paklin +says—” + +“I said nothing of the kind!” Paklin cried; “you said it yourself!” + +“Excuse me, Mr. Paklin,” Sipiagin pronounced with the same relentless +precision, “I admire that feeling of friendship which prompts you to +deny it.” (“A regular Guizot, upon my word!” the governor thought to +himself.) “But take example by me. Do you suppose that the feeling of +kinship is less strong in me than your feeling of friendship? But there +is another feeling, my dear sir, yet stronger still, which guides all +our deeds and actions, and that is duty!” + +_“Le sentiment du devoir,”_ Kollomietzev explained. + +Markelov took both the speakers in at a glance. + +“Your excellency!” he exclaimed, “I ask you a second time; please have +me removed out of sight of these babblers.” + +But there the governor lost patience a little. + +“Mr. Markelov!” he pronounced severely, “I would advise you, in your +present position, to be a little more careful of your tongue, and to +show a little more respect to your elders, especially when they give +expression to such patriotic sentiments as those you have just heard +from the lips of your _beau-frère!_ I shall be delighted, my dear +Boris,” he added, turning to Sipiagin, “to tell the minister of your +noble action. But with whom is this Nejdanov staying at the factory?” + +Sipiagin frowned. + +“With a certain Mr. Solomin, the chief engineer there, Mr. Paklin says.” + +It seemed to afford Sipiagin some peculiar pleasure in tormenting poor +Sila. He made him pay dearly for the cigar he had given him and the +playful familiarity of his behaviour. + +“This Solomin,” Kollomietzev put in, “is an out-and-out radical and +republican. It would be a good thing if your excellency were to turn +your attention to him too.” + +“Do you know these gentlemen... Solomin, and what’s his name. .. +Nejdanov?” the governor asked Markelov, somewhat authoritatively. + +Markelov distended his nostrils malignantly. + +“Do you know Confucius and Titus Livius, your excellency?” + +The governor turned away. + +_“Il n’y a pas moyen de causer avec cette homme,”_ he said, shrugging +his shoulders. “Baron, come here, please.” + +The adjutant went up to him quickly and Paklin seized the opportunity of +limping over to Sipiagin. + +“What are you doing?” he asked in a whisper. “Why do you want to ruin +your niece? Why, she’s with him, with Nejdanov!” + +“I am not ruining any one, my dear sir,” Sipiagin said loudly, “I am +only doing what my conscience bids me do, and—” + +“And what your wife, my sister, bids you do; you dare not stand up +against her!” Markelov exclaimed just as loudly. + +Sipiagin took no notice of the remark; it was too much beneath him! + +“Listen,” Paklin continued, trembling all over with agitation, or may +be from timidity; there was a malignant light in his eyes and the tears +were nearly choking him—tears of pity for _them_ and rage at himself; +“listen, I told you she was married—it wasn’t true, I lied! but they +must get married—and if you prevent it, if the police get there—there +will be a stain on your conscience which you’ll never be able to wipe +out—and you—” + +“If what you have just told me be true,” Sipiagin interrupted him +still more loudly, “then it can only hasten the measures which I +think necessary to take in this matter; and as for the purity of my +conscience, I beg you not to trouble about that, my dear sir.” + +“It’s been polished,” Markelov put in again; “there is a coat of St. +Petersburg varnish upon it; no amount of washing will make it come +clean. You may whisper as much as you like, Mr. Paklin, but you won’t +get anything out of it!” + +At this point the governor considered it necessary to interfere. + +“I think that you have said enough, gentlemen,” he began, “and I’ll ask +you, my dear baron, to take Mr. Markelov away. _N’est ce pas,_ Boris, +you don’t want him any further—” + +Sipiagin made a gesture with his hands. + +“I said everything I could think of!” + +“Very well, baron!” + +The adjutant came up to Markelov, clinked his spurs, made a horizontal +movement of the hand, as if to request Markelov to make a move; the +latter turned and walked out. Paklin, only in imagination it is true, +but with bitter sympathy and pity, shook him by the hand. + +“We’ll send some of our men to the factory,” the governor continued; +“but you know, Boris, I thought this gentleman” (he moved his chin in +Paklin’s direction) “told you something about your niece... I understood +that she was there at the factory. Then how——” + +“It’s impossible to arrest her in any case,” Sipiagin remarked +thoughtfully; “perhaps she will think better of it and return. I’ll +write her a note, if I may.” + +“Do please. You may be quite sure ... _nous Coffrerons le quidam ... +mais nous sommes galants avec les dames et avec celle-là donc!_” + +“But you’ve made no arrangements about this Solomin,” Kollomietzev +exclaimed plaintively. He had been on the alert all the while, trying to +catch what the governor and Sipiagin were saying. “I assure you he’s the +principal ringleader! I have a wonderful instinct about these things!” + +“_Pas trop de zèle_, my dear Simion Petrovitch,” the governor remarked +with a smile. “You remember Talleyrand! If it is really as you say the +fellow won’t escape us. You had better think of your—” the governor put +his hand to his throat significantly. “By the way,” he said, turning to +Sipiagin, “_et ce gaillard-là”_ (he moved his chin in Paklin’s direction). +_“Qu’en ferons nous?_ He does not appear very dangerous.” + +“Let him go,” Sipiagin said in an undertone, and added in German, +_“Lass’ den Lumpen laufen!”_ + +He imagined for some reason that he was quoting from Goethe’s _Götz von +Berlichingen_. + +“You can go, sir!” the governor said aloud. “We do not require you any +longer. Good day.” + +Paklin bowed to the company in general and went out into the street +completely crushed and humiliated. Heavens! this contempt had utterly +broken him. + +“Good God! What am I? A coward, a traitor?” he thought, in unutterable +despair. “Oh, no, no! I am an honest man, gentlemen! I have still some +manhood left!” + +But who was this familiar figure sitting on the governor’s step and +looking at him with a dejected, reproachful glance? It was Markelov’s +old servant. He had evidently come to town for his master, and would +not for a moment leave the door of his prison. But why did he look so +reproachfully at Paklin? He had not betrayed Markelov! + +“And why did I go poking my nose into things that did not concern me? +Why could I not sit quietly at home? And now it will be said and written +that Paklin betrayed them—betrayed his friends to the enemy!” He +recalled the look Markelov had given him and his last words, “Whisper as +much as you like, Mr. Paklin, but you won’t get anything out of it!” and +then these sad, aged, dejected eyes! he thought in desperation. And as +it says in the scriptures, he “wept bitterly” as he turned his steps +towards the oasis, to Fomishka and Fimishka and Snandulia. + + + + + + +XXXVI + +When Mariana came out of her room that morning she noticed Nejdanov +sitting on the couch fully dressed. His head was resting against one +arm, while the other lay weak and helpless on his knee. She went up to +him. + +“Good morning, Alexai. Why, you haven’t undressed? Haven’t you slept? How +pale you are!” + +His heavy eyelids rose slowly. + +“No, I haven’t.” + +“Aren’t you well, or is it the after-effects of yesterday?” + +Nejdanov shook his head. + +“I couldn’t sleep after Solomin went into your room.” + +“When?” + +“Last night.” + +“Alexai! are you jealous? A new idea! What a time to be jealous in! Why, +he was only with me a quarter of an hour. We talked about his cousin, +the priest, and discussed arrangements for our marriage.” + +“I know that he was only with you a short time. I saw him come out. And +I’m not jealous, oh no! But still I couldn’t fall asleep after that.” + +“But why?” + +Nejdanov was silent. + +“I kept thinking... thinking... thinking!” + +“Of what?” + +“Oh, of you... of him... and of myself.” + +“And what came of all your thinking?” + +“Shall I tell you?” + +“Yes, tell me.” + +“It seemed to me that I stood in your way—in his... and in my own.” + +“Mine? His? It’s easy to see what you mean by that, though you declare +you’re not jealous, but your own?” + +“Mariana, there are two men in me and one doesn’t let the other live. So +I thought it might be better if both ceased to live.” + +“Please don’t, Alexai. Why do you want to torment yourself and me? We +ought to be considering ways and means of getting away. They won’t leave +us in peace you know.” + +Nejdanov took her hand caressingly. + +“Sit down beside me, Mariana, and let us talk things over like comrades +while there is still time. Give me your hand. It would be a good thing +for us to have an explanation, though they say that all explanations +only lead to further muddle. But you are kind and intelligent and are +sure to understand, even the things that I am unable to express. Come, +sit down.” + +Nejdanov’s voice was soft, and a peculiarly affectionate tenderness +shone in his eyes as he looked entreatingly at Mariana. + +She sat down beside him readily and took his hand. + +“Thanks, dearest. I won’t keep you long. I thought out all the things +I wanted to say to you last night. Don’t think I was too much upset by +yesterday’s occurrence. I was no doubt extremely ridiculous and rather +disgusting, but I know you didn’t think anything bad of me—you know me. +I am not telling the truth exactly when I say that I wasn’t upset—I was +horribly upset, not because I was brought home drunk, but because I was +convinced of my utter inefficiency. Not because I could not drink like +a real Russian—but in everything! everything! Mariana, I must tell you +that I no longer believe in the cause that united us and on the strength +of which we ran away together. To tell the truth, I had already lost +faith when your enthusiasm set me on fire again. I don’t believe in it! +I can’t believe in it!” + +He put his disengaged hand over his eyes and ceased for awhile. Mariana +did not utter a single word and sat looking downwards. She felt that he +had told her nothing new. + +“I always thought,” Nejdanov continued, taking his hand away from +his eyes, but not looking at Mariana again, “that I believed in the +cause itself, but had no faith in myself, in my own strength, my own +capacities. I used to think that my abilities did not come up to my +convictions.... But you can’t separate these things. And what’s the use +of deceiving oneself? No—I don’t believe in the _cause itself_. And +you, Mariana, do you believe in it?” + +Mariana sat up straight and raised her head. + +“Yes, I do, Alexai. I believe in it with all the strength of my soul, +and will devote my whole life to it, to the last breath!” + +Nejdanov turned towards her and looked at her enviously, with a tender +light in his eyes. + +“I knew you would answer like that. So you see there is nothing for us +to do together; you have severed our tie with one blow.” + +Mariana was silent. + +“Take Solomin, for instance,” Nejdanov began again, “though he does not +believe—” + +“What do you mean?” + +“It’s quite true. He does not believe... but that is not necessary for +him; he is moving steadily onwards. A man walking along a road in a town +does not question the existence of the town—he just goes his way. That +is Solomin. That is all that’s needed. But I... I can’t go ahead, don’t +want to turn back, and am sick of staying where I am. How dare I ask +anyone to be my companion? You know the old proverb, ‘With two people +to carry the pole, the burden will be easier.’ But if you let go your +end—what becomes of the other?” + +“Alexai,” Mariana began irresolutely, “I think you exaggerate. Do we not +love each other?” + +Nejdanov gave a deep sigh. + +“Mariana... I bow down before you... you pity me, and each of us has +implicit faith in the other’s honesty—that is our position. But there +is no love between us.” + +“Stop, Alexai! what are you saying? The police may come for us today... +we must go away together and not part—” + +“And get Father Zosim to marry us at Solomin’s suggestion. I know that +you merely look upon our marriage as a kind of passport—a means of +avoiding any difficulties with the police... but still it will bind us +to some extent; necessitate our living together and all that. Besides it +always presupposes a desire to live together.” + +“What do you mean, Alexai? You don’t intend staying here?” + +“N-n-no,” Nejdanov said hesitatingly. The word “yes” nearly escaped his +lips, but he recollected himself in time. + +“Then you are going to a different place—not where I am going?” + +Nejdanov pressed her hand which still lay in his own. + +“It would indeed be vile to leave you without a supporter, without a +protector, but I won’t do that, as bad as I may be. You shall have a +protector—rest assured.” + +Mariana bent down towards him and, putting her face close against his, +looked anxiously into his eyes, as though trying to penetrate to his +very soul. + +“What is the matter, Alexai? What have you on your mind? Tell me ... +you frighten me. Your words are so strange and enigmatical.... And your +face! I have never seen your face like that!” + +Nejdanov put her from him gently and kissed her hand tenderly. This time +she made no resistance and did not laugh, but sat still looking at him +anxiously. + +“Don’t be alarmed, dear. There is nothing strange in it. They say +Markelov was beaten by the peasants; he felt their blows—they crushed +his ribs. They did not beat me, they even drank with me—drank +my health—but they crushed my soul more completely than they did +Markelov’s ribs. I was born out of joint, wanted to set myself right, +and have made matters worse. That is what you notice in my face.” + +“Alexai,” Mariana said slowly, “it would be very wrong of you not to be +frank with me.” + +He clenched his hands. + +“Mariana, my whole being is laid bare before you, and whatever I might +do, I tell you beforehand, nothing will really surprise you; nothing +whatever!” + +Mariana wanted to ask him what he meant, but at that moment Solomin +entered the room. + +His movements were sharper and more rapid than usual. His eyes were half +closed, his lips compressed, the whole of his face wore a drier, harder, +somewhat rougher expression. + +“My dear friends,” he began, “I must ask you not to waste time, but +prepare yourselves as soon as possible. You must be ready in an hour. +You have to go through the marriage ceremony. There is no news of +Paklin. His horses were detained for a time at Arjanov and then sent +back. He has been kept there. They’ve no doubt brought him to town by +this time. I don’t think he would betray us, but he might let things out +unwittingly. Besides, they might have guessed from the horses. My cousin +has been informed of your coming. Pavel will go with you. He will be a +witness.” + +“And you... and you?” Nejdanov asked. “Aren’t you going? I see you’re +dressed for the road,” he added, indicating Solomin’s high boots with +his eyes. + +“Oh, I only put them on... because it’s rather muddy outside.” + +“But you won’t be held responsible for us, will you?” + +“I hardly think so... in any case... that’s my affair. So you’ll be +ready in an hour. Mariana, I believe Tatiana wants to see you. She has +something prepared for you.” + +“Oh, yes! I wanted to see her too....” Mariana turned to the door. + +A peculiar expression of fear, despair, spread itself over Nejdanov’s +face. + +“Mariana, you’re not going?” he asked in a frightened tone of voice. + +She stood still. + +“I’ll be back in half an hour. It won’t take me long to pack.” + +“Come here, close to me, Mariana——” + +“Certainly, but what for?” + +“I wanted to have one more look at you.” He looked at her intently. +“Goodbye, goodbye, Mariana!” + +She seemed bewildered. + +“Why... what nonsense I’m talking! You’ll be back in half an hour, won’t +you, eh?” + +“Of course—” + +“Never mind; forgive me, dear. My brain is in a whirl from lack of +sleep. I must begin... packing, too.” + +Mariana went out of the room and Solomin was about to follow her when +Nejdanov stopped him. + +“Solomin!” + +“What is it?” + +“Give me your hand. I must thank you for your kindness and hospitality.” + +Solomin smiled. + +“What an idea!” He extended his hand. + +“There’s another thing I wished to say,” Nejdanov continued. “Supposing +anything were to happen to me, may I hope that you won’t abandon +Mariana?” + +“Your future wife?” + +“Yes... Mariana!” + +“I don’t think anything is likely to happen to you, but you may set your +mind at rest. Mariana is just as dear to me as she is to you.” + +“Oh, I knew it... knew it, knew it! I’m so glad! thanks. So in an hour?” + +“In an hour.” + +“I shall be ready. Goodbye, my friend!” + +Solomin went out and caught Mariana up on the staircase. He had intended +saying something to her about Nejdanov, but refrained from doing so. And +Mariana guessed that he wished to say something about him and that he +could not. She, too, was silent. + + + + + +XXXVII + +Directly Solomin had gone, Nejdanov jumped up from the couch, walked +up and down the room several times, then stood still in the middle in +a sort of stony indecision. Suddenly he threw off his “masquerade” + costume, kicked it into a corner of the room, and put on his own +clothes. He then went up to the little three-legged table, pulled out of +a drawer two sealed letters and some other object which he thrust into +his pocket; the letters he left on the table. Then he crouched down +before the stove and opened the little door. A whole heap of ashes lay +inside. This was all that remained of Nejdanov’s papers, of his sacred +book of verses.... He had burned them all in the night. Leaning against +one side of the stove was Mariana’s portrait that Markelov had given +him. He had evidently not had the heart to burn that too! He took it out +carefully and put in on the table beside the two letters. + +Then, with a quick resolute movement, he put on his cap and walked +towards the door. But suddenly he stopped, turned back, and went into +Mariana’s room. There, he stood still for a moment, gazed round, then +approaching her narrow little bed, bent down and with one stifled sob +pressed his lips to the foot of the bed. He then jumped up, thrust his +cap over his forehead, and rushed out. Without meeting anyone in the +corridor, on the stairs, or down below, he darted out into the garden. +It was a grey day, with a low-hanging sky and a damp breeze that blew in +waves over the tops of the grass and made the trees rustle. A whiff of +coal, tar, and tallow was borne along from the yard, but the noise and +rattling in the factory was fainter than usual at that time of day. +Nejdanov looked round sharply to see if anyone was about and made +straight for the old apple tree that had first attracted his attention +when he had looked out of the little window of his room on the day of +his arrival. The whole of its trunk was evergrown with dry moss, its +bare, rugged branches, sparsely covered with reddish leaves, rose +crookedly, like some old arms held up in supplication. Nejdanov stepped +firmly on to the dark soil beneath the tree and pulled out the object he +had taken from the table drawer. He looked up intently at the windows of +the little house. “If somebody were to see me now, perhaps I wouldn’t +do it,” he thought. But no human being was to be seen anywhere—everyone +seemed dead or turned away from him, leaving him to the mercy of fate. +Only the muffled hum and roar of the factory betrayed any signs of life; +and overhead a fine, keen, chilly rain began falling. + +Nejdanov gazed up through the crooked branches of the tree under which +he was standing at the grey, cloudy sky looking down upon him so +unfeelingly. He yawned and lay down. “There’s nothing else to be done. +I can’t go back to St. Petersburg, to prison,” he thought. A kind of +pleasant heaviness spread all over his body.... He threw away his cap, +took up the revolver, and pulled the trigger.... Something struck him +instantly, but with no very great violence.... He was lying on his back +trying to make out what had happened to him and how it was that he had +just seen Tatiana. He tried to call her... but a peculiar numbness had +taken possession of him and curious dark green spots were whirling +about all over him—in his eyes, over his head, in his brain—and some +frightfully heavy, dull weight seemed to press him to the earth for +ever. + +Nejdanov did really get a glimpse of Tatiana. At the moment when he +pulled the trigger she had looked out of a window and caught sight of +him standing under the tree. She had hardly time to ask herself what +he was doing there in the rain without a hat, when he rolled to the +ground like a sheaf of corn. She did not hear the shot—it was very +faint—but instantly felt that something was amiss and rushed out into +the garden.... She came up to Nejdanov, breathless. + +“Alexai Dmitritch! What is the matter with you?” + +But a darkness had already descended upon him. Tatiana bent over and +noticed blood... + +“Pavel!” she shouted at the top of her voice, “Pavel!” + +A minute or two later, Mariana, Solomin, Pavel, and two workmen were in +the garden. They lifted him instantly, carried him into the house, and +laid him on the same couch on which he had passed his last night. + +He lay on his back with half-closed eyes, his face blue all over. There +was a rattling in his throat, and every now and again he gave a choking +sob. Life had not yet left him. Mariana and Solomin were standing on +either side of him, almost as pale as he was himself. They both felt +crushed, stunned, especially Mariana—but they were not surprised. “How +did we not foresee this?” they asked themselves, but it seemed to them +that they had foreseen it all along. When he said to Mariana, “Whatever +I do, I tell you beforehand, nothing will really surprise you,” and when +he had spoken of the two men in him that would not let each other live, +had she not felt a kind of vague presentiment? Then why had she ignored +it? Why was it she did not now dare to look at Solomin, as though he +were her accomplice...as though he, too, were conscience-stricken? Why +was it that her unutterable, despairing pity for Nejdanov was mixed with +a feeling of horror, dread, and shame? Perhaps she could have saved him? +Why are they both standing there, not daring to pronounce a word, hardly +daring to breathe—waiting ... for what? Oh, God! + +Solomin sent for a doctor, though there was no hope. Tatiana bathed +Nejdanov’s head with cold water and vinegar and laid a cold sponge on +the small, dark wound, now free from blood. Suddenly the rattling in +Nejdanov’s throat ceased and he stirred a little. + +“He is coming to himself,” Solomin whispered. Mariana dropped down on +her knees before him. Nejdanov glanced at her ... up until then his eyes +had borne that fixed, far-away look of the dying. + +“I am ... still alive,” he pronounced scarcely audible. “I couldn’t even +do this properly.... I am detaining ... you.” + +“Aliosha!” Mariana sobbed out. + +“It won’t ... be long.... Do you ... remember ... Mariana ... my +poem?... Surround me with flowers.... But where ... are the ... +flowers? Never mind ... so long as you ... are here. There ... in ... +my letter....” + +He suddenly shuddered. + +“Ah! here it comes.... Take ... each other’s hands ... before me ... +quickly ... take....” + +Solomin seized Mariana’s hand. Her head lay on the couch, face +downwards, close to the wound. Solomin, dark as night, held himself +severely erect. + +“That’s right ... that’s....” + +Nejdanov broke out into sobs again—strange unusual sobs... His breast +rose, his sides heaved. + +He tried to lay his hand on their united ones, but it fell back dead. + +“He is passing away,” Tatiana whispered as she stood at the door, and +began crossing herself. + +His sobs grew briefer, fewer.... He still searched around for Mariana +with his eyes, but a menacing white film was spreading over them.... + +“That’s right,” were his last words. + +He had breathed his last... and the clasped hands of Mariana and Solomin +still lay upon his breast. + +The following are the contents of the two letters he had left. One +consisting only of a few lines, was addressed to Silin: + +“Goodbye, my dear friend, goodbye! When this reaches you, I shall be no +more. Don’t ask why or wherefore, and don’t grieve; be sure that I +am better off now. Take up our immortal Pushkin and read over the +description of the death of Lensky in ‘Yevgenia Onegin.’ Do you +remember? The windows are white-washed. The mistress has gone—that’s +all. There is nothing more for me to say. Were I to say all I wanted to, +it would take up too much time. But I could not leave this world without +telling you, or you might have gone on thinking of me as living and I +should have put a stain upon our friendship. Goodbye; live well.—Your +friend, A. N.” + +The other letter, somewhat longer, was addressed to Solomin and Mariana. +It began thus: + +“MY DEAR CHILDREN” (immediately after these words there was a break, as +if something had been scratched or smeared out, as if tears had fallen +upon it),—“It may seem strange to you that I should address you in +this way—I am almost a child myself and you, Solomin, are older than I +am. But I am about to die—and standing as I do at the end of my life, +I look upon myself as an old man. I have wronged you both, especially +you, Mariana, by causing you so much grief and pain (I know you will +grieve, Mariana) and giving you so much anxiety. But what could I do? +I could think of no other way out. I could not _simplify_ myself, so +the only thing left for me to do was to blot myself out altogether. +Mariana, I would have been a burden to you and to myself. You are +generous, you would have borne the burden gladly, as a new sacrifice, +but I have no right to demand such a sacrifice of you—you have a higher +and better work before you. My children, let me unite you as it were +from the grave. You will live happily together. Mariana, I know you +will come to love Solomin—and he ... he loved you from the moment he +first saw you at the Sipiagins. It was no secret to me, although we ran +away a few days later. Ah! that glorious morning! how exquisite and +fresh and young it was! It comes back to me now as a token, a symbol +of your life together—your life and his—and I by the merest chance +happened to be in his place. But enough! I don’t want to complain, I +only want to justify myself. Some very sorrowful moments are in store +for you tomorrow. But what could I do? There was no other alternative. +Goodbye, Mariana, my dear good girl! Goodbye, Solomin! I leave her in +your charge. Be happy together; live for the sake of others. And you, +Mariana, think of me only when you are happy. Think of me as a man who +had also some good in him, but for whom it was better to die than to +live. Did I really love you? I don’t know, dear friend. But I do know +that I never loved anyone more than you, and that it would have been +more terrible for me to die had I not that feeling for you to carry +away with me to the grave. Mariana, if you ever come across a Miss +Mashurina—Solomin knows her, and by the way, I think you’ve met her +too—tell her that I thought of her with gratitude just before the end. +She will understand. But I must tear myself away at last. I looked +out of the window just now and saw a lovely star amidst the swiftly +moving clouds. No matter how quickly they chased one another, they +could not hide it from view. That star reminded me of you, Mariana. At +this moment you are asleep in the next room, unsuspecting.... I went to +your door, listened, and fancied I heard your pure, calm breathing.... +Goodbye! goodbye! goodbye, my children, my friends!—Yours, A. + +“Dear me! how is it that in my final letter I made no mention of our +great cause? I suppose lying is of no use when you’re on the point of +death. Forgive this postscript, Mariana.... The falsehood lies in me, +not in the thing in which you believe! One more word. You might have +thought perhaps, Mariana, that I put an end to myself merely because I +was afraid of going to prison, but believe me that is not true. There +is nothing terrible about going to prison in itself, but being shut up +there for a cause in which you have no faith is unthinkable. It was not +fear of prison that drove me to this, Mariana. Goodbye! goodbye! my +dear, pure girl.” + +Mariana and Solomin each read the letter in turn. She then put her +own portrait and the two letters into her pocket and remained standing +motionless. + +“Let us go, Mariana; everything is ready. We must fulfil his wish,” + Solomin said to her. + +Mariana drew near to Nejdanov and pressed her lips against his forehead +which was already turning cold. + +“Come,” she said, turning to Solomin. They went out, hand in hand. + +When the police arrived at the factory a few hours later, they found +Nejdanov’s corpse. Tatiana had laid out the body, put a white pillow +under his head, crossed his arms, and even placed a bunch of flowers +on a little table beside him. Pavel, who had been given all the needful +instructions, received the police officers with the greatest respect and +as great a contempt, so that those worthies were not quite sure whether +to thank or arrest him. He gave them all the details of the suicide, +regaled them with Swiss cheese and Madeira, but as for the whereabouts +of Vassily Fedotitch and the young lady, he knew nothing of that. He was +most effusive in his assurances that Vassily Fedotitch was never away +for long at a time on account of his work, that he was sure to be back +either today or tomorrow, and that he would let them know as soon as he +arrived. They might depend on him! + +So the officers went away no wiser than they had come, leaving a guard +in charge of the body and promising to send a coroner. + + + + + +XXXVIII + +Two days after these events, a cart drove up the courtyard of the worthy +Father Zosim, containing a man and woman who are already known to the +reader. The following day they were legally married. Soon afterwards +they disappeared, and the good father never regretted what he had done. +Solomin had left a letter in Pavel’s charge, addressed to the proprietor +of the factory, giving a full statement of the condition of the business +(it turned out most flourishing) and asking for three months’ leave. The +letter was dated two days before Nejdanov’s death, from which might be +gathered that Solomin had considered it necessary even then to go away +with him and Mariana and hide for a time. Nothing was revealed by the +inquiry held over the suicide. The body was buried. Sipiagin gave up +searching for his niece. + +Nine months later Markelov was tried. At the trial he was just as calm +as he had been at the governor’s. He carried himself with dignity, but +was rather depressed. His habitual hardness had toned down somewhat, not +from any cowardice; a nobler element had been at work. He did not defend +himself, did not regret what he had done, blamed no one, and mentioned +no names. His emaciated face with the lustreless eyes retained but one +expression: submission to his fate and firmness. His brief, direct, +truthful answers aroused in his very judges a feeling akin to pity. Even +the peasants who had seized him and were giving evidence against +him shared this feeling and spoke of him as a good, simple-hearted +gentleman. But his guilt could not possibly be passed over; he could not +escape punishment, and he himself seemed to look upon it as his due. Of +his few accomplices, Mashurina disappeared for a time. Ostrodumov was +killed by a shopkeeper he was inciting to revolt, who had struck him +an “awkward” blow. Golushkin, in consideration of his penitence (he was +nearly frightened out of his wits), was let off lightly. Kisliakov was +kept under arrest for about a month, after which he was released and +even allowed to continue “galloping” from province to province. Nejdanov +died, Solomin was under suspicion, but for lack of sufficient evidence +was left in peace. (He did not, however, avoid trial and appeared when +wanted.) Mariana was not even mentioned; Paklin came off splendidly; +indeed no notice was taken of him. + +A year and a half had gone by—it was the winter of 1870. In St. +Petersburg—the very same St. Petersburg where the chamberlain Sipiagin, +now a privy councillor, was beginning to play such an important part; +where his wife patronised the arts, gave musical evenings, and founded +charitable cook-shops; where Kollomietzev was considered one of the most +hopeful members of the ministerial department—a little man was limping +along one of the streets of the Vassily island, attired in a shabby coat +with a catskin collar. This was no other than our old friend Paklin. +He had changed a great deal since we last saw him. On his temples a few +strands of silvery hair peeped out from under his fur cap. A tall, stout +woman, closely muffled in a dark cloth coat, was coming towards him on +the pavement. Paklin looked at her indifferently and passed on. Suddenly +he stopped, threw up his arms as though struck by something, turned back +quickly, and overtaking her peeped under her hat. + +“Mashurina!” he exclaimed in an undertone. + +The lady looked at him haughtily and walked on without saying a word. + +“Dear Mashurina, I recognised you at once,” Paklin continued, hobbling +along beside her; “don’t be afraid, I won’t give you away! I am so glad +to see you! I’m Paklin, Sila Paklin, you know, Nejdanov’s friend. Do +come home with me. I live quite near here. Do come!” + +_“Io sono contessa Rocca di Santo Fiume!”_ the lady said softly, but in +a wonderfully pure Russian accent. + +“Contessa! nonsense! Do come in and let us talk about old times—” + +“Where do you live?” the Italian countess asked suddenly in Russian. +“I’m in a hurry.” + +“In this very street; in that grey three-storied house over there. It’s +so nice of you not to have snubbed me! Give me your hand, come on. Have +you been here long? How do you come to be a countess? Have you married +an Italian count?” + +Mashurina had not married an Italian count. She had been provided with +a passport made out in the name of a certain Countess Rocca di Santo +Fiume, who had died a short time ago, and had come quite calmly to +Russia, though she did not know a single word of Italian and had the +most typical of Russian faces. + +Paklin brought her to his humble little lodging. His humpbacked sister +who shared it with him came out to greet them from behind the partition +dividing the kitchen from the passage. + +“Here, Snapotchka,” he said, “let me introduce you to a great friend of +mine. We should like some tea as soon as you can get it.” + +Mashurina, who would on no account have come had not Paklin mentioned +Nejdanov, bowed, then taking off her hat and passing her masculine hand +through her closely cropped hair, sat down in silence. She had scarcely +changed at all; even her dress was the same she had worn two years ago; +only her eyes wore a fixed, sad expression, giving a pathetic look to +her usually hard face. Snandulia went out for the samovar, while Paklin +sat down opposite Mashurina and stroked her knee sympathetically. His +head dropped on his breast, he could not speak from choking, and the +tears glistened in his eyes. Mashurina sat erect and motionless, gazing +severely to one side. + +“Those were times!” Paklin began at last. “As I look at you everything +comes back to me, the living and the dead. Even my little poll-parrots +are no more.... I don’t think you knew them, by the way. They both died +on the same day, as I always predicted they would. And Nejdanov... poor +Nejdanov! I suppose you know——” + +“Yes, I know,” Mashurina interrupted him, still looking away. + +“And do you know about Ostrodumov too?” + +Mashurina merely nodded her head. She wanted him to go on talking about +Nejdanov, but could not bring herself to ask him. He understood her, +however. + +“I was told that he mentioned you in the letter he left. Was it true?” + +“Yes,” Mashurina replied after a pause. + +“What a splendid chap he was! He didn’t fall into the right rut somehow. +He was about as fitted to be a revolutionist as I am! Do you know what +he really was? The idealist of realism. Do you understand me?” + +Mashurina flung him a rapid glance. She did not understand him and did +not want to understand him. It seemed to her impertinent that he should +compare himself to Nejdanov. “Let him brag!” she thought, though he was +not bragging at all, but rather depreciating himself, according to his +own ideas. + +“Some fellow called Silin sought me out; Nejdanov, it seems, had left +a letter for him too. Well, he wanted to know if Alexai had left any +papers, but we hunted through all his things and found nothing. He +must have burned everything, even his poems. Did you know that he wrote +verses? I’m sorry they were destroyed; there must have been some good +things among them. They all vanished with him—became lost in the +general whirl, dead and gone for ever. Nothing was left except the +memories of his friends—until they, too, vanish in their turn!” + +Paklin ceased. + +“Do you remember the Sipiagins?” he began again; “those respectable, +patronising, loathsome swells are now at the very height of power and +glory.” Mashurina, of course, did not remember the Sipiagins, but Paklin +hated them so much that he could not keep from abusing them on every +possible occasion. “They say there’s such a high tone in their house! +they’re always talking about virtue! It’s a bad sign, I think. Reminds +me rather of an over-scented sick room. There must be some bad smell to +conceal. Poor Alexai! It was they who ruined him!” + +“And what is Solomin doing?” Mashurina asked. She had suddenly ceased +wishing to hear Paklin talk about _him_. + +“Solomin!” Paklin exclaimed. “He’s a clever chap! turned out well too. +He’s left the old factory and taken all the best men with him. There was +one fellow there called Pavel—could do anything; he’s taken him along +too. They say he has a small factory of his own now, somewhere near +Perm, run on cooperative lines. He’s all right! he’ll stick to anything +he undertakes. Got some grit in him! His strength lies in the fact that +he doesn’t attempt to cure all the social ills with one blow. What a +rum set we are to be sure, we Russians! We sit down quietly and wait for +something or someone to come along and cure us all at once; heal all our +wounds, pull out all our diseases, like a bad tooth. But who or what +is to work this magic spell, Darwinism, the land, the Archbishop +Perepentiev, a foreign war, we don’t know and don’t care, but we must +have our tooth pulled out for us! It’s nothing but mere idleness, +sluggishness, want of thinking. Solomin, on the other hand, is +different; he doesn’t go in for pulling teeth—he knows what he’s +about!” + +Mashurina gave an impatient wave of the hand, as though she wished to +dismiss the subject. + +“And that girl,” she began, “I forget her name... the one who ran away +with Nejdanov—what became of her?” + +“Mariana? She’s Solomin’s wife now. They married over a year ago. It was +merely for the sake of formality at first, but now they say she really +is his wife.” + +Mashurina gave another impatient gesture. There was a time when she was +jealous of Mariana, but now she was indignant with her for having been +false to Nejdanov’s memory. + +“I suppose they have a baby by now,” she said in an offhanded tone. + +“I really don’t know. But where are you off to?” Paklin asked, seeing +that she had taken up her hat. “Do stay a little longer; my sister will +bring us some tea directly.” + +It was not so much that he wanted Mashurina to stay, as that he +could not let an opportunity slip by of giving utterance to what had +accumulated and was boiling over in his breast. Since his return to St. +Petersburg he had seen very little of people, especially of the younger +generation. The Nejdanov affair had scared him; he grew more cautious, +avoided society, and the young generation on their side looked upon him +with suspicion. Once someone had even called him a traitor to his face. + +As he was not fond of associating with the elder generation, it +sometimes fell to his lot to be silent for weeks. To his sister he +could not speak out freely, not because he considered her too stupid +to understand him—oh, no! he had the highest opinion of her +intelligence—but as soon as he began letting off some of his pet +fireworks she would look at him with those sad reproachful eyes of hers, +making him feel quite ashamed. And really, how is a man to go through +life without letting off just a few squibs every now and again? So life +in St. Petersburg became insupportable to Paklin and he longed to remove +to Moscow. Speculations of all sorts—ideas, fancies, and sarcasms—were +stored up in him like water in a closed mill. The floodgates could not +be opened and the water grew stagnant. With the appearance of Mashurina +the gates opened wide, and all his pent-up ideas came pouring out with a +rush. He talked about St. Petersburg, St. Petersburg life, the whole of +Russia. No one was spared! Mashurina was very little interested in +all this, but she did not contradict or interrupt, and that was all he +wanted of her. + +“Yes,” he began, “a fine time we are living in, I can assure you! +Society in a state of absolute stagnation; everyone bored to death! As +for literature, it’s been reduced to a complete vacuum swept clean! +Take criticism for example. If a promising young critic has to say, +‘It’s natural for a hen to lay eggs,’ it takes him at least twenty +whole pages to expound this mighty truth, and even then he doesn’t +quite manage it! They’re as puffed up as feather-beds, these fine +gentlemen, as soft-soapy as can be, and are always in raptures over +the merest commonplaces! As for science, ha, ha, ha! we too have our +learned _Kant_! [The word _kant_ in Russian means a kind of braid or +piping.] on the collars of our engineers! And it’s no better in art! +You go to a concert and listen to our national singer Agremantsky. +Everyone is raving about him. But he has no more voice than a cat! Even +Skoropikin, you know, our immortal Aristarchus, rings his praises. +‘Here is something,’ he declares, ‘quite unlike Western art!’ Then he +raves about our insignificant painters too! ‘At one time, I bowed down +before Europe and the Italians,’ he says, ‘but I’ve heard Rossini and +seen Raphael and confess I was not at all impressed.’ And our young +men just go about repeating what he says and feel quite satisfied with +themselves. And meanwhile the people are dying of hunger, crushed +down by taxes. The only reform that has been accomplished is that +the men have taken to wearing caps and the women have left off their +head-dresses! And the poverty! the drunkenness! the usury!” + +But at this point Mashurina yawned and Paklin saw that he must change +the subject. + +“You haven’t told me yet,” he said, turning to her, “where you’ve +been these two years; when you came back, what you’ve been doing with +yourself, and how you managed to turn into an Italian countess—” + +“There is no need for you to know all that,” she put in. “It can hardly +have any interest for you now. You see, you are no longer of our camp.” + +Paklin felt a pang and gave a forced laugh to hide his confusion. + +“As you please,” he said; “I know I’m regarded as out-of-date by the +present generation, and really I can hardly count myself.. . of those +ranks—” He did not finish the sentence. “Here comes Snapotchka with the +tea. Take a cup with us and stay a little longer. Perhaps I may tell you +something of interest to you.” + +Mashurina took a cup of tea and began sipping it with a lump of sugar in +her mouth. + +Paklin laughed heartily. + +“It’s a good thing the police are not here to see an Italian countess—” + +“Rocca di Santo Fiume,” Mashurina put in solemnly, sipping the hot tea. + +“Contessa Rocca di Santo Fiume!” Paklin repeated after her; “and +drinking her tea in the typical Russian way! That’s rather suspicious, +you know! The police would be on the alert in an instant.” + +“Some fellow in uniform bothered me when I was abroad,” Mashurina +remarked. “He kept on asking so many questions until I couldn’t stand it +any longer. ‘Leave me alone, for heaven’s sake!’ I said to him at last.” + +“In Italian?” + +“Oh no, in Russian.” + +“And what did he do?” + +“Went away, of course.” + +“Bravo!” Paklin exclaimed. “Well, countess, have another cup. There is +just one other thing I wanted to say to you. It seemed to me that you +expressed yourself rather contemptuously of Solomin. But I tell you that +people like him are the real men! It’s difficult to understand them at +first, but, believe me, they’re the real men. The future is in their +hands. They are not heroes, not even ‘heroes of labour’ as some crank +of an American, or Englishman, called them in a book he wrote for the +edification of us heathens, but they are robust, strong, dull men of the +people. They are exactly what we want just now. You have only to look at +Solomin. A head as clear as the day and a body as strong as an ox. Isn’t +that a wonder in itself? Why, any man with us in Russia who has had any +brains, or feelings, or a conscience, has always been a physical wreck. +Solomin’s heart aches just as ours does; he hates the same things that +we hate, but his nerves are of iron and his body is under his full +control. He’s a splendid man, I tell you! Why, think of it! here is +a man with ideals, and no nonsense about him; educated and from the +people, simple, yet all there.... What more do you want? + +“It’s of no consequence,” Paklin continued, working himself up more and +more, without noticing that Mashurina had long ago ceased listening to +him and was looking away somewhere, “it’s of no consequence that Russia +is now full of all sorts of queer people, fanatics, officials, generals +plain and decorated, Epicureans, imitators, all manner of cranks. I once +knew a lady, a certain Havrona Prishtekov, who, one fine day, suddenly +turned a legitimist and assured everybody that when she died they had +only to open her body and the name of Henry V. would be found engraven +on her heart! All these people do not count, my dear lady; our true +salvation lies with the Solomins, the dull, plain, but wise Solomins! +Remember that I say this to you in the winter of 1870, when Germany is +preparing to crush France—” + +“Silishka,” Snandulia’s soft voice was heard from behind Paklin, “I +think in your speculations about the future you have quite forgotten +our religion and its influence. And besides,” she added hastily, “Miss +Mashurina is not listening to you. You had much better offer her some +more tea.” + +Paklin pulled himself up. + +“Why, of course... do have some more tea.” + +But Mashurina fixed her dark eyes upon him and said pensively: + +“You don’t happen to have any letter of Nejdanov’s... or his +photograph?” + +“I have a photograph and quite a good one too. I believe it’s in the +table drawer. I’ll get it in a minute.” + +He began rummaging about in the drawer, while Snandulia went up to +Mashurina and with a long, intent look full of sympathy, clasped her +hand like a comrade. + +“Here it is!” Paklin exclaimed and handed her the photograph. + +Mashurina thrust it into her pocket quickly, scarcely glancing at it, +and without a word of thanks, flushing bright red, she put on her hat +and made for the door. + +“Are you going?” Paklin asked. “Where do you live? You might tell me +that at any rate.” + +“Wherever I happen to be.” + +“I understand. You don’t want me to know. Tell me at least, are you +still working under Vassily Nikolaevitch?” + +“What does it matter to you?” + +“Or someone else, perhaps Sidor Sidoritch?” + +Mashurina did not reply. + +“Or is your director some anonymous person?” Mashurina had already +stepped across the threshold. “Perhaps it is someone anonymous!” + +She slammed the door. + +Paklin stood for a long time motionless before this closed door. + +“Anonymous Russia!” he said at last. + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK VIRGIN SOIL *** + +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the +United States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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