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diff --git a/2466-h/2466-h.htm b/2466-h/2466-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8b6b681 --- /dev/null +++ b/2466-h/2466-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,14969 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> +<meta charset="utf-8"><style>.xhtml_big {font-size: larger;} + .xhtml_center {text-align: center; display: block;} + .xhtml_center table { + display: table; + text-align: left; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + }</style><title> + Virgin Soil, by Ivan S. Turgenev + </title> +<style> +body { + margin: 5%; + background: #faebd0; + text-align: justify; + } +p { + text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-bottom: 0.25em; + } +p.poem { + text-indent: 0%; + font-size: 90%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-left: 10%; + } +p.center { + text-align: center; + text-indent: 0; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } +p.centerlarge { + font-size: 150%; + font-weight: bold; + text-align: center; + text-indent: 0; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } +p.right { + text-align: right; + text-indent: 0; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } +p.note { + font-size: 90%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: 10%; + } +p.noindent { + text-indent: 0%; + } +p.author { + font-size: 140%; + font-weight: bold; + text-align: center; + text-indent: 0; + margin-top: 3em; + margin-bottom: 3em; + } +p.translator { + font-size: 110%; + font-weight: bold; + text-align: center; + text-indent: 0; + margin-top: 3em; + margin-bottom: 3em; + } +H1, H2, H3, H4, H5, H6 { + text-align: center; + margin-left: 15%; + margin-right: 15%; + } +hr { + width: 50%; + text-align: center; + } +.foot { + margin-left: 20%; + margin-right: 20%; + text-align: justify; + text-indent: -3em; + font-size: 90%; + } +blockquote { + font-size: 97%; + font-style: italic; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } +.mynote { + background-color: #DDE; + color: #000; + padding: 0.5em; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + font-family: sans-serif; + font-size: 95%; + } +.toc { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-bottom: 0.75em; + } +.toc2 { + margin-left: 20%; + } +div.fig { + display: block; + margin: 0 auto; + text-align: center; + } +div.middle { + margin-left: 20%; + margin-right: 20%; + text-align: justify; + } +div.chapter { + page-break-before: always; + margin-top: 4em + } +.figleft { + float: left; + margin-left: 0%; + margin-right: 1%; + } +.figright { + float: right; + margin-right: 0%; + margin-left: 1%; + } +.pagenum { + display: inline; + font-size: 70%; + font-style: normal; + margin: 0; + padding: 0; + position: absolute; + right: 1%; + text-align: right; + } + </style> +<link rel="schema.dc" href="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/"> +<link rel="schema.dcterms" href="http://purl.org/dc/terms/"> +<meta name="dc.title" content="Virgin Soil"> +<meta name="dc.language" content="en"> +<meta name="dcterms.source" content="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2466/2466-h/2466-h.htm"> +<meta name="dcterms.modified" content="2023-01-02T08:45:11.937045+00:00"> +<meta name="dc.rights" content="Public domain in the USA."> +<link rel="dcterms.isFormatOf" href="http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/2466"> +<meta name="dc.creator" content="Turgenev, Ivan Sergeevich, 1818-1883"> +<meta name="marcrel.trl" content="Townsend, R. S."> +<meta name="dc.subject" content="Revolutionaries -- Russia -- Fiction"> +<meta name="dc.subject" content="Country homes -- Fiction"> +<meta name="dc.subject" content="Russia -- Social life and customs -- Fiction"> +<meta name="dc.subject" content="Russia -- Politics and government -- 1801-1917 -- Fiction"> +<meta name="dcterms.created" content="2001-01-01"> +<meta name="generator" content="Ebookmaker 0.12.25 by Project Gutenberg"> +<meta property="og:title" content="Virgin Soil"> +<meta property="og:type" content="Text"> +<meta property="og:url" content="https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/2466/pg2466-images.html.utf8"> +<meta property="og:image" content="https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/2466/pg2466.cover.medium.jpg"> +</head> +<body> + +<p style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Virgin Soil, by Ivan Sergeevich Turgenev</p> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. 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. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Virgin Soil</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Ivan Sergeevich Turgenev</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Translator: R. S. Townsend</div> +<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: January 1, 2001 [EBook #2466]<br> +[Most recently updated: February 20, 2023]</p> +<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> + <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: + Martin Adamson, and David Widger</p> +<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK VIRGIN SOIL ***</div> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h1> + VIRGIN SOIL + </h1> +<p class="author"> + By Ivan S. Turgenev + </p> +<p class="translator"> + Translated from the Russian by R. S. Townsend + </p> +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop" /> +</div> + +<div class="chapter"> +<blockquote> +<p class="toc"> +<span class="xhtml_big"><b>CONTENTS</b></span> +</p> +<p> +<br> <a href="#link2H_INTR" class="pginternal"> INTRODUCTION </a> +<br><br> <a href="#link2H_4_0002" class="pginternal"> <b>VIRGIN SOIL</b> </a> +<br><br><br> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0003" class="pginternal"> I </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0004" class="pginternal"> II </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0005" class="pginternal"> III </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0006" class="pginternal"> IV </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0007" class="pginternal"> V </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0008" class="pginternal"> VI </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0009" class="pginternal"> VII </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0010" class="pginternal"> VIII </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0011" class="pginternal"> IX </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0012" class="pginternal"> X </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0013" class="pginternal"> XI </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0014" class="pginternal"> XII </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0015" class="pginternal"> XIII </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0016" class="pginternal"> XIV </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0017" class="pginternal"> XV </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0018" class="pginternal"> XVI </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0019" class="pginternal"> XVII </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0020" class="pginternal"> XVIII </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0021" class="pginternal"> XIX </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0022" class="pginternal"> XX </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0023" class="pginternal"> XXI </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0024" class="pginternal"> XXII </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0025" class="pginternal"> XXIII </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0026" class="pginternal"> XXIV </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0027" class="pginternal"> XXV </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0028" class="pginternal"> XXVI </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0029" class="pginternal"> XXVII </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0030" class="pginternal"> XXVIII </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0031" class="pginternal"> XXIX </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0032" class="pginternal"> XXX </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0033" class="pginternal"> XXXI </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0034" class="pginternal"> XXXII </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0035" class="pginternal"> XXXIII </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0036" class="pginternal"> XXXIV </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0037" class="pginternal"> XXXV </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0038" class="pginternal"> XXXVI </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0039" class="pginternal"> XXXVII </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0040" class="pginternal"> XXXVIII </a> +</p> +</blockquote> +</div> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2><a id="link2H_INTR"></a> + INTRODUCTION + </h2> +<p> + 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 <cite>Virgin Soil</cite> 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 <cite>Songs Before Sunrise</cite>, Mazzini’s <cite>Duties + of Man</cite>, 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 <cite>Virgin Soil</cite> 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. + </p> +<p> + 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, <cite>Dimitri + Rudin</cite>. If we cared to follow Turgenev strictly in his growth and + contemporary relations, we ought to begin with his <cite>Sportsman’s Note + Book</cite>. 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 <cite>Virgin + Soil</cite>, 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.” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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— + </p> +<p class="poem"> + “Crow, crow,<br> + You are grizzled, I know,<br> + But from Russia you come;<br> + Ah me, there lies home!” + </p> +<p class="noindent"> + 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. + </p> +<p class="right"> + E. R. + </p> +<br> +<p> + The following is the list of Turgenev’s chief works: + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +</div> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p class="centerlarge"><a id="link2H_4_0002"> + </a> + VIRGIN SOIL + </p> +<p> + “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.”—<cite>From a Farmer’s Notebook</cite>. +</p> +<h2><a id="link2H_4_0003"></a> + I + </h2> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “Is Nejdanov at home?” he called out in a deep, loud voice. + </p> +<p> + “No, he’s not. I’m here. Come in,” an equally coarse woman’s voice + responded from the adjoining room. + </p> +<p> + “Is that Mashurina?” asked the new-comer. + </p> +<p> + “Yes, it is I. Are you Ostrodumov?” + </p> +<p> + “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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “Have you seen Nejdanov?” Ostrodumov asked. + </p> +<p> + “Yes. He will be back directly. He has gone to the library with some + books.” + </p> +<p> + Ostrodumov spat to one side. + </p> +<p> + “Why is he always rushing about nowadays? One can never get hold of him.” + </p> +<p> + Mashurina took out another cigarette. + </p> +<p> + “He’s bored,” she remarked, lighting it carefully. + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + “Have you heard from Moscow?” Mashurina asked after a pause. + </p> +<p> + “Yes. A letter came three days ago.” + </p> +<p> + “Have you read it?” + </p> +<p> + Ostrodumov nodded his head. + </p> +<p> + “Well? What news?” + </p> +<p> + “Some of us must go there soon.” + </p> +<p> + Mashurina took the cigarette out of her mouth. + </p> +<p> + “But why?” she asked. “They say everything is going on well there.” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “Do they say so in the letter?” + </p> +<p> + “Yes.” + </p> +<p> + Mashurina shook back her heavy hair, which was twisted into a small plait + at the back, and fell over her eyebrows in front. + </p> +<p> + “Well,” she remarked; “if the thing is settled, then there is nothing more + to be said.” + </p> +<p> + “Of course not. Only one can’t do anything without money, and where are we + to get it from?” + </p> +<p> + Mashurina became thoughtful. + </p> +<p> + “Nejdanov must get the money,” she said softly, as if to herself. + </p> +<p> + “That is precisely what I have come about,” Ostrodumov observed. + </p> +<p> + “Have you got the letter?” Mashurina asked suddenly. + </p> +<p> + “Yes. Would you like to see it?” + </p> +<p> + “I should rather. But never mind, we can read it together presently.” + </p> +<p> + “You need not doubt what I say. I am speaking the truth,” Ostrodumov + grumbled. + </p> +<p> + “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. + </p> +<p> + A sound of goloshes was heard from the passage. + </p> +<p> + “There he is,” Mashurina whispered. + </p> +<p> + The door opened slightly and a head was thrust in, but it was not the head + of Nejdanov. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “What is the meaning of this?” he asked in a squeaky voice. “A duet? Why + not a trio? And where’s the chief tenor?” + </p> +<p> + “Do you mean Nejdanov, Mr. Paklin?” Ostrodumov asked solemnly. + </p> +<p> + “Yes, Mr. Ostrodumov.” + </p> +<p> + “He will be back directly, Mr. Paklin.” + </p> +<p> + “I am glad to hear that, Mr. Ostrodumov.” + </p> +<p> + The little cripple turned to Mashurina. She frowned, and continued + leisurely puffing her cigarette. + </p> +<p> + “How are you, my dear ... my dear ... I am so sorry. I always forget your + Christian name and your father’s name.” + </p> +<p> + Mashurina shrugged her shoulders. + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + “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—” + </p> +<p> + “And who asks you to talk to me, pray?” + </p> +<p> + Paklin gave a nervous, gulpy laugh. + </p> +<p> + “Well, never mind, my dear. Give me your hand. Don’t be cross. I know you + mean well, and so do I.... Well?” + </p> +<p> + Paklin extended his hand, Mashurina looked at him severely and extended + her own. + </p> +<p> + “If you really want to know my name,” she said with the same expression of + severity on her face, “I am called Fiekla.” + </p> +<p> + “And I, Pemien,” Ostrodumov added in his bass voice. + </p> +<p> + “How very instructive! Then tell me, Oh Fiekla! and you, Oh Pemien! why + you are so unfriendly, so persistently unfriendly to me when I—” + </p> +<p> + “Mashurina thinks,” Ostrodumov interrupted him, “and not only Mashurina, + that you are not to be depended upon, because you always laugh at + everything.” + </p> +<p> + Paklin turned round on his heels. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + Ostrodumov muttered something between his teeth, but Paklin continued + without the slightest trace of a smile on his face. + </p> +<p> + “No, I am not always laughing! I am not at all a cheerful person. You have + only to look at me!” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “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?” + </p> +<p> + “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). + </p> +<p> + Paklin laughed at her retort. + </p> +<p> + “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?” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + Young Paklin, he was called Sila—Sila Samsonitch,* 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. + </p> +<p class="note"> + * Meaning strength, son of Samson. + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + Mashurina scowled. + </p> +<p> + “He has gone to the library for books. As for falling in love, he has + neither the time nor the opportunity.” + </p> +<p> + “Why not with you?” almost escaped Paklin’s lips. + </p> +<p> + “I should like to see him, because I have an important matter to talk over + with him,” he said aloud. + </p> +<p> + “What about?” Ostrodumov asked. “Our affairs?” + </p> +<p> + “Perhaps yours; that is, our common affairs.” + </p> +<p> + Ostrodumov hummed. He did not believe him. “Who knows? He’s such a busy + body,” he thought. + </p> +<p> + “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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +</div> +<div class="chapter"> +<h2><a id="link2H_4_0004"></a> + II + </h2> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + Mashurina turned away and bit her lip; Ostrodumov muttered, “At last!” + </p> +<p> + Paklin was the first to approach him. + </p> +<p> + “Why, what is the matter, Alexai Dmitritch, Hamlet of Russia? Has + something happened, or are you just simply depressed, without any + particular cause?” + </p> +<p> + “Oh, stop! Mephistopheles of Russia!” Nejdanov exclaimed irritably. “I am + not in the mood for fencing with blunt witticisms just now.” + </p> +<p> + Paklin laughed. + </p> +<p> + “That’s not quite correct. If it is wit, then it can’t be blunt. If blunt, + then it can’t be wit.” + </p> +<p> + “All right, all right! We know you are clever!” + </p> +<p> + “Your nerves are out of order,” Paklin remarked hesitatingly. “Or has + something really happened?” + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + “Is that why your advertisement in the papers says that you want a place + and have no objection to leaving St. Petersburg?” Ostrodumov asked. + </p> +<p> + “Yes. I would go away from here with the greatest of pleasure, if some + fool could be found who would offer me a place!” + </p> +<p> + “You should first fulfill your duties here,” Mashurina remarked + significantly, her face still turned away. + </p> +<p> + “What duties?” Nejdanov asked, turning towards her. + </p> +<p> + Mashurina bit her lip. “Ask Ostrodumov.” + </p> +<p> + Nejdanov turned to Ostrodumov. The latter hummed and hawed, as if to say, + “Wait a minute.” + </p> +<p> + “But seriously,” Paklin broke in, “have you heard any unpleasant news?” + </p> +<p> + 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 <cite>Moscow News</cite> 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.” + </p> +<p> + Mashurina and Ostrodumov lifted their heads simultaneously. + </p> +<p> + “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—” + </p> +<p> + “Oh, don’t, please!” Nejdanov interrupted him desperately, frowning as if + in pain. “We know you are energetic and not afraid of anything—” + </p> +<p> + “I—not afraid of anything?” Paklin began. + </p> +<p> + “I wonder who could have betrayed Basanov?” Nejdanov continued. “I simply + can’t understand!” + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + Ostrodumov and Mashurina exchanged glances. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + Nejdanov trembled slightly and cast down his eyes. + </p> +<p> + “What does he say?” he asked at last. + </p> +<p> + “He wants us to go there with her.” Ostrodumov indicated to Mashurina with + his eyebrows. + </p> +<p> + “Do they want her too?” + </p> +<p> + “Yes.” + </p> +<p> + “Well, what’s the difficulty?” + </p> +<p> + “Why, money, of course.” + </p> +<p> + Nejdanov got up from the bed and walked over to the window. + </p> +<p> + “How much do you want?” + </p> +<p> + “Not less than fifty roubles.” + </p> +<p> + Nejdanov was silent. + </p> +<p> + “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?” + </p> +<p> + “Yes, it ... that is ... certainly....” + </p> +<p> + “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?” + </p> +<p> + “Without intending to, perhaps,” Ostrodumov remarked. + </p> +<p> + “Neither with nor without intention! Miss Mashurina is looking at me with + a smile ... but I say—” + </p> +<p> + “I am not smiling!” Mashurina burst out. + </p> +<p> + “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—” + </p> +<p> + “Is it not so?” Mashurina snapped. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + Nejdanov wheeled round from the window. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + About two minutes went by in this way, everyone feeling uncomfortable. + Paklin was the first to break the silence. + </p> +<p> + “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?” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + “My dear Alexai,” Paklin remarked, “I see that you are not a democrat in + spite of your being a revolutionist!” + </p> +<p> + “Why not say straight out that I’m an aristocrat?” + </p> +<p> + “So you are up to a certain point.” + </p> +<p> + Nejdanov gave a forced laugh. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + Paklin threw up his arms in despair. + </p> +<p> + “Aliosha! What is the matter with you? How can you twist my words so? I + hardly know you today.” + </p> +<p> + Nejdanov shrugged his shoulders. + </p> +<p> + “Basanov’s arrest has upset you, but he was so careless—” + </p> +<p> + “He did not hide his convictions,” Mashurina put in gloomily. “It is not + for us to sit in judgment upon him!” + </p> +<p> + “Quite so; only he might have had a little more consideration for others, + who are likely to be compromised through him now.” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + Paklin was offended and was about to say something when Nejdanov + interrupted him. + </p> +<p> + “I vote we leave politics for a time, ladies and gentlemen!” he exclaimed. + </p> +<p> + A silence ensued. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + Paklin ceased, but no one uttered a word. They all sat with tightly closed + mouths as if feeling unutterably sorry for him. + </p> +<p> + “All the same,” Ostrodumov remarked, “I am not in the least sorry for the + young people who run after Skoropikin.” + </p> +<p> + “You are hopeless,” Paklin thought. “I had better be going.” + </p> +<p> + He went up to Nejdanov, intending to ask his opinion about smuggling in + the magazine, the <cite>Polar Star</cite>, from abroad (the + <cite>Bell</cite> 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. + </p> +<p> + “Is Mr. Nejdanov at home?” + </p> +<p> + They all looked at one another in amazement. + </p> +<p> + “Is Mr. Nejdanov at home?” the baritone repeated. + </p> +<p> + “Yes, he is,” Nejdanov replied at last. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +</div> +<div class="chapter"> +<h2><a id="link2H_4_0005"></a> + III + </h2> +<p> + 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.) + </p> +<p> + “Not at all,” Nejdanov replied awkwardly. “Won’t you sit down?” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “Goodbye, Alexai Dmitritch,” Mashurina exclaimed suddenly. “I will come + again presently.” + </p> +<p> + “And I too,” Ostrodumov added. + </p> +<p> + 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!” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “My name is Sipiagin. You may perhaps have heard of me,” the visitor began + with modest pride. + </p> +<p> + We must first relate how Nejdanov had met him at the theatre. + </p> +<p> + There had been a performance of Ostrovsky’s play <cite>Never Sit in + Another Man’s Sledge</cite>, 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!” + </p> +<p> + “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. + </p> +<p> + 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 <cite>Never Sit in Another Man’s Sledge</cite>. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “I watched you from my box,” the latter remarked, through a perfumed + moustache. “Do you know whom you were speaking to?” + </p> +<p> + “No. Do you? A rather clever chap. Who is he?” + </p> +<p> + 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.* But he looked after him all right. + <i lang="fr">Il lui a fait un sort.</i> 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. <i lang="fr">Il est impossible.</i> Goodbye, + I see my carriage is waiting.” + </p> +<p class="note"> + * The unexpected. + </p> +<p> + The prince separated. + </p> +<p> + The next day Sipiagin noticed Nejdanov’s advertisement in the paper and + went to see him. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + 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?” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + Nejdanov started. + </p> +<p> + “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—” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + Sipiagin spoke without the slightest hesitation, his words flowing from + him as a stream. + </p> +<p> + “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?” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + Sipiagin gave a slight wave of the hand, as if driving away a fly. + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + Nejdanov did not know what to say. + </p> +<p> + “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?” + </p> +<p> + Nejdanov blushed. + </p> +<p> + “That is more than I wanted to ask ... because I—” + </p> +<p> + “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—” + </p> +<p> + He took a black and silver pocketbook out of his overcoat pocket and + pulled out a card. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + 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.” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “You are not in need of any?” Sipiagin asked in a whisper. + </p> +<p> + “I will tell you tomorrow, if I may,” Nejdanov said at last. + </p> +<p> + “Well, goodbye, then. Till tomorrow.” Sipiagin dropped Nejdanov’s hand and + turned to go out. + </p> +<p> + “I should like to know,” Nejdanov asked suddenly, “who told you my name? + You said you heard it at the theatre.” + </p> +<p> + “Someone who is very well known to you. A relative of yours, I think. + Prince G.” + </p> +<p> + “The aide-de-camp?” + </p> +<p> + “Yes.” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +</div> +<div class="chapter"> +<h2><a id="link2H_4_0006"></a> + IV + </h2> +<p> + Sipiagin had barely crossed the threshold when Paklin jumped up, and + rushing across to Nejdanov began showering congratulations upon him. + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + “I have never heard of him,” Nejdanov remarked dejectedly. + </p> +<p> + Paklin threw up his arms in despair. + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “Just a minute!” Paklin interrupted, in his turn. “Talking of enemies + reminds me of Goethe’s lines— + </p> +<p class="poem"> + <i lang="de">Wer den Dichter will versteh’n<br> + Muss im Dichter’s lande geh’n.</i> + </p> +<p class="noindent"> + and I say— + </p> +<p class="poem"> + <i lang="de">Wer den Feinde will versteh’n<br> + Muss im Feinde’s lande geh’n.</i> + </p> +<p class="noindent"> + 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.” + </p> +<p> + “Then what would you have us do?” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “Then what would you have us do?” Nejdanov almost screamed at him. “Would + you have us write preachy novels?” + </p> +<p> + Paklin folded his arms and put his head on one side. + </p> +<p> + “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—’” + </p> +<p> + “It’s all the same to me,” he replied, scratching himself. + </p> +<p> + “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—” + </p> +<p> + “Please don’t talk like that about Ostrodumov before me!” Nejdanov burst + out. “He wears thick boots because they are cheaper!” + </p> +<p> + “I did not mean it in that sense,” Paklin began. + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + Paklin made a sad grimace, and pointed to his scraggy, crippled legs. + </p> +<p> + “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 + <cite>Letters on Spain</cite>. 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?” + </p> +<p> + “I am going away,” Nejdanov said, “to earn my living. And to get away from + you all,” he added to himself. + </p> +<p> + “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 + <cite>Revisor</cite>!” + </p> +<p> + “He discussed me with Prince G.,” Nejdanov remarked dejectedly. “I suppose + he knows my whole history now.” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + Paklin went to the door, but stopped and turned back. + </p> +<p> + “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?” + </p> +<p> + Nejdanov remained motionless, and did not say anything. + </p> +<p> + “Silence means consent! Thanks!” Paklin exclaimed gaily and vanished. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “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. + </p> +<p> + “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. + </p> +<p> + “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—” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + Mashurina came into the room with a firm step. + </p> +<p> + “Ostrodumov asked me to come,” she began deliberately. + </p> +<p> + “He would like to know when we can have the money. If you could get it + today, we could start this evening.” + </p> +<p> + “I can’t get it today,” Nejdanov said with a frown. “Please come + tomorrow.” + </p> +<p> + “At what time?” + </p> +<p> + “Two o’clock.” + </p> +<p> + “Very well.” + </p> +<p> + Mashurina was silent for a while and then extended her hand. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + 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.” + </p> +<p> + A glad smile lit up Mashurina’s face. + </p> +<p> + “Near S. did you say? Then we may see each other again perhaps. They might + send us there!” Mashurina sighed. “Oh, Alexai Dmitritch—” + </p> +<p> + “What is it?” Nejdanov asked. + </p> +<p> + Mashurina looked intense. + </p> +<p> + “Oh, nothing. Goodbye. It’s nothing.” She squeezed Nejdanov’s hand a + second time and went out. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +</div> +<div class="chapter"> +<h2><a id="link2H_4_0007"></a> + V + </h2> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “What do you want, Kolia?” Valentina Mihailovna asked. Her voice was as + soft and velvety as her eyes. + </p> +<p> + “Mamma,” the boy began in confusion, “auntie sent me to get some + lilies-of-the-valley for her room.... She hasn’t got any—” + </p> +<p> + Valentina Mihailovna put her hand under her little boy’s chin and raised + his pomaded head. + </p> +<p> + “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?” + </p> +<p> + “Yes, I can,” the boy whispered. + </p> +<p> + “Well, repeat it then.” + </p> +<p> + “I will say ... I will say ... that you don’t want.” + </p> +<p> + Valentina Mihailovna laughed, and her laugh, too, was soft. + </p> +<p> + “I see that one can’t give you messages as yet. But never mind, tell her + anything you like.” + </p> +<p> + The boy hastily kissed his mother’s hand, adorned with rings, and rushed + out of the room. + </p> +<p> + 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 + <cite>Revue des Deux Mondes</cite> from a round carved table, began + turning over its pages. + </p> +<p> + A respectful cough made her look round. A handsome servant in livery and a + white cravat was standing by the door. + </p> +<p> + “What do you want, Agafon?” she asked in the same soft voice. + </p> +<p> + “Simion Petrovitch Kollomietzev is here. Shall I show him in?” + </p> +<p> + “Certainly. And tell Mariana Vikentievna to come to the drawing room.” + </p> +<p> + Valentina Mihailovna threw the <cite>Revue des Deux Mondes</cite> on the + table, raised her eyes upwards as if thinking—a pose which suited her + extremely. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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 <i>l</i> 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. <i lang="fr">Mais quitter la Russie? Jamais!</i> + Kollomietzev was rich and had a great many influential friends. He passed + for a promising, reliable young man <i lang="fr">un peu fèodal dans ses + opinions</i>, 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. + </p> +<p> + “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. + </p> +<p> + Valentina Mihailovna made a grimace. + </p> +<p> + “Would you not have come otherwise?” + </p> +<p> + Kollomietzev drew back a pace, horrified at the imputation. + </p> +<p> + “Valentina Mihailovna!” he exclaimed. “How can you possibly say such a + thing?” + </p> +<p> + “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?” + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + Kollomietzev dropped into an armchair, crossed his legs, and began + leisurely pulling off his left glove. + </p> +<p> + “We are badly in need of such a man as Michael in our province here,” he + remarked. + </p> +<p> + “Why? Are you dissatisfied with things here?” + </p> +<p> + Kollomietzev made a wry face. + </p> +<p> + “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, <i lang="fr">mais bah!</i> they won’t listen to + me. Even your husband—but then he is known to be a confirmed liberal!” + </p> +<p> + Valentina Mihailovna sat up straight. + </p> +<p> + “What do I hear? You opposed to the government, Monsieur Kollomietzev?” + </p> +<p> + “I—not in the least! Never! What an idea! <i lang="fr">Mais j’ai mon franc + parler.</i> I occasionally allow myself to criticise, but am always + obedient.” + </p> +<p> + “And I, on the contrary, never criticise and am never obedient.” + </p> +<p> + “<i lang="fr">Ah! Mais c’est un mot!</i> Do let me repeat it to my friend + <em>Ladislas</em>. <i lang="fr">Vous savez</i>, he is writing a society + novel, read me some of it. Charming! <i lang="fr">Nous aurons enfin le + grand monde russe peint par lui-même.”</i> + </p> +<p> + “Where is it to be published?” + </p> +<p> + “In the <cite>Russian Messenger</cite>, of course. It is our <cite>Revue + des Deux Mondes</cite>. I see you take it, by the way.” + </p> +<p> + “Yes, but I think it rather dull of late.” + </p> +<p> + “Perhaps, perhaps it is. <cite>The Russian Messenger</cite>, too, has also + gone off a bit,” using a colloquial expression. + </p> +<p> + Kollomietzev laughed. It amused him to have said “gone off a bit.” + <i lang="fr">“Mais c’est un journal qui se respecte,”</i> 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, <i lang="fr">parole d’honneur</i>! Of + course, I shall read Ladislas’ novel. <i lang="fr">Il y aura le petit mot + pour rire</i>, and he writes with a purpose! He will completely crush the + nihilists, and I quite agree with him. His ideas <i lang="fr">sont très + correctes</i>.” + </p> +<p> + “That is more than can be said of his past,” Valentina Mihailovna + remarked. + </p> +<p> + <i lang="fr">“Ah! jeton une voile sur les erreurs de sa jeunesse!”</i> + Kollomietzev exclaimed, pulling off his other glove. + </p> +<p> + Valentina Mihailovna half-closed her exquisite eyes and looked at him + coquettishly. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “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, <i lang="fr">de tout + à l’heure, c’est un mot</i>? You could not possibly say ‘this is a word,’ + could you?” + </p> +<p> + “You might say ‘a happy expression.’” + </p> +<p> + Kollomietzev laughed. + </p> +<p> + “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?” + </p> +<p> + “I am afraid you will not convince me. I wonder where Mariana is?” She + rang the bell and a servant entered. + </p> +<p> + “I asked to have Mariana Vikentievna sent here. Has she not been told?” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +</div> +<div class="chapter"> +<h2><a id="link2H_4_0008"></a> + VI + </h2> +<p> + “I am sorry, Valentina Mihailovna,” Mariana said, drawing near to her, “I + was busy and could not get away.” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + “I don’t wonder at it!” + </p> +<p> + “But he simply can’t bear me!” + </p> +<p> + “How extraordinary! Perhaps you tease him.” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + Mariana looked sternly at Valentina Mihailovna and Valentina Mihailovna + looked at her. These two women did not love one another. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + Kollomietzev could not think of a Russian word, and did not like using a + French one, after what his hostess had said. + </p> +<p> + “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?” + </p> +<p> + This was evidently said to make Mariana feel uncomfortable, but Mariana, + however, did not feel uncomfortable. + </p> +<p> + “Yes, auntie,” she replied, “I read everything I can get hold of on the + subject. I am trying to understand the woman question.” + </p> +<p> + “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?” + </p> +<p> + Kollomietzev smiled good-naturedly; he could not help entering into the + playful mood of his amiable hostess. + </p> +<p> + “Mariana Vikentievna,” he began, “is still full of the ideals ... the + romanticism of youth ... which ... in time—” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “Of course. So am I in a way,” Kollomietzev put in hastily. “Only I would + forbid such things being talked about!” + </p> +<p> + “Forbid them being talked about?” Mariana asked in astonishment. + </p> +<p> + “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. + </p> +<p> + “I would, at any rate, forbid speaking through <em>the press</em> under + any conditions!” + </p> +<p> + Valentina Mihailovna laughed. + </p> +<p> + “What? Would you have a commission appointed by the ministers for settling + these questions?” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + Valentina Mihailovna laughed louder still. + </p> +<p> + “You had better take care, Boris Andraevitch is sometimes such a Jacobin—” + </p> +<p> + “Jacko, jacko, jacko,” the parrot screamed. + </p> +<p> + Valentina Mihailovna waved her handkerchief at him. + </p> +<p> + “Don’t interrupt an intelligent conversation! Mariana, do teach him + manners!” + </p> +<p> + Mariana turned to the cage and began stroking the parrot’s neck with her + finger; the parrot stretched towards her. + </p> +<p> + “Yes,” Valentina Mihailovna continued, “Boris Andraevitch astonishes me, + too, sometimes. There is a certain strain in him ... a certain strain ... + of the tribune.” + </p> +<p> + <i lang="fr">“C’est parce qu’il est orateur!”</i> Kollomietzev exclaimed + enthusiastically in French. “Your husband is a marvellous orator and is + accustomed to success ... <i lang="fr">ses propres paroles le + grisent</i> ... and then his desire for popularity.... By the way, he is + rather annoyed just now, is he not? <i lang="fr">Il boude?</i> Eh?” + </p> +<p> + Valentina Mihailovna looked at Mariana. + </p> +<p> + “I haven’t noticed it,” she said after a pause. + </p> +<p> + “Yes,” Kollomietzev continued pensively, “he was rather overlooked at + Easter.” + </p> +<p> + Valentina Mihailovna indicated Mariana with her eyes. + </p> +<p> + 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?” + </p> +<p> + Mariana turned round from the cage. + </p> +<p> + “Are you interested to know, Simion Petrovitch?” + </p> +<p> + “Certainly. I am very much interested.” + </p> +<p> + “Would you forbid it?” + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + “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?” + </p> +<p> + Mariana blushed deeply all the time she was speaking, as if it cost her + some effort. She was still very self-conscious. + </p> +<p> + “Are you not sufficiently prepared?” Valentina Mihailovna asked + sarcastically. + </p> +<p> + “Perhaps not.” + </p> +<p> + “Heavens!” Kollomietzev exclaimed. “What do I hear? Oh ye gods! Is + preparation necessary to teach peasants the alphabet?” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +</div> +<div class="chapter"> +<h2><a id="link2H_4_0009"></a> + VII + </h2> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + Nejdanov gazed and listened, drinking in the cool air through half-parted + lips. + </p> +<p> + His depression left him and a wonderful calmness entered his soul. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + 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 + <i lang="fr">seigneur et maître</i>, + 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.... + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “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. + </p> +<p> + 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!” + </p> +<p> + Valentina Mihailovna frowned, and remarked that it was + <i lang="fr">de très mauvais goût</i>. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “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?” + </p> +<p> + “Tveritinov was only slightly wrong,” Kollomietzev said solemnly. “Not the + peasants will march with the torch, but others.” + </p> +<p> + 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.” + </p> +<p> + 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.” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “Why, of course!” Sipiagin exclaimed; “I’ve forgotten that you only smoke + your own particular cigarettes!” + </p> +<p> + “A curious taste!” Kollomietzev muttered between his teeth. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “Yes,” Nejdanov remarked dryly. This was the first remark he had made to + Madame Sipiagina. + </p> +<p> + “I don’t smoke,” she continued, screwing up her velvety eyes caressingly. + “I suppose I am behind the times.” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + They all went in to drink tea in the drawing room. + </p> +<p> + “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”. “<i lang="fr">Charmant! Charmant! + quel touché!</i>” 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + At this moment the watchman knocked loudly with his stick and called out, + “I say there—” + </p> +<p> + “Take care,” answered another doleful voice. + </p> +<p> + “Fugh! Heavens! It’s like being in prison!” Nejdanov exclaimed. + </p> +</div> +<div class="chapter"> +<h2><a id="link2H_4_0010"></a> + VIII + </h2> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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— + </p> +<p class="poem"> + Behind a cravat, frock coat to the heels ...<br> + Moustache, squeaky voice—and heavy glance. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + The following day, the 9th of May, was Kolia’s patron-saint’s day. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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! + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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.” + </p> +<p> + “I have the honour of knowing his Holiness personally,” Sipiagin said + solemnly. “A most worthy pastor!” + </p> +<p> + “Most worthy!” Father Kiprian agreed; “only he puts too much faith in the + ecclesiastical superintendents!” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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, <i lang="la">laboremus!</i> 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. + </p> +<p> + Nejdanov exchanged glances with Mariana again.... + </p> +<p> + They no doubt felt the same, but they did not speak to each other. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + On the following day lessons were renewed, and life fell back in its + ordinary rut. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “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....” + </p> +<p> + Here followed a description of Mariana’s personal appearance and of all + her habits; then he continued: + </p> +<p> + “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 <em>other’s</em> brows + twitch nervously when she is speaking to her patroness. She is a most + highly-strong individual, like myself, and is just as easily + <em>upset</em> as I am, although perhaps not in the same way. + </p> +<p> + “When all this can be disentangled, I will write to you again. + </p> +<p> + “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? + </p> +<p> + “Have you read the article in the <cite>European Messenger</cite> 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....” + </p> +</div> +<div class="chapter"> +<h2><a id="link2H_4_0011"></a> + IX + </h2> +<p> + May had reached its second half; the first hot summer days had already set + in. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + Nejdanov was suddenly awakened by approaching footsteps. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + Suddenly a deep man’s voice was heard to say: + </p> +<p> + “Is this your last word? Never?” + </p> +<p> + “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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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 <i lang="fr">beaufrère’a</i>, Valentina Mihailovna’s + brother—Sergai Mihailovitch Markelov. + </p> +<p> + “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. + </p> +<p> + 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!” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “Why, my dear <em>Serge</em>, 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.” + </p> +<p> + “My sister is fond of joking,” Markelov said to Nejdanov in his turn, “but + I am prepared to agree with her; for <em>one</em> man to take a quarter of + what belongs to a <em>hundred</em>, is certainly too much.” + </p> +<p> + “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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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 <i lang="fr">bon mots</i>, + although he thought <i lang="fr">qu’il est un affreux réactionnaire</i>. + Kollomietzev declared, among other things, how he went into raptures at + what the peasants, <i lang="fr">oui, oui! les simples mougiks!</i> call + lawyers. “Liars! Liars!” he shouted with delight. <i lang="fr">“Ce peuple + russe est délicieux!”</i> 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! + </p> +<p> + “But,” Valentina Mihailovna remarked, “I don’t know myself what are these + animals!” + </p> +<p> + “Madame!” Kollomietzev exclaimed, “there is no necessity for you to know!” + </p> +<p> + “Then why should the peasants know?” + </p> +<p> + “Because it is better for them to know about these animals than about + Proudhon or Adam Smith!” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + After dinner Markelov went into the billiard room to smoke a pipe, and + Nejdanov withdrew into his own room. + </p> +<p> + In the corridor he ran against Mariana. He wanted to slip past her, when + she stopped him with a quick movement of the hand. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “It did seem a little strange to me—” Nejdanov began. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + She turned away and walked quickly down the corridor. + </p> +<p> + 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!” + </p> +<p> + Thus Nejdanov pondered, while he was being discussed on the terrace below; + every word could be heard distinctly. + </p> +<p> + “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 <i lang="fr">avec Ladislas</i>, 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!” + </p> +<p> + Kollomietzev forgot to add that this old man, when put into prison, + refused to take any food and starved himself to death. + </p> +<p> + “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?” + </p> +<p> + “Why should he?” Madame Sipiagina asked; “on the contrary, that is what I + like about him.” + </p> +<p> + “I am a guest in the house in which he serves,” Kollomietzev exclaimed, + “yes, serves for money, <i lang="fr">comme un salarié</i>.... Consequently + I am his superior.... He <em>ought</em> to bow to me first.” + </p> +<p> + “My dear Kollomietzev, you are very particular,” Sipiagin put in, laying + special stress on the word <em>dear</em>. “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.” + </p> +<p> + “He does not feel the bridle, <i lang="fr">le frein!</i> All these + revolutionists are like that. I tell you I can smell them from afar! Only + <em>Ladislas</em> 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!” + </p> +<p> + “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. + </p> +</div> +<div class="chapter"> +<h2><a id="link2H_4_0012"></a> + X + </h2> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “Yes,” Nejdanov replied. + </p> +<p> + Markelov took an unsealed letter out of a side pocket. + </p> +<p> + “In that case, please read this. It is from Vassily Nikolaevitch,” he + added, lowering his voice significantly. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + Nejdanov extended his hand to Markelov, offered him a chair, and sat down + himself. + </p> +<p> + Markelov, without saying a word, began lighting a cigarette; Nejdanov + followed his example. + </p> +<p> + “Have you managed to come in contact with the peasants here?” Markelov + asked at last. + </p> +<p> + “No, I haven’t had time as yet.” + </p> +<p> + “How long have you been here?” + </p> +<p> + “About a fortnight.” + </p> +<p> + “Have you much to do?” + </p> +<p> + “Not very much.” + </p> +<p> + Markelov gave a severe cough. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “Your brother-in-law’s old serfs, as far as one can judge, do not seem to + be poor,” Nejdanov remarked. + </p> +<p> + “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?” + </p> +<p> + “Yes, a few.” + </p> +<p> + “I will get you some more. How is it you have so few?” + </p> +<p> + Nejdanov made no reply. Markelov also ceased, and began sending out puffs + of smoke through his nostrils. + </p> +<p> + “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 <em>doing</em> + stupid things.” + </p> +<p> + Nejdanov nodded his head and Markelov went on smoking. + </p> +<p> + “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?” + </p> +<p> + “I think that she is a very kind and pleasant lady ... besides, she is + very beautiful.” + </p> +<p> + “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?” + </p> +<p> + “I have a rehearsal with him at three o’clock.” + </p> +<p> + “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?” + </p> +<p> + “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.... + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “I must tell them. I don’t think it would be wise to go away without doing + so.” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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.... + </p> +<p> + “Drink will be the ruin of the Russian!” Markelov remarked gloomily. + </p> +<p> + “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. + </p> +<p> + “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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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.” + </p> +</div> +<div class="chapter"> +<h2><a id="link2H_4_0013"></a> + XI + </h2> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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.... + </p> +<p> + “Is that the man who manages a cotton factory?” Nejdanov asked, recalling + what Sipiagin had said of him at table. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “And what about your own people?” Nejdanov asked of Markelov. “Are there + any reliable men among them?” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “Who is this Kisliakov?” Nejdanov asked impatiently. + </p> +<p> + Markelov smiled significantly. + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + Nejdanov went on to ask Markelov if he had made any socialist experiments + on his own estate, but here Ostrodumov interrupted him. + </p> +<p> + “What is the good of all that?” he asked. “All the same, it will have to + be altered afterwards.” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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?” + </p> +<p> + He immediately became indignant at his own self-depreciation. + </p> +<p> + “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—” + </p> +<p> + He pushed back his hair with an angry gesture, ground his teeth, undressed + hurriedly, and jumped into the cold, damp bed. + </p> +<p> + “Goodnight, I am your neighbour,” Mashurina’s voice was heard from the + other side of the door. + </p> +<p> + “Goodnight,” Nejdanov responded, and remembered suddenly that during the + whole evening she had not taken her eyes off him. + </p> +<p> + “What does she want?” he muttered to himself, and instantly felt ashamed. + “If only I could get to sleep!” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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.” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “What is the matter with you?” Nejdanov asked. + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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!” + </p> +<p> + 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.” + </p> +<p> + 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! + </p> +<p> + “Oh, by the way, what about those letters you wanted to show me? What is + the fellow’s name ... Kisliakov?” Nejdanov asked. + </p> +<p> + “Later on ... I will show them to you later on. We can do it all at the + same time.” + </p> +<p> + The carriage moved. + </p> +<p> + “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. + </p> +<p> + Mashurina sat smoking silently all the way, but when they reached the town + gates she gave a loud sigh. + </p> +<p> + “I feel so sorry for Sergai Mihailovitch,” she remarked, her face + darkening. + </p> +<p> + “He is over-worked, and it seems to me his affairs are in a bad way,” + Nejdanov said. + </p> +<p> + “I was not thinking of that.” + </p> +<p> + “What were you thinking of then?” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + Nejdanov looked at her. + </p> +<p> + “Do you know anything about him?” + </p> +<p> + “Nothing whatever, but you can see for yourself. Goodbye, Alexai + Dmitritch.” Mashurina clambered out of the carriage. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + A beautiful face smiled to him out of the window. It was Madame Sipiagina + welcoming him back home. + </p> +<p> + “What glorious eyes she has!” he thought. + </p> +</div> +<div class="chapter"> +<h2><a id="link2H_4_0014"></a> + XII + </h2> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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? + </p> +<p> + 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: + </p> +<p class="poem"> + When I die, dear friend, remember<br> + This desire I tell to thee:<br> + Burn thou to the last black ember<br> + All my heart has writ for me.<br> + Let the fairest flowers surround me,<br> + Sunlight laugh about my bed,<br> + Let the sweetest of musicians<br> + To the door of death be led.<br> + Bid them sound no strain of sadness—<br> + Muted string or muffled drum;<br> + Come to me with songs of gladness—<br> + Whirling in the wild waltz come!<br> + I would hear—ere yet I hear not—<br> + Trembling strings their cadence keep,<br> + Chords that quiver: so I also<br> + Tremble as I fall asleep.<br> + Memories of life and laughter,<br> + Memories of earthly glee,<br> + As I go to the hereafter<br> + All my lullaby shall be. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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! + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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.... + </p> +<p> + “Have you anything to say to me?” he asked involuntarily. + </p> +<p> + Mariana did not reply for a time. + </p> +<p> + “No ... yes I have, though not now.” + </p> +<p> + “When?” + </p> +<p> + “You must wait awhile. Perhaps—tomorrow, perhaps—never. I know + so little—what are you really like?” + </p> +<p> + “But,” Nejdanov began, “I sometimes feel ... that between us—” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + Nejdanov took a step or two in advance, but turned back suddenly. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “With pleasure.... But it was not the school about which I wished to speak + to you.” + </p> +<p> + “What was it then?” + </p> +<p> + “Tomorrow,” Mariana repeated. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +</div> +<div class="chapter"> +<h2><a id="link2H_4_0015"></a> + XIII + </h2> +<p> + She came up to him first. + </p> +<p> + “Mr. Nejdanov,” she began, “it seems that you are quite enchanted with + Valentina Mihailovna.” + </p> +<p> + She turned down the avenue without waiting for a reply; he walked by her + side. + </p> +<p> + “What makes you think so?” + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + Nejdanov did not utter a word, but looked at his companion sideways. + </p> +<p> + “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—” + </p> +<p> + Mariana’s voice gave way. She suddenly flushed with emotion; under emotion + she always gave one the impression of being angry. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + She bent down, tore off a small mushroom, broke it to pieces, and threw it + away. + </p> +<p> + “You are quite mistaken, Mariana Vikentievna,” Nejdanov remarked. “On the + contrary, I am pleased to think that I inspire you with confidence.” + </p> +<p> + This was not true, the idea had only just occurred to him. + </p> +<p> + Mariana glanced at him for a moment. Until then she had persistently + looked away from him. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “Are you unhappy?” Nejdanov asked. + </p> +<p> + “And you, are you not?” Mariana asked in her turn. Nejdanov did not say + anything. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + 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.” + </p> +<p> + “Why didn’t you—” Nejdanov began, but stopped short. + </p> +<p> + Mariana looked at him for an instant. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + Mariana walked on ahead, as if she wished to save her companion the + necessity of saying anything to this unexpected confession. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “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....” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “Tell me why you think me unhappy,” Nejdanov observed at last. “Do you + know anything about me?” + </p> +<p> + “Yes.” + </p> +<p> + “What do you know? Has anyone been talking to you about me?” + </p> +<p> + “I know about your birth.” + </p> +<p> + “Who told you?” + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + “Why is she mine in particular?” + </p> +<p> + Mariana turned away and resumed her walk down the path. + </p> +<p> + “Because you had such a long conversation together,” she said, a lump + rising in her throat. + </p> +<p> + “I scarcely said a word the whole time,” Nejdanov observed. “It was she + who did the talking.” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “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?” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + Nejdanov looked at her in amazement. + </p> +<p> + “In that case ... everything that you have just told me—” + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + Through the branches of the pines a glimpse of a woman’s dress could be + seen. Mariana drew herself up. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “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?” + </p> +<p> + 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!” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +</div> +<div class="chapter"> +<h2><a id="link2H_4_0016"></a> + XIV + </h2> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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, <em>would not</em> 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. + </p> +<p> + Thus the days went by slowly, with little variety, but with sufficient + interest. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + The mood, however, was abruptly destroyed in a single day. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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 <i lang="fr">Ladislas, notre bon et cher + Ladislas</i>, 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. + </p> +<p> + Nejdanov, hearing the name of <em>Ladislas</em> pronounced at least for + the twentieth time, suddenly flared up and thumping the palm of his hand + on the table burst out: + </p> +<p> + “What an authority! As if we do not know who this Ladislas is! A born spy, + nothing more!” + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + Nejdanov shrugged his shoulders. + </p> +<p> + “A very nice recommendation! Prince Kovrishkin, that enthusiastic flunky—” + </p> +<p> + “Ladislas is my friend,” Kollomietzev screamed, “my comrade—and I—” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + Kollomietzev turned deadly pale with passion. + </p> +<p> + “W-what? How? You—ought to be—on the spot—” + </p> +<p> + “What would you like to do with me <em>on the spot?</em>” 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. + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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—” + </p> +<p> + “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 <cite>Quos ego</cite> was not unfamiliar to him. + He did not consciously compare himself to Neptune, but thought of him with + a kind of sympathetic feeling. + </p> +</div> +<div class="chapter"> +<h2><a id="link2H_4_0017"></a> + XV + </h2> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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 + <em>you</em> came to me?” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “Yes ... I—” he murmured. + </p> +<p> + “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. + </p> +<p> + “We had better go in here, Alexai Dmitritch, no one will disturb us here.” + </p> +<p> + Nejdanov obeyed. Mariana put the candlestick on a window-sill and turned + to him. + </p> +<p> + “I understand why you wanted to see me,” she began. “It is wretched for + you to live in this house, and for me too.” + </p> +<p> + “Yes, I wanted to see you, Mariana Vikentievna,” Nejdanov replied, “but I + do not feel wretched here since I’ve come to know you.” + </p> +<p> + Mariana smiled pensively. + </p> +<p> + “Thank you, Alexai Dmitritch. But tell me, do you really intend stopping + here after all that has happened?” + </p> +<p> + “I don’t think they will keep me—I shall be dismissed,” Nejdanov + replied. + </p> +<p> + “But don’t you intend going away of your own accord?” + </p> +<p> + “I ... No!” + </p> +<p> + “Why not?” + </p> +<p> + “Do you want to know the truth? Because <em>you</em> are here.” Mariana + lowered her head and moved a little further down the room. + </p> +<p> + “Besides,” Nejdanov continued, “I <em>must</em> 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!” + </p> +<p> + 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! + </p> +<p> + He ceased at last, and suddenly seemed to see <em>this</em> face for the + first time, although it was so dear and so familiar to him. He gave a deep + sigh. + </p> +<p> + “Ah! how well I did to tell you everything!” He was scarcely able to + articulate the words. + </p> +<p> + “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—” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + A sound of footsteps was heard from the other side of the door—light, + rapid, cautious footsteps. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + The footsteps ceased. + </p> +<p> + “Well?” Mariana asked, turning to Nejdanov. “What shall I do? How shall I + help you? Tell me ... tell me quickly! What shall I do?” + </p> +<p> + “I don’t know yet,” Nejdanov replied. “I have received a note from + Markelov—” + </p> +<p> + “When did you receive it? When?” + </p> +<p> + “This evening. He and I must go and see Solomin at the factory tomorrow.” + </p> +<p> + “Yes ... yes.... What a splendid man Markelov is! Now he’s a real friend!” + </p> +<p> + “Like me?” + </p> +<p> + “No—not like you.” + </p> +<p> + “How?” + </p> +<p> + She turned away suddenly. + </p> +<p> + “Oh! Don’t you understand what you have become for me, and what I am + feeling at this moment?” + </p> +<p> + 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! + </p> +<p> + He raised his head and encountered her eyes fixed on him again. + </p> +<p> + Oh, how this sweet, bright glance penetrated to his very soul! + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “Oh, my dear!” Mariana exclaimed, seizing his hand again. “I promise thee + the same!” + </p> +<p> + The word “thee” escaped her lips just as simply and easily as if they had + been old comrades. + </p> +<p> + “Have you got the letter?” + </p> +<p> + “Here it is.” + </p> +<p> + Mariana scanned the letter and looked up at him almost reverently. + </p> +<p> + “Do they entrust you with such important commissions?” + </p> +<p> + He smiled in reply and put the letter back in his pocket. + </p> +<p> “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.” + </p> +<p> + “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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +</div> +<div class="chapter"> +<h2><a id="link2H_4_0018"></a> + XVI + </h2> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + Thus Nejdanov thought, and he did not himself suspect how much truth and + how much falsehood there lay in his reflections. + </p> +<p> + 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.) + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + Nejdanov looked at Markelov. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “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?” + </p> +<p> + “Not in the least.” + </p> +<p> + “He is the biggest skinflint in Moscow. A regular bourgeois.” + </p> +<p> + 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 <i lang="la">factotum</i>. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “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?” + </p> +<p> + “Yes.” + </p> +<p> + “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. + </p> +<p> + “Until the day after tomorrow.” + </p> +<p> + “That’s all right. We can stay the night at your place, Sergai + Mihailovitch, I suppose?” + </p> +<p> + “Of course you may!” + </p> +<p> + “Good. I shall be ready in a minute. I’ll just make myself a little more + presentable.” + </p> +<p> + “And how are things at your factory?” Nejdanov asked significantly. + </p> +<p> + Solomin looked away. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “Vassily Fedotitch! Is it to be done?” Pavel shouted after Solomin, whom + he had accompanied to the gate. + </p> +<p> + “No, not now,” Solomin replied. “He wanted to know about some night work,” + he explained, turning to his companions. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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.” + </p> +<p> + “And what about the peasants?” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “Then where are we to turn to?” + </p> +<p> + Solomin smiled. + </p> +<p> + “Seek and ye shall find.” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “You might catch cold,” he observed, in answer to the orator’s look of + amazement. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “My dear fellow!” Solomin exclaimed, “I instituted a school and a tiny + hospital, and even then the owner struggled like a bear!” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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! + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + Solomin doubted whether it was worth while going, but agreed to go in the + end. + </p> +</div> +<div class="chapter"> +<h2><a id="link2H_4_0019"></a> + XVII + </h2> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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— + </p> +<p class="poem"> + Love not me, but the idea! + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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 <i lang="fr">joueur</i>, 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.” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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!” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + Neither Solomin nor Nejdanov knew what to say, but Markelov replied + instantly, with that same severity in his face and voice: + </p> +<p> + “Of course we will come.” + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + He accompanied his guests to the door, shouting, “I shall expect you at + three!” + </p> +<p> + “Very well,” Markelov was the only one to reply. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + Markelov raised his head. + </p> +<p> + “Supposing we go into the public garden. The weather is lovely. We can sit + and look at the people.” + </p> +<p> + “Come along.” + </p> +<p> + They moved on; Markelov and Solomin in front, Nejdanov in the rear. + </p> +</div> +<div class="chapter"> +<h2><a id="link2H_4_0020"></a> + XVIII + </h2> +<p> + 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! + </p> +<p> + He limped up to Nejdanov quickly and seized his hand. + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + Nejdanov responded to his friend’s request, introduced them to each other, + explaining who each was, where he lived, his profession, and so on. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “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?” + </p> +<p> + “We are going to dine with a certain Golushkin—a merchant here,” + Nejdanov replied. + </p> +<p> + “At what time?” + </p> +<p> + “At three o’clock.” + </p> +<p> + “Are you going to see him on account ... on account—” + </p> +<p> + Paklin looked at Solomin who was smiling and at Markelov who sat enveloped + in his gloom. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “Golushkin is also one of us,” Nejdanov observed. + </p> +<p> + “Why, that’s splendid! It is still a long way off from three o’clock. + Suppose we go and see my relatives!” + </p> +<p> + “What an idea! How can we——” + </p> +<p> + “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?” + </p> +<p> + “I really don’t know,” Nejdanov began. + </p> +<p> + “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—” + </p> +<p> + “Stagnant water,” Markelov put in. + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + “Well,” Nejdanov exclaimed, “let us go at once!” + </p> +<p> + “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—” + </p> +<p> + “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?” + </p> +<p> + Markelov shrugged his shoulders impatiently. + </p> +<p> + “You can hardly leave me here alone! We may as well go, I suppose.” The + young people rose from the seat. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “Are there really such people?” Nejdanov asked. + </p> +<p> + “They are scarce, but there are,” Paklin replied. + </p> +</div> +<div class="chapter"> +<h2><a id="link2H_4_0021"></a> + XIX + </h2> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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!” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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 <cite>Pleasant Recreations</cite>, + <cite>The World’s Mirror</cite>, or <cite>Aonides</cite>, 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— + </p> +<p> + “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— + </p> +<p class="poem"> + The universe is steeped in calm,<br> + The delightful sparkling dew<br> + Soothing nature like a balm<br> + Gives to her, her life anew.<br> + Tersis alone with aching heart,<br> + Is torn by sadness and dismay,<br> + When dear Aneta doth depart<br> + What is there to make him gay? + </p> +<p class="noindent"> + And the impromptu composition of a certain captain who had visited the + place in the year 1790, dated May 6th— + </p> +<p class="poem"> + N’er shall I forget thee,<br> + Village that to love I’ve grown,<br> + But I ever shall regret thee<br> + And the hours so quickly flown,<br> + Hours which I was honoured in<br> + Spending with your owner’s kin,<br> + The five dearest days of my life will hold<br> + Passed amongst most worthy people,<br> + Merry ladies, young and old,<br> + And other interesting people. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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.” + </p> +<p> + The visitors came upon Fomishka and Fimishka at the very minute when they + had awakened from their afternoon nap and were drinking bilberry wine. + </p> +<p> + “We are going into the eighteenth century!” Paklin exclaimed as they + crossed the threshold of the Subotchevs’ house. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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!” + </p> +<p> + At last Kalliopitch made his appearance in his old coat, and opening the + drawing-room door announced in a loud voice: + </p> +<p> + “Sila Samsonitch with some other gentlemen, sir!” + </p> +<p> + 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.” + </p> +<p> + Fomishka and Fimishka had a horror of governmental, that is to say, + official people. + </p> +<p> + Snandulia, who appeared at her brother’s request, was far more disturbed + and agitated than the old couple. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “This was I!” he added after a pause, with a modest smile. + </p> +<p> + “Really!” Nejdanov exclaimed, “were you ever a hunting man?” + </p> +<p> + “Yes. I was for a time. Once the horse threw me at full gallop and I + injured my <i>kurpey</i>. Fimishka got frightened and forbade me; so I + have given it up since then.” + </p> +<p> + “What did you injure?” Nejdanov asked. + </p> +<p> + “My <i>kurpey</i>,” Fomishka repeated, lowering his voice. + </p> +<p> + The visitors looked at one another. No one knew what <i>kurpey</i> meant; + at least, Markelov knew that the tassel on a Cossack or Circassian cap was + called a <i>kurpey</i>, but then how could Fomishka have injured that? + But no one dared to question him further. + </p> +<p> + “Well, now that you have shown off,” Fimishka remarked suddenly, “I will + show off too.” And going up to a small <i lang="fr">bonheur du jour</i>, + 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. + </p> +<p> + “And that was I,” she said. + </p> +<p> + “Really?” + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + The guests praised his work; Paklin even declared that he saw a certain + likeness. + </p> +<p> + Here Fomishka began to express his views on the modern French, saying that + they had become very wicked nowadays! + </p> +<p> + “What makes you think so, Foma Lavrentievitch?” + </p> +<p> + “Look at the awful names they give themselves nowadays!” + </p> +<p> + “What, for instance?” + </p> +<p> + “Nogent Saint Lorraine, for instance! A regular brigand’s name!” + </p> +<p> + Fomishka asked incidentally who reigned in Paris now, and when told that + it was Napoleon, was surprised and pained at the information. + </p> +<p> + “How?... Such an old man—” he began and stopped, looking round in + confusion. + </p> +<p> + Fomishka had but a poor knowledge of French, and read Voltaire in + translation; he always kept a translated manuscript of + <cite>Candide</cite> in the bible box at the head of his bed. He used to + come out with expressions like: “This, my dear, is <i>fausse parquet</i>,” + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “What is it?” + </p> +<p> + “Supposing one wants to ask in French, ‘What is it?’ must one say + ‘Kese-kese-kese-la?’” + </p> +<p> + “Yes.” + </p> +<p> + “And can one also say ‘Kese-kese-la?’” + </p> +<p> + “Yes.” + </p> +<p> + “And simply ‘Kese-la?’” + </p> +<p> + “Yes, that’s right.” + </p> +<p> + “And does it mean the same thing?” + </p> +<p> + “Yes, it does.” + </p> +<p> + Fimishka thought awhile, then threw up her arms. + </p> +<p> + “Well, Silushka,” she exclaimed; “I am wrong and you are right. But these + Frenchmen.... How smart they are!” + </p> +<p> + 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.” + </p> +<p> + Fomisha began— + </p> +<p class="poem"> + “In love God gave a heart<br> + Of burning passion to inspire<br> + That loving heart with warm desire.”<br><br> + “But there is agony in bliss” + </p> +<p> + Fimishka chimed in. + </p> +<p class="poem"> + “And passion free from pain there is,<br> + Ah! where, where? tell me, tell me this,”<br><br> + “Ah! where, where? Tell me, tell me this,” + </p> +<p> + Fomisha put in. + </p> +<p class="poem"> + “Ah! where, where? tell me, tell me this,” + </p> +<p> + Fimishka repeated. + </p> +<p class="poem"> + “Nowhere in all the world, nowhere,<br> + Love bringeth grief and black despair,” + </p> +<p> + they sang together, + </p> +<p class="poem"> + “And that, love’s gift is everywhere,” + </p> +<p> + Fomisha sang out alone. + </p> +<p> + “Bravo!” Paklin exclaimed. “We have had the first verse, now please sing + us the second.” + </p> +<p> + “With the greatest of pleasure,” Fomishka said, “but what about the trill, + Snandulia Samsonovna? After my verse there must be a trill.” + </p> +<p> + “Very well, I will play your trill,” Snandulia replied. + </p> +<p> + Fomishka began again— + </p> +<p class="poem"> + “Has ever lover lovéd true<br> + And kept his heart from grief and rue?<br> + He loveth but to weep anew” + </p> +<p> + and then Fimishka— + </p> +<p class="poem"> + “Yea—hearts that love at last are riven<br> + As ships that hopelessly have striven<br> + For life. To what end were they given?”<br><br> + “To what end were they given?” + </p> +<p> + Fomishka warbled out and waited for Snandulia to play the trill. + </p> +<p class="poem"> + “To what end were they given?” + </p> +<p> + he repeated, and then they struck up together— + </p> +<p class="poem"> + “Then take, Oh God, the heart away,<br> + Away, away, take hearts away,<br> + Away, away, away today.” + </p> +<p> + “Bravo! Bravo!” the company exclaimed, all with exception of Markelov. + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + Solomin’s habitual smile became even broader, while Markelov, who had been + for some time showing signs of impatience, suddenly turned to Fomishka: + </p> +<p> + “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. + </p> +<p> + Fomishka went red in the face and muttered: “You see ... it is not my + fault ... she herself——” + </p> +<p> + Pufka simply flew at Markelov. + </p> +<p> + “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. + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + 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!” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + God knows how it would have ended had not Paklin intervened. + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + Fimishka glanced at her husband, who seemed completely reassured, so she + too quieted down. + </p> +<p> + “I have quite forgotten how to tell fortunes, my dear. It is such a long + time since I held the cards in my hand.” + </p> +<p> + But quite of her own accord she took an extraordinary, ancient pack of + cards out of Snandalia’s hand. + </p> +<p> + “Whose fortune shall I tell?” + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + She began shuffling the cards, but threw them down suddenly. + </p> +<p> + “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—” + </p> +<p> + She pointed to Nejdanov, but hesitated. + </p> +<p> + “Well?” he asked; “do please tell me what sort of a man I am.” + </p> +<p> + “What sort of a man are you,” Fimishka repeated slowly. “You are + pitiable—that is all!” + </p> +<p> + “Pitiable! But why?” + </p> +<p> + “Just so. I pity you—that is all I can say.” + </p> +<p> + “But why do you pity me?” + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + There was a brief silence—they all looked at one another, but did + not utter a word. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “Goodbye, goodbye, come again. Don’t be on ceremony,” Fomishka and + Fimishka exclaimed together. Then Fomishka suddenly drawled out: + </p> +<p> + “Many, many, many years of life. Many—” + </p> +<p> + “Many, many,” Kalliopitch chimed in quite unexpectedly, when opening the + door for the young men to pass out. + </p> +<p> + The whole four suddenly found themselves in the street before the squat + little house, while Pufka’s voice was heard from within: + </p> +<p> + “You fools!” she cried. “You fools!” + </p> +<p> + Paklin laughed aloud, but no one responded. + </p> +<p> + Markelov looked at each in + turn, as though he expected to hear some expression of indignation. + Solomin alone smiled his habitual smile. + </p> +</div> +<div class="chapter"> +<h2><a id="link2H_4_0022"></a> + XX + </h2> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “Why, do you know him?” + </p> +<p> + “What a question! Did you know my poll-parrots?” + </p> +<p> + “No, but you introduced us.” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “Yes,” Markelov muttered, “I have certainly noticed an absence of + formality about the people here.” + </p> +<p> + Paklin shook his head. + </p> +<p> + “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—” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + Solomin first shrugged one shoulder, then the other. It was a habit of his + when he did not quite know what to say. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + Paklin threatened him with his finger. + </p> +<p> + “Oh! I see, you can be wicked too if you like! However, you are also + coming to Golushkin’s, are you not?” + </p> +<p> + “Of course I am. I have wasted the day as it is.” + </p> +<p> + “Well then, <i lang="fr">en avant, marchons!</i> To the twentieth century! + To the twentieth century! Nejdanov, you are an advanced man, lead the + way!” + </p> +<p> + “Very well, come along; only don’t keep on repeating the same jokes lest + we should think you are running short.” + </p> +<p> + “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. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + Markelov walked in silence behind the others. + </p> +<p> + 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 <i lang="fr">pâtés + chauds</i> and fricassés and, most important of all, several bottles of + champagne had been procured and put into ice. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “Well, gentlemen, let us go to dinner,” Golushkin exclaimed. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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!” + </p> +<p> + “Is your governor a fool then?” Paklin asked. + </p> +<p> + “I told you he was an ass!” + </p> +<p> + “By the way, does he speak in a hoarse voice or through his nose?” + </p> +<p> + “What do you mean?” Golushkin asked somewhat bewildered. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + Golushkin roared with laughter till the tears rolled down his cheeks. + </p> +<p> + “Yes, yes,” he spluttered, “if he talks through his nose ... then he’s an + army man!” + </p> +<p> + “You idiot!” Paklin thought to himself. + </p> +<p> + “Everything is rotten in this country, wherever you may turn!” he bawled + out after a pause. “Everything is rotten, everything!” + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + “I am drinking, Kapiton Andraitch,” the clerk observed, emptying a glass + down his throat. + </p> +<p> + Golushkin followed his suit. + </p> +<p> + “I wonder he doesn’t burst!” Paklin whispered to Nejdanov. + </p> +<p> + “He’s used to it!” the latter replied. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “We don’t want moderates,” Markelov said angrily. + </p> +<p> + “The moderates have so far been working among the upper classes,” Solomin + remarked, “and we must go for the lower.” + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + “What is the use of extreme measures? It’s like jumping out of the + window.” + </p> +<p> + “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?” + </p> +<p> + The clerk finished his glass of champagne. + </p> +<p> + “Where you go, Kapiton Andraitch, there I follow. I shouldn’t dare do + otherwise.” + </p> +<p> + “You had better not, or I’ll make mincemeat of you!” + </p> +<p> + Soon a perfect babel followed. + </p> +<p> + 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 <em>pro</em>gymnasium?” + </p> +<p> + 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!” + </p> +<p> + 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!” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + They all felt giddy as soon as they got out into the fresh air, especially + Paklin. + </p> +<p> + “Well, where are we going to now?” he asked with an effort. + </p> +<p> + “I don’t know were you are going, but I’m going home,” Solomin replied. + </p> +<p> + “Back to the factory?” + </p> +<p> + “Yes.” + </p> +<p> + “Now, at night, and on foot?” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “But hang it all, it’s four miles!” + </p> +<p> + “I wouldn’t mind if it were more. Good-bye, gentlemen.” + </p> +<p> + Solomin buttoned his coat, pulled his cap over his forehead, lighted a + cigar, and walked down the street with long strides. + </p> +<p> + “And where are you going to?” Paklin asked, turning to Nejdanov. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “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. + </p> +</div> +<div class="chapter"> +<h2><a id="link2H_4_0023"></a> + XXI + </h2> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “I hope we’re not going to lose our way!” Nejdanov remarked; he had been + quite silent until then. + </p> +<p> + “I don’t think so,” Markelov responded. “Two misfortunes never happen in + one day.” + </p> +<p> + “But what was the first misfortune?” + </p> +<p> + “A day wasted for nothing. Is that of no importance?” + </p> +<p> + “Yes ... certainly ... and then this Golushkin! We shouldn’t have drank so + much wine. My head is simply splitting.” + </p> +<p> + “I wasn’t thinking of Golushkin. We got some money from him at any rate, + so our visit wasn’t altogether wasted.” + </p> +<p> + “But surely you’re not really sorry that Paklin took us to his ... what + did he call them ... poll-parrots?” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “What was it then?” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + Markelov drew himself up. + </p> +<p> + “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 <em>believes</em> in our cause, believes in the + revolution! And I must say that <em>you</em>, Alexai Dmitritch, are very + luke-warm—<em>you</em> don’t believe in our cause!” + </p> +<p> + “What makes you think so?” Nejdanov asked slowly. + </p> +<p> + “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, + <em>you</em> ... couldn’t have done that, today at any rate!” + </p> +<p> + “Today? Why not today in particular?” + </p> +<p> + “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. + </p> +<p> + “I’m afraid I don’t quite understand you,” Nejdanov observed. + </p> +<p> + Markelov gave a forced, malicious laugh. + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + 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: + </p> +<p> + “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?” + </p> +<p> + “I understand now,” Nejdanov began; “I understand your vexation and can + guess ... who spied on us and lost no time in letting you know—” + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + The last sentence Markelov pronounced abruptly and hurriedly, but suddenly + stopped as if turned to stone. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “That’s our place,” the coachman observed. “Gee up, my pretties!” + </p> +<p> + The lights became more and more numerous as they drove on. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + Markelov did not reply at once. + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + Nejdanov held out his hand irresolutely—Markelov squeezed it so hard + that he could almost have cried out. + </p> +<p> + The carriage stopped at the door of the house. + </p> +<p> + “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 “<em>thou</em>” 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.” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “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—” + </p> +<p> + He stopped. It was the first time he had pronounced her name and it seemed + to burn his lips. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “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—” + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + “Yes,” Nejdanov thought to himself, “she does hate us.” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + Nejdanov did not reply. + </p> +<p> + “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 + <em>all</em> 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!” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + He got up, dragged himself into his bedroom, and came back with a small + portrait of Mariana in a glazed frame. + </p> +<p> + “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—” + </p> +<p> + Markelov ceased; his chest heaved visibly. + </p> +<p> + “Take it. You are not angry with me, are you? Well, take it then. It’s no + use to me ... now.” + </p> +<p> + 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? + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + The old servant came into the room carrying a candle. Markelov started. + </p> +<p> + “It’s time we were in bed, Alexai,” he said. “Morning is wiser than + evening. You shall have the horses tomorrow. Goodbye.” + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + He was filled with a desire to go to Markelov and say to him, “Here, take + back your gift, take it back!” + </p> +<p> + “Ugh! What a miserable thing life is!” he exclaimed. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + The old servant made his appearance with his usual melancholy expression. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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.” + </p> +</div> +<div class="chapter"> +<h2><a id="link2H_4_0024"></a> + XXII + </h2> +<p> + 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. + <i lang="fr">Je n’ai pas eu la main heureuse cette fois-ci</i>, he thought + to himself, still <i lang="fr">j’aurais pu tomber pire.</i> 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. + </p> +<p> + 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! + </p> +<p> + Poor Mariana! Her severe, proud lips had never tasted any man’s kisses. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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.” + </p> +<p> + “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. + </p> +<p> + 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! + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “Well,” she began, “tell me quickly what you’ve decided.” + </p> +<p> + Nejdanov was surprised. + </p> +<p> + “Decided? Why, was it necessary to decide anything just now?” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + She made him come with her. He followed her obediently over the tall thin + grass. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “She wrote to Markelov about it,” Nejdanov remarked. + </p> +<p> + “Did she?” + </p> +<p> + Mariana was silent for a while. She blushed all over, not from shame, but + from another, deeper feeling. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “It’s just like hearing about Nebuchadnezzar,” she remarked. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “Alexai! What is the matter with you?” Mariana asked. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “Did Markelov show you Valentina Mihailovna’s letter?” she asked at last. + </p> +<p> + “Yes, he did.” + </p> +<p> + “Well, and how is he?” + </p> +<p> + “Markelov? He is the most honourable, most unselfish man in existence! + He—” + </p> +<p> + Nejdanov wanted to tell Mariana about the portrait, but pulled himself up + and added, “He is the soul of honour!” + </p> +<p> + “Oh yes, I know.” + </p> +<p> + Mariana became pensive again. She suddenly turned to Nejdanov on the trunk + they were both sitting on and asked quickly: + </p> +<p> + “Well? What have you decided on?” + </p> +<p> + Nejdanov shrugged his shoulders. + </p> +<p> + “I’ve already told you, dear, that we’ve decided nothing as yet; we must + wait a little longer.” + </p> +<p> + “But why?” + </p> +<p> + “Those were our last instructions.” (“I’m lying,” Nejdanov thought to + himself.) + </p> +<p> + “From whom?” + </p> +<p> + “Why, you know ... from Vassily Nikolaevitch. And then we must wait until + Ostrodumov comes back.” + </p> +<p> + Mariana looked questioningly at Nejdanov. “But tell me, have you ever seen + this Vassily Nikolaevitch?” + </p> +<p> + “Yes. I’ve seen him twice ... for a minute or two.” + </p> +<p> + “What is he like? Is he an extraordinary man?” + </p> +<p> + “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.) + </p> +<p> + “What is he like to look at?” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “And what does he talk like?” + </p> +<p> + “He does not talk, he commands.” + </p> +<p> + “Why did they make him leader?” + </p> +<p> + “He is a man of strong character. Won’t give in to anyone. Would sooner + kill if necessary. People are afraid of him.” + </p> +<p> + “And what is Solomin like?” Mariana asked after a pause. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + Nejdanov had described Solomin accurately. + </p> +<p> + Mariana gazed at him for a long, long time, then said, as if to herself: + </p> +<p> + “You have also a nice face. I think it would be easy to get on with you.” + </p> +<p> + Nejdanov was touched; he took her hand again and raised it to his lips. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “What have you done?” + </p> +<p> + “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?” + </p> +<p> + “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?” + </p> +<p> + “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?” + </p> +<p> + “Yes. Only please don’t talk about this any more.... Don’t torture me.” + </p> +<p> + Mariana shook her head. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + Nejdanov looked at her quickly. + </p> +<p> + “Do you think so? I agree with you. Better ruin there, than success here.” + </p> +<p> + Mariana stood up with difficulty. + </p> +<p> + “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—” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + Nejdanov bent down to her waist. + </p> +<p> + “Oh, Mariana!” he whispered. “I am not worthy of you!” + </p> +<p> + She trembled all over. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + 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!” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “Run away?” Nejdanov asked. + </p> +<p> + “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?” + </p> +<p> + “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. + </p> +<p> + Mariana understood him and gave a gentle, blissful sigh. + </p> +<p> + “Then take my hand, dearest—only don’t kiss it—press it + firmly, like a comrade, like a friend—like this!” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +</div> +<div class="chapter"> +<h2><a id="link2H_4_0025"></a> + XXIII + </h2> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “How did you manage to get here at night, Vassily Fedotitch? We didn’t + expect you until tomorrow.” + </p> +<p> + “Oh, that’s all right, Gavrilla. It’s much nicer walking at night.” + </p> +<p> + 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!” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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: + </p> +<p> + “I hope that you will not refuse to take dinner with us <em>quite + simply</em>. 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.” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “What answer am I to take back, sir?” the footman in green livery asked + slowly. + </p> +<p> + Solomin stood for some seconds longer at the window. + </p> +<p> + “I am coming with you,” he announced, shaking back his hair and passing + his hand over his forehead—“just let me get dressed.” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “But ours is a paper-mill, not a spinning-mill,” Valentina Mihailovna + remarked. + </p> +<p> + “It’s all the same, my dear, machines are used in both, and he’s a + mechanic.” + </p> +<p> + “But supposing he turns out to be a specialist!” + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + Valentina Mihailovna smiled. + </p> +<p> + “Do be careful, my dear. You’ve been unfortunate once already with young + men; mind you don’t make a second mistake.” + </p> +<p> + “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 <i lang="la">non bis in idem</i>! Excuse my being pedantic.... It + means, things don’t repeat themselves!” + </p> +<p> + “Don’t you think so? Well, <em>I</em> think that everything in the world + repeats itself ... especially what’s in the nature of things ... and + particularly among young people.” + </p> +<p> + <i lang="fr">“Que voulez-vous dire?”</i> asked Sipiagin, flinging the + pamphlet on the table with a graceful gesture of the hand. + </p> +<p> + <i lang="fr">“Ouvrez les yeux, et vous verrez!”</i> Madame Sipiagina + replied. They always spoke to one another in French. + </p> +<p> + “H’m!” Sipiagin grunted. “Are you referring to that student?” + </p> +<p> + “Yes, I’m referring to him.” + </p> +<p> + “H’m! Has he got anything on here, eh?” (He passed his hand over his + forehead.) + </p> +<p> + “Open your eyes!” + </p> +<p> + “Is it Mariana, eh?” (The second “eh” was pronounced more through the nose + than the first one.) + </p> +<p> + “Open your eyes, I tell you!” + </p> +<p> + Sipiagin frowned. + </p> +<p> + “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. <i lang="fr">J’en sais quelque + chose, madame!</i> I mean this for the others, if only for——” + </p> +<p> + He pointed to a fashionable grey hat lying on a shelf. It belonged to Mr. + Kollomietzev, who had been in Arjanov since the morning. + </p> +<p> + “<i lang="fr">Il est très cassant</i> 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 <em>there</em> not + getting on well?” + </p> +<p> + Sipiagin nodded his head in some indefinite direction, but his wife + understood him. + </p> +<p> + “Open your eyes, I tell you again!” + </p> +<p> + Sipiagin stood up. + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + It turned out that no precautions were necessary, however. Solomin was not + in the least alarmed or embarrassed. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “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. + </p> +<p> + “As soon as you like, I’m quite ready,” Solomin replied. + </p> +<p> + “How awfully good of you! Shall we drive or would you like to walk?” + </p> +<p> + “Is it a long way?” + </p> +<p> + “About half a mile.” + </p> +<p> + “It’s hardly worthwhile bringing out the carriage.” + </p> +<p> + “Very well. Ivan! my hat and stick! Make haste! And you’ll see about some + dinner, little one, won’t you? My hat, quick!” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “Heavens!” she thought. “This mechanic is making me quite nervous!” + </p> +<p> + “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—” + </p> +<p> + “My time is not so very valuable, madame,” he observed. “Besides, I’ve not + come here for long.” + </p> +<p> + <i lang="fr">“Voilà où l’ours a montré sa patte</i>,” 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. + </p> +<p> + “Are you ready, Vassily Fedosaitch?” he asked in a free and easy tone, + half turned towards him. + </p> +<p> + Solomin rose, bowed to Valentina Mihailovna, and walked out behind + Sipiagin. + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + “If you want to call me by my father’s Christian name,” Solomin said + slowly, “then it isn’t Fedosaitch, but Fedotitch.” + </p> +<p> + Sipiagin was taken aback and looked at him over his shoulder. + </p> +<p> + “I’m so sorry, Vassily Fedotitch.” + </p> +<p> + “Please don’t mention it.” + </p> +<p> + As soon as they got outside they ran against Kollomietzev. + </p> +<p> + “Where are you off to?” the latter asked, looking askance at Solomin. “Are + you going to the factory? <i lang="fr">C’est là l’individu en + question?</i>” + </p> +<p> + Sipiagin opened his eyes wide and shook his head slightly by way of + warning. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “May I come with you?” Kollomietzev asked. “You know I’m always ready to + learn.” + </p> +<p> + “Certainly, if you like.” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + <i lang="fr">“C’est une manifestation, mon cher?”</i> Sipiagin muttered + through his teeth. + </p> +<p> + Kollomietzev giggled. + </p> +<p> + <i lang="fr">“Oui, mon cher, une manifestation nécessaire par temps qui + court!”</i> + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “Oh, the order is all right,” Solomin replied, “but I doubt if you can get + anything out of it.” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + Solomin said very little, took no notice of the Little Russian at all, and + went out without saying anything. Sipiagin and Kollomietzev followed him. + </p> +<p> + Sipiagin was so upset that he did not let any one accompany him. He + stamped and ground his teeth with rage. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “Do you consider it degrading for the aristocracy?” Kollomietzev asked. + </p> +<p> + Solomin smiled his habitual broad smile. + </p> +<p> + “Oh dear no! What is there degrading about it? And even if there were, I + don’t think the aristocracy would be overly particular.” + </p> +<p> + “What do you mean?” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “To listen to you one would think that all questions of finance were above + our nobility!” Kollomietzev exclaimed. + </p> +<p> + “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 + <em>regular</em>, 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.” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “The nobility cannot manage these things,” Solomin repeated. + </p> +<p> + “But why, I should like to know? Why?” Kollomietzev almost shouted. + </p> +<p> + “Because there is too much of the bureaucrat about them.” + </p> +<p> + “Bureaucrat?” Kollomietzev laughed maliciously. “I don’t think you quite + realise what you’re saying, Mr. Solomin.” + </p> +<p> + Solomin continued smiling. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “Then please explain what you meant just now!” + </p> +<p> + “With pleasure. I think that every bureaucrat is an outsider and was + always such. The nobility have now become ‘outsiders.’” + </p> +<p> + Kollomietzev laughed louder than ever. + </p> +<p> + “But, my dear sir, I really don’t understand what you mean!” + </p> +<p> + “So much the worse for you. Perhaps you will if you try hard enough.” + </p> +<p> + “Sir!” + </p> +<p> + “Gentlemen, gentlemen,” Sipiagin interposed hastily, trying to catch + someone’s eye, “please, please ... Kallomeitzeff, <i lang="fr">je vous + prie de vous calmer</i>. I suppose dinner will soon be ready. Come along, + gentlemen!” + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + “But why?” + </p> +<p> + “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, <em>not + once</em>, did he address him as Your Excellency! <i lang="fr">Le + vagabond!</i>” + </p> +</div> +<div class="chapter"> +<h2><a id="link2H_4_0026"></a> + XXIV + </h2> +<p> + 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 + <i lang="fr">aux petits soins</i> with him. + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + Valentina Mihailovna said that she would be delighted to be + <i lang="fr">aux petits soins</i> with the new visitor, but it seemed to + her that he had no need of these <i lang="fr">petits soins</i> and took no + notice of them; not rudely in any way, but he was quite indifferent; very + remarkable in a man <i lang="fr">du commun</i>. + </p> +<p> + “Never mind.... Be nice to him just the same!” Sipiagin begged of her. + </p> +<p> + Valentina Mihailovna promised to do what he wanted and fulfilled her + promise conscientiously. She began by having a + <i lang="fr">tête-à-tête</i> 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + Sipiagin evidently possessed some of the characteristics for which certain + of the great Russian bureaucrats are celebrated for. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + At this point Kollomietzev could no longer contain himself. + </p> +<p> + “And so you’ve been in England,” he began, “and no doubt studied the + manners and customs there. Do you think them worth imitating?” + </p> +<p> + “Some yes, others no.” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “No, I had no such opportunity. I moved in quite a different sphere. But I + formed my own ideas about these gentlemen.” + </p> +<p> + “Well, do you think that such a landed gentry is impossible among us? Or + that we ought not to want it in any case?” + </p> +<p> + “In the first place, I certainly do think it impossible, and in the + second, it’s hardly worthwhile wanting such a thing.” + </p> +<p> + “But why, my dear sir?” Kollomietzev asked; the polite tone was intended + to soothe Sipiagin, who sat very uneasily on his chair. + </p> +<p> + “Because in twenty or thirty years your landed gentry won’t be here in any + case.” + </p> +<p> + “What makes you think so?” + </p> +<p> + “Because by that time the land will fall into the hands of people in no + way distinguished by their origin.” + </p> +<p> + “Do you mean the merchants?” + </p> +<p> + “For the most part probably the merchants.” + </p> +<p> + “But how will it happen?” + </p> +<p> + “They’ll buy it, of course.” + </p> +<p> + “From the gentry?” + </p> +<p> + “Yes; from the gentry.” + </p> +<p> + Kollomietzev smiled condescendingly. “If you recollect you said the very + same thing about factories that you’re now saying about the land.” + </p> +<p> + “And it’s quite true.” + </p> +<p> + “You will no doubt be very pleased about it!” + </p> +<p> + “Not at all. I’ve already told you that the people won’t be any the better + off for the change.” + </p> +<p> + Kollomietzev raised his hand slightly. “What solicitude on the part of the + people, imagine!” + </p> +<p> + “Vassily Fedotitch!” Sipiagin called out as loudly as he could, “they have + brought you some beer! <i lang="fr">Voyons, Siméon!</i>” he added in an + undertone. + </p> +<p> + But Kollomietzev would not be suppressed. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “So they have.” + </p> +<p> + “I thought that you considered everything about the people, or relating to + the people, as above criticism!” + </p> +<p> + “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—” + </p> +<p> + “Well, what about the people?” Kollomietzev asked in falsetto. + </p> +<p> + “The people are asleep.” + </p> +<p> + “And would you like to wake them?” + </p> +<p> + “That would not be a bad thing to do.” + </p> +<p> + “Aha! aha! So that’s what—” + </p> +<p> + “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 <em>all</em> 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! + </p> +<p> + “Under the wing of authority!” Kollomietzev added sternly. + </p> +<p> + “Under the wing of wise and benevolent authority,” Sipiagin corrected him. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “Please don’t say ‘no’ at once, my dear Vassily Fedotitch! Say, at least, + that you’ll think it over until tomorrow!” + </p> +<p> + “It would make no difference. I wouldn’t accept your proposal.” + </p> +<p> + “Do think it over till tomorrow, Vassily Fedotitch! It won’t cost you + anything.” + </p> +<p> + 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: + </p> +<p> + “For heaven’s sake don’t go yet, or else we won’t be able to have a talk!” + </p> +<p> + Solomin left his hat alone, the more readily as Sipiagin, who had observed + his irresoluteness, exclaimed: + </p> +<p> + “Won’t you stay the night with us?” + </p> +<p> + “As you wish.” + </p> +<p> + The grateful glance Mariana fixed on him as she stood at the drawing-room + window set him thinking. + </p> +</div> +<div class="chapter"> +<h2><a id="link2H_4_0027"></a> + XXV + </h2> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “What is the matter with you?” Madame Sipiagina asked half-jestingly. + “Have you lost anything?” + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + Madame Sipiagina informed Kollomietzev that she would not help him in the + search. + </p> +<p> + 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—<i lang="fr">des mots</i>—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 <i lang="fr">notre bon Russe</i> 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—<i lang="fr">d’une voix rustique</i>. + Similar sayings let loose at the proper time and place in St. Petersburg + would cause influential high-society ladies to exclaim, + <i lang="fr">“Comme il connait bien les moeurs de notre people!”</i> and + great statesmen would add, <i lang="fr">“Les moeurs et les besoins!”</i> + </p> +<p> + 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: <i lang="fr">“Mon Dieu, que je me sens + fatiguée!”</i> to which he replied with an ironical bow: <i lang="fr">“Tu + l’as voulu, George Daudin!”</i> + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + The latter began by thanking him heartily for having agreed to stay. + </p> +<p> + “I know it’s a sacrifice on your part—” + </p> +<p> + “Not at all,” Solomin said hastily. “There was no sort of sacrifice + required. Besides I couldn’t refuse you.” + </p> +<p> + “Why not?” + </p> +<p> + “Because I’ve taken a great liking to you.” + </p> +<p> + 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: + </p> +<p> + “Now tell me what’s the matter.” + </p> +<p> + Nejdanov also seated himself astride on a chair in front of Solomin, but + did not light a cigar. + </p> +<p> + “So you want to know what’s the matter.... The fact is, I want to run away + from here.” + </p> +<p> + “Am I to understand that you want to leave this house? As far as I can see + there is nothing to prevent you.” + </p> +<p> + “Not leave it, but run away from it.” + </p> +<p> + “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——” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + Solomin raised his head. + </p> +<p> + “With whom then?” + </p> +<p> + “With the girl you’ve seen here today.” + </p> +<p> + “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?” + </p> +<p> + “We love each other.” + </p> +<p> + “Ah!” Solomin was silent for a while. “Is she related to the people here?” + </p> +<p> + “Yes. But she fully shares our convictions and is prepared for anything.” + </p> +<p> + Solomin smiled. + </p> +<p> + “And you, Nejdanov, are you prepared?” + </p> +<p> + Nejdanov frowned slightly. + </p> +<p> + “Why ask? You will see when the time comes.” + </p> +<p> + “I do not doubt you, Nejdanov. I only asked because it seemed to me that + besides yourself nobody else was prepared.” + </p> +<p> + “And Markelov?” + </p> +<p> + “Why, of course, Markelov! But then, he was born prepared.” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “I am convinced of that,” Solomin said seriously. + </p> +<p> + 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.” + </p> +<p> + “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——” + </p> +<p> + Solomin stopped her by a wave of the hand. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + Mariana sat down and wrapped herself up in a large plaid, which she had + thrown over her shoulders. + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + Solomin stopped her again, this time with a smile. + </p> +<p> + Mariana felt that he was laughing at her a little, but this smile could + not have offended any one. + </p> +<p> + “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?” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + Solomin turned to Nejdanov. + </p> +<p> + “If that’s the case, then why run away?” + </p> +<p> + Nejdanov did not know what to say. + </p> +<p> + “But I’ve already told you—,” he began. + </p> +<p> + “He said that,” Mariana put in, “because I am going with him.” + </p> +<p> + Solomin looked at her and shook his head good-naturedly. + </p> +<p> + “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—” + </p> +<p> + “That was precisely why we asked you to come,” Mariana interrupted him; + “we wanted to find out exactly how matters stood.” + </p> +<p> + “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—” + </p> +<p> + “Well? What then?” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + Mariana and Nejdanov both went up to him on the right and left and each + clasped a hand. + </p> +<p> + “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?” + </p> +<p> + “Where to?” + </p> +<p> + “To the people.... Where can one go if not among the people?” + </p> +<p> + “Into the forest,” Nejdanov thought, calling to mind Paklin’s words. + </p> +<p> + Solomin looked intently at Mariana. + </p> +<p> + “Do you want to know the people?” + </p> +<p> + “Yes; that is, we not only want to get to know them, but we want to + work ... to toil for them.” + </p> +<p> + “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?” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “Very well,” Solomin repeated pensively. “But when do you want to go + away?” + </p> +<p> + “Tomorrow, if possible,” Mariana observed. + </p> +<p> + “Very good. But where?” + </p> +<p> + “Sh, sh—” Nejdanov whispered. “Someone is walking along the + corridor.” + </p> +<p> + They were all silent for a time. + </p> +<p> + “But where do you want to go to?” Solomin asked again, lowering his voice. + </p> +<p> + “We don’t know,” Mariana replied. + </p> +<p> + Solomin glanced at Nejdanov, but the latter merely shook his head. + </p> +<p> + Solomin stretched out his hand and carefully snuffed the candle. + </p> +<p> + “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?” + </p> +<p> + “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: + </p> +<p> + “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?” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + Mariana smiled to herself, while Nejdanov again pressed Solomin’s hand. + </p> +<p> + “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. + </p> +<p> + Solomin looked askance at Nejdanov. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + Nejdanov and Mariana exchanged glances. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + 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?” + </p> +<p> + “That’s right.” + </p> +<p> + “Goodbye till we meet again. And thank you so much!” + </p> +<p> + “Goodbye, good night!” + </p> +<p> + “Goodbye, Nejdanov; till tomorrow,” she added, and went out quickly. + </p> +<p> + The young men remained for some time motionless, and both were silent. + </p> +<p> + “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?” + </p> +<p> + Nejdanov told Solomin briefly what he knew about her. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + When Mariana returned to her room she found a note on the table containing + the following: + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “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. + </p> +</div> +<div class="chapter"> +<h2><a id="link2H_4_0028"></a> + XXVI + </h2> +<p> + 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! <i lang="fr">Au fond</i> + Kollomietzev was right!” Under the influence of such hostile and irritable + sensations, the statesman—<i lang="fr">en herbe</i>—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. + </p> +<p> + 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: + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “I did not begin the correspondence, Valentina Mihailovna.” + </p> +<p> + “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—” + </p> +<p> + “You can speak quite plainly, Valentina Mihailovna. You need not be afraid + of offending me.” + </p> +<p> + “A feeling ... of propriety.” + </p> +<p> + Valentina Mihailovna ceased; nothing but the drumming of her fingers could + be heard in the room. + </p> +<p> + “In what way do you think I have failed to observe the rules of + propriety?” Mariana asked. + </p> +<p> + Valentina Mihailovna shrugged her shoulders. + </p> +<p> + <i lang="fr">“Ma chère, vous n’êtes plus un enfant</i>—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!” + </p> +<p> + Mariana’s pallor increased. + </p> +<p> + “I must ask you to express yourself more clearly, Valentina Mihailovna. + What is it you are displeased about?” + </p> +<p> + <i lang="fr">“L’insolente!”</i> Madame Sipiagina thought, but contained + herself. + </p> +<p> + “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 ... <i lang="fr">oui, + mademoiselle, je l’ai été, je le suis, et je le serai toujours!</i> + I can’t help being horrified at such proceedings!” + </p> +<p> + Valentina Mihailovna threw herself into an armchair as if overcome by her + indignation. Mariana smiled for the first time. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “You love Mr. Nejdanov?” + </p> +<p> + “Yes, I love him.” + </p> +<p> + Valentina Mihailovna sat up straight in her chair. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “That was not always your opinion of him, Valentina Mihailovna.” + </p> +<p> + “For heaven’s sake leave me out of the question, my dear!.... + <i lang="fr">Pas tant d’esprit que ça, je vous prie.</i> The thing + concerns you and your future. Just consider for a moment. What sort of a + match is this for you?” + </p> +<p> + “I must confess, Valentina Mihailovna, that I did not look at it in that + light.” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “I don’t know ... I had not thought of that.” + </p> +<p> + “You had not thought of that? You must be mad!” + </p> +<p> + Mariana turned away. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + Valentina Mihailovna started up. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “Maybe; but believe me, even if we perish, we will not so much as stretch + out a finger that you might save us!” + </p> +<p> + “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. <i lang="fr">“Ecoutez-moi, je + vous en conjure!</i> After all, I am not so old nor so stupid that it + should be impossible for us to understand each other! <i lang="fr">Je ne + suis pas une encroûtée.</i> 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—” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “Did you say a match, Valentina Mihailovna? Do you call that heartless, + vulgar friend of yours, Mr. Kollomietzev, ‘a match?’” + </p> +<p> + 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!” + </p> +<p> + “What can I do, <i lang="fr">ma tante</i>? It seems that I am mad!” + </p> +<p> + “Have you anything serious against him?” + </p> +<p> + “Nothing whatever. I simply despise him.” + </p> +<p> + Valentina Mihailovna shook her + head impatiently and dropped into her chair again. + </p> +<p> + “Let us leave him. <i lang="fr">Retournons à nos moutons.</i> And so you + love Mr. Nejdanov?” + </p> +<p> + “Yes.” + </p> +<p> + “And do you intend to continue your interviews with him?” + </p> +<p> + “Yes.” + </p> +<p> + “But supposing I forbid it?” + </p> +<p> + “I won’t listen to you.” + </p> +<p> + Valentina Mihailovna sprang up from her chair. + </p> +<p> + “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——” + </p> +<p> + “By the daughter of a disgraced father,” Mariana put in, sternly. “Go on, + don’t be on ceremonies!” + </p> +<p> + <i lang="fr">“Ce n’est pas moi qui vous le fait dire, mademoiselle!</i> In + any case, <em>that</em> is nothing to be proud of! A girl who lives at my + expense——” + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + 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: + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + “You are insulting me,” Valentina Mihailovna whispered. “Be kind enough to + leave the room!” + </p> +<p> + 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.” + </p> +<p> + <i lang="fr">“Sortez, sortez, vous dis-je ...”</i> Valentina Mihailovna + repeated, stamping her pretty little foot. + </p> +<p> + Mariana took a few steps towards the door. + </p> +<p> + “I will rid you of my presence directly, only do you know what, Valentina + Mihailovna? They say that in Racine’s <cite>Bajazet</cite> even Rachel’s + <i lang="fr">sortez!</i> was not effective, and you don’t come anywhere + near her! Then, what was it you said ... <i lang="fr">Je suis une honnête + femme, je l’ai été et le serai toujours?</i> But I am convinced that I am + far more honest than you are! Goodbye!” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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?” + </p> +<p> + But at this moment her husband entered the room and she again covered her + face with her pocket-handkerchief. + </p> +<p> + “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.) + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + At eight o’clock, after dinner, Nejdanov was sitting in his room writing + to his friend Silin. + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + Having finished these few lines Nejdanov set out for the village. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “Mariana?” he whispered. + </p> +<p> + “It’s I!” came a soft reply from under the shawl. + </p> +<p> + “This way, come with me,” Nejdanov responded, seizing her awkwardly by the + bare arm, holding the bundle. + </p> +<p> + 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: + </p> +<p> + “How beautifully fresh the air is, Aliosha!” + </p> +<p> + “Yes,” the peasant replied, “there’ll be a heavy dew!” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + Mariana again trembled from the cold. + </p> +<p> + “How cold it is!” she said gaily. “But freedom, Aliosha, freedom!” + </p> +</div> +<div class="chapter"> +<h2><a id="link2H_4_0029"></a> + XXVII + </h2> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “I’m so glad you’ve come!” Solomin exclaimed, with his habitual smile, + which now seemed even broader and brighter than usual. + </p> +<p> + “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?” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “Well? Why don’t you take your things off?” Solomin asked. “Have you much + luggage?” + </p> +<p> + Mariana held up her little bundle. + </p> +<p> + “I have only this.” + </p> +<p> + “I have a portmanteau and a bag, which I left in the cart. I’ll go and—” + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + “All right!” answered the never-failing Pavel. + </p> +<p> + Solomin turned to Mariana, who had taken off her shawl and was unfastening + her cloak. + </p> +<p> + “Did everything go off happily?” he asked. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “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. + </p> +<p> + “It will soon be ready,” Pavel replied; “and cream and everything.” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + Mariana flung her cloak on to a couch covered with leather, which was + standing in a corner of the room. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + Mariana held out both her hands to him quickly. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + Mariana and Nejdanov were left alone. + </p> +<p> + 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?” + </p> +<p> + Nejdanov took her hands and pressed them against his breast. + </p> +<p> + “I am happy, Mariana, to begin this new life with you! You will be my + guiding star, my support, my strength—” + </p> +<p> + “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—” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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.... + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + Mariana went up to her. + </p> +<p> + “Let me help you, Tatiana. Only give me a napkin.” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “Please don’t call me miss, Tatiana. I am dressed like a lady, but I am + ... I am quite—” + </p> +<p> + Tatiana’s penetrating glance disconcerted Mariana; she ceased. + </p> +<p> + “And what are you then?” Tatiana asked in her steady voice. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “Oh, I see! You want to become simplified, like so many do nowadays.” + </p> +<p> + “What did you say, Tatiana? To become simplified?” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “To become simplified!” Mariana repeated. “Do you hear, Aliosha, you and I + have now become simplified!” + </p> +<p> + “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. + </p> +<p> + “No,” Mariana replied; “he is neither my husband nor my brother.” + </p> +<p> + Tatiana raised her head. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “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?” + </p> +<p> + “Call me Mariana.” + </p> +<p> + “And what is your father’s Christian name?” + </p> +<p> + “Why do you want my father’s name? Call me simply Mariana, as I call you + Tatiana.” + </p> +<p> + “I don’t like to somehow. You had better tell me.” + </p> +<p> + “As you like. My father’s name was Vikent. And what was your father’s?” + </p> +<p> + “He was called Osip.” + </p> +<p> + “Then I shall call you Tatiana Osipovna.” + </p> +<p> + “And I’ll call you Mariana Vikentievna. That will be splendid.” + </p> +<p> + “Won’t you take a cup of tea with us, Tatiana Osipovna?” + </p> +<p> + “For once I will, Mariana Vikentievna, although Egoritch will scold me + afterwards.” + </p> +<p> + “Who is Egoritch?” + </p> +<p> + “Pavel, my husband.” + </p> +<p> + “Sit down, Tatiana Osipovna.” + </p> +<p> + “Thank you, Mariana Vikentievna.” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “It’s neither town nor country here. I wouldn’t stop an hour if it were + not for Vassily Fedotitch!” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “Do you know, Tatiana Osipovna?” Mariana began at last; “you think that we + want to teach the people, but we want to serve them.” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + Mariana was silent. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + Tatiana became thoughtful. + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + Tatiana turned her empty cup upside down on the saucer. + </p> +<p> + “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. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + Mariana threw the cigarette out of the window. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + Solomin’s voice was heard at the door. + </p> +<p> + “Can I come in?” + </p> +<p> + “Come in, come in!” Mariana called out. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “What sort of a man is he?” Nejdanov asked, coming out of his corner. + </p> +<p> + “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?” + </p> +<p> + “I don’t think so,” Mariana replied. + </p> +<p> + “And I think they will,” Nejdanov remarked. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “Yes; only there’s one thing,” Nejdanov observed, “Markelov must know + where I am; he must be informed.” + </p> +<p> + “But why?” + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + “Very well. We can send Pavel.” + </p> +<p> + “And will my clothes be ready for me?” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + Mariana and Nejdanov were left alone again. + </p> +</div> +<div class="chapter"> +<h2><a id="link2H_4_0030"></a> + XXVIII + </h2> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “What is this?” she asked suddenly. “Why, it’s a revolver. Is it loaded? + What do you want it for?” + </p> +<p> + “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?” + </p> +<p> + 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: + </p> +<p> + “We will read this together when we have some time to spare, won’t we?” + </p> +<p> + “Give it to me! I’ll burn it!” Nejdanov burst out. “That’s all it’s fit + for!” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + Nejdanov was just about to protest when Mariana rushed into the next room + with the copy-book and came back without it. + </p> +<p> + 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.” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “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?” + </p> +<p> + “What should I do in St. Petersburg? Attend lectures at the university or + give lessons? That’s no use to me now.” + </p> +<p> + “We must ask Solomin,” Mariana observed. “He will know best.” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + Nejdanov declared that the less they thought about that, and the more + naturally they behaved, the better. + </p> +<p> + “Of course! We want to become simple, as Tatiana says.” + </p> +<p> + “I didn’t mean it in that sense,” Nejdanov began; “I meant that we must + not be self-conscious.” + </p> +<p> + Mariana suddenly burst out laughing. + </p> +<p> + “Do you remember, Aliosha, how I said that we had both become simplified?” + </p> +<p> + Nejdanov also laughed, repeated “simplified,” and began musing. Mariana + too became pensive. + </p> +<p> + “Aliosha!” she exclaimed. + </p> +<p> + “What is it?” + </p> +<p> + “It seems to me that we are both a little uncomfortable. + Young—<i lang="fr">des nouveaux mariés</i>,” 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.” + </p> +<p> + Nejdanov gave a forced smile. + </p> +<p> + “You know very well, Mariana, that we are not young ... in that sense.” + </p> +<p> + Mariana rose from her chair and stood before him. + </p> +<p> + “That depends on yourself.” + </p> +<p> + “How?” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + Nejdanov blushed and turned away a little. + </p> +<p> + “When I tell you that....” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “But I do love you, Mariana!” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + Nejdanov sprang up from his chair. + </p> +<p> + “Don’t touch that, Mariana.... Leave it alone, please!” + </p> +<p> + Mariana looked at him over her shoulder and raised her eyebrows in + amazement. + </p> +<p> + “Is it a mystery? A secret? Have you a secret?” + </p> +<p> + “Yes ... yes ...” Nejdanov stammered out, and added by way of explanation, + “it’s a portrait.” + </p> +<p> + The word escaped him unawares. The packet Mariana held in her hand was her + own portrait, which Markelov had given Nejdanov. + </p> +<p> + “A portrait?” she drawled out. “Is it a woman’s?” + </p> +<p> + She handed him the packet, which he took so clumsily that it slipped out + of his hand and fell open. + </p> +<p> + “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. + </p> +<p> + “Did you do it?” + </p> +<p> + “No ... I didn’t.” + </p> +<p> + “Who then? Markelov?” + </p> +<p> + “Yes, you’ve guessed right.” + </p> +<p> + “Then how did it come to be in your possession?” + </p> +<p> + “He gave it to me.” + </p> +<p> + “When?” + </p> +<p> + 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 <em>he</em> were in this room, then <em>he</em> + 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. + </p> +<p> + Mariana quietly wrapped the portrait up again in its paper and put it on + the table. + </p> +<p> + “What a good man he is!” she murmured. “I wonder where he is now?” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “And do you think, Aliosha, that when he gave you this portrait he + renounced everything ... absolutely everything?” + </p> +<p> + “I think so.” + </p> +<p> + “Do you think you will find him at home?” + </p> +<p> + “Of course.” + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + 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.’” + </p> +<p> + “How you notice everything!” Mariana exclaimed. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + Mariana and Nejdanov sat down to table, whilst Tatiana sat down on the + window-sill and rested her cheek in her hand. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “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.’” + </p> +<p> + “Yes, I know. But the beds are so narrow nowadays that you can’t get out + of them!” + </p> +<p> + “Have you any children?” Mariana asked to change the subject. + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + “Why, did you not love your Pavel?” + </p> +<p> + “But that’s not the same. Only a girl’s feelings. And you—do you + love <em>him?</em>” + </p> +<p> + “Of course I do.” + </p> +<p> + “Very much?” + </p> +<p> + “Ever so much.” + </p> +<p> + “Really?...” Tatiana looked from one to the other, but said nothing more. + </p> +<p> + “I’ll tell you what I would like. Could you get me some coarse, strong + wool? I want to knit some stockings ... plain ones.” + </p> +<p> + Tatiana promised to have everything done, and clearing the table, went out + of the room with her firm, quiet step. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p class="poem"> + * To die for me no terror holds,<br> + Yet one fear presses on my mind,<br> + That death should on me helpless play<br> + A satire of the bitter kind.<br> + </p> +<p class="poem"> + For much I fear that o’er my corse<br> + The scalding tears of friends shall flow,<br> + And that, too late, they should with zeal<br> + Fresh flowers upon my body throw.<br> + </p> +<p class="poem"> + That fate sardonic should recall<br> + The ones I loved to my cold side,<br> + And make me lying in the ground,<br> + The object of love once denied.<br> + </p> +<p class="poem"> + That all my aching heart’s desires,<br> + So vainly sought for from my birth,<br> + Should crowd unbidden, smiling kind<br> + Above my body’s mound of earth. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “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: + </p> +<p> + “How did he do the portrait of me? From memory?” + </p> +<p> + Nejdanov turned to her quickly. + </p> +<p> + “Yes, from memory.” + </p> +<p> + 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.” + </p> +<p> + “And poems like mine one should not write at all. Isn’t that so?” Nejdanov + asked. + </p> +<p> + “Poems like yours please your friends, not because they are good, but + because <em>you</em> are a good man and they are like you.” + </p> +<p> + Nejdanov smiled. + </p> +<p> + “You have completely buried them and me with them!” + </p> +<p> + Mariana slapped his hand and called him naughty. Soon after she announced + that she was tired and wanted to go to bed. + </p> +<p> + “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?” + </p> +<p> + “Ninety-eight.” + </p> +<p> + “Oh, then we are rich ... for simplified folk. Well, good night, until + tomorrow.” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + Nejdanov sank on to the sofa and covered his face with his hands. Then he + got up quickly, went to her door and knocked. + </p> +<p> + “What is it?” was heard from within. + </p> +<p> + “Not till tomorrow, Mariana ... not till tomorrow!” + </p> +<p> + “Till tomorrow,” she replied softly. + </p> +</div> +<div class="chapter"> +<h2><a id="link2H_4_0031"></a> + XXIX + </h2> +<p> + Early the next morning Nejdanov again knocked at Mariana’s door. + </p> +<p> + “It is I,” he replied in answer to her “Who’s that?” “Can you come out to + me?” + </p> +<p> + “In a minute.” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “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?” + </p> +<p> + “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. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “Are you going to begin at once?” Mariana asked eagerly. + </p> +<p> + “Yes, I shall try, though in reality—” + </p> +<p> + “You are lucky!” Mariana interrupted him. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “And so would Tatiana,” Mariana observed. “Why are people so devoted to + him?” + </p> +<p> + Nejdanov did not reply. + </p> +<p> + “What sort of books did Pavel bring you?” Mariana asked. + </p> +<p> + “Oh, nothing new. ‘The Story of the Four Brothers,’ and then the ordinary, + well-known ones, which are far better I think.” + </p> +<p> + Mariana looked around uneasily. + </p> +<p> + “I wonder what has become of Tatiana? She promised to come early.” + </p> +<p> + “Here I am!” Tatiana exclaimed, coming in with a bundle in her hand. She + had heard Mariana’s exclamation from behind the door. + </p> +<p> + “There’s plenty of time. See what I’ve brought you!” + </p> +<p> + Mariana flew towards her. + </p> +<p> + “Have you brought it?” + </p> +<p> + Tatiana patted the bundle. + </p> +<p> + “Everything is here, quite ready. You have only to put the things on and + go out to astonish the world.” + </p> +<p> + “Come along, come along, Tatiana Osipovna, you are a dear——” + </p> +<p> + Mariana led her off to her own room. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + At this moment Solomin entered. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “Please don’t. I had long meant to ask you—” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “I’ll go out later on,” Nejdanov responded. “I’ll explore the + neighbourhood a little, until further orders come.” + </p> +<p> + “Capital! But I tell you what, Alexai.... I may call you Alexai, may I + not?” + </p> +<p> + “Certainly, or Lexy if you like,” Nejdanov added with a smile. + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + “Why not?” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “Caution is always useful,” Nejdanov remarked with a sarcastic smile. + </p> +<p> + Solomin smiled his characteristic broad smile. + </p> +<p> + “Yes, my dear Alexai, it’s always useful. But what do I see? Where are + we?” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “Vassily Fedotitch, don’t laugh, please,” Mariana implored, turning as red + as a poppy. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “And, really, she is charming,” Nejdanov thought; “oh, how I love her!” + </p> +<p> + “Look now,” Tatiana continued, “she insisted on changing rings with me. + She has given me a golden ring and taken my silver one.” + </p> +<p> + “Girls of the people do not wear gold rings,” Mariana observed. + </p> +<p> + Tatiana sighed. + </p> +<p> + “I’ll take good care of it, my dear; don’t be afraid.” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p class="poem"> + “Let us step back a pace,<br> + Let us step back a bit,<br> + To see with what grace<br> + And how nicely we sit,” + </p> +<p class="noindent"> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + “Why not have a cup of tea first?” Tatiana remarked. + </p> +<p> + “No thanks. If I want any I can go into an eating-house or into a public + house.” + </p> +<p> + Tatiana shook her head. + </p> +<p> + “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: + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + Nejdanov took the staff without a word and went out. Tatiana wanted to go + out too, but Mariana stopped her. + </p> +<p> + “Wait a minute, Tatiana Osipovna. I want you.” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “Well, well, Mariana, and so you have made a beginning.” + </p> +<p> + “What sort of beginning, Vassily Fedotitch? Do you call this a beginning? + Alexai was right. It’s as if we were acting a farce.” + </p> +<p> + Solomin sat down again. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “Did you want to sacrifice yourself?” + </p> +<p> + Mariana’s eyes glistened. + </p> +<p> + “Yes, yes, yes!” + </p> +<p> + “And Nejdanov?” + </p> +<p> + Mariana shrugged her shoulders. + </p> +<p> + “What of Nejdanov? We shall go together ... or I will go alone.” + </p> +<p> + Solomin looked at her intently. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “I would not shirk that, Vassily Fedotitch.” + </p> +<p> + “I know you would not. You are capable of doing that and will do it, until + something else turns up.” + </p> +<p> + “But for that sort of thing I must learn of Tatiana!” + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + “You are laughing at me, Vassily Fedotitch.” + </p> +<p> + Solomin shook his head slowly. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + Mariana raised her eyes. + </p> +<p> + “I would like to live up to your idea of us, Solomin ... and then I should + be ready to die.” + </p> +<p> + Solomin stood up. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + Mariana was surprised. + </p> +<p> + “What a wonderful person he is!” + </p> +<p> + “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?” + </p> +<p> + “No, not yet.” + </p> +<p> + “Very well.” Solomin went up to the door dividing the two rooms, Mariana’s + and Nejdanov’s, and examined the lock. + </p> +<p> + “What are you doing?” Mariana asked. + </p> +<p> + “Does it lock all right?” + </p> +<p> + “Yes,” Mariana whispered. + </p> +<p> + Solomin turned to her. She did not raise her eyes. + </p> +<p> + “Then there is no need to bother about the Sipiagins,” he continued gaily, + “is there?” + </p> +<p> + Solomin was about to go out. + </p> +<p> + “Vassily Fedotitch ...” + </p> +<p> + “Yes ...” + </p> +<p> + “Why is it you are so talkative with me when you are usually so silent? + You can’t imagine what pleasure it gives me.” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + Before dinner she returned to her own rooms and soon afterwards Nejdanov + arrived. + </p> +<p> + He came in tired and covered with dust and dropped on to the sofa. She + immediately sat down beside him. + </p> +<p> + “Well, tell me what happened.” + </p> +<p> + “You remember the two lines,” he responded in a weary voice: + </p> +<p class="poem"> + “It would have been so funny<br> + Were it not so sad.” + </p> +<p class="noindent"> + “Do you remember?” + </p> +<p> + “Of course I do.” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “And you? Did you lie?” + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + “Well, and what else?” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “Why, did you drink much?” + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + “And so no one suspected you?” + </p> +<p> + “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 <i lang="fr">mauvais ton</i> in + Gogol’s <cite>Revisor</cite>, 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.” + </p> +<p> + “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?” + </p> +<p> + “No, it was rather amusing. But I know that I shall think it all over now + and it will make me miserable.” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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.” + </p> +<p> + “I gave you my word. I never change.” + </p> +<p> + “Thank you, dear. Goodbye.” + </p> +<p> + Nejdanov went out and Mariana locked the door of her room. + </p> +</div> +<div class="chapter"> +<h2><a id="link2H_4_0032"></a> + XXX + </h2> +<p> + 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.) + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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? + </p> +<p> + 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 + <em>believe</em> 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! + </p> +<p> + 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, “<em>but remember</em>....” 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. + </p> +<p> + 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! + </p> +<p> + But it’s too bad blaming my father. He was not responsible for my becoming + a democrat. + </p> +<p> + 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!” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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.... + </p> +<p> + 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 <em>nothing would be changed by it</em>.... + 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. + </p> +<p> + I have a feeling that it can’t go on somehow, that something is + preparing.... + </p> +<p> + Have I not again and again said that the time has come for action? Well, + so here we are in the thick of it. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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— + </p> +<p class="center"> + SLEEP + </p> +<p class="poem"> + After long absence I return to my native land,<br> + Finding no striking change there.<br> + The same dead, senseless stagnation; crumbling houses, crumbling + walls,<br> + And the same filth, dirt, poverty, and misery.<br> + Unchanged the servile glance, now insolent, now dejected.<br> + Free have our people become, and the free arm<br> + Hangs as before like a whip unused.<br> + All, all as before. In one thing only may we equal<br> + Europe, Asia, and the World!<br> + Never before has such a fearful sleep oppressed our land. + </p> +<p class="poem"> + All are asleep, on all sides are they;<br> + Through town and country, in carts and in sledges,<br> + By day or night, sitting or standing,<br> + The merchant and the official, and the sentinel at his post<br> + In biting snow and burning heat—all sleep.<br> + The judged ones doze, and the judge snores,<br> + And peasants plough and reap like dead men,<br> + Father, mother, children; all are asleep.<br> + He who beats, and he who is beaten.<br> + Alone the tavern of the tsar ne’er closes a relentless eye.<br> + So, grasping tight in hand the bottle,<br> + His brow at the Pole and his heel in the Caucasus,<br> + Holy Russia, our fatherland, lies in eternal sleep.<br> + </p> +<p> + 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, + </p> +<p class="right"> + Your devoted friend, + </p> +<p class="right"> + A. N. + </p> +<p> + P.S.—Our people are asleep.... But I have a feeling that if anything + does wake them, it will not be what we think.... + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “Do you know, Aliosha, they say that in the province of T., quite near + here, it has already begun!” + </p> +<p> + “What? What has begun? Who said so?” + </p> +<p> + “Pavel. They say the peasants are rising, refusing to pay taxes, + collecting in mobs.” + </p> +<p> + “Have you heard that yourself?” + </p> +<p> + “Tatiana told me. But here is Pavel himself. You had better ask him.” + </p> +<p> + Pavel came in and confirmed what Mariana had said. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + Nejdanov took his cap. + </p> +<p> + “Where are you off to?” Mariana asked. + </p> +<p> + “Why there of course,” he replied, not raising his eyes and frowning, “I + am going to T.” + </p> +<p> + “Then I will come with you. You’ll take me, won’t you? Just let me get a + shawl.” + </p> +<p> + “It’s not a woman’s work,” Nejdanov said irritably with his eyes still + fixed on the floor. + </p> +<p> + “No, no! You do well to go, or Markelov would think you a coward ... but + I’m coming with you.” + </p> +<p> + “I am not a coward,” Nejdanov observed gloomily. + </p> +<p> + “I meant to say that he would have thought us both cowards. I am coming + with you.” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “Markelov could not control himself after all,” he began. “This may turn + out badly both for him and for others.” + </p> +<p> + “I want to go and see what’s going on there,” Nejdanov observed. + </p> +<p> + “And I too,” Mariana added as she appeared in the doorway. + </p> +<p> + Solomin turned to her quickly. + </p> +<p> + “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?” + </p> +<p> + “I don’t want to be parted from him.” + </p> +<p> + “You will be in his way.” + </p> +<p> + Mariana looked at Nejdanov. He was standing motionless with a set sullen + expression on his face. + </p> +<p> + “But supposing there should be danger?” she asked. + </p> +<p> + Solomin smiled. + </p> +<p> + “Don’t be afraid ... when there’s danger I will let you go.” + </p> +<p> + Mariana took off her shawl without a word and sat down. Solomin then + turned to Nejdanov. + </p> +<p> + “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?” + </p> +<p> + “Yes.” + </p> +<p> + “For certain?” + </p> +<p> + “I suppose so, since everybody here obeys you, including Mariana.” + </p> +<p> + 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 <em>he</em> then to accompany + Nejdanov? + </p> +<p> + Solomin sat down beside Mariana. + </p> +<p> + “You heard Nejdanov’s last word?” + </p> +<p> + “Yes. He is annoyed that I listen to you more than to him. But it’s quite + true. I love <em>him</em> and listen to you. He is dear to me ... and you + are near to me.” + </p> +<p> + Solomin stroked her hand gently. + </p> +<p> + “This is a very unpleasant business,” he observed at last. “If Markelov is + mixed up in it then he’s a lost man.” + </p> +<p> + Mariana shuddered. + </p> +<p> + “Lost?” + </p> +<p> + “Yes. He doesn’t do things by halves—and won’t hide things for the + sake of others.” + </p> +<p> + “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?” + </p> +<p> + “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—” + </p> +<p> + “Then we shall never live to see it?” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “Then why do you—” + </p> +<p> + “What?” + </p> +<p> + “Why do you follow this road?” + </p> +<p> + “Because there is no other. I mean that my aims are the same as + Markelov’s—but our paths are different.” + </p> +<p> + “Poor Sergai Mihailovitch!” Mariana exclaimed sadly. Solomin passed his + hand cautiously over hers. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + Solomin stood up. + </p> +<p> + “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. + </p> +<p> + “Are you in such a great hurry to get away from here?” + </p> +<p> + “Oh, no! Only I wanted to do something useful.” + </p> +<p> + “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. + </p> +<p> + “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—” + </p> +<p> + “Who is she?” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + On the paper was written in large letters “Mashurina.” + </p> +<p> + “Show her in,” Solomin said. “You don’t mind my asking her in here, + Mariana, do you? She is also one of us.” + </p> +<p> + “Not at all.” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +</div> +<div class="chapter"> +<h2><a id="link2H_4_0033"></a> + XXXI + </h2> +<p> + “Is Nejdanov not at home?” she asked, then catching sight of Solomin, came + up to him and extended her hand. + </p> +<p> + “How do you do, Solomin?” She threw a side-glance at Mariana. + </p> +<p> + “He will be back directly,” Solomin said. “But tell me how you came to + know—” + </p> +<p> + “Markelov told me. Besides several people in the town already know that + he’s here.” + </p> +<p> + “Really?” + </p> +<p> + “Yes. Somebody must have let it out. Besides Nejdanov has been + recognised.” + </p> +<p> + “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?” + </p> +<p> + Mashurina nodded her head slightly and sat down. + </p> +<p> + “I have a letter for Nejdanov and a message for you, Solomin.” + </p> +<p> + “What message? And from whom?” + </p> +<p> + “From someone who is well known to you.... Well, is everything ready + here?” + </p> +<p> + “Nothing whatever.” + </p> +<p> + Mashurina opened her tiny eyes as wide as she could. + </p> +<p> + “Nothing?” + </p> +<p> + “Nothing.” + </p> +<p> + “Absolutely nothing?” + </p> +<p> + “Absolutely nothing.” + </p> +<p> + “Is that what I am to say?” + </p> +<p> + “Exactly.” + </p> +<p> + Mashurina became thoughtful and pulled a cigarette out of her pocket. + </p> +<p> + “Can I have a light?” + </p> +<p> + “Here is a match.” + </p> +<p> + Mashurina lighted her cigarette. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “Where are you going to?” + </p> +<p> + “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.) + </p> +<p> + “And where is Ostrodumov? Is he with you?” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “How did you get here?” + </p> +<p> + “In a cart of course. How else could I have come? Give me another match, + please.” + </p> +<p> + Solomin gave her a light. + </p> +<p> + “Vassily Fedotitch!” A voice called out suddenly from the other side of + the door. “Can you come out?” + </p> +<p> + “Who is it? What do you want?” + </p> +<p> + “Do come, please,” the voice repeated insistently. “Some new workmen have + come. They’re trying to explain something, and Pavel Egoritch is not + there.” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “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?” + </p> +<p> + “Yes,” Mariana replied, a little surprised. + </p> +<p> + “With Nejdanov?” + </p> +<p> + “Yes.” + </p> +<p> + “Please give me your hand ... and forgive me. You must be good since he + loves you.” + </p> +<p> + Mariana pressed Mashurina’s hand. + </p> +<p> + “Have you known him long?” + </p> +<p> + “I knew him in St. Petersburg. That was what made me talk to you. Sergai + Mihailovitch has also told me—” + </p> +<p> + “Oh Markelov! Is it long since you’ve seen him?” + </p> +<p> + “No, not long. But he’s gone away now.” + </p> +<p> + “Where to?” + </p> +<p> + “Where he was ordered.” + </p> +<p> + Mariana sighed. + </p> +<p> + “Oh, Miss Mashurina, I fear for him.” + </p> +<p> + “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?” + </p> +<p> + “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?” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + Mashurina gave Mariana a fixed searching look. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “I will give it him, you may be sure.” + </p> +<p> + Mashurina rested her cheek in her hand and for a long, long time did not + speak. + </p> +<p> + “Tell me,” she began, “forgive me for asking ... do you love him?” + </p> +<p> + “Yes.” + </p> +<p> + Mashurina shook her heavy head. + </p> +<p> + “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?” + </p> +<p> + 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!” + </p> +<p> + “Look again,” Mariana whispered. + </p> +<p> + Mashurina waved her hand. + </p> +<p> + “It’s no good. I’ve lost it.” + </p> +<p> + Mariana came up to her. + </p> +<p> + “Well, then, kiss me.” + </p> +<p> + Mashurina suddenly put her arms about Mariana and pressed her to her bosom + with more than a woman’s strength. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + Mashurina went out, banging the door behind her, while Mariana stood + perplexed in the middle of the room. + </p> +<p> + “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?” + </p> +<p> + 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? + </p> +<p> + 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? + </p> +<p> + And did we run away from that hateful house merely to live like turtle + doves? + </p> +<p> + 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? <em>Everyone.</em> 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? + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + Mariana sprang up from her seat. + </p> +<p> + “What is the meaning of this? What’s the matter with him? Is he ill?” + </p> +<p> + As he settled Nejdanov, Pavel answered her with a smile, looking at her + over his shoulder. + </p> +<p> + “You needn’t worry. He’ll soon be all right. It’s only because he’s not + used to it.” + </p> +<p> + “What’s the matter?” Mariana persisted. + </p> +<p> + “He’s only a little tipsy. Been drinking on an empty stomach; that’s all.” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “Alexai!” escaped her lips. + </p> +<p> + He raised his heavy eyelids with difficulty, and tried to smile. + </p> +<p> + “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 ...” + </p> +<p> + He ceased, then muttered something indistinctly to himself, closed his + eyes, and fell asleep. Pavel stretched him carefully on the couch. + </p> +<p> + “Don’t worry, Mariana Vikentievna,” he repeated. “He’ll sleep an hour or + two and wake up as fresh as can be.” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “I wonder how it happened?” she thought. + </p> +</div> +<div class="chapter"> +<h2><a id="link2H_4_0034"></a> + XXXII + </h2> +<p> + It happened like this. + </p> +<p> + 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!” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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.” + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “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? + </p> +<p> + 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?” + </p> +<p> + “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. + </p> +<p> + Nejdanov sat dozing, rocked by the motion of the cart, while the wind + played pleasantly about his face and kept back gloomy depressing thoughts. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + And then—a momentary glimpse of Mariana—a burning sense of + shame—and sleep, deep, sound sleep.... + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “You acted quite rightly,” Solomin said, approvingly. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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? + </p> +<p> + 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.... + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + What has become of Solomin? + </p> +<p> + The door creaked softly and Tatiana came into the room. + </p> +<p> + “What do you want?” Mariana asked with a shade of annoyance. + </p> +<p> + “Mariana Vikentievna,” Tatiana began in an undertone, “don’t worry, my + dear. Such things happen every day. Besides, the Lord be thanked—” + </p> +<p> + “I am not worrying at all, Tatiana Osipovna,” Mariana interrupted her. + “Alexai Dmitritch is a little indisposed, nothing very serious!” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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.... + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + Solomin’s head appeared through the door. + </p> +<p> + “Mariana Vikentievna, can I come in? I have brought someone whom it’s + absolutely necessary for you to see.” + </p> +<p> + Mariana merely nodded her head in reply and behind Solomin in + walked—Paklin. + </p> +</div> +<div class="chapter"> +<h2><a id="link2H_4_0035"></a> + XXXIII + </h2> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + 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.” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + He was also composed; only around his lips there was the faintest movement + of the muscles; but it was not his habitual smile. + </p> +<p> + Solomin understood the meaning of Mariana’s glance; she waited for him to + say what had best be done. + </p> +<p> + “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?” + </p> +<p> + Paklin gave a wave of the hand. + </p> +<p> + “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?” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “Certainly,” she said resolutely, a lump rising in her throat. + </p> +<p> + “Yes,” Solomin said, “we must think it over, consider ways and means.” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “What is your suggestion?” Solomin asked. + </p> +<p> + “Let me have some horses at once and I’ll gallop off to the Sipiagins.” + </p> +<p> + “To the Sipiagins!” Mariana exclaimed. “Why?” + </p> +<p> + “You will see.” + </p> +<p> + “But do you know them?” + </p> +<p> + “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—” + </p> +<p> + “I am not married,” Mariana observed. + </p> +<p> + Paklin started. + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + Mariana raised her head and passed her hand through her hair. + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + “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——” + </p> +<p> + “Mr Paklin, I beg of you!” + </p> +<p> + “I’m sorry.... Only I can’t tell you how disappointing it is—Sipiagin + is a very influential man.” + </p> +<p> + “Have you no fears for yourself?” Solomin asked. + </p> +<p> + Paklin drew himself up. + </p> +<p> + “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. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “Of course not. Supposing they pitch me out by the scruff of the neck, + what harm will it do?” + </p> +<p> + “That won’t matter very much” (“<i lang="fr">Merci</i>,” Paklin thought to + himself). “What is the time?” Solomin asked. “Five o’clock. We mustn’t + dawdle. You shall have the horses directly. Pavel!” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “Aliosha!” he exclaimed, “don’t you know me?” + </p> +<p> + Nejdanov stared at him, blinking slowly. + </p> +<p> + “Paklin?” he said at last. + </p> +<p> + “Yes, it is I. Aren’t you well?” + </p> +<p> + “No ... I’m not well. But why are you here?” + </p> +<p> + “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?” + </p> +<p> + “Certainly. Mariana, I wanted to ask you to be firm, but that is not + necessary. You’re a brick!” + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + “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. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “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. + </p> +<p> + “To try and find out if he would be willing to intercede.” + </p> +<p> + Nejdanov sat up straight. + </p> +<p> + “For us?” + </p> +<p> + “No, for Markelov. He wanted to ask him to intercede for us too ... but I + wouldn’t let him. Have I done well, Alexai?” + </p> +<p> + “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. + </p> +<p> + “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. + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + Nejdanov suddenly lifted his head. + </p> +<p> + “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——” + </p> +<p> + “For whom?” + </p> +<p> + “For you, Mariana! I am sorry that you should have united your fate with a + man who is not worthy of you.” + </p> +<p> + “Why not?” + </p> +<p> + “If only because he can be crying at a moment as this!” + </p> +<p> + “It is not you but your nerves that are crying!” + </p> +<p> + “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—” + </p> +<p> + “What?” + </p> +<p> + “That you ran away with me.” + </p> +<p> + “No!” + </p> +<p> + “And would you go with me further? Anywhere?” + </p> +<p> + “Yes!” + </p> +<p> + “Really? Mariana ... really?” + </p> +<p> + “Yes. I have given you my word, and so long as you remain the man I love—I + shall not take it back.” + </p> +<p> + Nejdanov remained sitting on the chair, Mariana standing before him. His + arms were about her waist, her’s were resting on his shoulders. + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + He loosened his arms and Mariana did in fact move away from him a little. + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + “I am quite ready,” Mariana observed. + </p> +<p> + Nejdanov gave her a searching glance. + </p> +<p> + “A Roman maiden!” he exclaimed with a sarcastic half-smile. “What a + feeling of duty!” + </p> +<p> + Mariana shrugged her shoulders. + </p> +<p> + “We must tell Solomin.” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “I don’t know about that,” Mariana observed. “He never speaks of himself!” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + Mariana gave Nejdanov a penetrating glance in her turn. “You had no right + to say that,” she observed at last. + </p> +<p> + “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?” + </p> +<p> + “You had no right,” Mariana repeated. + </p> +<p> + Nejdanov lowered his head. + </p> +<p> + “Mariana!” he exclaimed in a slightly different tone of voice. + </p> +<p> + “Yes?” + </p> +<p> + “If I were to ask you now ... now ... you know what.... But no, I will not + ask anything of you ... goodbye.” + </p> +<p> + He got up and went out; Mariana did not detain him. + </p> +<p> + 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? + </p> +<p> + Firm, rapid footsteps made him open his eyes. Solomin passed through his + room, knocked at Mariana’s door, and went in. + </p> +<p> + “Honour where honour is due!” Nejdanov whispered bitterly. + </p> +</div> +<div class="chapter"> +<h2><a id="link2H_4_0036"></a> + XXXIV + </h2> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “So late!” Valentina Mihailovna exclaimed, surprised. + </p> +<p> + “What?” Boris Andraevitch asked, screwing up his handsome nose; “what did + you say the gentleman’s name was?” + </p> +<p> + “Mr. Paklin, sir.” + </p> +<p> + “Paklin!” Kollomietzev exclaimed; “a real country name. Paklin ... + Solomin ... <I>De vrais noms ruraux, hein?</i>” + </p> +<p> + “Did you say,” Boris Andraevitch continued, still turned towards the + footman with his nose screwed up, “that the business was an urgent one?” + </p> +<p> + “The gentleman said so, sir.” + </p> +<p> + “H’m.... No doubt some beggar or intriguer.” + </p> +<p> + “Or both,” Kollomietzev chimed in. + </p> +<p> + “Very likely. Ask him into my study.” Boris Andraevitch got up. + “<i lang="fr">Pardon, ma bonne.</i> Have a game of écarté till I come + back, unless you would like to wait for me. I won’t be long.” + </p> +<p> + <i lang="fr">“Nous causerons.... Allez!”</i> Kollomietzev said. + </p> +<p> + 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!” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “Your excellency,” Paklin began, cautiously dropping into an arm-chair, “I + have taken the liberty of coming to you—” + </p> +<p> + “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?” + </p> +<p> + “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—” + </p> +<p> + Sipiagin jumped up from his chair. + </p> +<p> + “Why, at Mr. Nejdanov’s? I remember now. You haven’t come from him by the + way, have you?” + </p> +<p> + “Not at all, your excellency; on the contrary ... I—” + </p> +<p> + Sipiagin sat down again. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + At this last word Sipiagin waved his wrist into space. + </p> +<p> + “I forget them, my dear sir!” + </p> +<p> + “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!”) + </p> +<p> + Sipiagin moved his head from left to right on the back of his chair. + </p> +<p> + “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?” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + Sipiagin jumped up a second time. + </p> +<p> + “What ... what did you say?” he blurted out, not at all in his accustomed + ministerial baritones, but in an extremely undignified manner. + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + A footman came in quickly. + </p> +<p> + “Your orders, sir?” + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + “But, your excellency—” + </p> +<p> + “Such are my principles, my dear sir, and I beg you not to annoy me by + your objections!” + </p> +<p> + 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!” + </p> +<p> + The door was flung open and Valentina Mihailovna came into the room with + hurried steps, followed by Kollomietzev. + </p> +<p> + “What is the matter, Boris? Why have you ordered the carriage? Are you + going to town? What has happened?” + </p> +<p> + Sipiagin went up to his wife and took her by the arm, between the elbow + and wrist. “<i lang="fr">Il faut vous armer de courage, ma chère.</i> Your + brother has been arrested.” + </p> +<p> + “My brother? Sergai? What for?” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “Madman! But who told you?” + </p> +<p> + “This Mr.... Mr.... what’s his name? Mr. Konopatin brought the news.” + </p> +<p> + 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!) + </p> +<p> + “And you want to go to town at this hour?” + </p> +<p> + “I think the governor will still be up.” + </p> +<p> + “I always said it would end like this,” Kollomietzev put in. “It couldn’t + have been otherwise! But what dears our peasants are really! + <i lang="fr">Pardon, madame, c’est votre frère! Mais la vérité avant + tout!</i>” + </p> +<p> + “Do you really intend going to town, Boris?” Valentina Mihailovna asked. + </p> +<p> + “I feel absolutely certain,” Kollomietzev continued, “that that + <em>tutor</em>, Mr. Nejdanov, is mixed up in this. <i lang="fr">J’en + mettrais ma main au feu.</i> It’s all one gang! Haven’t they seized him? + Don’t you know?” + </p> +<p> + Sipiagin waved his wrist again. + </p> +<p> + “I don’t know—and don’t want to know! By the way,” he added, turning + to his wife, <i lang="fr">“il paraît qu’il sont mariés.</i>” + </p> +<p> + “Who said so? That same gentleman?” Valentina Mihailovna looked at Paklin + again, this time with half-closed eyes. + </p> +<p> + “Yes.” + </p> +<p> + “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?” + </p> +<p> + 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?” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “Oh ... oh ...” Kollomietzev muttered. “Do you hear? Do you hear? This one + too—this one too is of their gang!” + </p> +<p> + “The carriage is ready!” a footman announced loudly. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “I obey!” he exclaimed, and with the same graceful gesture, not so rapid + this time, replaced his hat on the table. + </p> +<p> + “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——” + </p> +<p> + Paklin lost all patience. + </p> +<p> + “Paklin!” he shouted, “my name is Paklin!” + </p> +<p> + “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? <i lang="fr">Siméon, vous + viendrez avec nous?</i>” + </p> +<p> + <i lang="fr">“Je crois bien!”</i> + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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 <i>a</i>. “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.... <i lang="fr">“Vous savez Binder, le grand + carrossier des Champs Elysées?”</i>) + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “Are you quite comfortable, Mr. Paklin? Go on!” + </p> +<p> + <i lang="fr">“Je vous recommande mon frère, épargnez-le!”</i> Valentina + Mihailovna said. + </p> +<p> + <i lang="fr">“Soyez tranquille!”</i> 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—<i lang="fr">“C’est surtout l’autre, + qu’il faut pincer!”</i> + </p> +<p> + “Go on!” Sipiagin exclaimed again. “You are not cold, Mr. Paklin? Go on!” + </p> +<p> + The two carriages rolled away. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “I don’t smoke,” Paklin muttered. + </p> +<p> + “Really!” Sipiagin exclaimed and lighted the cigar himself, an excellent + regalia. + </p> +<p> + “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?” + </p> +<p> + “I am far from thinking that, your excellency.” + </p> +<p> + “You don’t happen to know exactly why ... and where he was arrested?” + </p> +<p> + “I heard that he was arrested in T. district.” + </p> +<p> + “Who told you so?” + </p> +<p> + “A certain person.” + </p> +<p> + “Of course it could hardly have been a bird. But who was this person?” + </p> +<p> + “An assistant ... of the director of the governor’s office—” + </p> +<p> + “What’s his name?” + </p> +<p> + “The director’s?” + </p> +<p> + “No, the assistant’s.” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “Yes, yes. I am very grateful to you indeed. But what utter madness! + downright madness! Don’t you think so, Mr. Paklin?” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “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. + </p> +<p> + “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—” + </p> +<p> + “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. + </p> +<p> + Paklin took a cigar gratefully and lighted it with care. + </p> +<p> + “Here’s a good opportunity,” he thought, but Sipiagin had anticipated him. + </p> +<p> + “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?” + </p> +<p> + (“Take care! be on your guard, Sila!” Paklin thought.) + </p> +<p> + “I have only seen them once, your excellency. They are living ... + certainly ... not very far from here.” + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + “I think so too, your excellency!” + </p> +<p> + “Yes, Mr. Nejdanov was certainly revolutionary. To do him justice he made + no secret of his opinions.” + </p> +<p> + “Nejdanov,” Paklin ventured, “may have been carried away, but his heart—” + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + Paklin clasped his hands to his breast. + </p> +<p> + “Oh, your excellency! Extend your protection to him! He fully ... + deserves ... your sympathy.” + </p> +<p> + Sipiagin snorted. + </p> +<p> + “You think so?” + </p> +<p> + “At any rate if not for him ... for your niece’s sake; for his wife!” + (“Heavens! What lies I’m telling,” Paklin thought.) + </p> +<p> + Sipiagin half-closed his eyes. + </p> +<p> + “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?” + </p> +<p> + “Yes, your excellency; in a large establishment—” Here Paklin bit + his tongue. + </p> +<p> + “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.) + </p> +<p> + “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. + </p> +<p> + “I must say, your excellency,” the unfortunate Paklin stammered out; “I + must say, that I really know nothing—” + </p> +<p> + “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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + But there was nothing to be done. Sipiagin dozed off in a haughty, + dignified, ministerial manner, enveloped in his stately cloak. + </p> +</div> +<div class="chapter"> +<h2><a id="link2H_4_0037"></a> + XXXV + </h2> +<p> + 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 + <i lang="fr">qui fera chemin</i> in any case. + </p> +<p> + 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: <i lang="fr">“Ne le lâcher pas! + Tonnerre de tonnerres!”</i>) 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. + </p> +<p> + “I dare say you’ve guessed what has brought me to you, <em>Voldemar</em>,” + Sipiagin began. + </p> +<p> + “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. + </p> +<p> + “What? Don’t you know about Markelov?” + </p> +<p> + “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?” + </p> +<p> + Sipiagin’s mind was far from tea. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “Dear me! what a misfortune! And he’s here now—today.... You know we + never keep <em>that sort</em> 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?” + </p> +<p> + “I would like to have an interview with him here, if it is not against the + law.” + </p> +<p> + “My dear boy! laws are not made for men like you. I do feel so sorry for + you.... <i lang="fr">C’est affreux, tu sais!</i>” + </p> +<p> + He gave a peculiar ring. An adjutant appeared. + </p> +<p> + “My dear baron, do please make some arrangement there....” He told him + what he wanted and the baron vanished. “Only think, <i lang="fr">mon cher + ami</i>, 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. <i lang="fr">C’est un fanatique + tranquille.</i>” + </p> +<p> + <i lang="fr">“Ce sont les pires,”</i> Kollomietzev remarked sarcastically. + </p> +<p> + The governor looked up at him from under his eyebrows. + </p> +<p> + “By the way, I must have a word with you, Simion Petrovitch.” + </p> +<p> + “Yes; what about?” + </p> +<p> + “I don’t like things at all—” + </p> +<p> + “What things?” + </p> +<p> + “You know that peasant who owed you money and came here to complain—” + </p> +<p> + “Well?” + </p> +<p> + “He’s hanged himself.” + </p> +<p> + “When?” + </p> +<p> + “It’s of no consequence when; but it’s an ugly affair.” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “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 <em>wanted</em> 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——” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “Greek, eh!” Kollomietzev shrieked. “And to set peasants rioting, is that + Greek too? Is that Greek too, eh?” + </p> +<p> + “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. + </p> +<p> + Kollomietzev stamped and raged, but the governor stopped him. + </p> +<p> + “It serves you right, Simion Petrovitch. You shouldn’t interfere in what + is not your business.” + </p> +<p> + “Not my business ... not my business.... It seems to me that it’s the + business of every nobleman——” + </p> +<p> + Markelov scanned Kollomietzev coldly and slowly, as if for the last time + and then turned to Sipiagin. + </p> +<p> + “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?” + </p> +<p> + Sipiagin wrung his hands in despair. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + Markelov frowned. + </p> +<p> + “I have said all I have to say and don’t want to repeat it.” + </p> +<p> + “But don’t you repent? Don’t you repent?” + </p> +<p> + “Oh, leave me alone with your repentance! You want to steal into my very + soul? Leave that, at any rate, to me.” + </p> +<p> + Sipiagin shrugged his shoulders. + </p> +<p> + “You were always like that; never would listen to common-sense. You have a + splendid chance of getting out of this quietly, honourably——” + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + “We sympathise with you,” Sipiagin continued reproachfully, “and you hate + us.” + </p> +<p> + “Fine sympathy! To Siberia and hard labour with us; that is your sympathy. + Oh, let me alone! let me alone! for Heaven’s sake!” + </p> +<p> + Markelov lowered his head. + </p> +<p> + 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?” + </p> +<p> + 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.... + </p> +<p> + “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!! + </p> +<p> + 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. + <i lang="fr">“Tous les égards ... certainement, tous les égards,”</i> the + soft, pleasant words flowed through his scented moustache. “But you know + the law, my boy!” + </p> +<p> + “Of course I do!” Sipiagin responded with a sort of submissive severity. + </p> +<p> + 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, + <i lang="fr">“Vous oublier l’autre!”</i> + </p> +<p> + “Oh, yes!” Sipiagin exclaimed loudly. “<i lang="fr">Merci de me l’avoir + rappelé.</i> 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.” + </p> +<p> + “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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “Is this the branch?” the governor asked, pointing to Paklin with a long + white finger adorned with a turquoise ring. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “Ah! <i lang="fr">oui, oui,</i>” the governor mumbled, shaking his head, + “I heard the story.... The princess told me——” + </p> +<p> + Sipiagin raised his voice. + </p> +<p> + “That person is a certain Mr. Nejdanov, whom I strongly suspect of + dangerous ideas and theories—” + </p> +<p> + <i lang="fr">“Un rouge à tous crins,”</i> Kollomietzev put in. + </p> +<p> + “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—” + </p> +<p> + At these words Markelov threw another glance at Paklin and gave a slow, + indifferent smile. + </p> +<p> + “Excuse me, excuse me, your excellency,” Paklin cried, “and you, Mr. + Sipiagin, I never ... never—” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “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—” + </p> +<p> + “I said nothing of the kind!” Paklin cried; “you said it yourself!” + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + <i lang="fr">“Le sentiment du devoir,”</i> Kollomietzev explained. + </p> +<p> + Markelov took both the speakers in at a glance. + </p> +<p> + “Your excellency!” he exclaimed, “I ask you a second time; please have me + removed out of sight of these babblers.” + </p> +<p> + But there the governor lost patience a little. + </p> +<p> + “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 <i lang="fr">beau-frère!</i> 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?” + </p> +<p> + Sipiagin frowned. + </p> +<p> + “With a certain Mr. Solomin, the chief engineer there, Mr. Paklin says.” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “Do you know these gentlemen ... Solomin, and what’s his name ... + Nejdanov?” the governor asked Markelov, somewhat authoritatively. + </p> +<p> + Markelov distended his nostrils malignantly. + </p> +<p> + “Do you know Confucius and Titus Livius, your excellency?” + </p> +<p> + The governor turned away. + </p> +<p> + <i lang="fr">“Il n’y a pas moyen de causer avec cette homme,”</i> he said, + shrugging his shoulders. “Baron, come here, please.” + </p> +<p> + The adjutant went up to him quickly and Paklin seized the opportunity of + limping over to Sipiagin. + </p> +<p> + “What are you doing?” he asked in a whisper. “Why do you want to ruin your + niece? Why, she’s with him, with Nejdanov!” + </p> +<p> + “I am not ruining any one, my dear sir,” Sipiagin said loudly, “I am only + doing what my conscience bids me do, and—” + </p> +<p> + “And what your wife, my sister, bids you do; you dare not stand up against + her!” Markelov exclaimed just as loudly. + </p> +<p> + Sipiagin took no notice of the remark; it was too much beneath him! + </p> +<p> + “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 <em>them</em> 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—” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + At this point the governor considered it necessary to interfere. + </p> +<p> + “I think that you have said enough, gentlemen,” he began, “and I’ll ask + you, my dear baron, to take Mr. Markelov away. <i lang="fr">N’est ce + pas,</i> Boris, you don’t want him any further—” + </p> +<p> + Sipiagin made a gesture with his hands. + </p> +<p> + “I said everything I could think of!” + </p> +<p> + “Very well, baron!” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “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——” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “Do please. You may be quite sure ... <i lang="fr">nous coffrerons le + quidam ... mais nous sommes galants avec les dames ... et avec celle-là + donc!</i>” + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + “<i lang="fr">Pas trop de zèle</i>, 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, “<i lang="fr">et ce gaillard-là”</i> (he moved his + chin in Paklin’s direction). <i lang="fr">“Qu’en ferons nous?</i> He does + not appear very dangerous.” + </p> +<p> + “Let him go,” Sipiagin said in an undertone, and added in German, + <i lang="de">“Lass’ den Lumpen laufen!”</i> + </p> +<p> + He imagined for some reason that he was quoting from Goethe’s <cite>Götz + von Berlichingen</cite>. + </p> +<p> + “You can go, sir!” the governor said aloud. “We do not require you any + longer. Good day.” + </p> +<p> + Paklin bowed to the company in general and went out into the street + completely crushed and humiliated. Heavens! this contempt had utterly + broken him. + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + 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! + </p> +<p> + “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. + </p> +</div> +<div class="chapter"> +<h2><a id="link2H_4_0038"></a> + XXXVI + </h2> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “Good morning, Alexai. Why, you haven’t undressed? Haven’t you slept? How + pale you are!” + </p> +<p> + His heavy eyelids rose slowly. + </p> +<p> + “No, I haven’t.” + </p> +<p> + “Aren’t you well, or is it the after-effects of yesterday?” + </p> +<p> + Nejdanov shook his head. + </p> +<p> + “I couldn’t sleep after Solomin went into your room.” + </p> +<p> + “When?” + </p> +<p> + “Last night.” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “But why?” + </p> +<p> + Nejdanov was silent. + </p> +<p> + “I kept thinking ... thinking ... thinking!” + </p> +<p> + “Of what?” + </p> +<p> + “Oh, of you ... of him ... and of myself.” + </p> +<p> + “And what came of all your thinking?” + </p> +<p> + “Shall I tell you?” + </p> +<p> + “Yes, tell me.” + </p> +<p> + “It seemed to me that I stood in your way—in his ... and in my own.” + </p> +<p> + “Mine? His? It’s easy to see what you mean by that, though you declare + you’re not jealous, but your own?” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + Nejdanov took her hand caressingly. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + Nejdanov’s voice was soft, and a peculiarly affectionate tenderness shone + in his eyes as he looked entreatingly at Mariana. + </p> +<p> + She sat down beside him readily and took his hand. + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “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 <em>cause itself</em>. And you, + Mariana, do you believe in it?” + </p> +<p> + Mariana sat up straight and raised her head. + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + Nejdanov turned towards her and looked at her enviously, with a tender + light in his eyes. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + Mariana was silent. + </p> +<p> + “Take Solomin, for instance,” Nejdanov began again, “though he does not + believe—” + </p> +<p> + “What do you mean?” + </p> +<p> + “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?” + </p> +<p> + “Alexai,” Mariana began irresolutely, “I think you exaggerate. Do we not + love each other?” + </p> +<p> + Nejdanov gave a deep sigh. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “Stop, Alexai! what are you saying? The police may come for us today ... + we must go away together and not part—” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “What do you mean, Alexai? You don’t intend staying here?” + </p> +<p> + “N-n-no,” Nejdanov said hesitatingly. The word “yes” nearly escaped his + lips, but he recollected himself in time. + </p> +<p> + “Then you are going to a different place—not where I am going?” + </p> +<p> + Nejdanov pressed her hand which still lay in his own. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “Alexai,” Mariana said slowly, “it would be very wrong of you not to be + frank with me.” + </p> +<p> + He clenched his hands. + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + Mariana wanted to ask him what he meant, but at that moment Solomin + entered the room. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “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. + </p> +<p> + “Oh, I only put them on ... because it’s rather muddy outside.” + </p> +<p> + “But you won’t be held responsible for us, will you?” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “Oh, yes! I wanted to see her too....” Mariana turned to the door. + </p> +<p> + A peculiar expression of fear, despair, spread itself over Nejdanov’s + face. + </p> +<p> + “Mariana, you’re not going?” he asked in a frightened tone of voice. + </p> +<p> + She stood still. + </p> +<p> + “I’ll be back in half an hour. It won’t take me long to pack.” + </p> +<p> + “Come here, close to me, Mariana——” + </p> +<p> + “Certainly, but what for?” + </p> +<p> + “I wanted to have one more look at you.” He looked at her intently. + “Goodbye, goodbye, Mariana!” + </p> +<p> + She seemed bewildered. + </p> +<p> + “Why ... what nonsense I’m talking! You’ll be back in half an hour, won’t + you, eh?” + </p> +<p> + “Of course—” + </p> +<p> + “Never mind; forgive me, dear. My brain is in a whirl from lack of sleep. + I must begin ... packing, too.” + </p> +<p> + Mariana went out of the room and Solomin was about to follow her when + Nejdanov stopped him. + </p> +<p> + “Solomin!” + </p> +<p> + “What is it?” + </p> +<p> + “Give me your hand. I must thank you for your kindness and hospitality.” + </p> +<p> + Solomin smiled. + </p> +<p> + “What an idea!” He extended his hand. + </p> +<p> + “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?” + </p> +<p> + “Your future wife?” + </p> +<p> + “Yes ... Mariana!” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “Oh, I knew it ... knew it, knew it! I’m so glad! thanks. So in an hour?” + </p> +<p> + “In an hour.” + </p> +<p> + “I shall be ready. Goodbye, my friend!” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +</div> +<div class="chapter"> +<h2><a id="link2H_4_0039"></a> + XXXVII + </h2> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “Alexai Dmitritch! What is the matter with you?” + </p> +<p> + But a darkness had already descended upon him. Tatiana bent over and + noticed blood.... + </p> +<p> + “Pavel!” she shouted at the top of her voice, “Pavel!” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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! + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “He is coming to himself,” Solomin whispered. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “I am ... still alive,” he pronounced scarcely audible. “I couldn’t even + do this properly.... I am detaining ... you.” + </p> +<p> + “Aliosha!” Mariana sobbed out. + </p> +<p> + “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....” + </p> +<p> + He suddenly shuddered. + </p> +<p> + “Ah! here it comes.... Take ... each other’s ... hands ... before me ... + quickly ... take....” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “That’s right ... that’s....” + </p> +<p> + Nejdanov broke out into sobs again—strange unusual sobs.... His + breast rose, his sides heaved.... + </p> +<p> + He tried to lay his hand on their united ones, but it fell back dead. + </p> +<p> + “He is passing away,” Tatiana whispered as she stood at the door, and + began crossing herself. + </p> +<p> + His sobs grew briefer, fewer.... He still searched around for Mariana with + his eyes, but a menacing white film was spreading over them.... + </p> +<p> + “That’s right,” were his last words. + </p> +<p> + He had breathed his last ... and the clasped hands of Mariana and Solomin + still lay upon his breast. + </p> +<p> + The following are the contents of the two letters he had left. One + consisting only of a few lines, was addressed to Silin: + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + The other letter, somewhat longer, was addressed to Solomin and Mariana. + It began thus: + </p> +<p> + “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 <em>simplify</em> 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. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “Let us go, Mariana; everything is ready. We must fulfil his wish,” + Solomin said to her. + </p> +<p> + Mariana drew near to Nejdanov and pressed her lips against his forehead + which was already turning cold. + </p> +<p> + “Come,” she said, turning to Solomin. They went out, hand in hand. + </p> +<p> + 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! + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +</div> +<div class="chapter"> +<h2><a id="link2H_4_0040"></a> + XXXVIII + </h2> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “Mashurina!” he exclaimed in an undertone. + </p> +<p> + The lady looked at him haughtily and walked on without saying a word. + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + <i lang="it">“Io sono contessa Rocca di Santo Fiume!”</i> the lady said + softly, but in a wonderfully pure Russian accent. + </p> +<p> + “Contessa! nonsense! Do come in and let us talk about old times—” + </p> +<p> + “Where do you live?” the Italian countess asked suddenly in Russian. “I’m + in a hurry.” + </p> +<p> + “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?” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “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—” + </p> +<p> + “Yes, I know,” Mashurina interrupted him, still looking away. + </p> +<p> + “And do you know about Ostrodumov too?” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “I was told that he mentioned you in the letter he left. Was it true?” + </p> +<p> + “Yes,” Mashurina replied after a pause. + </p> +<p> + “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?” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + Paklin ceased. + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + “And what is Solomin doing?” Mashurina asked. She had suddenly ceased + wishing to hear Paklin talk about <em>him</em>. + </p> +<p> + “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!” + </p> +<p> + Mashurina gave an impatient wave of the hand, as though she wished to + dismiss the subject. + </p> +<p> + “And that girl,” she began, “I forget her name ... the one who ran away + with Nejdanov—what became of her?” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “I suppose they have a baby by now,” she said in an offhanded tone. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “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 <em>Kant!</em>* + 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!” + </p> +<p class="note"> + * The word <em>kant</em> in Russian means a kind of braid or piping. + </p> +<p> + But at this point Mashurina yawned and Paklin saw that he must change the + subject. + </p> +<p> + “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—” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + Paklin felt a pang and gave a forced laugh to hide his confusion. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + Mashurina took a cup of tea and began sipping it with a lump of sugar in + her mouth. + </p> +<p> + Paklin laughed heartily. + </p> +<p> + “It’s a good thing the police are not here to see an Italian countess—” + </p> +<p> + “Rocca di Santo Fiume,” Mashurina put in solemnly, sipping the hot tea. + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + “In Italian?” + </p> +<p> + “Oh no, in Russian.” + </p> +<p> + “And what did he do?” + </p> +<p> + “Went away, of course.” + </p> +<p> + “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? + </p> +<p> + “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—” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + Paklin pulled himself up. + </p> +<p> + “Why, of course ... do have some more tea.” + </p> +<p> + But Mashurina fixed her dark eyes upon him and said pensively: + </p> +<p> + “You don’t happen to have any letter of Nejdanov’s ... or his photograph?” + </p> +<p> + “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.” + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “Here it is!” Paklin exclaimed and handed her the photograph. + </p> +<p> + 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. + </p> +<p> + “Are you going?” Paklin asked. “Where do you live? You might tell me that + at any rate.” + </p> +<p> + “Wherever I happen to be.” + </p> +<p> + “I understand. You don’t want me to know. Tell me at least, are you still + working under Vassily Nikolaevitch?” + </p> +<p> + “What does it matter to you?” + </p> +<p> + “Or someone else, perhaps Sidor Sidoritch?” + </p> +<p> + Mashurina did not reply. + </p> +<p> + “Or is your director some anonymous person?” + </p> +<p> + Mashurina had already stepped across the threshold. + </p> +<p> + “Perhaps it is someone anonymous!” + </p> +<p> + She slammed the door. + </p> +<p> + Paklin stood for a long time motionless before this closed door. + </p> +<p> + “Anonymous Russia!” he said at last. + </p> +</div> + + +<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK VIRGIN SOIL ***</div> +<div style='text-align:left'> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +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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