Book: Virgin Soil

I >> Ivan S. Turgenev >> Virgin Soil




Mariana looked at Valentina Mihailovna, at her wonderful eyes,
her slightly painted lips, at her white hands, the parted fingers
adorned with rings, which the elegant lady so energetically
pressed against the bodice of her silk dress.

Suddenly she interrupted her.

"Did you say a match, Valentina Mihailovna? Do you call that
heartless, vulgar friend of yours, Mr. Kollomietzev, 'a match?'"

Valentina Mihailovna took her fingers from her bodice. "Yes,
Mariana Vikentievna! I am speaking of that cultured, excellent
young man, Mr. Kollomietzev, who would make a wife happy and whom
only a mad-woman could refuse! Yes, only a mad-woman!"

"What can I do, ma tante? It seems that I am mad!"

"Have you anything serious against him?"

"Nothing whatever. I simply despise him." Valentina Mihailovna
shook her head impatiently and dropped into her chair again.

"Let us leave him. Retournons a nos moutons. And so you love Mr.
Nejdanov?"

"Yes."

"And do you intend to continue your interviews with him?"

"Yes."

"But supposing I forbid it?"

"I won't listen to you."

Valentina Mihailovna sprang up from her chair. "What! You won't
listen to me! I see . . . And that is said to me by a girl who
has known nothing but kindness from me, whom I have brought up in
my own house, that is said to me . . . said to me--"

"By the daughter of a disgraced father," Mariana put in, sternly.
"Go on, don't be on ceremonies!"

"Ce n'est pas moi qui vous le fait dire, mademoiselle! In any
case, that is nothing to be proud of! A girl who lives at my
expense--"

"Don't throw that in my face, Valentina Mihailovna! It would cost
you more to keep a French governess for Kolia . . . It is I who
give him French lessons!"

Valentina Mihailovna raised a hand holding a scented cambric
pocket-handkerchief with a large white monogram embroidered in
one corner and tried to say something, but Mariana continued
passionately:

"You would have been right, a thousand times right, if, instead
of counting up all your petty benefits and sacrifices, you could
have been in a position to say 'the girl I loved' . . . but you
are too honest to lie about that!" Mariana trembled feverishly.
"You have always hated me. And even now you are glad in the
bottom of your heart--that same heart you have just mentioned--
glad that I am justifying your constant predictions, covering
myself with shame and scandal--you are only annoyed because part
of this shame is bound to fall on your virtuous, aristocratic
house!

"You are insulting me," Valentina Mihailovna whispered. "Be kind
enough to leave the room!"

But Mariana could no longer contain herself. "Your household, you
said, all your household, Anna Zaharovna and everybody knows of
my behaviour! And every one is horrified and indignant . . . But
am I asking anything of you, of all these people? Do you think I
care for their good opinion? Do you think that eating your bread
has been sweet? I would prefer the greatest poverty to this
luxury. There is a gulf between me and your house, an
interminable gulf that cannot be crossed. You are an intelligent
woman, don't you feel it too? And if you hate me, what do you
think I feel towards you? We won't go into unnecessary details,
it's too obvious."

"Sortez, sortez, vous dis-je . . ." Valentina Mihailovna
repeated, stamping her pretty little foot.

Mariana took a few steps towards the door.

"I will rid you of my presence directly, only do you know what,
Valentina Mihailovna? They say that in Racine's "Bajazet" even
Rachel's sortez! was not effective, and you don't come anywhere
near her! Then, what was it you said . . . Je suis une honnete
femme, je l'ai et le serai toujours? But I am convinced that I am
far more honest than you are! Goodbye!"

Mariana went out quickly and Valentina Mihailovna sprang up from
her chair. She wanted to scream, to cry, but did not know what to
scream about, and the tears would not come at her bidding.

So she fanned herself with her pocket-handkerchief, but the
strong scent of it affected her nerves still more. She felt
miserable, insulted . . . She was conscious of a certain amount
of truth in what she had just heard, but how could anyone be so
unjust to her? "Am I really so bad?" she thought, and looked at
herself in a mirror hanging opposite between two windows. The
looking-glass reflected a charming face, somewhat excited, the
colour coming and going, but still a fascinating face, with
wonderful soft, velvety eyes. . .

"I? I am bad?" she thought again. . . . With such eyes?"

But at this moment her husband entered the room and she again
covered her face with her pocket-handkerchief.

"What is the matter with you?" he asked anxiously. "What is the
matter, Valia?" (He had invented this pet name, but only allowed
himself to use it when they were quite alone, particularly in the
country.)

At first she declared that there was nothing the matter, but
ended by turning around in her chair in a very charming and
touching manner and, flinging her arms round his shoulders (he
stood bending over her) and hiding her face in the slit of his
waistcoat, told him everything. Without any hypocrisy or any
interested motive on her part, she tried to excuse Mariana as
much as she could, putting all the blame on her extreme youth,
her passionate temperament, and the defects of her early
education. In the same way she also, without any hidden motive,
blamed herself a great deal, saying, "With a daughter of mine
this would never have happened! I would have looked after her
quite differently!" Sipiagin listened to her indulgently,
sympathetically, but with a severe expression on his face. He
continued standing in a stooping position without moving his head
so long as she held her arms round his shoulders; he called her
an angel, kissed her on the forehead, declared that he now knew
what course he must pursue as head of the house, and went out,
carrying himself like an energetic humane man, who was conscious
of having to perform an unpleasant but necessary duty.

At eight o'clock, after dinner, Nejdanov was sitting in his room
writing to his friend Silin.

"MY DEAR VLADIMIR,--I write to you at a critical moment of my
life. I have been dismissed from this house, I am going away from
here. That in itself would be nothing--I am not going alone. The
girl I wrote to you about is coming with me. We are drawn
together by the similarity of our fate in life, by our
loneliness, convictions, aspirations, and, above all, by our
mutual love. Yes, we love each other. I am convinced that I could
not experience the passion of love in any other form than that
which presents itself to me now. But I should not be speaking the
truth if I were to say that I had no mysterious fear, no
misgivings at heart . . . Everything in front of us is enveloped
in darkness and we are plunging into that darkness. I need not
tell you what we are going for and what we have chosen to do.
Mariana and I are not in search of happiness or vain delight; we
want to enter the fight together, side by side, supporting each
other. Our aim is clear to us, but we do not know the roads that
lead to it. Shall we find, if not help and sympathy at any rate,
the opportunity to work? Mariana is a wonderfully honest girl.
Should we be fated to perish, I will not blame myself for having
enticed her away, because now no other life is possible for her.
But, Vladimir, Vladimir! I feel so miserable. . . I am torn by
doubt, not in my feelings towards her, of course, but . . . I do
not know! And it is too late to turn back. Stretch out your hands
to us from afar, and wish us patience, the power of self-
sacrifice, and love . . . most of all love. And ye, Russian
people, unknown to us, but beloved by us with all the force of
our beings, with our hearts' blood, receive us in your midst, be
kind to us, and teach us what we may expect from you. Goodbye,
Vladimir, goodbye!"

Having finished these few lines Nejdanov set out for the village.

The following night, before daybreak, he stood on the outskirts of
the birch grove, not far from Sipiagin's garden. A little further
on behind the tangled branches of a nut-bush stood a peasant cart
harnessed to a pair of unbridled horses. Inside, under the seat
of plaited rope, a little grey old peasant was lying asleep on a
bundle of hay, covered up to the ears with an old patched coat.
Nejdanov kept looking eagerly at the road, at the clumps of
laburnums at the bottom of the garden; the still grey night lay
around; the little stars did their best to outshine one another
and were lost in the vast expanse of sky. To the east the rounded
edges of the spreading clouds were tinged with a faint flush of
dawn. Suddenly Nejdanov trembled and became alert. Something
squeaked near by, the opening of a gate was heard; a tiny
feminine creature, wrapped up in a shawl with a bundle slung over
her bare arm, walked slowly out of the deep shadow of the
laburnums into the dusty road, and crossing over as if on tip-
toe, turned towards the grove. Nejdanov rushed towards her.

"Mariana?" he whispered.

"It's I!" came a soft reply from under the shawl.

"This way, come with me," Nejdanov responded, seizing her
awkwardly by the bare arm, holding the bundle.

She trembled as if with cold. He led her up to the cart and woke
the peasant. The latter jumped up quickly, instantly took his
seat on the box, put his arms into the coat sleeves, and seized
the rope that served as reins. The horses moved; he encouraged
them cautiously in a voice still hoarse from a heavy sleep.
Nejdanov placed Mariana on the seat, first spreading out his
cloak for her to sit on, wrapped her feet in a rug, as the hay
was rather damp, and sitting down beside her, gave the order to
start. The peasant pulled the reins, the horses came out of the
grove, snorting and shaking themselves, and bumping and rattling
its small wheels the cart rolled out on to the road. Nejdanov had
his arm round Mariana's waist, while she, raising the shawl with
her cold fingers and turning her smiling face towards him,
exclaimed: "How beautifully fresh the air is, Aliosha!"

"Yes," the peasant replied, "there'll be a heavy dew!"

There was already such a heavy dew that the axles of the cart
wheels as they caught in the tall grass along the roadside shook
off whole showers of tiny drops and the grass looked silver-grey.

Mariana again trembled from the cold.

"How cold it is!" she said gaily. "But freedom, Aliosha, freedom!

XXVII

SOLOMIN rushed out to the factory gates as soon as he was
informed that some sort of gentleman, with a lady, who had arrived
in a cart, was asking for him. Without a word of greeting to his
visitors, merely nodding his head to them several times, he told
the peasant to drive into the yard, and asking him to stop before
his own little dwelling, helped Mariana out of the cart. Nejdanov
jumped out after her. Solomin conducted them both through a long
dark passage, up a narrow, crooked little staircase at the back
of the house, up to the second floor. He opened a door and they
all went into a tiny neat little room with two windows.

"I'm so glad you've come!" Solomin exclaimed, with his habitual
smile, which now seemed even broader and brighter than usual.

"Here are your rooms. This one and another adjoining it. Not
much to look at, but never mind, one can live here and there's no
one to spy on you. Just under your window there is what my
employer calls a flower garden, but which I should call a kitchen
garden. It lies right up against the wall and there are hedges to
right and left. A quiet little spot. Well, how are you, my dear
lady? And how are you, Nejdanov?"

He shook hands with them both. They stood motionless, not taking
off their things, and with silent, half-bewildered, half-joyful
emotion gazed straight in front of them.

"Well? Why don't you take your things off?" Solomin asked. "Have
you much luggage?"

Mariana held up her little bundle.

"I have only this."

"I have a portmanteau and a bag, which I left in the cart. I'll
go and--"

"Don't bother, don't bother." Solomin opened the door. "Pavel!"
he shouted down the dark staircase, "run and fetch the things
from the cart!"

"All right!" answered the never-failing Pavel.

Solomin turned to Mariana, who had taken off her shawl and was
unfastening her cloak.

"Did everything go off happily?" he asked.

"Quite . . . not a soul saw us. I left a letter for Madame
Sipiagina. Vassily Fedotitch, I didn't bring any clothes with me,
because you're going to send us ..." (Mariana wanted to say to
the people, but hesitated). "They wouldn't have been of any use
in any case. I have money to buy what is necessary."

"We'll see to that later on . . . Ah!" he exclaimed, pointing to
Pavel who was at that moment coming in together with Nejdanov and
the luggage from The cart, "I can recommend you my best friend
here. You may rely on him absolutely, as you would on me. Have
you told Tatiana about the samovar?" he added in an undertone.

"It will soon be ready," Pavel replied; "and cream and
everything."

"Tatiana is Pavel's wife and just as reliable as he is," Solomin
continued. "Until you get used to things, my dear lady, she will
look after you."

Mariana flung her cloak on to a couch covered with leather, which
was standing in a corner of the room.

"Will you please call me Mariana, Vassily Fedotitch; I don't want
to be a lady, neither do I want servants. . . I did not go away
from there to be waited on. Don't look at my dress--I hadn't any
other. I must change all that now."

Her dress of fine brown cloth was very simple, but made by a St.
Petersburg dressmaker. It fitted beautifully round her waist and
shoulders and had altogether a fashionable air.

"Well, not a servant if you like, but a help, in the American
fashion. But you must have some tea. It's early yet, but you are
both tired, no doubt. I have to be at the factory now on
business, but will look in later on. If you want anything, ask
Pavel or Tatiana."

Mariana held out both her hands to him quickly.

"How can we thank you enough, Vassily Fedotitch?" She looked at
him with emotion. Solomin stroked one of her hands gently. "I
should say it's not worth thanking for, but that wouldn't be
true. I had better say that your thanks give me the greatest of
pleasure. So we are quits. Good morning. Come along, Pavel."

Mariana and Nejdanov were left alone.

She rushed up to him and looked at him with the same expression
with which she had looked at Solomin, only with even greater
delight, emotion, radiance: "Oh, my dear!" she exclaimed. "We are
beginning a new life . . . at last! At last! You can't believe
how this poor little room, where we are to spend a few days,
seems sweet and charming compared to those hateful palaces! Are
you glad?"

Nejdanov took her hands and pressed them against his breast.

"I am happy, Mariana, to begin this new life with you! You will
be my guiding star, my support, my strength--"

"Dear, darling Aliosha! But stop--we must wash and tidy ourselves
a little. I will go into my room . . . and you . . . stay here. I
won't be a minute--"

Mariana went into the other room and shut the door. A minute
later she opened it half-way and, putting her head through, said:
"Isn't Solomin nice!" Then she shut the door again and the key
turned in the lock.

Nejdanov went up to the window and looked out into the garden...
One old, very old, apple tree particularly attracted his
attention. He shook himself, stretched, opened his portmanteau,
but took nothing out of it; he became lost in thought. . .

A quarter of an hour later Mariana returned with a beaming,
freshly-washed face, brimming over with gaiety, and a few minutes
later Tatiana, Pavel's wife, appeared with the samovar, tea
things, rolls, and cream.

In striking contrast to her gipsy-like husband she was a typical
Russian-- buxom, with masses of flaxen hair, which she wore in a
thick plait twisted round a horn comb. She had coarse though
pleasant features, good-natured grey eyes, and was dressed in a
very neat though somewhat faded print dress. Her hands were clean
and well-shaped, though large. She bowed composedly, greeted them
in a firm, clear accent without any sing-song about it, and set
to work arranging the tea things.

Mariana went up to her.

"Let me help you, Tatiana. Only give me a napkin."

Don't bother, miss, we are used to it. Vassily Fedotitch told me
to. If you want anything please let us know. We shall be
delighted to do anything we can."

"Please don't call me miss, Tatiana. I am dressed like a lady,
but I am . . . I am quite--"

Tatiana's penetrating glance disconcerted Mariana; she ceased.

"And what are you then?" Tatiana asked in her steady voice.

"If you really want to know . . . I am certainly a lady by birth.
But I want to get rid of all that. I want to become like all
simple women."

"Oh, I see! You want to become simplified, like so many do
nowadays."

"What did you say, Tatiana? To become simplified?"

"Yes, that's a word that has sprung up among us. To become
simplified means to be like the common people. Teaching the
people is all very well in its way, but it must be a difficult
task, very difficult! I hope you'll get on."

"To become simplified!" Mariana repeated. "Do you hear, Aliosha,
you and I have now become simplified!"

"Is he your husband or your brother?" Tatiana asked, carefully
washing the cups with her large, skilful hands as she looked from
one to the other with a kindly smile.

"No," Mariana replied; "he is neither my husband nor my brother."

Tatiana raised her head.

"Then you are just living together freely? That also happens very
often now. At one time it was to be met with only among
nonconformists, but nowadays other folks do it too. Where there
is God's blessing you can live in peace without the priest's aid.
We have some living like that at the factory. Not the worst of
folk either."

"What nice words you use, Tatiana! 'Living together freely' . . .
I like that. I'll tell you what I want to ask of you, Tatiana. I
want to make or buy a dress, something like yours, only a little
plainer. Then I want shoes and stockings and a kerchief--
everything like you have. I've got some money."

"That's quite easy, miss. . . There, there, don't be cross. I
won't call you miss if you don't like it. But what am I to call
you?"

"Call me Mariana."

"And what is your father's Christian name?"

"Why do you want my father's name? Call me simply Mariana, as I
call you Tatiana."

"I don't like to somehow. You had better tell me."

"As you like. My father's name was Vikent. And what was your
father's?

"He was called Osip."

"Then I shall call you Tatiana Osipovna."

"And I'll call you Mariana Vikentievna. That will be splendid."

"Won't you take a cup of tea with us, Tatiana Osipovna?"

"For once I will, Mariana Vikentievna, although Egoritch will
scold me afterwards."

"Who is Egoritch?"

"Pavel, my husband."

"Sit down, Tatiana Osipovna."

"Thank you, Mariana Vikentievna."

Tatiana sat down and began sipping her tea and nibbling pieces of
sugar. She kept turning the lump of sugar round in her fingers,
screwing up her eye on the side on which she bit it. Mariana
entered into conversation with her and she replied quite at her
ease, asked questions in her turn, and volunteered various pieces
of information. She simply worshipped Solomin and put her husband
only second to him. She did not, however, care for the factory
life.

"It's neither town nor country here. I wouldn't stop an hour if
it were not for Vassily Fedotitch!"

Mariana listened to her attentively, while Nejdanov, sitting a
little to one side, watched her and wondered at her interest. For
Mariana it was all so new, but it seemed to him that he had seen
crowds of women like Tatiana and spoken to them hundreds of
times.

"Do you know, Tatiana Osipovna?" Mariana began at last; "you
think that we want to teach the people, but we want to serve
them."

"Serve them? Teach them; that's the best thing you can do for
them. Look at me, for instance. When I married Egoritch I didn't
so much as know how to read and write. Now I've learned, thanks to
Vassily Fedotitch. He didn't teach me himself, he paid an old man
to do it. It was he who taught me. You see I'm still young,
although I'm grown up."

Mariana was silent.

"I wanted to learn some sort of trade, Tatiana Osipovna," Mariana
began; "we must talk about that later on. I'm not good at sewing,
but if I could learn to cook, then I could go out as a cook."

Tatiana became thoughtful.

"Why a cook? Only rich people and merchants keep cooks; the poor
do their own cooking. And to cook at a mess for workmen . . . why
you couldn't do that!"

"But I could live in a rich man's house and get to know poor
people. How else can I get to know them? I shall not always have
such an opportunity as I have with you."

Tatiana turned her empty cup upside down on the saucer.

"It's a difficult matter," she said at last with a sigh, "and
can't be settled so easily. I'll do what I can, but I'm not very
clever. We must talk it over with Egoritch. He's clever if you
like! Reads all sorts of books and has everything at his fingers'
ends." At this point she glanced at Mariana who was rolling up a
cigarette.

"You'll excuse me, Mariana Vikentievna, but if you really want to
become simplified you must give that up." She pointed to the
cigarette. "If you want to be a cook, that would never do. Everyone would see at once that you are a lady."

Mariana threw the cigarette out of the window.

"I won't smoke any more. . . It's quite easy to give that up.
Women of the people don't smoke, so I suppose I ought not to."

"That's quite true, Mariana Vikentievna. Our men indulge in it,
but not the women. And here's Vassily Fedotitch coming to see
you. Those are his steps. You ask him. He'll arrange everything
for you in the best possible way."

Solomin's voice was heard at the door.

"Can I come in?"

"Come in, come in!" Mariana called out.

"It's an English habit of mine," Solomin observed as he came in.
"Well, and how are you getting on? Not homesick yet, eh? I see
you're having tea with Tatiana. You listen to her, she's a
sensible person. My employer is coming today. It's rather a
nuisance. He's staying to dinner. But it can't be helped. He's
the master."

"What sort of a man is he?" Nejdanov asked, coming out of his
corner.

"Oh, he's not bad . . . knows what he's about. One of the new
generation. He's very polite, wears cuffs, and has his eyes about
him no less than the old sort. He would skin a flint with his own
hands and say, 'Turn to this side a little, please . . . there is
still a living spot here . . . I must clean it!' He's nice enough
to me, because I'm necessary to him. I just looked in to say that
I may not get a chance of seeing you again today. Dinner will be
brought to you here, and please don't show yourselves in the yard.
Do you think the Sipiagins will make a search for you, Mariana?
Will they make a hunt?"

"I don't think so," Mariana replied.

"And I think they will," Nejdanov remarked.

"It doesn't matter either way," Solomin continued. "You must be a
little careful at first, but in a short time you can do as you
like."

"Yes; only there's one thing," Nejdanov observed, "Markelov must
know where I am; he must be informed."

"But why?"

"I am afraid it must be done--for the cause. He must always know
my whereabouts. I've given my word. But he's quite safe, you
know!"

Very well. We can send Pavel."

"And will my clothes be ready for me?"

"Your special costume you mean? Why, of course. . . the same
masquerade. It's not expensive at any rate. Goodbye. You must be
tired. Come, Tatiana."

Mariana and Nejdanov were left alone again.


XXVIII

FIRST they clasped each other's hands, then Mariana offered to
help him tidy his room. She immediately began unpacking his
portmanteau and bag, declining his offer of help on the ground
that she must get used to work and wished to do it all herself.
She hung his clothes on nails which she discovered in the table
drawer and knocked into the wall with the back of a hairbrush for
want of a hammer. Then she arranged his linen in a little old
chest of drawers standing in between the two windows.

"What is this? " she asked suddenly. "Why, it's a revolver. Is it
loaded? What do you want it for?"

"It is not loaded . . . but you had better give it to me. You
want to know why I have it? How can one get on without a revolver
in our calling?"

She laughed and went on with her work, shaking each thing out
separately and beating it with her hand; she even stood two pairs
of boots under the sofa; the few books, packet of papers, and
tiny copy-book of verses she placed triumphantly upon a three-
cornered table, calling it a writing and work table, while the
other, a round one, she called a dining and tea table. Then she
took up the copy-book of verses in both hands and, raising it on
a level with her face, looked over the edge at Nejdanov and said
with a smile:

"We will read this together when we have some time to spare,
won't we?

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