Book: Virgin Soil

I >> Ivan S. Turgenev >> Virgin Soil




About two minutes went by in this way, everyone feeling
uncomfortable. Paklin was the first to break the silence.

"Well?" he began. "Is my sacrifice to be received on the altar of
the fatherland? Am I permitted to bring, if not the whole at any
rate, twenty-five or thirty roubles for the common cause?"

Nejdanov flared up. He seemed to be boiling over with annoyance,
which was not lessened by the solemn burning of the letter--he
was only waiting for an opportunity to burst out.

"I tell you that I don't want it, don't want, don't want it! I'll
not allow it and I'll not take it! I can get the money. I can get
it at once. I am not in need of anyone's help!

"My dear Alexai," Paklin remarked, "I see that you are not a
democrat in spite of your being a revolutionist!"

"Why not say straight out that I'm an aristocrat?"

"So you are up to a certain point."

Nejdanov gave a forced laugh.

"I see you are hinting at the fact of my being illegitimate. You
can save yourself the trouble, my dear boy. I am not likely to
forget it."

Paklin threw up his arms in despair.

"Aliosha! What is the matter with you? How can you twist my words
so? I hardly know you today."

Nejdanov shrugged his shoulders.

"Basanov's arrest has upset you, but he was so careless--"

He did not hide his convictions," Mashurina put in gloomily. "It
is not for us to sit in judgment upon him!"

"Quite so; only he might have had a little more consideration for
others, who are likely to be compromised through him now."

"What makes you think so?" Ostrodumov bawled out in his turn.
"Basanov has plenty of character, he will not betray anyone.
Besides, not every one can be cautious you know, Mr. Paklin."

Paklin was offended and was about to say something when Nejdanov
interrupted him.

"I vote we leave politics for a time, ladies and gentlemen!" he
exclaimed.

A silence ensued.

"I ran across Skoropikin today," Paklin was the first to begin.
"Our great national critic, aesthetic, and enthusiast! What an
insufferable creature! He is forever boiling and frothing over
like a bottle of sour kvas. A waiter runs with it, his finger
stuck in the bottle instead of a cork, a fat raisin in the neck,
and when it has done frothing and foaming there is nothing left
at the bottom but a few drops of some nasty stuff, which far from
quenching any one's thirst is enough to make one ill. He's a most
dangerous person for young people to come in contact with."

Paklin's true and rather apt comparison raised no smile on his
listeners' faces, only Nejdanov remarked that if young people
were fools enough to interest themselves in aesthetics, they
deserved no pity whatever, even if Skoropikin did lead them
astray.

"Of course," Paklin exclaimed with some warmth--the less sympathy
he met with, the more heated he became--" I admit that the
question is not a political one, but an important one,
nevertheless. According to Skoropikin, every ancient work of art
is valueless because it is old. If that were true, then art would
be reduced to nothing more or less than mere fashion. A
preposterous idea, not worth entertaining. If art has no firmer
foundation than that, if it is not eternal, then it is utterly
useless. Take science, for instance. In mathematics do you look
upon Euler, Laplace, or Gauss as fools? Of course not. You accept
their authority. Then why question the authority of Raphael and
Mozart? I must admit, however, that the laws of art are far more
difficult to define than the laws of nature, but they exist just
the same, and he who fails to see them is blind, whether he shuts
his eyes to them purposely or not."

Paklin ceased, but no one uttered a word. They all sat with
tightly closed mouths as if feeling unutterably sorry for him.

"All the same," Ostrodumov remarked, " I am not in the least
sorry for the young people who run after Skoropikin."

"You are hopeless," Paklin thought. "I had better be going."

He went up to Nejdanov, intending to ask his opinion about
smuggling in the magazine, the "Polar Star", from abroad (the "Bell"
had already ceased to exist), but the conversation took such a
turn that it was impossible to raise the question. Paklin had
already taken up his hat, when suddenly, without the slightest
warning, a wonderfully pleasant, manly baritone was heard from
the passage. The very sound of this voice suggested something
gentle, fresh, and well-bred.

"Is Mr. Nejdanov at home?"

They all looked at one another in amazement.

"Is Mr. Nejdanov at home?" the baritone repeated.

"Yes, he is," Nejdanov replied at last.

The door opened gently and a man of about forty entered the room
and slowly removed his glossy hat from his handsome, closely
cropped head. He was tall and well-made, and dressed in a
beautiful cloth coat with a gorgeous beaver collar, although it
was already the end of April. He impressed Nejdanov and Paklin,
and even Mashurina and Ostrodumov, with his elegant, easy
carriage and courteous manner. They all rose instinctively on his
entrance.

III

THE elegantly dressed man went up to Nejdanov with an amiable
smile and began: "I have already had the pleasure of meeting you
and even speaking to you, Mr. Nejdanov, the day before yesterday,
if you remember, at the theatre." (The visitor paused, as though
waiting for Nejdanov to make some remark, but the latter merely
bowed slightly and blushed.) "I have come to see you about your
advertisement, which I noticed in the paper. I should like us to
have a talk if your visitors would not mind. . ." (He bowed to
Mashurina, and waved a grey-gloved hand in the direction of
Paklin and Ostrodumov.)

"Not at all," Nejdanov replied awkwardly. "Won't you sit down?"

The visitor bowed from the waist, drew a chair to himself, but
did not sit down, as every oneelse was standing. He merely gazed
around the room with his bright though half-closed eyes.

"Goodbye, Alexai Dmitritch," Mashurina exclaimed suddenly. "I
will come again presently."

"And I too," Ostrodumov added.

Mashurina did not take the slightest notice of the visitor as she
passed him, but went straight up to Nejdanov, gave him a hearty
shake of the hand, and left the room without bowing to anyone.
Ostrodumov followed her, making an unnecessary noise with his
boots, and snorting out once or twice contemptuously, "There's a
beaver collar for you!"

The visitor accompanied them with a polite though slightly
inquisitive look, and then directed his gaze to Paklin, hoping
the latter would follow their example, but Paklin withdrew into a
corner and settled down. A peculiarly suppressed smile played on
his lips ever since the appearance of the stranger. The visitor
and Nejdanov also sat down.

"My name is Sipiagin. You may perhaps have heard of me," the
visitor began with modest pride.

We must first relate how Nejdanov had met him at the theatre.

There had been a performance of Ostrovsky's play "Never Sit in
Another Man's Sledge", on the occasion of the great actor
Sadovsky's coming from Moscow. Rusakov, one of the characters in
the play, was known to be one of his favourite parts. Just before
dinner on that day, Nejdanov went down to the theatre to book a
ticket, but found a large crowd already waiting there. He walked
up to the desk with the intention of getting a ticket for the
pit, when an officer, who happened to be standing behind him,
thrust a three-rouble note over Nejdanov's head and called out to
the man inside: "He" (meaning Nejdanov) "will probably want
change. I don't. Give me a ticket for the stalls, please. Make
haste, I'm in a hurry!"

"Excuse me, sir, I want a ticket for the stalls myself!Nejdanov exclaimed,
throwing down a three-rouble note, all the ready money he possessed. He got
his ticket, and in the evening appeared in the aristocratic part of the
Alexandrinsky Theatre.

He was badly dressed, without gloves and in dirty boots. He was
uncomfortable and angry with himself for feeling uncomfortable. A
general with numerous orders glittering on his breast sat on his
right, and on his left this same elegant Sipiagin, whose
appearance two days later at Nejdanov's so astonished Mashurina
and Ostrodumov. The general stared at Nejdanov every now and
again, as though at something indecent, out of place, and
offensive. Sipiagin looked at him sideways, but did not seem
unfriendly. All the people surrounding him were evidently
personages of some importance, and as they all knew one another,
they kept exchanging remarks, exclamations, greetings,
occasionally even over Nejdanov's head. He sat there motionless
and ill at ease in his spacious armchair, feeling like an
outcast. Ostrovsky's play and Sadovsky's acting afforded him but
little pleasure, and he felt bitter at heart. When suddenly, Oh
wonder! During one of the intervals, his neighbour on the left,
not the glittering general, but the other with no marks of
distinction on his breast, addressed him politely and kindly, but
somewhat timidly. He asked him what he thought of Ostrovsky's
play, wanted to know his opinion of it as a representative of the
new generation. Nejdanov, overwhelmed and half frightened, his
heart beating fast, answered at first curtly, in monosyllables,
but soon began to be annoyed with his own excitement. "After
all," he thought, " am I not a man like everybody else? "And
began expressing his opinions quite freely, without any
restraint. He got so carried away by his subject, and spoke so
loudly, that he quite alarmed the order-bedecked general.
Nejdanov was a strong admirer of Ostrovsky, but could not help
feeling, in spite of the author's great genius, his evident
desire to throw a slur on modern civilisation in the burlesqued
character of Veherov, in "Never Sit in Another Man's Sledge".

His polite neighbour listened to him attentively, evidently
interested in what he said. He spoke to him again in the next
interval, not about the play this time, but about various matters
of everyday life, about science, and even touched upon political
questions. He was decidedly interested in his eloquent young
companion. Nejdanov did not feel in the least constrained as
before, but even began to assume airs, as if saying, "If you
really want to know, I can satisfy your curiosity!" The general's
annoyance grew to indignation and even suspicion.

After the play Sipiagin took leave of Nejdanov very courteously,
but did not ask his name, neither did he tell him his own. While
waiting for his carriage, he ran against a friend, a certain
Prince G., an aide-de-camp.

"I watched you from my box," the latter remarked, through a
perfumed moustache. "Do you know whom you were speaking to?"

"No. Do you? A rather clever chap. Who is he?"

The prince whispered in his ear in French. "He is my brother . .
.. illegitimate. . . . His name is Nejdanov. I will tell you all
about it someday. My father did not in the least expect that
sort of thing, that was why he called him Nejdanov. [The
unexpected.] But he looked after him all right. Il lui a fait un
sort. We make him an allowance to live on. He is not stupid. Had
quite a good education, thanks to my father. But he has gone
quite off the track--I think he's a republican. We refuse to have
anything to do with him. Il est impossible. Goodbye, I see my
carriage is waiting."

The prince separated.

The next day Sipiagin noticed Nejdanov's advertisement in the
paper and went to see him.

"My name is Sipiagin," he repeated, as he sat in front of
Nejdanov, surveying him with a dignified air. "I see by your
advertisement that you are looking for a post, and I should like
to know if you would be willing to come to me. I am married and
have a boy of eight, a very intelligent child, I may say. We
usually spend the summer and autumn in the country, in the
province of S., about five miles from the town of that name. I
should like you to come to us for the vacation to teach my boy
Russian history and grammar. I think those were the subjects you
mentioned in your advertisement. I think you will get on with us
all right, and I am sure you will like the neighbourhood. We have
a large house and garden, the air is excellent, and there is a
river close by. Well, would you like to come? We shall only have
to come to terms, although I do not think," he added, with a
slight grimace, "that there will be any difficulty on that point
between us."

Nejdanov watched Sipiagin all the time he was speaking. He gazed
at his small head, bent a little to one side, his low, narrow,
but intelligent forehead, his fine Roman nose, pleasant eyes,
straight lips, out of which his words flowed graciously; he gazed
at his drooping whiskers, kept in the English fashion, gazed and
wondered. "What does it all mean?" he asked himself. "Why has
this man come to seek me out? This aristocrat and I! What have we
in common? What does he see in me?"

He was so lost in thought that he did not open his lips when
Sipiagin, having finished speaking, evidently awaited an answer.
Sipiagin cast a look into the corner where Paklin sat, also
watching him. "Perhaps the presence of a third person prevents
him from saying what he would like," flashed across Sipiagin's
mind. He raised his eyebrows, as if in submission to the
strangeness of the surroundings he had come to of his own accord,
and repeated his question a second time.

Nejdanov started.

"Of course," he began hurriedly, "I should like to...with pleasure
.. . . only I must confess . . . I am rather surprised . . .
having no recommendations . . . and the views I expressed at the
theatre were more calculated to prejudice you--"

"There you are quite mistaken Alexai--Alexai Dmitritch--have I
got the name right?" Sipiagin asked with a smile. "I may venture
to say that I am well known for my liberal and progressive
opinions. On the contrary, what you said the other evening, with
the exception perhaps of any youthful characteristics, which are
always rather given to exaggeration, if you will excuse my saying
so, I fully agreed with, and was even delighted with your
enthusiasm."

Sipiagin spoke without the slightest hesitation, his words
flowing from him as a stream.

"My wife shares my way of thinking," he continued. "her views
are, if anything, more like yours than mine, which is not
surprising, considering that she is younger than I am. When I
read your name in the paper the day after our meeting--and by the
way, you announced your name and address contrary to the usual
custom--I was rather struck by the coincidence, having already
heard it at the theatre. It seemed to me like the finger of fate.
Excuse my being so superstitious. As for recommendations, I do
not think they are necessary in this case. I, like you, am
accustomed to trusting my intuition. May I hope that you will
come?"

"Yes, I will come," Nejdanov replied, "and will try to be worthy
of your confidence. But there is one thing I should like to
mention. I could undertake to teach your boy, but am not prepared
to look after him. I do not wish to undertake anything that would
interfere with my freedom."

Sipiagin gave a slight wave of the hand, as if driving away a
fly.

"You may be easy on that point. You are not made that way. I only
wanted a tutor, and I have found one. Well, now, how about terms?
Financial terms, that is. Base metal!"

Nejdanov did not know what to say.

"I think," Sipiagin went on, bending forward and touching
Nejdanov with the tips of his fingers, "that decent people can
settle such things in two words. I will give you a hundred
roubles a month and all travelling expenses. Will you come?

Nejdanov blushed.

"That is more than I wanted to ask . . . because I--"

"Well," Sipiagin interrupted him, "I look upon the matter as
settled, and consider you as a member of our household." He rose
from his chair, and became quite gay and expansive, as if he had
just received a present. A certain amiable familiarity, verging
on the playful, began to show itself in all his gestures. " We
shall set out in a day or two," he went on, in an easy tone.
"There is nothing I love better than meeting spring in the
country, although I am a busy, prosaic sort of person, tied to
town. . . I want you to count your first month as beginning
from today. My wife and boy have already started, and are
probably in Moscow by now. We shall find them in the lap of
nature. We will go alone, like two bachelors, ha, ha!" Sipiagin
laughed coquettishly, through his nose. "And now--"

He took a black and silver pocketbook out of his overcoat pocket
and pulled out a card.

"This is my address. Come and see me tomorrow at about twelve
o'clock. We can talk things over further. I should like to tell
you a few of my views on education. We can also decide when to
start."

Sipiagin took Nejdanov's hand. "By the way," he said, lowering
his voice and bending his head a little to one side, "if you are
in need of money, please do not stand on ceremony. I can let you
have a month's pay in advance."

Nejdanov was at a loss to know what to say. He gazed, with the
same puzzled expression, at the kind, bright face, which was so
strange yet so close to him, smiling encouragingly.

"You are not in need of any?" Sipiagin asked in a whisper.

"I will tell you tomorrow, if I may," Nejdanov said at last.

"Well, goodbye, then. Till tomorrow." Sipiagin dropped
Nejdanov's hand and turned to go out.

"I should like to know," Nejdanov asked suddenly, "who told you
my name? You said you heard it at the theatre."

"Someone who is very well known to you. A relative of yours, I
think. Prince G."

"The aide-de-camp?"

"Yes."

Nejdanov flushed even redder than before, but did not say
anything. Sipiagin shook his hand again, without a word this
time, then bowing first to him and then to Paklin, put on his hat
at the door, and went out with a self-satisfied smile on his
lips, denoting the deep impression the visit must have produced
upon him.

IV

SIPIAGIN had barely crossed the threshold when Paklin jumped up,
and rushing across to Nejdanov began showering congratulations
upon him.

"What a fine catch!" he exclaimed laughing, scarcely able to
stand still. "Do you know who he is? He's quite a celebrity, a
chamberlain, one of our pillars of society, a future minister!"

"I have never heard of him," Nejdanov remarked dejectedly.

Paklin threw up his arms in despair.

"That's just where we are mistaken, Alexai Dmitritch! We never
know anyone. We want to do things, to turn the whole world
upside down, and are living outside this very world, amidst two
or three friends, jostling each other in our narrow little
circle!

"Excuse me," Nejdanov put in. "I don't think that is quite true.
We certainly do not go amongst the enemy, but are constantly
mixing with our own kind, and with the masses."

"Just a minute! " Paklin interrupted, in his turn. "Talking of
enemies reminds me of Goethe's lines--

Wer den Dichter will versteh'n
Muss im Dichter's lands geh'n.

and I say--

Wer den Feinde will versteh'n
Muss im Feinde's lands geh'n.

To turn one's back on one's enemies, not to try and understand
their manner of life, is utterly stupid! Yes, utterly stu-pid! If
I want to shoot a wolf in the forest, I must first find out his
haunts. You talked of coming in contact with the people just now.
My dear boy! In 1862 the Poles formed their revolutionary bands
in the forest; we are just about to enter that same forest, I
mean the people, where it is no less dark and dense than in the
other."

"Then what would you have us do?"

"The Hindus cast themselves under the wheels of the Juggernaut,"
Paklin continued; "they were mangled to pieces and died in
ecstasy. We, also, have our Juggernaut--it crushes and mangles
us, but there is no ecstasy in it."

"Then what would you have us do?" Nejdanov almost screamed at
him. "Would you have us write preachy novels?

Paklin folded his arms and put his head on one side.

"You, at any rate, could write novels. You have a decidedly
literary turn of mind. All right, I won't say anything about it.
I know you don't like it being mentioned. I know it is not very
exciting to write the sort of stuff wanted, and in the modern
style too. "'Oh, I love you," she bounded--'"

"It's all the same to me," he replied, scratching himself.

"That is precisely why I advise you to get to know all sorts and
conditions, beginning from the very highest. We must not be
entirely dependent on people like Ostrodumov! They are very
honest, worthy folk, but so hopelessly stupid! You need only look
at our friend. The very soles of his boots are not like those
worn by intelligent people. Why did he hurry away just now? Only
because he did not want to be in the same room with an
aristocrat, to breathe the same air--"

"Please don't talk like that about Ostrodumov before me!"
Nejdanov burst out. "He wears thick boots because they are
cheaper!"

"I did not mean it in that sense," Paklin began.

"If he did not wish to remain in the same room with an
aristocrat," Nejdanov continued, raising his voice, "I think it
very praiseworthy on his part, and what is more, he is capable of
sacrificing himself, will face death, if necessary, which is more
than you or I will ever do!

Paklin made a sad grimace, and pointed to his scraggy, crippled
legs.

"Now do I look like a warrior, my dear Alexai Dmitritch? But
enough of this. I am delighted that you met this Sipiagin, and
can even foresee something useful to our cause as a result of it.
You will find yourself in the highest society, will come in
contact with those wonderful beauties one hears about, women with
velvety bodies on steel springs, as it says in "Letters on Spain".
Get to know them, my dear fellow. If you were at all inclined to
be an Epicurean, I should really be afraid to let you go. But
those are not the objects with which you are going, are they?"

"I am going away," Nejdanov said, "to earn my living. And to get
away from you all," he added to himself.

"Of course, of course! That is why I advise you to learn. Fugh!
What a smell this gentleman has left behind him!" Paklin sniffed
the air. "The very ambrosia that the governor's wife longed for
in Gogol's 'Revisor'!"

"He discussed me with Prince G.," Nejdanov remarked dejectedly.
"I suppose he knows my whole history now."

"You need not suppose; you may be quite sure of it! But what does
it matter? I wouldn't mind betting that that was the very reason
for his wanting to engage you. You will be able to hold your own
with the best of them. You are an aristocrat yourself by blood,
and consequently an equal. However, I have stayed too long. I
must go back to the exploiter's, to my office. Goodbye."

Paklin went to the door, but stopped and turned back.

"I say, Aliosha," he began in a persuasive tone of voice, you
have only just refused me, and I know you will not be short of
money now; but, all the same, do allow me to sacrifice just a
little for the cause. I can't do anything else, so let me help
with my pocket! I have put ten roubles on the table. Will you
take them?"

Nejdanov remained motionless, and did not say anything. "Silence
means consent! Thanks!" Paklin exclaimed gaily and vanished.

Nejdanov was left alone. He continued gazing out into the narrow,
gloomy court, unpenetrated by the sun even in summer, and he felt
sad and gloomy at heart.

We already know that Nejdanov's father was Prince G., a rich
adjutant-general. His mother was the daughter of the general's
governess, a pretty girl who died on the day of Nejdanov's birth.
He received his early education in a boarding school kept by a
certain Swiss, a very energetic and severe pedagogue, after which
he entered the university. His great ambition was to study law,
but his father, who had a violent hatred for nihilists, made him
go in for history and philology, or for "aesthetics" as Nejdanov
put it with a bitter smile. His father used to see him about four
times a year in all, but was, nevertheless, interested in his
welfare, and when he died, left him a sum of six thousand roubles
"in memory of Nastinka" his mother. Nejdanov received the
interest on this money from his brothers the Princes G., which
they were pleased to call an allowance.

Paklin had good reason to call him an aristocrat. Everything about
him betokened his origin. His tiny ears, hands, feet, his small but
fine features, delicate skin, wavy hair; his very voice was pleasant,
although it was slightly guttural. He was highly strung, frightfully
conceited, very susceptible, and even capricious. The false
position he had been placed in from childhood had made him
sensitive and irritable, but his natural generosity had kept him
from becoming suspicious and mistrustful. This same false
position was the cause of an utter inconsistency, which permeated
his whole being. He was fastidiously accurate and horribly
squeamish, tried to be cynical and coarse in his speech, but was
an idealist by nature. He was passionate and pure-minded, bold
and timid at the same time, and, like a repentant sinner, ashamed
of his sins; he was ashamed alike of his timidity and his purity,
and considered it his duty to scoff at all idealism. He had an
affectionate heart, but held himself aloof from everybody, was
easily exasperated, but never bore ill-will. He was furious with
his father for having made him take up "aesthetics," openly
interested himself in politics and social questions, professed
the most extreme views (which meant more to him than mere words),
but secretly took a delight in art, poetry, beauty in all its
manifestations, and in his inspired moments wrote verses. It is
true that he carefully hid the copy-book in which they were
written, and none of his St. Petersburg friends, with the
exception of Paklin, and he only by his peculiar intuitiveness,
suspected its existence. Nothing hurt or offended Nejdanov more
than the smallest allusion to his poetry, which he regarded as an
unpardonable weakness in himself. His Swiss schoolmaster had
taught him a great many things, and he was not afraid of hard
work. He applied himself readily and zealously, but did not work
consecutively. All his friends loved him. They were attracted by
his natural sense of justice, his kindness, and his pure-
mindedness, but Nejdanov was not born under a lucky star, and did
not find life an easy matter. He was fully conscious of this fact
and felt utterly lonely in spite of the untiring devotion of his
friends.

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