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THE NOVELS OF 
 IVAN TURGENEV 
 
THE NOVELS OF 
 
 IVAN TURGENEV 
 
 I. RUDIN. 
 
 II. A HOUSE OF GENTLEFOLK. 
 
 III. ON THE EVE. 
 
 IV. PWTHERS AND CHILDREN. 
 V. SMOKE. 
 
 VI. & VII. VIRGIN SOIL. 2 vols. 
 
 VIII. & IX. A SPORTSMAN'S SKETCHES. 2V0ls. 
 
 X. DREAM TALES AND PROSE POEMS. 
 
 XL THE TORRENTS OF SPRING, ETC. 
 
 XII. A LEAR OF THE STEPPES. 
 
 XIII. THE DIARY OF A SUPERFLUOUS 
 
 MAN, ETC. 
 
 XIV. A DESPERATE CHARACTER, ETC. 
 XV. THE JEW, ETC. 
 
 NEW YORK: THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
 
 LONDON: WILLIAM HEINEMANN 
 

 ^-'^^s^^^^^/i^^.i 
 
THE NOVELS OF IVAN TURGENEV 
 
 ILLUSTRATED EDITION 
 
 VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE RUSSIAN 
 
 By 
 
 CONSTANCE GARNETT 
 
 VOLUME II 
 
 NEW YORK: THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
 LONDON: WILLIAM HEINEMANN 
 
 Ш"^"^^:. 
 
 >v 
 
 -n [ OF r-iE 
 %\ LIBRARY 
 
&ЭГЛЗ 
 
 Printed in England 
 
 All rights reserz'ed 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 RACHEL IN RACINE'S ' BAJAZET,' . Frontispiece 
 
 N. V. GOGOL, to face page 134 
 
 COMTE DE CHAMBORD, . 
 
XXI 
 
 The sky was overcast with low clouds, and 
 although it was not perfectly dark, and in 
 front the cart-ruts could be distinguished stand- 
 ing out on the road, to right and left, every- 
 thing was in shadow, and the outlines of 
 separate objects fell together into big con- 
 fused patches of darkness. It was a dim, 
 treacherous night ; the wind blew in gusty, 
 damp squalls, bringing with it the scent of 
 rain and of broad fields of wheat. When 
 they had passed the oak bushes which served 
 as a landmark, and had to turn off into the 
 by-road, driving was still more difficult; the 
 narrow track was quite lost at times. , , . The 
 coachman drove more slowly. 
 
 * I hope we 're not going to lose our way,' 
 observed Nezhdanov, who had been silent till 
 then. 
 
 * No ; we shan't lose our way ! ' answered 
 Markelov. *Two misfortunes don't come in 
 one day.* 
 
 VOL. II. I A 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 * Why, what was the first misfortune ? ' 
 'What? why, we've wasted our day for 
 
 nothing — don't you reckon that as anything ? ' 
 *Yes . . . of course. . . . That awful Golush- 
 
 kin ! We oughtn't to have drunk so much 
 
 wine. My head aches now . . . fearfully.' 
 *I wasn't speaking of Golushkin; he at any 
 
 rate gave us some money, so that was at least 
 
 something gained by our visit ! * 
 
 * Surely you don't regret Paklin's having 
 taken us to his . . . what was it he called 
 them — poll-parrots ? * 
 
 'There's nothing to regret in it . . . and 
 there 's nothing to rejoice at either. I 'm not 
 one of those who take interest in such trifles 
 ... I was not referring to that misfortune.* 
 
 'What, then?* 
 
 Markelov make no reply, he simply turned 
 a little in his corner, as though he were 
 wrapping himself up. Nezhdanov could not 
 quite make out his face ; only his moustaches 
 stood out in a black transverse line ; but ever 
 since the morning he had been conscious of 
 something in Markelov it was better not to 
 touch upon — some obscure, secret irritation. 
 
 ' Tell me, Sergei Mihalovitch,' he began 
 after a long pause, 'are you in earnest in 
 admiring Mr. Kislyakov's letters, that you 
 gave me to read this morning? You know — 
 
 2 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 excuse the crudity of the expression — it's all 
 perfect rubbish ! ' 
 
 Markelov drew himself up. 
 
 * In the first place/ he began in a wrathful 
 voice, * I don't at all share your opinion about 
 those letters. I think them very remarkable . . . 
 and conscientious ! And secondly, Kislyakov 
 toils and slaves, and, what 's more, he believes ; 
 he believes in our cause, he believes in revolu- 
 tion ! I must tell you one thing, Alexey Dmi- 
 trievitch, I notice that you — you are very luke- 
 warm in our cause ; you don't believe in it ! ' 
 
 'What makes you think that?' Nezhdanov 
 articulated slowly. 
 
 *What? Why, every word you say, your 
 whole behaviour ! To-day at Golushkin's, who 
 was it said he didn't see what elements we 
 could depend on ? You ! Who asked us to point 
 to any ? You ! And when that friend of yours, 
 that grinning ape and buffoon, Mr. Paklin, began 
 declaring, with eyes upturned to heaven, that 
 not one of us was capable of sacrifice, who was 
 it backed him up, who was it nodded his head 
 in approval ? Wasn't that you ? Say what you 
 please of yourself, and think of yourself what 
 you know . . . that 's your affair . . . but I know 
 of people who are capable of renouncing every- 
 thing that makes life sweet, even the bliss of 
 love, to be true to their convictions, not to betray 
 3 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 them ! Oh, to-day, you are not capable of that, 
 of course ! ' 
 
 * To-day ? And why to-day ? * 
 
 'Come, no humbug, for God's sake, you 
 happy Don Juan, you myrtle-crowned lover!' 
 shouted Markelov, totally oblivious of the coach- 
 man, who, though he did not turn round on the 
 box, could hear everything perfectly distinctly. 
 It is true the coachman v/as at that instant 
 far more interested in the road than in any 
 wrangling on the part of the gentlemen sitting 
 behind him, and he cautiously and rather timor- 
 ously urged on the centre horse, who shook 
 his head and backed, letting the coach slide 
 down a sort of rocky prominence, which cer- 
 tainly ought not to have been there at all. 
 
 'Excuse me, I don't quite understand you,* 
 said Nezhdanov. 
 
 Markelov gave a forced, vindictive chuckle. 
 
 * You don't understand me ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 I know all about it, my fine gentleman ! I know 
 whom you had a love-scene with yesterday ; I 
 know who it is you 've fascinated with your 
 good looks and your fine talk ; I know who lets 
 you into her room . . , after ten o'clock at 
 night ! ' 
 
 ' Master ! ' the coachman suddenly addressed 
 Markelov, ' take the reins ... I '11 get down 
 and have a look. ... I think we Ve got off the 
 4 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 road. . . . There seems a sort of ravine here, or 
 something. . . .' 
 
 The coach was, in fact, all on one side. 
 Markelov clutched the reins handed him by the 
 coachman, and went on as loudly as ever : * I 
 don't blame you, Alexey Dmitritch ! You pro- 
 fited ... of course. You were right. I only 
 say that I don't wonder at your lukewarmness 
 over our cause ; you 'd something else, I say 
 again, in your heart. And I say, too, for my 
 own part, what man can guess beforehand what 
 will take girls' hearts, or understand what it is 
 they want ! . . .' 
 
 Ч understand you now,' Nezhdanov began, 
 * I understand your mortification, guess who has 
 spied on us and lost no time in telling you. . . .' 
 
 * It 's not merit in this case,' Markelov went 
 on, affecting not to hear Nezhdanov, and inten- 
 tionally dwelling on and prolonging each word, 
 *not any extraordinary qualities of mind or 
 body. ... No ! It 's simply . . . the cursed luck 
 of all illegitimate children, . , . of all . . . 
 bastards ! ' 
 
 The last phrase Markelov uttered abruptly 
 and rapidly, and at once was still as death. 
 
 Nezhdanov felt himself grow pale all over in 
 the darkness, and spasms passed over his face. 
 He could scarcely restrain himself from flying 
 at Markelov, seizing him by the throat . . 
 5 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 • This insult must be washed out in blood, in 
 blood ' 
 
 * I Ve found the road ! ' cried the coachman, 
 making his appearance at the right front wheel. 
 
 * I made a little mistake, kept too much to the 
 left ... it 's no matter now ! We '11 be there 
 in no time ; there 's not a mile before us. Be 
 pleased to sit still ! ' 
 
 He clambered on to the box, took the reins 
 from Markelov, turned the shaft horse's head. 
 . . . The coach, after two violent jolts, rolled 
 along more easily and evenly, the darkness 
 seemed to part and to lift, there was a smell of 
 smoke, in front rose a sort of hillock. Then 
 a light twinkled . . . and vanished. . . . An- 
 other glimmered. ... A dog barked. . . . 
 
 * Our huts,' said the coachman ; * ah, get along, 
 my pretty pussies ! ' 
 
 The lights came more and more often to 
 meet them. 
 
 * After that insult,' Nezhdanov began at last, 
 'you will readily understand, Sergei Mihalo- 
 vitch, that I cannot spend a night under your 
 roof; I am therefore, unpleasant as it is to me, 
 forced to ask you to lend me your coach, when 
 you reach home, so that I may return to the 
 town ; to-morrow I will find means of getting 
 home ; and then you shall receive from me the 
 communication you doubtless expect.* 
 
 6 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 Markelov did not at once reply. 
 
 * Nezhdanov/ he said all at once in a low, but 
 despairing voice, * Nezhdanov ! For God's sake 
 come into my house, if only to let me beg on 
 my knees for your forgiveness ! Nezhdanov ! 
 Forget . . . Alexey ! forget, forget my senseless 
 words ! Oh, if any one could feel how miser- 
 able I am ! ' Markelov struck himself on the 
 breast with his fist, and it seemed to give forth 
 a hollow groan. ' Alexey ! be magnanimous ! 
 Give me your hand ! . . . Don't refuse to forgive 
 me!' 
 
 Nezhdanov held out his hand — irresolutely — 
 still he held it out. Markelov squeezed it so 
 that he almost cried out. 
 
 The coachman stopped at the steps of Marke- 
 lov's house. 
 
 * Listen, Alexey,' Markelov was saying to him 
 a quarter of an hour after in his room, ... * dear 
 brother,' he kept addressing him by this familiar, 
 endearing term ; and in this affectionate famili- 
 arity to the man in whom he had discovered a 
 successful rival, to whom he had only just offered 
 d deadly insult, whom he had been ready to kill, 
 to tear to pieces, there was the expression of 
 irrevocable renunciation, and humble, bitter 
 supplication, and a sort of claim too. . . . Nezh- 
 danov recognised this claim by beginning to 
 address Markelov in the same familiar way. 
 
 7 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 * Listen, Alexey ! I said just now I had re- 
 fused the happiness of love, renounced it so as 
 to be wholly at the service of my convictions. . . . 
 That was nonsense, bragging ! I have never 
 been offered anything of that sort, I have had 
 nothing to renounce ! I was born without gifts, 
 and so I have remained. . . . And perhaps it 
 was right it should be so. Since I can't attain 
 to that, I have to do something else ! Since you 
 can combine both . . . can love and be loved . . . 
 and at the same time serve the cause . . . well, 
 you 're a fine fellow ! I envy you . . . but it 's 
 not so with me. I can't. You are happy! 
 You are happy ! I can't.' 
 
 Markelov said all this in a subdued 
 voice, sitting on a low chair, his head bent 
 and his arms hanging loose at his sides. 
 Nezhdanov stood before him, plunged in a 
 sort of dreamy attention, and though Markelov 
 called him happy, he neither looked nor felt 
 happy. 
 
 'I was deceived in my youth,' . . . Mar- 
 kelov went on ; * she was an exquisite girl, 
 and yet she jilted me . . . and for whom? 
 For a German ! for an adjutant ! while Mari- 
 anna ' 
 
 He stopped. . . . For the first time he had 
 uttered her name, and it seemed to burn his 
 
 lips. 
 
 8 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 * Marianna did not deceive me ; she told me 
 plainly that she didn't care for me. . . . And 
 how should she care for me? Well, she has 
 given herself to you . . . Well, what of that? 
 was she not free ? ' 
 
 * Oh, stay, stay ! ' cried Nezhdanov, ' what is 
 it you are saying? Given herself? I don't 
 know what your sister has written to you ; but 
 I swear to you ' 
 
 * I don't say physically ; but morally she has 
 given herself, in heart, in soul,' interposed 
 Markelov, who was obviously comforted for some 
 reason or other by Nezhdanov's exclamation. 
 * And she has done well. As for my sister . . . 
 Of course she had no intention of wounding. 
 ... At least, she didn't care about it one way 
 or another ; but she must hate you, and Mari- 
 anna too. She was not lying . . . but there, 
 enough of her ! ' 
 
 *Yes,' thought Nezhdanov to himself: 'she 
 hates us.' 
 
 'Everything is for the best,' Markelov con- 
 tinued without changing his position. ' Now 
 the last ways of retreat are cut off for me, now 
 there is nothing to hinder me! Never mind 
 Golushkin's being a blockhead ; that's of no 
 consequence. And Kislyakov's letters . . . 
 they 're absurd, perhaps . . . but we must look 
 to the principal thing. According to him, 
 9 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 everything's ready everywhere. You don't 
 believe that, perhaps ? ' 
 
 Nezhdanov made no answer. 
 
 ' You are right, perhaps ; but you know if 
 we wait for the moment when everything, 
 absolutely everything, is ready, we shall never 
 begin. If one weighs all the consequences 
 beforehand, it 's certain there will be some evil 
 ones. For instance : when our predecessors 
 organised the emancipation of the peasants, 
 could they foresee that one result of this eman- 
 cipation would be the rise of a whole class of 
 money-lending landowners, who would lend the 
 peasant a quarter of mouldy rye for six roubles, 
 and extort from him ' (here Markelov crooked 
 one finger) * first the full six roubles in labour, 
 and besides that ' (Markelov crooked another 
 linger) * a whole quarter of good rye, and then ' 
 (Markelov crooked a third) * interest on the top 
 of that ? — in fact, they squeeze the peasant to 
 the last drop! Our emancipators couldn't 
 have foreseen that, you must admit ! And yet, 
 even if they had foreseen it, they 'd have done 
 right to free the peasants, and not to weigh all 
 the consequences ! And so, I have made up 
 my mind ! ' 
 
 Nezhdanov looked questioningly, in perplex- 
 ity, at Markelov ; but the latter looked away 
 into the corner. His brows were contracted 
 
 lO 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 and hid his eyes ; he bit his lips and gnawed 
 his moustache, 
 
 ' Yes, I have made up my mind ! ' he repeated 
 with a swing of his arm down on his knee. 
 * I 'm an obstinate man, you know ... I 'm 
 not half a Little-Russian for nothing.' 
 
 Then he got up, and, staggering as though 
 his legs were failing him, he went into his 
 bedroom, and brought out from there a 
 small portrait of Marianna framed under 
 glass. 
 
 * Take it,' he said in a mournful but steady 
 voice ; * I did it once. I draw very badly ; 
 but look, I think it's like.' (The sketch, a 
 pencil drawing taken in profile, was really 
 like.) * Take it, brother ; it 's my last bequest. 
 Together with this portrait I give up to you 
 all my right ... I never had any . . . but 
 you know, Alexey, everything ! I give you 
 everything, Alexey . . . and her, dear brother ; 
 she 's a good . . .' 
 
 Markelov was silent ; the heaving of his breast 
 was visible. 
 
 * Take it. You 're not angry with me, Alexey ? 
 Then take it. I have nothing now ... I don't 
 want that.' Nezhdanov took the portrait ; but a 
 strange sensation oppressed his heart. It seemed 
 to him that he had no right to accept this gift ; 
 that if Markelov had known what was in his, 
 
 II 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 Nezhdanov's, heart, he would not, perhaps, have 
 given him the portrait. He held in his hand 
 the little round piece of paper carefully set in 
 its black frame with a mount of gold paper, and 
 he did not know what to do with it. * Here is 
 a man's whole life in my hand,' was the thought 
 that occurred to him. He realised what a 
 sacrifice Markelov was making, but why, why 
 was it to him ? Should he give back the por- 
 trait? No! That would be a still crueller 
 affront. . . . And after all, wasn't that face 
 dear to him ? didn't he love her ? 
 
 Nezhdanov with some inward misgiving 
 turned his eyes upon Markelov . . . wasn't he 
 looking at him, trying to read his thoughts? 
 But Markelov was again staring into the corner 
 and gnawing his moustache. 
 
 The old servant came into the room with a 
 candle in his hand. 
 
 Markelov started. 
 
 'It's time for bed, dear Alexey!' he cried. 
 ' Morning brings better counsel. I will give you 
 horses, you will drive home, and good-bye, 
 brother.' 
 
 * And good-bye to you, too, old fellow 1 ' he 
 added suddenly, turning to the servant and 
 slapping him on the shoulder. * Think of me 
 kindly ! ' 
 
 The old man was so astounded that he all 
 
 12 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 but dropped the candle, and his eyes, bent on 
 his master, expressed something other — and 
 more — than his habitual dejection. 
 
 Nezhdanov went to his room. He was miser- 
 able. His head was still aching from the wine 
 he had drunk, there were noises in his ears, and 
 lights dazzling before his eyes, even though 
 he shut them. Golushkin, the clerk Vasya, 
 Fomushka, Fimushka, kept revolving before 
 him ; in the distance, Marianna's image seemed 
 distrustful, would not come near. Everything 
 he had said or done himself struck him as such 
 lying and affectation, such superfluous and 
 humbugging nonsense . . . and the thing that 
 ought to be done, the aim that ought to be 
 striven for, was not to be found anywhere, un- 
 attainable under lock and bar, buried in the 
 bottomless pit. . . , 
 
 And he was beset with the unceasing desire 
 to get up, go to Markelov, and say to him, 
 * Take back your present, take it back ! ' 
 
 ' Ugh ! what a loathsome thing life is ! ' he 
 cried at last. 
 
 The next morning he went off early. Mar- 
 kelov was already on the steps, surrounded by 
 peasants. Whether he had called them to- 
 gether, or they had come of themselves, Nezh- 
 danov could not make out ; Markelov said 
 good-bye to him, very briefly and drily , . . 
 13 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 but he seemed to be about to make some im- 
 portant communication to the peasants. The 
 old servant was hanging about the steps with 
 his unvarying expression. 
 
 The coach quickly passed through the town, 
 and moved at a furious pace directly the open 
 country was reached. The horses were the 
 same, but the coachman, either because Nezh- 
 danov was living in a grand house, or for 
 some other reason, was reckoning on something 
 handsome 'for vodka' . . . and we all know 
 that when a coachman has had vodka, or is 
 confidently expecting it, the horses trot their 
 best. It was fine weather, though fresh ; lofty 
 clouds were gambolling over the sky, there was 
 a strong, steady breeze ; the road, after the 
 previous day's rain, was not dusty ; the willows 
 rustled, gleamed, and rippled, everything was 
 moving, fluttering ; the peewit's cry came 
 whistling from the distant slopes, across the 
 green ravines, just as though the cry had 
 wings and was flying on them ; the crows 
 were glossing themselves in the sun ; some- 
 thing like black fleas was moving across the 
 straight line of the bare horizon — it was the 
 peasants ploughing their fallow land a second 
 time. 
 
 But Nezhdanov let it all pass by unseen ; 
 he did not even notice that he was driving into 
 14 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 Sipyagin's property; he was overcome by his 
 brooding thoughts. 
 
 He started, though, when he saw the roof of 
 the house, the upper story, Marianna's window. 
 * Yes,' he said to himself, and there was a glow 
 of warmth about his heart ; * he was right, she s 
 a good girl, and I love her.* 
 
 »$ 
 
XXII 
 
 He hurriedly changed his clothes and went to 
 give Kolya his lesson. Sipyagin, whom he met 
 in the dining-room, bowed to him with chilly 
 politeness, and muttering through his teeth, 
 ' Had a pleasant visit ? ' went on to his study. 
 The statesman had already decided in his 
 diplomatic mind that directly the vacation was 
 over he would promptly pack this tutor off to 
 Petersburg, as he was * positively too red,' and 
 meanwhile he would keep an eye on him . . , 
 * Je n*at pas eu la main heureuse cette fois-ci* 
 he thought to himself ; however, ^faurais pu 
 tomberpire! Valentina Mihalovna's sentiments 
 towards Nezhdanov were far more energetic 
 and defined. She could not endure him now. 
 . . . He — this little scrub of a boy! — had 
 affronted her. Marianna had not been mis- 
 taken ; it was she, Valentina Mihalovna, who 
 had been spying on her and Nezhdanov in the 
 corridor. . . . The distinguished lady was not 
 above such a proceeding. In the course of the 
 i6 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 two days his absence had lasted, though she had 
 said nothing to her 'thoughtless' niece, she had 
 repeatedly given her to understand that she was 
 aware of everything ; that she would have been 
 indignant, had she not been half-contemptuous, 
 half-compassionate. . . . Her face was filled 
 with restrained, inward contempt, her eyebrows 
 were raised with something of irony and, at the 
 same time, of pity whenever she looked at or 
 spoke to Marianna ; her superb eyes rested with 
 tender perplexity, with mournful disgust, on the 
 self-willed girl who, after all her 'fancies and 
 eccentricities,' had come to ... to ... to kiss- 
 ing ... in dark rooms . . . with a paltry little 
 undergraduate ! 
 
 Poor Marianna ! Her stern, proud lips knew 
 nothing as yet of any man's kisses. 
 
 Valentina Mihalovna had, however, given her 
 husband no hint of the discovery she had made ; 
 she contented herself by accompanying a few 
 words addressed to Marianna in his presence 
 by a significant smile, in no way relevant to 
 their apparent meaning. Valentina Mihalovna 
 felt positively rather remorseful for having 
 written the letter to her brother . . . but, all 
 things considered, she preferred to repent and 
 have done it, than be spared her penitence at 
 the price of the letter not having been written. 
 
 Of Marianna, Nezhdanov had a glimpse in 
 
 VOL. II. 17 ^B 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 the dining-room at lunch. He thought her 
 looking thin and yellow ; she was not at all 
 pretty that day ; but the rapid glance she flung 
 at him the instant he came into the room went 
 straight to his heart. On the other hand, 
 Valentina Mihalovna looked at him as though 
 she were continually repeating inwardly, ' I 
 congratulate you ! Well done ! Very smart ! ' 
 and at the same time she wanted to discover 
 from his face whether Markelov had shown him 
 the letter or not. She decided at last that he 
 had shown it. 
 
 Sipyagin, hearing that Nezhdanov had been 
 to the factory of which Solomin was the manager, 
 began cross-questioning him about * that manu- 
 facturing enterprise which presents so many 
 striking points of interest ' ; but being shortly 
 convinced from the young man's answers that he 
 had really seen nothing there, he relapsed into 
 majestic silence, with the air of reproaching him- 
 self for having expected any valuable informa- 
 tion from such an undeveloped person ! As 
 they left the dining-room, Marianna managed to 
 whisper to Nezhdanov, * Wait for me in the old 
 birch copse, Alexey ; I will come directly I can 
 get away.' Nezhdanov thought, ' She, too, calls 
 me Alexey, just as he did.' And how sweet that 
 familiarity was to him, though rather terrible 
 too ! and how strange, and how incredible, if 
 i8 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 she had suddenly begun addressing him as Mr. 
 Nezhdanov again, if she had been more distant 
 to him ! He felt that that would be misery to 
 him. Whether he was in love with her he could 
 not be sure yet ; but that she was precious to 
 him, and near, and necessary — yes, above all, 
 necessary, — that he felt to the very depths of 
 his being. 
 
 The copse to which Marianna had sent him 
 consisted of some hundreds of old birch-trees, 
 mostly of the weeping variety. The wind had 
 not dropped ; the long bundles of twigs nodded 
 and tossed like loosened tresses in the breeze ; 
 the clouds, as before, flew fast and high up in 
 the sky, and when one of them floated across 
 the sun, everything grew — not dark — but of 
 one uniform tint. Then it floated past, and 
 suddenly glaring patches of light were waving 
 everywhere again, in tangled, medley riot, 
 mingled with patches of shade . . . the rustle 
 and movement were the same ; but a kind of 
 festive delight was added. With just such joy- 
 ous violence, passion makes its way into a heart 
 distraught and darkened by trouble. . . , And 
 just such was the heart Nezhdanov carried 
 within his breast. 
 
 He leaned against the trunk of a birch-tree, 
 and began waiting. He did not really know 
 what he was feeling, and indeed he did not want 
 19 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 to know ; he felt at once more disturbed and 
 more light of heart than at Markelov's. He 
 longed before all things to see her, to speak to 
 her; the chain which so suddenly binds two 
 living creatures together had him fast just then. 
 Nezhdanov bethought himself of the rope flung 
 to the quay when the ship is ready to be made 
 fast. . . . Now it is twisted tight about a post, 
 and the ship is at rest. 
 
 In harbour ! God be thanked ! 
 
 Suddenly he trembled. There was a glimpse 
 of a woman's dress on the path in the distance. 
 It was she. But whether she was coming 
 towards him, or going away from him, he could 
 not be sure, until he saw that the patches of 
 light and shadow glided from below upwards 
 over her figure ... so she was approaching. 
 They would have mowed from above downwards 
 if she had been walking away. A few instants 
 more and she was standing near him, before 
 him, with a bright face of greeting, a tender 
 light in her eyes, a faint but gay smile on her 
 lips. He snatched her outstretched hands, 
 but at first could not utter a word ; she, too, 
 said nothing. She had walked very quickly 
 and was a little out of breath ; but it could be 
 seen she was immensely overjoyed that he was 
 overjoyed to see her. 
 
 She was the first to speak. 
 20 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 * Well,' she began, * tell me quickly what 
 you Ve decided on ! ' 
 
 Nezhdanov was surprised. 
 
 * Decided ! . . . why, were we to have decided 
 on anything just now ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, you know what I mean ! Tell me what 
 you talked about. Whom did you see ? Have 
 you made friends with Solomin ? Tell me 
 everything, everything ! Stay a minute — let 's 
 go over there, further. I know a place . . . 
 that 's not so visible.' 
 
 She drew him after her. He followed her 
 obediently right through the tall, scanty, dry 
 grass. 
 
 She led him to the place she meant. There 
 lay a great birch-tree that had fallen in a storm. 
 They sat down on the trunk. 
 
 * Come, tell me ! ' she repeated, but she went 
 on herself at once : ' Ah, how glad I am to see 
 you, dear ! I thought these two days would 
 never pass. You know, Alexey, I 'm certain 
 now that Valentina Mihalovna overheard us.* 
 
 ' She wrote to Markelov about it,' said 
 Nezhdanov. 
 
 ' To Markelov ! ' 
 
 Marianna did not speak for a minute, and 
 gradually crimsoned all over, not from shame, 
 but from another stronger passion. 
 
 * Wicked, malicious woman I ' she murmured 
 
 21 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 slowly; 'she had no right to do that. . . , 
 WeH, never mind ! Tell me, tell me everything.' 
 
 Nezhdanov began talking. . . . Marianna 
 listened to him with a sort of stony attention, 
 and only interrupted him when she noticed 
 that he was hurrying things over, slurring over 
 incidents. All the details of his visits were not 
 however of equal interest to her ; she laughed 
 over Fomushka and Fimushka, but they did 
 not interest her. Their life was too remote 
 from her. 
 
 ' It *s just as if you were telling me about 
 Nebuchadnezzar,' was her comment. 
 
 But what Markelov said, what Golushkin 
 even thought (though she soon realised what 
 sort of a creature he was), and, above all, what 
 were Solomin's ideas, and what he was like — 
 these were the points she wanted to hear about, 
 and took to heart. * When ? when ? ' — that was 
 the question that was continually in her head 
 and on her lips when Nezhdanov was talking, 
 while he seemed to avoid everything which 
 could give a positive answer to that question. 
 He began to notice himself that he laid stress 
 precisely on those incidents which were of 
 least interest to Marianna . . . and was con- 
 stantly returning to them. Humorous descrip- 
 tions made her impatient ; a sceptical or de- 
 jected tone wounded her. . » . He had con- 
 
 22 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 stantlyto come to the 'cause,' the 'question.' 
 Then on that subject no amount of talk weaned 
 her. Nezhdanov was reminded of a summer 
 he had spent with some old friends in the 
 country before he was a student, when he used 
 to tell stories to the children, and they, too, did 
 not appreciate descriptions nor expressions of 
 personal, individual sensation . . . they, too, 
 had demanded action, facts! Marianna was 
 not a child, but in the directness and simplicity 
 of her feelings she was like one. 
 
 Nezhdanov praised Markelov with warmth 
 and sincerity, and spoke with special apprecia- 
 tion of Solomin. Speaking almost in enthusi- 
 astic terms about him, he asked himself, what 
 precisely was it gave him such a high opinion of 
 that man ? He had uttered nothing specially 
 brilliant ; some of his sayings seemed indeed 
 directly opposed to his, Nezhdanov's, convic- 
 tions. ... * He's a well-balanced character,' 
 was his conclusion ; ' that 's it, businesslike, 
 cool, as Fimushka said, a solid fellow ; calm, 
 strong force; he knows what he wants, and 
 has confidence in himself, and arouses confi- 
 dence in others; there's no excitement . . . 
 and balance ! balance ! . . . That 's the great 
 thing; just what I haven't got.' Nezhdanov 
 was silent, absorbed in reflection. . . . Sud- 
 denly he felt a caressing hand on his shoulder. 
 23 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 He raised his head ; Marianna was looking 
 at him with anxious, tender eyes. 
 
 * My dear ! What is it ? ' she asked. 
 
 He took her hand from his shoulder, and for 
 the first time kissed that strong little hand. 
 Marianna gave a slight smile as though won- 
 dering how such a polite attention could occur 
 to him. Then she in her turn grew thoughtful. 
 
 ' Did Markelov show you Valentina Mihal- 
 ovna's letter ? ' she asked at last 
 
 'Yes.' 
 
 ' Well . . . how was he ? ' 
 
 * He ? He 's the noblest, most unselfish 
 fellow ' He . . .' Nezhdanov was on the point 
 of telling Marianna about the portrait — but he 
 checked himself, and only repeated, 'the noblest 
 fellow.' 
 
 ' Oh, yes, yes ! ' 
 
 Marianna again fell to musing, and suddenly 
 turning round towards Nezhdanov on the trunk 
 which served them both for a seat, she said with 
 vivid interest : 
 
 ' Well, then, what did you decide ? * 
 
 Nezhdanov shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 ' Why, I 've told you . . . nothing ... as 
 yet ; we shall have to wait a little longer.* 
 
 ' Wait longer ? . . . What for ? ' 
 
 * Final instructions.' (* Of course that's a fib/ 
 Nezhdanov thought.) 
 
 24 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 * From whom ? ' 
 
 * From . . . you know . . . Vassily Nikolae- 
 vitch. And, oh yes, we must wait too till 
 Ostrodumov comes back.' 
 
 Marianna looked inquiringly at Nezhdanov. 
 
 * Tell me, did you ever see Vassily Nikolae- 
 vitch.' 
 
 ' I have seen him twice . , . just a glimpse, 
 that was all.' 
 
 ' What is he ? ... a remarkable man ? ' 
 
 * How shall I tell you ? He 's the head now, 
 and controls everything. We couldn't do 
 without discipline in our work ; obedience is 
 essential' (* And that 's all rot,' was his inward 
 comment.) 
 
 ' What 's he like to look at ? ' 
 
 * Oh, stumpy, heavy, dark. . . . High cheek- 
 bones, like a Kalmik ... a coarse face. Only 
 he has very keen, bright eyes.' 
 
 ' And how does he talk ? ' 
 
 * He does not talk, so much as command.' 
 
 * Why was he made head ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, he 's a man of character. He wouldn't 
 stick at anything. If necessary he 'd kill any 
 one. And so he 's feared.' 
 
 * And what 's Solomin like ? ' inquired Mari- 
 anna, after a short pause. 
 
 ' Solomin 's not handsome either ; only he 
 has a nice, simple, honest face. You see faces 
 25 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 like that among divinity students — the good 
 ones.' 
 
 Nezhdanov described Solomin in detail. 
 Marianna gazed a long . . . long time at 
 Nezhdanov ; then she said as though to her- 
 self: 'You have a good face too, I think ; life 
 would be sweet with you, Alexey.' 
 
 That saying touched Nezhdanov; he took her 
 hand again, and was lifting it to his lips . . . 
 
 * Defer your civilities,' said Marianna smiling 
 — she always smiled when her hand was kissed ; 
 
 * you don't know ; I 've a sin to confess to you.' 
 
 * What have you done } ' 
 
 * Why, in your absence I went into your room, 
 and there on your table I saw a manuscript 
 book of verses . . .' — (Nezhdanov started ; 
 he remembered that he had forgotten the 
 book and left it on the table in his room) — 
 
 * and I must confess, I couldn't overcome my 
 curiosity, and I read it. They are your verses, 
 aren't they ? ' 
 
 * Yes ; and do you know, Marianna, the best 
 possible proof of how devoted I am to you 
 and how I trust you, is that I 'm hardly angry 
 with you.' 
 
 * Hardly? Then, however little, you are 
 angry ? By the way, you call me Marianna — 
 that 's right ; I can't call you Nezhdanov, I must 
 call you Alexey. And the poem beginning : 
 
 26 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 " My dear one, when I come to die," is that 
 yours too ? ' 
 
 *Yes . . . yes. But please leave off. . • . 
 Don't torment me/ 
 
 Marianna shook her head. 
 
 * It 's very melancholy — that poem. ... I 
 hope you wrote it before you knew me. But 
 it 's real poetry so far as I can judge. It seems 
 to me you might have been an author, only I 
 \^now for certain that you have a better, higher 
 vocation than literature. It was all very well 
 to be busy with that — before, when nothing else 
 was possible.' 
 
 Nezhdanov bent a rapid glance upon her. 
 *You think so? Yes, I agree with you. 
 Better failure in this than success in the other.' 
 Marianna rose impulsively. 
 
 * Yes, my dearest, you are right ! ' she cried, 
 and her whole face was radiant, glowing with 
 the fire and light of rapture, with the softening 
 of generous emotion : * you are right, Alexey ! 
 But perhaps we shall not fail at once ; we shall 
 succeed, you will see — we shall be useful, our 
 life shall not be spent in vain, we will go and live 
 among the people. . . . Do you know any trade ? 
 No? well, never mind, we will work, we will 
 devote to them, our brothers, all we know. I 
 will cook, and sew, and wash, if need be. . . , 
 You shall see, you shall see. . . . And there '11 
 
 27 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 be no merit in it — but happiness, happiness. . . ,' 
 Marianna broke off; but her eyes — fixed eagerly 
 on the distant horizon, not that which spread 
 out before her, but another unseen, unknown 
 horizon perceived by her — her eyes glowed. . . . 
 Nezhdanov bent down before her. 
 
 * О Marianna!' he whispered, ' I 'm not worthy 
 of you ! ' 
 
 She suddenly shook herself. 
 
 * It 's time to go home, high time ! ' she said, 
 ' or they '11 be looking for us again directly. 
 Though Valentina Mihalovna, I think, has 
 given me up. In her eyes I 'm ruined ! ' 
 
 Marianna uttered this word with such a bright 
 and happy face, that Nezhdanov could not 
 help smiling too as he looked at her, and re- 
 peated, ' Ruined ! ' 
 
 * But she 's terribly offended,' Marianna went 
 on, * that you 're not at her feet. But that 's 
 all of no consequence, there 's something I must 
 talk of. . . . You see, it will be impossible for 
 me to stay here. ... I shall have to run away.' 
 
 * Run away ? ' repeated Nezhdanov. 
 
 ' Yes, run away. . . . You 're not going to 
 stay, are you ? We will go together — we must 
 work together. . . . You '11 come with me, 
 won't you ? ' 
 
 * To the ends of the earth ! ' cried Nezhdanov, 
 and there was a sudden ring of emotion and a 
 
 28 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 kind of impetuous gratitude in his voice. * To 
 the ends of the earth ! ' At that instant he 
 would certainly have gone with her wherever 
 she wished, without looking back. 
 
 Marianna understood him, and gave a short 
 blissful sigh. 
 
 * Then take my hand, Alexey, only don't kiss 
 it ; and hold it tight, like a comrade, like a 
 friend — there, so ! ' 
 
 They walked together to the house, pensive, 
 blissful; the young grass caressed their feet, 
 the young leaves stirred about them ; patches 
 of light and shade flittered swiftly over their 
 garments ; and they both smiled at the restless 
 frolic of the light, and the merry bluster of the 
 wind, and the fresh glitter of the leaves, and 
 at their own youth and one another. 
 
 29 
 
PART II 
 
PART TI 
 XXIII 
 
 Dawn was already beginning in the sky on the 
 night after Golushkin's dinner, when Solomin, 
 after about four miles of brisk walking, knocked 
 at the gate in the high fence surrounding the 
 factory. The watchman let him in at once, 
 and, followed by three house-dogs, vigorously 
 wagging their shaggy tails, he led him with 
 respectful solicitude to his little lodge. He was 
 obviously delighted at his chief's successful 
 return home. 
 
 ' How is it you 're here to-night, Vassily 
 Fedotitch? we didn't expect you till tc-morrow.' 
 
 * Oh, it 's all right, Gavrila ; it 's nice walking 
 at night.' Excellent, though rather exceptional, 
 relations existed between Solomin and his work- 
 people ; they respected him as a superior and 
 behaved with him as an equal, as one of them- 
 selves ; only in their eyes he was a wonderful 
 scholar ! * What Vassily Fedotitch says,' they 
 
 VOL. II. 33 С 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 used to repeat, 4s always right! for there's 
 no sort of study he hasn't been through, and 
 there isn't an Anglisher he 's not a match for ! * 
 Some distinguished English manufacturer had 
 once, as a fact, visited the factory ; and either 
 because Solomin spoke English to him, or that 
 he really was impressed by his knowledge of 
 his business, he kept clapping him on the 
 shoulder, and laughing, and inviting him to 
 come to Liverpool to see him ; and he declared 
 to the workpeople in his broken Russian, * Oh, 
 she 's very good man, yours here ! Oh ! very 
 good ! ' at which the workpeople in their turn 
 laughed heartily, but with some pride ; feeling, 
 * So our man 's all that ! One of us ! ' 
 
 And he really was one of them, and theirs. 
 
 Early the next morning Solomin's favourite, 
 Pavel, came into his room ; waked him, poured 
 him water to wash with, told him some piece of 
 news, and asked him some question. Then 
 they had some tea together hurriedly, and 
 Solomin, pulling on his greasy, grey working 
 pea-jacket, went into the factory, and his life 
 began to turn round again, like a huge fly- 
 wheel. 
 
 But a fresh break was in store for it. 
 
 Five days after Solomin's return to his work, 
 a handsome little phaeton, with four splendid 
 horses harnessed abreast, drove into the factory 
 34 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 yard, and a groom in pale pea-green livery was 
 conducted by Pavel to the lodge, and solemnly 
 handed Solomin a letter, sealed with an armorial 
 crest, from * His Excellency Boris Andreevitch 
 Sipyagin.' In this letter, which was redolent, 
 not of scent, oh, no ! but of a sort of peculiarly 
 distinguished and disgusting English odour, 
 and was written in the third person, not by a 
 secretary but by his Excellency himself, the 
 enlightened owner of the Arzhano estate first 
 apologised for addressing a person with whom 
 he was not personally acquainted, but of whom 
 he, Sipyagin, had heard such flattering accounts. 
 Then he * ventured ' to invite Mr. Solomin to 
 his country seat, as his advice might be of the 
 utmost service to him, Sipyagin, in an industrial 
 undertaking of some magnitude ; and in the 
 hope of Mr. Solomin's kindly consenting to do 
 so, he, Sipyagin, was sending his carriage for 
 him. In case it should be impossible for Mr. 
 Solomin to get away that day, he, Sipyagin, 
 most earnestly begged Mr. Solomin to appoint 
 him any other day convenient to him, and he, 
 Sipyagin, would gladly place the same carriage 
 at his, Mr. Solomin's, disposal. There followed 
 the usual civilities, and at the end of the letter 
 was a postscript in the first person, * I hope you 
 will not refuse to dine with me quite simply — ■ 
 not evening dress.' (The words 'quite simply' 
 35 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 were underlined.) Together with this letter 
 the pea-green footman, with a certain show of 
 embarrassment, gave Solomin a simple note, 
 simply stuck up without a seal, from Nezhdanov, 
 which contained only a few words, 'Please come, 
 you are greatly needed here and may be of great 
 service ; I need hardly say, not to Mr. Sipyagin/ 
 
 On reading Sipyagin's letter,Solomin thought: 
 'Quite simply! how else should I go? I never 
 had an evening suit in my life. . . . And why 
 the devil should I go trailing out there? ... it 's 
 simple waste of time ! ' but after a glance at 
 Nezhdanov's note, he scratched his head, and 
 walked to the window, irresolute. 
 
 'What answer are you graciously pleased 
 to send?' the pea-grem footman questioned 
 sedately. 
 
 Solomin stood a moment longer at the 
 window, and at last, shaking back his hair 
 and passing his hand over his forehead, he said, 
 ' I will come. Let me have time to dress.' 
 
 The footman with well-bred discretion with- 
 drew, and Solomin sent for Pavel, had some 
 talk with him, ran over once more to the factory, 
 and, putting on a black coat with a very long 
 waist, made him by a provincial tailor, and a 
 rather rusty top-hat, which at once gave a 
 wooden expression to his face, he seated him- 
 self in the phaeton, then suddenly remembered 
 
 36 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 he had taken no gloves, and called the ubiqui- 
 tous Pavel, who brought him a pair of white 
 chamois-leather gloves, recently washed, every 
 finger of which had stretched at the tip and 
 looked like a finger-biscuit. Solomin stuffed 
 the gloves into his pocket, and said they could 
 drive on. Then the footman with a sudden, 
 quite unnecessary swiftness leaped on to the 
 box, the well-trained coachman gave a shrill 
 whistle, and the horses went off at a trot. 
 
 While they were gradually carrying Solomin 
 to Sipyagin's estate, that statesman was sitting 
 in his drawing-room with a half-cut political 
 pamphlet on his knee, talking about him to his 
 wife. He confided to her that he had really 
 written to him with the object of trying whether 
 he couldn't entice him away from the merchant's 
 factory to his own, as it was in a very bad way 
 indeed, and radical reforms were needed ! The 
 idea that Solomin would refuse to come, or even 
 fix another day, Sipyagin could not entertain 
 for an instant ; though he had himself offered 
 Solomin a choice of days in his letter. 
 
 ' But ours are paper-mills, not cotton-spinning, 
 you know,' observed Valentina Mihalovna. 
 
 * It 's all the same, my love; there 's machinery 
 in the one and machinery in the other . . . and 
 he's a mechanician.' 
 
 * But perhaps he's a specialist, you know Г 
 
 37 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 *My love — in the first place, there are no 
 specialists in Russia ; and, secondly, I repeat 
 he 's a mechanician ! ' 
 
 Valentina Mihalovna smiled. 
 
 * Take care, my dear ; you 've been unlucky 
 once already with young men ; mind you don't 
 make a second mistake ! ' 
 
 'You mean Nezhdanov ? But I consider I 
 attained my object any way ; he's an excellent 
 teacher for Kolya. And besides, you know, 
 поп bis in idem ! Pardon my pedantry, please. 
 . . . That means, facts don't repeat themselves.' 
 
 *You think not? But I think everything in 
 the world repeats itself . . . especially what's 
 in the nature of things . . . and especially with 
 young people.' 
 
 * Qtie voulez-voiis dire f asked Sipyagin, fling- 
 ing the pamphlet on the table with a graceful 
 gesture. 
 
 * Ouvrez les yeux^ et vous verrez ! ' Madame 
 Sipyagin answered him ; they spoke French, 
 of course, to one another. 
 
 * H'm ! ' commented Sipyagin. * Are you 
 alluding to the student fellow } ' 
 
 ' To Monsieur le student — yes ' 
 
 ' H'm ! has he got . . .' (he moved his hand 
 about his forehead . . .) * anything afoot here ? 
 Eh?' 
 
 * Open your eyes ! ' 
 
 38 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 *Marianna? Eh?' (The second * eh ?* was 
 decidedly more nasal than the first.) 
 
 * Open your eyes, I tell you ! ' 
 Sipyagin frowned. 
 
 'Well, we will go into all that later on. 
 Just now I only wanted to say one thing. . . . 
 This fellow will probably be rather uncom- 
 fortable ... of course, that 's natural enough, 
 he 's not used to society. So we shall have to be 
 rather friendly with him ... so as not to alarm 
 him. I don't mean that for you ; you 're a per- 
 fect treasure, and you can captivate any one 
 in no time, if you choose to. fen sais quelque 
 chose, Madame ! I mention it in regard to other 
 people ; for instance, our friend there.' 
 
 He pointed to a fashionable grey hat lying 
 on a whatnot ; the hat belonged to Mr. Kallom- 
 yetsev, who happened to be at Arzhano early 
 that morning. 
 
 * // est tres cassant, you know ; he has such 
 an intense contempt for the people, a thing of 
 which I deeply disapprove ! I 've noticed in 
 him, too, for some time past, a certain irrita- 
 bility and quarrelsomeness. ... Is his little 
 affair in that quarter' (Sipyagin nodded his 
 head in some undefined direction, but his wife 
 understood him) ^ not getting on well ? Eh ? ' 
 
 * Open your eyes ! I tell you again.* 
 Sipyagin got up. 
 
 39 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 * Eh ? * (This 'eh? ' was of an utterly different 
 character, and in a different tone . . . much 
 lower.) ' You don't say so ! I may open them 
 too wide ; they 'd better be careful/ 
 
 * That 's for you to say ; but as to your new 
 young man, if only he comes to-day you 
 needn't worry yourself — every precaution shall 
 be taken.' 
 
 And after all, it turned out that no precau- 
 tion was at all needed. Solomin was not in 
 the least uncomfortable or alarmed. When 
 the servant announced his arrival, Sipyagin 
 at once got up, called out loudly so that it 
 could be heard in the hall, ' Ask him up, of 
 course, ask him up ! ' went to the drawing- 
 room door and stood right in front of it. Solo- 
 min was scarcely through the doorway when 
 Sipyagin, whom he almost knocked up against, 
 held out both hands to him, and, smiling 
 affably and nodding his head, said cordially, 
 * This is indeed good ... on your part ! . . . 
 how grateful I am ! ' and led him up to Valen- 
 tina Mihalovna. 
 
 * This is my good wife,' he said, softly pressing 
 his hand against Solomin's back, and, as it were, 
 impelling him towards Valentina Mihalovna ; 
 'here, my dear, is our leading mechanician 
 and manufacturer, Vassily , . . Fedosyevitch 
 Solomin.' 
 
 40 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 Madame Sipyagin rose and, with a beautiful 
 upward quiver of her exquisite eyelashes, first 
 smiled to him — simply — as to a friend ; then 
 held out her little hand, palm uppermost, her 
 elbow pressed against her waist, and her head 
 bent in the direction of her hand ... in the 
 attitude of a suppliant. Solomin let both 
 husband and wife play off their little tricks 
 upon him, shook hands with both, and took 
 a seat at the first invitation to do so. Sipyagin 
 began to fuss about him : ' Wouldn't he take 
 something?' But Solomin replied that he did 
 not want anything, wasn't in the least fatigued 
 with the journey, and was completely at his 
 disposal. 
 
 'You mean I may ask you to visit the 
 factory?' cried Sipyagin, as though quite 
 overcome, and not daring to believe in such 
 condescension on the part of his guest. 
 
 * At once,' answered Solomin. 
 
 * Ah, how good you are ! Shall I order the 
 carriage? or perhaps you would prefer to 
 walk? . . .' 
 
 * Why, it 's not far from here, I suppose, 
 your factory?' 
 
 ' Half a mile, not more.' 
 
 * Then why order the carriage ? ' 
 
 ' Ah, that 's delightful, then ! Boy, my hat, 
 my stick, at once! And you, little missis, 
 41 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 bestir yourself, and have a good dinner ready 
 for us. My hat ! ' 
 
 Sipyagin was far more perturbed than his 
 visitor. Repeating once more, ' But where 's 
 my hat? ' he, the great dignitary, bustled out of 
 the room like a frolicsome schoolboy. While 
 he was talking to Solomin, Valentina Mihalovna 
 was looking stealthily but intently at this * new 
 young man.' He was sitting calmly in his easy- 
 chair, with his bare hands (he had not, after all, 
 put on the gloves) lying on his knees, and 
 calmly, though with curiosity, looking about 
 at the furniture and the pictures. * How is it ? ' 
 she thought ; ' he is a plebeian ... an unmis- 
 takable plebeian . . . but how naturally he 
 behaves ! ' 
 
 Solomin did certainly behave very naturally, 
 and not as some do, who are simple indeed, 
 but with a sort of intensity, as though to 
 say, *Look at me, understand what sort of a 
 man I am,' but like a man whose feelings and 
 ideas are strong without being complex. 
 Madam Sipyagin wanted to enter into con- 
 versation with him, but, to her amazement, 
 could not at once find anything suitable to 
 say. 
 
 * Good heavens ! ' she thought, * can I be 
 impressed by this workman ? ' 
 
 'Boris Andreitch ought to be very grateful 
 42 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 to you/ she said at last, * for consenting to 
 devote part of your valuable time to him. . . .' 
 
 * It 's not so valuable as all that, madam,' 
 answered Solomin ; * and I 'm not come to you 
 for very long.' 
 
 * Voild ой Г ours a montre sa patte^ she thought 
 in French, but at that instant her husband ap- 
 peared in the open doorway, with his hat on 
 and his stick in his hand. 
 
 Turning half round, he cried with a free and 
 easy air : ' Vassily Fedosyevitch ! Ready to 
 start ? ' 
 
 Solomin got up, bowed to Valentina Mihal- 
 ovna, and walked out behind Sipyagin. 
 
 * Follow me, this way, this way, Vassily 
 Fedosyevitch ! ' Sipyagin called, just as though 
 he were going through a forest and Solomin 
 needed a guide. ' This way ! there are steps 
 here, Vassily Fedosyevitch.' 
 
 'When you are pleased to call me by my 
 father's name,' Solomin observed deliberately, 
 . . . * I 'm not Fedosyevitch, but Fedotitch.* 
 
 Sipyagin looked back at him over his shoul- 
 der, almost in affright. 
 
 'Ah! I beg your pardon, indeed, Vassily 
 Fedotitch.' 
 
 ' Not at all ; no occasion.* 
 
 They went into the courtyard. They hap- 
 pened to meet Kallomyetsev. 
 43 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 * Where are you off to ? ' he inquired, looking 
 askance at Solomin ; * to the factory ? С est la 
 Vindividu en question ? ' 
 
 Sipyagin opened his eyes wide and slightly 
 shook his head by way of warning. 
 
 'Yes, to the factory ... to show my sins 
 and transgressions to this gentleman — the 
 mechanician. Let me introduce you : Mr. 
 Kallomyetsev, our neighbour here ; Mr. Solo- 
 min. . . .' 
 
 Kallomyetsev nodded his head twice, hardly 
 perceptibly, not at all in Solomin's direction, 
 without looking at him. But he looked at 
 Kallomyetsev, and there was a gleam of some- 
 thing in his half-closed eyes. 
 
 * May I join you ? ' asked Kallomyetsev. 
 * You know I like instruction.' 
 
 ' Of course you may.' 
 
 They went out of the courtyard into the road, 
 and had not gone twenty steps when they saw 
 the parish priest in a cassock, hitched up into 
 the belt, making his way home to the so-called 
 'pope's quarter.' Kallomyetsev promptly left 
 his two companions, and with long, resolute 
 strides approached the priest, who was not at 
 all expecting this and was rather disconcerted, 
 asked his blessing, deposited a sounding kiss 
 on his moist red hand, and, turning to Solomin, 
 flung him a challenging glance. He obviously 
 44 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 knew 'a fact or two' about him, and wanted to 
 show off and to display his contempt for this 
 learned rascal. 
 
 * С est une manifestation, топ cherT Sipyagin 
 muttered through his teeth. 
 
 Kallomyetsev gave a snort. 
 
 * Oui, топ cher, une manifestation necessaire 
 par le temps qui court ! ' 
 
 They went into the factory. They were met 
 by a Little Russian with an immense beard and 
 false teeth, who had succeeded the former super- 
 intendent, the German, when Sipyagin finally 
 dismissed him. This Little Russian was a tem- 
 porary substitute ; he obviously knew nothing of 
 the business, and could do nothing but sigh and 
 incessantly repeat ' Maybe ' . . . and ' Just so.' 
 
 The inspection of the establishment began. 
 Some of the factory hands knew Solomin by 
 sight and bowed to him . . . and to one of 
 them he even said, ' Hullo, Grigory ! you here?' 
 He soon saw that the business was badly 
 managed. Money had been laid out profusely 
 but injudiciously. The machines turned out 
 to be of poor quality ; many were unnecessary 
 and useless ; many that were needed were 
 lacking. Sipyagin kept constantly looking at 
 Solomin's face to guess his opinion, put some 
 timid questions, wished to know if he were 
 pleased, at any rate, with the discipline, 
 45 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 * The system 's all right,' answered Solomin, 
 'but can it give any return? I doubt it' 
 
 Not Sipyagin only, but even Kallomyetsev, 
 felt that Solomin was, as it were, at home in 
 the factory, that everything in it was thoroughly 
 familiar to him and understood to the smallest 
 (detail — that here he was master. He laid his 
 hand on a machine as a driver lays his hand on 
 a horse's neck ; he poked his fingers into a 
 wheel and it stopped moving or began going 
 round ; he scooped up in his hand out of the 
 vat a little of the pulp of which the paper was 
 made, and at once it revealed all its defects. 
 Solomin said little, and did not even look at 
 the Little Russian at all ; in silence, too, he 
 walked out of the factory. Sipyagin and Kal- 
 lomyetsev followed him. 
 
 Sipyagin did not tell any one to accompany 
 him ... he positively stamped and gnashed 
 his teeth. He was very much disturbed. 
 
 'I see by your face,' he said, addressing 
 Solomin, 4hat you're not pleased with my 
 factory, and I know myself that it's in an 
 unsatisfactory state and unprofitable ; however, 
 . . . please don't scruple to speak out . . . 
 what are really its most important short- 
 comings ? And what is to be done to improve 
 it?' 
 
 'Paper-making's not in my line/ answered 
 46 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 Solomin, *but one thing I can tell you — 
 industrial undertakings aren't the thing for 
 gentlemen.* 
 
 ' You regard such pursuits as degrading for 
 gentlemen ? ' interposed Kallomyetsev. 
 
 Solomin smiled his broad smile. 
 
 * Oh, no ! What an idea ! What is there 
 degrading about it ? And even if there were, 
 the gentry aren't squeamish as to that, you 
 know.' 
 
 *Eh? What's that?' 
 
 * I only meant,' Solomin resumed tranquilly, 
 'that gentlemen aren't used to that sort of 
 business. Commercial foresight is needed for 
 that ; everything has to be put on a different 
 footing ; you need training for it. The gentry 
 don't understand that. We see them right and 
 left founding cloth factories, wool factories, and 
 all sorts, but in the long-run all these factories 
 fall into the hands of merchants. It's a pity, 
 for the merchant's just as much of a blood- 
 sucker ; but there 's no help for it.' 
 
 * To listen to you,' cried Kallomyetsev, ' one 
 would suppose financial questions were beyond 
 our nobility ! ' 
 
 ' Oh, quite the contrary ! the gentry are first- 
 rate hands at that. For getting concessions 
 for railroads, founding banks, begging some 
 tax-exemption for themselves, or anything of 
 47 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 that sort, none are a match for the gentry. 
 They accumulate great capitals. I hinted at 
 that just now, when you were pleased to take 
 offence at it. But I was thinking of regular 
 industrial enterprises. I say regular, because 
 founding private taverns and petty truck-shops 
 and lending the peasants wheat or money at 
 a hundred and a hundred and fifty per cent, as 
 so many of our landowning gentry are doing 
 now — operations like that I can't regard as 
 genuine commercial business.' 
 
 Kallomyetsev made no reply. He belonged 
 to just that new species of money-lending land- 
 owner whom Markelov had referred to in his 
 last talk with Nezhdanov, and he was the more 
 inhuman in his extortions that he never had 
 any personal dealings with the peasants ; he 
 did not admit them into his perfumed Euro- 
 pean study, but did business with them 
 through an agent. As he listened to Solomin's 
 deliberate, as it were, impartial speech, he was 
 raging inwardly . . . but he was silent this 
 time, and only the working of the muscles of 
 his face betrayed what was passing within him. 
 
 ' But, Vassily Fedotitch, allow me — allow 
 me/ began Sipyagin. 'AH that you are ex- 
 pressing was a perfectly just criticism in former 
 days, when the nobility enjoyed . . . totally 
 different privileges, and were altogether in 
 48 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 another position. But nowadays, after all the 
 beneficial reforms ... in our industrial age, 
 why cannot the nobility turn their energies and 
 abilities into such enterprises? Why should 
 they be unable to understand what is under- 
 stood by the simple, often unlettered, merchant? 
 They don't suffer from lack of education, and 
 one may even claim with confidence that they 
 are in some sense the representatives of enlight- 
 enment and progress.' 
 
 Boris Andreevitch spoke very well ; his 
 fluency would have had great effect in Peters- 
 burg — in his department — or even in higher 
 quarters, but on Solomin it produced no im- 
 pression whatever. 
 
 'The gentry cannot manage these things,* 
 he repeated. 
 
 * And why not ? why ? * Kallomyetsev almost 
 shouted. 
 
 'Because they will always remain mere 
 officials.' 
 
 'Officials?' Kallomyetsev laughed malig- 
 nantly. ' You don't quite realise what you are 
 saying, I fancy, Mr. Solomin.' Solomin still 
 smiled as before. 
 
 ' What makes you fancy that, Mr. Kolo- 
 mentsev ? ' (Kallomyetsev positively shuddered 
 at such a " mutilation " of his surname.) ' No, 
 I always fully realise what I am saying.' 
 
 VOL. II. 49 D 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 *Then explain what you meant by your last 
 expression/ 
 
 * Certainly ; in my idea, every official is an 
 outsider, and has always been so, and the gentry 
 have now become outsiders.' 
 
 Kallomyetsev laughed still more. 
 
 * I beg your pardon, my dear sir ; that I 
 can't make head or tail of! ' 
 
 * So much the worse for you. Make a great 
 effort . . . perhaps you will understand it/ 
 
 *Sir!' 
 
 * Gentlemen, gentlemen,' Sipyagin interposed 
 hurriedly with an air of searching earnestly 
 about him for some one. * If you please, if you 
 please . . . Kalloinyetsev, je vous prie de vous 
 calmer. And dinner will be ready soon, to be 
 sure. Pray, gentlemen, follow me ! ' 
 
 'Valentina Mihalovna ! ' whined Kallom- 
 yetsev, running into her boudoir five minutes 
 later, 4t's really beyond everything what your 
 husband is doing ! One Nihilist installed here 
 among you already, and now he 's bringing in 
 another ! And this one 's the worst ! ' 
 
 * How so?' 
 
 * Upon my word, he 's advocating the deuce 
 knows what ; and besides — observe one thing : 
 he has been talking to your husband for a 
 whole hour, and never once^ not once^ did he 
 say, Your Excellency ! Le vagabond Г 
 
 "JO 
 
XXIV 
 
 Before dinner Sipyagin called his wife aside 
 into the library. He wanted to have a talk 
 with her alone. He seemed worried. He told 
 her that the factory was distinctly coming to 
 grief, that this man Solomin struck him as a 
 very capable fellow, though a trifle . . . abrupt, 
 and that they must continue to be mix petits 
 soins with him. * Ah ! if we could only per- 
 suade him to come, what a good thing it would 
 be!' he repeated twice. Sipyagin was much 
 irritated at Kallomyetsev's presence. . . . ' Damn 
 the fellow ! He sees Nihilists on every side, 
 and thinks of nothing but suppressing them. 
 He 's welcome to suppress them at home. He 
 positively can't hold his tongue ! ' 
 
 Valentina Mihalovna observed that she would 
 be delighted to be aux petits soins with this new 
 guest, only he seemed not to care for these 
 petits soins and not to notice them ; not that he 
 was rude, but very cool in a sort of way, which 
 was extremely remarkable in a man du commun. 
 51 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 'Never mind ... do your best!' Sipyagin 
 besought her. Valentina Mihalovna promised 
 to do her best, and she did do her best. She 
 began by talking en tete-a-tete to Kallomyetsev. 
 There is no knowing what she said to him, but 
 he came to table with the air of a man who 
 has * undertaken ' to be discreet and submissive 
 whatever he may have to listen to. This oppor- 
 tune 'resignation' gave his whole bearing a 
 shade of slight melancholy ; but what dignity 
 ... oh ! what dignity there was in every one 
 of his movements ! Valentina Mihalovna in- 
 troduced Solomin to all the family circle (he 
 looked at Marianna with most attention), and 
 made him sit beside her, on her right hand, at 
 dinner. Kallomyetsev was seated on her left. 
 As he unfolded his napkin, he pursed up his 
 face with a smile that seemed to say, ' Come, 
 now, let us go through our little farce ! ' Sipy- 
 agin sat facing him, and with some anxiety 
 kept an eye on him. By Madame Sipyagin's 
 rearrangement of the seats at table, Nezhdanov 
 was placed not beside Marianna, but between 
 Anna Zaharovna and Sipyagin. Marianna 
 found her card (for the dinner was a cere- 
 monious affair) on the dinner-napkin between 
 Kallomyetsev and Kolya. The dinner was 
 served in great style ; there was even a menu — 
 a decorated card lay beside each knife and 
 52 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 fork. Immediately after the soup, Sipyagin 
 turned the conversation again on his factory, 
 and on manufacturing industry in Russia 
 generally ; Solomin, after his habit, answered 
 very briefly. Directly he began to speak, 
 Marianna's eyes were fastened upon him. 
 Kallomyetsev, as he sat beside her, had 
 begun by addressing various compliments to 
 her (seeing that he had been specially begged 
 *not to provoke an argument'), but she was 
 not listening to him ; and indeed he uttered 
 these civilities in a half-hearted fashion to 
 satisfy his conscience : he realised that there 
 was some barrier between the young girl and 
 him that he could not get over. 
 
 As for Nezhdanov, something still worse 
 had come into existence between him and 
 the head of the house. . . . For Sipyagin, 
 Nezhdanov had become simply a piece of 
 furniture, or an empty space, which he utterly 
 — it seemed utterly — failed to remark ! These 
 new relations had taken shape so quickly and 
 unmistakably, that when Nezhdanov during 
 dinner uttered a few words in reply to an 
 observation of his neighbour, Anna Zaharovna, 
 Sipyagin looked round wonderingly as though 
 asking himself, * Where does that sound come 
 from ? ' 
 
 Obviously Sipyagin possessed some of the 
 53 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 characteristics that distinguish Russians of the 
 very highest position. 
 
 After the fish, Valentina Mihalovna — who for 
 her part had been lavishing all her arts and 
 graces on her right, that is, on Solomin — re- 
 marked in English to her husband across the 
 table that * our guest drinks no wine, perhaps 
 he would like beer. . . .' Sipyagin called loudly 
 for 'ale,' while Solomin turning quietly to Valen- 
 tina Mihalovna said, *You don't know, madam, 
 I expect, that I spent over two years in England, 
 and can understand and speak English ; I tell 
 you this in case you might want t speak of 
 something private before me.' Valentina Mihal- 
 ovna laughed and began to assure him this 
 precaution was quite unnecessary, since he 
 would hear nothing but good of himself; 
 inwardly she thought Solomin's action rather 
 queer, but delicate in its own way. 
 
 At this point Kallomyetsev broke out at 
 last. 
 
 ' So you have been in England,* he began, 
 'and probably you studied the manners and 
 customs there. Allow me to inquire, did you 
 think they were worth imitating ? * 
 
 ' Some, yes ; some, no.' 
 
 'That's short, and not clear,' observed 
 Kallomyetsev, trying not to notice the signs 
 Sipyagin was making to him. * But you were 
 54 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 Speaking this morning about the nobles. . . . 
 You have doubtless had an opportunity of 
 studying what 's called in England the landed 
 gentry on the spot ? ' 
 
 * No ; I had no such opportunity : I moved 
 in a totally different sphere, but I formed a 
 notion of these gentlemen for myself.' 
 
 *Well, do you imagine that such a landed 
 gentry is impossible among us, and that in any 
 case we ought not to wish for it ? ' 
 
 * In the first place, I certainly do imagine 
 it to be impossible, and, secondly, I think it's 
 not worth while wishing for it either.' 
 
 * Why so, my dear sir ? ' said Kallomyetsev. 
 The last three words were by way of soothing 
 Sipyagin, who was very uneasy and could not 
 sit still in his chair. 
 
 'Because in twenty or thirty years your 
 landed gentry will cease to exist any way.' 
 *But, really, why so, my dear sir?' 
 'Because by that time the land will have 
 come into the hands of owners, without dis- 
 tinction of rank.' 
 
 * Merchants ? ' 
 
 * Probably merchants ; mostly.' 
 *How will that be?' 
 
 * Why, by their buying it — the land, I mean.* 
 
 * Of the nobles?' 
 *Yes, the nobles.' 
 
 55 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 Kallomyetsev gave a condescending smirk. 
 'You said the very same thing before, I re- 
 member, of mills and factories, and now you 
 say it of the whole of the land.' 
 
 'Yes, I say the same now of the whole of 
 the land/ 
 
 'And you will be very glad of it, I sup- 
 pose?' 
 
 ' Not at all, as I have explained to you 
 already ; the people will be no better off for 
 it' 
 
 Kallomyetsev faintly raised one hand. 'What 
 solicitude for the people's welfare, only fancy ! ' 
 
 ' Vassily Fedotitch ! ' cried Sipyagin at the 
 top of his voice. ' They have brought you 
 some beer ! Voyons, Simeon ! ' he added in an 
 undertone. 
 
 But Kallomyetsev would not be quiet. 
 
 'You have not, I see,' he began again, ad- 
 dressing Solomin, 'an over-flattering opinion 
 of the merchants ; but they belong by extrac- 
 tion to the people, don't they ? ' 
 
 ' And so ? ' 
 
 ' I supposed that everything relating to the 
 people or derived from the people would be 
 good in your eyes.' 
 
 ' Oh, no, sir ! You were mistaken in suppos- 
 ing that. Our people are open to reproach in 
 many ways, though they 're not always in the 
 56 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 wrong. The merchant among us so far is a 
 brigand ; he uses his own private property for 
 brigandage. . . . What's he to do? He's 
 exploited and he exploits. As for the 
 people ' 
 
 'The people?' queried Kallomyetsev in 
 high falsetto. 
 
 ' The people . . . are asleep/ 
 
 * And you would wake them ? * 
 ' That wouldn't be amiss.' 
 
 * Aha ! aha ! so that 's what * 
 
 ' Excuse me, excuse me/ Sipyagin pro- 
 nounced imperiously. He realised that the 
 instant had come to draw the line, so to speak 
 . . . to close the discussion. And he drew the 
 line ! He closed the discussion ! With a wave 
 of his right hand from the wrist, while his 
 elbow remained propped on the table, he 
 delivered a long and detailed speech. On 
 one side he commended the conservatives, on 
 the other approved of the liberals, awarding 
 some preference to the latter, reckoning him- 
 self among their number ; he extolled the 
 people, but referred to some of their weak 
 points ; expressed complete confidence in the 
 government, but asked himself whether all 
 subordinate officials were fully carrying out 
 its benevolent designs. He recognised the 
 service and the dignity of literature, but de- 
 57 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 clared that without the utmost caution it was 
 inadmissible ! He looked towards the east ; 
 first rejoiced, then was dubious : looked to- 
 wards the west; first was apathetic, then 
 suddenly waked up ! Finally, he proposed a 
 toast in honour of the trinity : ' Religion, Agri- 
 culture, and Industry ! ' 
 
 ' Under the aegis of power ! ' Kallomyetsev 
 added severely. 
 
 'Under the aegis of wise and indulgent 
 authority,' Sipyagin amended. 
 
 The toast was drunk in silence. The empty 
 space to the left of Sipyagin, known as Nezh- 
 danov, did, it is true, give vent to some sound 
 of disapprobation, but, evoking no notice, it 
 relapsed into silence ; and the dinner reached 
 a satisfactory conclusion, undisturbed by any 
 controversy. 
 
 Valentina Mihalovna, with the most charming 
 smile, handed Solomin a cup of coffee; he 
 drank it, and was already looking for his hat 
 . . . but, softly taken by the arm by Sipyagin, 
 was promptly drawn away into his study, and 
 received first a most excellent cigar, and then 
 a proposal that he should enter his, Sipyagin's 
 factory, on the most advantageous terms! 
 ' You shall be absolute master, Vassily Fedot- 
 itch, absolute master!' The cigar Solomin 
 accepted ; the proposal he refused. He posi- 
 58 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 tively stuck to his refusal, however much 
 Sipyagin insisted. 
 
 ' Don't say " No " straight off, dear Vassily 
 Fedotitch. Say at least that you'll think it 
 over till to-morrow !' 
 
 ' But that would make no difference. I can't 
 accept your offer,' 
 
 * Till to-morrow ! Vassily Fedotitch ! what 
 harm will it do to defer your decision ? ' 
 
 Solomin admitted that it would certainly do 
 him no harm ... he left the study, however, 
 and again went in search of his hat. But 
 Nezhdanov, who had not till that instant suc- 
 ceeded in exchanging a single word with him, 
 drew near and hurriedly whispered : ' For 
 mercy's sake, don't go away, or it will be im- 
 possible for us to have a talk.' 
 
 Solomin left his hat alone, the more readily 
 as Sipyagin observing his irresolute movements 
 up and down the drawing-room, cried, * You '11 
 stay the night with us, of course ? ' 
 
 * I am at your disposal,' answered Solomin. 
 The grateful glance flung at him by Marianna 
 
 — she was standing at the drawing-room window 
 — set him musing. 
 
 59 
 
XXV 
 
 Marianna had pictured Solomin to herself as 
 utterly different, before his visit. At first sight 
 he had struck her as somehow undefined, lack- 
 ing in individuality. . . . She had seen plenty 
 of fair-haired, sinewy, thin men like that, she 
 told herself! But the more she watched him, 
 the more she listened to what he said, the 
 stronger grew her feeling of confidence in 
 him — confidence was just what it was. 
 
 This calm, heavy, not to say clumsy man 
 was not only incapable of lying or bragging ; 
 one might rely on him, like a stone wall. . . . 
 He would not betray one ; more than that, he 
 would understand one and support one. Mari- 
 anna even fancied that this was not only her 
 feeling — that Solomin was producing the same 
 effect on every one present. To what he 
 said, she attached no special significance ; all 
 this talk of merchants and factories had little 
 interest for her; but the way he talked, the 
 way he looked and smiled as he talked, she 
 liked immensely. . . . 
 
 60 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 A truthful man . . . that was the great 
 thing ! that was what touched her. It is a 
 well-known fact, though by no means easy 
 to understand, that Russians are the greatest 
 liars on the face of the earth, and yet there 
 is nothing they respect like truth — nothing 
 attracts them so much. Besides, Solomin 
 was of a quite especial stamp, in Marianna's 
 eyes ; on him rested the halo of a man recom- 
 mended by Vassily Nikolaevitch himself to 
 his followers. During dinner Marianna had 
 several times exchanged glances with Nezh- 
 danov in reference to him, and in the end she 
 suddenly caught herself in an involuntary 
 comparison of the two men, and not to Nezh- 
 danov's advantage. Nezhdanov's features were 
 undoubtedly far handsomer and more pleasing 
 than Solomin's ; but his face expressed a 
 medley of distracting emotions ; vexation, 
 embarrassment, impatience . . . even despon- 
 dency; he seemed sitting on thorns, tried to 
 speak, and broke off, laughing nervously. . . . 
 Solomin, on the other hand, produced the im- 
 pression of being, very likely, a little bored, 
 but, any way, quite at home ; and of being, in 
 what he did or felt, at all times utterly indepen- 
 dent of what other people might do or feel. 
 'Decidedly, we must ask advice of this man,' 
 was Marianna's thought ; * he will be sure to 
 6i 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 give us some good advice.' It was she who 
 had sent Nezhdanov to him after dinner. 
 
 The evening passed rather drearily ; luckily 
 dinner was not over till late, and there was 
 not much time to get through before night. 
 Kallomyetsev was politely sulky and said 
 nothing. 
 
 'What's the matter?' Madame Sipyagin 
 asked him half-jeeringly. * Have you lost 
 something?' 
 
 'That's just it/ answered Kallomyetsev. 
 ' They tell a story of one of our commanders 
 of the guards that he used to complain that 
 his soldiers had lost their socks. " Find me 
 that sock ! " And I say, find me the word 
 " sir " ! That word " sir " has gone astray, and 
 all proper respect and reverence for rank have 
 gone with it ! ' 
 
 Madame Sipyagin declared to Kallomyetsev 
 that she was not prepared to assist him in his 
 quest of it. 
 
 Emboldened by the success of his 'speech' 
 at dinner, Sipyagin delivered a couple of other 
 harangues, letting drop as he did so a few 
 statesmanlike reflections on indispensable 
 measures ; he dropped also a few sayings 
 — des mots — more weighty than witty, he had 
 specially prepared for Petersburg. One of 
 these sayings he even said over twice, pre- 
 62 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 fixing the phrases, 'if I may be permitted so 
 to express myself.' It was a criticism of one 
 of the ministers of the day, of whom he said 
 that he had a fickle and frivolous intellect, 
 bent on visionary aims. On the other hand 
 Sipyagin, not forgetting that he had to deal 
 with a Russian — one of the people — did not 
 fail to knock off a few sayings, intended to 
 prove that he was himself, not merely Russian 
 in blood, but a real Russian bear, every inch 
 of him, and in close touch with the very 
 inmost essence of the national life ! Thus, 
 for example, upon Kallomyetsev observing 
 that the rain might delay getting in the hay, 
 he promptly rejoined, ' Let the hay be black, 
 for then the buckwheat '11 be white ' ; he used 
 proverbial terms such as, ' A store masterless 
 is a child fatherless ' ; * Try on ten times, for 
 once you cut out ' ; ' Where there is corn, you 
 can always find a bushel ' ; ' If the leaves on 
 the birch are big as farthings by St. Yegor's 
 day, there'll be corn in the barn by the 
 feast of Our Lady of Kazan.' It must be 
 admitted that he sometimes got them wrong, 
 and would say, for instance, * Let the carpenter 
 stick to his last ! ' or * Fine houses make full 
 bellies ! ' But the society in which these mis- 
 haps befell did not for the most part even sus- 
 pect that ' no^re bon Russe ' had blundered ; and 
 63 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 indeed, thanks to Prince Kovrizhkin, it is pretty 
 well inured to such Russian malapropisms. And 
 all these saws and sayings Sipyagin would 
 enunciate in a peculiar hale and hearty, almost 
 thick, voice, ^ d'une voix rustique^ Such idioms, 
 dropped in due place and season at Peters- 
 burg, set influential ladies of the highest posi- 
 tion exclaiming, * Comme il connatt bien les 
 moeurs de notre peuple!' While equally in- 
 fluential dignitaries of equally high position 
 would add, ' Les moeurs et les besoins ! ' 
 
 Valentina Mihalovna did her very best with 
 Solomin ; but the obvious failure of her efl'orts 
 disheartened her ; and as she passed Kallom- 
 yetsev she could not resist mumuring in 
 an undertone, ^ Mon Dieu, que je me sens 
 fatiguee I ' 
 
 To which the latter responded, with an 
 ironical bow, ' Tu Г as voulu, Georges Dandin ! ' 
 
 At last, after the usual flicker-up of polite- 
 ness and affability, displayed on all the faces 
 of a bored assembly at the moment of break- 
 ing up, after abrupt handshaking, smiles and 
 amiable simpers, the weary guests and weary 
 hosts separated. 
 
 Solomin, who was conducted to almost the 
 best bedchamber on the second floor, with 
 E^iglish toilet accessories and a bathroom 
 attached, made his way to Nezhdanov. 
 64 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 The latter began by thanking him warmly 
 for consenting to stay the night. 
 
 * I know ... it 's a sacrifice for you. . . .* 
 *0h, nonsense!' Solomin responded in his 
 
 deliberate tones; * much of a sacrifice ! Besides, 
 I can't say no to you.' 
 
 * Why so?' 
 
 * Oh, because I like you.' 
 
 Nezhdanov was delighted and astounded, 
 while Solomin pressed his hand. Then he 
 seated himself astride on a chair, lighted a 
 cigar, and, with both elbows on the chair-back, 
 he observed, * Come, tell me what 's the matter.' 
 
 Nezhdanov, too, seated himself astride on a 
 chair facing Solomin, but he did not light a 
 cigar. 
 
 * What's the matter, you ask? . . . The 
 matter is that I want to run away from here.' 
 
 'That is, you want to leave this house? 
 Well, what of it ? Good luck to you ! ' 
 
 * Not to leave . . . but to run away.' 
 
 * Why ? do they detain you ? You . . . per- 
 haps you 've received some salary in advance ? 
 If so, you need only say the word. ... I 
 should be delighted.' 
 
 * You don't understand me, my dear Solomin. 
 . . . I said, run away — not leave — because I 'm 
 not going away from here alone.' 
 
 Solom.in raised his head. 
 VOL. II. 65 В 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 'With whom?* 
 
 ' With that girl you saw here to-day. , , .' 
 
 * That girl ! She has a nice face. You love 
 one another, eh? ... Or is it simply, you 
 have made up your minds to go away together 
 from a house where you are both unhappy ? ' 
 
 * We love one another.' 
 
 *Ah!' Solomin was silent for a while. * Is 
 she a relation of the people here ? ' 
 
 ' Yes. But she fully shares our convictions, 
 and is ready to go forward.' 
 
 Solomin smiled. 
 
 * And are you ready, Nezhdanov ? * 
 Nezhdanov frowned slightly. 
 
 ' Why that question ? I will prove my readi- 
 ness in action.' 
 
 * I have no doubts of you, Nezhdanov. I 
 only asked because I imagine there is no one 
 ready besides you.' 
 
 'What of Markelov?' 
 
 ' Yes, to be sure, there is Markelov ; but he, 
 I expect, was born ready.' 
 
 At that instant some one gave a light, rapid 
 tap at the door, and, without waiting for an 
 answer, opened it. It was Marianna. She went 
 up at once to Solomin. 
 
 * I am sure,' she began, ' you will not be 
 surprised at seeing me here at such an hour. 
 . . . He ' (Marianna indicated Nezhdanov) ' has 
 
 66 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 told you everything, of course. Give me your 
 hand, and, believe me, it is an honest girl 
 standing before you/ 
 
 *Yes, I know that,' Solomin responded seri- 
 ously. He had risen from his seat directly 
 Marianna appeared. ' I was looking at you at 
 dinner-time and thinking, " What honest eyes 
 that young lady has ! " Nezhdanov has been 
 telling me, certainly, of your plan. But why 
 do you mean to run away, exactly ? ' 
 
 *Why? The cause I have at heart . , . 
 don't be surprised; Nezhdanov has kept no- 
 thing from me . . . that work is bound to begin 
 in a few days . . . and am I to remain in this 
 aristocratic house, where everything is deceit 
 and lying ? People I love will be exposed to 
 danger, and am I ' 
 
 Solomin stopped her by a motion of his 
 hand. 
 
 *Den't upset yourself. Sit down, and I'll 
 sit down. You sit down, too, Nezhdanov. Let 
 me tell you, if you have no other reason, then 
 there 's no need for you to run away from here 
 as yet. That work isn't going to begin as soon 
 as you suppose. A little more prudent con- 
 sideration is needed in that matter. It's no 
 good blundering forward at random. Believe 
 me.' 
 
 Marianna sat down and wrapped herself up 
 67 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 m a big plaid, which she flung over her 
 shoulders. 
 
 ' But I can't stay here any longer. I 'm 
 insulted by every one here. Only to-day that 
 imbecile, Anna Zaharovna, said before Kolya, 
 alluding to my father, that the apple never 
 falls far from the apple-tree. Kolya even was 
 surprised, and asked what that meant. Not to 
 speak of Valentina Mihalovna ! ' 
 
 Solomin stopped her again, and this time 
 with a smile. Marianna realised that he was 
 laughing at her a little, but his smile could 
 never have offended any one. 
 
 'What do you mean, dear lady? I don't 
 know who that Anna Zaharovna may be, nor 
 what apple-tree you are talking about . . . 
 but come, now ; some fool of a woman says 
 something foolish to you, and can't you put up 
 with it? How are you going to get through 
 life ? The whole world rests on fools. No, 
 that's not a reason. Is there anything else?* 
 
 * I am convinced,' Nezhdanov interposed in a 
 deep voice, * that Mr. Sipyagin will turn me 
 out of the house of himself in a day or two. 
 He has certainly been told tales. He treats 
 me ... in the most contemptuous fashion.' 
 
 Solomin turned to Nezhdanov. 
 
 'Then what would you run away for, if you'll 
 be turned away in any case ? ' 
 68 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 Nezhdanov did not at once find a reply. 
 
 * I was telling you before ' he began. 
 
 * He used that expression/ put in Marianna, 
 'because I am going with him.' 
 
 Solomin looked at her, and shook his head 
 good-humouredly. 
 
 * Yes, yes, my dear young lady ; but I tell you 
 again, if you are meaning to leave this house just 
 because you suppose the revolution is going to 
 break out directly * 
 
 * That 's what we wrote for you to come for, 
 Marianna interrupted, 4o find out for certain 
 what position things are in.' 
 
 * In that case,' pursued Solomin, * I repeat, 
 you can stop at home — a good bit longer. If 
 you mean to run away because you love each 
 other and you can't be united otherwise, 
 then ' 
 
 'Well, what then?' 
 
 * Then it only remains for me to wish you, as 
 the old-fashioned saying is, love and good 
 counsel, and, if need be and can be, to give you 
 any help in my power. Because, my dear young 
 lady, you, and him too, I 've loved from first 
 sight as if you were my own brother and sister.* 
 
 Marianna and Nezhdanov both went up to 
 him on the right and the left, and each clasped 
 one of his hands. 
 
 *Only tell us what to do,' said Marianna. 
 69 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 * Supposing the revolution is still far off . . . 
 there are preparatory steps to be taken, work 
 to be done, impossible in this house, in these 
 surroundings, to which we should go so eagerly- 
 together . . . you point them out to us, you 
 only tell us where we are to go. . , . Send us ! 
 You will send us, won't you ? ' 
 
 * Where?' 
 
 * To the peasants. . . . Where should we go, 
 if not to the people ? ' 
 
 'Into the forest,' thought Nezhdanov. . . . 
 Paklin's saying recurred to his mind. Solomin 
 looked intently at Marianna. 
 
 * You want to get to know the people ? * 
 
 * Yes ; that is, we don't only want to get to 
 know the people, but to influence ... to 
 work for them/ 
 
 ' Very good ; I promise you, you shall get to 
 know them. I will give you a chance of in- 
 fluencing them and working for them. And 
 you, Nezhdanov, are ready to go . . . for her 
 . . . and for them ? ' 
 
 *0f course I am ready/ he declared hur- 
 riedly. ' Juggernaut,' another saying of Paklin's, 
 recurred to him ; ^ here it comes rolling along, 
 the huge chariot . . . and I hear the crash and 
 rumble of its wheels. . . .' 
 
 * Very good,' Solomin repeated thoughtfully. 
 
 • But when do you intend to run away ? ' 
 
 70 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 'Why not to-morrow?' cried Marianna. 
 
 * Very good — but where ? ' 
 
 *Sh . . . gently . . .' whispered Nezhdanov. 
 
 * Some one is coming along the corridor/ 
 
 They were all silent for a space. 
 'Where do you intend to go?' Solomin asked 
 again, dropping his voice. 
 
 * We don't know,' answered Marianna. 
 Solomin turned his eyes upon Nezhdanov. 
 
 The latter merely shook his head negatively. 
 
 Solomin stretched out his hand and carefully 
 snuffed the candle. 
 
 * I tell you what, my children,' he said at last, 
 
 * come to my factory. It 's nasty there . . . but 
 very safe. I will hide you. I have a little 
 room there. No one will find you out. You 
 need only get there . . . and we won't give you 
 up. You will say, " There are a lot of people 
 at the factory." That's a very good thing. 
 Where there are a lot of people it's easy to 
 hide. Will that do, eh ? ' 
 
 * We can only thank you,' said Nezhdanov ; 
 while Marianna, who had at first been taken 
 aback by the idea of the factory, added quickly: 
 
 * Of course, of course. How good you are ! But 
 you won't leave us there long, I suppose ? You 
 will send us on ? ' 
 
 * That will depend on you. . . . But in case 
 you meant to get married, it would be very 
 
 71 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 convenient for you at the factory. Close by 
 I 've a neighbour there — he *s a cousin of mine 
 — a parish priest, by name Zosim, very amen- 
 able. He would marry you with all the pleasure 
 in life.' 
 
 Marianna smiled to herself, while Nezhdanov 
 once more pressed Solomin's hand, and after 
 a moment's pause inquired, * But, I say, won't 
 your employer, the owner of the factory, have 
 anything to say about it ? Won't he make it 
 unpleasant for you ? ' 
 
 Solomin looked askance at Nezhdanov. 
 
 ' Don't worry about me. . . . That 's quite a 
 waste of time. As long as the factory goes all 
 right, it's all one to my employer. Neither 
 you nor your dear young lady have any un- 
 pleasantness to fear from him. And the work- 
 men will be no danger to you. Only let me 
 know beforehand. About what time am I to 
 expect you ? ' 
 
 Nezhdanov and Marianna looked at one 
 another. 
 
 'The day after to-morrow, early in the morn- 
 ing, or the day after that,' Nezhdanov said at 
 last. * We can't put it off any longer. It 's as 
 likely as not they '11 turn me out of the house 
 to-morrow.' 
 
 * All right . . .* assented Solomin, and he got 
 up from his chair. ' I will look out for you 
 72 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 every morning. And, indeed, I shan't be away 
 from home all the week. Every step shall be 
 taken in due course/ 
 
 Marianna drew near him (she was on her 
 way to the door). * Good-bye, dear, kind 
 Vassily Fedotitch . . . that is your name, 
 isn't it?' 
 
 *Yes.' 
 
 * Good-bye ... at least, till we meet, and 
 thanks — thank you ! ' 
 
 * Good-bye. . . . Good night, dear child.' 
 *And good-bye, Nezhdanov, till to-mor- 
 row . . .' she added. 
 
 Marianna went out quickly. 
 Both the young men remained for some time 
 without moving, and both were silent. 
 
 * Nezhdanov . . .' Solomin began at last, and 
 he broke off. 'Nezhdanov,' he began again, 
 
 * tell me about this girl . . . what you can tell 
 me. What has her life been up till now? . , • 
 Who is she ? . . , and how does she come to be 
 here?' 
 
 Nezhdanov told Solomin briefly what he 
 knew. 
 
 * Nezhdanov,* he began again at last . . . 
 
 * you ought to take care of that girl ; for . . . 
 if anything . . . were to happen . . . you would 
 be very much to blame. Good-bye.' 
 
 He went away, and Nezhdanov stood still 
 73 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 for a while in the middle of the room ; then 
 muttering, *Ah! it's better not to think/ he 
 flung himself face downwards on the bed. 
 
 When Marianna got back to her room, she 
 found on the table a small note, which ran 
 as follows : 'I am sorry for you. You are 
 going to your ruin. Think what you are 
 doing. Into what abyss are you flinging your- 
 self with your eyes shut ? — for whom, and for 
 what?— V.' 
 
 There was a peculiar delicate fresh scent in 
 the room; it was clear that Valentina Mihalovna 
 had only just gone out of it. Marianna took a 
 pen, and, writing underneath, ' Don't pity me. 
 God knows which of us two is most in need of 
 pity. I only know I would not be in your 
 place. — M.,' she left the note on the table. She 
 had no doubt that her answer would fall into 
 Valentina Mihalovna's hands. 
 
 The next morning Solomin, after seeing 
 Nezhdanov, and absolutely declining to under- 
 take the management of Sipyagin's factory, 
 set ofl* homewards. He mused all the way 
 home, a thing which very seldom occurred 
 with him ; the motion of the carriage usually 
 lulled him into a light sleep. He thought of 
 Marianna and also of Nezhdanov. He fancied 
 that if he had been in love, he — Solomin — he 
 would have had quite a different face, that he 
 74 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 would have talked and looked quite differently. 
 *But,' he reflected, 'since that has never hap- 
 pened to me, I can't tell, of course, what I 
 should look like if it did.' He remembered an 
 Irish girl whom he had once seen in a shop 
 behind the counter ; he remembered what won- 
 derful, almost black, hair she had, her blue 
 eyes and thick lashes, and how she had looked 
 sadly and wistfully at him, and how long after- 
 wards he had walked up and down the street 
 before her windows, how excited he had 
 been, and how he had kept asking himself, 
 should he make her acquaintance or not ? He 
 was then staying in London. His employer 
 had sent him there with a sum of money to 
 make purchases for him. Solomin had been 
 on the point of stopping on in London, of 
 sending the money back to his employer, so 
 strong was the impression made on him by the 
 lovely Polly. . . . (He had found out her name; 
 one of the other shopgirls had addressed her 
 by it.) He had mastered himself, however, and 
 went back to his employer. Polly had been far 
 more beautiful than Marianna, but this girl had 
 the same sad, wistful look in her eyes . . . and 
 she was a Russian. ... 
 
 * But what am I thinking about ? ' said Solo- 
 min, half aloud, 'bothering my head about other 
 men's sweethearts ! ' and he gave a shake to the 
 7S 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 collar of his coat as though wishing to shake 
 off all unnecessary ideas ; and juet then he 
 drove up to the factory and caught a glimpse 
 of the figure of the faithful Pavel in the door- 
 way of his little lodge. 
 
 76 
 
XXVI 
 
 Solomin's refusal greatly offended Sipyagin — 
 so much so that he suddenly arrived at the 
 opinion that this home-bred Stevenson was not 
 such a remarkable mechanician after all, and 
 that, though he might very likely not be a 
 complete sham, he certainly gave himself airs 
 like a regular plebeian. * All these Russians, 
 when they imagine they know a thing, are be- 
 yond everything. Au fond Kallomyetsev is 
 right.' Under the influence of such irritated 
 and malignant sensations, the statesman — en 
 herbe — was even more unsympathetic and dis- 
 tant when he looked at Nezhdanov. He 
 informed Kolya that he need not work with 
 his tutor to-day — that he must form a habit of 
 self-reliance. . . . He did not, however, give 
 the tutor himself his dismissal, as the latter 
 had expected; he continued to ignore him. 
 But Valentina Mihalovna did not ignore Mari- 
 anna. A terrible scene took place between 
 them. 
 
 n 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 At about two o'clock they happened some- 
 how to be suddenly left alone together in the 
 drawing-room. Each of them was immediately 
 aware that the moment of the inevitable con- 
 flict had come, and so, after a momentary 
 hesitation, they gradually approached each 
 other. Valentina Mihalovna was faintly smil- 
 ing, Marianna's lips were compressed; they were 
 both pale. As she moved across the room, 
 Valentina Mihalovna looked to right and to left 
 and picked a leaf of geranium . . . Marianna's 
 eyes were fixed directly upon the smiling face 
 approaching her. 
 
 Madame Sipyagin was the first to stop, and, 
 drumming with her finger-tips on the back of 
 the chair : * Marianna Vikentyevna,' she said 
 in a careless voice, * we have, I think, entered 
 upon a correspondence with one another. . . . 
 Living under one roof as we do, that is rather 
 odd, and you are aware that I am not fond of 
 oddities of any sort/ 
 
 *It was not I began that correspondence, 
 Valentina Mihalovna.' 
 
 * No. . . . You are right. I am to blame for 
 the oddity this time ; but I could find no other 
 means to arouse in you a feeling of , . . how 
 shall I say? ... a feeling of ' 
 
 * Speak out, Valentina Mihalovna; don't 
 mince matters— don't be afraid of offending me/ 
 
 75 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 * A feeling ... of propriety/ 
 
 Valentina Mihalovna paused ; nothing but 
 the light tap of her fingers on the chair-back 
 could be heard in the room. 
 
 ' How do you consider I have been careless 
 of propriety ? ' asked Marianna. 
 
 Valentina Mihalovna shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 ^ Ma chere,vous n'etes plus une enfant ^2Л\6. you 
 understand me perfectly. Can you suppose 
 your behaviour could remain a secret to me, to 
 Anna Zaharovna, to the whole household, in 
 fact ? Besides, you have not taken much pains 
 to keep it a secret. You have simply acted in 
 bravado. Boris Andreitch alone has, perhaps, 
 not observed it. . . . He is absorbed in other 
 matters of more interest and importance. But, 
 except for him, your conduct is known to all 
 —all ! ' 
 
 Marianna grew steadily paler and paler. 
 
 * I would ask you, Valentina Mihalovna, to 
 be more definite in your expressions. With 
 what precisely are you displeased ? ' 
 
 "■ L'insolente ! ' thought Madame Sipyagin. 
 She still restrained herself, however. 
 
 'You wish to know what I am displeased 
 about, Marianna? Certainly. I am displeased 
 at your prolonged interviews with a young 
 man who by birth, by education, and by social 
 position is far beneath you. I am displeased 
 79 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 ... no ! that word is not strong enough — I am 
 revolted by your late . . . your midnight visits 
 to that young man's room. And that under my 
 roof! Do you suppose that that is quite as it 
 should be, and that I am to be silent, and, as it 
 were, screen your flightiness? As a virtuous 
 woman of irreproachable character . . . Oui^ 
 mademoiselle^ je Гаг ete, je le suis, et le serai 
 toujours — I cannot help feeling indignant' 
 
 Valentina Mihalovna flung herself into an 
 arm-chair as though crushed by the weight 
 of her indignation. 
 
 Marianna smiled for the first time. 
 
 * I do not doubt your virtue, past, present, 
 and future,' she began, ' and I say so quite sin- 
 cerely ; but your indignation is needless ; I 
 have brought no disgrace on your roof The 
 young man to whom you allude . . . yes, I 
 certainly . . . have come to love him. . . .' 
 
 *You love Monsieur Nezhdanov?' 
 
 * Yes, I love him.' 
 
 Valentina Mihalovna sat up in her chair. 
 
 *Good gracious, Marianna! why,he's a student, 
 of no birth, no family — why, he's younger 
 than you are ! ' (There was a certain spiteful 
 pleasure in the utterance of these words.) 
 ' What can come of it ? and what can you, 
 with your intellect, find in him ? He 's simply 
 a shallow boy.' 
 
 80 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 'That was not always your opinion of him, 
 Valentina Mihalovna/ 
 
 * Oh, mercy on us, my dear, let me alone. . . . 
 Pas tant (Г esprit que ga,je vous prie. It is you 
 we are discussing — you and your future. Fancy ! 
 what sort of a match is it for you ? * 
 
 * I must confess, Valentina Mihalovna, 1 had 
 not thought of it in that light* 
 
 'Eh? What? What am I to understand 
 by that? You have followed the dictates of 
 your heart, we are to suppose. . . . But all that 
 is bound to end in marriage, isn't it ? ' 
 
 * I don't know. ... I have not thought about 
 that.' 
 
 'You have not thought about that? Why, 
 you must be mad ! ' 
 
 Marianna turned slightly away. 
 
 *Let us make an end of this conversation, 
 Valentina Mihalovna. It can lead to nothing. 
 We shall never understand one another.' 
 
 Valentina Mihalovna got up impulsively. 
 
 * I cannot, I ought not to make an end of 
 this conversation ! It is too important. ... I 
 have to answer for you to . . .' Valentina 
 Mihalovna had meant to say 4o God,' but 
 she faltered, and said, 4o the whole world. I 
 cannot be silent when I hear such senselessness! 
 And why cannot I ui\dcrstanci -you ? The in- 
 sufferable conceit of^thg^' youftgupeople ! No ! 
 
 VOL. II. /^ ^y'^^'^^<^ '• F 
 
 Уряо'-'Е-^ту\Сд\ 
 
 Д LIBRARY J ^j I H Ъ^ S 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 ... I understand you very well ; I can see 
 that you are infected with these new ideas 
 which will inevitably lead you to your ruin ! 
 but then it will be too late.' 
 
 * Perhaps ; but you may rest assured of one 
 thing : even in my ruin, I shall never hold out 
 a finger to you for aid.' 
 
 * Conceit again, this awful conceit ! Come, 
 listen to me, Marianna, listen to me,' she went 
 on, suddenly changing her tone. . . . She was 
 on the point of drawing Marianna to her, but 
 Marianna stepped back a pace. '■ Ecoiitez-nwi^ 
 
 je vous en conjure. After all, you know I am 
 not so old and not so stupid that it's impossible 
 for us to understand each other. Je ne suis pas 
 une encroutee. I was even regarded as a repub- 
 lican in my young days . . . just as you are. 
 Listen to me. I will not affect what I don't feel. 
 I have never felt a mother's tenderness for you, 
 and it's not in your character to complain of 
 that . . . but I have recognised and I do re- 
 cognise that I have duties in regard to you, 
 and I have always tried to perform them. 
 Perhaps the match I dreamed of for you, and 
 for which Boris Andreitch and I, both of us, 
 would have been ready to make any sacrifices 
 , . . that suitor did not fully answer to your 
 
 ideas . . . but from the bottom of my heart * 
 
 Marianna looked at Valentina Mihalovna 
 82 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 at the wonderful eyes, at the pink, faintly 
 touched-up lips, at the white hands, with the 
 slightly parted fingers adorned with rings, which 
 the elegant lady was pressing so expressively 
 to the bodice of her silk gown, — and suddenly 
 she cut her short. 
 
 * A match, do you say, Valentina Mihalovna ? 
 Do you mean by a "match" that heartless, vulgar 
 friend of yours, Mr. Kallomyetsev ? ' 
 
 Valentina Mihalovna took her fingers from 
 her bodice. 
 
 *Yes, Marianna Vikentyevna, I mean Mr. 
 Kallomyetsev — that cultivated, excellent young 
 man, who will certainly make a wife happy, and 
 whom no one but a madwoman could refuse — 
 no one but a madwoman ! ' 
 
 'What's to be done, ma tante'i It would 
 seem I am one.' 
 
 * But what fault — what serious fault — do you 
 find with him ?' 
 
 * Oh, none at all. I despise him . . . that's all.' 
 Valentina Mihalovna shook her head from 
 
 side to side impatiently, and again sank into an 
 arm-chair. 
 
 *■ Let him be. Retournons d nos moiitons. And 
 so you love Mr. Nezhdanov t ' 
 
 *Yes.' 
 
 * And you intend to continue . . . your inter- 
 views with him ? ' 
 
 83 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 *Yes, I intend to.' 
 
 * Well ... and if I forbid you to?' 
 ' I sha'n't listen to you/ 
 
 Valentina Mihalovna bounded up in her 
 chair. 
 
 ' Oh, you won't listen to me ! Oh, indeed ! 
 And that's said to me by the girl I have loaded 
 with benefits, whom I have cared for in my own 
 house — that is what's said to me ... is said 
 to me . . .' 
 
 ' By the daughter of a disgraced father,' 
 Marianna put in gloomily. 'Go on ; don't 
 mince matters.' 
 
 ' Ce n'est pas moi qui vous le fais dire, 
 mademoiselle; but, any way, there's nothing 
 to be proud of in that. A girl who lives at 
 my expense ' 
 
 * Don't taunt me with that, Valentina Mihal- 
 ovna! It would cost you more to keep a 
 French governess for Kolya. . . . You know 
 I give him French lessons.' 
 
 Valentina Mihalovna raised a hand holding a 
 cambric handkerchief scented with ylang-ylang 
 and embroidered with a huge white monogram 
 in one corner, and tried to make some retort, 
 but Marianna went on vehemently : 
 
 'You would have every right a thousand times 
 over, every right to speak if, instead of all you 
 have just been reckoning up, instead of all these 
 84 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 pretended benefits and sacrifices, you were in a 
 position to say, "the girl I have loved." . . . 
 But you are too honest to tell such a lie as 
 that.' Marianna was shaking as if she were in 
 a fever. * You have always hated me. At this 
 very moment, at the bottom of your heart, as 
 you said just now, you are glad — yes, glad — 
 that I am justifying your constant predictions, 
 that I am covering myself with scandal, with 
 disgrace ; all that you mind is that part of the 
 disgrace may fall on your aristocratic, virtuous 
 household.' 
 
 *You are insulting me,' faltered Valentina 
 Mihalovna. * Kindly leave the room.' 
 
 But Marianna could not control herself. 
 
 ' Your household, you say, all your household 
 and Anna Zaharovna and all know of my 
 conduct ! and they are all horrified and in- 
 dignant. . . . But do you suppose I ask any- 
 thing of you, or them, or any of these people ? 
 Do you suppose I prize their good opinion? 
 Do you think the living at your expense, as 
 you call it, has been sweet? I would prefer 
 any poverty to this luxury. Don't you see that 
 between your household and me there's a perfect 
 gulf, a gulf that nothing can conceal ? Can you 
 — you're a clever woman, too — fail to realise 
 that? And if you feel hatred for me, can't 
 you understand the feeling I must have for 
 85 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 you, which I don't particularise, simply because 
 it is too obvious ? ' 
 
 ^ Sortez^ sorteZy vous dis-je! . . / repeated 
 Valentina Mihalovna, and she stamped with 
 her pretty, slender little foot. 
 
 Marianna took a step in the direction of the 
 door. 
 
 * I will rid you of my presence directly ; but do 
 you know what, Valentina Mihalovna ? They 
 say that even in Rachel's mouth in Racine's 
 Bajazet that * Sortez I ' was not effective, and 
 you are far behind her ! And something more, 
 what was it you said ? "/<? suis une honnete 
 fe?nme, je Vai ///, et le serai toujours!^ Only 
 fancy, I am convinced I 'm a great deal honester 
 than you ! Good-bye ! ' 
 
 Marianna went out hurriedly, while Valen- 
 tina Mihalovna leaped up from her chair ; she 
 wanted to shriek, she wanted to cry. . . . But 
 what to shriek she did not know ; and tears did 
 not come at her bidding. 
 
 She had to be content with fanning herself 
 with her handkerchief; but the scent with 
 which it was saturated affected her nerves still 
 more. She felt unhappy, insulted. She was 
 conscious of a grain of truth in what she had 
 just heard. But how could any one judge her 
 so unjustly? *Can I be such a spiteful crea- 
 ture?' she thought, and she looked at herself 
 86 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 in the looking-glass, which happened to be 
 straight before her between two windows. 
 The looking-glass reflected a charming face, 
 somewhat discomposed, with patches of red 
 coming out upon it, but still a fascinating face, 
 exquisite, soft, velvety eyes. . . . ' I ? I spite- 
 ful ? ' she thought again. ... * With eyes like 
 those ? ' 
 
 But at that instant her husband came in, and 
 she hid her face in her handkerchief again. 
 
 * What is wrong with you ? ' he inquired 
 anxiously. ' What is it, Valya ? ' (He had in- 
 vented that pet name, though he never allowed 
 himself to use it except in absolute tete-a-tete, 
 by preference in the country.) 
 
 At first she was reticent, declared there was 
 nothing wrong, but ended by turning round 
 in her chair, in a very graceful and touching 
 way, and flinging her arms round his shoulders 
 (he was standing bending over her), hiding 
 her face in the open front of his waistcoat, and 
 telling him everything ; without any hypocrisy 
 or hidden motive, she tried, if not to excuse, at 
 least to some extent to justify Marianna ; she 
 threw all the blame on her youth, her passionate 
 temperament, and the defects of her early edu- 
 cation ; she also, to some extent, and also with 
 no double motive, blamed herself * With my 
 daughter, this would never have happened ! 
 87 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 I should have looked after her very differently ! ' 
 Sipyagin heard her out with indulgence, sym- 
 pathy, and serenity ; he kept his stooping 
 posture since she did not take her arms from his 
 shoulders, and did not remove her head ; he 
 called her an angel, kissed her on the forehead, 
 announced that he saw now the course of action 
 dictated to him by his position, the position of 
 the head of the house, and withdrew with the 
 gait of a man of humane but energetic charac- 
 ter, who has to make up his mind to perform an 
 unpleasant but inevitable duty. 
 
 About eight o'clock, after dinner, Nezhdanov 
 was sitting in his room writing to his friend 
 Silin : * Dear Vladimir, I am writing to you at 
 the moment of a vital change in my existence. 
 I have been dismissed from this house. I am 
 going away. But that would be nothing. I 
 am going from here not alone. The girl I have 
 written to you about accompanies me. We 
 are bound together by the similarity of our 
 fate in life, the identity of our views and 
 efforts, by our mutual feeling too. We love 
 each other ; at least, I believe I am not 
 capable of feeling the passion of love in any 
 other form than that in which it presents itself 
 to me now. But I should be lying to you if I 
 said I had no secret feeling of terror, even a 
 sort of strange sinking at heart. The future is 
 88 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 all dark, and we are pushing forward together 
 into this darkness. I need not explain to you 
 what it is we are going into, and what work we 
 have chosen. Marianna and I are not in search 
 of happiness ; we don't want to enjoy ourselves, 
 but to struggle on together, side by side, sup- 
 porting each other. Our aim is clear to us ; 
 but what ways will lead up to it, we do not 
 know. Shall we find, if not sympathy and help, 
 at least freedom to work? Marianna is a 
 splendid, honest girl ; if it is decreed that 
 we perish, I shall not reproach myself for 
 having led her to ruin, for there is no other life 
 possible to her now. But Vladimir, Vladimir ! 
 my heart is heavy. I am tortured by doubt, 
 not of my feeling for her, of course, but ... I 
 don't know. Anyhow, it 's too late to turn back. 
 Stretch out a hand to us both from afar, and 
 wish us patience, power of self-sacrifice, and 
 love . . . more love. And yc, unknown of 
 us, but loved by us with all our being, every 
 drop of our heart's blood, Russian people, re- 
 ceive us not too coldly, and teach us what we 
 are to expect from you ! Farewell, Vladimir, 
 farewell ! ' 
 
 After writing these few lines, Nezhdanov set 
 
 off to the village. The next night, the dawn 
 
 was hardly breaking in the sky when he stood 
 
 on the outskirts of the birch wood at no great 
 
 89 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 distance from Sipyagin's garden. A little behind 
 him, a little peasant's cart, harnessed to a pair 
 of unbridled horses, could be seen behind the 
 tangled green of a broad hazel-bush ; in the 
 cart, under the seat of plaited cord, a little grey- 
 headed old peasant lay asleep on a bundle of 
 hay, with his head on a patched overcoat. 
 Nezhdanov kept incessantly looking towards 
 the road, towards the clump of willows at the 
 garden's edge ; the grey stillness of night still 
 hung over everything, the tiny stars strove 
 feebly to outshine each other, lost in the 
 waste depths of the sky. Along the rounded 
 lower edges of the stretching clouds ran a pale 
 flush from the east; thence too came the first chill 
 breath of early morning. Suddenly Nezhdanov 
 started and was all alert ; somewhere near at 
 hand there was first the shrill creak, then the 
 thump of a gate ; a little feminine figure wrapped 
 in a shawl, with a bundle in its bare hand, 
 stepped with a deliberate movement out of the 
 still shadows of the willows on to the soft dust 
 of the road, and crossing it in a slanting 
 direction, apparently on tiptoe, turned towards 
 the copse. Nezhdanov rushed up to it. 
 
 * Marianna ? ' he whispered. 
 
 * It 's I ! ' came a soft reply from under the 
 overhanging shawl. 
 
 ' This way, follow me,' responded Nezhdanov, 
 90 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 clutching her awkwardly by the bare hand that 
 
 held the bundle. 
 
 She shrank up as if she felt chilled by the 
 frost. He led her to the cart, and waked up the 
 peasant. The latter jumped up quickly, clam- 
 bered promptly on to the driver's seat, slipped 
 the great-coat on to his sleeves, and caught up 
 the cords that served for reins. The horses 
 shook themselves ; he cautiously encouraged 
 them in a voice still hoarse from his heavy 
 sleep. Nezhdanov made Marianna sit down on 
 the cord seat of the cart, first spreading his 
 cloak on it ; he wrapped her feet in a rug — the 
 hay at the bottom of the cart was damp — placed 
 himself beside her, and, bending over to the 
 peasant, said softly, * Drive on you know where.' 
 The peasant gave a tug to the reins, the horses 
 came out of the thicket, snorting and shaking 
 themselves ; and, rattling and jolting on its 
 narrow old wheels, the cart rolled along the 
 road. Nezhdanov put one arm round Mari- 
 anna's waist to support her; she lifted the 
 shawl a little with her cold fingers, and turn- 
 ing and facing him with a smile, she said, * How 
 deliciously fresh it is, Alyosha ! ' 
 
 *Yes,' answered the peasant, Vthere'U be a 
 heavy dew ! ' 
 
 There was already such a heavy dew that the 
 axles of the cart-wheels, as they caught in the 
 91 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 tops of the tall weeds along the roadside, 
 shook off whole showers of delicate drops of 
 water, and the green of the grass looked bluish- 
 grey. 
 
 Again Marianna shivered from the cold. 
 
 * How fresh, how fresh ! ' she repeated in a 
 light-hearted voice. 'And freedom, Alyosha, 
 freedom I ' 
 
 92 
 
XXVII 
 
 SOLOMIN ran out to the gates of the factory 
 directly they hurried to tell him that a gentle- 
 man and lady had arrived in a little cart, and 
 were asking for him. Without saying good- 
 morning to his visitors, simply nodding his 
 head several times to them, he at once told the 
 peasant to drive into the yard, and, directing 
 him straight up to his little lodge, he helped 
 Marianna out of the cart. Nezhdanov leaped 
 out after her. Solomin led them both along a 
 little, long, dark passage, and up a narrow 
 winding little staircase, in the back part of the 
 lodge, to the second story. There he opened 
 a low door, and they all three went into a small, 
 fairly clean room with two windows. 
 
 'Welcome!' said Solomin, with his never- 
 failing smile, which seemed broader and brighter 
 than ever to-day. 
 
 * Here are your quarters, this room, and see 
 here, another next to it. Not much to look at, 
 but that's no matter; one can live in them, 
 93 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 and there'll be no one here to spy on you. 
 Here under the window you have what the 
 landlord calls a flower-garden, but I should call 
 it a kitchen-garden ; it lies right up against the 
 wall, and hedges to right and left. A quiet 
 little nook it is ! Well, welcome a second 
 time, dear young lady, and you too, Nezhdanov, 
 welcome ! * 
 
 He shook hands with them both. They 
 stood motionless, not taking off their wraps, 
 and with silent, half-bewildered, half-delighted 
 emotion they looked straight before them. 
 
 * Well, what now ? ' Solomin began again. 
 ' Take off your things ! What baggage have 
 you got ? ' 
 
 Marianna showed the bundle which she was 
 still holding in her hand. 
 
 * This is all I have.' 
 
 * And my trunk and bag are still in the cart. 
 But I '11 go and get them directly.' 
 
 'Stand still, stand still.' Solomin opened 
 the door. * Pavel ! ' he shouted into the dark- 
 ness of the staircase, *run out, mate. There 
 are some things in the cart . . . bring them up.' 
 
 * Directly,' they heard the voice of the 
 ubiquitous Pavel. 
 
 Solomin turned to Marianna, who had flung 
 off her shawl and was beginning to unbutton 
 her cloak. 
 
 94 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 * And did everything go off successfully ? * he 
 inquired, 
 
 * Everything ... no one saw us. I left a 
 letter for Mr. Sipyagin. I didn't take any 
 dresses or clothes with me, Vassily Fedotitch, 
 because as you are going to send us . . .' 
 (Marianna for some reason could not make up 
 her mind to add " to the people "), ' well, any 
 way, they 'd have been of no use. But I have 
 money to buy what is necessary.' 
 
 * We '11 arrange all that later . . . and here,* 
 said Solomin, pointing to Pavel, who came in 
 with Nezhdanov's things, ' I commend to 
 you my best friend here ; you can rely on 
 him fully ... as you would on me. Did you 
 speak to Tatyana about the samovar?' he 
 added in an undertone. 
 
 * It '11 be here directly,' answered Pavel ; * and 
 the cream and everything.' 
 
 * Tatyana is his wife,' Solomin went on, ' and 
 she is just as trustworthy as he is. Until you 
 . . . well . . . are a bit used to it, she will 
 wait on you, my dear young lady.' 
 
 Marianna flung her cloak on a little leather 
 sofa that stood in the corner. ' Call me 
 Marianna, Vassily Fedotitch — I don't want to 
 be a young lady. And I don't want any one to 
 wait on me. ... I didn't come here to have 
 servants. Don't look at my dress; I had— 
 95 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 over there — nothing else. All that must be 
 changed.' 
 
 The dress, of fine cinnamon-coloured cloth, 
 was very simple ; but cut by a Petersburg 
 dressmaker, it fell in elegant folds about 
 Marianna's waist and shoulders, and had 
 altogether a fashionable air. 
 
 ' Well, not a servant, but a help, perhaps, in 
 the American fashion. And you must have 
 tea, any way. It's early days yet, and you 
 must both be tired. I am going off now to 
 see after things in the factory ; we shall meet 
 again later. Tell Pavel or Tatyana whatever 
 you want.' 
 
 Marianna held out both hands quickly to 
 him. 
 
 * How can we thank you, Vassily Fedotitch ? ' 
 She looked at him quite moved. 
 
 Solomin softly stroked one of her hands. 
 * I should say, it 's not worth thanking for 
 . . . but that wouldn't be true. I 'd better 
 say that your thanks give me immense pleasure. 
 So we're quits. Good-bye for the present! 
 Pavel, come along.' 
 
 Marianna and Nezhdanov were left alone. 
 
 She rushed up to him, and, looking at him 
 
 with just the same expression as she had 
 
 looked at Solomin, only with even more 
 
 delight, more emotion and gladness, *0h, 
 
 96 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 my dear ! * she said ... * We are beginning a 
 new life. ... At last ! at last ! You wouldn't 
 believe how charming and delightful this poor 
 little lodging where we are only to spend 
 a few days seems to me compared with that 
 loathsome mansion ! Tell me are you glad, 
 dear ? ' 
 
 Nezhdanov took her hands and pressed them 
 to his heart. 
 
 ' I am happy, Marianna, that I am begin- 
 ning this new life with you ! You will be my 
 guiding star, dear, my support, my strength. . . .' 
 
 * Dearest Alyosha! But stay. I want to 
 wash a little and make myself tidy. I '11 go 
 to my own room . . . and you, stay here. 
 One minute. . . .* 
 
 Marianna went off into the other room, shut 
 herself in, and a minute later half-opened the 
 door, put her head in, and said, ' And oh ! 
 isn't Solomin nice ! ' Then she shut the door 
 again, and the key clicked in the lock. 
 
 Nezhdanov went up to the window, and 
 looked out into the little garden . . . one old, 
 very old apple-tree for some reason riveted 
 his attention especially. He shook himself, 
 stretched, began opening his trunk, and took 
 nothing out of it ; he fell to musing. . . . 
 
 In a quarter of an hour Marianna returned 
 with a beaming, freshly washed face, all gaiety 
 VOL. II, 97 G 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 and alertness ; and a few instants later Pavel's 
 wife, Tatyana, appeared with the samovar, the 
 tea-tray, rolls and cream. 
 
 In striking contrast to her gypsylike hus- 
 band, she was a typical Russian woman, stout, 
 with a flaxen head, with a big knob of hair 
 tightly twisted round a horn comb, and no cap, 
 with thick but pleasant features, and very good- 
 natured grey eyes. She was dressed in a tidy 
 though faded chintz gown ; her hands were 
 clean and well-shaped, though large ; she bowed 
 tranquilly, and with a firm, precise intonation, 
 without any sort of affectation, she articulated, 
 ' A very good health to you,' and set to work 
 to lay the samovar and the tea things. 
 
 Marianna went up to her. 
 
 * Let me help you, Tatyana. Only give me 
 a napkin.' 
 
 ' No need, miss, we 're used to it. Vassily 
 Fedotitch has talked to me. If anything 's 
 wanted, kindly ask for it ; we will do what 
 we can with all the pleasure in life.' 
 
 * Tatyana, please don't call me miss. . . . 
 I 'm dressed like a lady, but still I 'm . . . I 'm 
 quite . . .' 
 
 The steady gaze of Tatyana's keen eyes 
 disconcerted Marianna ; she broke off. 
 
 * And what then is it you will be ? ' Tatyana 
 asked in her composed voice. 
 
 98 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 'I am certainly, if you like ... I am a 
 lady by birth ; only I want to get rid of all 
 that, and to become like all . , . like all simple 
 women/ 
 
 ' Ah, so that 's it ! Well, now I understand. 
 You're one of them, I suppose, that want to 
 be simplified. There are a good few of them 
 about nowadays.' 
 
 * What did you say, Tatyana ? To be simpli- 
 fied?' 
 
 'Yes . . . that's the word that's come up 
 among us now. To be on a level with simple 
 folks, it means — simplification. To be sure, it 
 is a good work — to teach the peasants good 
 sense. Only it's a difficult job! Oy, oy, 
 di-ifficult ! God give you good speed ! * 
 
 * Simplification ! ' repeated Marianna. * Do 
 you hear, Alyosha ? you and I are simplified 
 creatures now ! ' 
 
 Nezhdanov laughed, and even repeated : 
 
 * Simplified creatures ! ' 
 
 'And what will he be to you — your good 
 man or your brother ? ' asked Tatyana, care- 
 fully washing the cups with her large deft 
 hands, as she looked with a kindly smile from 
 Nezhdanov to Marianna. 
 
 * No,' answered Marianna, ' he 's not my 
 husband and not my brother.' 
 
 Tatyana raised her head. 
 99 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 'Then I suppose you are living in free grace. 
 Nowadays that too is pretty often to be met 
 with. It used to be more the way among the 
 dissenters, but nowadays it 's found among 
 other folks too. Where there 's God's blessing, 
 one may live in peace ! And there 's no need 
 of the parson for that. In our factory there 
 are some live like that too. Not the worst 
 chaps either.' 
 
 *What nice things you say, Tatyana! . . . 
 "In free grace." ... I like that very much. 
 I'll tell you what I want to ask of you, 
 Tatyana. I want to make myself, or to buy, 
 a dress like yours, or rather commoner per- 
 haps. And shoes and stockings and a kerchief, 
 everything just as you have. I have money 
 enough to get them.' 
 
 * To be sure, miss, we can manage all that. 
 . . . There, I won't, don't be cross. I won't 
 call you miss. Only what am I to call you ? ' 
 
 * Marianna.' 
 
 * And what are you named from your father ? * 
 'But why do you want my father's name? 
 
 Call me simply Marianna. The same as J 
 call you Tatyana.' 
 
 ' That 's the same, and not the same. You 'd 
 better tell me.' 
 
 *Very well, then. My father's name was 
 Vikent ; and what was your father's ? ' 
 
 100 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 * Mine was Oslp.' 
 
 * Well, then, I shall call you Tatyana Osip- 
 ovna.' 
 
 * And I '11 call you Marianna Vikentyevna: 
 That will be capital ! ' 
 
 'Won't you drink a cup of tea with us, 
 Tatyana Osipovna ? ' 
 
 * At this first acquaintance I might, Marianna 
 Vikentyevna. I '11 treat myself to a small cup, 
 though Yegoritch will scold.' 
 
 * Who 's Yegoritch ? ' 
 
 * Pavel, my husband.' 
 
 * Sit down, Tatyana Osipovna/ 
 
 * Indeed and I will, Marianna Vikentyevna.' 
 Tatyana seated herself on a chair and began 
 
 to sip her tea through a piece of sugar. She 
 continually turned the lump of sugar round in 
 her fingers, screwing up her eye on the side 
 on which she was nibbling the sugar. Marianna 
 got into conversation with her. Tatyana 
 answered without obsequiousness, and asked 
 her questions and told her various things of 
 her own accord. Solomin she almost wor- 
 shipped, but her husband she put only second 
 to Vassily Fedotitch. She was sick of factory 
 life, though. 
 
 * You 've neither the town here nor the 
 country ... if it weren't for Vassily Fedotitch 
 I wouldn't stay another hour.' 
 
 lOI 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 Marianna listened attentively to her talk 
 Nezhdanov, sitting a little on one side, 
 watched his girl friend, and was not surprised 
 at her interest ; for Marianna, it was all a 
 novelty, but it seemed to him that he had 
 seen hundreds of similar Tatyanas, and had 
 talked to them hundreds of times. 
 
 'Do you know, Tatyana Osipovna,' said 
 Marianna at last, * you think we want to teach 
 the people ; no, we want to serve them.' 
 
 ' How serve them ? Teach them ; that 's the 
 best service you can do them. Take me, for 
 example. When I was married to Yegoritch, 
 neither read nor write could I ; but now I Ve 
 learned, thanks to Vassily Fedotitch. He didn't 
 teach me himself, but he paid an old man to. 
 And he taught me. You see I 'm young still, 
 for all I 'm a woman grown.' 
 
 Marianna was silent for a little. 
 
 ' I should like, Tatyana Osipovna,' she began 
 again, ' to learn some trade ... we must have 
 a talk about that. I sew very badly ; if I 
 were to learn to cook, I might become a cook.' 
 
 Tatyana pondered. 
 
 * Why be a cook ? Cooks are in rich men's 
 houses, or merchants' ; poor people do their 
 own cooking. And to cook for a union, for 
 workmen. Well, that 's quite the last thing ! ' 
 
 ' But I might live in a rich man's house 
 
 I02 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 though, and make friends with poor people. 
 Or how am I to get to know them ? I sha'n't 
 always have such luck as with you/ 
 
 Tatyana turned her empty cup upside down 
 in the saucer. 
 
 * It 's a difficult business,' she observed at 
 last with a sigh, 4t can't be settled off-hand. 
 I '11 show you all I know, but I 'm not clever 
 at much. We must talk it over with Yegor- 
 itch. He 's such a man ! He reads books of 
 all sorts, and he can see through anything in 
 the twinkling of an eye.' Here she glanced at 
 Marianna, who was rolling up a cigarette. . . . 
 
 * And there 's something I would say to you, 
 Marianna Vikentyevna, if you'll excuse me; 
 but if you really want to be simplified, you '11 
 have to give that up.* She pointed to the 
 cigarette. 'For in such callings as a cook's, 
 for instance, that would never pass ; and every 
 one would see at once that you 're a young 
 lady. Yes.' 
 
 Marianna flung the cigarette out of the 
 window. 
 
 ' I won't smoke ... it 's easy to get out of 
 the way of it. Women of the people don't 
 smoke, so I ought not to smoke.' 
 
 * That 's a true word you 've said, Marianna 
 Vikentyevna. The male sex treat themselves 
 to it even among us ; but the female — no. . . . 
 
 103 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 Ah ! and here 's Vassily Fedotitch himself 
 coming up. That 's his step. You ask him ; 
 he'll settle everything for you in the best 
 way 1' 
 
 She was right ; Solomin's voice was heard at 
 the door. 
 
 * May I come in ? ' 
 
 * Come in, come in/ called Marianna. 
 'That's an English habit of mine/ said 
 
 Solomin as he came in. * Well, how do you 
 feel? You aren't dull yet? I see you're 
 having tea here with Tatyana. You listen to 
 her ; she 's a sensible person. . . . But my 
 employer has turned up to see me to-day . . . 
 when he 's not wanted at all ! And he '11 stay 
 to dinner. There 's no help for it ! He 's the 
 master.' 
 
 * What sort of man is he ? ' asked Nezhdanov, 
 coming out of his corner. 
 
 * Oh, he 's all right. ... He has his eyes 
 about him. One of the newer generation. 
 Very affable, and wears cuffs, but pries into 
 everything not a bit less than the old sort. 
 He 'd skin a flint with his own hands and say, 
 " Turn a bit to this side, if you '11 be so good ; 
 there 's still a living spot here ... I must 
 give it a scouring!" Well, with me he's as 
 soft as silk ; I 'm necessary to him ! Only 
 I 've come to tell you that I 'm not likely to 
 
 104 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 manage to see you to-day. They will bring 
 you your dinner. And don't show yourselves 
 in the yard. What do you think, Marianna — 
 will the Sipyagins search for you ? will they 
 make a hunt ? ' 
 
 * I think they won't/ answered Marianna. 
 *But I am sure they will/ said Nezhdanov. 
 
 * Well, any way/ pursued Solomin, ' you must 
 be careful at first. Later on you can do as you 
 like.' 
 
 * Yes ; only there 's one thing/ observed 
 Nezhdanov : ' Markelov must know of my 
 whereabouts ; he must be told.' 
 
 'Why?' 
 
 * It can't be helped ; for the cause. He has 
 always to know where I am. It 's a promise. 
 But he won't blab ! ' 
 
 * Very well. We '11 send Pavel.' 
 
 *And will there be a dress ready for me?' 
 asked Nezhdanov. 
 
 * Your get-up, you mean ? to be sure ... to 
 be sure. It's quite a masquerade. Not an ex- 
 pensive one, thank goodness. Good-bye ; you 
 must have a rest. Tatyana, come along.' 
 
 Marianna and Nezhdanov were again left 
 alone. 
 
 105 
 
XXVIII 
 
 First they clasped each other's hands again ; 
 then Marianna cried, * Come, I '11 help you 
 arrange your room,' and she began unpacking 
 his things from the trunk and the bag. Nezh- 
 danov would have helped her, but she declared 
 she was going to do it all alone. 
 
 * Because I must get used to making myself 
 useful' And she did in fact hang up his coat 
 on nails which she found in the table drawer, 
 and knocked into the wall, unaided, with the 
 back of a brush for want of a hammer ; the 
 linen she laid in a little old chest which stood 
 between the windows. 
 
 'What's this?' she asked suddenly; *a 
 revolver? Is it loaded? What do you want 
 with it ? ' 
 
 * It's not loaded . . . but give it here, though. 
 You ask what I want with it ? How is one to 
 get on without a revolver in our calling?' 
 
 She laughed and went on with her task, 
 shaking out each thing separately and beating 
 1 06 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 it With her hand ; she even set two pairs of 
 boots under the sofa; while the few books, a 
 bundle of papers, and the little manuscript book 
 of verses she arranged in triumph on a three- 
 legged corner-table, saying it was to be the 
 writing- and work-table, while the other round 
 table she called the dinner- and tea-table. Then 
 taking the book of verses in both hands, she 
 raised it to a level with her face, and looking 
 over its edge at Nezhdanov, she said with a 
 smile, * We '11 read all this through together 
 some time when we 're not busy, won't we ? — 
 eh?' 
 
 * Give me that book ! I '11 burn it ! ' cried 
 Nezhdanov. ' It 's worth nothing better.' 
 
 * Why did you bring it with you, if so? No, 
 no, I 'm not going to give it you to be burnt. 
 Though they say authors always make that 
 threat, but never do burn their things. But 
 any way, I 'd better carry it off ! ' 
 
 Nezhdanov tried to protest, but Marianna 
 ran into the next room with the manuscript 
 book and returned without it. 
 
 She sat down close to Nezhdanov, and in- 
 stantly got up again. ' You haven't been . . . 
 in my room yet. Would you like to see it ? 
 It 's as nice as yours. Come, I '11 show you.' 
 
 Nezhdanov got up too and followed Marianna. 
 Her room, as she called it, was a little smaller 
 107 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 than his room ; but the furniture in it seemed 
 rather newer and cleaner ; in the window stood 
 a glass vase of flowers, and in the corner a little 
 iron bedstead. 
 
 * See how sweet of Solomin!' cried Marianna; 
 * only one mustn't let oneself be too much 
 spoilt ; we shan't often meet with such quarters. 
 And what I think is, what would be nice would 
 be to arrange things so that whatever place we 
 have to go to we could go both together, without 
 parting. It will be difficult,' she added after a 
 short pause ; * well, we '11 think of it. Any way, 
 I suppose you won't go back to Petersburg?' 
 
 'What should I do in Petersburg? Go to 
 the university and give lessons ? That would 
 be of no use now.' 
 
 * We '11 see what Solomin says,' observed 
 Marianna ; ' he 11 best decide how and what 
 to do.' 
 
 They went back to the first room and again 
 sat down beside each other. They spoke with 
 praise of Solomin, Tatyana, and Pavel ; they 
 mentioned Sipyagin, and said how their old 
 life seemed suddenly so far away from them, it 
 seemed lost in a cloud ; then they pressed each 
 other's hands again, and exchanged glances of 
 delight ; then they talked of what sort of people 
 they ought to try to do propaganda among, and 
 how they must behave not to be suspected. 
 io8 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 Nezhdanov maintained that the less they 
 thought about that, the more simply they 
 behaved, the better. 
 
 * Of course ! ' cried Marianna. * Why, we 
 want to be simplified, as Tatyana says.' 
 
 * I didn't mean in that sense,' Nezhdanov was 
 beginning. ' I meant to say that we ought 
 not to be constrained ' 
 
 Suddenly Marianna laughed. 
 
 *I remembered, Alyosha, how I called us 
 both " simplified creatures " ! ' 
 
 Nezhdanov smiled too, repeated * simplified,* 
 and then sank into thought. 
 
 Marianna, too, was thoughtful. 
 
 * Alyosha ! ' she said. 
 *What?' 
 
 * I think we both feel a little awkward. 
 Young people, des nouveaux marih! she ex- 
 plained, 'the first day of their honeymoon 
 must feel something of the sort. They are 
 happy . . . they are very content, and a little 
 awkward.' 
 
 Nezhdanov smiled — a forced smile. 
 
 * You know very well, Marianna, that we are 
 not a young couple in that sense.' 
 
 Marianna got up and stood directly facing 
 Nezhdanov. 
 
 ' That depends on you.' 
 'How?' 
 
 109 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 'Alyosha, you know that when you tell me 
 as an honest man — and I shall believe you, for 
 you really are an honest man — when you tell 
 me that you love me with that love . . . well, 
 that love that gives one a right to another 
 person's life, — ;when you tell me that, I am 
 yours.' 
 
 Nezhdanov blushed and turned a little away. 
 
 'When I tell you that . . : 
 
 * Yes, then ! But you see yourself you do 
 not tell me so now. . . , Oh, yes, Alyosha, you 
 certainly are an honest man. There, let us talk 
 of matters of more importance.' 
 
 * But you know I love you, Marianna ! ' 
 
 * I don't doubt that . . . and I shall wait. 
 There, I 've not quite put your writing-table to 
 rights yet. Here 's something still wrapped up, 
 something stiff.' 
 
 Nezhdanov jumped up from his chair 
 
 *Let that be, Marianna. . . . Please . . . 
 
 leave that alone.' 
 
 Marianna turned her head over her shoulder 
 
 to look at him, and raised her eyebrows in 
 
 amazement. 
 
 * Is it a mystery? A secret? You have a 
 secret ? ' 
 
 ' Yes . . . yes,* said Nezhdanov, and greatly 
 disconcerted he added, by way of explanation, 
 'It's ... a portrait' 
 
 no 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 This word fell from him unconsciously. In 
 the paper Marianna held in her hands there 
 was wrapped up, in reality, her portrait, given 
 to Nezhdanov by Markelov. 
 
 *A portrait?' she articulated in a voice of 
 surprise. ... * A woman's ? ' 
 
 She gave him the little parcel, but he took it 
 awkwardly ; it almost slipped out of his hands 
 and fell open. 
 
 * Why, it 's . . . my portrait ! ' cried Marianna 
 quickly. ' Well, I Ve a right to take my own 
 portrait' She took it from Nezhdanov. 
 
 * Did you sketch this ? * 
 
 * No ... not I.' 
 
 * Who, then ? Markelov ? ' 
 
 * You 've guessed. ... It was he.' 
 ' How did you come by it?* 
 
 * He gave it to me.' 
 ' When ? ' 
 
 Nezhdanov told her how and when it had 
 been given. Whilst he was speaking, Marianna 
 glanced first at him and then at the portrait 
 . . . and the same thought flashed through 
 the heads of both : * If ^^ were in this room, 
 he would have the right to ask.* . . . But 
 neither Marianna nor Nezhdanov uttered this 
 thought aloud . . . possibly because each of 
 them was conscious of the thought in the 
 other. 
 
 Ill 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 Marianna softly wrapped the portrait in the 
 paper again, and laid it on the table. 
 
 * He 's a good man ! ' she murmured. . . . 
 ' Where is he now ? ' 
 
 ' Where ? ... At home. I am going to see 
 him to-morrow or next day to get books and 
 pamphlets. He meant to give them to me, 
 but I suppose he forgot it when I was leaving.* 
 
 * And do you think, Alyosha, that in giving 
 you the portrait he renounced everything . . . 
 absolutely everything ? ' 
 
 * I thought so.' 
 
 * And you hope to find him at home ? ' 
 
 * Of course.' 
 
 * Ah ! ' — Marianna lowered her eyes and 
 dropped her hands. * And here 's Tatyana 
 bringing us our dinner,' she cried suddenly. 
 ' What a splendid woman she is ! ' 
 
 Tatyana appeared with knives and forks, 
 table-napkins, and plates and dishes. While 
 she was laying the table she told them what 
 had been passing in the factory. 
 
 * The master came from Moscow by rail, and 
 he set to running from floor to floor like one 
 possessed ; to be sure, he knows nothing about 
 things, he only does like that for show, to keep up 
 appearances. But Vassily Fedotitch treats him 
 like a babe in arms. The master thought he 'd 
 say something nasty to him, so Vassily Fedot- 
 
VIRGIN SOIL. 
 
 itch suppressed him at once : * I *11 throw it all 
 up directly/ says he, so our gentleman pretty 
 soon changed his tune. Now they 're dining 
 together ; and the master brought a companion 
 with him. . . . And he does nought else but 
 admire everything. And a moneyed man he 
 must be, this companion, to judge from the 
 way he holds his tongue and shakes his head. 
 And he 's stout too, very stout ! A regular 
 Moscow swell ! Ah, it 's a true saying : " It 's 
 downhill to Moscow from all parts of Russia; 
 everything rolls down to her." ' 
 
 ' How you do notice everything ! * cried 
 Marianna. 
 
 ' Yes, I 'm pretty observant,* replied Tatyana. 
 * Come, your dinner 's ready. And may it do 
 you good. I '11 sit here a little bit, and watch 
 you.' 
 
 Marianna and Nezhdanov sat down to dinner; 
 Tatyana leaned against the window-sill and 
 rested her cheek in her hand. 
 
 * I watch you,' she repeated ... * and what 
 poor young tender things you both are ! . . . 
 It 's so pleasant to see you that it quite makes 
 my heart ache ! Ah, my dears ! you 're taking 
 up a burden beyond your strength ! It 's such 
 as you that the inspectors of the Tsar are ever 
 eager to clap in custody ! ' 
 
 ' Nonsense, my good soul, don't frighten us/ 
 
 VOL. II. 113 H 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 observed Nezhdanov. * You know the saying i 
 " If you choose to be a mushroom, you must go 
 in the basket with the rest." ' 
 
 * I know ... I know ; but the baskets now- 
 adays are so narrow and hard to creep out 
 of!' 
 
 ' Have you any children ? ' Marianna asked, 
 to change the conversation. 
 
 'Yes; a son. He begins to go to school. 
 I had a little girl too ; but she 's no more, poor 
 darling ! She met with an accident ; fell under 
 a wheel. And if only it had killed her at once ! 
 But no, she lingered in suffering a long while. 
 Since then I Ve grown tender-hearted ; before 
 then I was as hard as a tree ! ' 
 
 * Why, what of your man Pavel Yegoritch ? 
 didn't you love him ? ' 
 
 * Eh ! that was a different matter ; the feeling 
 of a girl. And how about you, now — do you 
 love your man ? ' 
 
 *Yes.' 
 
 *Very much?' 
 
 * Yes.' 
 
 * Yes ? . . .' Tatyana looked at Nezhdanov, 
 then at Marianna, and said no more. 
 
 It was again Marianna's lot to change the 
 conversation. She told Tatyana she had given 
 up smoking ; the latter approved of her resolu- 
 tion. Then Marianna asked her again about 
 114 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 clothes ; and reminded her she had promised to 
 show her how to cook. . . . 
 
 * Oh, and one thing more : could you get me 
 some stout, coarse yarn ? I 'm going to knit 
 myself some stockings . . . plain ones/ 
 
 Tatyana answered that everything should be 
 done in due course, and, clearing the table, she 
 went out of the room with her calm, resolute 
 gait 
 
 'Well, what shall we do now?' Marianna 
 said, turning to Nezhdanov; and without letting 
 him answer, ' What do you say ? since our 
 real work only begins to-morrow, shall we 
 devote this evening to literature ? Let 's read 
 your poems ! I shall be a severe critic* 
 
 For a long while Nezhdanov would not con- 
 sent. . . . He ended, however, by giving in, 
 and began to read out of his manuscript book. 
 Marianna sat close beside him, and watched 
 his face while he was reading. She had spoken 
 truly ; she turned out to be a severe critic. 
 Few of the verses pleased her ; she preferred 
 the purely lyrical, short ones, that were, as she 
 expressed it, non-didactic. Nezhdanov did not 
 read quite well; he had not the courage to 
 attempt elocution, and at the same time was 
 unwilling to fall into quite a colourless tone ; 
 the result was neither one thing nor the other. 
 Marianna suddenly interrupted him with the 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 question, Did he know a wonderful poem of 
 Dobrolyubov's beginning, 'Let me die — small 
 cause for grief? ^ and thereupon read it to him 
 — also not very well — in a rather childish 
 manner. 
 
 Nezhdanov observed that it was bitter and 
 painful to the last degree, and then added 
 that he, Nezhdanov, could never have written 
 such a poem, because he had no reason to be 
 afraid of tears over his grave . , . there would 
 be none. 
 
 * There will be, if I outlive you,' Marianna 
 articulated slowly ; and raising her eyes to the 
 
 ^ And let me die — small cause for grief ; 
 One thought alone frets my sick mind ; 
 That death may chance to play 
 An unkind jest with me. 
 
 I dread lest over my cold corpse 
 The scalding tears should flow ; 
 And lest some one with stupid zeal 
 Lay flowers upon my bier ; 
 
 Lest flocking round in unfeigned grief. 
 My friends walk after it to the grave ; 
 Lest as I lie under the earth, 
 I may become one loved and prized ; 
 
 Lest all so eagerly desired, 
 And so in vain by me — in life, 
 May smile on me consolingly 
 Above the stone that marks my grave. 
 
 DoBR., Works, vol. iv, p. 615, 
 
 1X6 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 ceiling, after a brief silence, in an undertone as 
 though speaking to herself, she queried, ' How 
 ever did he draw a portrait of me? From 
 memory ? * 
 
 Nezhdanov turned quickly to her. . . . 
 
 * Yes, from memory.' 
 
 Marianna was amazed at his answering. It 
 seemed to her that she had merely thought the 
 question. 
 
 * It is astonishing . . .' she went on in the 
 same subdued voice ; * why, he has no talent for 
 drawing. What was I going to say?' she 
 resumed aloud ; *oh, about Dobrolyubov's 
 poem. One ought to write poems like Push- 
 kin's, or such as that one of Dobrolyubov's : 
 this is not poetry . . . though it 's something 
 as good.' 
 
 *And poems like mine,' said Nezhdanov, 
 * ought not to be written at all ? Eh ? ' 
 
 'Poems like yours please your friends not 
 because they are very fine, but because you 
 are a fine person, and they are like you.' 
 
 Nezhdanov smiled. 
 
 * You have buried them, and me with them ! * 
 Marianna gave him a slap on his hand and 
 
 told him he was too bad. . . . Soon after she 
 announced that she was tired and was going 
 to bed. 
 
 * By the way, do you know,' she added, shak« 
 
 if7 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 ing her short, thick curls, ' I 've got one hundred 
 and thirty-seven roubles ; what have you ? ' 
 
 * Ninety-eight.' 
 
 * Oh ! but we 're rich ... for simplified 
 creatures. Well, good-bye till to-morrow ! ' 
 
 She went out ; but a few instants later her 
 door was slightly opened, and through the 
 narrow crack he heard first, * Good-bye ! ' then 
 more softly, * Good-bye ! ' and the key clicked 
 in the lock. 
 
 Nezhdanov sank on to the sofa and covered 
 his eyes with his hand. . . . Then he got up 
 quickly, went up to the door, and knocked. 
 
 * What is it ? ' came from within. 
 
 'Not till to-morrow, Marianna . . . but to- 
 morrow ! ' 
 
 ' To-morrow,' responded a gentle voice. 
 
 ii8 
 
XXIX 
 
 The next day early in the morning Nezhdanov 
 again knocked at Marianna's door. 
 
 * It 's I/ he said in answer to her * Who 's 
 there ? ' * Can you come out to me ? ' 
 
 * Wait a minute . . . directly.' 
 
 She came out, and uttered a cry of astonisn- 
 ment. For the first minute she did not recog- 
 nise him. He had on a long full-skirted coat 
 of threadbare, yellowish nankin, with tiny 
 buttons and a high waist ; he had combed his 
 hair in the Russian style, with a straight part- 
 ing in the middle ; his neck was wrapped in a 
 blue kerchief; in his hand he held a cap with a 
 broken peak ; on his feet were unpolished high 
 boots of calf leather. 
 
 * Good gracious!' cried Marianna ; *how . . . 
 horrid you look ! ' and thereupon she gave him a 
 rapid embrace, and a still more rapid kiss. 
 * But why are you dressed like that ? You look 
 like a poor sort of shopkeeper ... or a pedlar, 
 or a discharged house-serf. Why that coat 
 with skirts, and not simply a peasant's smock ? ' 
 
 119 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 * That *s just it/ began Nezhdanov, who in 
 his get-up did really resemble a pedlar, and 
 he was conscious of this himself, and was full 
 of vexation and embarrassment at heart ; he 
 was so much embarrassed that he kept strik- 
 ing himself on the breast with the outspread 
 fingers of both hands, as though he were brush- 
 ing himself. 
 
 * In a smock I should have been recognised 
 at once, so Pavel declared ; and this costume 
 ... in his words . . . looked as though I 'd 
 never had any other dress cut for me in my 
 life ! Not very flattering to my vanity, I may 
 remark in parenthesis.' 
 
 * Do you really mean to go out at once . . . 
 to begin?' Marianna inquired with keen in- 
 terest 
 
 * Yes ; I shall try, though ... in reality . . .' 
 
 * Happy fellow ! ' interrupted Marianna. 
 
 * This Pavel is really a wonderful man,* 
 Nezhdanov went on ; * he knows everything, 
 directly he sets eyes on you ; and then all of a 
 sudden he purses up his face, as though he 
 were outside it all, — and wouldn't meddle in 
 anything ! He serves the cause himself — and 
 makes fun of it all the while. He brought me 
 the pamphlets from Markelov ; he knows him 
 and speaks of him as Sergei Mihalovitch. But 
 for Solomin he 'd go through fire and water.' 
 
 120 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 * And so would Tatyana/ observed Marianna. 
 * Why is it people are so devoted to him ? ' 
 
 Nezhdanov did not answer. 
 
 * What sort of pamphlets did Pavel bring 
 you ? ' asked Marianna. 
 
 * Oh ! the usual things. " The Tale of Four 
 Brothers," . . . and others too . . . the ordinary 
 well-known things. However, those are best' 
 
 Marianna looked round anxiously. 
 'But what of Tatyana? She promised to 
 come so early.* 
 
 * Here she is,' said Tatyana, coming into the 
 room with a small bundle in her hand. She 
 was standing at the door, and had heard 
 Marianna's exclamation. 
 
 * You need not be in a hurry ; it 's not such a 
 treat as all that.' 
 
 Marianna fairly flew to meet her. 
 
 ' You have brought it ! ' 
 
 Tatyana patted the bundle. 
 
 ' Everything 's here . . . fully prepared. . . . 
 You 've only got to put the things on . . . and 
 go out in your finery for folks to admire you.' 
 
 * Ah, come along, come along, Tatyana Osip- 
 ovna, dear. . . .* 
 
 Marianna drew her into her room. 
 
 Left alone, Nezhdanov paced twice up and 
 down with a peculiar stealthy gait. . . . (he 
 imagined for some reason that that was just 
 
 121 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 how small shopkeepers walked); he sniffed 
 cautiously at his own sleeve, and the lining 
 of his cap — and frowned ; he looked at himself 
 in a little looking-glass hanging on the wall 
 near the window, and shook his head ; he cer- 
 tainly looked very unattractive. * All the 
 better, though,' he thought. Then he took up 
 a few pamphlets, stuffed them in his skirt 
 pocket, and murmured a few words to himself 
 in the accent of a small shopkeeper. * I fancy 
 that 's like it,' he thought again ; ' but after all, 
 what need of acting ? my get-up will answer for 
 me.* And at that point Nezhdanov recollected 
 a German convict, who had had to run away 
 right across Russia, and he spoke Russian 
 badly, too ; but thanks to a merchant's cap 
 edged with cat's-skin, which he had bought in 
 a provincial town, he was taken everywhere for 
 a merchant, and had successfully made his way 
 over the frontier. 
 
 At that instant Solomin came in. 
 
 ' Aha ! brother Alexey,' he cried ; * you 're 
 studying your part ! Excuse me, brother ; in 
 that disguise one can't address you respect- 
 fully.' 
 
 ' Oh, please do. ... I 'd meant to ask you 
 to call me so.' 
 
 * Only it 's awfully early yet ; but, there, I 
 suppose you want to get used to it. Well, 
 
 122 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 then, all right. But you '11 have to wait a bit ; 
 the master 's not gone yet. He 's asleep.* 
 
 * I '11 go out later on,' answered Nezhdanov. 
 *I'm going to walk about the neighbourhood 
 till I get instructions of some sort.' 
 
 ' That 's right ! Only I tell you what, brother 
 Alexey ... I may call you Alexey, then ? ' 
 
 * 'Lexey, if you like,* said Nezhdanov, 
 smiling. 
 
 * No ; we mustn't overdo it. Listen ! good 
 counsel is better than money, as they say. I 
 see you have pamphlets there ; you can give 
 them to whom you please — only not in the 
 factory ! ' 
 
 'Why not?* 
 
 * Because, in the first place, it would be risky 
 for you ; secondly, I have pledged myself to 
 the owner that there shall be nothing of the 
 sort going on — after all, the factory 's his, you 
 know ; and thirdly, we have something started 
 there — schools and so on. . . . And — well — 
 you might ruin all that. Act as you please, as 
 best you may — I will not hinder you ; but don't 
 touch my factory-hands.' 
 
 'Caution never comes amiss . . . hey?' 
 Nezhdanov remarked with a malignant half- 
 smile. 
 
 Solomin smiled his own broad smile. 
 
 *Just so, brother Alexey; it never comes 
 123 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 amiss. But who is this I see? Where are 
 we?' 
 
 These last exclamations referred to Marianna, 
 who appeared in the doorway of her room 
 in a sprigged chintz gown, that had seen 
 many washings, with a yellow 'kerchief on her 
 shoulders and a red one on her head. Tatyana 
 was peeping out from behind her back, in 
 simple and kindly admiration of her. Marianna 
 looked both fresher and younger in her simple 
 costume ; it suited her far better than the long 
 full-skirted coat suited Nezhdanov. 
 
 * Vassily Fedotitch, please don't laugh,' Mari- 
 anna entreated, and she flushed the colour of 
 a poppy. 
 
 ' What a pretty pair ! ' Tatyana was exclaim- 
 ing, meanwhile clapping her hands. ' Only 
 you, my dear laddie, don't be angry, you're 
 nice, very nice — but beside my little lass here 
 you cut no figure at all.' 
 
 * And, really, she 's exquisite,' thought Nezh- 
 danov ; ' oh ! how I love her ! ' 
 
 'And look- ее/ went on Tatyana, 'she's 
 changed rings with me. She's given me her 
 gold one and taken my silver one.' 
 
 * Girls of the people don't wear gold rings,' 
 said Marianna. 
 
 Tatyana sighed. 
 
 * I '11 take care of it for you, dearie, never fear.* 
 
 124 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 * Well, sit down ; sit down, both of you,' 
 began Solomin, who had been all the time 
 watching Marianna, with his head a little bent ; 
 * in old days you remember folks always used 
 to sit down together for a bit when they were 
 setting off on their road. And you 've both a 
 long, hard road before you/ 
 
 Marianna, still rosy red, sat down ; Nezh- 
 danov too sat down ; Solomin sat down ; and 
 last of all Tatyana too sat down on a thick log 
 of wood standing on end. 
 
 Solomin looked at all of them in turn : 
 
 * Step back a bit 
 And look at it, 
 How nicely here we all do sit . . .' 
 
 he said, slightly screwing up his eyes ; and all 
 of a sudden he burst out laughing, but so nicely 
 that, far from feeling offended, they were all 
 delighted. 
 
 But Nezhdanov suddenly got up. 
 
 * I 'm off,' he said, * this minute ; though this 
 is all very delightful — only a trifle like a farce 
 with dressing-up in it. Don't be uneasy,' he 
 turned to Solomin ; * I won't touch your factory- 
 hands. I will do a little talking about the 
 suburbs, and come back, and I '11 tell you all 
 my adventures, Marianna, if only there's any- 
 thing to tell. Give me your hand for good 
 luckr 
 
 I2S 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 *A cup of tea'd be as well first/ observed 
 Tatyana. 
 
 * No ! tea-drinking indeed ! If I want any- 
 thing I '11 go to a tavern or simply a gin- 
 shop.' 
 
 Tatyana shook her head. 
 
 * Those taverns swarm along our highroads 
 nowadays like fleas in a sheepskin. The 
 villages are all so big — why, Balmasovo . . .' 
 
 * Good-bye, till we meet . . . may I leave 
 good luck with you ! ' Nezhdanov added, cor- 
 recting himself and entering into his part as a 
 small shopkeeper. But before he had reached 
 the door, Pavel poked his head in from the 
 corridor under his very nose, and handing 
 him a long thin staff, peeled, with a strip of 
 bark running round it like a screw, he said : 
 * Please take it, Alexey Dmitritch ; lean on it 
 as you walk ; and the further you hold the 
 stick away from you the better effect it will 
 have.' 
 
 Nezhdanov took the staff without speaking 
 and went off; Pavel followed him. Tatyana 
 was about to go away too ; Marianna got up 
 and stopped her. 
 
 * Wait a little, Tatyana Osipovna ; I want 
 you.' 
 
 * But I '11 be back in a minute with the samo- 
 var. Your comrade went off without any tea, 
 
 126 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 — he was in such a desperate hurry. , . . But 
 why should you deny yourself? Later on 
 things '11 be clearer.' 
 
 Tatyana went out ; Solomin too rose. Mari- 
 anna was standing with her back to him, and 
 when she did at last turn round to him — seeing 
 that for a very long time he had not uttered a 
 single word — she caught in his face, in his eyes 
 which were fastened upon her, an expression 
 she had never seen in him before, an expression 
 of inquiry, of anxiety, almost of curiosity. She 
 was disconcerted and blushed again. And 
 Solomin seemed ashamed of what she had 
 caught sight of in his face, and he began 
 talking louder than usual : 
 
 ' Well, well, Marianna . . » here you Ve 
 made a beginning.' 
 
 * A fine beginning, Vassily Fedotitch ! How 
 can one call it a beginning? I feel somehow 
 very stupid all of a sudden. Alexey was 
 right ; we are really acting a sort of farce.' 
 
 Solomin sat down again on his chair. 
 
 ' But, Marianna, let me say . . . How did 
 you picture it to yourself — the beginning ? It 's 
 not a matter of building barricades with a flag 
 over them, and shouting hurrah ! for the re- 
 public ! And that 's not a woman's work either. 
 But you now to-day will start training some 
 Lukerya in something good, and it '11 be a hard 
 127 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 task for you, as Lukerya won't be over quick of 
 understanding, and she '11 be shy of you, and 
 will fancy too that what you 're trying to teach 
 her won't be of the least use to her ; and in a 
 fortnight or three weeks you'll be struggling 
 with some other Lukerya, and meanwhile you '11 
 be washing a child or teaching him his ABC, 
 or giving medicine to a sick man . , . that will 
 be your beginning.' 
 
 *But the sisters of mercy do all that, you 
 know, Vassily Fedotitch ! What need, then 
 ... of all this ? ' Marianna pointed to herself 
 and round about her with a vague gesture. * I 
 dreamt of something else.' 
 
 * You wanted to sacrifice yourself?* 
 Marianna's eyes glistened. 
 
 * Yes . . . yes . . . yes ! * 
 
 * And Nezhdanov ^ ' 
 Marianna shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 * What of Nezhdanov ! We will go forward 
 together ... or I will go alone.' 
 
 Solomin looked intently at Marianna. 
 
 * Do you know what, Marianna . . . you 
 will excuse the unpleasantness of the expres- 
 sion . . . but to my idea, combing the scurfy 
 head of a dirty urchin is a sacrifice, and a great 
 sacrifice, of which not many people are capable.' 
 
 ' But I would not refuse to do that, Vassily 
 Fedotitch.' 
 
 128 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 * I know you wouldn't ! Yes, you are capable 
 of that. And that's what you will be doing 
 for a time ; and afterwards, maybe — something 
 else too.' 
 
 ' But to do that I must learn from Tatyana ! ' 
 
 *By all means . . . get her to show you. 
 You will scour pots, and pluck chickens. . . . 
 And so, who knows, maybe you will save your 
 country ! ' 
 
 ' You are laughing at me, Vassily Fedotitch.' 
 
 Solomin shook his head slowly. 
 
 ' О my sweet Marianna ! believe me, I am 
 not laughing at you ; and my words are the 
 simple truth. You now, all of you, Russian 
 women, are more capable, and loftier too, than 
 we men.' 
 
 Marianna raised her downcast eyes. 
 
 * I should like to justify your expectations, 
 Solomin . . . and then — I 'm ready to die ! ' 
 
 Solomin got up. 
 
 * No, live . . . live ! That 's the great thing. 
 By the way, don't you want to find out what is 
 taking place in your home now, as regards your 
 flight? Won't they take steps of some sort? 
 We need only drop a word to Pavel — he'll 
 reconnoitre in no time.' 
 
 Marianna was surprised. 
 
 * What an extraordinary man he is ! ' 
 
 * Yes . , . he 's rather a wonderful fellow. 
 VOL. 11. 129 I 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 For instance, when you want to celebrate your 
 marriage with Alexey — he 11 arrange that too 
 with Zosim. . . . You remember I told you 
 there was a priest. . . . But I suppose there 's 
 no need of him for a while ? No ? ' 
 *No.' 
 
 * No, then/ Solomin went up to the door 
 that separated the two rooms — Nezhdanov's 
 and Marianna's — and bent down over the lock. 
 
 * What are you looking at there ? ' asked 
 Marianna. 
 
 ' Does it lock ? * 
 
 * Yes,' whispered Marianna. 
 
 Solomin turned to her. She did not raise 
 her eyes. 
 
 ' Then, there 's no need to find out what are 
 Sipyagin's intentions ? ' he observed cheerfully ; 
 ' no need, eh ? * 
 
 Solomin was about to go away. 
 
 ' Vassily Fedotitch . . .' 
 
 ' What is it ? * 
 
 'Tell me, please, why is it you, who are 
 always so silent, are so talkative with me? 
 You don't know how much it pleases me.* 
 
 ' Why is it ? ' — Solomin took both her little soft 
 hands in his big rough ones — ' Why ? — Well, 
 it must be because I like you so much. Good- 
 bye.* 
 
 He went out. . . . Marianna stood a little, 
 130 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 looked after him, thought a little, and went off 
 to Tatyana, who had not yet brought in the 
 samovar, and with whom she did — it is true — 
 drink tea, but she also scoured pots, and plucked 
 chickens, and even combed out the tangled 
 mane of a small boy. 
 
 About dinner-time she returned to her little 
 apartments. . . . She had not long to wait for 
 Nezhdanov. 
 
 He returned, weary and covered with dust, 
 and almost fell on to the sofa. She at once sat 
 down beside him. * Well ? well ? Tell me ! ' 
 
 * You remember those two lines,' he answered 
 in a weak voice : 
 
 *" It would all have been so comic 
 If it had not been so sad " ? 
 
 Do you remember ? ' 
 
 * Of course I do.* 
 
 'Well, those lines apply precisely to my 
 first expedition. But no! There was posi- 
 tively more of the comic in it. In the first 
 place, I 'm convinced that nothing 's easier than 
 to play a part ; no one dreamt of suspecting 
 me. But there was one thing I had not thought 
 of — one wants to make up some sort of story 
 beforehand . . . they keep asking one — where 
 you 're from, and what you 're doing — and you 
 have nothing ready. However, even that's 
 131 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 hardly necessary. One 's only to propose a 
 dram of vodka at the gin-shop, and lie away 
 as one pleases.' 
 
 'And you . . . did tell lies?' asked Mari- 
 anna. 
 
 * I lied . . . the best I could. The second 
 point is : all, absolutely all the people I talked 
 to are discontented ; and no one even cares to 
 know how to remedy this discontent ! But at 
 propaganda I seem to be a very poor hand ; 
 two pamphlets I simply left secretly in a room 
 — one I thrust into a cart. . . . What '11 come of 
 them the Lord only knows ! I offered pamphlets 
 to four men. One asked was it a religious book, 
 and did not take it ; another said he could 
 not read, and took it for his children as there 
 was a woodcut on the cover : a third began by 
 agreeing with me. "To be sure, to be sure . . ." 
 then all of a sudden fell to swearing at me in 
 the most unexpected way, and he too did not 
 take one ; the fourth at last took one, and 
 thanked me very much for it, but I fancy he 
 couldn't make head or tail of what I said 
 to him. Besides that, a dog bit my leg ; a 
 peasant woman brandished a fire-shovel at me 
 from the door of her hut, shouting, " Ugh ! you 
 beast ! You Moscow loafers ! Will nothing 
 drown you ? " And a soldier on furlough, too, 
 kept shouting after me, " Wait a minute, we '11 
 132 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 put a bullet through you, my friend"; and 
 he 'd got drunk on my money ! ' 
 ' Anything more ? ' 
 
 * Anything more ? I 've rubbed a blister on 
 my heel ; one of my boots is awfully big. And 
 now I 'm hungry, and my head 's splitting from 
 the vodka.' 
 
 * Have you drunk much, then ? ' 
 
 * No, not much — only to set the example ; 
 but I Ve been in five ginshops. But I can't 
 stand that filth — vodka — a bit. And how our 
 peasant can drink it passes my understanding ! 
 If one must drink vodka to be simplified, I 'd 
 rather be excused.' 
 
 * And so no one suspected you ? ' 
 
 ' No one. An innkeeper, a stout, pale man 
 with whitish eyes, was the only person who 
 looked at me suspiciously. I heard him tell 
 his wife to " keep an eye on that red-haired 
 chap . . . with the squint." (I never knew till 
 then that I squinted.) "He's a sharper. Do 
 you see how ponderously he drinks ? " What 
 ponderously means in that context I didn't 
 understand ; but it could hardly be a compli- 
 ment. Something after the style of Gogol's 
 "movy-ton" in the Revising Inspector \ do 
 you remember? Perhaps because I tried to 
 pour my vodka under the table on the sly. 
 Ugh ! it 's hard, it 's hard for an aesthetic 
 133 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 creature to be brought into contact with real 
 life ! ' 
 
 ' Better luck next time/ Marianna consoled 
 Nezhdanov. ' But I 'm glad that you look at 
 your first attempt from a humorous point of 
 view. . . . You weren't bored really ? ' 
 
 ' No, I wasn't bored ; in fact, I was amused. 
 But I know for a certainty I shall begin to 
 think over it now, and I shall feel so sick and 
 so sad.' 
 
 * No, no ! I won't let you think. I 'm going 
 to tell you what I 've been doing. Dinner '11 
 be brought us in directly ; by the way, I must 
 tell you I 've scoured out most thoroughly the 
 pot Tatyana 's cooked the soup in. . . . And 
 I shall tell you . . . everything over every 
 spoonful.' 
 
 And so she did. Nezhdanov listened to her 
 chat, and looked and looked at her ... so that 
 several times she stopped to let him tell her 
 why he was looking at her like that. . . . But 
 he was silent. 
 
 After dinner she offered to read aloud to him 
 some of Spielhagen. But before she had 
 finished the first page, he got up impulsively, 
 and, going up to her, fell at her feet. She 
 stood up, he flung both his arms round her 
 knees, and began to utter passionate words — 
 disconnected and despairing words ! ' He would 
 134 
 
J^Wi 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 like to die, he knew he would soon die. . . .' 
 She did not stir, did not resist ; she calmly 
 submitted to his abrupt embrace, calmly, even 
 caressingly, looked down at him. She laid 
 both hands on his head, that was shaking con- 
 vulsively in the folds of her dress. But her 
 very calmness had a more powerful effect on 
 him than if she had repulsed him. He got up, 
 murmured : * Forgive me, Marianna, for what 
 has passed to-day and yesterday ; tell me again 
 that you are ready to wait till I am worthy of 
 your love, and forgive me.* 
 
 ' I have given you my word . . . and I can't 
 change.' 
 
 * Thank you ; good-bye.* 
 
 Nezhdanov went out ; Marianna locked her- 
 self in her room. 
 
 135 
 
XXX 
 
 A FORTNIGHT later, in the same place, this 
 was what Nezhdanov was writing to his friend 
 Silin, as he bent over his little three-legged 
 table, on which a tallow candle gave a dim and 
 niggardly light. (It was long after midnight. 
 On the sofa and on the floor lay mud-stained 
 garments, hurriedly flung ofl" ; a fine, incessant 
 rain was pattering on the window-panes, and a 
 strong, warm wind breathed in great sighs about 
 the roof.) 
 
 *Dear Vladimir, — I am writing to you 
 without putting an address, and this letter will 
 even be sent by a messenger to a distant 
 posting-station, because my presence here is a 
 secret ; and to tell it you might mean the ruin 
 not of myself alone. It will be enough for you 
 to know that I have been living at a large fac- 
 tory, together with Marianna, for the last fort- 
 night. We ran away from the Sipyagins' the 
 very day I wrote to you last. We were given 
 136 ^ 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 a home here by a friend. I will call him 
 Vassily. He is the chief person here — a splen- 
 did fellow. Our stay in this factory is only 
 temporary. We are here till the time comes 
 for action — though, to judge by what has hap- 
 pened so far, this time is hardly likely ever to 
 come! Vladimir, my heart is heavy, heavy. 
 First of all, I must tell you that though Marianna 
 and I have run away together, we are so far 
 as brother and sister. She loves me . . . and 
 has told me she will be mine if ... I feel I 
 have the right to ask it of her. 
 
 * Vladimir, I don't feel I have the right ! She 
 believes in me, in my honesty — I 'm not going 
 to deceive her. I know I have never loved any 
 one and never shall love (that 's pretty certain !) 
 any one more than her. But, for all that, how 
 can I unite her fate for ever to mine ? A living 
 being — to a corpse ? Well, not a corpse — to a 
 half-dead creature ! Where would one's con- 
 science be? You will say, if there were a 
 strong passion — conscience would have nothing 
 to say. That 's the very point that I am a 
 corpse ; an honest, well-meaning corpse, if you 
 like. Please don't cry out that I always exag- 
 gerate. . . . All I am telling you is the truth ! 
 the truth ! Marianna is a very concentrated 
 nature, and now she is all absorbed in her 
 activity, in which she believes. . . While I ? 
 137 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 'Well, enough of love and personal happiness, 
 and everything of that sort. For the last fort- 
 night now I have been " going to the people," 
 and alack and alack ! anything more absurd you 
 cannot imagine. Of course, there the fault lies 
 in me, and not in the work itself. Granted, I 'm 
 not a Slavophil ; I 'm not one of those who find 
 their panacea in the people, in contact with 
 them ; I don't lay the people on my aching 
 stomach like a flannel bandage ... I want to 
 have an influence on them myself; but how? 
 How accomplish that ? It appears when I am 
 with the people that I am always only stooping 
 to them, and listening; and when it does happen 
 that I say anything, it's below contempt! I 
 feel myself I 'm no good. It 's like a bad actor 
 in the wrong part. Conscientiousness is quite 
 out of place in this, and so is scepticism, and 
 even a sort of pitiful humour directed against 
 myself. ... It 's all not worth a brass farthing ! 
 It 's positively sickening to remember ; sicken- 
 ing to look at the rags I drag about on me, at 
 this masquerade, as Vassily expresses it ! They 
 maintain one ought first to study the people's 
 talk, learn their character and habits. . . . 
 Rubbish ! rubbish ! rubbish ! One must believe 
 in what one says, and then one may say what 
 one likes. I once chanced to hear something 
 like a sermon from a sectarian prophet. There's 
 138 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 no saying what rot he talked ; it was a sort 
 of hotch-potch of ecclesiastical and bookish 
 language, with simple peasant idioms, and that 
 not Russian, but White Russian of some sort. 
 . . . And you know he kept pounding away 
 at the same thing, like a plover calling! 
 "The spirit has dee-scended, the spirit has 
 dee-scended ! " But then his eyes were 
 ablaze, his voice firm and hoarse, his fists 
 clenched — he was like iron all over ! The 
 listeners did not understand, but they revered 
 him ! And they followed him ! While I start 
 speaking like a criminal — I 'm begging pardon 
 all the while. I ought to go to the sectarians, 
 really; their art is not great . . . but there's 
 the place to get faith, faith ! Marianna there 
 has faith. She 's at work from early morning, 
 busy with Tatyana, a peasant woman here, good- 
 natured and not a fool ; by the way, she says of 
 us that we want simplification, and calls us 
 simplified folks ; — well, Marianna busies herself 
 with this woman, and never sits down a minute ; 
 she 's a regular ant ! She 's delighted that her 
 hands are getting red and rough ; and looks 
 forward to some day, if necessary, the scaffold ! 
 While awaiting the scaffold, she has even tried 
 giving up shoes ; she went somewhere barefoot, 
 and came back barefoot. I heard her after- 
 wards washing her feet a long while ; I see she 
 139 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 walks cautiously on them — they're sore from 
 not being used to it ; but she looks as joyful, 
 as radiant, as though she had found a treasure, 
 as though the sun were shining on her. 
 Yes, Marianna 's first-rate ! And when I try 
 to talk to her of my feelings, to begin with, 
 I feel somehow ashamed, as though I were 
 laying hands on what's not mine; and then 
 that look ... oh, that awful, devoted, unresist- 
 ing look. ..." Take me," it seems to say . . . 
 ^^but remember! And what need of all this? 
 Isn't there something better, higher upon 
 earth ? " That is, in other words, " Put on 
 your stinking overcoat, and go out to the 
 people." . . . And so, you see, I go out to the 
 people. . . . 
 
 ' Oh, how I curse at such times my nervous- 
 ness, delicacy, sensitiveness, squeamishness, all 
 I have inherited from my aristocratic father! 
 What right had he to shove me into life, sup- 
 plying me with organs utterly unfit for the 
 surroundings in which I must move ? To hatch 
 a chicken and shove it into the water! An 
 artist in the mud ! a democrat, a lover of the 
 people, whom the mere smell of that loathsome 
 vodka, "the green wine," turns ill and nearly 
 sick? 
 
 *See what I've worked myself up to — 
 abusing my father! And, indeed, I became 
 140 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 a democrat of myself; he'd no hand in 
 that. 
 
 * Yes, Vladimir, I *m in a bad way. I have 
 begun to be haunted by some grey, ugly 
 thoughts ! Can it be, you will ask me, that 
 I have not even during this fortnight come 
 across anything consolatory, any good, live 
 person, however ignorant ? What shall I say ? 
 I have met something of the sort . . . I Ve 
 even come across one very fine, splendid, 
 plucky chap. But turn it which way I will, I 'm 
 no use to him with my pamphlets, and that's 
 all about it ! Pavel — a man in the factory here 
 — (he 's Vassily's right hand, a very clever, very 
 sharp fellow, a future "head" ... I fancy I 
 wrote to you about him) — he has a friend, a 
 peasant, Elizar is his name ... a clear brain, 
 too, and a free spirit, untrammelled in every 
 way ; but directly we meet, it 's as though 
 there 's a wall between us ! his face is nothing 
 but a " No ! " And again another fellow I met 
 with ... he was one of the hot-tempered sort, 
 though. " Now then, sir," says he, " no soft 
 soap, please, but say straight out, are you 
 giving up all your land, as it is, or not?" 
 " What do you mean ? " I answered ; " I 'm not 
 a gentleman ! " (and I even added, I re- 
 member, " Lord bless you ! "). " But if you 're 
 a common man," says he, " what sort of sense 
 141 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 is there in you? Do me the favour to let 
 me alone ! " 
 
 * And another thing. I 've noticed if any one 
 listens to you very readily, takes pamphlets at 
 once, you may be sure he 's one of the wrong 
 sort, a featherhead ; or you '11 come on a fine 
 talker, an educated fellow, who can do nothing 
 but keep repeating some favourite expression. 
 One, for instance, simply drove me distracted ; 
 everything with him was "product." What- 
 ever you say to him, he keeps on, " To be sure 
 a product ! " Ugh, to the devil with him 
 One remark more. ... Do you remember at 
 one time, a long while ago, there used to be a 
 great deal of talk about " superfluous " people 
 — Hamlets ? Fancy, such " superfluous " people 
 are to be found now among the peasants ! with 
 a special tone of their own, of course. . . . 
 Moreover, they're for the most part of con- 
 sumptive build. Interesting types, and they 
 come to us readily ; but for the cause they 're 
 no good — ^just like the Hamlets of former days. 
 Come, what is one to do, then ? Found a secret 
 printing-press ? Why, there are books enough 
 as it is, both of the sort, " Cross yourself and take 
 up the hatchet," and the sort that say, " Take up 
 the hatchet" simply. Write novels of peasant 
 life, filled out with padding? They wouldn't 
 get printed, most likely. Or first take up the 
 142 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 hatchet ? . . . But against whom, with whom, 
 what for? So that the national soldier may 
 shoot you down with the national rifle ! Well, 
 that 's a sort of complex suicide ! It would 
 be better to make an end of myself. At 
 least I shall know when and how, and shall 
 choose myself what part to aim at. . . . Really, 
 I fancy if there were a war of independence 
 going on now anywhere, I would set' off there, 
 not to liberate anybody whatever (the idea of 
 liberating others when one's own people are 
 not free !), but to make an end of myself. 
 
 * Our friend Vassily, the man who has taken 
 us in here, is a happy man ; he is of our camp, 
 and a quiet fellow in a way. He 's not in a 
 hurry. Another man I should abuse for that 
 . . . but him I can't. And it seems as though 
 the whole basis of it doesn't lie in convictions, 
 but in character. Vassily has a character you 
 can't pick holes in. Well, to be sure he 's right. 
 He sits a great deal with us, with Marianna. 
 And here 's a curious fact. I love her and she 
 loves me (I can see you smiling at that phrase, 
 but, by God, it's so!); and we have hardly 
 anything to say to one another. But she 
 argues and discusses with him, and listens to 
 him. I 'm not jealous of him ; he 's taking steps 
 for getting her into some place, at least she asks 
 him about it ; only my heart aches when I look 
 143 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 at them. And yet imagine : if I were to falter 
 out a word about marriage, she 'd agree at once, 
 and the priest, Zosim, would put in an appear- 
 ance : " Esaias, be exalted," and all the rest in 
 due order. Only, it would make it no better 
 for me, and nothing would be changed. . . . 
 There 's no way out of it ! Life's cut me on the 
 cross, dear Vladimir, as you remember our 
 friend the drunken tailor used to complain of 
 his wife. 
 
 * I feel, though, that it won't last long, I feel 
 that something is preparing. . . . 
 
 * Haven't I demanded and proved that we 
 ought to " act " ? Well, now we are going to 
 act. 
 
 ' I don't remember whether I wrote to you 
 of another friend of mine, a dark fellow, a 
 relation of the Sipyagins. He may, very 
 likely, cook a kettle of fish that won't be 
 swallowed too easily. 
 
 * I quite meant to finish this letter before, but 
 there ! Though I do nothing, nothing at all, I 
 scribble verses. I don't read them to Marianna, 
 she doesn't much care for them, but you . . . 
 sometimes even praise them ; and what 's of 
 most importance, you won't talk about them to 
 any one. I have been struck by one universal 
 phenomenon in Russia. Any way, here they are 
 — the verses : 
 
 144 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 'SLEEP 
 
 *A long while I had not been in my own land. . . . 
 But I found in it no change to notice — 
 Everywhere the same deathlike, senseless stagnation, 
 Houses without roofs, walls tumbling down, 
 And the same filth and stench and poverty and 
 
 boredom ! 
 And the same slavish glance, now insolent, now abject! 
 Our people were made free ; and the free arm 
 Hangs as before like a whip unused. 
 All, all is as before. . . . And in one thing alone 
 Europe, Asia, the whole world we have outstripped ! 
 No ! never yet have my dear countrymen 
 Sunk into a sleep so terrible ! 
 
 ' Everything is asleep ; everywhere, in village and in 
 
 town, 
 In cart, in sledge, by day, by night, sitting and stand- 
 ing .. . 
 The merchant, the official sleeps ; the sentinel at his 
 
 post 
 Stands asleep in the cold of the snow and in the 
 
 burning heat ! 
 And the prisoner sleeps ; and the judge snores ; 
 Dead asleep are the peasants ; asleep, they reap and 
 
 plough ; 
 They thresh asleep ; the father sleeps, the mother 
 
 and children 
 All are asleep ! He that flogs is asleep, and he too 
 
 that is flogged ! 
 Only the Tsar's gin-shop never closes an eye ; 
 And grasping tight her pot of gin. 
 Her brow on the Pole and her heels on the Caucasus, 
 Lies in interminable sleep our country, holy Russia 1 
 VOL. II. 145 К 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 •please forgive me : I didn't want to send you 
 such a melancholy letter without giving you 
 a little amusement at the end (you '11 certainly 
 notice some halting lines . . . but what of it!). 
 When shall I write to you again? Shall I 
 write again ? Whatever becomes of me, I am 
 sure you will not forget your faithful friend, 
 
 *A. N. 
 
 * PS. — Yes, our people is asleep. . . . But 
 I fancy if anything ever does wake it, it won't 
 be what we are thinking of. . . .' 
 
 After writing the last line Nezhdanov flung 
 down the pen, and saying to himself, * Well, 
 now try to sleep and forget all this rot, 
 rhymester ' ; he lay down on the bed . . . but 
 it was long before sleep visited his eyes. 
 
 Next morning Marianna waked him, passing 
 through his room to Tatyana ; but he had only 
 just had time to dress when she came back 
 again. Her face expressed delight and agita- 
 tion ; she seemed excited. 
 
 ' Do you know, Alyosha, they say that in the 
 
 T district, not far from here, it has begun 
 
 already ! ' 
 
 * Eh ? what has begun ? who says so ? ' 
 
 * Pavel. They say the peasants are rising 
 refusing to pay taxes, collecting in mobs.* 
 
 146 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 'You heard that yourself?' 
 
 * Tatyana told me. But here 's Pavel him- 
 self. Ask him.' 
 
 Pavel came in and confirmed Marianna's 
 tale. 
 
 * There 's disturbance in T district, that 's 
 
 true ! ' he said, shaking his beard and screwing 
 up his flashing black eyes. * It 's Sergei Mihal- 
 ovitch's work, one must suppose. It's five 
 days now he 's not been at home.' 
 
 Nezhdanov snatched up his cap. 
 'Where are you going?' asked Marianna. 
 
 * Where ? . . . there,' he answered, scowling, 
 and not raising his eyes ; * to T district' 
 
 * Then I '11 go with you. You '11 take me, 
 won't you? Only let me put a big kerchief 
 over my head.' 
 
 * It 's not a woman's work/ said Nezhdanov 
 sullenly, as before looking down as though 
 irritated. 
 
 * No ! . . . no ! . . . You do right to go ; or 
 Markelov would think you a coward. . . . And 
 I will go with you.' 
 
 * I 'm not a coward,' said Nezhdanov in the 
 same sullen voice. 
 
 * I meant to say he would take us both for 
 cowards. I 'm coming with you.' 
 
 Marianna went into her room for the ker- 
 chief, while Pavel uttered in a sort of stealthy 
 147 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 inward whistle, *Ah-ha, aha!* and promptly 
 vanished. He ran to warn Solomin. 
 
 Marianna had not reappeared when Solomin 
 came into Nezhdanov's room. He was stand- 
 ing with his face to the window, his forehead 
 resting on his arm, and his arm on the window- 
 pane. Solomin touched him on the shoulder. 
 He turned quickly round. Dishevelled and 
 unwashed, Nezhdanov had a wild and strange 
 look. Though indeed Solomin too had changed 
 of late. He had grown yellow, his face looked 
 drawn, his upper teeth were slightly visible. 
 . . . He too seemed unhinged, so far as his * well- 
 balanced ' nature could be. 
 
 * So Markelov could not control himself,' he 
 began ; ^ this may turn out badly, for him chiefly 
 . . . and for others too.' 
 
 * I want to go and see what 's going on , , .' 
 observed Nezhdanov. 
 
 'And I too,' added Marianna, making her 
 appearance in the doorway. 
 Solomin turned slowly to her. 
 
 * I would not advise you to, Marianna. You 
 might betray yourself and us ; without meaning 
 to and utterly needlessly. Let Nezhdanov go 
 and see what 's in the air a little, if he likes 
 , . . and the less of that the better ! — but why 
 should you ? ' 
 
 * I don't like to stay behind when he goes.' 
 
 148 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 You will hamper him.* 
 
 Marianna glanced at Nezhdanov. He stood 
 immovable, with an immovable, sullen face. 
 
 * But if there 's danger ? ' she said. 
 Solomin smiled. 
 
 * Don't be afraid . . . when there 's danger, 
 I '11 let you go.' 
 
 Marianna silently took the kerchief off her 
 head and sat down. 
 
 Then Solomin turned to Nezhdanov. 
 
 * And do you, brother, really look about 
 a little. Perhaps it 's all exaggerated. Only, 
 please, be careful. Some one shall go with 
 you, though. And come back as quick as pos- 
 sible. You promise? Nezhdanov, do you 
 promise ? ' 
 
 *Yes.' 
 
 * Yes, for certain ? ' 
 
 * Since every one obeys you here, Marianna 
 and all.' 
 
 Nezhdanov went out into the passage with- 
 out saying good-bye. Pavel popped up out of 
 the darkness and ran down the staircase before 
 him, his iron-shod boots ringing as he went. 
 Was he then to accompany Nezhdanov ? 
 
 Solomin sat down by Marianna. 
 
 * You heard Nezhdanov's last words ? ' 
 
 * Yes ; he 's vexed that I listen to you more 
 than to him. And indeed it's the truth. I 
 
 149 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 love him, but I obey you. He's dearer to me 
 . . . but you 're nearer.' 
 
 Solomin cautiously stroked her hand with 
 his. 
 
 'This ... is a most unpleasant affair/ he 
 observed at last. * If Markelov 's mixed up in 
 it— he 's lost.' 
 
 Marianna shuddered. 
 
 * Lost ? ' 
 
 *Yes. ... He does nothing by halves, and 
 he won't hide behind others.' 
 
 * Lost ! ' murmured Marianna again, and the 
 tears ran down her face. ' О Vassily Fedot- 
 itch ! I am very sorry for him. But why 
 can't he be victorious ? Why must he inevitably 
 be lost ? ' 
 
 * Because in such undertakings, Marianna, 
 the first always perish, even if they succeed. 
 . . . And in the work he's, plotting for, not 
 only the first and the second, but even the 
 tenth . . . and the twentieth.' 
 
 * Then we shall never live to see it ? ' 
 
 * What you are dreaming of? Never. With 
 our eyes we shall never look upon it ; with 
 these living eyes. In the spirit ... to be sure, 
 that 's a different matter. We may gratify our- 
 selves by the sight of it that way now, at once. 
 There 's no restriction there.' 
 
 ' Then how is it you, Solomin 
 
 150 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 «What?' 
 
 * How is it you are going along the same 
 way?' 
 
 * Because there 's no other ; that is, speaking 
 more correctly, my aim is the same as Marke- 
 lov's ; but our paths are different' 
 
 'Poor Sergei Mihalovitch ! ' said Marianna 
 mournfully. Solomin again gave her a dis- 
 creet caress. 
 
 * Come, come ; there 's nothing certain yet. 
 We shall see what news Pavel brings. In our 
 . . . work one must be of good courage. The 
 English say, " Never say die." A good pro- 
 verb. Better than the Russian, " When trouble 
 comes, open the gates wide." It's useless 
 lamenting beforehand.' 
 
 Solomin got up from his seat. 
 
 * And the place you meant to get me?' asked 
 Marianna suddenly. The tears were still glisten- 
 ing on her cheeks, but there was no sadness in 
 her eyes. 
 
 Solomin sat down again. 
 
 *Do you want so much to get away from 
 here as soon as possible ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, no ! but I should like to be of use.' 
 
 ' Marianna, you are of great use even here. 
 Don't forsake us, wait a little. What is it?' 
 Solomin asked of Tatyana, who came in. 
 
 * Well, there 's some sort of a female article 
 151 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 asking for Alexey Dmitritch/ answered Taty- 
 ana, laughing and gesticulating. ' I was for 
 saying that he wasn't here, not here at all. 
 We don't know any such person, says I. But 
 then it ' 
 
 * Who's— it?' 
 
 * Why, this same female article took and 
 wrote her name on this slip of paper here, and 
 says I 'm to show it, and that '11 admit her ; 
 and that if Alexey Dmitritch really isn't at 
 home, then she can wait' 
 
 On the paper stood in large letters, * Ma- 
 shurina.' 
 
 'Show her in,' said Solomin. *You won't 
 mind, Marianna, if she comes in here ? She, 
 too, is one of ours.' 
 
 ' Oh, no ! indeed ! ' 
 
 A few seconds later Mashurina appeared in 
 the doorway, in the same dress in which we 
 saw her at the beginning of the first chapter. 
 
 152 
 
XXXI 
 
 * Is Nezhdanov not at home ? ' she asked ; then, 
 seeing Solomin, she went up to him, and gave 
 him her hand. * How are you, Solomin ? ' At 
 Marianna she simply cast a sidelong glance. 
 
 * He will soon be back,' answered Solomin. 
 *But let me ask, from v/hom did you find 
 out . . .?' 
 
 * From Markelov. Though indeed it 's known 
 in the town ... to two or three people already.' 
 
 'Really?' 
 
 * Yes. Some one has blabbed. Besides, they 
 say Nezhdanov himself has been recognised.' 
 
 * So much for this dressing-up business ! ' 
 muttered Solomin. *Let me introduce you,' 
 he added aloud. * Miss Sinetsky, Miss 
 Mashurin ! Pray sit down ! ' 
 
 Mashurina gave a slight nod and sat down. 
 
 * I have a letter for Nezhdanov ; and for you, 
 Solomin, a verbal message.' 
 
 * What sort of message ? From whom ? ' 
 
 153 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 *From a person you know. . . . How are 
 things with you ? ... is everything ready ? ' 
 
 * Nothing is ready.' 
 
 Mashurina opened her tiny little eyes as 
 wide as she could. 
 
 * Nothing?' 
 
 * Nothing.' 
 
 * You mean absolutely nothing ? 
 
 * Absolutely nothing.' 
 
 * Is that what I 'm to say ? ' 
 
 * That 's what you must say.* 
 
 Mashurina pondered a minute, then she took 
 a cigarette out of her pocket. 
 
 * A light — can you give me?* 
 
 * Here 's a match.' 
 Mashurina lighted her cigarette. 
 
 'They expected something quite different,* 
 she began. ' And all around — it 's not as it is 
 with you. However, that 's your affair. I 'm not 
 here for long. Only to see Nezhdanov and to 
 give him the letter.' 
 
 * Where are you going ? ' 
 
 'Oh, a long way from here.' (She was in 
 fact going to Geneva, but she did not care to 
 tell Solomin so. She did not regard him as 
 altogether trustworthy; besides, there was an 
 'outsider' sitting there. Mashurina, who hardly 
 knew a word of German, was being sent to, 
 Geneva in order to hand to a person there 
 154 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 utterly unknown to her, a torn scrap of card- 
 board with a vine-branch sketched on it, and 
 two hundred and seventy-nine roubles.) 
 ' Where 's Ostrodumov ? Is he with you ? * 
 
 * No. He 's near here ... he got stuck on 
 the way. But he '11 come when he 's wanted. 
 Pimen 's all right. No need to worry about 
 him.' 
 
 * How did you come here?' 
 
 * In a cart . . . how else should I ? Give 
 me another match. . . .' 
 
 Solomin gave her a lighted match. 
 
 * Vassily Fedotitch ! ' a voice whispered all 
 at once at the door. ' Please, sir ! ' 
 
 ' Who 's there ? What do you want ? * 
 
 'Please come,' the voice repeated with per- 
 suasive insistency. ' There 's some strange 
 workmen come here ; they keep jawing away, 
 and Pavel Yegoritch isn't here.' 
 
 Solomin excused himself, got up and went 
 out. 
 
 Mashurina fell to staring at Marianna, and 
 stared at her so long that the latter was quite 
 out of countenance. 
 
 ' Forgive me,' she said suddenly in her gruff, 
 abrupt voice ; Ч 'm a rough sort, I don't know 
 how to put things. Don't be angry ; you 
 needn't answer if you don't want to. Are you 
 the girl that ran away from the Sipyagins' ? * 
 155 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 Marianna was somewhat disconcerted ; how- 
 ever, she said, ' Yes.' 
 ' With Nezhdanov ? ' 
 
 * Well, yes.' 
 
 * If you please . . . give me your hand. For- 
 give me, please. You must be good, since he 
 loves you.' 
 
 Marianna pressed her hand. 
 
 * Do you know Nezhdanov well ? ' 
 
 *Yes, I know him. I used to see him in 
 Petersburg. That 's what makes me say so. 
 Sergei Mihalitch, too, told me. . . .' 
 
 ' Ah, Markelov ! You have seen him lately ? * 
 
 * Yes. Now he 's gone away.' 
 
 * Where?' 
 
 ■ Where he was ordered.' 
 Marianna sighed. 
 
 * Ah, Miss Mashurin, I fear for him/ 
 
 * To begin with, I 'm not " Miss." You ought 
 to cast off all such manners. And, secondly 
 . . . you say, " I fear." That won't do either. 
 You will come not to fear for yourself, and 
 to give up fearing for others. Though indeed 
 I '11 tell you what strikes me : it 's easy for 
 me, Fekla Mashurina, to talk like that. I 'm 
 ugly. But of course . . . you're a beauty. 
 That must make it all the harder for you.' 
 (Marianna looked down and turned away.) 
 * Sergei Mihalovitch told me. , , . He knew I 
 
 156 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 had a letter for Nezhdanov. ..." Don't go to 
 the factory," he said to me, "don't take the 
 letter ; it will be the breaking-up of everything 
 there. Stay away ! They 're both happy there. 
 ... So let them be ! Don't meddle ! " I should 
 be glad not to meddle . . . but what was I to 
 do about the letter?' 
 
 *You must give it without fail,' Marianna 
 assented. 'But oh, how kind he is, Sergei 
 Mihalitch! Can it be that he will be killed, 
 Mashurina ... or be sent to Siberia ? ' 
 
 * Well, what then ? Don't people come back 
 from Siberia? And as for losing one's life! 
 Life 's sweet to some, and to some it 's bitter. 
 His life is not made of refined sugar either.' 
 
 Mashurina again turned an intent and in- 
 quisitive gaze on Marianna. 
 
 *Yes, you are certainly beautiful,' she cried 
 at last, * a perfect little bird ! I 'm beginning 
 to think Alexey's not coming. . . . Shouldn't 
 I give you the letter ? Why wait ? ' 
 
 * I will give it him, you may rest assured.' 
 Mashurina rested her cheek in her hand, and 
 
 for a long, long time she did not speak. 
 
 *Tell me,' she began , . . 'excuse me . - . 
 do you love him very much ? ' 
 
 'Yes.' 
 
 Mashurina shook her heavy head. 
 
 *Well, there's no need to inquire whether 
 157 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 he loves you. I 'm going, though, or perhaps 
 I shall be too late. You tell him that I have 
 been here . . . sent my greetings to him. Tell 
 him Mashurina has been. You won't forget 
 my name? No, Mashurina. And the letter. 
 . . . Wait a bit, where have I put it to ? . . . ' 
 
 Mashurina stood up, turned away, making 
 a pretence of rummaging in her pockets, but 
 meanwhile she rapidly put into her mouth a 
 little folded scrap of paper and swallowed it. 
 ' Ah, my goodness ! What a piece of idiocy ! 
 Can I have lost it? Lost it really is. What 
 a misfortune ! If any one were to find it ! . . . 
 No ; it 's nowhere. So it has turned out as 
 Sergei Mihalitch wished, after all ! ' 
 
 ' Look again,' whispered Marianna. 
 
 Mashurina waved her hand. 
 
 'No! What's the use? It's lost!' 
 
 Marianna went up to her. 
 
 * Well, kiss me, then ! ' 
 
 Mashurina suddenly took Marianna in her 
 arms and pressed her to her bosom with more 
 than a woman's force. 
 
 * I wouldn't have done that for anybody,' she 
 said thickly, * it 's against my conscience . . . 
 it 's the first time ! Tell him to be more care- 
 ful. . . . And you too. Mind ! It '11 soon be 
 a bad place for you here, very bad. Get away 
 both of you, while . . . Good-bye ! ' she added 
 
 158 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 in a loud sharp voice. * But there 's something 
 else . . . tell him. . . . No, there 's no need. 
 It 's no use.' 
 
 Mashurina went out, slamming the door, and 
 Marianna was left pondering in the middle of 
 the room. 
 
 * What does it all mean ? ' she said at last ; 
 * why, that woman loves him more than I love 
 him ! And what was the meaning of her 
 hints? And why did Solomin go out so 
 suddenly and not come back ? ' 
 
 She began walking up and down. A strange 
 sensation — a mixture of dismay and annoyance 
 and bewilderment — took possession of her. 
 Why had she not gone with Nezhdanov? 
 Solomin had dissuaded her . . . and where 
 was he himself? And what was going on all 
 around her? Mashurina of course had not 
 given her that fatal letter, out of sympathy 
 for Nezhdanov. . . . But how could she bring 
 herself to such an act of insubordination ? Did 
 she want to show her magnanimity? What 
 right had she? And why had she, Marianna, 
 been so much touched by that action? And 
 was she really touched by it ? An ugly woman 
 was attracted by a young man. . . . After all, 
 what was there out of the way in that ? And 
 why did Mashurina assume that Marianna*s 
 devotion to Nezhdanov was stronger than her 
 159 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 sense of duty? Perhaps Marianna had not at 
 all desired such a sacrifice ! And what could 
 have been contained in the letter ? A call to 
 immediate action ? What then ? 
 
 * And Markelov ? He is in danger . . . and 
 are we doing anything ? ' she asked herself. 
 * Markelov spares us both, gives us the chance 
 of being happy, won't separate us . . . what is 
 that ? Magnanimity too ... or contempt ? 
 
 *And did we run away from that detestable 
 house only to be together, billing and cooing 
 like doves ? ' 
 
 Such were Marianna's meditations. . . . And 
 stronger and stronger was the part played in 
 her feelings by the same exasperated annoy- 
 ance. However, her vanity had been wounded. 
 Why had every one left her alone — every 
 one} 
 
 This * fat ' woman had called her a beauty, a 
 little bird . . . why not a doll at once? And 
 why was it Nezhdanov had not gone alone but 
 with Pavel ? As thougL he needed some one 
 to look after him ! And after all, what were 
 Solomin's convictions really? He wasn't a 
 revolutionist at all ! And was it possible any- 
 one imagined that her attitude to it all was not 
 a serious one ? 
 
 Such were the thoughts that whirled chasing 
 one another in confusion through Marianna's 
 1 60 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 heated brain. Compressing her lips and fold- 
 ing her arms like a man, she sat down at last 
 by the window, and again stayed immovable, 
 not leaning back in her chair, all alertness and 
 intensity, ready to spring up any minute. Go 
 to Tatyana, work, she would not ; she wanted 
 to do one thing only ; to wait ! And she 
 waited, obstinately, almost spitefully. From 
 time to time her own mood struck her as 
 strange and incomprehensible. . . . But it made 
 no difference ! Once it even occurred to her 
 to wonder whether jealousy was not at the root 
 of all her feeling. But recalling the figure of 
 poor Mashurina, she merely shrugged her 
 shoulders and dismissed the idea with a mental 
 wave of her hand. 
 
 Marianna had long to wait ; at last she 
 caught the sound of two persons' steps mount- 
 ing the stairs. She turned her eyes on the 
 door . . . the steps drew nearer. The door 
 opened and Nezhdanov, supported under Pavel's 
 arm, appeared in the doorway. He was deadly 
 pale, and without his cap ; his dishevelled hair 
 fell in moist tufts over his brow ; his eyes were 
 staring straight before him, seeing nothing. 
 Pavel led him across the room (Nezhdanov's 
 legs moved with an uncertain, feeble totter) and 
 seated him on the sofa. 
 
 Marianna jumped up. 
 
 VQL. II. J^l h 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 *What is it? What's wrong with him? Is 
 he ill?' 
 
 But as he settled Nezhdanov, Pavel answered 
 her with a smile, looking round over his 
 shoulder. 
 
 * Don't worry yourself, miss, it '11 soon pass 
 off. ... It 's just from not being used to it/ 
 
 *But what is it?' Marianna queried insis- 
 tently. 
 
 * He 's a little tipsy. Been drinking on an 
 empty stomach ; that 's all ! ' 
 
 Marianna bent over Nezhdanov. He was 
 half-lying across the sofa ; his head had sunk 
 on to his breast, his eyes were glassy. . . . He 
 smelt of spirits ; he was drunk. 
 
 * Alexey ! ' broke from her lips. 
 
 He raised his heavy eyelids with an effort 
 and tried to smile. 
 
 *Ah! Marianna!' he stammered, 'you al- 
 ways talked of sim-sim-plification ; see now, 
 I 'm really simplified. For the people 's always 
 drunk, so ' 
 
 He broke off; then muttered something in- 
 distinct, closed his eyes and fell asleep. Pavel 
 laid him carefully on the sofa. 
 
 * Don't be worried, Marianna Vikentyevna,* 
 he repeated, * he '11 sleep a couple of hours and 
 wake up as good as new.* 
 
 Marianna was on the point of asking how it 
 162 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 had happened ; but her questions would have de- 
 tained Pavel ; and she wanted to be alone . . . 
 that is, she did not want Pavel to see him in 
 such a disgraceful state before her longer than 
 could be avoided. She turned away to the 
 window, while Pavel, who had taken in the 
 situation at a glance, carefully covered Nezh- 
 danov's legs with the skirts of his long coat, 
 put a pillow under his head, once more mur- 
 mured, * It 's nothing ! ' and went out on tiptoe. 
 
 Marianna looked round. Nezhdanov's head 
 sank heavily into the pillow : on his white face 
 could be seen a tense immobility, as on the 
 face of a man mortally sick. 
 
 * How did it happen ? ' she thought. 
 
 163 
 
XXXII 
 
 This was how it had happened. 
 
 On taking his seat in the cart with Pavel, 
 Nezhdanov suddenly fell into a state of intense 
 excitement ; and directly they drove out of 
 the factory yard and began rolling along the 
 highroad towards T district, he began shout- 
 ing, stopping the peasants that passed, and ad- 
 dressing them in brief, disconnected sentences. 
 * Eh, are you asleep ? ' he would say. ' Rise ! 
 the time has come ! Down with the taxes ! 
 Down with the landowners ! ' Some peasants 
 stared at him in amazement ; others went on 
 paying no attention to his shouts ; they took 
 him for a drunken man ; one even said when 
 he had got home that he had met a Frenchman 
 shouting some stammering, incomprehensible 
 stuff. Nezhdanov had enough sense to know 
 how unutterably stupid and even meaningless 
 what he was doing was ; but he gradually 
 worked himself up to such a point that he did 
 not realise what was sense and what was non- 
 164 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 sense. Pavel tried to quiet him, told him he 
 couldn't really go on like that ; that soon they 
 would reach a large village, the first on the 
 
 borders of T district, ' Lasses' Springs,' 
 
 — that there they could reconnoitre. . . . But 
 Nezhdanov did not listen . . . and at the same 
 time his face was strangely sad, almost despair- 
 ing. Their horse was a very plucky round 
 little beast with a clipped mane on his scraggy 
 neck ; he plied his sturdy little legs very actively, 
 and kept pulling at the reins, as though he were 
 hastening to the scene of action and taking 
 persons of importance there. Before they 
 reached * Lasses' Springs,' Nezhdanov noticed, 
 just off the road, before an open corn barn, 
 eight peasants ; he sprang at once out of the 
 cart, ran up to them with sudden shouts and 
 backhanded gestures. The words, ' Freedom ! 
 forward ! Shoulder to shoulder ! ' could be 
 distinguished, hoarse and noisy, above a multi- 
 tude of other words less comprehensible. The 
 peasants, who had met before the granary to 
 deliberate how it could be filled, if only in 
 appearance (it was the commune granary, and 
 consequently empty) stared at Nezhdanov and 
 seemed to be listening to his address with great 
 attention ; but can hardly have understood 
 much, as when at last he rushed away from 
 them, shouting for the last time, * Freedom 1 ' 
 i6<; 
 
VIRGIN SOIL "^ , 
 
 one of them, the most acute, shook his head 
 with an air of deep reflection, and commented, 
 'Wasn't he severe?' while another observed, 
 
 * Some captain, seemingly ! ' to which the acute 
 peasant rejoined, * To be sure — he wouldn't 
 strain his throat for nothing. That 's what they 
 give us nowadays for our money ! ' Nezhdanov 
 himself, as he clambered into the cart and 
 sat beside Pavel, thought to himself, ' Lord ! 
 what idiocy ! But there, not one of us knows 
 just how one ought to stir up the people — isn't 
 that it, perhaps ? There 's no time to analyse 
 now. Tear along ! Does your heart ache ? 
 Let it ! ' 
 
 They drove into the village street. In the 
 very middle of it a good many peasants were 
 crowding round a tavern. Pavel tried to re- 
 strain Nezhdanov ; but he flew head over heels 
 out of the cart, and with a wailing shout of 
 
 * Brothers ! ' he was in the crowd. ... It parted 
 a little ; and Nezhdanov again fell to preach- 
 ing, looking at no one, in a violent passion as 
 it seemed, and almost weeping. 
 
 But here the result that followed was quite 
 different. A gigantic fellow with a beardless 
 but ferocious face, in a short greasy cape, high 
 boots, and a sheepskin cap, went up to Nezh- 
 danov, and clapping him on the shoulder with 
 all his might, ' Bravo ! you 're a fine chap ! ' 
 i66 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 he bellowed in a voice of thunder ; * but stop a 
 bit ! don't you know, dry words scorch the 
 mouth ? Come this way ! It 's much handier 
 talking here.' He dragged Nezhdanov into the 
 tavern ; the rest of the crowd trooped in after 
 them. * Miheitch ! ' bawled the young giant, 
 Чоок sharp! two penn'orth! My favourite 
 tap ! I 'm treating a friend ! Who he is, what 's 
 his family, and where he's from, old Nick 
 knows, but he 's laying into the gentry pretty 
 hot. Drink!' he said turning to Nezhdanov, 
 and handing him a full heavy glass, moist all 
 over the outside as though perspiring, ' drink — 
 if you 've really any feeling for the likes of us ! ' 
 * Drink I ' rose a noisy chorus around. Nezh- 
 danov grasped the pot (he was in a sort of 
 nightmare), shouted, *To your health, lads!' 
 and emptied it at a gulp. Ugh ! He drank it 
 off with the same desperate heroism with which 
 he would have flung himself on a storm of 
 battery or a row of bayonets. . . . But what 
 was happening in him ? Something seemed to 
 dart along his spine and down his legs, to set 
 his throat, his chest, and his stomach on fire, 
 to drive the tears into his eyes. ... A shudder 
 of nausea passed all over him, and with difficulty 
 he kept it down. ... He shouted at the top of 
 his voice, if only to drown the throbbing in his 
 head. The dark tavern room seemed suddenly 
 167 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 hot, sticky, stifling, full of crowds of people! 
 Nezhdanov began talking, talking endlessly, 
 shouting wrathfully, malignantly, shaking broad, 
 horny hands, kissing slobbery beards. . . . The 
 young giant in the cape kissed him too, he 
 almost crushed his ribs in. And he showed 
 himself a perfect demon. * I '11 split his gullet 
 for him ! ' he roared, ' I '11 split his gullet for 
 him ! if any one's rude to our brother ! or else 
 I '11 pound his skull into a jelly. . . . I '11 
 make him squeak ! I 'm up to it, I am ; I 've 
 been a butcher ; I 'm a good hand at that 
 sort of job ! ' And he shook his huge freckled 
 fist. . . . And then, good God ! some one 
 bellowed again, * Drink ! ' and again Nezh- 
 danov gulped down that loathsome poison. But 
 this second time it was terrible ! He seemed 
 to be full of blunt hooks tearing him to pieces 
 inside. His head was on fire, green circles 
 were going round before his eyes. There was 
 a loud roar, a ringing in his ears. . . . Oh, horror! 
 A third pot. . . . Was it possible he had 
 emptied it ? Purple noses seemed to creep up 
 close and hem him in, and dusty heads of hair, 
 and tanned necks and throats ploughed over with 
 networks of wrinkles. Rough hands caught 
 hold of him. ' Hold on ! ' raging voices were 
 bawling. * Talk away ! The day before yester- 
 day another, a stranger, talked like that. Go 
 i68 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 on ! . . .' The earth seem reeling under 
 Nezhdanov's feet. His own voice sounded 
 strange to him, as if it came from a long way 
 off. . . . Was it death, or what ? 
 
 And all of a sudden ... a sense of the fresh 
 air on his face, and no more hubbub, no red 
 faces, no stench of spirits, sheepskins, pitch and 
 leather. . . . And again he was sitting in the 
 cart with Pavel, at first struggling and shouting, 
 
 * Stop ! Where are you off to ? I 'd not time 
 to tell them anything, I must explain . . .' then 
 adding, * And you yourself, you sly devil, what 
 are your views ? ' To which Pavel replied, 
 
 * It would be nice if there were no gentry, and 
 the land was all ours — what could be better ? 
 but there *s been no order to that effect so far ' ; 
 while he stealthily turned his horse's head, and 
 suddenly lashing him on the back with the 
 reins, set off at full trot away from the din 
 and clamour ... to the factory. . . . 
 
 Nezhdanov dozed and was jolted about, but 
 the wind blew sweetly in his face, and kept 
 back gloomy thoughts. 
 
 Only he was vexed that he had not been 
 allowed to explain himself fully. . . . And again 
 the wind soothed his heated face. 
 
 And then the momentary vision of Marianna, 
 a momentary burning sense of disgrace, and 
 sleep, heavy, deathlike sleep. . . . 
 169 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 All this Pavel told afterwards to Solomin. 
 He made no secret of the fact that he had not 
 hindered Nezhdanov's getting drunk ... he 
 could not have got him away else. The others 
 wouldn't have let him go. 
 
 * But there, when he was getting quite feeble, 
 I begged them with many bows : " Honest 
 gentlemen," says I, " let the poor boy go ; see, 
 he 's quite young. . . ." And so they let him go. 
 " Only give us half a rouble for ransom," says 
 they. And so I gave it them.' 
 
 ' Quite right/ said Solomin approvingly. 
 
 Nezhdanov slept ; and Marianna sat at the 
 window and looked into the little enclosure. 
 And, strange to say, the angry, almost wicked 
 thoughts and feelings that had been astir 
 within her before Nezhdanov's arrival with 
 Pavel left her all at once ; Nezhdanov himself 
 was far from being repulsive or disgusting to 
 her ; she pitied him. She knew very well that 
 he was neither a rake nor a drunkard, and was 
 already pondering what to say to him when he 
 should wake up : something affectionate, that 
 he might not be too much distressed and 
 ashamed. * I must manage so that he should 
 tell of his own accord how this mishap befell 
 him.' 
 
 She was not excited ; but she felt sad . . . 
 desperately sad. It was as if a breath had 
 170 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 blown upon her from that real world which she 
 had been struggling to reach . . . and she 
 shuddered at its coarseness and darkness. 
 What Moloch was this to which she was going 
 to sacrifice herself? 
 
 But no ! It could not be ! This was nothing ; 
 it was a chance event, and would be over directly. 
 
 It was the impression of an instant, which 
 had impressed her only because it was unex- 
 pected. She got up, went to the sofa, on which 
 Nezhdanov was lying, passed a handkerchief 
 over his pale brow, which was contracted with 
 suffering even in his sleep, and pushed back 
 his hair. . . . 
 
 Again she felt sorry for him, as a mother 
 pities her sick child. But it made her heart 
 ache a little to look at him, and she softly went 
 away into her room, leaving the door ajar. 
 
 She did not take up any work, and sat down 
 again, and again a mood of musing came upon 
 her. She felt the time melting away, minute 
 after minute flying past, and it was positively 
 sweet to her to feel it, and her heart beat, and 
 again she fell to waiting for something. 
 
 Where had Solomin got to ? 
 
 The door creaked softly, and Tatyana came 
 into the room. 
 
 * What do you want ? ' asked Marianna almost 
 with annoyance. 
 
 171 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 'Marianna Vikentyevna/ began Tatyana in 
 an undertone, 'look here. Don't you upset 
 yourself, for it 's a thing that will happen in 
 life, and thank God too ' 
 
 ' I 'm not the least upset, Tatyana Osipovna/ 
 Marianna cut her short. ' Alexey Dmitritch 
 isn't quite well; it's of no great consequence ! . . .' 
 
 * Well, now, that 's first-rate ! But here have 
 I been thinking, my Marianna Vikentyevna 
 doesn't come, what 's wrong with her, thinks 
 I ? But for all that I wouldn't have come in 
 to you, for in such cases the first rule is " mind 
 your own business ! " Only here 's some one — 
 I don't know who — come to the factory. A 
 little man like this, and a bit lame ; and 
 nothing '11 content him but to get at Alexey 
 Dmitritch ! It seems so queer ; this morning 
 that female came asking for him . . . and now 
 here 's this lame man. " And if," says he, 
 " Alexey Dmitritch 's not here," we 're to let 
 him see Vassily Fedotitch ! " I won't go with- 
 out," says he, " for," says he, " it 's very impor- 
 tant business." We try to pack him off like that 
 female ; tell him Vassily Fedotitch isn't here 
 . . . has gone away, but this lame man keeps 
 on, " I 'm not going," says he, " if I 've to wait 
 till midnight. . . ." So he 's walking in the 
 yard. Here, come this way into the passage ; 
 you can see him from the window. . . , Can 
 172 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 you tell me what sort of a fine gentleman 
 he is ? ' 
 
 Marianna followed Tatyana — she had to 
 pass close by Nezhdanov — and again she 
 noticed his brow contracted painfully, and 
 again she passed her handkerchief over it. 
 Through the dusty window-pane she caught 
 sight of the visitor, of whom Tatyana had been 
 speaking. He was a stranger to her. But at 
 that very instant Solomin came into sight 
 round the corner of the house. 
 
 The Httle lame man went rapidly to him, 
 and held out his hand. Solomin took it. He 
 obviously knew the man. Both of them 
 vanished. ... 
 
 But now their steps could be heard on the 
 stairs. . . . They were coming up. . . . 
 
 Marianna went back hurriedly into her room 
 and stood still in the middle, hardly able to 
 breathe. She felt dread ... of what? She 
 did not know. 
 
 Solomin's head appeared in the doorway. 
 
 'Marianna Vikentyevna, allow us to come 
 in to you. I have brought a person whom 
 it 's absolutely necessary for you to see.' 
 
 Marianna merely nodded in reply, and behind 
 Solomin in walked — Paklin. 
 
 173 
 
XXXIII 
 
 'I'm a friend of your husband's/ he said, 
 bowing low to Marianna and trying, as it 
 seemed, to conceal his scared and excited face ; 
 * I 'm a friend, too, of Vassily Fedotitch's. 
 Alexey Dmitritch is asleep ; he is, I hear, 
 unwell ; and I have unfortunately brought bad 
 news, which I have already communicated in 
 part to Vassily Fedotitch, and in consequence 
 of which decisive measures must be taken.' 
 
 Paklin's voice broke continually, like that of 
 a man who is parched and tortured by thirst. 
 The news he brought was really very bad ! 
 Markelov had been seized by the peasants and 
 carried off to the town. The stupid clerk 
 had betrayed Golushkin ; he had been arrested. 
 He, in his turn, was betraying everything and 
 every one, was eager to go over to orthodoxy, 
 was offering to present the high school with 
 the portrait of the bishop Filaret, and had 
 already forwarded five thousand roubles for 
 distribution among * crippled soldiers.' There 
 174 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 was not a shadow of doubt that he had betrayed 
 Nezhdanov ; the police might make a raid upon 
 the factory any minute. Vassily Fedotitch, too, 
 was in some danger. * As far as I 'm con- 
 cerned/ added Paklin, * I *m surprised really 
 that I 'm still walking about at liberty ; though 
 to be sure I have never taken any part pre- 
 cisely in politics and had no hand in any plans. 
 I have taken advantage of this forgetfulness or 
 oversight on the part of the police to warn you 
 and consult you as to what means may be 
 employed ... to avert all unpleasantness.* 
 
 Marianna heard Paklin to the end. She was 
 not frightened — she even remained perfectly 
 serene. . . . But to be sure, some steps would 
 have to be taken ! Her first action was to look 
 to Solomin. 
 
 He, too, seemed composed ; only the muscles 
 were faintly twitching about his lips, with some- 
 thing unlike his habitual smile. 
 
 He understood what her look meant; she 
 was waiting for him to say what steps were to 
 be taken. 
 
 * It 's rather a ticklish business, certainly,' he 
 began ; * it would be as well, I imagine, for 
 Nezhdanov to keep in hiding for a time. By 
 the way, how did you learn that he was here, 
 Mr. Paklin?' 
 
 Paklin waved his hand. 
 175 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 *An individual told me. He'd seen him 
 wandering about the neighbourhood making 
 propaganda. Well, he kept an eye on him, 
 though with no evil intent. He is a sym- 
 pathiser. Pardon me/ he added, turning to 
 Marianna, *but really, our friend Nezhdanov 
 has been very . . . very indiscreet/ 
 
 ' It 's no use blaming him now,' Solomin 
 began again. * It 's a pity we can't talk things 
 over with him ; but his indisposition will be 
 over by to-morrow, and the police are not so 
 rapid in their movements as you imagine. 
 You, too, Marianna Vikentyevna, ought to go 
 away with him, I suppose.' 
 
 * Undoubtedly,' Marianna replied, thickly but 
 resolutely. 
 
 * Yes,' said Solomin. * We shall have to think 
 things over ; we shall have to find ways and 
 means.' 
 
 ' Allow me to lay one idea before you,' began 
 Paklin ; ' the idea entered my head as I came 
 in here. I hasten to observe that I dismissed 
 the cabman from the town, a mile away/ 
 
 * What is your idea ? ' asked Solomin. 
 
 * I '11 tell you. Let me have horses at once 
 . . . and I will gallop off to the Sipyagins/ 
 
 ' To the Sipyagins ! ' repeated Marianna. . . . 
 * What for?' 
 ' You shall hear/ 
 
 176 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 * But do you know them ? * 
 
 * Not in the least ! But listen. Consider my 
 proposition thoroughly. It seems to me simply 
 a stroke of genius. You see, Markelov's Sip- 
 yagin's brother-in-law, his wife's brother. Isn't 
 that so ? Is it possible that gentleman will do 
 nothing to save him ? And moreover, Nezh- 
 danov himself! Granting that Mr. Sipyagin 
 is angry with him. . . . Still, you see, for all 
 that, Nezhdanov has become a relation of his 
 by marrying you. And the danger hanging 
 over our friend's head ' 
 
 * I 'm not married,' observed Marianna. 
 Paklin positively started. 
 
 * What ? Not managed that all this time ! 
 Well, never mind,' he went on ; ' one can fib 
 a little. It 's just the same thing ; you 're 
 going to be married directly. Indeed, one 
 can't devise any other plan ! Take into 
 consideration the fact that Sipyagin up till now 
 has not gone so far as to persecute you. Con- 
 sequently, he has a certain . . . magnanimity. 
 I see that expression 's not to your taste ; let 's 
 say, a certain affectation of generosity. Why 
 shouldn't we utilise it in the present case? 
 Think of it!' 
 
 Marianna raised her head and passed her 
 hand over her hair. 
 
 * You may utilise what you please for Mar- 
 voL. II. 177 M 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 kelov's benefit, Mr. Paklin ... or for your 
 own ; but Alexey and I desire neither the 
 protection nor the patronage of Mr. Sipyagin. 
 We did not leave his house to go knock- 
 ing at his door as beggars. We will owe 
 nothing either to the magnanimity nor the 
 affectation of generosity of Mr. Sipyagin or his 
 wife ! ' 
 
 'Those are most praiseworthy sentiments/ 
 responded Paklin (but, ' My ! that 's a nice wet 
 blanket ! ' was his inward comment), ' though, 
 on the other hand, if you come to reflect . . . 
 However, I am ready to obey you. I will 
 exert myself on Markelov's account, our dear, 
 good Markelov only ! I venture only to observe 
 that he is not his blood relation, but only re- 
 lated to him through his wife, while you * 
 
 * Mr. Paklin, I beg you ! ' 
 
 * Oh, yes . . . yes ! But I can't refrain from 
 expressing my regret, for Sipyagin is a man of 
 great influence.' 
 
 * So you 've no fears for yourself? ' queried 
 Solomin. 
 
 Paklin straightened his chest. 
 
 *At such moments one must not think of 
 oneself,' he said proudly. And all the while, 
 it was just of himself he was thinking. He 
 wanted (poor, feeble little creature !) to be the 
 first in the field, as the saying is. On the 
 178 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 Strength of the service rendered him, Sipyagin 
 might, if need arose, speak a word for him. 
 For as a fact, he too — say what he would — was 
 implicated ; he had listened . . , and even 
 gone chattering about himself. 
 
 * I think your idea 's not a bad one,' observed 
 Solomin at last, 'though I put little confidence 
 in its success. Any way, you can try. You 
 will do no harm.' 
 
 * Of course not. Come, supposing the very 
 worst ; suppose they kick me out. . . . What 
 harm will that do ? ' 
 
 * There '11 certainly be no harm in that. . . .* 
 QMerci! ' thought Paklin.) While Solomin went 
 on : ' What o'clock is it ? Five o'clock. No 
 time to waste. You shall have the horses 
 directly. Pavel ! ' 
 
 But instead of Pavel, on the threshold they 
 saw Nezhdanov. He staggered, steadying him- 
 self on the doorpost, and opening his mouth 
 feebly, stared with bewildered eyes, com- 
 prehending nothing. 
 
 Paklin was the first to approach him. 
 
 *Alyosha! ' he cried, 'you know me, don't you?' 
 
 Nezhdanov gazed at him, blinking slowly. 
 
 * Paklin ? ' he said at last. 
 
 * Yes, yes ; it 's I. You are not well ? ' 
 *Yes ... I 'm not well. But . . . why are 
 
 you here ? ' 
 
 179 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 * I 'm here . . .' But at that instant Mari- 
 anna stealthily touched Paklin on the elbow. 
 He looked round, and saw she was making signs 
 to him. . . . ' Ah, yes ! ' he muttered. ' Yes 
 ... to be sure ! Well, do you see, Alyosha/ 
 he added aloud, * I 've come on important busi- 
 ness, and must go on further at once. . . . 
 Solomin will tell you all about it — and Marianna 
 . . . Marianna Vikentyevna. They both fully 
 approve of my plan — it 's a matter that concerns 
 us all : that is, no, no,' he interpolated hurriedly 
 in response to a gesture and a glance from Mari- 
 anna. . . . * It 's a matter concerning Markelov, 
 our common friend Markelov ; him alone. But 
 now, good-bye ! Every minute 's precious — 
 good-bye, friend. . . . We shall meet again. 
 Vassily Fedotitch, will you come with me to 
 give orders about the horses ? ' 
 
 * Certainly. Marianna, I 'd meant to say to 
 you, keep up your spirits ! But there 's no 
 need. You 're the real thing ! ' 
 
 * Oh, yes ! oh, yes ! ' chimed in Paklin: * you're 
 a Roman woman of the time of Cato ! Cato of 
 Utica! But come along, Vassily Fedotitch, 
 let us go ! ' 
 
 * You 've plenty of time,' observed Solomin 
 with a lazy smile. Nezhdanov moved a little 
 aside to let them both pass. . . . But there was 
 still the same uncomprehending look in his 
 
 i8o 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 eyes. Then he took two steps, and slowly sat 
 down on a chair facing Marianna. 
 
 ' Alexey,' she said to him, * everything is 
 discovered ; Markelov has been seized by the 
 peasants he was trying to incite ; he 's under 
 arrest in the town, and so is that merchant you 
 dined with ; most likely the police will soon be 
 here after us. Paklin has gone to Sipyagin.' 
 
 *What for?' muttered Nezhdanov, hardly 
 audibly. But his eyes grew clearer, his face 
 regained its ordinary expression. The stupor 
 had left him instantly. 
 
 * To try whether he will intercede.* 
 Nezhdanov drew himself up. . . . *For 
 
 us?' 
 
 * No ; for Markelov. He wanted to beg for 
 us too . . . but I would not let him. Did I do 
 right, Alexey ? ' 
 
 * Right?' said Nezhdanov, and without get- 
 ting up from his chair, he held out his hands to 
 her. * Right ? ' he repeated, and, drawing her 
 close to him and hiding his face against her, he 
 suddenly burst into tears. 
 
 * What is it, dear ? what is it ? ' cried Mari- 
 anna. Now, too, as on that day when he had 
 fallen on his knees before her, faint and breath- 
 less with a sudden torrent of passion, she laid 
 her two hands on his trembling head. 
 
 But what she felt now was not at all what 
 i8i 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 she had felt then. Then she had given herself 
 up to him. She had submitted, and simply 
 waited for what he would say to her. Now 
 she pitied him, and thought of nothing but how 
 to comfort him. 
 
 * What is it, dear ? ' she said. * What are you 
 crying for? Surely not because you came 
 home in rather ... a strange state! That 
 can't be ! Or are you sorry for Markelov, and 
 afraid for me and you ? Or are you grieving 
 for our shattered hopes ? You didn't expect 
 everything to run smoothly, you know ! ' 
 
 Nezhdanov suddenly raised his head. 
 
 * No, Marianna,' he said, gulping down his 
 sobs, * I 'm not afraid for you nor for myself. 
 . . . But yes ... I am sorry ' 
 
 * For whom ? ' 
 
 * For you, Marianna ! I 'm sorry you have 
 bound up your life with a man unworthy of it' 
 
 ' Why so ? ' 
 
 * Well, if only because he can be shedding 
 tears at such a moment ! ' 
 
 * It 's not you weeping ; it *s your nerves ! ' 
 
 ' My nerves and I are all one ! Come, Mari- 
 anna, look me in the face : can you really say 
 now that you don't regret , , .' 
 
 'What?' 
 
 ' That you ran away with me ? ' 
 
 *No.' 
 
 182 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 * And will you go further with me ? Every- 
 where ? ' 
 
 *Yes!' 
 
 *Yes? Marianna . . . Yes?* 
 
 *Yes. I have given you my word, and so 
 long as you are the man I loved, I will not 
 take it back.' 
 
 Nezhdanov went on sitting in his chair; 
 Marianna stood before him. His arms lay 
 about her waist ; her hands rested on his 
 shoulders. 'Yes, no,' thought Nezhdanov 
 , . . *but yet — before, when it was my lot to 
 hold her in my arms, just as at this moment, 
 her body was at least motionless ; but now, I 
 feel it gently and perhaps against her will 
 shrink away from me ! ' He loosened his arms 
 . . . Marianna did, in fact, scarcely perceptibly 
 draw back. 
 
 * I tell you what ! ' he said aloud, * if we must 
 run away . . . before the police discover us . , . 
 I suppose it would be as well for us to be 
 married first. Most likely we shouldn't meet 
 with such an accommodating priest as Zosim 
 anywhere else ! ' 
 
 * I 'm ready,' said Marianna. 
 Nezhdanov looked intently at her. 
 
 * Roman maiden!' he said with an evil half- 
 smile. * What a sense of duty ! ' 
 
 Marianna shrugged her shoulders, 
 183 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 * We must speak to Solomin.* 
 
 *Yes . . . Solomin . . .' Nezhdanov drawled. 
 
 * But he too, I suppose, is in some danger. The 
 police will seize him too. It strikes me he has 
 done more and known more about it than I.' 
 
 * I know nothing about that,' said Marianna. 
 
 * He never talks about himself.' 
 
 * Unlike me in that ! ' thought Nezhdanov. 
 ' That was what she meant ! Solomin . . . 
 Solomin,' he repeated after a long silence. ' Do 
 you know, Marianna, I should not pity you, if 
 the man with whom you had linked your life 
 for ever had been like Solomin ... or had 
 been Solomin himself 
 
 Marianna, in her turn, looked intently at 
 Nezhdanov. 
 
 *You had no right to say that,' she said 
 finally. 
 
 * I 'd no right ! How am I to understand 
 those words ? Do they mean that you love me ? 
 or that I ought not any way to touch on that 
 question ? ' 
 
 * You had no right to say it,' repeated Mari- 
 anna. 
 
 Nezhdanov's head drooped. 
 ' Marianna ! ' he articulated in a somewhat 
 changed voice. 
 *Well?' 
 
 * If I were now ... if I put you that ques- 
 
 184 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 tion — you know ? . . . No, I ask nothing of you 
 , . . good-bye/ 
 
 He got up and went out ; Marianna did not 
 try to keep him. Nezhdanov sat down on the 
 sofa and hid his face in his hands. He was 
 frightened by his own thoughts, and tried not to 
 think. He had one feeling only, that a sort 
 of dark, underground hand seemed to have 
 clutched at the very root of his being, and 
 would not let him go. He knew that that 
 sweet, precious woman he had left in the next 
 room would not come out to him ; and he dared 
 not go in to her. And what would be the use ? 
 What could he say ? 
 
 Rapid, resolute footsteps made him open his 
 eyes. 
 
 Solomin walked across his room, and, knock- 
 ing at Marianna's door, went in. 
 
 ' Make way for your betters ! ' muttered 
 Nezhdanov in a bitter whisper. 
 
 185 
 
XXXIV 
 
 It was ten o'clock in the evening in the draw- 
 ing-room of the mansion of Arzhano. Sipyagin, 
 his wife, and Kallomyetsev were playing cards, 
 when a footman came in and announced the 
 arrival of a stranger, Mr. Paklin, who wanted 
 to see Boris Andreitch on the most urgent and 
 important business. 
 
 * So late ! ' wondered Valentina Mihalovna. 
 
 ' Eh ? ' queried Boris Andreitch, wrinkling up 
 his handsome nose. 'What did you say was 
 the gentleman's name ? ' 
 
 * He said Paklin, sir.* 
 
 * Paklin ! ' cried Kallomyetsev. * A truly 
 rural name. Paklin ' {i.e. stuffing) '. . . Solomin ' 
 (i.e. strawing) *. . . De vrais noms ruraux^ hein ? ' 
 
 *And you say,' pursued Boris Andreitch, 
 turning to the footman with the same expres- 
 sion of displeasure, 'that his business is im- 
 portant, urgent ? ' 
 
 * So the gentleman says, sir.* 
 
 * H'm . . . some beggar or swindler * (* Or both 
 
 1 86 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 together/ put in Kallomyetsev). ' Quite likely. 
 Ask him into my study/ Boris Andreitch got 
 up. * Pardon, ma bonne. Have a game of ecarte 
 while I 'm gone, or wait for me. I '11 be back 
 directly/ 
 
 * Nous causerons . . . allez ! * said Kallom- 
 yetsev. When Sipyagin came into his study 
 and saw Paklin's pitiful, feeble little figure 
 meekly huddled against the wall between the 
 fireplace and the door, he was seized with that 
 truly ministerial sensation of lofty compassion 
 and fastidious condescension so characteristic 
 of the Petersburg higher official. 
 
 * Mercy on us ! What a poor little plucked 
 bird ! ' he thought, * and I do believe he 's lame 
 too ! ' 
 
 ' Be seated,' he said aloud, giving vent to the 
 benevolent baritone notes of his voice, and 
 affably throwing back his little head ; and he 
 took a seat before his visitor. 
 
 * You are tired from your journey, I presume ; 
 take a seat, and let me hear what is the im- 
 portant business that has brought you to me 
 so late.* 
 
 *Your Excellency,' began Paklin, dropping 
 discreetly into a chair, ' I have made bold to 
 come to you ' 
 
 * Wait a bit, wait a bit,' Sipyagin interrupted 
 him ; * I 've seen you before. I never forget a 
 
 187 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 face I have once met ; I always recollect it 
 Eh ... eh . . . eh . . . precisely . . . where 
 have I met you ? ' 
 
 * You are right, your Excellency. ... I had 
 the honour of meeting you in Petersburg at a 
 person's who . . . who . . . since then . . . has 
 unfortunately ... incurred your displeasure.* 
 
 Sipyagin got up quickly from his chair. 
 
 * At Mr. Nezhdanov's ! I remember now. 
 Surely you haven't come from him ? ' 
 
 * Oh, no, your Excellency ; quite the contrary 
 . . . I . . .' 
 
 Sipyagin sat down again. 
 
 * That 's as well. For in that case I would 
 promptly have asked you to leave the house. 
 I can give no admittance to any mediator 
 between me and Mr. Nezhdanov. Mr. Nezh- 
 danov has shown me one of those affronts 
 which are not forgotten. ... I am above re- 
 venge, but I wish to know nothing of him, nor 
 of the girl — more depraved in mind than in 
 heart ' (this phrase Sipyagin must have repeated 
 thirty times since Marianna's flight) — 'who could 
 bring herself to leave the home where she had 
 been cared for to become the mistress of a base- 
 born adventurer ! It 's enough for them that I 
 consent to forget them ! * 
 
 At this last word Sipyagin made a downward 
 motion of his wrist away from him. 
 i88 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 ' I forget them, sir ! * 
 
 * Your Excellency, I have already submitted 
 to you that I have not come here from them, 
 though I may nevertheless inform your Ex- 
 cellency, among other things, that they are 
 already joined in the bonds of lawful matri- 
 mony.' . . . (* There, it 's all one ! ' thought 
 Paklin ; * I said I 'd lie a bit here, and I 'm 
 lying. Here goes ! ') 
 
 Sipyagin moved his head restlessly to right 
 and left against the back of his easy-chair. 
 
 * That is a matter of no interest to me, sir. 
 One foolish marriage the more in the world, 
 that's all. But what is this most urgent 
 business to which I am indebted for the 
 pleasure of your visit ? ' 
 
 * Ugh ! the damned director of a depart- 
 ment ! ' Paklin thought again. ' That 's enough 
 of your airs and graces, you ugly English 
 monkey-face.* 
 
 'Your wife's brother,' he said aloud — *Mr. 
 Markelov — has been seized by the peasants 
 he had meant to incite to insurrection, and is 
 now in custody in the governor's house/ 
 
 Sipyagin jumped up a second time. 
 
 ' What . . . what did you say ? ' he stammered, 
 not at all in his ministerial baritone, but in a 
 sort of piteous guttural. 
 
 * I said your brother-in-law had been seized 
 
 189 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 and IS in chains. Directly I learned this fact, I 
 took horses and came to warn you. I imagined 
 that I might be rendering a service both to you 
 and to that unfortunate man whom you may 
 be able to save ! ' 
 
 *I am much obliged to you,' said Sipyagin 
 in the same feeble voice ; and with a violent 
 blow on a bell shaped like a mushroom, he 
 filled the whole house with its clear, metallic 
 ring. * I am much obliged to you,' he repeated 
 more sharply ; ' though let me tell you, a man 
 who has trampled underfoot every law, human 
 and divine, were he a hundred times my kins- 
 man, is in my eyes not to be pitied ; he is a 
 criminal ! ' 
 
 A footman darted into the room. 
 
 * Your orders, sir?' 
 
 * The coach ! This minute the coach and 
 four! I am driving to the town. Filip and 
 Stepan to come with me ! ' The footman 
 darted out. 'Yes, sir, my brother-in-law is a 
 criminal ; and I am driving to the town, not 
 to save him ! Oh, no ! ' 
 
 * But, your Excellency . . .* 
 
 ' Such are my principles, sir ; and I beg you 
 not to trouble me with objections ! ' 
 
 Sipyagin fell to walking up and down the 
 room, while Paklin's eyes grew round as saucers. 
 * Ugh, you devil ! ' he was thinking ; * and you 
 190 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 call yourself a liberal ! Why, you Ve a roaring 
 lion ! ' The door opened, and with quick steps 
 there entered first Valentina Mihalovna, and 
 behind her Kallomyetsev. 
 
 *What is the meaning of this, Boris? you 
 have ordered the coach out ? you are going to 
 the town ? what has happened ? ' 
 
 Sipyagin went up to his wife, and took her 
 by her arm, between the wrist and the elbow. 
 * // faut vous armer de courage^ ma chere. Your 
 brother is arrested.' 
 
 ' My brother ? Sergei ? What for ? ' 
 
 * He has been preaching Socialistic theories 
 to the peasants ! ' (Kallomyetsev gave vent to 
 a faint whistle.) * Yes ! He has been preaching 
 revolution ! he has been making propaganda ! 
 They seized him, and gave him up. Now he *s 
 — in the town.' 
 
 * The madman ! But who has told you 
 this?' 
 
 'Mr. . . . Mr. . . . what's his name? Mr. 
 Konopatin brought this news.' 
 
 Valentina Mihalovna glanced at Paklin. He 
 gave a forlorn bow. ' My ! what an elegant 
 female ! ' was his thought. Even at such painful 
 moments . . . alas, how susceptible was poor 
 Paklin to feminine charms ! 
 
 * And you mean to go to the town — so late ? 
 
 * I shall find the governor still up.' 
 
 191 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 * I always predicted that it must end so/ put 
 in Kallomyetsev. * It could not be otherwise ! 
 But what splendid chaps our Russian peasants 
 are ! Delightful ! Pardon^ madame^ dest votre 
 frere ! Mais la verite avant tout ! ' 
 
 * Can you really mean to go, Boris ? ' asked 
 Valentina Mihalovna. 
 
 ' I 'm convinced too/ continued Kallomyet- 
 sev, * that that fellow too, that tutor, Mr. Nezh- 
 danov, has had a hand in it. fen mettrais ma 
 main au feu. They 're all in one boat ! Has 
 he been caught ? You don't know ? ' 
 
 Again Sipyagin made a downward gesture 
 from his wrist. 
 
 *I don't know, and I don't want to know! 
 By the way,' he added, turning to his wife, * il 
 parait qu'ils sont maries! 
 
 * Who said so ? The same gentleman ? * 
 Valentina Mihalovna again looked at Paklin, 
 but this time she screwed up her eyes as she 
 did so. 
 
 *Yes.' 
 
 *In that case/ put in Kallomyetsev, *he 
 knows where they are for a certainty. Do you 
 know where they are? Do you know where 
 they are ? Eh ? eh ? eh ? Do you know ? ' 
 Kallomyetsev began pacing up and down 
 before Paklin, as though to bar the way to 
 him, though the latter showed not the faintest 
 192 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 inclination to escape. * Speak ! Answer ! Eh ? 
 Eh ? Do you know ? Do you know ? ' 
 
 * If I did know/ Paklin said with annoyance 
 — his wrath was stirred at last and his little 
 eyes flashed — * if I did know, I should not tell 
 you/ 
 
 * Oh . . . oh . . . oh ! ' muttered Kallom- 
 yetsev. * You hear . . . you hear ! Why, this 
 fellow, too . . . this fellow, too, must be one of 
 their gang ! * 
 
 ' The coach is ready ! ' a footman announced. 
 Sipyagin seized his hat with a graceful, resolute 
 gesture ; but Valentina Mihalovna begged him 
 with such insistence to put off going till next 
 morning — she laid before him such cogent 
 reasons, the darkness on the road, and every 
 one would be asleep in the town, and he would 
 merely be upsetting his nerves and might catch 
 cold — that Sipyagin at last was persuaded by 
 her, and exclaiming, ' I obey ! ' with a gesture 
 as graceful, but no longer resolute, he laid his 
 hat on the table. 
 
 * Take out the horses ! ' he commanded the 
 footman ; * but to-morrow at six in the morning 
 precisely, let them be ready ! Do you hear ? 
 You can go ! Stop ! The visitor . . . the 
 gentleman's conveyance can be dismissed! 
 Pay the man ! Eh ? I fancy you spoke, Mr. 
 Konopatin ? I '11 take you with me to-morrow, 
 
 VOL 11 193 N 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 Mr. Konopatin ! What do you say ? I don't 
 hear. . . . You will take some vodka, I dare 
 say ? Some vodka for Mr. Konopatin ! No ! 
 You don't drink it? In that case, Fyodor, 
 show the gentleman to the green room ! 
 
 Good-night, Mr. Kono ' 
 
 Paklin lost all patience at last. 
 
 * Paklin ! ' he roared, ' my name is Paklin ! * 
 
 * Yes, yes ; well, that 's much the same. It 's 
 not unlike, you know. But what a powerful 
 voice you have for one of your build ! Good- 
 night, Mr. Paklin. . . . I 've got it right now, 
 eh ? Shnion, vous viendrez avec nous ? * 
 
 ^/e crois Men ! ' 
 
 And Paklin was led off to the green room. 
 And he was even locked in there. As he got 
 into bed, he heard the key turn in the ringing 
 English lock. Violently he swore at himself 
 for his * stroke of genius/ and he slept very 
 badly. 
 
 Early next morning, at half-past five, he was 
 called. Coffee was handed him ; while he 
 drank it, a footman with embroidered shoulder- 
 knots waited with the tray in his hands, and 
 shifted from one leg to the other, as though he 
 would say, * Hurry up, you 're keeping the 
 gentlemen waiting ! ' Then he was conducted 
 downstairs. The coach was already standing 
 before the house. There, too, was Kallom- 
 194 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 yetsev's open carriage. Sipyagin made his 
 appearance on the steps in a camel's-hair cloak 
 with a round collar. Such cloaks had not been 
 worn for many years except by a certain very 
 important dignitary whom Sipyagin was trying 
 to please and to imitate. On important official 
 occasions, therefore, he wore such a cloak. 
 
 Sipyagin greeted Paklin fairly affably, and 
 with an energetic gesture motioned him to the 
 coach and asked him to take his seat. * Mr. 
 Paklin, you will come with me, Mr. Paklin ! 
 Put Mr. Paklin's bag on the box ! I am taking 
 Mr. Paklin ! ' he said, with an emphasis on the 
 word Paklin, and an accent on the letter a, as 
 though he would say, ' You 've a name like that 
 and presume to feel insulted when people change 
 it for you ! There you are, then ! Take plenty 
 of it ! I '11 give you as much as you want ! 
 Mr. Paklin ! Paklin ! ' The unlucky name 
 kept resounding in the keen morning air. 
 It was so keen as to set Kallomyetsev, who 
 came out after Sipyagin, muttering several 
 times in French, * B-r-r-r ! B-r-r-r ! B-r-r-r ! ' and 
 wrapping himself more closely in his cloak 
 he seated himself in his elegant open carriage. 
 (His poor friend the Servian prince, Mihal 
 Obrenovitch, on seeing it had bought one 
 exactly like it at Binder's . . . vous savez 
 Binder^ le grand carrossier des Champs-Elyseesf) 
 195 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 From the half-open shutters of a bedroom 
 Valentina Mihalovna peeped out * in the trail- 
 ing garments of the night/ as the poet has it. 
 
 Sipyagin took his seat and kissed his hand 
 to her. 
 
 *Are you comfortable, Mr. Paklin? Drive 
 on!' 
 
 ^ Je vous recommande топ frere ; epargnez-le!* 
 Valentina Mihalovna was heard to say. 
 
 * Soyez tranquille ! ' cried Kallomyetsev, 
 glancing smartly up at her from under the 
 edge of a travelling-cap that he had designed 
 himself, with a cockade in it. ... * С est surtout 
 V autre quHl faut pzncer ! ' 
 
 * Drive on ! ' repeated Sipyagin. * Mr. Paklin, 
 you 're not cold ? Drive on ! ' 
 
 The two carriages rolled away. 
 
 For the first ten minutes both Sipyagin 
 and Paklin were silent. The luckless Sila in 
 his shabby little suit and greasy cap seemed 
 a still more pitiful figure against the dark- 
 blue background of the rich silky material with 
 which the inside of the coach was upholstered. 
 In silence he looked round at the delicate, pale- 
 blue blinds that ran up rapidly at a mere finger's 
 touch on a button, and at the rug of soft white 
 sheepskin at their feet, and the box of red wood 
 fitted in in front, with a movable tray desk for 
 letters, and even a shelf for books. (Boris 
 196 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 Andreitch did not much care to work in his 
 coach, but he wished to make people believe 
 he liked to work on his journeys like Thiers.) 
 Paklin felt intimidated. Sipyagin glanced at 
 him twice over his glossily shaven cheek, and 
 with majestic deliberation pulled out of his 
 side-pocket a silver cigar-case with a curly 
 monogram on it in old Slavonic type, and 
 offered him . . . positively offered him a cigar, 
 balancing it between the second and third 
 fingers of a hand in an English glove of yellow 
 dogskin. 
 
 * I don't smoke,' muttered Paklin. 
 
 * Ah ! ' responded Sipyagin, and he himself 
 lighted the cigar, which appeared to be a most 
 choice regalia. 
 
 * I ought to tell you . . . dear Mr. Paklin,' 
 he began, puffing affably at his cigar, and emit- 
 ting delicate rings of fragrant smoke ... * that 
 I ... am in reality . . . very grateful ... to 
 you. ... I may have seemed . . . somewhat 
 short ... to you yesterday , . . though that 
 is not ... a characteristic ... of mine at all * 
 (Sipyagin intentionally cut his sentence up 
 meaningly), * I venture to assure you of that. 
 But, Mr. Paklin, put yourself in my . . . place* 
 (Sipyagin rolled the cigar from one corner of 
 his mouth to the other). * The position I 
 occupy makes me ... so to say . . . con- 
 
 197 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 spicuous ; and all of a sudden . . , my wife's 
 brother . . . compromises himself . . . and me 
 in this incredible manner ! Eh ! Mr. Paklin ? 
 You perhaps think that 's of no great matter ? ' 
 
 * I don't think that, your Excellency/ 
 
 * You don't know for what precisely ... and 
 where exactly, he was arrested ? ' 
 
 * I heard it was in T district' 
 
 * From whom did you hear that ? * 
 ' From . . . from a man.' 
 
 ' Well, it would hardly be from a bird. But 
 what man ? ' 
 
 * Froir . . from an assistant of the director 
 of the business of the governor's office.* 
 
 * What 's his name ? ' 
 
 * The director ? ' 
 
 * No, the assistant' 
 
 'His . . , his name is Ulyashevitch. He's 
 a very good public servant, your Excellency. 
 When I heard of that occurrence, I hurried at 
 once to you.' 
 
 * To be sure, to be sure ! And I repeat that I 
 am very grateful to you. But what madness ! 
 Isn't it madness? eh ? Mr. Paklin ? eh ? ' 
 
 * Perfect madness ! ' cried Paklin, and the 
 perspiration zigzagged in a hot rivulet down 
 his back. * It comes,' he went on, * of not in 
 the least understanding the Russian peasant 
 Mr. Markelov, so far as I know him, has a very 
 
 198 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 kind and generous heart ; but he has never 
 understood the Russian peasant' (Paklin glanced 
 at Sipyagin, who, turning slightly towards him, 
 was scanning him with a chilly but not hostile 
 expression). 'The Russian peasant cannot 
 ever be induced to revolt except by taking ad- 
 vantage of his devotion to a higher authority, 
 some sort of Tsar. Some sort of legend must 
 be invented — you remember the false Demetrius 
 — some sort of regal insignia, branded in burnt 
 patches on the breast.' 
 
 *Yes, yes, like Pugatchev,' interrupted Sip- 
 yagin in a tone that seemed to say, * I 've not 
 forgotten my history . . . you needn't enlarge ! ' 
 and adding, * It 's madness ! madness ! ' he 
 turned to the contemplation of the swift coil of 
 smoke rising from the end of his cigar. 
 
 * Your Excellency ! ' observed Paklin, gather- 
 ing courage, * I told you just now I didn't 
 smoke . . . but that's not quite accurate. I 
 do smoke at times ; and your cigar smells so 
 delicious. . . .' 
 
 * Eh ? what ? what 's that ? ' said Sipyagin, as 
 though waking up ; and without letting Paklin 
 repeat what he had said, he proved in the most 
 unmistakable manner that he had heard him, 
 and had uttered his reiterated questions solely 
 for the sake of his dignity, by offering him his 
 open cigar-case. 
 
 199 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 Paklin discreetly and gratefully lighted a 
 cigar. 
 
 * Now, I fancy, is a good moment,' he thought ; 
 ut Sipyagin anticipated him. 
 
 * You spoke to me, too, do you remember?' he 
 said carelessly, interrupting himself to look at 
 his cigar, and to jog his hat forwards on to his 
 forehead, 'you spoke ... eh? you spoke of 
 . . . that friend of yours who has married my 
 . . . relation. Do you see them? They are 
 settled not far from here ? ' 
 
 * Aha ! ' thought Paklin, * Sila, look out ! ' 
 
 * I have seen them only once, your Excel- 
 lency ! they are living, as a fact ... at no 
 great distance from here.' 
 
 'You understand, of course/ Sipyagin went 
 on in the same manner, ' that I have no further 
 serious interest, as I explained to you, either 
 in that frivolous girl or in your friend. Good 
 heavens ! I 've no prejudices, but you will 
 agree with me, this is beyond everything. It 's 
 folly, you know. Though I imagine they have 
 been more drawn together by political sym- 
 pathies ' ('Politics!' he repeated with a shrug 
 of his shoulders) ' than by any other feeling.* 
 ' Indeed I imagine so, your Excellency ! ' 
 ' Yes, Mr. Nezhdanov was a red-hot repub- 
 lican. I must do him the justice to admit that 
 he made no secret of his opinions.' 
 
 200 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 'Nezhdanov,' Paklin hazarded, 'has been led 
 away, perhaps, but his heart ' 
 
 * Is good,' put in Sipyagin : 4o be sure . . . 
 to be sure, Hke Markelov's. They all have 
 good hearts. Probably he too has taken part 
 — and will be too . . . We shall have to pro- 
 tect him too.' 
 
 Paklin clasped his hands before his breast. 
 
 'Ah, yes, yes, your Excellency! Extend 
 your protection to him ! Indeed ... he de- 
 serves . . . deserves your sympathy.' 
 
 * H'm,' said Sipyagin ; * you think so ? * 
 
 * If not for his own sake, at least ... for 
 your niece's ; for his wife's ! (* О Lord ! О 
 Lord ! ' Paklin was thinking, ' what lies I 'm 
 telling!') 
 
 Sipyagin puckered up his eyes. 
 
 * You are, I see, a very devoted friend. That 's 
 excellent ; that 's very praiseworthy, young 
 man. And so, you say, they're living near 
 here?' 
 
 ' Yes, your Excellency ; at a large establish- 
 ment . . .' Paklin bit his tongue. 
 
 'Tut . . . tut-tut ... at Solomin's! so 
 they 're there ! I was aware of that — indeed, 
 I 'd been told so, I 'd been informed. . . . Yes.' 
 (Mr. Sipyagin was not in the least aware of it, 
 and no one had told him so ; but recollecting 
 Solomin's visit, and their midnight interview, he 
 20 1 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 dropped this bait. . . . And Paklin rose to 
 it at once.) 
 
 ' Since you know that,' he began, and a second 
 time he bit his tongue. . . . But it was too late. 
 . . . From the mere glance flung at him by 
 Sipyagin he realised that he had been playing 
 with him all the while, as a cat plays with a 
 mouse. 
 
 * I must tell your Excellency, though,' the 
 luckless wretch faltered, 4hat I really know 
 nothing. . . .' 
 
 * And I ask you no questions, upon my word ! 
 What do you mean ? What do you take me, 
 and yourself, for?' said Sipyagin haughtily, 
 and he promptly withdrew into his ministerial 
 heights. 
 
 And again Paklin felt himself a wretched 
 little, entrapped creature. . . . Till that instant 
 he kept his cigar in the corner of his mouth, re- 
 mote from Sipyagin, and had stealthily puffed 
 the smoke on one side ; now he took it out of 
 his mouth altogether, and ceased smoking. 
 
 * Good Lord ! ' he groaned inwardly — and 
 the sweat trickled over his shoulders more 
 plentifully than before. 'What have I done! 
 I have betrayed everything and every one ! . . . 
 I 've been fooled, bought with a good cigar ! 
 . . . I 'm an informer . . . and what can be 
 done to undo the harm now ? Lord ! ' 
 
 202 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 There was nothing to be done. Sipyagin 
 began to doze with the same dignified, solemn 
 ministerial air, wrapped up in his camel's-hair 
 cloak. . . . And before another quarter of an 
 hour had passed, both the carriages stopped 
 in front of the governor's house. 
 
 203 
 
XXXV 
 
 The governor of the town of S was one 
 
 of those good-natured, careless, worldly generals, 
 those generals endowed with an exquisitely 
 well-washed white body, and an almost equally 
 pure soul, those well-born, well-bred generals, 
 kneaded, so to speak, of the most finely sifted 
 flour, who, though they never lay themselves 
 out to be ' shepherds of the people,' do never- 
 theless give proof of very tolerable admini- 
 strative abilities; and doing very little work, 
 for ever sighing for Petersburg and dangling 
 after pretty provincial ladies, are of the most 
 unmistakable service to their province and 
 leave pleasant memories behind them. He had 
 only just got out of bed, and, sitting in a silk 
 dressing-gown and a loose night-shirt before 
 his looking-glass, he was dabbing his face and 
 neck with eau-de-cologne, after taking off a 
 perfect collection of little amulets and relics as 
 a preliminary, — when he was informed of the 
 arrival of Sipyagin and Kallomyetsev on im- 
 204 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 portant and urgent business. With Sipyagin 
 he was very intimate, called him by his Chris- 
 tian name, had known him from his youth up, 
 was continually meeting him in Petersburg 
 drawing-rooms, and of late he had begun, every 
 time his name occurred to him, to ejaculate 
 mentally a respectful ' Ah ! ' as on hearing the 
 name of a future statesman. Kallomyetsev he 
 knew rather less and respected much less, see- 
 ing that for some time past ' unpleasant ' com- 
 plaints had begun to be made against him ; he 
 regarded him, however, as a man — qui /era 
 chemin — one way or another. 
 
 He gave orders that the visitors should be 
 asked into his study, and promptly came into it 
 in the same silk dressing-gown, and without 
 even an apology for receiving them in such an 
 unofficial attire; and he shook hands cordially 
 with them. Only Sipyagin and Kallomyetsev 
 had, however, been conducted to the governor's 
 study ; Paklin had been left in the drawing- 
 room. As he crawled out of the coach, he had 
 tried to sneak off, muttering that he had busi- 
 ness at home ; but Sipyagin with courteous 
 firmness had detained him (Kallomyetsev had 
 skipped up and whispered in Sipyagin's ear : 
 *Ne le laches pas ! Tonnerre de tonnerre I ') and 
 taken him in along with him. To the study, 
 however, he had not led him, but had requested 
 205 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 him, still with the same courteous firmness, to 
 wait in the drawing-room till he should be sent 
 for. Paklin even here hoped to slink off . . . 
 but, at a hint from Kallomyetsev, a stalwart 
 gendarme showed himself at the door. . . . 
 Paklin remained. 
 
 * You guess, no doubt, what has brought me 
 to you, Voldemar}' began Sipyagin. 
 
 ' No, dear boy, I can't guess,' answered the 
 amiable epicurean, while a smile of welcome 
 curved his rosy cheeks and showed a glimpse 
 of his shining teeth, half hidden by silky mous- 
 taches. . . . 
 
 ' What ? . . . Don't you know about Markelov ?* 
 
 ' What do you mean ? — Markelov ? ' the gov- 
 ernor repeated with the same expression. He 
 had, to begin with, no clear recollection that 
 the man arrested the day before was called 
 Markelov ; and he had besides utterly for- 
 gotten that Sipyagin's wife had a brother of 
 that surname. 'But why are you standing, 
 Boris ? sit down ; won't you have some tea ? * 
 
 But Sipyagin was in no mood for tea. 
 
 When he explained at last what was the 
 matter and for what reason he and Kallomyetsev 
 had made their appearance, the governor uttered 
 a pained exclamation, and slapped himself on 
 the forehead, while his face assumed an expres- 
 sion of grief. 
 
 206 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 * Yes . . . yes . . . yes ! ' he repeated ; * what 
 a misfortune ! And he 's here now — to-day — 
 for a while ; you know we never keep that sort 
 with us longer than one night ; but the com- 
 mander of police is out of the town, so your 
 brother-in-law 's been detained. . . . But to- 
 morrow they will forward him. Dear me ! how 
 very unfortunate ! How distressed _ your wife 
 must be ! What is it you wish ? ' 
 
 ' I should have liked to have an interview 
 with him, here — if it 's not contrary to law.' 
 
 * My dear fellow ! laws are not made for men 
 like you. I do feel for you ! . . . С est affreux, 
 tu sais ! ' 
 
 He gave a peculiar ring. An adjutant ap- 
 peared. 
 
 * My dear baron, if you please — some arrange- 
 ments here.' He told him what he wanted. 
 The baron vanished. * Only fancy, топ cher 
 ami^ you know they all but murdered him. 
 They tied his hands behind him, clapped him 
 in a cart, and off they went with him ! And 
 he — fancy ! isn't in the least angry with them — 
 not a bit indignant — dear, dear! He's so 
 composed altogether. ... I was astonished ! 
 but there, you will see for yourself Cest un 
 fanatique tranquille! 
 
 ' Ce sont les pires^ Kallomyetsev pronounced 
 sententiously. 
 
 207 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 The governor gave him a dubious look. 
 
 * By the way, I must have a word with you, 
 Semyon Petrovitch/ 
 
 * Why, what is it ? ' 
 *0h, something's amiss.* 
 'And what?' 
 
 * Well, I must tell you ; your debtor, that 
 peasant who came to me with a complaint ' 
 
 ' Well ? ' 
 
 * He 's hanged himself, you know/ 
 *When?' 
 
 * It's of no consequence when : but it's a bad 
 business.' 
 
 Kallomyetsev shrugged his shoulders, and 
 with a dandified swing of his elegant person 
 moved away to the window. At that instant 
 the adjutant brought in Markelov. 
 
 The governor had spoken truly about him ; 
 he was unnaturally calm. Even his habitual 
 moroseness had vanished from his face and 
 was replaced by an expression of a sort of 
 indifferent weariness. It did not change when 
 he saw his brother-in-law, and only in the 
 glance he flung at the German adjutant escort- 
 ing him there was a momentary flash of his old 
 hatred for that class of persons. His coat had 
 been torn in two places and hurriedly sown up 
 with coarse thread ; on his forehead, over one 
 eyebrow, and on the bridge of his nose could 
 208 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 be seen small scars covered with clotted blood. 
 He had not washed, but had combed his hair. 
 Stuffing both hands up to the wrists into his 
 sleeves, he stood not far from the door. His 
 breathing was quite even. 
 
 * Sergei Mihalovitch ! ' Sipyagin began in an 
 agitated voice, going two steps towards him, 
 and stretching out his right hand so that it 
 might touch him or stop him if he were to 
 make a forward movement. * Sergei Mihalo- 
 vitch ! I am not here to express to you our 
 amazement, our deep distress — that you cannot 
 doubt ! You have yourself willed your own 
 ruin ! And you have ruined yourself! But I 
 desired to see you so as to say to you . . . er 
 ... er ... to render ... to give you the 
 chance of hearing the voice of common sense, 
 honour, and friendship ! You may still mitigate 
 your lot ; and, believe me, I will, for my part, 
 do all that lies in my power, and the honoured 
 head of this province will support me in this.' 
 Here Sipyagin raised his voice : * Unfeigned 
 penitence for your errors, and a full confession 
 without reserve, which shall be duly represented 
 in the proper quarters . . .' 
 
 'Your Excellency,' Markelov began all at 
 once, addressing the governor, and the very 
 sound of his voice was quiet, though a little 
 hoarse, * I imagined it was your pleasure to 
 
 VOL. II. 209 о 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 see me to make a further examination of me or 
 something. . . . But if you have summoned me 
 only at the desire of Mr. Sipyagin, give orders, 
 please, for me to be taken back ; we can't 
 understand one another. All he says ... is 
 so much Greek to me.' 
 
 ' Greek . . . indeed ! * Kallomyetsev inter- 
 vened in a haughty treble ; * but it 's not Greek 
 to you to set peasants rioting ! That 's not 
 Greek, is it ? Eh ? ' 
 
 * What have you here, your Excellency ? some 
 sub in the secret police, eh ? So zealous in his 
 work?' queried Markelov, and a faint smile of 
 pleasure quivered on his pale lips. 
 
 Kallomyetsev, with a hiss of anger, was 
 stamping. . . But the governor stopped him. 
 
 'It's your own fault, Semyon Petrovitch. 
 Why do you interfere in what's not your 
 business ? ' 
 
 ' Not my business ! . . . I should say it 's the 
 public business ... of all us noblemen ! . . .' 
 
 Markelov scanned Kallomyetsev with a cold, 
 prolonged gaze, as though it were for the last 
 time, and turned a little towards Sipyagin. 
 *And since you, brother-in-law, want me to 
 explain my views to you, here you are. I 
 recognise that the peasants had the right to 
 arrest me and give me up if they didn't like 
 what I said to them. They were free to do 
 
 2IO 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 that. / had come to them ; not they to me. 
 And the government, if it sends me to Siberia 
 ... I 'm not going to grumble — though I don't 
 regard myself as guilty. It's doing its own 
 work, for it's guarding itself. Is that enough 
 for you ? ' 
 
 Sipyagin flung up his hands. 
 
 * Enough ! What a thing to say ! That *s 
 not the question, and it 's not for us to criticise 
 the action of the government ; what I want to 
 know is, do you feel ... do you, dear Sergei, 
 feel' — (Sipyagin resolved to try an appeal to 
 the feelings) — 4he senselessness, the mad- 
 ness of your attempt? are you prepared to 
 prove your repentance in act ? and can I 
 answer, to a certain extent answer, for you, 
 Sergei ? ' 
 
 Markelov knitted his bushy brows. 
 
 * I have said my say . , . and I don't want 
 to repeat it.' 
 
 * But repentance ! What of your repent- 
 ance?' 
 
 Suddenly Markelov grew restive. 
 
 * Ah, let me alone with your "repentance"! 
 Do you want to crawl inside my soul ? Leave 
 that at least to me.' 
 
 Sipyagin shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 * There, you are always like that ; you will 
 never listen to the voice of reason ! You have 
 
 211 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 still a possibility of extricating yourself without 
 scandal or dishonour.' 
 
 ' Without scandal or dishonour . . .' Markelov 
 repeated grimly. * We know those phrases ! 
 They are always used to suggest a man's doing 
 something scoundrelly. That's what they 
 mean ! ' 
 
 *We sympathise with you/ Sipyagin con- 
 tinued to exhort Markelov, ' and you hate us.' 
 
 ' A nice sort of sympathy ! You pack us off 
 to Siberia to hard labour ; that 's how you show 
 your sympathy for us ! Ah, let me alone . . . 
 let me alone, for mercy's sake ! ' 
 
 And Markelov's head sank on his breast. 
 There was great confusion in his soul, quiet as 
 he was outwardly. More than all he was 
 fretted and tortured by the thought that he 
 had been betrayed by none other than Eremey 
 of Goloplyok ! Eremey in whom he had believed 
 so blindly ! That Mendely, the Sulker, had 
 not followed him had not really surprised him. 
 . . . Mendely had been drunk and was fright- 
 ened. But Eremey ! To Markelov, Eremey 
 was a sort of personification of the Russian 
 peasantry. . . . And he had deceived him. 
 Then, was all Markelov had been toiling for, 
 was it all wrong, a mistake ? And was Kislyakov 
 a liar, and were Vassily Nikolaevitch's orders 
 folly, and were all the articles and books, works 
 
 212 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 of socialists and thinkers, every letter of which 
 had seemed to him something beyond doubt, 
 beyond attack — was all that too rubbish ? 
 Could it be? And that splendid simile of 
 the swollen abscess, ready for the stroke of the 
 lancet, was that too a mere phrase ? * No ! no ! ' 
 he murmured to himself, and over his bronzed 
 cheeks flitted a faint tinge of brickdust colour ; 
 ' no ; it 's all true ; all ... it is / am to blame, 
 I didn't understand, I didn't say the right thing, 
 I didn't go the right way to work ! I ought 
 simply to have given orders, and if any one had 
 tried to hinder or resist, put a bullet through his 
 head ! what 's the use of explanations here ? 
 Any one not with us has no right to live , . . 
 spies are killed like dogs, worse than dogs ! * 
 
 And all the details of his capture passed 
 before Markelov's mind. . . . First the silence, 
 the leers, the shouts at the back of the crowd. 
 Then one fellow comes up sideways as if to 
 salute him. Then that sudden rush ! And 
 how they had flung him down! . , . 'Lads . . . 
 lads ! . . . what are you about ? * And they, 
 * Give us a belt here ! Tie him ! ' . . . The 
 shaking of his bones . . . and helpless wrath 
 . . . and the stinking dust in his mouth, in his 
 nostrils. ... * Toss him . . . toss him into the 
 cart' Some one guffawing thickly . . . ugh ! 
 
 * I didn't go the right way — the right way to 
 213 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 work!' That was just what fretted and tor- 
 mented him ; that he himself had fallen under 
 the wheel was his personal misfortune : it had 
 no bearing on the cause in general ; that he 
 could bear . . . but Eremey ! Eremey ! 
 
 While Markelov stood, his head sunk on his 
 breast, Sipyagin drew the governor aside and 
 began talking to him in undertones, with slight 
 gesticulations and a shake of two fingers on his 
 forehead, as though he would suggest that the 
 poor fellow was not quite right in that region, 
 and would try altogether to arouse, if not sym- 
 pathy, at least indulgence for the crazy creature. 
 And the governor shrugged his shoulders, turned 
 up and then half-closed his eyes, regretted his 
 own helplessness in the matter, but gave some 
 vague promises. . . . ' Tous les egards . . . 
 certaineme7it, tous les egards' . . . the delicately 
 lisped words were heard softly uttered through 
 
 his scented moustaches * But you know, dear 
 
 boy, the law ! ' 'Of course — the law ! ' Sipyagin 
 assented with a sort of stoical submissiveness. 
 
 While they were conversing in this way in 
 the corner, Kallomyetsev simply could not 
 stand still ; he moved up and down, cleared 
 his throat, hummed and hawed, exhibiting 
 every sign of impatience. At last he went up 
 to Sipyagin, and hurriedly remarked : * Vous 
 oubliez £ autre I ' 
 
 214 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 ' Ah, yes ! ' said Sipyagin aloud. * Merci de 
 me Г avoir rappele. I must lay the following 
 fact before your Excellency/ he said, turning 
 to the governor. . . . (He used this formal 
 address to his dear Voldemar intentionally, not 
 to compromise the prestige of authority before 
 a revolutionist.) ' I have good grounds for 
 supposing that my beau-frere's mad attempt has 
 certain ramifications ; and that one of those 
 branches, that is, one of the suspected persons, 
 is at no great distance from this town. Send,' 
 he added, in an undertone, 'for the man . . . 
 there, in your drawing-room. ... I brought 
 him with me.' 
 
 The governor glanced at Sipyagin, thought 
 with reverence, ' What a fellow ! ' and gave the 
 necessary order. A minute later, the * servant 
 of God,' Sila Paklin, stood before him. 
 
 Sila Paklin was beginning to make a low bow 
 to the governor; but catching sight of Markelov 
 he did not complete his salutation — he remained 
 as he was, bent in half, twisting his cap about in 
 his hands. Markelov cast a heedless glance in 
 his direction, but can hardly have recognised 
 him ; for he sank again into thought. 
 
 * Is this — the branch ? ' queried the governor, 
 pointing at Paklin with a large white finger 
 adorned with a turquoise. 
 
 ' Oh, no ! ' responded Sipyagin with a half- 
 215 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 smile. * However/ he added, after a moment's 
 thought, ^ here, your Excellency/ he began 
 again aloud, 'before you is one Mr. Paklin. 
 He is, to the best of my belief, a resident in 
 Petersburg, and an intimate friend of a certain 
 person who filled the position of tutor in my 
 family, and left my house, taking with him — I 
 blush to add — a young girl, a relative of my 
 own.' 
 
 * Ak / out, out,' muttered the governor, and 
 he flung up his head ; * I had heard something 
 . . . the Countess was telling me . . / 
 
 Sipyagin raised his voice. 
 
 * That person is a certain Mr. Nezhdanov, 
 strongly suspected by me of perverted ideas 
 and theories . . .' 
 
 * Un rouge a tons crinsl put in Kallomyetsev. 
 
 * Of perverted ideas and theories/ repeated 
 Sipyagin still more distinctly, * and is certainly 
 not without a share in all this propaganda ; he 
 is ... in hiding, as I have been informed by 
 Mr. Paklin, in the factory of the merchant 
 Faleyev . . .' 
 
 At the words ' I have been informed,' Marke- 
 lov glanced a second time at Paklin, but only 
 smiled, slowly and indifferently. 
 
 * Excuse me, excuse me, your Excellency/ 
 cried Paklin, * and you, Mr. Sipyagin ; I never 
 . . . never. . . .' 
 
 216 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 'You say the merchant Faleyev?' said the 
 governor, addressing Sipyagin, and merely twirl- 
 ing his fingers in Paklin's direction, as much as 
 to say, * Silence there, my good man.' * What 's 
 coming to them, our respectable bearded shop- 
 keepers? Yesterday they caught another one 
 about the same business. You may have heard 
 his name — Golushkin, a rich man. But there, 
 he '11 never make a revolution. He 's grovelling 
 on his knees now.' 
 
 * The merchant Faleyev does not come into 
 the affair,' Sipyagin struck off ; ' I know nothing 
 of his views ; I am speaking only of his factory, 
 in which, according to Mr. Paklin's story, Mr. 
 Nezhdanov may be found at this moment' 
 
 * I didn't say so ! ' Paklin wailed again. * It 
 was you said so ! ' 
 
 * Excuse me, Mr. Paklin,' Sipyagin went on, 
 uttering every word with the same relentless 
 distinctness. * I respect the sentiment of friend- 
 ship which inspires your denial.' (' Why — he 's 
 a regular Guizot!' the governor was thinking 
 to himself) * But I will venture to put myself 
 before you as an example. Do you suppose 
 the sentiment of kinship is less strong in me 
 than your feeling of friendship ? But there is 
 another feeling, sir, which is stronger still, and 
 which ought to be our guide in all our deeds 
 and actions — the feeling of duty 1 
 
 217 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 ^ Le sentiment du devoir'^ Kallomyetsev ex- 
 plained. 
 
 Markelov scanned both the speakers. 
 
 * Mr. Governor/ he observed, * I repeat my 
 request : order me, if you please, to be removed 
 from these chatterers/ 
 
 But here the governor lost patience a little. 
 
 ' Mr. Markelov ! ' he exclaimed, ' I should 
 advise you, in your position, to show more 
 restraint in your language, and more respect 
 for your superiors . . . especially when they 
 are expressing patriotic sentiments such as you 
 have just heard from the lips of your beau-frere. 
 I shall be very happy, my dear Boris/ added 
 the governor, turning to Sipyagin, 4o bring 
 your noble action before the notice of the 
 minister. But where precisely is this Mr. 
 Nezhdanov to be found — in this factory? ' 
 
 Sipyagin knit his brows. 
 
 * He is with a certain Mr. Solomin, the over- 
 seer of the machinery there — so this Mr. Paklin 
 has informed me.' 
 
 It seemed to afford Sipyagin a peculiar satis- 
 faction to torment poor Sila; he was making 
 him pay now for the cigar he had given him in 
 the carriage, and the familiarity of his behaviour, 
 and even some little flattery wasted on him. 
 
 *And this Solomin/ put in Kallomyetsev, 4s 
 an unmistakable radical and republican, and it 
 218 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 «vrould be quite as well for your Excellency to 
 turn your attention to him too.' 
 
 * Do you know these people . . . Solomin 
 . , . and what's his name — Nezhdanov?* 
 the governor questioned Markelov in a rather 
 authoritative nasal. 
 
 Markelov's nostrils dilated vindictively. 
 *And do you, your Excellency, know Con- 
 fucius and Livy ? ' 
 
 The governor turned away. 
 
 * // ny a pas moyen de causer avec cet homme^ 
 he observed, shrugging his shoulders. ' Baron, 
 here, please ! ' 
 
 The adjutant darted up to him ; and Paklin, 
 seizing the opportunity, limped hobbling up to 
 Sipyagin. 
 
 * What are you doing ? ' he whispered ; ' do 
 you want to ruin your own niece? Why, she's 
 with him, with Nezhdanov ! . . .' 
 
 * I am ruining no one, sir,' Sipyagin responded 
 aloud ; ' I am obeying the dictates of my con- 
 science, and ' 
 
 * And your wife, my sister, who keeps you 
 under her thumb?' Markelov put in quite as 
 loudly. 
 
 Sipyagin, at the phrase, did not turn a hair. 
 ... It was too much beneath him ! 
 
 'Listen,' Paklin continued, whispering — his 
 whole body was shaking with excitement and 
 
 219 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 possibly with fear — and his eyes glittered with 
 hate and the tears made a lump in his throat ; 
 tears of pity for the others^ and anger with him- 
 self ; 'listen, I told you she was married — that's 
 not true — I told you a lie ! — but this marriage 
 must take place now — and if you prevent this, 
 if the police make a raid on them, there will be 
 a stain on your conscience which nothing can 
 wipe off, and you ' 
 
 * The fact you have communicated,' Sipyagin 
 interrupted still louder, ' if only it is true, which 
 I have good reason to doubt, can only hasten 
 the measure I should think it necessary to take; 
 and as to the purity of my conscience, sir, I will 
 ask you not to concern yourself about it/ 
 
 * It 's polished, brother/ Markelov put in 
 again ; * there 's a coat of Petersburg varnish 
 laid on it ; nothing will touch it ! Ah, Mr. 
 Paklin, you may whisper as you will, you '11 
 never whisper your way out of this business, 
 no fear ! ' 
 
 The governor thought it needful to cut short 
 these recriminations. 
 
 *I presume,' he began, 'that you have said all 
 you need to, gentlemen ; and so, my dear baron, 
 you may remove Mr. Markelov. N'est-ce paSy 
 Boris, you have no further need . . . ? ' 
 Sipyagin made a deprecating gesture. 
 I have said all I could ! ' 
 220 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 * Very well. . . . My dear baron . . / 
 
 The adjutant approached Markelov, clinked 
 his spurs, made a horizontal motion with his 
 arm. . . . 4f you please !' Markelov turned 
 and went out. Paklin — only in imagination, it 
 must be owned, but with bitter sympathy and 
 pity — shook his hand. 
 
 * And we '11 send our fellows to the factory,' 
 pursued the governor. ' Only there 's one thing, 
 Boris; I fancy — this gentleman' — (he indicated 
 Paklin with a turn of his chin) — * gave you some 
 information about your young relation. . 
 Possibly she is there, in the factory. ... If 
 so . . .' 
 
 * She could not be arrested in any case,' 
 observed Sipyagin profoundly ; * possibly she 
 will come to her senses and return. If you will 
 permit it, I will write her a little note.' 
 
 ' I shall be obliged if you will. And, of 
 course, you may rest assured. . . . Nous coffrerons 
 le quidam . . . mais nous sommes galants avec 
 les datnes , , , et avec celle-la done ! ' 
 
 * But you are taking no measures with regard 
 to that Solomin ! ' Kallomyetsev exclaimed, 
 plaintively. He had been all the while on the 
 alert trying to catch the governor's remarks a 
 little aside to Sipyagin. * I assure you, he 's 
 the ringleader ! I 've an instinct in these things 
 ... a perfect instinct ! ' 
 
 221 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 ^Pas trap de zele^ dear Semyon Petrovitch/ 
 observed the governor with a smirk. * Re- 
 member Talleyrand ! If there 's anything amiss, 
 he won't escape us either. You 'd much better 
 devote your thoughts to your . . .* The 
 governor made a gesture suggesting a noose 
 round the neck. ... * And by the way/ he 
 turned again toSipyagin — ^ et ce gaillard-ld* (he 
 again indicated Paklin by a turn of his chin), 
 * qu'en ferons-nous f He doesn't look formid- 
 able.' 
 
 * Let him go,' said Sipyagin softly, and he 
 added in German : * Lass den Lumpen laufen ! ' 
 
 He imagined, for some unknown reason, that 
 he was making a quotation from Goethe, from 
 Gdtz von Berlichingen, 
 
 *You can go, sir!' observed the governor 
 aloud. * We have no further need of you ! 
 Good-bye, till we meet again.' 
 
 Paklin made a general bow and went out 
 into the street, utterly crushed and humiliated. 
 Good God ! this contempt annihilated him ! 
 
 * What am I ? ' he thought in unutterable 
 despair ; ' both coward and informer ? Oh, no 
 . . . no ; I *m an honest man, gentlemen, and 
 I *m not quite devoid of all manliness ! ' 
 
 But what was this familiar figure standing 
 on the steps of the governor's house, gazing at 
 him with dejected eyes, full of reproach ? Why, 
 
 222 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 it was Markelov's old servant. He had, seem- 
 ingly, come to the town after his master, and 
 would not move away from his prison. . . . 
 But why did he look like that at Paklin ? It 
 was not he who had betrayed Markelov ! 
 
 'And what induced me to go poking my 
 nose where I was no manner of use?' he 
 thought again in desperation. ' Why couldn't 
 I have kept quiet and minded my own business ? 
 And now they '11 talk, and most likely write : 
 " A certain Mr. Paklin has told of everything, 
 he has betrayed them ... his friends, betrayed 
 them to the enemy ! " * He recalled at this 
 point the glance Markelov had flung at him, 
 he recalled his last words : ' You '11 never 
 whisper your way out, no fear ! ' — and then those 
 aged, dejected, despairing eyes ! And as it is 
 written in the scriptures, * he wept bitterly,' and 
 made his way to the oasis, to Fomushka and 
 Fimushka, to Snanduliya. ... 
 
 223 
 
XXXVI 
 
 When Marianna, the same morning, came out 
 of her room, she saw Nezhdanov dressed and 
 sitting on the sofa. In one hand he held his 
 head, the other lay weak and motionless on 
 his knees. She went up to him. 
 
 * Good morning, Alexey. . . . You Ve not 
 undressed ? you Ve not slept ? How pale you 
 are!' 
 
 His heavy eyelids rose slowly. 
 
 * No, I didn't undress, I 've not been asleep.* 
 
 * Are you ill, or is it the result of yesterday ? ' 
 Nezhdanov shook his head. 
 
 *I couldn't sleep after Solomin went into 
 your room.' 
 'When.?' 
 'Yesterday evening.' 
 
 * Alexey, are you jealous? Well, that's 
 something new ! And what a time you 've 
 chosen to be jealous ! He only stayed with me 
 a quarter of an hour. . . . And we were talking 
 about his cousin, the priest, and how to arrange 
 our marriage.' 
 
 224 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 * I know he only stayed a quarter of an hour ; 
 I saw when he came out. And I 'm not jealous, 
 oh, no I But still, I couldn't get to sleep, after 
 that/ 
 
 'Why?' 
 
 Nezhdanov did not speak. 
 
 ' I kept thinking . . . thinking . . . thinking ! ' 
 
 *What about?' 
 
 *You . . . and him . . . and myself/ 
 
 *And what conclusion did you come to?' 
 
 * Must I tell you, Marianna ? ' 
 
 * Yes, tell me/ 
 
 * I thought that I 'm in your way , . , and 
 his . . . and my own/ 
 
 'Mine? his? I can fancy what you mean 
 by that, though you do declare you 're not 
 jealous. But your own ? ' 
 
 'Marianna, there are two men in me, and 
 one won't let the other live. So that I suppose 
 in fact it would be better for both to cease to 
 live.' 
 
 * Come, hush, Alexey, please ! What makes 
 you want to torture yourself and me? We 
 ought to be considering now what steps we 
 must take. . . . They won't leave us in peace, 
 you know/ 
 
 Nezhdanov took her hand affectionately. 
 
 * Sit beside me, Marianna, and let us talk a 
 little, like friends. While there is still time. 
 
 VOL. II. 22 s P 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 Give me your hand. I think it would be as 
 well for us to explain ourselves, though, they 
 do say, explanations of all sorts only lead to 
 greater confusion. But you are kind and wise ; 
 you will understand it all, and what I don't say 
 out, you will think for yourself. Sit down.' 
 
 Nezhdanov's voice was very soft, and a 
 peculiar affectionate tenderness was apparent 
 in his eyes, which were fixed intently on 
 Marianna. 
 
 She sat down readily at once beside him and 
 took his hand. 
 
 * Thank you, dear one. Now listen. I won't 
 keep you long. I Ve gone over all I want to 
 say, in my head, during the night. Well, don't 
 think that what happened yesterday has upset 
 me unduly ; I was certainly very ridiculous and 
 even a little disgusting ; but you thought no- 
 thing base or low of me, I know . . . you 
 know me. I said that what happened hasn't 
 upset me ; that 's not true, it 's nonsense . . . 
 it has upset me, not because I was brought 
 home drunk, but because it has been the final 
 proof to me of my failure ! And not only 
 because I can't drink as Russians drink, but 
 in everything ! everything ! Marianna, I 'm 
 bound to tell you that I have no faith now in 
 the cause which brought us together ; for which 
 we left that house together ; to tell the truth, 
 226 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 I had grown lukewarm when your enthusiasm 
 warmed me and set me on fire again. I don't 
 believe in it ! I don't believe in it ! ' 
 
 He laid the hand that was free over his eyes 
 and was silent for an instant. Marianna too 
 uttered not a word and looked down. , . . She 
 felt that he had told her nothing new. 
 
 * I used to think/ Nezhdanov went on, taking 
 his hand away from his eyes, but not looking 
 again at Marianna, ' that I did believe in the 
 cause itself, and only doubted of myself, my 
 own power, my own fitness ; my abilities, I 
 thought, do not correspond with my convic- 
 tions. . . . But it seems these two things can't 
 be separated, and what's the object of deceiv- 
 ing oneself? No, I don't believe in the cause 
 itself. And you do believe in it, Marianna ? ' 
 
 Marianna sat up and raised her head. 
 
 * Yes, Alexey, I do believe in it. I believe 
 in it with all the strength of my soul, and I 
 will devote all my life to this cause ! To my 
 last breath ! ' 
 
 Nezhdanov turned towards her and scanned 
 her from head to foot in a touched and envious 
 glance. 
 
 * Yes, yes ; I expected that answer. So you 
 see that there is nothing for us to do in 
 common ; you have severed our tie yourself 
 at one blow.* 
 
 227 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 Marianna did not speak. 
 'Now Solomin/ began Nezhdanov again, 
 * though he does not believe . . ,' 
 «What?' 
 
 * No ! He does not believe . , , but he 
 does not need to ; he moves calmly forward. 
 A man going along a road to a town doesn't 
 ask himself whether the town has a real 
 existence. He goes on and on. That's like 
 Solomin. And nothing more 's needed. But 
 I . . . can't go forward ; I don't want to go 
 back ; standing still I 'm sick of. Whom could 
 I presume to ask to be my companion ? You 
 know the proverb, " One at each end of the 
 pole and the burden is borne easily " ; but if 
 one cannot hold up his end, what becomes of 
 the other?' 
 
 * Alexey,' Marianna ventured uncertainly, * I 
 think you are exaggerating. We love one 
 another, don't we ? ' 
 
 Nezhdanov gave a heavy sigh. 
 
 ' Marianna ... I revere you . . . and you 
 pity me, and each of us trusts implicitly in the 
 other's honesty ; that 's the real truth ! But 
 there 's no love between us.' 
 
 * Stop, Alexey, what are you saying ? Why, 
 this very day, directly, there will be a search 
 for us. . . . We must set off together, you 
 know, and not part. . . .' 
 
 228 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 * Yes ; and go to the priest Zosim to get him 
 to marry us, as Solomin proposes. I know 
 very well that in your eyes this marriage is 
 nothing but a passport ; a means of avoiding 
 annoyance from the police . . . but, neverthe- 
 less, it does in a way pledge us ... to life in 
 common, side by side ... or if it does not 
 pledge us, at least it presupposes a desire to 
 live together.' 
 
 'What do you mean, Alexey? Are you 
 going to stay here ? ' 
 
 *Yes,' all but broke from Nezhdanov's lips, 
 but he recollected himself and said : 
 
 *N . . . n . . . no.' 
 
 *Then you are going away from here, but 
 not where I go ? ' 
 
 Nezhdanov warmly pressed the hand which 
 still lay in his. 
 
 * To leave you without a protector, without a 
 champion, would be a crime, and I won't do 
 that, mean as I may be. You shall have a 
 champion. . . . Do not doubt it ! ' 
 
 Marianna bent down towards Nezhdanov, 
 and, putting her face close to his, tried anxiously 
 to look into his eyes, into his soul — into his 
 very soul. 
 
 'What is the matter with you, Alexey? 
 What is in your heart? Tell me ! . . . You 
 frighten me. Your words are so enigmatical, 
 229 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 SO strange. . . . And your face ! I have never 
 seen you with such a face ! ' 
 
 Nezhdanov gently turned her away, and 
 gently kissed her hand. This time she did 
 not resist, and did not laugh, and still looked 
 at him with anxiety and alarm. 
 
 * Don't alarm yourself, please ! There 's no- 
 thing strange in it. The whole trouble is this : 
 Markelov, they say, was beaten by the peasants; 
 he felt their fists, they bruised his ribs. . . . I Ve 
 not been beaten by the peasants — they even 
 drank with me, drank my health . . . but they 
 have bruised my soul worse than Markelov's 
 ribs. I was born all out of joint. ... I tried 
 to set myself right, but only put myself more 
 out of joint than ever. That's just what you 
 see in my face.* 
 
 * Alexey,' said Marianna slowly, 4t would be 
 very wrong of you not to be open with me.' 
 He clasped her hands. 
 
 * Marianna, my whole being is before you, 
 as it were in your hand ; and whatever I do, I 
 tell you beforehand, you will be surprised at 
 nothing, nothing in reality ! ' 
 
 Marianna wanted to ask for an explanation 
 of those words, but she did not ask for it . . . 
 besides, at that instant Solomin came into the 
 room. 
 
 His movements were sharper and more rapid 
 230 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 than usual. His eyes were screwed up, his 
 wide lips were drawn tight, his whole face looked 
 as it were sharper, and wore a dry, hard, almost 
 surly expression. 
 
 ' My friends,' he began, * I 've come to tell 
 you that delay 's out of the question. Get 
 ready. . . . It's time for you to go. You must 
 be ready within an hour. You must go to 
 your wedding. There 's no news whatever from 
 Paklin ; his horses were first kept at Arzhano 
 and then sent back. . . . He remained there. 
 Probably they took him to the town. He 
 wouldn't tell tales, of course, but there 's no 
 knowing, he might let something out, perhaps. 
 Besides, they might find out from the horses. 
 My cousin has been told to expect you. Pavel 
 will go with you. He will be the witness.' 
 
 'And you, Solomin . . . Vassily?' asked 
 Nezhdanov. * Aren't you coming ? I see 
 you 're dressed for a journey,' he added, glanc- 
 ing at the high boots Solomin was wearing. 
 
 * Oh, I put them on ... it 's muddy out of 
 doors.' 
 
 * But aren't you going to answer for us, 
 Vassily?' 
 
 * I don't suppose . . . any way, that 's my 
 affair. So in an hour 's time. Marianna, Tat- 
 yana wants to see you. She has been prepar- 
 ing something out there.' 
 
 231 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 Oh, yes ! And I was meaning to go to her. , . . 
 Marianna was moving to the door. . . . 
 Something strange, something akin to terror, 
 misery, came out on Nezhdanov's face. . . . 
 
 * Marianna, are you going away, dear ? ' he 
 said suddenly in a failing voice. 
 
 She stopped. 
 
 * I '11 be back In half an hour. It won't take 
 me long to pack.' 
 
 * Yes ; but come to me. . . .* 
 
 * Certainly, what for ?' 
 
 * I wanted to have one more look at you.' 
 He took a long, slow look at her. ' Good-bye, 
 good-bye, Marianna ! ' 
 
 She was bewildered. *Why . . . what on 
 earth am I talking about ? I 'm talking rubbish. 
 Why, you '11 be back in half an hour, won't 
 you ? Eh ? ' 
 
 * Of course.' 
 
 * To be sure. . . , Forgive me. My head 's 
 reeling from want of sleep. I too will . . . 
 pack up directly.' 
 
 Marianna went out of the room. Solomin 
 was about to follow her. 
 Nezhdanov stopped him. 
 'Vassily!' 
 'Well?' 
 
 * Give me your hand. I have to thank you, 
 dear friend, for your hospitality.' 
 
 232 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 Solomin laughed. 
 
 * What an idea ! ' However, he gave him his 
 hand. 
 
 ' And something more/ Nezhdanov went on : 
 * if anything happens to me, may I rely on you, 
 Vassily, not to leave Marianna ? * 
 
 * Your wife that is to be ? ' 
 
 * Yes, Marianna ! ' 
 
 * To begin with, I 'm sure nothing will happen 
 to you ; but you can set your mind at rest : 
 Marianna is as precious to me as she is to 
 you.' 
 
 'Oh! I know that ... I know that ! That's 
 right, then. Thanks. In an hour, then ? ' 
 'Yes.' 
 
 * I will be ready. Good-bye ! * 
 
 Solomin went out and overtook Marianna on 
 the stairs. He had it in his mind to say some- 
 thing to her about Nezhdanov, but he was silent. 
 And Marianna on her side was aware that Solo- 
 min had it in his mind to speak to her, and 
 about Nezhdanov too, and that he was silent. 
 And she was silent too. 
 
 233 
 
XXXVII 
 
 Directly Solomin went out, Nezhdanov 
 jumped up from the sofa, walked twice from 
 one corner to the other, then stood still for a 
 minute in a sort of petrified stupefaction in the 
 middle of the room ; suddenly he shook himself, 
 hurriedly flung off his * masquerading ' get-up, 
 kicked it into a corner, took out and put on his 
 own former attire. Then he went up to the 
 three-legged table, took out of the drawer two 
 sealed envelopes and another small article, 
 which he thrust into his pocket ; the envelopes 
 he left on the table. Then he crouched down 
 before the stove, and opened the little door. . . . 
 In the stove lay a whole heap of ashes. This 
 was all that was left of Nezhdanov's manu- 
 scripts, of his book of verse. . . . He had burned 
 it all during the night. But there in the stove, 
 on one side, sticking close against one wall, was 
 Marianna's portrait, given him by Markelov. 
 It seemed he had not had the heart to burn the 
 portrait too ! Nezhdanov took it carefully out 
 234 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 and laid it on the table beside the sealed envel- 
 opes. Then with a resolute gesture he clutched 
 his cap and was making for the door . . . but 
 he stopped short, turned back, and went into 
 Marianna's room. There he stood a minute, 
 looked round him, and, approaching her little 
 narrow bed, bent down, and with one stifled 
 sob pressed his lips, not to the pillow, but to the 
 foot of the bed. . . . Then he got up at once, 
 and, pulling his cap over his eyes, rushed out. 
 
 Meeting no one, either in the corridor, on 
 the stairs, or below, Nezhdanov slipped out into 
 the little enclosure. It was a grey day with a 
 low-hanging sky, and a damp breeze that stirred 
 the tops of the grasses and set the leaves on the 
 trees shaking ; the factory made less rattle and 
 roar than at the same time on other days ; from 
 its yard came a smell of coal, tar, and tallow. 
 Nezhdanov took a sharp, searching look round, 
 and went straight up to the old apple-tree which 
 had attracted his attention on the very day of 
 his arrival, when he had first looked out of the 
 window of his little room. The stem of this 
 apple-tree was overgrown with dry moss ; its 
 rugged, bare branches, with reddish-green leaves 
 hanging here and there upon them, rose crooked 
 into the air, like old bent arms raised in suppli- 
 cation. Nezhdanov stood with Arm tread on 
 the dark earth about its roots, and took out 
 235 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 of his pocket the small object that he had 
 found in the table drawer. Then he looked 
 attentively at the windows of the little lodge. 
 ... * If any one catches sight of me this 
 minute/ he thought, * then, perhaps, I will put it 
 off.' . . . But nowhere was there a sign of one 
 human face . . . everything seemed dead, every- 
 thing had turned away from him, gone for ever, 
 left him to the mercy of fate. Only the factory 
 thickly roared and hummed, and overhead fine 
 keen drops of chilly rain began falling. 
 
 Then Nezhdanov, glancing through the 
 crooked branches of the tree under which he 
 was standing, at the low, grey, callously blind, 
 damp sky, yawned, shrugged, thought, ' There 's 
 nothing else left — I 'm not going back to Peters- 
 burg, to prison,' flung away his cap, and feeling 
 already all over a sort of mawkish, heavy, over- 
 powering languor, he put the revolver to his 
 breast, pulled the trigger. . . . 
 
 Something seemed to strike him at once, not 
 very violently even . . . but he was lying on his 
 back, trying to understand what had happened 
 to him, and how he had just seen Tatyana. . . . 
 He even tried to call her, to say, * Ah, I don't 
 want . . .' but now he was numb all over, and 
 there was a whirl of muddy green turning 
 round and round over his face, in his eyes, on 
 his head, in the marrow of his bones — and a sort 
 236 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 of terrible flat weight seemed crushing him for 
 ever to the earth. 
 
 Nezhdanov had really caught a glimpse of 
 Tatyana at the very minute when he pulled the 
 trigger of the revolver. She had gone up to one 
 of the windows, and had caught sight of him 
 under the apple-tree. She had hardly time to 
 think, ' Whatever is he doing in this rain under 
 the apple-tree without a hat on ? ' when he rolled 
 over on his back like a sheaf of corn. She did 
 not hear the shot — the report was very faint — 
 but she at once saw something was wrong, and 
 rushed in hot haste down into the garden. . . . 
 She ran up to Nezhdanov. ... * Alexey Dmi- 
 tritch, what 's the matter ? ' But already dark- 
 ness had overtaken him. Tatyana bent over 
 him, saw blood. 
 
 * Pavel ! ' she cried in a voice not her own — 
 * Pavel!' 
 
 In a few instants, Marianna, Solomin, Pavel, 
 and two of the factory-hands were in the en- 
 closure. They lifted Nezhdanov up at once, 
 carried him into the lodge, and laid him on 
 the very sofa on which he had spent his last 
 night. 
 
 He lay on his back with half-closed, fixed 
 
 eyes, and face fast turning grey. He gave slow, 
 
 heavy gasps, sometimes with a sob, as though 
 
 he were choking. Life had not yet left him. 
 
 237 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 Marianna and Solomin were standing one on 
 each side of the sofa, both almost as pale as 
 Nezhdanov himself. Shaken, agitated, stunned, 
 they were both — especially Marianna — but not 
 astounded. ' How was it we did not foresee 
 this ? ' they were thinking, and at the same time 
 it seemed to them that they had . . . yes, they 
 had foreseen it. When he had said to Marianna, 
 ' Whatever I do, I tell you beforehand, nothing 
 will come as a surprise to you,' and again when 
 he had talked of the two men within him who 
 could not live together, had not something stirred 
 within her akin to a vague presentiment ? Why 
 had she not stopped at once and pondered on 
 those words, on that presentiment ? Why was 
 it she did not dare now to look at Solomin, as 
 though he were her accomplice ... as though he 
 too were feeling a sting of conscience ? Why was 
 it she was feeling, not only boundless, despairing 
 pity for Nezhdanov, but a sort of horror and 
 dread and shame ? Could it be, it had rested 
 with her to save him ? Why was it they had 
 neither dared utter a word? Scarcely dared 
 breathe — and waited ... for what? Merciful 
 God! 
 
 Solomin sent for a doctor, though of course 
 
 there was no hope. On the small wound, now 
 
 black and bloodless, Tatyana laid a large sponge 
 
 of cold water ; she moistened his hair too with 
 
 238 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 cold water and vinegar. All at once Nezhdanov 
 ceased gasping and strrred a little. 
 
 * He is coming to himself/ whispered Solo- 
 min. 
 
 Marianna was on her knees near the sofa. . . . 
 Nezhdanov glanced at her ... up till then his 
 eyes had had the fixed look of the dying. 
 
 * Oh, I 'm . . . still alive/ he articulated, 
 scarcely audibly. ' Failed again . . . I 'm keep- 
 ing you.' 
 
 * Alyosha ! ' moaned Marianna. 
 
 *Oh, yes . . . directly. . . . You remember, 
 Marianna, in my . . . poem ..." With flowers 
 then deck me . . ." where are the flowers ? But 
 you 're here instead. . . . There, in my letter. . . .* 
 
 He suddenly shivered all over. 
 
 *Ah, here she is. . . . Give each other . . . 
 both . . . your hands — before me. . . . Quick 
 . . . take . . .' 
 
 Solomin grasped Marianna's hand. Her 
 head lay on the sofa, face downwards, close 
 to the wound. 
 
 Solomin stood stern and upright, looking 
 dark as night. 
 
 'Yes . . . good . . . yes . . .* 
 
 Nezhdanov began to sob again, but in a 
 strange, unusual way. . . . His breast rose, his 
 sides heaved. ... 
 
 He obviously was trying to lay his hand on 
 
 23Q 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 their clasped hands, but his hands were dead 
 already. 
 
 *He is passing/ murmured Tatyana, who 
 stood in the doorway, and she began crossing 
 herself. 
 
 The sobbing gasps grew briefer, fewer. . , . 
 He still sought Marianna with his eyes . . . 
 but a sort of menacing, glassy whiteness was 
 overspreading them. . . . 
 
 * Good . . .' was his last word. 
 
 He was no more . . . and the linked hands 
 of Solomin and Marianna still lay on his 
 breast. 
 
 This was what he had written in the two 
 short letters he left. One was addressed to 
 Silin, and consisted of only a few lines : 
 
 'Good-bye, brother, friend, good-bye! By 
 the time you get this scrap of paper, I shall 
 be dead. Don't ask how and why, and don't 
 grieve ; believe that I 'm better off now. Take 
 our immortal Pushkin and read the description 
 of the death of Lensky in Yevgeny Onyegin, 
 Do you remember ? — " The windows are white- 
 washed ; the mistress has gone. . . ." That 's 
 all. It 's no good my talking to you . . . be- 
 cause I should have too much to say, and 
 there 's no time to say it. But I could not go 
 away without telling you ; or you would have 
 thought of me as living still, and I should be 
 240 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 wronging our friendship. Good-bye ; live. 
 Your friend.— A. N.' 
 
 The other letter was somewhat longer. It 
 was addressed to Solomin and Marianna. 
 This was what it contained : * My children ! ' 
 (Immediately after these words there was a 
 break ; something had been erased, or rather 
 smudged over as though tears had fallen on 
 it.) ' You will think it strange, perhaps, that I 
 address you in this way. I am almost a child 
 myself, and you, Solomin, are older of course 
 than I am. But I am dying, and standing at 
 the end of life I regard myself as an old man. 
 I am much to blame to both of you, especially 
 you, Marianna, for causing you such grief (I 
 know, Marianna, you will grieve) and having 
 given you so much anxiety. But what could 
 I do? I could find no other way out of it. 
 I could not simplify myself \ the only thing 
 left was to blot myself out altogether. Mari- 
 anna, I should have been a burden to myself 
 and to you. You are great-hearted, you would 
 have rejoiced in the burden, as another sacri- 
 fice . . . but I had no right to take such a 
 sacrifice from you ; you have better and greater 
 work to do. My children, let me unite you, 
 as it were, from the grave. . . . You will be 
 happy together. Marianna, you will infallibly 
 VOL II. 241 Q 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 come to love Solomin ; as for him ... he has 
 loved you ever since he first set eyes on you 
 at the Sipyagins'. That was no secret to me 
 though we did run away together a few days 
 after. Ah, that morning ! How glorious it 
 was, how sweet and young ! It comes to me 
 now as a token, as a symbol of your life 
 together — yours and his — and I was merely 
 by accident in his place that day. But it 's 
 time to make an end ; I don't want to work 
 on your feelings. ... I only want to justify 
 myself To-morrow you will have some very 
 sorrowful moments. . . . But there 's no help 
 for it ! There 's no other way, is there ? Good- 
 bye, Marianna, my good, true girl ! Good-bye, 
 Solomin ! I leave her in your care. Live 
 happily — live to the good of others ; and you, 
 Marianna, think of me only when you are 
 happy. Think of me as a man who was true 
 and good too, but one for whom it was some- 
 how more fitting to die than to live. Whether 
 I really loved you, I don't know, my dear; 
 but I know that I have never felt a feeling 
 stronger, and that it would have been more 
 terrible to me to die without that feeling to 
 carry with me to the grave. 
 
 * Marianna ! if you ever meet a girl called 
 Mashurina — Solomin knows her, I fancy — by the 
 way, you have seen her too — tell her I thought 
 242 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 of her with gratitude not long before my 
 death. . . . She will understand. 
 
 * But I must tear myself away. I looked out 
 of window just now ; among the rapidly moving 
 clouds there was one lovely star. However 
 rapidly they moved, they had not been able 
 to hide it. That star made me think of you, 
 Marianna. At this instant you are sleeping in 
 the next room, and suspecting nothing. . . . 
 I went to your door, listened, and I fancied I 
 caught your pure, calm breathing. . . . Good- 
 bye, good-bye, my dear ! good-bye, my children, 
 my friends ! — Your A. 
 
 *Fie! fie! How came I, in a last letter 
 before death, to say nothing of our great cause .^ 
 I suppose because one can't tell lies on the 
 point of death. . . . Marianna, forgive me this 
 postscript. . . . The falsehood 's in me, not in 
 what you have faith in ! 
 
 * Oh ! something more : you will think, per- 
 haps, Marianna, " He was afraid of the prison 
 where they would certainly have put him, and 
 he thought of this expedient to escape it." No ; 
 imprisonment 's nothing of any consequence ; 
 but to be in prison for a cause you don't 
 believe in — that 's really senseless. And I am 
 putting an end to myself, not from dread of 
 being in prison. Good-bye, Marianna ! Good- 
 bye, my pure, spotless girl ! * 
 
 243 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 Marianna and Solomin read this letter in 
 turn. After that she put her portrait and the 
 two letters in her pocket, and stood motion- 
 less. 
 
 Then Solomin said to her : 
 
 * Everything is ready, Marianna ; let us go. 
 We must carry out his wishes.' 
 
 Marianna approached Nezhdanov, touched 
 his chill brow with her lips, and turning to 
 Solomin said, * Let us go.' 
 
 He took her by the hand, and together they 
 went out of the room. 
 
 When a few hours later the police made a 
 descent on the factory, they found of course 
 Nezhdanov — but a corpse. Tatyana had laid 
 the body out decorously, put a white pillow 
 under his head, crossed his arms, and even 
 put a nosegay of flowers on the little table 
 beside him. Pavel, who was primed with all 
 needful instructions, received the police-officers 
 with the profoundest obsequiousness and a sort 
 of derision, so that the latter hardly knew 
 whether to thank him or to arrest him too. 
 He described circumstantially how the suicide 
 had taken place, and regaled them with Gruyere 
 cheese and Madeira ; but professed perfect 
 ignorance of the whereabouts at the moment 
 of Vassily Fedotitch and the lady who had 
 been staying there, and confined himself to 
 244 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 assuring them that Vassily Fedotitch was never 
 away long, on account of his work ; that he 'd 
 be back to-day, or else to-morrow, and he 
 would then, without losing a minute, give 
 notice of the fact. He was the man for that 
 — accurate ! 
 
 So the worthy police-officers went away 
 with nothing, leaving a guard in charge of the 
 body and promising to send the coroner. 
 
 245 
 
XXXVIII 
 
 Two days after all these events, there drove 
 into the courtyard of the 'accommodating' priest 
 Zosim a little cart in which sat a man and a 
 woman, already well known to the reader, and 
 the day after their arrival they were legally 
 married. Soon afterwards they disappeared, 
 and the worthy Zosim never regretted what 
 he had done. At the factory Solomin had 
 left a letter addressed to the owner and de- 
 livered to him by Pavel ; in it was given 
 a full and exact account of the state of the 
 business (it was doing splendidly), and a re- 
 quest was made for three months' leave of 
 absence. This letter had been written two 
 days before Nezhdanov's death, from which 
 it may be concluded that Solomin even then 
 thought it necessary to go away with him 
 and Marianna and keep out of sight for a 
 time. Nothing was revealed by the inquiry 
 held over the suicide. The body was buried ; 
 Sipyagin cut short all further search for his 
 niece. 
 
 246 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 Nine months later Markelov was tried. At 
 the trial he behaved himself just as he had 
 done before the governor, with composure, a 
 certain dignity, and some weariness. His 
 habitual sharpness was softened, but not by 
 cowardice ; there was another, nobler feeling 
 at work. He made no defence, expressed no 
 regret, blamed no one and mentioned no names; 
 his emaciated face with its lustreless eyes pre- 
 served one expression — submission to his fate, 
 and firmness ; his mild but direct and truthful 
 answers awakened in his very judges a senti- 
 ment akin to sympathy. Even the peasants who 
 had seized him and gave witness against him — 
 even they shared this feeling, and spoke of 
 him as a * simple,' good-hearted gentleman. 
 But his guilt was too apparent ; he could not 
 possibly escape punishment, and it seemed as 
 though he himself accepted this punishment 
 as his due. Of his fellow - conspirators, few 
 enough, Mashurina kept out of sight ; Ostro- 
 dumov was killed by a shopkeeper whom he 
 was inciting to revolt, and who gave him an 
 * awkward' blow; Golushkin, in consideration of 
 his * heartfelt penitence' (he almost went out 
 of his senses with alarm and agitation), re- 
 ceived a light sentence ; Kislyakov was kept a 
 month under arrest and then set free, and even 
 allowed to * gallop ' about the provinces un- 
 247 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 checked ; Nezhdanov was set free by death ; 
 Solomin, through lack of evidence, was left 
 undisturbed though under suspicion. (He did 
 not, however, avoid trial, and made his appear- 
 ance when wanted.) Of Marianna nothing ever 
 was said ; and Paklin completely evaded all 
 difficulties — indeed, no notice was taken of him 
 at all. 
 
 A year and a half had gone by, the winter 
 of 1870 had come. In Petersburg — Petersburg 
 where the privy councillor and chamberlain 
 Sipyagin was beginning to take an important 
 position, where his wife patronised the arts, 
 gave musical evenings, and founded soup- 
 kitchens, and where Mr. Kallomyetsev was 
 regarded as one of the most promising secre- 
 taries of his department — along one of the 
 streets of Vassily Ostrov walked, hobbling and 
 limping, a little man in a shabby overcoat 
 with a catskin collar. It was Paklin. He had 
 changed a good deal of late ; a few silver 
 threads could be seen among the long tufts 
 of hair that stuck out below his fur cap. 
 There chanced to be coming towards him 
 along the pavement a rather stout, tall lady, 
 closely muffled in a thick cloth cloak. Paklin 
 cast an indifferent glance in her direction, 
 passed her by . . . then suddenly stood still, 
 thought a minute, flung up his arms, and 
 248 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 quickly turning and overtaking her, he looked 
 up under her hat at her face. 
 
 * Mashurina ? ' he said in a low voice. 
 
 The lady scanned him majestically, and 
 without uttering a word walked on. 
 
 'Dear Mashurina, I recognise you,' Paklin 
 went on, hobbling along beside her, ' only don't 
 you, please, be afraid. I wouldn't betray you, 
 I am too delighted to have met you ! I 'm 
 Paklin, Sila Paklin, you know, Nezhdanov's 
 friend. . . . Come and see me ; I live only a 
 step or two away. Please do ! ' 
 
 */<9 sono contessa Rocca di Santo Fiume!^ 
 the lady answered in a low voice, but in a 
 wonderfully pure Russian accent. 
 
 * Come, nonsense ! . . . a fine contessa ! . . . 
 Come and see me. Let us have a chat. . . .* 
 
 * But where do you live ? ' the Italian countess 
 asked suddenly in Russian. ' I 've no time to 
 lose.' 
 
 * I live here, in this street — that 's my house, 
 the grey one there, with three stories. How 
 kind it is of you not to persist in trying to 
 mystify me ! Give me your hand, come along. 
 Have you been here long ? And how are you 
 a countess? Have you married some Italian 
 count?' 
 
 Mashurina had not married an Italian count. 
 She had been provided with a passport made 
 249 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 out in the name of a certain Countess Rocca di 
 Santo Fiume, who had died not long before, 
 and with this she had with the utmost com- 
 posure returned to Russia, though she did not 
 know a word of Italian and had the most 
 Russian of faces. 
 
 Paklin conducted her to his humble lodgings. 
 The hunchbacked sister with whom he was 
 living came to meet the visitor from behind 
 the screen that separated the tiny kitchen from 
 the equally tiny passage. 
 
 ' Here, Snapotchka,' he said, * I commend to 
 you a great friend of mine ; give us some tea 
 as quick as you can/ 
 
 Mashurina, who would not have gone to 
 Paklin's if he had not mentioned Nezhdanov's 
 name, took off her hat, and, passing her mascu- 
 line hand over her still cropped hair, bowed 
 and sat down in silence. She was altogether 
 unchanged, she was even wearing the very same 
 dress that she had worn two years before ; but 
 in her eyes there was a sort of immovable 
 grief, which added something touching to the 
 habitually stern expression of her face. 
 
 Snanduliya went for the samovar, while Pak- 
 lin placed himself opposite Mashurina, lightly 
 patted her on the knee, and hung down his 
 head ; but when he tried to speak, he was 
 obliged to clear his throat; his voice broke 
 250 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 and tears glistened in his eyes. Mashurina sat 
 stiff and motionless, without leaning back, in 
 her chair, and looked morosely away. 
 
 ' Yes, yes,* began Paklin, ' those were times ! 
 Looking at you, I remember . . . many things, 
 and many people, dead and living ; my poll 
 parrots too are dead . . . but you didn't know 
 them, I fancy ; and both on the same day, as I 
 foretold. Nezhdanov . . . poor Nezhdanov! 
 , . . you know, of course . . . ? ' 
 
 *Yes, I know,' said Mashurina, still looking 
 away. 
 
 * And do you know about Ostrodumov, too ? ' 
 Mashurina merely nodded. She wanted him 
 to go on talking of Nezhdanov, but she could 
 not bring herself to ask him about him. He 
 understood her without that. 
 
 * I was told that in the letter he left he 
 mentioned you — was that true ? ' 
 
 Mashurina could not answer at once. 
 
 * It is true,' she brought out at last. 
 
 * He was a marvellous fellow ! Only, he got 
 out of his right track ! He was about as good 
 a revolutionist as I was. Do you know what 
 he really was ? The idealist of realism ! Do 
 you understand me?' 
 
 Mashurina flung a rapid glance at Paklin. 
 She did not understand, and indeed she did 
 not care to take the trouble to understand him. 
 251 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 It struck her as strange and unsuitable that he 
 should dare to compare himself with Nezh- 
 danov ; but she thought, ' Let him brag now.* 
 (Though he was not bragging at all, but rather, 
 to his own ideas, humbling himself.) 
 
 *A fellow called Silin found me out here/ 
 Paklin continued. * Nezhdanov had written to 
 him too just before his death. And he, this 
 Silin, was inquiring whether one couldn't get 
 hold of any of his papers. But Alyosha's 
 things had been put under seal . . . and be- 
 sides, there were no papers among them ; he 
 burned everything, he burned his poems too. 
 You didn't know perhaps that he wrote poetry? 
 I am so sorry about them ; I am sure some of 
 them must have been very good. All that 
 has vanished with him, all lost in the common 
 vortex, and dead for ever ! Nothing 's left but 
 the memories of his friends till they pass away 
 in their turn ! ' 
 
 Paklin paused. 
 
 * The Sipyagins,' he went on again : * do you 
 remember those condescending, dignified, loath- 
 some swells ? They 're at the tip-top of power 
 and glory by now ! ' 
 
 Mashurina did not 'remember' the Sipyagins 
 
 in the least ; but Paklin hated them both, 
 
 especially Mr. Sipyagin, to such a degree that 
 
 he could not deny himself the pleasure of 
 
 252 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 'pulling them to pieces.' 'They say there's 
 such a high tone in their house ! they 're always 
 talking about virtue ! But I 've observed, 
 whenever there 's too much talk about virtue, 
 it's for all the world like too much smell of 
 scent in a sickroom; you may be sure there's 
 some hidden nastiness to conceal ! It 's a sus- 
 picious sign ! Poor Alexey ! they were the ruin 
 of him, those Sipyagins ! ' 
 
 ' How 's Solomin doing ? ' asked Mashurina. 
 She had suddenly ceased to feel any inclination 
 to hear anything about him from this man. 
 
 * Solomin ! ' cried Paklin. ' That 's a first-rate 
 fellow. He has got on splendidly. He threw up 
 his old factory and carried off the best workmen 
 with him. There was one chap there ... a 
 regular firebrand, they say! Pavel was his 
 name ... he took him along with him. Now 
 they say he has a factory of his own, a small 
 one, somewhere out Perm way, on co-operative 
 principles. He 's a man that '11 stick to what 
 he 's about ! He '11 carry anything through ! 
 He's a sharp fellow, ay, and a strong one 
 too. He 's first-rate ! And the great thing 
 is: he's not trying to cure all the social dis- 
 eases all in a minute. For we Russians are 
 a queer lot, you know, we expect everything ; 
 some one or something is to come along one 
 day and cure us all at once, heal all our 
 253 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 wounds, extract all our diseases like an aching 
 tooth Who or what this panacea is to be — why, 
 Darwinism, the village commune, Arhip Pere- 
 pentyev, a foreign war, anything you please ! 
 Only, we must have our teeth pulled out for us ! 
 It's all sluggishness, apathy, shallow thinking! 
 But Solomin 's not like that — no, he's not a 
 quack doctor, he 's first-rate ! ' 
 
 Mashurina waved her hand as though she 
 would say, ' He may be dismissed, then.' 
 
 ' Well, and that girl,' she inquired — * I 've for- 
 gotten her name — who ran away with him, with 
 Nezhdanov ? ' 
 
 * Marianna ? Oh, she 's that same Solomin's 
 wife now. It 's more than a year since she was 
 married to him. At first it was only formal, 
 but now they say she really is his wife. Yes, 
 yes.' 
 
 Marianna waved her hand again. Once she 
 had been jealous of Marianna for Nezhdanov's 
 sake ; now she felt indignant with her for 
 being capable of infidelity to his memory. 
 * I dare say there 's a baby by now,' she com- 
 mented contemptuously. 
 
 * Very likely, I don't know. But where are 
 you off to?' Paklin added, seeing that she was 
 taking up her hat. ' Stay a little, Snapotchka 
 will give us some tea directly.' It was not so 
 much that he wanted to keep Mashurina par- 
 
 254 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 ticularly, as that he could not let slip an oppor- 
 tunity of giving utterance to all that had 
 accumulated and was seething in his breast. 
 Since Paklin had returned to Petersburg, he 
 had seen very few people, especially of the 
 younger generation. The Nezhdanov affair 
 had scared him ; he had grown very cautious 
 and avoided society, and the younger men on 
 their side looked very suspiciously upon him. 
 One young man had even abused him to his 
 face as an informer. With the elder generation 
 he did not much care himself to consort; so 
 that it had sometimes been his lot to be silent 
 for weeks together. He did not speak out 
 freely before his sister — not that he supposed 
 her to be incapable of understanding him, oh 
 no ! He had the highest opinion of her intel- 
 lect. . . . But with her he would have had to 
 talk seriously and perfectly truthfully ; directly 
 he fell into 'playing trumps,' as they say, she 
 would begin gazing at him with a peculiar 
 intent and compassionate look ; and he was 
 ashamed. And how is a man to get on with- 
 out a little 'trumping,' just a low 'trump' 
 occasionally ! And so life in Petersburg had 
 begun to be a weariness of the flesh to Paklin, 
 and he even thought about moving elsewhere, 
 to Moscow perhaps. Reflections of all sorts, 
 speculations, fancies, epigrams, and sarcasms, 
 255 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 were stored up within him, like water in a closed 
 mill. . . . The floodgates could not be raised ; 
 the water had grown stagnant and stale. 
 Mashurina had turned up ... so he lifted the 
 floodgates and talked and talked. . . . He fell 
 upon Petersburg, Petersburg life, and all Russia. 
 No one and nothing was spared. Mashurina 
 took a very limited interest in all this, but she 
 did not contradict or interrupt him . , . and 
 that was all he wanted. 
 
 * Yes, indeed,' he said, * these are nice little 
 times, I can assure you ! In society the stag- 
 nation 's absolute ; every one bored to perdition ! 
 In literature a vacuum clean swept ! In criti- 
 cism . . . if an advanced young reviewer has to 
 say that " it 's characteristic of the hen to lay 
 eggs," it takes him twenty whole pages to ex- 
 pound this mighty truth, and even then he doesn't 
 quite manage it ! They 're as soft, these fellows, 
 let me tell you, as feather-beds, as greasy as 
 cold stew, and foaming at the mouth they utter 
 commonplaces ! In science . . . ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 we 've a renowned Kant of our own indeed, if it 's 
 only the Kanf {i.e. braiding) 'on our engineers' 
 collars! In art it's just the same! If you 
 care to go to the concert to-day, you will hear 
 the national singer Agremantsky. . . . He is 
 having an immense success. . . . And if a stuffed 
 bream, a stuffed bream, I tell you, were possessed 
 256 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 of a voice, it would sing precisely like that 
 worthy ! And Skoropihin even — you know our 
 time-honoured Aristarchus — praises him ! It 's 
 something, he declares, quite unlike Western 
 art ! He praises our miserable painters too ! 
 He used once to rave, he says, over Europe, over 
 the Italians ; but he has heard Rossini and 
 thought: " Pooh, pooh!" he has seen Raphael — 
 "Pooh, pooh ! " And that " pooh " is quite enough 
 for our young men ; they repeat " pooh " after 
 Skoropihin, and they 're contented if you please! 
 And meanwhile the people's poverty is fearful, 
 they are utterly crushed by taxes, and the only 
 reform that's been accomplished is that all 
 peasants have taken to caps while their wives 
 have given up coifs. . . . And the famine! 
 The drunkenness ! The usurers !' 
 
 But at this point Mashurina yawned, and 
 Paklin saw he must change the subject. 
 
 * You have not yet told me,' he said to her, 
 * where you have been these two years, and 
 whether you have been here long, and what 
 you have been doing and how you came to 
 be transformed into an Italian, and why ' 
 
 * There 's no need for you to know all that,' 
 Mashurina interrupted ; * what 's the use ? 
 That's not in your line now.' 
 
 Paklin felt a pang, and to hide his confusion 
 he laughed a short, forced little laugh. 
 VOL II. 257 R 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 * Well, that 's as you please/ he rejoined. * I 
 know I 'm regarded as out-of-date by the pie- 
 sent generation ; and to be sure, I can't reckon 
 myself . . . among the ranks of those who . . .* 
 He did not complete his sentence. * Here is 
 Snapotchka bringing us some tea. You must 
 take a cup, and listen to me. . . . Perhaps in 
 my words you may find something of interest 
 to you.' 
 
 Mashurina took a cup and a small lump of 
 sugar, and began to sip the tea and nibble at 
 the sugar. 
 
 Paklin's laugh was genuine this time. 
 
 ' It 's as well there are no police here, or the 
 Italian Countess . . . what is it?' 
 
 * Rocca di Santo Fiume,' said Mashurina, 
 with imperturbable gravity, as she imbibed the 
 scalding liquid. 
 
 * Rocca di Santo Fiume ! ' repeated Paklin, 
 * and she sips her tea through the sugar! That's 
 too unlikely ! The police would be on the alert 
 in a minute.' 
 
 * Yes,' observed Mashurina, ' a fellow in uni- 
 form bothered me abroad ; he kept asking me 
 questions ; I couldn't stand it at last. " Let me 
 alone, do, for mercy's sake ! " I said.' 
 
 * Did you say that in Italian ? ' 
 
 * No, in Russian.' 
 
 * And what did he do ? ' 
 
 258 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 * He ? Why, walked off, to be sure/ 
 
 * Bravo ! ' cried Paklin. ' Hurrah for the 
 Contessa! Another cup, do! Well, what I 
 wanted to say to you was, you spoke rather 
 coolly of Solomin. But do you know what I 
 can assure you? Fellows like him — they are 
 the real men. One doesn't understand them at 
 first, but they 're the real men, take my word 
 for it ; and the future 's in their hands. They're 
 not heroes ; not even " the heroes of labour," 
 about whom some queer fish — an American or 
 an Englishman — wrote a book for the edification 
 of us poor wretches ; they 're sturdy, rough, dull 
 men of the people. But they 're what 's wanted 
 now ! Just look at Solomin ; his brain 's clear 
 as daylight, and he 's as healthy as a fish. . . . 
 Isn't that a wonder ! Why, hitherto with us in 
 Russia it 's always been the way that if you 're a 
 live man with feelings and a conscience, you 're 
 bound to be an invalid ! But Solomin's heart, 
 I dare say, aches at what makes ours ache, and 
 he hates what we hate — but his nerves are calm, 
 and his whole body responds as it ought . . . 
 so that he 's a splendid fellow ! Yes, indeed, 
 a man with an ideal, and no nonsense about 
 him ; educated — and from the people ; simple — 
 and a little shrewd. . . . What more do you 
 want . . . ? 
 
 * And never you mind,' pursued Paklin, work- 
 
 259 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 ing himself up more and more, and not noticing 
 that Mashurina had long ceased to attend, and 
 was once more gazing away into the distance ; 
 ' never mind if there are swarms of all sorts in 
 Russia : Slavophils and officials and generals, 
 plain and decorated, and Epicureans and imita- 
 tors and queer fish of all sorts. (I used to 
 know a lady called Havronya Prishtehov, who 
 suddenly without rhyme or reason turned legiti- 
 mist, and assured every one that when she died 
 they need only open her body and they would 
 find the name of Henri V. engraved in her 
 heart ... on the heart of Havronya Prishtehov!) 
 Never mind all that, my dear madam, but let 
 me tell you our only true way lies with the 
 Solomins, coarse, plain, shrewd Solomins ! Re- 
 collect when I am saying this to you, in the 
 winter of 1870, when Germany is making ready 
 to crush France — when ' 
 
 ' Silushka,' Snanduliya's soft little voice was 
 heard saying behind Paklin's back, ' I think in 
 your speculations on the future you forget our 
 religion and its influence. . . . And besides,' 
 she added hurriedly, * Madame Mashurina is 
 not listening to you. . . . You had better offer 
 her another cup of tea.' 
 
 Paklin pulled himself together. 
 
 ' Ah, yes, dear lady — won't you really ? ' 
 
 But Mashurina stared, turned her gloomy 
 260 
 
^^%^-г2^ 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 eyes upon him, and said absently, * I wanted 
 to ask you, Paklin, haven't you any notes of 
 Nezhdanov's or his photograph ? ' 
 
 * I have a photograph . . . yes ; and I fancy 
 rather a good one, in the table. I '11 find it for 
 you directly.' 
 
 He began rummaging in the drawer, while 
 Snanduliya went up to Mashurina, and with a 
 long, intent look of sympathy she clasped her 
 hand like a comrade. 
 
 * Here it is ! I have found it ! ' cried Paklin, 
 and he gave her the photograph. Mashurina, 
 with hardly a glance at it, and without a word 
 of thanks, crimsoning all over, thrust it quickly 
 into her pocket, put on her hat, and was making 
 for the door. 
 
 * Are you going ? ' said Paklin. * Tell us, at 
 least, where you live ? ' 
 
 ' As it happens/ 
 
 * I understand, you don't wish me to know, 
 then ! Well, tell me, please, one thing any way: 
 are you still working under the orders of Vassily 
 Nikolaevitch ? ' 
 
 'What is that to you?' 
 
 * Or perhaps of some other — Sidor Sidor- 
 itch ? ' 
 
 Mashurina made no answer. 
 
 * Or does some one anonymous direct you ? ' 
 Mashurina was already across the threshold 
 
 261 
 
VIRGIN SOIL 
 
 * Perhaps it is some one anonymous!' 
 She slammed the door behind her. 
 A long while Paklin remained standing before 
 this closed door. 
 ^ Anonymous Russia!' he said at last. 
 
 THE END 
 
Printed by Т. and A. Constable, Printers to His Majesty 
 at the Edinburgh University Press 
 
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