Works of Ivan Turgenev (Illustrated)

by Ivan Turgenev

  The peasants, who had met before the granary for the purpose of discussing how to fill it once more — if only to show that they were doing something (it was the communal granary and consequently empty) — fixed their eyes on Nejdanov and seemed to listen to him with the greatest attention, but they had evidently not understood a word he had said, for no sooner was his back turned, shouting for the last time “Freedom!” as he rushed away, when one of them, the most sagacious of the lot, shook his head saying, “What a severe one!” “He must be an officer,” another remarked, to which the wise one said: “We know all about that — he doesn’t talk for nothing. We’ll have to pay the piper.”

  “Heavens! what nonsense this all is!” Nejdanov thought to himself, as he sat down next to Pavel in the cart. “But then none of us know how to get at the people — perhaps this is the right way after all! Who knows? Go on! Does your heart ache? Let it!”

  They found themselves in the main street of the village in the middle of which a number of people were gathered together before a tavern. Nejdanov, paying no heed to Pavel, who was trying to hold him back, leapt down from the cart with a cry of “Brothers!” The crowd made way for him and he again began preaching, looking neither to right nor left, as if furious and weeping at the same time. But things turned out quite differently than with his former attempt at the barn. An enormous fellow with a clean - shaven, vicious face, in a short greasy coat, high boots, and a sheepskin cap, came up to him and clapped him on the shoulder.

  “All right! my fine fellow!” he bawled out in a wheezy voice; “but wait a bit! good deeds must be rewarded. Come along in here. It’ll be much better talking in there.” He pulled Nejdanov into the tavern, the others streamed in after them. “Michaitch!” the fellow shouted, “twopennyworth! My favourite drink! I want to treat a friend. Who he is, what’s his family, and where he’s from, only the devil knows! Drink!” he said, turning to Nejdanov and handing him a heavy, full glass, wet all over on the outside, as though perspiring, “drink, if you really have any feeling for us!” “Drink!” came a chorus of voices. Nejdanov, who seemed as if in a fever, seized the glass and with a cry of “I drink to you, children!” drank it off at a gulp. Ugh! He drank it off with the same desperate heroism with which he would have flung himself in storming a battery or on a line of bayonets. But what was happening to him? Something seemed to have struck his spine, his legs, burned his throat, his chest, his stomach, made the tears come into his eyes. A shudder of disgust passed all over him. He began shouting at the top of his voice to drown the throbbing in his head. The dark tavern room suddenly became hot and thick and suffocating — and people, people everywhere! Nejdanov began talking, talking incessantly, shouting furiously, in exasperation, shaking broad rough hands, kissing prickly beards. ... The enormous fellow in the greasy coat kissed him too, nearly breaking his ribs. This fellow turned out to be a perfect fiend. “I’ll wring the neck,” he shouted, “I’ll wring the neck of anyone who dares to offend our brother! And what’s more, I’ll make mincemeat of him too... I’ll make him cry out! That’s nothing to me. I was a butcher and know how to do such jobs!” At this he held up an enormous fist covered with freckles. Someone again shouted, “Drink!” and Nejdanov again swallowed a glass of the filthy poison. But this second time was truly awful! Blunt hooks seemed to be tearing him to pieces inside. His head was in a whirl, green circles swam before his eyes. A hubbub arose... Oh horror! a third glass. Was it possible he emptied that too? He seemed to be surrounded by purple noses, dusty heads of hair, tanned necks covered with nets of wrinkles. Rough hands seized him. “Go on!” they bawled out in angry voices, “talk away! The day before yesterday another stranger talked like that. Go on.” The earth seemed reeling under Nejdanov’s feet, his voice sounded strange to his own ears as though coming from a long way off... Was it death or what?

  And suddenly he felt the fresh air blowing about his face, no more pushing and shoving, no more stench of spirits, sheep - skin, tar, nor leather.... He was again sitting beside Pavel in the cart, struggling at first and shouting, “Where are you off to? Stop! I haven’t had time to tell them anything — I must explain...” and then added, “and what are your own ideas on the subject, you sly - boots?”

  “It would certainly be well if there were no gentry and the land belonged to us, of course,” Pavel replied, “but there’s been no such order from the government.” He quietly turned the horse’s head and, suddenly lashing it on the back with the reins, set off at full gallop, away from this din and uproar, back to the factory.

  Nejdanov sat dozing, rocked by the motion of the cart, while the wind played pleasantly about his face and kept back gloomy depressing thoughts.

  He was annoyed that he had not been allowed to say all that he had wanted to say. Again the wind caressed his overheated face.

  And then — a momentary glimpse of Mariana — a burning sense of shame — and sleep, deep, sound sleep...

  Pavel told Solomin all this afterwards, not hiding the fact that he did not attempt to prevent Nejdanov from drinking — otherwise he could not have got him out of the whirl. The others would not have let him go.

  “When he seemed to be getting very feeble, I asked them to let him off, and they agreed to, on condition that I gave them a shilling, so I gave it them.”

  “You acted quite rightly,” Solomin said, approvingly.

  Nejdanov slept, while Mariana sat at the window looking out into the garden. Strange to say the angry, almost wicked, thoughts that had been tormenting her until Nejdanov and Pavel arrived had completely disappeared. Nejdanov himself was not in the least repulsive or disgusting to her; she was only sorry for him. She knew quite well that he was not a debauchee, a drunkard, and was wondering what she would say to him when he woke up; something friendly and affectionate to minimise the first sting of conscience and shame. “I must try and get him to tell me himself how it all happened,” she thought.

  She was not disturbed, but depressed — hopelessly depressed. It seemed as if a breath of the real atmosphere of the world towards which she was striving had blown on her suddenly, making her shudder at its coarseness and darkness. What Moloch was this to which she was going to sacrifice herself?

  But no! It could not be! This was merely an incident, it would soon pass over. A momentary impression that had struck her so forcibly because it had happened so unexpectedly. She got up, walked over to the couch on which Nejdanov was lying, took out her pocket - handkerchief and wiped his pale forehead, which was painfully drawn, even in sleep, and smoothed back his hair...

  She pitied him as a mother pities her suffering child. But it was somewhat painful for her to look at him, so she went quietly into her own room, leaving the door unlocked.

  She did not attempt to take any work in her hand. She sat down and thoughts began crowding in upon her. She felt how the time was slipping away, how one minute flew after another, and the sensation was even pleasant to her. Her heart beat fast and again she seemed to be waiting for something.

  What has become of Solomin?

  The door creaked softly and Tatiana came into the room. “What do you want?” Mariana asked with a shade of annoyance.

  “Mariana Vikentievna,” Tatiana began in an undertone, “don’t worry, my dear. Such things happen every day. Besides, the Lord be thanked — ”

  “I am not worrying at all, Tatiana Osipovna,” Mariana interrupted her. “Alexai Dmitritch is a little indisposed, nothing very serious!”

  “That’s all right! I wondered why you didn’t come, and thought there might be something the matter with you. But still I wouldn’t have come in to you. It’s always best not to interfere. But someone has come — a little lame man, the Lord knows who he is — and demands to see Alexai Dmitritch! I wonder what for? This morning that female came for him and now this little cripple. ‘If Alexai Dmitritch is not at home,’ he says, ‘then I must see Vassily Fedotitch! I won’t go away without seeing him. It’s on a very urgent matter.’ We wanted to get rid o
f him, as we did of that woman, told him Vassily Fedotitch was not at home, but he is determined to see him even if he has to wait until midnight. There he is walking about in the yard. Come and have a look at him through the little window in the corridor. Perhaps you’ll recognise him.”

  Mariana followed Tatiana out into the corridor, and on passing Nejdanov was again struck by that painful frown on his forehead and passed her pocket - handkerchief over it a second time.

  Through the dusty little window she caught a glimpse of the visitor whom Tatiana had spoken of. He was unknown to her. At this moment Solomin appeared from a corner of the house.

  The little cripple rushed up to him and extended his hand. Solomin pressed it. He was obviously acquainted with him. They both disappeared... Soon their footsteps were heard coming up the stairs. They were coming to see her.

  Mariana fled into her own room and remained standing in the middle of it, hardly able to breathe. She was mortally afraid... but of what? She did not know herself.

  Solomin’s head appeared through the door.

  “Mariana Vikentievna, can I come in? I have brought someone whom it’s absolutely necessary for you to see.”

  Mariana merely nodded her head in reply and behind Solomin in walked — Paklin.

  XXXIII

  “I AM a friend of your husband’s,” he said, bowing very low, as if anxious to conceal his frightened face, “and also of Vassily Fedotitch. I hear Alexai Dmitritch is asleep and not very well. Unfortunately, I have brought bad news. I have already told Vassily Fedotitch something about it and am afraid decisive measures will have to be taken.”

  Paklin’s voice broke continually, like that of a man who was tortured by thirst. The items of news he had to communicate were certainly very unpleasant ones. Some peasants had seized Markelov and brought him to the town. The stupid clerk had betrayed Golushkin, who was now under arrest, he in his turn was betraying everything and everybody, wanted to go over to the Orthodox Church, had offered to present a portrait of the Bishop Filaret to the public school, and had already given five thousand roubles to be distributed among crippled soldiers. There was not a shadow of a doubt that he had informed against Nejdanov; the police might make a raid upon the factory any moment. Vassily Fedotitch was also in danger. “As for myself,” Paklin added, “I am surprised that I’m still allowed to roam at large, although it’s true that I’ve never really interested myself in practical politics or taken part in any schemes. I have taken advantage of this oversight on the part of the police to put you on your guard and find out what had best be done to avoid any unpleasantness.”

  Mariana listened to Paklin to the end. She did not seem alarmed; on the other hand she was quite calm. But something must really be done! She fixed her eyes on Solomin.

  He was also composed; only around his lips there was the faintest movement of the muscles; but it was not his habitual smile.

  Solomin understood the meaning of Mariana’s glance; she waited for him to say what had best be done.

  “It’s a very awkward business,” he began; “I don’t think it would do Nejdanov any harm to go into hiding for a time. But, by the way, how did you get to know that he was here, Mr. Paklin?”

  Paklin gave a wave of the hand.

  “A certain individual told me. He had seen him preaching about the neighbourhood and had followed him, though with no evil intent. He is a sympathiser. Excuse me,” he added, turning to Mariana, “is it true that our friend Nejdanov has been very... very careless?”

  “It’s no good blaming him now,” Solomin began again. “What a pity we can’t talk things over with him now, but by tomorrow he will be all right again. The police don’t do things as quickly as you seem to imagine. You will have to go away with him, Mariana Vikentievna.”

  “Certainly,” she said resolutely, a lump rising in her throat.

  “Yes,” Solomin said, “we must think it over, consider ways and means.”

  “May I make a suggestion?” Paklin began. “It entered my head as I was coming along here. I must tell you, by the way, that I dismissed the cabman from the town a mile away from here.”

  “What is your suggestion?” Solomin asked.

  “Let me have some horses at once and I’ll gallop off to the Sipiagins.”

  “To the Sipiagins!” Mariana exclaimed. “Why?”

  “You will see.”

  “But do you know them?”

  “Not at all! But listen. Do think over my suggestion thoroughly. It seems to me a brilliant one. Markelov is Sipiagin’s brother - in - law, his wife’s brother, isn’t that so? Would this gentleman really make no attempt to save him? And as for Nejdanov himself, granting that Mr. Sipiagin is most awfully angry with him, still he has become a relation of his by marrying you. And the danger hanging over our friend — ”

  “I am not married,” Mariana observed.

  Paklin started.

  “What? Haven’t managed it all this time! Well, never mind,” he added, “one can pretend a little. All the same, you will get married directly. There seems nothing else to be done! Take into consideration the fact that up until now Sipiagin has not persecuted you, which shows him to be a man capable of a certain amount of generosity. I see that you don’t like the expression — well, a certain amount of pride. Why should we not take advantage of it? Consider for yourself!”

  Mariana raised her head and passed her hand through her air.

  “You can take advantage of whatever you like for Markelov, Mr. Paklin... or for yourself, but Alexai and I do not desire the protection or patronage of Mr. Sipiagin. We did not leave his house only to go knocking at his door as beggars. The pride and generosity of Mr. Sipiagin and his wife have nothing whatever to do with us!”

  “Such sentiments are extremely praiseworthy,” Paklin replied (“How utterly crushed!” he thought to himself), “though, on the other hand, if you think of it... However, I am ready to obey you. I will exert myself only on Markelov’s account, our good Markelov! I must say, however, that he is not his blood relation, but only related to him through his wife — while you — ”

  “Mr Paklin, I beg of you!”

  “I’m sorry... Only I can’t tell you how disappointing it is — Sipiagin is a very influential man.”

  “Have you no fears for yourself?” Solomin asked.

  Paklin drew himself up.

  “There are moments when one must not think of oneself!” he said proudly. And he was thinking of himself all the while. Poor little man! he wanted to run away as fast as he could. On the strength of the service rendered him, Sipiagin might, if need be, speak a word in his favour. For he too — say what he would — was implicated, he had listened and had chattered a little himself.

  “I don’t think your suggestion is a bad one,” Solomin observed at last, “although there is not much hope of success. At any rate there is no harm in trying.”

  “Of course not. Supposing they pitch me out by the scruff of the neck, what harm will it do?”

  “That won’t matter very much” (“Merci,” Paklin thought to himself). “What is the time?” Solomin asked. “Five o’clock. We mustn’t dawdle. You shall have the horses directly. Pavel!”

  But instead of Pavel, Nejdanov appeared in the doorway. He staggered and steadied himself on the doorpost. He opened his mouth feebly, looked around with his glassy eyes, comprehending nothing. Paklin was the first to approach him.

  “Aliosha!” he exclaimed, “don’t you know me?” Nejdanov stared at him, blinking slowly.

  “Paklin?” he said at last.

  “Yes, it is I. Aren’t you well?”

  “No... I’m not well. But why are you here?”

  “Why?”... But at this moment Mariana stealthily touched Paklin on the elbow. He turned around and saw that she was making signs to him. “Oh, yes!” he muttered. “Yes.... You see, Aliosha,” he added aloud, “I’ve come here upon a very important matter and must go away at once. Solomin will tell you all about it — and Mariana — Marian
a Vikentievna. They both fully approve of what I am going to do. The thing concerns us all. No, no,” he put in hastily in response to a look and gesture from Mariana. “The thing concerns Markelov; our mutual friend Markelov; it concerns him alone. But I must say goodbye now. Every minute is precious. Goodbye, Aliosha... We’ll see each other again sometime. Vassily Fedotitch, can you come with me to see about the horses?”

  “Certainly. Mariana, I wanted to ask you to be firm, but that is not necessary. You’re a brick!”

  “Yes, yes,” Paklin chimed in, “you are just like a Roman maiden in Cato’s time! Cato of Utica! We must be off, Vassily Fedotitch, come along!”

  “There’s plenty of time,” Solomin observed with a faint smile. Nejdanov stood on one side to allow them room to pass out, but there was the same vacant expression in his eyes. After they had gone he took a step or two forward and sat down on a chair facing Mariana.

  “Alexai,” she began, “everything has been found out. Markelov has been seized by the very peasants he was trying to better, and is now under arrest in this town, and so is the merchant with whom you dined once. I dare say the police will soon be here for us too. Paklin has gone to Sipiagin.”

  “Why?” Nejdanov asked in a scarcely audible whisper. But there was a keen look in his eyes — his face assumed it’s habitual expression. The stupor had left him instantly.

  “To try and find out if he would be willing to intercede.”

  Nejdanov sat up straight.

  “For us?

  “No, for Markelov. He wanted to ask him to intercede for us too... but I wouldn’t let him. Have I done well, Alexai?”

  “Have you done well?” Nejdanov asked and without rising from his chair, stretched out his arms to her. “Have you done well?” he repeated, drawing her close to him, and pressing his face against her waist, suddenly burst into tears.