Virgin Soil Part 49

"Soyez tranquille!" Kollomietzev exclaimed, glancing up at her quickly from under the brim of his travelling cap--one of his own special design with a c.o.c.kade in it--"C'est surtout l'autre, qu'il faut pincer!"

"Go on!" Sipiagin exclaimed again. "You are not cold, Mr. Paklin? Go on!"

The two carriages rolled away.

For about ten minutes neither Sipiagin nor Paklin p.r.o.nounced a single word. The unfortunate Sila, in his shabby little coat and crumpled cap, looked even more wretched than usual in contrast to the rich background of dark blue silk with which the carriage was upholstered. He looked around in silence at the delicate pale blue blinds, which flew up instantly at the mere press of a b.u.t.ton, at the soft white sheep-skin rug at their feet, at the mahogany box in front with a movable desk for letters and even a shelf for books. (Boris Andraevitch never worked in his carriage, but he liked people to think that he did, after the manner of Thiers, who always worked when travelling.) Paklin felt shy. Sipiagin glanced at him once or twice over his clean-shaven cheek, and with a pompous deliberation pulled out of a side-pocket a silver cigar-case with a curly monogram and a Slavonic band and offered him... really offered him a cigar, holding it gently between the second and third fingers of a hand neatly clad in an English glove of yellow dogskin.

"I don't smoke," Paklin muttered.

"Really!" Sipiagin exclaimed and lighted the cigar himself, an excellent regalia.

"I must tell you... my dear Mr. Paklin," he began, puffing gracefully at his cigar and sending out delicate rings of delicious smoke, "that I am... really... very grateful to you. I might have... seemed... a little severe... last night... which does not really... do justice to my character... believe me." (Sipiagin purposely hesitated over his speech.) "But just put yourself in my place, Mr. Paklin!" (Sipiagin rolled the cigar from one corner of his mouth to the other.) "The position I occupy places me... so to speak... before the public eye, and suddenly, without any warning... my wife's brother... compromises himself... and me, in this impossible way! Well, Mr. Paklin? But perhaps you think that it's nothing?"

"I am far from thinking that, your excellency."

"You don't happen to know exactly why... and where he was arrested?"

"I heard that he was arrested in T. district."

"Who told you so?"

"A certain person."

"Of course it could hardly have been a bird. But who was this person?"

"An a.s.sistant... of the director of the governor's office--"

"What's his name?"

"The director's?"

"No, the a.s.sistant's."

"His name is... Ulyashevitch. He is a very honest man, your excellency.

As soon as I heard of the affair, I hastened to tell you."

"Yes, yes. I am very grateful to you indeed. But what utter madness!

downright madness! Don't you think so, Mr. Paklin?"

"Utter madness!" Paklin exclaimed, while the perspiration rolled down his back in a hot stream, "it just shows," he continued, "the folly of not understanding the peasant. Mr. Markelov, so far as I know him, has a very kind and generous heart, but he has no conception of what the Russian peasant is really like." (Paklin glanced at Sipiagin who sat slightly turned towards him, gazing at him with a cold, though not unfriendly, light in his eyes.) "The Russian peasant can never be induced to revolt except by taking advantage of that devotion of his to some high authority, some tsar. Some sort of legend must be invented--you remember Dmitrius the pretender--some sort of royal sign must be shown him, branded on the breast."

"Just like Pugatchev," Sipiagin interrupted him in a tone of voice which seemed to imply that he had not yet forgotten his history and that it was really not necessary for Paklin to go on. "What madness! what madness!" he added, and became wrapped in the contemplation of the rings of smoke as they rose quickly one after another from the end of his cigar.

"Your excellency," Paklin began apologetically, "I have just said that I didn't smoke... but it was not true. I do smoke and your cigar smells so nice--"

"Eh? What?" Sipiagin asked as if waking up; and without giving Paklin time to repeat his request, he proved in the most unmistakable manner that he had heard every word, and had merely asked his questions for the sake of dignity, by offering him his cigar-case.

Paklin took a cigar gratefully and lighted it with care.

"Here's a good opportunity," he thought, but Sipiagin had antic.i.p.ated him.

"I remember your saying..." he began carelessly, stopping to look at his cigar and pulling his hat lower over his forehead, "you spoke... of...

of that friend of yours, who married my ... niece. Do you ever see them?

They've settled not far from here, eh?"

("Take care! be on your guard, Sila!" Paklin thought.)

"I have only seen them once, your excellency. They are living.. .

certainly... not very far from here."

"You quite understand, I hope," Sipiagin continued in the same tone, "that I can take no further serious interest--as I explained to you--either in that frivolous girl or in your friend. Heaven knows that I have no prejudices, but really, you will agree with me, this is too much! So foolish, you know. However, I suppose they were more drawn together by politics.. ." ("politics!" he repeated, shrugging his shoulders) "than by any other feeling!"

"I think so too, your excellency!"

"Yes, Mr. Nejdanov was certainly revolutionary. To do him justice he made no secret of his opinions."

"Nejdanov," Paklin ventured, "may have been carried away, but his heart--"

"Is good," Sipiagin put in; "I know, like Markelov's. They all have good hearts. He has no doubt also been mixed up in this affair... and will be implicated.... I suppose I shall have to intercede for him too!"

Paklin clasped his hands to his breast.

"Oh, your excellency! Extend your protection to him! He fully...

deserves... your sympathy."

Sipiagin snorted.

"You think so?"

"At any rate if not for him... for your niece's sake; for his wife!"

("Heavens! What lies I'm telling," Paklin thought.)

Sipiagin half-closed his eyes.

"I see that you're a very devoted friend. That's a very good quality, very praiseworthy, young man. And so you said they lived in this neighbourhood?"

"Yes, your excellency; in a large establishment--" Here Paklin bit his tongue.

"Why, of course, at Solomin's! that's where they are! However, I knew it all along. I've been told so; I've already been informed." (Mr.

Sipiagin did not know this in the least, and no one had told him, but recollecting Solomin's visit and their midnight interview, he promptly threw out this bait, which caught Paklin at once.)

"Since you know that," he began and bit his tongue a second time ... But it was already too late. A single glance at Sipiagin made him realise that he had been playing with him as a cat plays with a mouse.

"I must say, your excellency," the unfortunate Paklin stammered out; "I must say, that I really know nothing--"

"But I ask you no questions! Really! What do you take me and yourself for?" Sipiagin asked haughtily, and promptly withdrew into his ministerial heights.

And Paklin again felt himself a mean little ensnared creature. Until that moment he had kept the cigar in the corner of his mouth away from Sipiagin and puffed at it quietly, blowing the smoke to one side; now he took it out of his mouth and ceased smoking altogether.