Virgin Soil Part 55

The following are the contents of the two letters he had left. One consisting only of a few lines, was addressed to Silin:

"Goodbye, my dear friend, goodbye! When this reaches you, I shall be no more. Don't ask why or wherefore, and don't grieve; be sure that I am better off now. Take up our immortal Pushkin and read over the description of the death of Lensky in 'Yevgenia Onegin.' Do you remember? The windows are white-washed. The mistress has gone--that's all. There is nothing more for me to say. Were I to say all I wanted to, it would take up too much time. But I could not leave this world without telling you, or you might have gone on thinking of me as living and I should have put a stain upon our friends.h.i.+p. Goodbye; live well.--Your friend, A. N."

The other letter, somewhat longer, was addressed to Solomin and Mariana.

It began thus:

"MY DEAR CHILDREN" (immediately after these words there was a break, as if something had been scratched or smeared out, as if tears had fallen upon it),--"It may seem strange to you that I should address you in this way--I am almost a child myself and you, Solomin, are older than I am.

But I am about to die--and standing as I do at the end of my life, I look upon myself as an old man. I have wronged you both, especially you, Mariana, by causing you so much grief and pain (I know you will grieve, Mariana) and giving you so much anxiety. But what could I do? I could think of no other way out. I could not simplify myself, so the only thing left for me to do was to blot myself out altogether.

"Mariana, I would have been a burden to you and to myself. You are generous, you would have borne the burden gladly, as a new sacrifice, but I have no right to demand such a sacrifice of you--you have a higher and better work before you. My children, let me unite you as it were from the grave. You will live happily together. Mariana, I know you will come to love Solomin--and he. .. he loved you from the moment he first saw you at the Sipiagins. It was no secret to me, although we ran away a few days later. Ah! that glorious morning! how exquisite and fresh and young it was! It comes back to me now as a token, a symbol of your life together--your life and his--and I by the merest chance happened to be in his place. But enough! I don't want to complain, I only want to justify myself. Some very sorrowful moments are in store for you tomorrow. But what could I do? There was no other alternative. Goodbye, Mariana, my dear good girl! Goodbye, Solomin! I leave her in your charge. Be happy together; live for the sake of others. And you, Mariana, think of me only when you are happy. Think of me as a man who had also some good in him, but for whom it was better to die than to live. Did I really love you? I don't know, dear friend. But I do know that I never loved anyone more than you, and that it would have been more terrible for me to die had I not that feeling for you to carry away with me to the grave. Mariana, if you ever come across a Miss Mashurina--Solomin knows her, and by the way, I think you've met her too--tell her that I thought of her with grat.i.tude just before the end.

She will understand. But I must tear myself away at last. I looked out of the window just now and saw a lovely star amidst the swiftly moving clouds. No matter how quickly they chased one another, they could not hide it from view. That star reminded me of you, Mariana. At this moment you are asleep in the next room, unsuspecting... I went to your door, listened, and fancied I heard your pure, calm breathing.. . Goodbye!

goodbye! goodbye, my children, my friends!--Yours, A.

"Dear me! how is it that in my final letter I made no mention of our great cause? I suppose lying is of no use when you're on the point of death. Forgive this postscript, Mariana... The falsehood lies in me, not in the thing in which you believe! One more word. You might have thought perhaps, Mariana, that I put an end to myself merely because I was afraid of going to prison, but believe me that is not true. There is nothing terrible about going to prison in itself, but being shut up there for a cause in which you have no faith is unthinkable. It was not fear of prison that drove me to this, Mariana. Goodbye! goodbye! my dear, pure girl."

Mariana and Solomin each read the letter in turn. She then put her own portrait and the two letters into her pocket and remained standing motionless.

"Let us go, Mariana; everything is ready. We must fulfil his wish,"

Solomin said to her.

Mariana drew near to Nejdanov and pressed her lips against his forehead which was already turning cold.

"Come," she said, turning to Solomin. They went out, hand in hand.

When the police arrived at the factory a few hours later, they found Nejdanov's corpse. Tatiana had laid out the body, put a white pillow under his head, crossed his arms, and even placed a bunch of flowers on a little table beside him. Pavel, who had been given all the needful instructions, received the police officers with the greatest respect and as great a contempt, so that those worthies were not quite sure whether to thank or arrest him. He gave them all the details of the suicide, regaled them with Swiss cheese and Madeira, but as for the whereabouts of Va.s.sily Fedot.i.tch and the young lady, he knew nothing of that. He was most effusive in his a.s.surances that Va.s.sily Fedot.i.tch was never away for long at a time on account of his work, that he was sure to be back either today or tomorrow, and that he would let them know as soon as he arrived. They might depend on him!

So the officers went away no wiser than they had come, leaving a guard in charge of the body and promising to send a coroner.

x.x.xVIII

Two days after these events, a cart drove up the courtyard of the worthy Father Zosim, containing a man and woman who are already known to the reader. The following day they were legally married. Soon afterwards they disappeared, and the good father never regretted what he had done.

Solomin had left a letter in Pavel's charge, addressed to the proprietor of the factory, giving a full statement of the condition of the business (it turned out most flouris.h.i.+ng) and asking for three months' leave. The letter was dated two days before Nejdanov's death, from which might be gathered that Solomin had considered it necessary even then to go away with him and Mariana and hide for a time. Nothing was revealed by the inquiry held over the suicide. The body was buried. Sipiagin gave up searching for his niece.

Nine months later Markelov was tried. At the trial he was just as calm as he had been at the governor's. He carried himself with dignity, but was rather depressed. His habitual hardness had toned down somewhat, not from any cowardice; a n.o.bler element had been at work. He did not defend himself, did not regret what he had done, blamed no one, and mentioned no names. His emaciated face with the l.u.s.treless eyes retained but one expression: submission to his fate and firmness. His brief, direct, truthful answers aroused in his very judges a feeling akin to pity. Even the peasants who had seized him and were giving evidence against him shared this feeling and spoke of him as a good, simple-hearted gentleman. But his guilt could not possibly be pa.s.sed over; he could not escape punishment, and he himself seemed to look upon it as his due. Of his few accomplices, Mashurina disappeared for a time. Ostrodumov was killed by a shopkeeper he was inciting to revolt, who had struck him an "awkward" blow. Golushkin, in consideration of his penitence (he was nearly frightened out of his wits), was let off lightly. Kisliakov was kept under arrest for about a month, after which he was released and even allowed to continue "galloping" from province of province. Nejdanov died, Solomin was under suspicion, but for lack of sufficient evidence was left in peace. (He did not, however, avoid trial and appeared when wanted.) Mariana was not even mentioned; Paklin came off splendidly; indeed no notice was taken of him.

A year and a half had gone by--it was the winter of 1870. In St.

Petersburg--the very same St. Petersburg where the chamberlain Sipiagin, now a privy councillor, was beginning to play such an important part; where his wife patronised the arts, gave musical evenings, and founded charitable cook-shops; where Kollomietzev was considered one of the most hopeful members of the ministerial department--a little man was limping along one of the streets of the Va.s.sily island, attired in a shabby coat with a catskin collar. This was no other than our old friend Paklin.

He had changed a great deal since we last saw him. On his temples a few strands of silvery hair peeped out from under his fur cap. A tall, stout woman, closely m.u.f.fled in a dark cloth coat, was coming towards him on the pavement. Paklin looked at her indifferently and pa.s.sed on. Suddenly he stopped, threw up his arms as though struck by something, turned back quickly, and overtaking her peeped under her hat.

"Mashurina!" he exclaimed in an undertone.

The lady looked at him haughtily and walked on without saying a word.

"Dear Mashurina, I recognised you at once," Paklin continued, hobbling along beside her; "don't be afraid, I won't give you away! I am so glad to see you! I'm Paklin, Sila Paklin, you know, Nejdanov's friend. Do come home with me. I live quite near here. Do come!"

"Io sono contessa Rocca di Santo Fiume!" the lady said softly, but in a wonderfully pure Russian accent.

"Contessa! nonsense! Do come in and let us talk about old times--"

"Where do you live?" the Italian countess asked suddenly in Russian.

"I'm in a hurry."

"In this very street; in that grey three-storied house over there. It's so nice of you not to have snubbed me! Give me your hand, come on. Have you been here long? How do you come to be a countess? Have you married an Italian count?"

Mashurina had not married an Italian count. She had been provided with a pa.s.sport made out in the name of a certain Countess Rocca di Santo Fiume, who had died a short time ago, and had come quite calmly to Russia, though she did not know a single word of Italian and had the most typical of Russian faces.

Paklin brought her to his humble little lodging. His humpbacked sister who shared it with him came out to greet them from behind the part.i.tion dividing the kitchen from the pa.s.sage.

"Here, Snapotchka," he said, "let me introduce you to a great friend of mine. We should like some tea as soon as you can get it."

Mashurina, who would on no account have come had not Paklin mentioned Nejdanov, bowed, then taking off her hat and pa.s.sing her masculine hand through her closely cropped hair, sat down in silence. She had scarcely changed at all; even her dress was the same she had worn two years ago; only her eyes wore a fixed, sad expression, giving a pathetic look to her usually hard face. Snandulia went out for the samovar, while Paklin sat down opposite Mashurina and stroked her knee sympathetically. His head dropped on his breast, he could not speak from choking, and the tears glistened in his eyes. Mashurina sat erect and motionless, gazing severely to one side.

"Those were times!" Paklin began at last. "As I look at you everything comes back to me, the living and the dead. Even my little poll-parrots are no more...I don't think you knew them, by the way. They both died on the same day, as I always predicted they would. And Nejdanov... poor Nejdanov! I suppose you know--"

"Yes, I know," Mashurina interrupted him, still looking away.

"And do you know about Ostrodumov too?"

Mashurina merely nodded her head. She wanted him to go on talking about Nejdanov, but could not bring herself to ask him. He understood her, however.

"I was told that he mentioned you in the letter he left. Was it true?

"Yes," Mashurina replied after a pause.

"What a splendid chap he was! He didn't fall into the right rut somehow.

He was about as fitted to be a revolutionist as I am! Do you know what he really was? The idealist of realism. Do you understand me?"

Mashurina flung him a rapid glance. She did not understand him and did not want to understand him. It seemed to her impertinent that he should compare himself to Nejdanov. "Let him brag!" she thought, though he was not bragging at all, but rather depreciating himself, according to his own ideas.

"Some fellow called Silin sought me out; Nejdanov, it seems, had left a letter for him too. Well, he wanted to know if Alexai had left any papers, but we hunted through all his things and found nothing. He must have burned everything, even his poems. Did you know that he wrote verses? I'm sorry they were destroyed; there must have been some good things among them. They all vanished with him--became lost in the general whirl, dead and gone for ever. Nothing was left except the memories of his friends--until they, too, vanish in their turn!"

Paklin ceased.

"Do you remember the Sipiagins?" he began again; "those respectable, patronising, loathsome swells are now at the very height of power and glory." Mashurina, of course, did not remember the Sipiagins, but Paklin hated them so much that he could not keep from abusing them on every possible occasion. "They say there's such a high tone in their house!

they're always talking about virtue! It's a bad sign, I think. Reminds me rather of an over-scented sick room. There must be some bad smell to conceal. Poor Alexai! It was they who ruined him!"

"And what is Solomin doing?" Mashurina asked. She had suddenly ceased wis.h.i.+ng to hear Paklin talk about him.

"Solomin!" Paklin exclaimed. "He's a clever chap! turned out well too.

He's left the old factory and taken all the best men with him. There was one fellow there called Pavel--could do anything; he's taken him along too. They say he has a small factory of his own now, somewhere near Perm, run on cooperative lines. He's all right! he'll stick to anything he undertakes. Got some grit in him! His strength lies in the fact that he doesn't attempt to cure all the social ills with one blow. What a rum set we are to be sure, we Russians! We sit down quietly and wait for something or someone to come along and cure us all at once; heal all our wounds, pull out all our diseases, like a bad tooth. But who or what is to work this magic spell, Darwinism, the land, the Archbishop Perepentiev, a foreign war, we don't know and don't care, but we must have our tooth pulled out for us! It's nothing but mere idleness, sluggishness, want of thinking. Solomin, on the other hand, is different; he doesn't go in for pulling teeth--he knows what he's about!"

Mashurina gave an impatient wave of the hand, as though she wished to dismiss the subject.

"And that girl," she began, "I forget her name... the one who ran away with Nejdanov--what became of her?"