Works of Ivan Turgenev (Illustrated) (131 page)

“Very well,” Solomin repeated pensively. “But when do you want to go away?”

“Tomorrow, if possible,” Mariana observed.

“Very good. But where?”

“Sh, sh — ” Nejdanov whispered. “Someone is walking along the corridor.”

They were all silent for a time.

“But where do you want to go to?” Solomin asked again, lowering his voice.

“We don’t know,” Mariana replied.

Solomin glanced at Nejdanov, but the latter merely shook his head.

Solomin stretched out his hand and carefully snuffed the candle.

“I tell you what, my children,” he said at last, “come to me at the factory. It’s not beautiful there, but safe, at any rate. I will hide you. I have a little spare room there. Nobody will find you. If only you get there, we won’t give you up. You might think that there are far too many people about, but that’s one of its good points. Where there is a crowd it’s easy to hide. Will you come? Will you?”

“How can we thank you enough!” Nejdanov exclaimed, whilst Mariana, who was at first a little taken aback by the idea of the factory, added quickly:

“Of course, of course! How good of you! But you won’t leave us there long, will you? You will send us on, won’t you?”

“That will depend entirely on yourselves... If you should want to get married that could also be arranged at the factory. I have a neighbour there close by — a cousin of mine, a priest, and very friendly. He would marry you with the greatest of pleasure.”

Mariana smiled to herself, while Nejdanov again pressed Solomin’s hand.

“But I say, won’t your employer, the owner of the factory, be annoyed about it. Won’t he make it unpleasant for you?” he asked after a pause.

Solomin looked askance at Nejdanov.

“Oh, don’t bother about me! It’s quite unnecessary. So long as things at the factory go on all right it’s all the same to my employer. You need neither of you fear the least unpleasantness. And you need not be afraid of the workpeople either. Only let me know what time to expect you.”

Nejdanov and Mariana exchanged glances.

“The day after tomorrow, early in the morning, or the day after that. We can’t wait any longer. As likely as not they’ll tell me to go tomorrow.”

“Well then,” Solomin said, rising from his chair. “I’ll wait for you every morning. I won’t leave the place for the rest of the week. Every precaution will be taken.”

Mariana drew near to him (she was on her way to the door). “Goodbye, my dear kind Vassily Fedotitch... that is your name, isn’t it?”

“That’s right.”

“Goodbye till we meet again. And thank you so much!”

“Goodbye, good night!”

“Goodbye, Nejdanov; till tomorrow,” she added, and went out quickly.

The young men remained for some time motionless, and both were silent.

“Nejdanov...” Solomin began at last, and stopped. “Nejdanov...” he began a second time, “tell me about this girl... tell me everything you can. What has her life been until now? Who is she? Why is she here?”

Nejdanov told Solomin briefly what he knew about her. “Nejdanov,” he said at last, “you must take great care of her, because... if... anything... were to happen, you would be very much to blame. Goodbye.”

He went out, while Nejdanov stood still for a time in the middle of the room, and muttering, “Oh dear! It’s better not to think!” threw himself face downwards on the bed.

When Mariana returned to her room she found a note on the table containing the following:

“I am sorry for you. You are ruining yourself. Think what you are doing. Into what abysses are you throwing yourself with your eyes shut. For whom and for what? — V.”

There was a peculiarly fine fresh scent in the room; evidently Valentina Mihailovna had only just left it. Mariana took a pen and wrote underneath: “You need not be sorry for me. God knows which of us two is more in need of pity. I only know that I wouldn’t like to be in your place for worlds. — M.” She put the note on the table, not doubting that it would fall into Valentina Mihailovna’s hand.

On the following morning, Solomin, after seeing Nejdanov and definitely declining to undertake the management of Sipiagin’s factory, set out for home. He mused all the way home, a thing that rarely occurred with him; the motion of the carriage usually had a drowsy effect on him. He thought of Mariana and of Nejdanov; it seemed to him that if he had been in love — he, Solomin — he would have had quite a different air, would have looked and spoken differently. “But,” he thought, “such a thing has never happened to me, so I can’t tell what sort of an air I would have.” He recalled an Irish girl whom he had once seen in a shop behind a counter; recalled her wonderful black hair, blue eyes, and thick lashes, and how she had looked at him with a sad, wistful expression, and how he had paced up and down the street before her window for a long time, how excited he had been, and had kept asking himself if he should try and get to know her. He was in London at the time, where he had been sent by his employer with a sum of money to make various purchases. He very nearly decided to remain in London and send back the money, so strong was the impression produced on him by the beautiful Polly. (He had got to know her name, one of the other girls had called her by it.) He had mastered himself, however, and went back to his employer. Polly was more beautiful than Mariana, but Mariana had the same sad, wistful expression in her eyes... and Mariana was a Russian.

“But what am I doing?” Solomin exclaimed in an undertone, “bothering about other men’s brides!” and he shook back the collar of his coat, as if he wanted to shake off all superfluous thoughts. Just then he drove up to the factory and caught sight of the faithful Pavel in the doorway of his little dwelling.

XXVI

SOLOMIN’S refusal greatly offended Sipiagin; so much so, that he suddenly found that this home - bred Stevenson was not such a wonderful engineer after all, and that though he was not perhaps a complete poser, yet gave himself airs like the plebeian he was. “All these Russians when they imagine they know a thing become insufferable! Au fond Kollomietzev was right!” Under the influence of such hostile and irritable sensations, the statesman — en herbe — was even more unsympathetic and distant in his intercourse with Nejdanov. He told Kolia that he need not take lessons that day and that he must try to be more independent in future. He did not, however, dismiss the tutor himself as the latter had expected, but continued to ignore him. But Valentina Mihailovna did not ignore Mariana. A dreadful scene took place between them.

About two hours before dinner they suddenly found themselves alone in the drawing - room. They both felt that the inevitable moment for the battle had arrived and, after a moment’s hesitation, instinctively drew near to one another. Valentina Mihailovna was slightly smiling, Mariana pressed her lips firmly together; both were pale. When walking across the room, Valentina Mihailovna looked uneasily to the right and left and tore off a geranium leaf. Mariana’s eyes were fixed straight on the smiling face coming towards her. Madame Sipiagina was the first to stop, and drumming her finger - tips on the back of a chair began in a free and easy tone:

“Mariana Vikentievna, it seems that we have entered upon a correspondence with one another... Living under the same roof as we do it strikes me as being rather strange. And you know I am not very fond of strange things.”

“I did not begin the correspondence, Valentina Mihailovna.”

“That is true. As it happens, I am to blame in that. Only I could not think of any other means of arousing in you a feeling... how shall I say? A feeling — ”

“You can speak quite plainly, Valentina Mihailovna. You need not be afraid of offending me.”

“A feeling... of propriety.”

Valentina Mihailovna ceased; nothing but the drumming of her fingers could be heard in the room.

“In what way do you think I have failed to observe the rules of propriety?” Mariana asked.

Valentina Mihailovna shrugged her shoulders.

“Ma chere, vous n’etes plus un enfant — I think you know what I mean. Do you suppose that your behaviour could have remained a secret to me, to Anna Zaharovna, to the whole household in fact? However, I must say you are not over - particular about secrecy. You simply acted in bravado. Only Boris Andraevitch does not know what you have done... But he is occupied with far more serious and important matters. Apart from him, everybody else knows, everybody!”

Mariana’s pallor increased.

“I must ask you to express yourself more clearly, Valentina Mihailovna. What is it you are displeased about?”

“L’insolente!” Madame Sipiagina thought, but contained herself.

“Do you want to know why I am displeased with you, Mariana? Then I must tell you that I disapprove of your prolonged interviews with a young man who is very much beneath you in birth, breeding, and social position. I am displeased... no! this word is far too mild — I am shocked at your late... your night visits to this young man! And where does it happen? Under my own roof! Perhaps you see nothing wrong in it and think that it has nothing to do with me, that I should be silent and thereby screen your disgraceful conduct. As an honourable woman... oui, mademoiselle, je l’ai ete, je le suis, et je le serai tu’jours! I can’t help being horrified at such proceedings!”

Valentina Mihailovna threw herself into an armchair as if overcome by her indignation. Mariana smiled for the first time.

“I do not doubt your honour — past, present, and to come,” she began; “and I mean this quite sincerely. Your indignation is needless. I have brought no shame on your house. The young man whom you alluded to... yes, I have certainly... fallen in love with him.”

“You love Mr. Nejdanov?”

“Yes, I love him.”

Valentina Mihailovna sat up straight in her chair.

“But, Mariana! he’s only a student, of no birth, no family, and he is younger than you are!” (These words were pronounced not without a certain spiteful pleasure.) “What earthly good can come of it? What do you see in him? He is only an empty - headed boy.”

“That was not always your opinion of him, Valentina Mihailovna.”

“For heaven’s sake leave me out of the question, my dear!... Pas tant d’esprit que ca, je vous prie. The thing concerns you and your future. Just consider for a moment. What sort of a match is this for you?”

“I must confess, Valentina Mihailovna, that I did not look at it in that light.”

“What? What did you say? What am I to think? Let us assume that you followed the dictates of your heart, but then it must end in marriage sometime or other.”

“I don’t know... I had not thought of that.”

“You had not thought of that? You must be mad!”

Mariana turned away.

“Let us make an end of this conversation, Valentina Mihailovna. It won’t lead to anything. In any case we won’t understand each other.”

Valentina Mihailovna started up.

“I can’t, I won’t put an end to this conversation! It’s far too serious... I am responsible for you before...”

Valentina Mihailovna was going to say God, but hesitated and added, “before the whole world! I can’t be silent when I hear such utter madness! And why can’t I understand you, pray? What insufferable pride these young people have nowadays! On the contrary, I understand you only too well... I can see that you are infected with these new ideas, which will only be your ruin. It will be too late to turn back then.”

“Maybe; but believe me, even if we perish, we will not so much as stretch out a finger that you might save us!”

“Pride again! This awful pride! But listen, Mariana, listen to me,” she added, suddenly changing her tone. She wanted to draw Mariana nearer to herself, but the latter stepped back a pace. “Ecoutez - moi, je vous en conjure! After all, I am not so old nor so stupid that it should be impossible for us to understand each other! Je ne suis pas une encroutee. I was even considered a republican as a girl.. no less than you. Listen, I won’t pretend that I ever had any motherly feeling towards you... and it is not in your nature to complain of that... But I always felt, and feel now, that I owed certain duties towards you, and I have always endeavoured to fulfil them. Perhaps the match I had in my mind for you, for which both Boris Andraevitch and I would have been ready to make any sacrifice... may not have been fully in accordance with your ideas... but in the bottom of my heart — ”

Mariana looked at Valentina Mihailovna, at her wonderful eyes, her slightly painted lips, at her white hands, the parted fingers adorned with rings, which the elegant lady so energetically pressed against the bodice of her silk dress.

Suddenly she interrupted her.

“Did you say a match, Valentina Mihailovna? Do you call that heartless, vulgar friend of yours, Mr. Kollomietzev, ‘a match?’“

Valentina Mihailovna took her fingers from her bodice. “Yes, Mariana Vikentievna! I am speaking of that cultured, excellent young man, Mr. Kollomietzev, who would make a wife happy and whom only a mad - woman could refuse! Yes, only a mad - woman!”

“What can I do, ma tante? It seems that I am mad!”

“Have you anything serious against him?”

“Nothing whatever. I simply despise him.” Valentina Mihailovna shook her head impatiently and dropped into her chair again.

“Let us leave him. Retournons a nos moutons. And so you love Mr. Nejdanov?”

“Yes.”

“And do you intend to continue your interviews with him?”

“Yes.”

“But supposing I forbid it?”

“I won’t listen to you.”

Valentina Mihailovna sprang up from her chair. “What! You won’t listen to me! I see... And that is said to me by a girl who has known nothing but kindness from me, whom I have brought up in my own house, that is said to me... said to me — ”

“By the daughter of a disgraced father,” Mariana put in, sternly. “Go on, don’t be on ceremonies!”

“Ce n’est pas moi qui vous le fait dire, mademoiselle! In any case, that is nothing to be proud of! A girl who lives at my expense — ”

“Don’t throw that in my face, Valentina Mihailovna! It would cost you more to keep a French governess for Kolia... It is I who give him French lessons!”

Valentina Mihailovna raised a hand holding a scented cambric pocket - handkerchief with a large white monogram embroidered in one corner and tried to say something, but Mariana continued passionately:

“You would have been right, a thousand times right, if, instead of counting up all your petty benefits and sacrifices, you could have been in a position to say ‘the girl I loved’... but you are too honest to lie about that!” Mariana trembled feverishly. “You have always hated me. And even now you are glad in the bottom of your heart — that same heart you have just mentioned — glad that I am justifying your constant predictions, covering myself with shame and scandal — you are only annoyed because part of this shame is bound to fall on your virtuous, aristocratic house!

“You are insulting me,” Valentina Mihailovna whispered. “Be kind enough to leave the room!”

But Mariana could no longer contain herself. “Your household, you said, all your household, Anna Zaharovna and everybody knows of my behaviour! And every one is horrified and indignant... But am I asking anything of you, of all these people? Do you think I care for their good opinion? Do you think that eating your bread has been sweet? I would prefer the greatest poverty to this luxury. There is a gulf between me and your house, an interminable gulf that cannot be crossed. You are an intelligent woman, don’t you feel it too? And if you hate me, what do you think I feel towards you? We won’t go into unnecessary details, it’s too obvious.”

“Sortez, sortez, vous dis - je...” Valentina Mihailovna repeated, stamping her pretty little foot.

Mariana took a few steps towards the door.

“I will rid you of my presence directly, only do you know what, Valentina Mihailovna? They say that in Racine’s ‘Bajazet’ even Rachel’s sortez! was not effective, and you don’t come anywhere near her! Then, what was it you said... Je suis une honnete femme, je l’ai et le serai toujours? But I am convinced that I am far more honest than you are! Goodbye!”

Mariana went out quickly and Valentina Mihailovna sprang up from her chair. She wanted to scream, to cry, but did not know what to scream about, and the tears would not come at her bidding.

So she fanned herself with her pocket - handkerchief, but the strong scent of it affected her nerves still more. She felt miserable, insulted... She was conscious of a certain amount of truth in what she had just heard, but how could anyone be so unjust to her? “Am I really so bad?” she thought, and looked at herself in a mirror hanging opposite between two windows. The looking - glass reflected a charming face, somewhat excited, the colour coming and going, but still a fascinating face, with wonderful soft, velvety eyes...

“I? I am bad?” she thought again.... “With such eyes?”

But at this moment her husband entered the room and she again covered her face with her pocket - handkerchief.

“What is the matter with you?” he asked anxiously. “What is the matter, Valia?” (He had invented this pet name, but only allowed himself to use it when they were quite alone, particularly in the country.)

At first she declared that there was nothing the matter, but ended by turning around in her chair in a very charming and touching manner and, flinging her arms round his shoulders (he stood bending over her) and hiding her face in the slit of his waistcoat, told him everything. Without any hypocrisy or any interested motive on her part, she tried to excuse Mariana as much as she could, putting all the blame on her extreme youth, her passionate temperament, and the defects of her early education. In the same way she also, without any hidden motive, blamed herself a great deal, saying, “With a daughter of mine this would never have happened! I would have looked after her quite differently!” Sipiagin listened to her indulgently, sympathetically, but with a severe expression on his face. He continued standing in a stooping position without moving his head so long as she held her arms round his shoulders; he called her an angel, kissed her on the forehead, declared that he now knew what course he must pursue as head of the house, and went out, carrying himself like an energetic humane man, who was conscious of having to perform an unpleasant but necessary duty.