Virgin Soil (Garnett)/Volume 1/Chapter 15
XV
As soon as it seemed possible, Nezhdanov went away to his room and locked himself in. He did not want to see any one, any one except Marianna. Her room was at the very end of the long corridor which intersected the whole top storey. Nezhdanov had only once, and then only for a few instants, been to her room; but it struck him that she would not be angry if he knocked at her door, that she even wished to have a talk with him. It was rather late, about ten o'clock; the Sipyagins, after the scene at dinner, had not thought it necessary to disturb him, and were still playing cards with Kallomyetsev. Valentina Mihalovna had twice inquired after Marianna, as she too had vanished soon after dinner.
'Where is Marianna Vikentyevna?' she asked first in Russian, then in French, not addressing herself to any one in particular, but rather to the walls, as people are wont to do when they are greatly astonished; but soon she too was absorbed in the game.
Nezhdanov walked once or twice up and down his room, then he went along the corridor to Marianna's door and softly knocked. There was no answer. He knocked once more, tried the door. . . . It appeared to be locked. But he had hardly got back to his own room, and sat down to the table, when his own door gave a faint creak and he heard Marianna's voice:
'Alexey Dmitritch, was that you came to me?'
He jumped up at once and ran into the corridor; Marianna was standing at his door, a candle in her hand, pale and motionless.
'Yes . . . I . . .' he whispered.
'Come along,' she answered, and walked along the corridor, but before she got to the end she stopped and pushed open a low door with her hand. Nezhdanov saw a small, almost empty room. 'We had better go in here, Alexey Dmitritch, here no one will disturb us.' Nezhdanov obeyed. Marianna set the candle down on the window-sill and turned round to Nezhdanov.
'I understand why it was that you wanted to see me,' she began; 'it is very wretched for you living in this house, and so it is for me too.'
'Yes; I wanted to see you, Marianna Vikentyevna', answered Nezhdanov, 'but it isn't wretched for me here since I have come to know you.'
Marianna smiled thoughtfully.
'Thanks, Alexey Dmitritch; but tell me, can you intend to stay here after all this hideous business?'
'I don't suppose they'll let me stay here, they'll dismiss me!'
'Wouldn't you dismiss yourself?'
'Of my own accord? . . . No.'
'Why?'
'You want to know the truth? because you are here.'
Marianna bent her head and moved a little further away into the room.
'And besides,' Nezhdanov went on, 'I am bound to stay here. You know nothing but I want, I feel I ought, to tell you everything.'
He stepped up to Marianna and seized her by the hand. She did not take it away, but only looked into his face. 'Listen!' he cried on a sudden powerful impulse, 'listen to me!' And at once, without sitting down, though there were two or three chairs in the room, still standing in front of Marianna and keeping hold of her hand, with impulsive heat, with an eloquence unexpected by himself, Nezhdanov told her of his plans, his intentions, the reasons that had made him accept Sipyagin's offer, of all his ties, his acquaintances, his past, all that he had always concealed, that he had never spoken openly of to any one! He told her of the letters he received, of Vassily Nikolaevitch, of everything—even of Silin! He spoke hurriedly, without reluctance, or the faintest hesitation, as though he were reproaching himself for not having initiated Marianna into all his secrets before, as though he were seeking her pardon. She heard him attentively, greedily; for the first minute she was bewildered.. . . But that feeling vanished at once. Gratitude, pride, devotion, resolution, that was what her soul was overflowing with. Her face, her eyes were bright; she laid her other hand on Nezhdanov's hand, her lips were parted in rapture.. . . She had suddenly grown marvellously beautiful!
He stopped at last, looked at her, and as it were for the first time saw that face, which seemed at the same time so dear and so familiar to him.
He gave a deep, long sigh. . . .
'Ah! I have done well to tell you everything!'─his lips were hardly able to utter the words.
'Yes, oh, so well, so well!' she repeated, also in a whisper. She unconsciously imitated him, and, indeed, her voice failed her too. 'And it means, you know,' she went on, 'that I am at your disposal, that I want too to be of use to your cause, that I am ready to do anything that is wanted, to go where I am ordered, that I have always, with my whole soul, yearned for the thing that you . . .'
She too was silent. Another word, and tears of emotion would have fallen in floods. All her strong nature was suddenly soft as wax. The thirst for activity, for sacrifice, immediate sacrifice─that was what mastered her.
The steps of some one in the corridor could be heard─cautious, rapid, light steps.
Marianna suddenly drew herself up, freed her hands; she was at once transformed and alert. Something scornful, something audacious came over her face.
'I know Who is spying on us at this minute,' she said, so loudly that each of her words resounded distinctly in the corridor. Madame Sipyagin is spying on us . . . but I don't care a bit for that.'
The sound of steps ceased.
'What then?' Marianna said, turning to Nezhdanov, 'what am I to do? how am I to help you? Tell me . . . tell me soon! What's to be done?'
`What?' said Nezhdanov; 'I don't know yet . . . I got a letter from Markelov.'
'When? when?'
'This evening. I must go with him to-morrow to the factory to see Solomin.'
'Yes . . . yes.. . . That's a splendid man, now, Markelov. He's a real friend.'
'Like me?'
Marianna looked Nezhdanov straight in the face.
'No . . . not like you.'
'How? . . .'
She turned suddenly away.
'Ah! don't you understand what you have become to me, and what I am feeling at this moment? . . .'
Nezhdanov's heart beat violently; involuntarily he looked down. This girl, who loved him─him, a poor homeless devil─who believed in him, who was ready to follow him, to go with him towards the same aim─this exquisite girl─Marianna, at that instant, was to Nezhdanov the incarnation of everything good and true on earth─the incarnation of all the love of mother, sister, wife, that he had known nothing of—the incarnation of fatherland, happiness, struggle, freedom!
He raised his head, and saw her eyes again bent upon him. . .
Oh, how that clear, noble glance sank into his soul!
'And so,' he began in an unsteady voice, 'I am going to-morrow.. . . And when I come back, Marianna Vikentyevna'─(he suddenly found it awkward to use this formal address)─'I will tell you what I find out, what is decided. Henceforth everything I do, everything I think, everything, you shall be the first to know . . . Marianna.'
'Oh, my friend!' cried Marianna, and again she clasped his hand, 'and I make the same promise to you, dear.'
This last word came as easily and simply from her as though it could not be otherwise, as though it were the 'dear' of long, intimate companionship.
'Can I see the letter?'
'Here it is, here.'
Marianna skimmed through the letter, and almost with reverence she raised her eyes upon him.
'Do they intrust such important commissions to you, Alexey?'
He smiled at her in answer, and put the letter in his pocket.
'Strange,' he said, 'why, we have made known our love to each other─we love one another─and there has not been a word said about it between us!'
'What need?' whispered Marianna, and suddenly she flung herself on his neck, pressed her head to his shoulder.. . . But they did not even kiss─they would have felt it ordinary and somehow dreadful─and at once they separated, after tightly clasping each other's hands again.
Marianna turned away to get the candle, which she had put on the window-sill of the empty room, and only then something like embarrassment came over her. She extinguished it, and, gliding quickly along the corridor in the black darkness, she returned to her room, undressed and went to bed, still in the darkness─she felt it somehow comforting.