Virgin Soil (Garnett)/Volume 1/Chapter 18

by Ivan Turgenev

XVIII

Strange was the state of his mind. In the last two days so many new sensations, new faces.. . . For the first time in his life he had come close to a girl, whom, in all probability, he loved; he was present at the beginning of the thing to which, in all probability, all his energies were consecrated.. . . Well? was he rejoicing? No. Was he wavering, afraid, confused? Oh, certainly not. Was he, at least, feeling that tension of his whole being, that impulse forward into the front ranks of the battle, to be expected as the struggle grew near? No again. Did he believe, then, in this cause? Did he believe in his own love? 'Oh, damned artistic temperament! sceptic!' his lips murmured inaudibly. Why this weariness, this disinclination to speak even, without shrieking and raving? What inner voice did he want to stifle with those ravings? But Marianna, that noble, faithful comrade, that pure, passionate nature, that exquisite girl, did not she love him? Was not that an immense happiness, to have met her, to have gained her friendship, her love? And these two walking in front of him at this moment, this Markelov, this Solomin, whom he knew so little as yet, but to whom he felt so drawn, were they not fine types of the Russian nature, of Russian life, and was not it a happiness, too, to know them, to be friends with them? Then why this undefined, vague, gnawing sensation? How and why this dejection? 'If you're a brooding pessimist,' his lips murmured again, 'a damned fine revolutionist you'll make! You ought to be writing rhymes, and sulking and nursing your own petty thoughts and sensations, and busying yourself with psychological fancies and subtleties of all sorts, but at least don't mistake your sickly, nervous whims and irritability for manly indignation, for the honest anger of a man of convictions! O Hamlet, Hamlet, how to escape from the shadow of your spirit! How cease to follow you in everything, even in the loathsome enjoyment of one's own self-depreciation!'

'Alexey! Friend! Hamlet of Russia!' he heard suddenly, like the echo of these reflections, in a familiar squeaky voice. 'Is it you I see before me?'

Nezhdanov raised his eyes, and with amazement beheld Paklin!─Paklin, in quite an Arcadian get-up, a summer suit of flesh-colour, with no cravat round his neck, a large straw hat with a blue ribbon pushed on to the back of his head, and in varnished shoes!

He at once limped up to Nezhdanov and grasped his hands.

'First of all', he began, 'though we are in a public garden, I must, for old custom's sake, embrace . . . and kiss you . . . Once, twice, thrice! Secondly, you must know that if I had not met you to-day, you would certainly have seen me to-morrow, as I knew your abode, and am, indeed, in this town with that object . . . how I got here, we will talk of hereafter; and thirdly, introduce me to your companions. Tell me briefly who they are, and them who I am, and then let's proceed to enjoy ourselves!'

Nezhdanov acted on his friend's request, named him, Markelov and Solomin, and told what each of them was, where he lived, what he did, and so on.

'Capital!' cried Paklin; 'and now let me lead you all far from the madding crowd, though there's not much of it here, certainly, to a secluded seat, where I sit, at moments of contemplation, to enjoy the beauties of nature. There's a wonderful view: the governor's house, two striped sentry-boxes, three policemen, and not one dog! Don't be too much surprised at the remarks with which I'm so perseveringly trying to amuse you! I'm the representative, in my friends' opinion, of Russian wit . . . no doubt that's why I'm lame.'

Paklin led the friends to the 'secluded seat,' and made them sit down on it, after dislodging two beggar women as a preliminary. The young men proceeded to 'exchange ideas,' generally a rather tedious process, especially at a first meeting, and a particularly unprofitable occupation at all times.

'Stay!' Paklin cried suddenly, turning to Nezhdanov. 'I must explain to you how it is I'm here. You know I always take my sister away somewhere every summer; when I found out that you had gone off into the neighbourhood of this town, I remembered that there were two wonderful creatures living in this very town, a husband and wife, who are connections of ours . . . on my mother's side. My father was a tradesman'─(Nezhdanov was aware of the fact, but Paklin mentioned it for the benefit of the other two)─'but my mother was of noble family. And for ages they've been inviting us to come and see them! There! thought I . . . the very thing. They're the kindest people, it'll do my sister any amount of good—what could be better? Well, and so here we are. And it was just as I thought! I can't tell you how nice it is for us here! But what types! what types! you really must make their acquaintance! What are you doing here? Where are you going to dine? And why is it you were here, of all places?'

'We are going to dinner with a man called Golushkin . . . a merchant here', answered Nezhdanov.

'At what o'clock?'

'Three.'

'And you are seeing him upon . . . upon . . .' Paklin took a comprehensive look at Solomin, who was smiling, and Markelov, whose face grew darker and darker. . .

'Come, Alyosha, tell them . . . make some sort of Masonic sign, do . . . tell them they needn't be on their guard with me . . . I'm one of you . . . of your party.. . .'

'Golushkin, too, is one of us,' observed Nezhdanov.

'Now, I've a brilliant idea! There's a long while yet to three o'clock. Listen, let's go and see my relations!'

'Why, you're crazy! How could we? . . .'

'Don't worry yourself about that! I'll take all that on myself. Imagine: it's an oasis! Not a glimpse of politics, nor literature, nor anything modern has penetrated into it. A queer podgy sort of little house, such as you never see anywhere now; the very smell in it's antique; the people antique, the atmosphere antique . . . take it how you will, it's all antique, Catherine the Second, powder, hoops, eighteenth century! Just fancy a husband and wife, both very old, the same age, and without a wrinkle; round, chubby, spruce little things, a perfect pair of little poll-parrots; and good-natured to stupidity, to saintliness, no bounds to it! They tell me "boundless" good-nature often goes with an absence of moral feeling.. . . But I can't enter into such subtleties; I only know that my little old dears are the very soul of good-nature! Never had any children. The blessed innocents! That's what they call them in the town: blessed innocents. Both dressed alike in sort of striped gowns, and such good stuff: you can never see anything like that either nowadays. They're awfully like each other, only one has a mob-cap on her head, and the other a skull-cap, though that has the same sort of frilling as the mob-cap, only no strings. If it weren't for that difference, you wouldn't know which was which; especially as the husband has no beard. Their names are Fomushka and Fimushka. I tell you people ought to pay at the door to look at them, as curiosities. They love one another in the most impossible way; but if any one comes to visit them, it's "Delighted, so good of you!" And such hospitable creatures! they show off all their little tricks at once to amuse you. There's only one thing: one mustn't smoke; not that they're dissenters, but tobacco upsets them.. . . You see, no one smoked in their day. However, they can't stand canaries either, because that bird was very rarely seen in their day too.. . . And that's a great blessing, you'll admit! Well? will you come?'

'Really, I don't know,' began Nezhdanov.

'Stay; I haven't told you everything yet; their voices are just alike: with your eyes shut you wouldn't know which was speaking. Only Fomushka speaks just a little more expressively. Come, my friends, you are now on the brink of a great undertaking─perhaps, a terrible conflict.. . . Why shouldn't you, before flinging yourselves into those stormy deeps, try a dip. . .'

'In stagnant water?' Markelov put in.

'And what if so? Stagnant it is, certainly; but fresh and pure. There are ponds in the steppes which never get putrid, though there's no stream through them, because they are fed by springs from the bottom. And my old dears have such springs too in the bottom of their hearts, and pure as can be. It all comes to this, would you like to know how people lived a century, a century and a half ago, make haste then and follow me. Or soon a day and hour will come─it's bound to be the same hour for both─and my poll-parrots will be knocked off their perches, and all that's antique will end with them, and the podgy little house will fall down, and the place of it will be overgrown with what, my grandmother used to tell me, always grows over the place where man's handiwork has been─that's to say─nettles, burdock, thistles, wormwood, dock leaves; the very street will cease to be, and men will come and go and never see any- thing like this again in all the ages!'

'Well!' cried Nezhdanov, 'let's be off directly!'

'I'm ready, with the greatest pleasure, indeed,' observed Solomin. 'It's not in my line, but it's interesting; and if Mr. Paklin can really guarantee that we should not be putting any one out by our visit, then . . . why . . .'

'Don't worry yourself!' Paklin cried in his turn; 'they'll be simply transported─that's all. No need of ceremony in this case! I tell you, they're blessed innocents; we'll make them sing to us. And you, too, Mr. Markelov, do you agree?'

Markelov shrugged his shoulders angrily.

'I'm not going to stay here alone! lead the way, if you please.'

The young men got up from the seat.

'You've a formidable gentleman there', Paklin whispered to Nezhdanov, indicating Markelov, 'the very image of John the Baptist eating locusts . . . the locusts without the honey! But he', he added with a nod in Solomin's direction, 'is delightful! What a jolly smile! I've noticed the only people who smile like that are those who're superior to other people without being aware of it.'

'Are there ever people like that?' asked Nezhdanov.

'Not often; but there are some', answered Paklin.