Virgin Soil Part 50

"My G.o.d!" he groaned inwardly, while the perspiration streamed down his back more and more, "what have I done? I have betrayed everything and everybody... I have been duped, been bought over by a good cigar!! I am a traitor! What shall I do now to help matters? Oh G.o.d!"

But there was nothing to be done. Sipiagin dozed off in a haughty, dignified, ministerial manner, enveloped in his stately cloak.

x.x.xV

THE governor of S. was one of those good-natured, happy-go-lucky, worldly generals who, endowed with wonderfully clean, snow-white bodies and souls to match, of good breeding and education, are turned out of a mill where they are never ground down to becoming the "shepherds of the people." Nevertheless they prove themselves capable of a tolerable amount of administrative ability--do little work, but are forever sighing after St. Petersburg and paying court to all the pretty women of the place. These are men who in some unaccountable way become useful to their province and manage to leave pleasant memories behind them. The governor had only just got out of bed, and was comfortably seated before his dressing-table in his night-shirt and silk dressing-gown, bathing his face and neck with eau-de-cologne after having removed a whole collection of charms and coins dangling from it, when he was informed of the arrival of Sipiagin and Kollomietzev upon some urgent business. He was very familiar with Sipiagin, having known him from childhood and constantly run across him in St. Petersburg drawing-rooms, and lately he had begun to e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.e a respectful "Ah!" every time his name occurred to him--as if he saw in him a future statesman. Kollomietzev he did not know so well and respected less in consequence of various unpleasant complaints that had been made against him; however, he looked upon him as a man qui fera chemin in any case.

He ordered his guests to be shown into his study, where he soon joined them, as he was, in his silk dressing-gown, and not so much as excusing himself for receiving them in such an unofficial costume, shook hands with them heartily. Only Sipiagin and Kollomietzev appeared in the governor's study; Paklin remained in the drawing-room. On getting out of the carriage he had tried to slip away, muttering that he had some business at home, but Sipiagin had detained him with a polite firmness (Kollomietzev had rushed up to him and whispered in his ear: "Ne le lacher pas! Tonnerre de tonnerres!") and taken him in. He had not, however, taken him to the study, but had asked him, with the same polite firmness, to wait in the drawing-room until he was wanted. Even here Paklin had hoped to escape, but a robust gendarme at Kollomietzev's instruction appeared in the doorway; so Paklin remained.

"I dare say you've guessed what has brought me to you, Voldemar,"

Sipiagin began.

"No, my dear, no, I can't," the amiable Epicurean replied, while a smile of welcome played about his rosy cheeks, showing a glimpse of shiny teeth, half hidden by his silky moustache.

"What? Don't you know about Markelov?"

"What do you mean? What Markelov?" the governor repeated with the same joyful expression on his face. He did not remember, in the first place, that the man who was arrested yesterday was called Markelov, and, in the second, he had quite forgotten that Sipiagin's wife had a brother of that name. "But why are you standing, Boris? Sit down. Would you like some tea?"

Sipiagin's mind was far from tea.

When at last he explained why they had both appeared, the governor uttered an exclamation of pain and struck himself on the forehead, while his face a.s.sumed a sympathetic expression.

"Dear me! what a misfortune! And he's here now--today.... You know we never keep that sort with us for more than one night at the outside, but the chief of police is out of town, so your brother-in-law has been detained. He is to be sent on tomorrow. Dear me! what a dreadful thing!

What your wife must have gone through! What would you like me to do?"

"I would like to have an interview with him here, if it is not against the law."

"My dear boy! laws are not made for men like you. I do feel so sorry for you.... C'est affreux, tu sais!"

He gave a peculiar ring. An adjutant appeared.

"My dear baron, do please make some arrangement there..." He told him what he wanted and the baron vanished. "Only think, mon cher ami, the peasants nearly killed him. They tied his hands behind him, flung him in a cart, and brought him here! And he's not in the least bit angry or indignant with them you know! He was so calm altogether that I was amazed! But you will see for yourself. C'est un fanatique tranquille."

"Ce sont les pires," Kollomietzev remarked sarcastically. The governor looked up at him from under his eyebrows. "By the way, I must have a word with you, Simion Petrovitch."

"Yes; what about?"

"I don't like things at all--"

"What things?"

"You know that peasant who owed you money and came here to complain--"

"Well?"

"He's hanged himself."

"When?"

"It's of no consequence when; but it's an ugly affair."

Kollomietzev merely shrugged his shoulders and moved away to the window with a graceful swing of the body. At this moment the adjutant brought in Markelov.

The governor had been right; he was unnaturally calm. Even his habitual moroseness had given place to an expression of weary indifference, which did not change when he caught sight of his brother-in-law. Only in the glance which he threw on the German adjutant, who was escorting him, there was a momentary flash of the old hatred he felt towards such people. His coat had been torn in several places and hurriedly st.i.tched up with coa.r.s.e thread; his forehead, eyebrows, and the bridge of his nose were covered with small scars caked with clotted blood. He had not washed, but had combed his hair.

"Sergai Mihailovitch!" Sipiagin began excitedly, taking a step or two towards him and extending his right hand, only so that he might touch him or stop him if he made a movement in advance, "Sergai Mihailovitch!

I am not here to tell you of our amazement, our deep distress--you can have no doubt of that! You wanted to ruin yourself and have done so!

But I've come to tell you... that... that... to give you the chance of hearing sound common-sense through the voice of honour and friendship.

You can still mitigate your lot and, believe me, I will do all in my power to help you, as the honoured head of this province can bear witness!" At this point Sipiagin raised his voice. "A real penitence of your wrongs and a full confession without reserve which will be duly presented in the proper quarters--"

"Your excellency," Markelov exclaimed suddenly, turning towards the governor--the very sound of his voice was calm, though it was a little hoa.r.s.e; "I thought that you wanted to see me in order to cross-examine me again, but if I have been brought here solely by Mr. Sipiagin's wish, then please order me to be taken back again. We cannot understand one another. All he says is so much Greek to me."

"Greek, eh!" Kollomietzev shrieked. "And to set peasants rioting, is that Greek too? Is that Greek too, eh?

"What have you here, your excellency? A landowner of the secret police?

And how zealous he is!" Markelov remarked, a faint smile of pleasure playing about his pale lips.

Kollomietzev stamped and raged, but the governor stopped him.

"It serves you right, Simion Petrovitch. You shouldn't interfere in what is not your business."

"Not my business... not my business... It seems to me that it's the business of every n.o.bleman--"

Markelov scanned Kollomietzev coldly and slowly, as if for the last time and then turned to Sipiagin.

"If you really want to know my views, my dear brother-in-law, here they are. I admit that the peasants had a right to arrest me and give me up if they disapproved of what I preached to them. They were free to do what they wanted. I came to them, not they to me. As for the government--if it does send me to Siberia, I'll go without grumbling, although I don't consider myself guilty. The government does its work, defends itself. Are you satisfied?"

Sipiagin wrung his hands in despair.

"Satisfied!! What a word! That's not the point, and it is not for us to judge the doings of the government. The question, my dear Sergai, is whether you feel" (Sipiagin had decided to touch the tender strings) "the utter unreasonableness, senselessness, of your undertaking and are prepared to repent; and whether I can answer for you at all, my dear Sergai."

Markelov frowned.

"I have said all I have to say and don't want to repeat it."

"But don't you repent? Don't you repent?"

"Oh, leave me alone with your repentance! You want to steal into my very soul? Leave that, at any rate, to me."

Sipiagin shrugged his shoulders.

"You were always like that; never would listen to common-sense. You have a splendid chance of getting out of this quietly, honourably...

"Quietly, honourably," Markelov repeated savagely. "We know those words.

They are always flung at a man when he's wanted to do something mean!