Nezhdanov

“ Suddenly Nezhdanov started and was all alert; somewhere near at hand there was first the shrill creak, then the thump of a gate; a little feminine figure wrapped in a shawl, with a bundle in its bare hand, stepped with a deliberate movement out of the still shadows of the willows on to the soft dust of the road, and crossing it in a slanting direction, apparently on tiptoe, turned towards the copse. ”

“ Meeting no one, either in the corridor, on the stairs, or below, Nezhdanov slipped out into the little enclosure. It was a grey day with a low-hanging sky, and a damp breeze that stirred the tops of the grasses and set the leaves on the trees shaking; the factory made less rattle and roar than at the same time on other days; from its yard came a smell of coal, tar, and tallow. Nezhdanov took a sharp, searching look round, and went straight up to the old apple-tree which had attracted his attention on the very day of his arrival, when he had first looked out of the window of his little room. ”

“ Mashurina turned slightly away, biting her lip; Ostrodumov growled: 'At last!'
Paklin was the first to approach Nezhdanov.
'What's wrong with you, Alexey Dmitrievitch, Hamlet of Russia? Has any one offended you? or is it a causeless melancholy?'
'Stop that, please, Mephistopheles of Russia,' answered Nezhdanov irritably. 'I'm not equal to a contest with you in dull smartness.'
Paklin laughed.
'You don't express yourself very accurately; if it's smart, it's not dull; if it's dull, it's not smart.'
'Very well, very well. . . . ”

“ Of course he is not true to life, of course he is not typically Russian. The typical Russian in the book is Nezhdanov, who is entirely true to life in his uncertainty and in his futility; he does not know whether or not he is in love, and he does not know at the last what the "cause" really is. ”

“ As for this gentleman' (she indicated Nezhdanov, and hesitated) .
'What is it?' he said; 'tell me, please; what sort of man am I?'
'What sort of man are you? . . .' said Fimushka slowly, 'you're to be pitied─that's all.'
Nezhdanov shuddered.
'To be pitied? why so?'
'Oh! I pity you─that's all.'
'But why?'
'Oh, for reasons! My eye tells me so. Do you think I'm a fool? Oh, I'm cleverer than you, for all your red hair. . . . I pity you . . . that's your fortune!'
All were silent . . . they looked at one another, and were still silent. ”

“ Then it floated past, and suddenly glaring patches of light were waving everywhere again, in tangled, medley riot, mingled with patches of shade . . . the rustle and movement were the same; but a kind of festive delight was added. With just such joyous violence, passion makes its way into a heart distraught and darkened by trouble.. . . And just such was the heart Nezhdanov carried within his breast.
He leaned against the trunk of a birch-tree, and began waiting. ”

“ Something seemed to dart along his spine and down his legs, to set his throat, his chest, and his stomach on fire, to drive the tears into his eyes. . . . A shudder of nausea passed all over him, and with difficulty he kept it down. . . . He shouted at the top of his voice, if only to drown the throbbing in his head. The dark tavern room seemed suddenly hot, sticky, stifling, full of crowds of people! Nezhdanov began talking, talking endlessly, shouting wrathfully, malignantly, shaking broad, horny hands, kissing slobbery beards.. ”

“ But the letters that man writes! such letters!! I will show you them.. . . You will be astonished. Such fire! And his activity! Five or six times he has raced right across Russia and back . . . and from every station a letter of ten-twelve pages!'
Nezhdanov looked inquiringly at Ostrodumov, but he sat like a statue, not an eyebrow twitching, while Mashurina's lips were compressed in a bitter smile, but she, too, was dumb as a fish. Nezhdanov tried to question Markelov about his reforms in a socialistic direction on his estate . . . but at this Ostrodumov interposed. ”

“ While all this was taking place, Nezhdanov crept stealthily with a guilty air out of the carriage and stood near the front wheel, keeping his cap on and looking up from under his brows. . . . Valentina Mihalovna, as she embraced her husband, glanced sharply over his shoulder at this new figure; Sipyagin had told her beforehand that he was bringing a tutor along with him. ”

“ Nezhdanov took the staff without speaking and went off; Pavel followed him. Tatyana was about to go away too; Marianna got up and stopped her.
'Wait a little, Tatyana Osipovna; I want you.'
'But I'll be back in a minute with the samovar. Your comrade went off without any tea, —he was in such a desperate hurry.. . . But why should you deny yourself? Later on things'll be clearer.'
Tatyana went out; Solomin too rose. ”

“ Nezhdanov praised Markelov with warmth and sincerity, and spoke with special appreciation of Solomin. Speaking almost in enthusiastic terms about him, he asked himself, what precisely was it gave him such a high opinion of that man? He had uttered nothing specially brilliant; some of his sayings seemed indeed directly opposed to his, Nezhdanov's, convictions. . . . 'He's a well-balanced character,' was his conclusion; 'that's it, businesslike, cool, as Fimushka said, a solid fellow; calm, strong force; he knows what he wants, and has confidence in himself, and arouses confidence in others ”

“ Rough hands caught hold of him. 'Hold on!' raging voices were bawling. 'Talk away! The day before yesterday another, a stranger, talked like that. Go on! . . .' The earth seem reeling under Nezhdanov's feet. His own voice sounded strange to him, as if it came from a long way off.. . . Was it death, or what?
And all of a sudden . . . a sense of the fresh air on his face, and no more hubbub, no red faces, no stench of spirits, sheepskins, pitch and leather.. . . And again he was sitting in the cart with Pavel, at first struggling and shouting, 'Stop! Where are you off to? ”

“ That's what they give us nowadays for our money!' Nezhdanov himself, as he clambered into the cart and sat beside Pavel, thought to himself, 'Lord! what idiocy! But there, not one of us knows just how one ought to stir up the people—isn't that it, perhaps? There's no time to analyse now. Tear along! Does your heart ache? Let it!'
They drove into the village street. In the very middle of it a good many peasants were crowding round a tavern. Pavel tried to restrain Nezhdanov; but he flew head over heels out of the cart, and with a wailing shout of 'Brothers!' he was in the crowd. ”

“ He's introducing new arrangements with his peasants', she turned to Nezhdanov─'very original ones too; three-quarters of everything for them, and one quarter for himself; and even then he thinks he gets too much.'
'My sister's fond of joking,' Markelov in his turn addressed himself to Nezhdanov; 'but I'm prepared to agree with her that for one man to take a quarter of what belongs to a hundred at least, is certainly too much.'
'And have you, Alexey Dmitrievitch, noticed that I'm fond of joking?' inquired Madame Sipyagin, still with the same caressing softness both of eyes and voice. ”

“ He's an unhappy man, unlucky! Where could one find a better fellow? But no no one wants him anywhere.'
Nezhdanov looked at his companion.
`Do you know something about him, then?'
'I know nothing . . . but one sees it for oneself. Good-bye, Alexey Dmitritch.'
Mashurina got out of the coach, and an hour later Nezhdanov was driving into the courtyard of the Sipyagins' house. He did not feel very well. . . . He had spent a night without sleep . . . and then all the discussions . . . the talk.. . . ”

“ A great many people had come to dinner, and after dinner Nezhdanov profited by the general bustle to slip away to his own room. He wanted to be by himself if only to review the impressions he carried away from his expedition. At table Valentina Mihalovna had looked at him several times attentively, but apparently had not got a chance of speaking to him; Marianna, since that unexpected avowal which had so astounded him, seemed ashamed of herself and avoided him. Nezhdanov took up a pen ”

“ Nezhdanov felt himself grow pale all over in the darkness, and spasms passed over his face. He could scarcely restrain himself from flying at Markelov, seizing him by the throat. . .
'This insult must be washed out in blood, in blood. . .'
'I've found the road! ' cried the coachman, making his appearance at the right front wheel. 'I made a little mistake, kept too much to the left . . . it 's no matter now! We'll be there in no time; there 's not a mile before us. Be pleased to sit still!'
He clambered on to the box, took the reins from Markelov, turned the shaft horse's head. . . . ”

“ Sipyagin greeted Nezhdanov cordially.
'Aha!' he cried, 'I see you 're one of the young and early!' (He probably meant by this not very appropriate saying to express his approval of the fact that Nezhdanov had, like himself, not stayed late in bed.) 'We drink tea all together in the dining-room at eight, and lunch at twelve; at ten you will give Kolya your first lesson in Russian, and at two the history lesson. To-morrow, the 9th of May, is his name-day, and there will be no lessons ”

“ Born with the brain of an aristocrat, he represents the uneasy educated conscience of the aristocrats, the conscience which is ever seeking to propitiate, and be responsible for, “the people,” but is ever driven back by its inability to make itself understood by the masses, which have been crystallized by hard facts, for hundreds of years, into a great caste of their own. Nezhdanov understands instinctively how impossible, how fatal, is the task of “going to the people”: his sympathy is with them, but not of them. Banished, by his attitude, from his own caste, he seeks refuge in poetry and art ”

“ Then he took up a few pamphlets, stuffed them in his skirt pocket, and murmured a few words to himself in the accent of a small shopkeeper. 'I fancy that's like it,' he thought again; 'but after all, what need of acting? my get-up will answer for me.' And at that point Nezhdanov recollected a German convict, who had had to run away right across Russia, and he spoke Russian badly, too; but thanks to a merchant's cap edged with cat's-skin, which he had bought in a provincial town, he was taken everywhere for a merchant, and had successfully made his way over the frontier. ”

“ But the latter only cleared his throat and grunted: 'Wait a bit.'
'No, joking apart now, really', interposed Paklin; 'you have heard something's gone wrong?'
Nezhdanov bounded up on the bed, as though some force were tossing him upwards.
'What more would you have going wrong? he shouted, his voice suddenly growing loud. 'Half Russia's dying of hunger. The Moscow Gazette's triumphant; they're going to introduce classicism; the students' benefit clubs are prohibited; everywhere there's spying, persecution, betrayal, lying, and treachery we can't advance a step in any direction . ”

“ He fails in his impossible task of winning over 'the people,' and perishes. The Nezhdanovs still exist in Europe: they are the sign of a dislocation of the national life and of the artificial conditions of the society in which they appear; and the Russian Nezhdanov of the seventies was a type very much in evidence in the Nihilist party, and by making his hero perish Turgenev wished to show that hope for the future lay with far different men with the Mariannas, the moral enthusiasts, and with the Solomins, the practical leaders who must come from 'the people' itself. ”

“ On taking his seat in the cart with Pavel, Nezhdanov suddenly fell into a state of intense excitement; and directly they drove out of the factory yard and began rolling along the highroad towards T——— district, he began shouting, stopping the peasants that passed, and addressing them in brief, disconnected sentences. 'Eh, are you asleep?' he would say. 'Rise! the time has come! Down with the taxes! Down with the landowners!' Some peasants stared at him in amazement ”

“ Markelov clutched the reins handed him by the coachman, and went on as loudly as ever: 'I don't blame you, Alexey Dmitritch! You profited . . . of course. You were right. I only say that I don't wonder at your lukewarmness over our cause; you 'd something else, I say again, in your heart. And I say, too, for my own part, what man can guess beforehand what will take girls' hearts, or understand what it is they want! . . .'
'I understand you now,' Nezhdanov began, 'I understand your mortification, guess who has spied on us and lost no time in telling you. . ”

“ Markelov coughed grimly.
'H'm! The peasants here are rather a wretched lot,' he resumed; 'an ignorant lot. They want teaching. There's great poverty, but no one to explain to them what their poverty comes from.'
'Those who were your brother-in-law's serfs, as far as I can judge, aren't poor,' remarked Nezhdanov.
'My brother-in-law's a humbug; he knows how to hoodwink people. The peasants about here are no good, certainly; but he has a factory. That's where one must make an effort. One need only stick the spade in there and the whole ant-heap will be on the move directly. ”

“ Snanduliya went for the samovar, while Paklin placed himself opposite Mashurina, lightly patted her on the knee, and hung down his head; but when he tried to speak, he was obliged to clear his throat; his voice broke and tears glistened in his eyes. Mashurina sat stiff and motionless, without leaning back, in her chair, and looked morosely away.
'Yes, yes,' began Paklin, 'those were times! Looking at you, I remember . . . many things, and many people, dead and living; my poll parrots too are dead . . . but you didn't know them, I fancy; and both on the same day, as I foretold. Nezhdanov . . . ”