# Virgin Soil (Garnett)/Volume 1/Chapter 3

III
The elegantly dressed man advanced to Nezhdanov, and, smiling benevolently, began: 'I have already had the pleasure of meeting you and even having some conversation with you, Mr. Nezhdanov, the day before yesterday, if you remember, at the theatre.' The visitor paused, as though waiting for something. Nezhdanov bent his head slightly, and flushed. 'Yes. . . . I have come to see you to-day in consequence of the advertisement you have put in the papers. I should be glad to have a few words with you, if only I'm not disturbing the lady and gentlemen present (the visitor bowed to Mashurina, and waved a hand wearing a grey Swedish glove in the direction of Paklin and Ostrodumov) ' if I'm not interrupting them. . . .'
'No . . . why, . . .' Nezhdanov replied with some difficulty. 'My friends will excuse . . . Won't you sit down?'
The visitor gave his figure an affable bend, ​and politely taking hold of the back of a chair, drew it towards himself, but did not sit down seeing that every one in the room was standing. He merely looked about him with his clear though half-closed eyes.
'Good-bye, Alexey Dmitritch', Mashurina brought out abruptly; 'I'll come in later.'
'And I,' added Ostrodumov, 'I too'll come . . . later on.'
Passing by the visitor as though intentionally slighting him, Mashurina took Nezhdanov's hand, shook it vigorously and walked out, without saluting any one. Ostrodumov followed her, making a quite unnecessary amount of noise with his boots, and even snorting more than once, as though to say: So much for you with your beaver collar!'
The visitor followed them both with a civil but rather inquisitive glance; then he bent it upon Paklin, as though expecting that he too would follow the example of the two retreating guests. But Paklin, whose face had worn a peculiar forced smile from the moment of the stranger's appearance, edged away, and shrank into a corner. Then the visitor sank into the chair. Nezhdanov also took a seat.
'My surname's Sipyagin,─you have heard it, perhaps,' the stranger began with proud modesty.
​But first we must relate how Nezhdanov had met him at the theatre.
There had been a performance of Ostrovsky's drama, Don't Sit in Another Man's Sledge, on the occasion of a visit of Sadovsky from Moscow. The part of Rusakov was, as is well known, one of the famous actor's favourite parts. In the morning, Nezhdanov had gone to the box-office, where he found a good many people. He had intended to take a ticket for the pit, but at the very instant he went up to the desk, an officer, standing behind him, held out a three-rouble bill right across Nezhdanov, and shouted to the clerk: 'He'─(i.e. Nezhdanov)─'is sure to want change, and I don't, so give me, please, a ticket for the front row, at once. . . . I'm in a hurry!'
'I beg your pardon,' Nezhdanov rejoined sharply, 'I, too, want a ticket for the front row,' and thereupon he flung into the little window three roubles —all the ready money he had. The clerk gave him a ticket, and in the evening Nezhdanov made his appearance in the aristocratic division of the Alexandrinsky Theatre.
He was shabbily dressed, had muddy boots and no gloves; he felt ill at ease and exasperated at himself for feeling so. Next him on the right was sitting a general, studded with stars; on the left the same elegantly dressed ​man, the privy councillor Sipyagin, whose visit two days later had so disturbed Mashurina and Ostrodumov. Every now and then the general took a passing look at Nezhdanov as though at something improper, unexpected, and even offensive; Sipyagin, on the other hand, cast upon him furtive but by no means hostile glances. All the persons surrounding Nezhdanov struck one, to begin with, rather as personages than persons; and then they were all intimately acquainted with one another, and exchanged brief remarks, or even simple exclamations and words of welcome─some of them speaking across Nezhdanov; while he sat motionless arid awkward in his wide, comfortable arm-chair, like a kind of pariah. There were bitterness and shame and disgust in his soul; he did not gain much pleasure from Ostrovsky's comedy and Sadovsky's acting. And suddenly, marvellous to relate, during an ent'acte, his neighbour on the left, not the starred general, but the other, who wore no sign of distinction of any kind, addressed him softly and courteously, with a kind of ingratiating gentleness. He began speaking of Ostrovsky's play, wished to learn from Nezhdanov, as 'a representative of the younger generation,' what was his opinion of it? Astonished, almost scared, Nezhdanov at first answered abruptly and in monosyllables . . . ​his heart was positively throbbing; but then he got angry with himself; what was he agitated for? wasn't he a man like all the rest? And he proceeded to lay down his opinions unconstrainedly, without reserve, and spoke in the end so loudly, with such enthusiasm, that he obviously annoyed his starred neighbour. Nezhdanov was a fervent admirer of Ostrovsky; but for all his appreciation of the talent shown by the author in the comedy, Don't Sit in Another Man's Sledge, he could not approve of the unmistakable intention to depreciate civilisation in the burlesqued character of Vihorev. His courteous neighbour listened to him with great attention and with sympathy, and in the next entr'acte began talking to him again, not this time of Ostrovsky's play, but of various general topics, of life, of science, and even of politics. He was obviously interested in the eloquent young man. Nezhdanov, far from being constrained even, as the phrase goes, let off steam a little, as much as to say, 'All right, if you want to know─here you are, then!' In his neighbour, the general, he roused more than simple discomfort─positive indignation and suspicion. At the close of the performance, Sipyagin took leave in a very cordial way of Nezhdanov, but did not seek to learn his surname, nor did he mention his own. While he was waiting on ​the stairs for his carriage, he jostled against a friend of his, an aide-de-camp of the Tsar, Prince G.
'I was looking at you from my box', the prince said to him, grinning over his perfumed moustaches. 'Do you know whom you were talking to?'
'No, do you?'
'The lad's no fool, eh?'
'Far from it; who is he?'
Then the prince bent over to his ear and whispered in French, 'My brother─yes; he's my brother, a natural son of my father's . . . his name's Nezhdanov. I will tell you about it some day. . . . My father hadn't expected him; that's why he called him Nezhdanov that is, unexpected. However, he provided for him. . . il lui a fait un sort. . .. We let him have an allowance. He's a fellow with brains . . . he's had, thanks to my father again, a good education. But he's gone utterly crazy, a sort of republican. . . . We don't receive him. . . Il est impossible! But good-bye, they're calling my carriage!' The prince departed, and the next day Sipyagin read in the paper the advertisement Nezhdanov had inserted, and he went to see him. . .
'My surname's Sipyagin,' he told Nezhdanov, ​as he sat on a basket-chair facing him, and looked at him with his ingratiating eyes. 'I learned from the papers that you want a position as tutor, and I have come to you with this proposal. I am married; I have one son nine years old, a boy to speak frankly of excellent abilities. We spend the greater part of the summer and autumn in the country, in the province of S{{longdash}, four miles from the chief town of the province. Well, would you care to go there with us for the vacation, to teach my son the Russian language and history─the subjects you mentioned in your advertisement? I venture to think you will like me, my family and the very situation of our place. There's a first-rate garden, streams, splendid air, a roomy house. . . Will you consent? If so, I have only to inquire your terms, though I do not imagine,' added Sipyagin with a faint grimace, 'that any difficulties could arise between us on that score.'
All the while Sipyagin was speaking, Nezhdanov stared fixedly at him, at his small head, thrown a little back, at his low and narrow, but clever forehead, his delicate Roman nose, his pleasant eyes, his well-cut lips, from which the amiable words seemed to flow in an easy stream, at his long whiskers drooping after the English fashion─he stared and was puzzled. 'What ​does it mean?' he thought 'Why does this man seem to be making up to me? He's an aristocrat─and I! How have we come together? And what brought him to me?'
He was so absorbed in his reflections that he did not open his mouth even when Sipyagin paused at the end of his speech, awaiting a reply. Sipyagin stole a glance at the corner where Paklin was ensconced, his eyes fixed as intently upon him as Nezhdanov's─was it the presence of this third person which prevented Nezhdanov from speaking out? Sipyagin raised his eyebrows high, as though submitting to the strangeness of the surroundings into which he had dropped, by his own act, however, and raising his voice also, he repeated his question.
Nezhdanov started.
'Of course,' he said rather hurriedly, I consent . . . gladly. . . Though I must own . . . that I can't help feeling some astonishment . . . seeing that I have no recommendation . . . and indeed the opinions I expressed the day before yesterday at the theatre were rather calculated to dissuade you. . .'
'There you are utterly mistaken, dear Alexey . . . Alexey Dmitritch! isn't that it?' declared Sipyagin smiling; 'I am, I venture to say, well known as a man of liberal, progressive ideas; on the contrary, your opinions, with the ​exception of all that is peculiar to youth, ever prone─don't be angry with me─to some exaggeration─those opinions of yours are in no way opposed to my own, and, indeed, I am delighted with their youthful enthusiasm!'
Sipyagin talked without the faintest hesitation; his even, rounded speech dropped 'smooth as honey upon oil.'
'My wife shares my way of thinking,' he went on; her views, very likely, approach yours even more closely; that's natural enough; she is younger! When, the day after our meeting, I read your name in the papers─you had published your name with your address, contrary, I may mention in passing, to the ordinary practice, though I had found out your name already at the theatre─well─that─that fact struck me. I saw in it in this coincidence the . . . excuse the superstitious phrase . . . so to say, the finger of fate! You referred to recommendations; but I need no recommendation. Your appearance, your personality attract me. That is enough for me, I am accustomed to believe my eyes. And so—may I reckon on it? You agree?'
'Yes . . . of course . . .' answered Nezhdanov, 'and I will try to justify your confidence; only let me mention one thing now: I am ready to teach your son, but not to look ​after him. I am not fit for that─and in fact I don't want to tie myself down, I don't want to lose my freedom.'
Sipyagin waved his hand lightly in the air as though driving away a fly.
'Don't be uneasy. . . . You 're not made of that clay; and I don't want any one to look after him either─I am trying to find a teacher, and I have found him. Well, now, how about terms? financial considerations, filthy lucre?
Nezhdanov was at a loss what to say. . . .
'Come,' said Sipyagin, bending his whole person forward and affectionately touching Nezhdanov's knee with his finger-tips, 'between gentlemen such questions are settled in a couple of words. I offer you a hundred roubles a month; travelling expenses there and back are my affair, of course. You agree?'
Nezhdanov blushed again.
'That is far more than I meant to ask . . . I———'
'Very good, very good . . .' interposed Sipyagin . . . I look on the matter as settled, then . . . and on you as one of my household.' He got up from his chair and suddenly grew bright and expansive as though he had received a present. In all his gestures there appeared a certain affable familiarity, even playfulness. 'We will set off in a day or two,' he said in an easy tone; ​'I like to meet the spring in the country, though by the nature of my occupations I'm a prosaic creature and chained to town. And so let us reckon your first month as beginning from today. My wife and son are already at Moscow. She started before me. We shall find them in the country, in the bosom of nature. We will travel together . . . as bachelors. . . He, he!' Sipyagin gave a little affected nasal laugh, 'And now———'
He drew out of the pocket of his overcoat a black and silver pocket-book and took out of it a card.
'This is my address here. Come round . . . to-morrow. Yes . . . at twelve o'clock. We will have some more talk. I will develop some of my ideas on education . . . Oh─and we'll fix the day of our departure.' Sipyagin took Nezhdanov's hand. 'And do you know?' he added, his voice lowered and his head held aslant, 'if you need any advance . . . Please don't stand on ceremony! just a month in advance!'
Nezhdanov simply did not know what to reply, and with the same perplexity he gazed at the face so bright and cordial, and at the same time so alien to him, which was bent so close to him and smiling so kindly at him.
'You don't want it? eh?' whispered Sipyagin. ​'If you'll allow me, I'll tell you that to-morrow,' Nezhdanov articulated at last.
'Excellent! And so—till we meet! Till to-morrow!'
Sipyagin dropped Nezhdanov's hand, and was about to go away. . .
'Allow me to ask,' said Nezhdanov suddenly, 'you told me just now that you found out my name at the theatre? From whom did you learn it?'
'From whom? Oh, from a friend of yours, and I think a relation, Prince . . . Prince G.'
'The aide-de-camp of the Tsar?'
'Yes.'
Nezhdanov flushed more hotly than before, and opened his mouth . . . but he said nothing. Sipyagin again pressed his hand, but this time in silence, and bowing first to him, then to Paklin, he put on his hat just in the doorway and went out, still wearing his complacent smile on his face; in it could be discerned the consciousness of the profound impression which his visit must have produced.