# Virgin Soil (Garnett)/Volume 2/Chapter 7

XXVII
Solomin ran out to the gates of the factory directly they hurried to tell him that a gentleman and lady had arrived in a little cart, and were asking for him. Without saying good-morning to his visitors, simply nodding his head several times to them, he at once told the peasant to drive into the yard, and, directing him straight up to his little lodge, he helped Marianna out of the cart. Nezhdanov leaped out after her. Solomin led them both along a little, long, dark passage, and up a narrow winding little staircase, in the back part of the lodge, to the second story. There he opened a low door, and they all three went into a small, fairly clean room with two windows.
'Welcome!' said Solomin, with his never-failing smile, which seemed broader and brighter than ever to-day.
'Here are your quarters, this room, and see here, another next to it. Not much to look at, but that's no matter; one can live in them, ​and there'll be no one here to spy on you. Here under the window you have what the landlord calls a flower-garden, but I should call it a kitchen-garden; it lies right up against the wall, and hedges to right and left. A quiet little nook it is! Well, welcome a second time, dear young lady, and you too, Nezhdanov, welcome!'
He shook hands with them both. They stood motionless, not taking off their wraps, and with silent, half-bewildered, half-delighted emotion they looked straight before them.
'Well, what now?' Solomin began again. 'Take off your things! What baggage have you got?'
Marianna showed the bundle which she was still holding in her hand.
'This is all I have.'
'And my trunk and bag are still in the cart. But I'll go and get them directly.'
'Stand still, stand still.' Solomin opened the door. 'Pavel!' he shouted into the darkness of the staircase, 'run out, mate. There are some things in the cart . . . bring them up.'
'Directly,' they heard the voice of the ubiquitous Pavel.
Solomin turned to Marianna, who had flung off her shawl and was beginning to unbutton her cloak.
​'And did everything go off successfully?' he inquired.
'Everything . . . no one saw us. I left a letter for Mr. Sipyagin. I didn't take any dresses or clothes with me, Vassily Fedotitch, because as you are going to send us . . .' (Marianna for some reason could not make up her mind to add "to the people"), 'well, any way, they 'd have been of no use. But I have money to buy what is necessary.'
'We'll arrange all that later . . . and here,' said Solomin, pointing to Pavel, who came in with Nezhdanov's things, 'I commend to you my best friend here; you can rely on him fully . . . as you would on me. Did you speak to Tatyana about the samovar?' he added in an undertone.
'It'll be here directly,' answered Pavel; 'and the cream and everything.'
'Tatyana is his wife,' Solomin went on, 'and she is just as trustworthy as he is. Until you . . . well . . . are a bit used to it, she will wait on you, my dear young lady.'
Marianna flung her cloak on a little leather sofa that stood in the corner. 'Call me Marianna, Vassily Fedotitch—I don't want to be a young lady. And I don't want any one to wait on me. . . . I didn't come here to have servants. Don't look at my dress; I had— ​over there—nothing else. All that must be changed.'
The dress, of fine cinnamon-coloured cloth, was very simple; but cut by a Petersburg dressmaker, it fell in elegant folds about Marianna's waist and shoulders, and had altogether a fashionable air.
'Well, not a servant, but a help, perhaps, in the American fashion. And you must have tea, any way. It's early days yet, and you must both be tired. I am going off now to see after things in the factory; we shall meet again later. Tell Pavel or Tatyana whatever you want.'
Marianna held out both hands quickly to him.
'How can we thank you, Vassily Fedotitch?' She looked at him quite moved.
Solomin softly stroked one of her hands. 'I should say, it's not worth thanking for . . . but that wouldn't be true. I'd better say that your thanks give me immense pleasure. So we're quits. Good-bye for the present! Pavel, come along.'
Marianna and Nezhdanov were left alone.
She rushed up to him, and, looking at him with just the same expression as she had looked at Solomin, only with even more delight, more emotion and gladness, '0h, ​my dear!' she said . . . 'We are beginning a new life. . . . At last! at last! You wouldn't believe how charming and delightful this poor little lodging where we are only to spend a few days seems to me compared with that loathsome mansion! Tell me are you glad, dear?'
Nezhdanov took her hands and pressed them to his heart.
'I am happy, Marianna, that I am beginning this new life with you! You will be my guiding star, dear, my support, my strength.. . .'
'Dearest Alyosha! But stay. I want to wash a little and make myself tidy. I'll go to my own room . . . and you, stay here. One minute.. . .'
Marianna went off into the other room, shut herself in, and a minute later half-opened the door, put her head in, and said, 'And oh! isn't Solomin nice!' Then she shut the door again, and the key clicked in the lock.
Nezhdanov went up to the window, and looked out into the little garden . . . one old, very old apple-tree for some reason riveted his attention especially. He shook himself, stretched, began opening his trunk, and took nothing out of it; he fell to musing.. . .
In a quarter of an hour Marianna returned with a beaming, freshly washed face, all gaiety ​and alertness; and a few instants later Pavel's wife, Tatyana, appeared with the samovar, the tea-tray, rolls and cream.
In striking contrast to her gypsylike husband, she was a typical Russian woman, stout, with a flaxen head, with a big knob of hair tightly twisted round a horn comb, and no cap, with thick but pleasant features, and very good-natured grey eyes. She was dressed in a tidy though faded chintz gown; her hands were clean and well-shaped, though large; she bowed tranquilly, and with a firm, precise intonation, without any sort of affectation, she articulated, 'A very good health to you,' and set to work to lay the samovar and the tea things.
Marianna went up to her. 'Let me help you, Tatyana. Only give me a napkin.'
'No need, miss, we're used to it. Vassily Fedotitch has talked to me. If anything's wanted, kindly ask for it; we will do what we can with all the pleasure in life.'
'Tatyana, please don't call me miss.. . . I'm dressed like a lady, but still I'm . . . I'm quite . . .'
The steady gaze of Tatyana's keen eyes disconcerted Marianna; she broke off.
'And what then is it you will be?' Tatyana asked in her composed voice.
​'I am certainly, if you like . . . I am a lady by birth; only I want to get rid of all that, and to become like all . . . like all simple women.'
'Ah, so that's it! Well, now I understand. You're one of them, I suppose, that want to be simplified. There are a good few of them about nowadays.'
'What did you say, Tatyana? To be simplified?'
'Yes . . . that's the word that's come up among us now. To be on a level with simple folks, it means—simplification. To be sure, it is a good work—to teach the peasants good sense. Only it's a difficult job! Oy, oy, di-ifficult! God give you good speed!'
'Simplification!' repeated Marianna. 'Do you hear, Alyosha? you and I are simplified creatures now!'
Nezhdanov laughed, and even repeated:
'Simplified creatures!'
'And what will he be to you—your good man or your brother?' asked Tatyana, carefully washing the cups with her large deft hands, as she looked with a kindly smile from Nezhdanov to Marianna.
'No,' answered Marianna, 'he's not my husband and not my brother.'
Tatyana raised her head.
​'Then I suppose you are living in free grace. Nowadays that too is pretty often to be met with. It used to be more the way among the dissenters, but nowadays it's found among other folks too. Where there's God's blessing, one may live in peace! And there's no need of the parson for that. In our factory there are some live like that too. Not the worst chaps either.'
'What nice things you say, Tatyana! . . . "In free grace." . . . I like that very much. I'll tell you what I want to ask of you, Tatyana. I want to make myself, or to buy, a dress like yours, or rather commoner perhaps. And shoes and stockings and a kerchief, everything just as you have. I have money enough to get them.'
'To be sure, miss, we can manage all that. . . . There, I won't, don't be cross. I won't call you miss. Only what am I to call you?'
'Marianna.'
'And what are you named from your father?'
'But why do you want my father's name? Call me simply Marianna. The same as I call you Tatyana.'
'That's the same, and not the same. You'd better tell me.'
'Very well, then. My father's name was Vikent; and what was your father's?'
​'Mine was Osip.'
'Well, then, I shall call you Tatyana Osipovna.'
'And I'll call you Marianna Vikentyevna. That will be capital!'
'Won't you drink a cup of tea with us, Tatyana Osipovna?'
'At this first acquaintance I might, Marianna Vikentyevna. I'll treat myself to a small cup, though Yegoritch will scold.'
'Who's Yegoritch?'
'Pavel, my husband.'
'Sit down, Tatyana Osipovna.'
'Indeed and I will, Marianna Vikentyevna.'
Tatyana seated herself on a chair and began to sip her tea through a piece of sugar. She continually turned the lump of sugar round in her fingers, screwing up her eye on the side on which she was nibbling the sugar. Marianna got into conversation with her. Tatyana answered without obsequiousness, and asked her questions and told her various things of her own accord. Solomin she almost worshipped, but her husband she put only second to Vassily Fedotitch. She was sick of factory life, though.
'You've neither the town here nor the country . . . if it weren't for Vassily Fedotitch I wouldn't stay another hour.'
​Marianna listened attentively to her talk. Nezhdanov, sitting a little on one side, watched his girl friend, and was not surprised at her interest; for Marianna, it was all a novelty, but it seemed to him that he had seen hundreds of similar Tatyanas, and had talked to them hundreds of times.
'Do you know, Tatyana Osipovna,' said Marianna at last, 'you think we want to teach the people; no, we want to serve them.'
'How serve them? Teach them; that's the best service you can do them. Take me, for example. When I was married to Yegoritch, neither read nor write could I; but now I've learned, thanks to Vassily Fedotitch. He didn't teach me himself, but he paid an old man to. And he taught me. You see I'm young still, for all I'm a woman grown.'
Marianna was silent for a little.
'I should like, Tatyana Osipovna,' she began again, 'to learn some trade . . . we must have a talk about that. I sew very badly; if I were to learn to cook, I might become a cook.'
Tatyana pondered.
'Why be a cook? Cooks are in rich men's houses, or merchants'; poor people do their own cooking. And to cook for a union, for workmen. Well, that's quite the last thing!'
'But I might live in a rich man's house ​though, and make friends with poor people. Or how am I to get to know them? I sha'n't always have such luck as with you.'
Tatyana turned her empty cup upside down in the saucer.
'It's a difficult business,' she observed at last with a sigh, 'it can't be settled off-hand. I'll show you all I know, but I'm not clever at much. We must talk it over with Yegoritch. He's such a man! He reads books of all sorts, and he can see through anything in the twinkling of an eye.' Here she glanced at Marianna, who was rolling up a cigarette.. . .
'And there's something I would say to you, Marianna Vikentyevna, if you'll excuse me; but if you really want to be simplified, you'll have to give that up.' She pointed to the cigarette. 'For in such callings as a cook's, for instance, that would never pass; and every one would see at once that you're a young lady. Yes.'
Marianna flung the cigarette out of the window.
'I won't smoke . . . it's easy to get out of the way of it. Women of the people don't smoke, so I ought not to smoke.'
'That's a true word you've said, Marianna Vikentyevna. The male sex treat themselves to it even among us; but the female—no.. . . ​Ah! and here's Vassily Fedotitch himself coming up. That's his step. You ask him; he'll settle everything for you in the best way!'
She was right; Solomin's voice was heard at the door.
'May I come in?'
'Come in, come in,' called Marianna.
'That's an English habit of mine,' said Solomin as he came in. 'Well, how do you feel? You aren't dull yet? I see you're having tea here with Tatyana. You listen to her; she's a sensible person.. . . But my employer has turned up to see me to-day . . . when he's not wanted at all! And he'll stay to dinner. There's no help for it! He's the master.'
'What sort of man is he?' asked Nezhdanov, coming out of his corner.
'Oh, he's all right. . . . He has his eyes about him. One of the newer generation. Very affable, and wears cuffs, but pries into everything not a bit less than the old sort. He 'd skin a flint with his own hands and say, "Turn a bit to this side, if you'll be so good; there's still a living spot here . . . I must give it a scouring!" Well, with me he's as soft as silk; I'm necessary to him! Only I've come to tell you that I'm not likely to ​manage to see you to-day. They will bring you your dinner. And don't show yourselves in the yard. What do you think, Marianna—will the Sipyagins search for you? will they make a hunt?'
'I think they won't,' answered Marianna.
'But I am sure they will,' said Nezhdanov.
'Well, any way,' pursued Solomin, 'you must be careful at first. Later on you can do as you like.'
'Yes; only there's one thing,' observed Nezhdanov: 'Markelov must know of my whereabouts; he must be told.'
'Why?'
'It can't be helped; for the cause. He has always to know where I am. It's a promise. But he won't blab!'
'Very well. We'll send Pavel.'
'And will there be a dress ready for me?' asked Nezhdanov.
'Your get-up, you mean? to be sure . . . to be sure. It's quite a masquerade. Not an expensive one, thank goodness. Good-bye; you must have a rest. Tatyana, come along.'
Marianna and Nezhdanov were again left alone.