Chapter C: Hagberg Wright (2)

Mimotchka's _coiffure_ is finished. Gustave is sent out of the room while Mimotchka puts on her wedding dress, with its garlands and bouquets of orange blossoms and its long train of thick white _faille_ lined with Lyons satin, a wonderful dress ordered from Mdme. Lesserteur. Mimotchka surveys herself rather anxiously in the looking-glass. The bodice fits exquisitely.

It only remains to pin on the veil and wreath, Monsieur Gustave's services are again in requisition. He has to be hurried. It appears that the best man has already arrived. Yes, yes; he really has come. ... The bridegroom is already in the church.... It's time!

Directly, directly, Mimotchka will be ready directly. I look at her and involuntarily some emotion takes possession of me, involuntarily my thoughts run on, and I see the lit-up church, where the crowd of festively attired relations and friends are chatting and looking about them while they wait for the bride. I see the stout Spiridon Ivanovitch, resplendent with orders, his bald head shining, and wearing a new pair of fringed epaulets. Now there is a movement in the crowd, the talk ceases, all the heads are turned round. From the choir come the strains of a solemn chant, and Mimotchka appears at the threshold of the church. Uncle Theodore, wearing the ribbon of the White Eagle,[9] gives her his arm and leads her up along the soft carpet. How pretty she is! I vow that the orange blossoms and cloud of white tulle never adorned a lovelier and more charming head.

"Approach, approach, thou pure dove." ...[10]

But do you know what you are going to, poor dove? Think, Mimotchka; won't you stop before it is too late?...

Why?... And what is the good of thinking about it? Every one does it. Some time or other the step must be taken. It seems it must. And how can one escape from it?...

[9] One of the highest Russian orders.

[10] The opening words of the hymn sung in the marriage service when the bride enters the church.

But you're pale, Mimotchka; you lower your eyelashes, and the wax taper trembles in your little hand.... Are you afraid? Are you ashamed?

No; only nervous and ill at ease.... In the church it seems cold.... Or does the bodice press?... Something feels strange, unpleasant.... And then how every one stares!...

But my thoughts are wandering. Mimotchka is not yet even in the church. She is still in her room, standing before the large mirror; she cannot tear herself away from the contemplation of herself in her new dress.

Her toilet is finished. The veil and wreath are unusually becoming to the bride, and so everyone tells her; but Mimotchka no longer smiles her usual, unchanging smile. She is a little agitated. On her cheek there is a pink spot, her hand slightly trembles as she draws on her glove. Why does she feel so cold?

All those around her are agitated too. The maid Douniasha makes faces as she gulps down her tears. Lulushka or Turlurette yelps and barks, offended because she is turned off Mimotchka's train. They all surround the bride, looking at her from all sides, arranging her dress, her veil, giving her her gloves, scent....

It's time, Mimotchka, time! Go into the drawing-room now for your mother to bless you before you leave. The bridegroom is already in church.... Make haste; they are waiting for you....

Look round for the last time on your young girl's room, look at your pretty pink room, in which you ate _chocolat mignon_ and read French novels, and bid farewell to it! You will never come back here. What awaits you in the new life?

Mamma blesses Mimotchka, and sheds a few tears as she embraces and kisses her pale daughter. "You don't feel unwell, Mimi?"

"No, no, not at all...."

Mimotchka goes down the stairs. At the entrance on the pavement there already stands a group of curious, gaping spectators: the weeping housemaid Douniasha, the cook, the neighbour's servants, and some outsiders....

Aunt Julia, the little boy who is to carry the icon,[11] and the bride take their places in the carriage. The footman slams the door and jumps up on the box. The carriage fast disappears down the street.

[11] A little boy, generally a relative or the child of an intimate friend, carries an icon in the bridal procession.

Good-bye, Mimotchka, be happy!

You perhaps expected, Mimotchka, that I should follow you to the church, and further and further.... No, there are spectators enough at your wedding without me. Only look at that motley collection of people, whom the police are allowing to crowd on to the broad pavement of the Liteynaia, the whole length of the long line of carriages. Look at the seamstresses, housemaids" gossiping women, young and old, gazing open-mouthed as they go on their way, with bundles or bandboxes in their hands; they have not strength to resist the temptation of stopping to admire your uncle's orders and epaulets, your aunts' light, elegant toilettes, and above all they long to catch a glimpse of you, Mimotchka--you, the chief person in all this pageant.

They are waiting for you.... Do you see how they stand on tiptoe, how they crane their necks at your approach? Perhaps they have heard about you; perhaps one of those old gossips is even now giving the rest the most trustworthy or untrustworthy information about you; perhaps, looking at you, they exchange pitying remarks of the kind of those overheard and caught up from them by the great author of _Anna Karénina._

"Isn't she a sweet pretty bride, decked out like a lamb for the sacrifice! But, say what you like, we women are sorry for our sister!"

MIMOTCHKA AT THE SPRINGS

Mimotchka is getting thin, Mimotchka looks pale, Mimotchka is dull....

Mamma is anxious and fusses; Spiridon Ivanovitch grunts and frowns; baby is tiresome and roars....

Such, in its general features, is Mimotchka's life--and yet it had seemed to begin so well!

Directly after the wedding the young couple went abroad. The doctor had long advised Spiridon Ivanovitch to take a course of waters, and even before meeting his bride he had intended to pass the summer abroad. His unexpected marriage had not changed previous plans, and, having obtained three months' leave, Spiridon Ivanovitch started with his young wife for Vichy.

They travelled with every possible comfort, and Spiridon Ivanovitch was so careful and attentive during the journey, that Mimotchka was obliged to own that it was much nicer and pleasanter travelling with him than with mamma. However, in spite of it all, on their arrival in Paris she was so tired out, and above all so enervated, so enervated, that she cried the whole day long, and even thought she would like to kill herself, because it seemed to her that she cared for nothing in life. Paris was so dark, so gloomy, horrible, and disgusting.... The sun never shone, and the rain poured and poured.... And she cried and cried.... The tears certainly rather troubled Spiridon Ivanovitch, but after all what could he do?... The rain--what rain it was to be sure! But it was God's will.... And he only drummed on the table with his fingers and swore at the servants.

But when the young people arrived at Vichy, where the comfortable rooms, that had been ordered beforehand and had a balcony overlooking the crowded boulevard, were awaiting them, when they had dined both savourily and satisfactorily in these bright, cheerful rooms, and when, above all, they had unpacked their trunks and bags, then again everything looked nice and bright. Mimotchka saw that, in spite of everything, life was still endurable and might even be very pleasant. She wiped away her tears and occupied herself in hanging up her new dresses.

Then they sent for a doctor. And there came a dark-eyed young Frenchman, good-looking and chatty. And how he spoke French--gracious heavens, how he spoke! What a doctor! Everyone, everyone all round, beginning with the grey-haired landlady, and ending with Joseph, the _concierge's_ fourteen-year-old son, every one was so amiable, elegant, attentive, and lively.... It seemed to Mimotchka as if she had come to her native land. The chemist, to whom the young people went, directly after their arrival, for some rhubarb and magnesia, was as like as two peas to the _jeune premier_ of the Théâtre Michel, so that Mimotchka quite blushed when Spiridon Ivanovitch, having got his magnesia, began to inquire of the young man about some further remedies.... And the postman was very like the well-known _coiffeur_ from the Bolshaia Konushenaia....

Spiridon Ivanovitch set about his cure without delay and with great zeal. He liked being doctored and understood all about it. Not satisfied with the punctilious fulfilment of his own doctor's prescriptions, he secretly consulted other doctors, consulted the invalids with whom he made acquaintance at the baths and springs, consulted the chemist and other tradespeople, bought heaps of medical works, pamphlets, and manuals, bought medicinal wines and medicines advertised in the papers, discovered that he had some fresh malady every day, and expounded the symptoms of his illness to his doctor so significantly and with so many details, that the young Frenchman, while listening to him with profound and polite attention, could not help glancing stealthily and with tender commiseration at pretty pale Mimotchka, and twirling the end of his silky moustaches, said to her in a look, "Poor little thing! and so pretty!" ...

Spiridon Ivanovitch decided that Mimotchka should make a cure for anæmia and nerves. Mamma had asked him so much about it! So Mimotchka drank the "source Mesdames" and took baths, and Walked up and down in the park. But, as her cure was less complicated and serious than Spiridon Ivanovitch's cure, she still had a good deal of spare time, which she employed in watching the people and in looking at her new dresses. And as both these occupations were very congenial to her tastes, she was not dull. The season was one of the most successful and most brilliant. At the waters there was Strauss, there was Patti; there was an English royal personage with his wife; there were American millionaires with their daughters, and lots of cocottes and aristocrats besides.... There were no end of stories about and two or three scandals.... The weather was lovely and warm, perhaps even too warm. But what walks there were, what riding parties in the evening on the shores of the Allier, what concerts and dances in the evening at the Casino! Of course Mimotchka did not make any acquaintances--society is so mixed at watering-places!--but still, without knowing anyone, it was amusing to look at other people's toilettes and watch others' intrigues. Altogether she Was very much amused. And in answer to her cousin Zina and her friends, the three sisters Poltavsteff, who asked her if she was happy, Mimotchka wrote: "So happy, so happy.... Jamais je ne me suis tant amusée qu'à Vichy. Figurez-vous ..." and so on.

Time flew on quickly and imperceptibly. Spiridon Ivanovitch's cure was finished. He had got thinner, but felt brisker and healthier. Mimotchka was blooming, and had grown even prettier in the pure air of the South of France. One month's leave yet remained. Spiridon Ivanovitch asked his wife to decide where they should spend this last month--in Italy, Switzerland, or Paris?... Doctor Souly's pamphlet recommends some quiet corner in Switzerland for an after-cure, but Mimotchka preferred Paris. Spiridon Ivanovitch willingly submitted to this decision, and, having liberally paid the landlady, the dark-eyed doctor, and others, the young people packed up their baggage and went back to Paris, where the honeymoon really began. Just at that time Spiridon Ivanovitch received a good round sum from his tenants, and Mimotchka was in a state of perfect bliss, buying right and left everything that took her fancy. Oh, her honeymoon!... They stayed at an expensive and very good hotel. In the morning the general got up first and read the Russian and French newspapers while he drank his coffee, but Mimotchka lay in bed a long time after. Then she got up when she liked, and without hurrying began her toilet. Every day she had a new kind of soap, new kinds of scents, toilet waters and pomatums. And what stockings, boots, and garters she bought herself!... Oh, her honeymoon!...

When she was dressed Mimotchka went in to her husband, who kissed her per-fumed hand, and, holding it in his, bent down his bald forehead for her to kiss. They breakfasted off _hors d'œuvre,_ lobster, and _côtelettes en papillottes,_ and, having thus fortified themselves, they went out walking or driving to see museums or the environs of Paris.... Before dinner Spiridon Ivanovitch returned home to have a nap, while Mimotchka went shopping and bought more and more.... Then came dinner, and afterwards a theatre, cirque, or café concert.... Spiridon Ivanovitch knew Paris well, and was particularly well acquainted with its places of amusement; and, as he held the opinion that abroad a respectable woman might go anywhere, because nobody knew her, he took his wife to both "Mabille" and "Bullier," and to all the Eldorados besides, so as to show her the cocottes of both sides of the Seine.

Having thus spent their honeymoon, the young couple returned to Petersburg with empty purses, with an increased number of trunks and bandboxes, with a store of amusing and agreeable reminiscences, and on much more intimate and friendly terms with each other than when they had started.

All the relations met Mimotchka with open arms. She was no longer a portionless girl, looking out for a husband, whom the aunts could keep in the background and snub if they liked.... Now she was the wife of a general commanding a division, the wife of a highly-respected and wealthy man, a lady with fresh toilettes from Paris and a position in society.

Besides her position in society, Mimotchka was before long in what is termed an "interesting position." To tell the truth, this last position was somewhat burdensome to her, and, if mamma and Spiridon Ivanovitch had not watched over her like a goddess, Mimotchka would have made away with herself. But, when all the suffering and misery were over, when the heir of Spiridon Ivanovitch occupied his appointed place in this world of grief and tears, when his screams began to resound through the general's large house, and Mimotchka was up and well again, then she was glad in her heart and well satisfied. Glad both because she had grown prettier and plumper, and because now she has a real live baby of her own, while her friends, the three sisters Poltavsteff, are still painting on china and singing Italian arias and gipsy songs, in the vain hope of attracting some one who can give them _une position dans le monde_ and a real, live baby.

And Mimotchka possesses both the one and the other. And although all the three sisters Poltavsteff, when they come to see Mimotchka and admire the baby, kissing his soft, dimpled little hands and feet, say with one accord that they can only understand marrying for love, and that not one of them would marry except for love; still Mimotchka knows perfectly well that this is only talk, and that, had Spiridon Ivanovitch taken a fancy to one of them instead of her, any of the three would have married him directly. It's no laughing matter. He is in command of a division, and a whole division is under his inspection. And even more awaits him in the future. Spiridon Ivanovitch's career is not nearly finished.... It would have been indeed stupid to refuse such a _partie._

Why then, now, six years after marriage, is Mimotchka dull? Why does she get thin and pale? What can she want? She has her family. She has her son, her husband, and her mother. She has plenty of money, carriages, and a box at the opera. What more can she desire? Mimotchka herself does not know what she wants. She does not want anything. She is simply tired of life. It is quite immaterial to her whether she lives or dies. Dies? Oh yes, and even now, directly. So she says, and poor mamma cannot hear it without tears and sighs. She sees that her daughter is really ill, that she is hiding something, and that she gets weaker and more irritable every day.... Mamma implores Mimotchka to consult Doctor Variashski (mamma believes in him as she does in the Almighty). But Mimotchka is obstinate and angry, and says, "Ah, laissez done! je me porte à merveille! Je suis tout à fait bien." And mamma sighs and Mimotchka gets paler and thinner.

The aunts are much concerned at the change in Mimotchka's appearance.

"But how plain Mimi is growing," said Aunt Sophy. "And why is she getting so sickly?"

"She has an old husband," says Aunt Mary shortly.

"Oh, how can you talk like that?" says Aunt Julia reproachfully. "And, after all; old, old ... Enfin elle a un enfant. Qu'est ce qu'elle a à se plaindre?"

"Annette thinks that she has never been quite strong since her confinement, her confinement and the chloroform, and..

"That's an old story! On the contrary, she improved so much then."

"And I am convinced that she is simply ill from want of something to do," says Aunt Julia severely. "Why, for whole days she doesn't move one finger over another. Look at my Zina; she orders the dinner and pours out the tea, then she attends classes, then she practises her voice.... Every minute is occupied. And look what a colour the girl has, how healthy she is. People say, Petersburg, Petersburg.... Rubbish! You can be healthy anywhere. But Mimotchka.... If I led such a life I should have been dead long ago."

And the aunts are perfectly right. Mimotchka is getting plain, Mimotchka is dull, and Mimotchka does nothing.

Mamma loves her so tenderly that she considers every occupation, even of the slightest and easiest description, to be beyond Mimi's strength and too much for her. All the cares of the housekeeping, all the care of the child, mamma takes upon herself, leaving Mimotchka to drive, dress, go out, and receive. At first these occupations had satisfied Mimotchka, but now they wearied her. Yes, nothing satisfies her now.... To quote the words of Schopenhauer--she had lost appetite for life....

And by the side of the apathy taking possession of her there grows an instinctive feeling of irritation against mamma and Spiridon Ivanovitch--a feeling of irritation very near to antipathy. She does not know in what way they interfere with her or of what they deprive her. She only knows that each day they become stranger and more wearisome to her. She feels confusedly that the life they have made for themselves is warm and pleasant to them, while she is entangled in it and struggles like a fly in a spider's web. And she cannot extricate herself from this spider's web because it is woven of the tenderest care for her. If she goes to the theatre, or to an evening party, either mamma or Spiridon Ivanovitch invariably accompanies her, and she cannot say a word, or make a step that is not known to them and commented upon. Mimotchka sees that Spiridon Ivanovitch is simply jealous--of course he is, even the aunts notice it. But he will not own to it, and his distrust is disguised in phrases such as, "That is not usual in society.... It will look awkward.... People don't do so." So that altogether Mimotchka becomes daily more and more indifferent to life.

Mamma and Spiridon Ivanovitch get on very well together, and soon become fast friends. They understand each other almost without speaking. Spiridon Ivanovitch's reviews, committees, and projects deeply interest mamma, who, even during her late husband's lifetime, had been accustomed to hearing about military matters. Mimotchka considers everything relating to her husband's military service stupid and dull. It seems to her that he talks on purpose before mamma about "Committees, re-or-ga-ni-sa-tion.... With bayonets or without bayonets." And mamma actually replies as if it interests her! Besides conversations about the service they have conversations about the education of children, which she also detests. Mimotchka knows that however you may educate children, whatever books you may read, they will scream and soil their pinafores just the same, and then be tiresome and disobedient. And theories are no use at all. You must have a good nurse and be able to pay her good wages. What is the use of saying the same things over and over again?

But the worst of all, the most unbearable of all, is their conversation about politics. Politics--Mimotchka's _bête noire._ In the newspapers she only reads the last sheet, because only the deaths and advertisements of sales interest her, but mamma and Spiridon Ivanovitch devour the whole paper from A to Z, so that every day at dinner they go over all the articles in it again. All this talk about Bismarck, about the Emperor William, about Italy and Austria, and about that most boring Bulgaria, will certainly drive Mimotchka out of her mind or into her grave! What does she care about the Coburgs or about Battenberg! She is twenty-six; she is at an age to enjoy life, to laugh and amuse herself, and not to sit here between her grey-haired mamma and bald-headed Spiridon Ivanovitch, who sniffs, and coughs, and spits, and pours himself out bitters. And Mimotchka, irritated beyond all bearing by Battenberg, capriciously pushes her plate of cutlets away from her as if they had offended her as well as everything else in the house, and says, "Encore ce Battenberg! Il m'agace à la fin!"

And mamma sighs and Spiridon Ivanovitch frowns.

Well now, for instance, there is her friend, Nettie Poltavsteff, she is married to a young man; perhaps rather a thoughtless young fellow, without any prospects, but how they enjoy themselves! my goodness, how they enjoy themselves! True, they are squandering their capital, and the old Poltavsteffs shake their heads fearfully and disapprovingly. True, that Nettie's admirer takes root more and more firmly in the house, so that many people smile meaningly when they speak of him; true, that Mimotchka herself repeats after mamma and the aunts that Nettie is in a dangerous way; true, that Mimotchka, by Aunt Julia's advice, purposely lets a long period elapse before she returns Nettie's visits, but what of that? anyhow, Nettie amuses herself, Nettie really enjoys life ... Nettie dresses eccentrically, Nettie goes to see burlesques, goes to masquerades and restaurants, laughs at everything and everybody, and contents herself with men's society. She is a good deal talked about, and not always Well spoken of, but she laughs at that too. Her husband tolerates her doings, and so do others.... And around Nettie life and gaiety play and sparkle like the champagne that is always on her table.

Formerly she and Mimotchka were great friends, but now mamma and Spiridon Ivanovitch have put a veto on their friendship. They consider Nettie too frivolous, and look on her as a bad example for Mimotchka. And so Mimotchka does not return her visits because, of course, she is in a dangerous way.... But, all the same, Mimotchka is very sorry that Nettie is in a dangerous way, because if she were not it would be very amusing to go and see her.... She is very nice, Nettie is, and so full of fun.... And, even putting Nettie aside, anyhow Mimotchka finds it livelier at the three sisters Poltavsteff's house than at her own home. They sing, dance, play, and build castles in the air.... They are always in love with somebody or other, always talking about captains and lieutenants, or about Nettie's admirers.... They have dreams, hopes, and plans for the future, everything to look forward to. But she? What can she expect? What can she hope for? Her life is over. She has no illusions left. She knows what life is, knows what men are, what marriage is, what this much-vaunted love is--_une horreur!_ And yet Aunt Mary says to her, "Mind you don't fall in love with anyone!" She--fall in love! Why, she does not even care to live.... And her best years have gone, irrevocably gone.... She is already an old woman. She is twenty-six. Yes, quite an old woman.... She feels so old, so old, so tired of life....

And Mimotchka is dull and gets thin and pale.

By the spring her nervous depression reaches such a pitch that one fine evening, when Spiridon Ivanovitch proposes to the ladies to decide whether they would like to spend the summer in the country on his estates or take a _datcha_[1] elsewhere, Mimotchka goes off into a fit of hysterics, a real fit of hysterics, laughing, crying, and screaming.... Mamma is in despair. This is what it has come to! And what had she been thinking of to allow it to go on?...

[1] Villa residences let for the summer season in the environs of St. Petersburg.

Energetic measures must be immediately taken; yes, immediately. Mimi gives way, she agrees to consult Doctor Variashski. Mamma has such confidence in Variashski! He had attended Mimotchka before, once he had even saved her life, he understands her nature.... And such a nice man besides, so attentive and amusing.... No mere boy either, but a reliable, respectable man, a professor too.... Mamma believes in him as she does in the Almighty. Now they can only look to Doctor Variashski to save Mimotchka. They will do whatever he tells them. If he says, Go to Madeira, they will go to Madeira.... Spiridon Ivanovitch is ready to provide the money. It's impossible to stop at any expense when it comes to a question of saving life, and the life of one near and dear to you. They will do whatever Variashski tells them to.

"Whom do I see! My humble respects "says Doctor Variashski, introducing mamma and Mimotchka into his consulting-room and rapidly glancing, through his spectacles, round the reception-room, full of patients of every age and description, whispering in the corners or turning over the leaves of the newspapers as they await their turn.

Mimotchka, on entering the consulting-room, throws herself wearily into a soft armchair near the writing-table, and in a languid voice replies mono-syllabically and unwillingly to the doctor's questions, while mamma, turning her anxious gaze from the doctor to her daughter and back again, tries to gather something from the expression of his countenance. And in her terrified and loving imagination she already sees behind her beloved daughter fearful, menacing spectres--consumption, or death from exhaustion.... But no, the doctor seems calm, he is even cheerful.

"So you really think, Krondide Feodorovitch, that this dreadful weakness can be conquered?"

"Yes, I think there is no impossibility whatever in it."

"Ah, God grant it, God grant it!... But you must know she is not telling you everything. She is so patient, so patient; but of course I can see how she suffers!"

And mamma, in spite of her daughter, begins in an agitated and lugubrious voice to relate to Krondide Feodorovitch in the most detailed manner how Mimotchka gets out of breath going upstairs, how she cries without any cause, how cross she gets with her maid and with baby, how thin she is getting, which is evident from the bodices of her dresses, how yesterday at dinner she only ate half a cutlet, and to-day--and so on and on.

"So," says the doctor, writing out a prescription, "and what do you think of doing this summer?"

"Ah, Krondide Feodorovitch, that is the chief reason why we came to you. We will do whatever you tell us. Wherever you send us.... You know that we have both money and time to spare. I had already thought that perhaps sea-bathing ... abroad ..."

"Yes, of course; abroad is all very well. But what would you say to the Caucasus? You were never in the Caucasus?"

"No; but I have heard from many people that it is still very primitive there, nothing properly arranged ... no lodgings nor doctors.... They say there are only most awful veterinary surgeons there.... And nothing whatever to eat." ...

"Oh, well, that's all very much exaggerated. And you can always find something to eat if you are not too dainty. And as to doctors, you apparently do me the honour of having some confidence in me?"

"Oh, Krondide Ivanovitch, you! I believe in you as I do in God!... All my hope is in you!"

"Well, then, you see no other doctor will be required. I myself will attend Marie Ilinishna." ...

"What, you will be there? Oh, that alters the question.... Once you are there.... When will you be there?"

"At the beginning of the season; you know, where the ladies are, there I am to be found too. And all the ladies go there. Jeleznovodsk is called the ladies' spring."

Mimotchka brightens up a little. She would like to go to the Caucasus. Nettie had spent last summer at Kislovodsk and had come back with very pleasant remembrances of it. There she had completely emancipated herself, and from there she had brought back her present adorer. And, sitting here, all at once Mimotchka recognises clearly for the first time exactly what she wants. She wants to go somewhere alone. She will take her maid Katia with her and start off, and the others can all do what they like. The doctor inwardly makes a note of this brightening up, and, glancing occasionally at Mimotchka, continues giving mamma some indispensable information about Jeleznovodsk. Mimotchka is to drink iron water and take baths for two months, and then go for another month to Kislovodsk to, so to say, polish off, and by the autumn she will be so much better that it will be quite impossible to recognise her.

"God grant it, God grant it!" says mamma, with a sad, doubting smile, and delicately slipping a little pinkish paper[2] into the doctor's hand, she follows Mimotchka out of the consulting-room, letting the next patient pass in in his turn.

[2] A ten-rouble bank-note, equal to about a guinea in English money.

"Well, Mimi," says mamma, taking her seat in the carriage by the side of her daughter, "what do you say to his idea? I think we ought to go. As he is going to be there himself.... Will you go?"

Mimotchka is silent. Her momentary animation has again changed into an expression of suffering and apathy. Mamma looks at her and is silent for five minutes, at the end of which she repeats her question.

"What is the use of talking about it?" answers Mimotchka. "It matters little what I wish.... He will only say ... He will say again...." (Mimotchka sighs.) "He will say, 'Let's go to the country!'"

And Mimotchka sheds bitter tears.

Mamma is in despair, but tries to smile.

"Oh, do stop, stop crying; don't excite yourself so, darling!... Of course we won't go to the country.... He is so fond of you. He will do anything you like. Hier encore, il m'a dit.... Do stop crying, Mimi; it's so bad for you! Where is your _sel de vinaigre?_ ... Smell it, dear; it's all because you are so tired.... Where are we going: to Julia's or shopping?"

"To Knopps'," says Mimotchka, "I want to go to Knopps'."

They drive to Knopps'. On the way the ladies continue to discuss Doctor Variashski's advice. Sniffing at the smelling-salts and blowing her nose, Mimotchka explains herself more definitely. She would of course go without Spiridon Ivanovitch (it would anyhow be impossible for him to go). Baby also might stay with mamma. Mimotchka could not take him with her. She was already so sick of the child's crying that if she had to drag him everywhere after her she would never get any better. Besides, taking baby means taking nurse and the under-nurse and a doctor. Variashski does not attend children. What would become of them without a children's doctor? Does mamma want to kill baby? No; let her remain here with him, and Mimotchka will go alone with Katia....

Mamma agrees with Mimotchka in everything but one point. To let her daughter go without her, her daughter who has fainting fits and hysterical attacks, to let her go with only a young and inexperienced girl--no, this is not to be thought of.... Mamma herself will go with her. But who will stay with baby? Perhaps Aunt Julia would take him and his nurse with her to the country? Oh yes, she will take him!... At Knopps all other anxieties are momentarily lost sight of in the anxiety of choosing an umbrella. Mimotchka turns over the whole shop in search of an umbrella with a handle the like of which she can only have seen in her dreams. In the meantime she comes across many new, useful, and practical objects which may be serviceable to her on her approaching journey, and Which she buys. So that, when she takes her seat with mamma in the carriage, quite a pile of parcels and boxes is carried after them. Mimotchka looks refreshed and calmer.

"You're not too tired, Mimi? Perhaps we had better leave Julia for another time?" asks mamma.

"No, no, better do it all at once," says Mimotchka, closing her eyes.

Aunt Julia receives on Wednesdays. Visitors and tea in the afternoon; cards and now and then a dance for Zina and the young people in the evening.

Aunt Julia is a much respected, clever woman, with a great deal of character. Her sisters say of her: "Julie est une femme de beaucoup d'esprit, mais elle manque de cœur. C'est tout le contraire d'Annette."

Aunt Julia is an irreproachable wife, housewife, and mother. She has brought up her two elder children extremely well--Vova, a rosy-faced cavalry officer, and Zina, who has been educated at Trouba's.[3] And Vova and Zina are the pride and joy of their mother's life, to whom, however, the Lord has sent a trial in the person of her youngest daughter Vava, a sickly, capricious, fanciful girl. They doctor her up and correct her, but all to no purpose. Up to now Vava is the nightmare, plague, and cross of Aunt Julia's life.

[3] A famous ladies' school, that was under the patronage of the late Grand Duchess Helen.

When mamma and Mimotchka enter Aunt Julia's lilac drawing-room, they find a great many ladies there and a few young men, friends of Vova's. A cross-fire of conversation is going on in the room.

"And so you're going again to Merekule?"[4]

"Yes, to Merekule. We're always faithful to Merekule. And you?"

"Oh, je n'aime pas à avoir une _datcha;_ j'aime mieux rester ici. Then I can go to one place one day and another the next."

[4] A seaside resort in Finland.

"Et Louise?... Elle est toujours à Naples?"

"Comment? Le bordeaux avec le rose pâle.... Oh, mais quand c'est fait par une française, par une bonne faiseuse, ... c'est délicieux comme mélange." ...

"And so yesterday I went to the exhibition." ...

"What did you think of the exhibition?"

"Oh dear, how we laughed!... We go in and whom do we meet...."

"Et tous les soirs elles vont aux îles. Et tous les soirs c'est la même chose. C'est triste." ...

Mimotchka is met with inquiries about her health. Mamma informs her nearest neighbours that they have only just come from Variashski's.

"How can you have any confidence in Variashski?" says Aunt Mary in horror, as she shakes the ash off her cigarette. "He simply murdered a friend of mine. She died under the knife. And afterwards it appeared that there Was no need at all of an operation.... It was all a mistake." ...

"You're mixing it up, Mary. You told us that story of Lisinski."

"Really? Well, perhaps. It's all the same. One's as bad as the other."

"Why don't you try homœopathy?" says a homœopathic lady. "I am sure it Would do your daughter good; especially in cases of nervous illnesses." ...

"Yes; I really do not understand," continues Aunt Mary, finishing another cigarette, "why you go to Variashski. Isn't he an _accoucheur?_ ... Si c'est une maladie de nerfs, why don't you consult Merjeffsky?"

"And I should have taken her straight to Botkin," says Aunt Julia. "She could not have got so thin without some cause. He would have determined what her illness is, and would have recommended you a specialist if he thought necessary. I only believe in Botkin."

"And even Botkin makes mistakes," says the homœopathic lady. "No, seriously, try homœopathy. Why, I myself am a living advertisement for homœopathy. Just think how many doctors I have consulted, how many remedies I have tried.... And only since I consulted Brazolle ..."

"Brazolle, oh yes, Brazolle! Why, I have met him in society. Il est très bien."

"Is he married? Who is he married to?"

The medical conversation becomes general.

"Brazolle? Yes, who did he marry? And Solovieff, what a wonderfully conscientious doctor he is. Of course, of course.... He has a hospital of his own.... And he is so busy, so very busy.... And Baron Vreffski.... You're joking _f_ Not in the least.... An extraordinary case.... He cured a blind man, a real blind man, perfectly blind, whom I saw with my own eyes, ... with that water of his, or by electricity.... Enfin il réussit. Of course faith has a great deal to do with it.... Oh, I should think so!... For instance, Father John[5] ... Oh, ce n'est plus du tout la même chose.... Vous croyez? Mais, c'est un saint! Oh, he's only a sinful man like the rest of us, je ne crois pas à sa sainteté. C'est la mode, voilà tout.... Oh, don't say so.... If you only saw him, ... a little, thin man, ... and with such a look in his eyes, something so heavenly!... He took tea with us and ate some fruit.... He is very fond of grapes.... Of course you must have faith.... Oh yes, faith--that's all!... But who works wonders--is Batmaieff.... Qu'est ce que ce Batmaieff? est-ce que c'est encore un saint? Non, non, c'est un médecin.... I can give you his address if you like." ...

[5] A priest at the cathedral of Cronstadt, famous for his faith healing.

Under cover of the noise mamma tells Aunt Julia about Variashski's sending them to Jeleznovodsk, and tries to sound her about taking charge of baby and his nurse for the summer. Aunt Julia will take charge of them with pleasure for the whole summer if mamma will consent to take Vava with her to Jeleznovodsk. Merjeffsky has advised that she should be separated from her family for a time, and has ordered her to take iron waters this summer. And they will all breathe more freely when Vava is gone. She is getting unbearable. She sets every one in the house at loggerheads. Her brother has predicted that she will finish on the gallows, and advises her being sent for two or three years to France, or perhaps to Switzerland to some _pension._ Her father won't hear of it; he always takes Vava's part. Good heavens, if only some one would take charge of her!... One service in return for another. Vava for baby, baby for Vava. And so the matter is settled.

At dinner mamma informs Spiridon Ivanovitch of the results of their visit to Variashski and of their negotiations with Aunt Julia. At the mention of the Caucasus Spiridon Ivanovitch brightens up and gets quite good-humoured. In the Caucasus were passed the best years of his life, the best years of his military service. Even now he has many friends both in Tiflis and Piatigorsk--a wonderful land of which he has wonderful reminiscences. _Shaslik, katchetinsk, narzan,_[6] and riding-parties through the moonlight nights! If only Spiridon Ivanovitch were free, he himself would go with the ladies. Of course Mimotchka must go and make a cure there. The sun and the iron waters will certainly restore her to health. Perhaps in August he might be able to join them there himself. Oh yes, yes; she must go. Of course it would never do for her to go alone. Goodness knows what sort of society is to be found at the springs. But with mamma and Vava she might venture. About how much will the journey cost?

[6] _Shaslik,_ small pieces of mutton roasted on a spit in Caucasian fashion. _Katchetinsk,_ a wine something like Burgundy, made in the Caucasus. _Narzan,_ a sparkling mineral water.

May in Petersburg. A cold wind raises clouds of dust in the streets, but the bright sun, the ladies' light gauze veils and parasols, and the noise of wheels, relieving the deep stillness of winter--all this already tells of spring, and what speaks more clearly of it than anything is the pure blue sky, across which all kinds of bright hopes and promises for the future flit alluringly. It seems to say that somewhere, far away from the granite quays and stone houses, from the dusty streets and squares with their meagre foliage, spring has already come, real spring, with her light breezes, with the nightingales' and larks' trills, with the scent of lilacs and cherry blossoms in the air--spring, that gladdens the heart of everyone who wishes to get away and can from the close, dusty town; and everyone who wishes to and can hastens to do so.

At the Nicholas railway station there is bustle and animation. Porters and carriers are rushing up and down the platform and jostling each other at the doors. From the refreshment rooms comes the noise of knives and forks, the clinking of glasses, the sound of conversation and exclamations, the scraping of feet, and all the busy fuss and noise of a crowd in movement.

On the platform, in front of the high, blue railway carriage, stands an elegant group seeing Mimotchka off. It is composed of the stout Spiridon Ivanovitch in his crimson-lined overcoat,[7] the tall and majestic Aunt Julia with a long eyeglass, through which she superciliously examines the surrounding public; the fat, rosy-faced Vova, Aunt Julia's favourite, her joy and pride; pretty Zina, in a huge, fashionable hat and short, fashionable jacket, and with two little white dogs, who look on God's world as haughtily and indifferently as their mistress; Mdme. Lambert, her governess: the three sisters Poltavsteff in thick veils; Aunt Mary with her son, and Aunt Sophy with her husband. Mimotchka is already seated in the carriage with her lapdog, which she could not make up her mind to leave behind her in Petersburg, and is smelling her _sel de vinaigre._ She is dreadfully tired, and besides that she is so sick of them all. The sooner she gets off the better. And there is Spiridon Ivanovitch, climbing up into the carriage again, and almost tumbling into the cushions, to inquire if she is quite comfortable.... Quite, quite; she has everything she wants!

[7] Russian generals wear overcoats lined with crimson.

Vava, a thin, black-eyed girl of sixteen, stands on the platform by her father, and, holding on to him with both hands, gives him her word of honour not to quarrel with her aunt, and in general to be good, and not like she is in Petersburg. And Vava, in her turn, makes him promise that he will write her long letters and often.

Mamma is fussily and anxiously whispering to Aunt Julia, giving her last instructions about baby, nurse, and the servants she has left behind. Then the expression of both their faces changes. Mamma's takes one of condolence and sympathy, Aunt Julia's of patient endurance; evidently they are talking of the cross she has to bear--of Vava.

"I know it's a great charge," says Aunt Julia, "but I will do all I can for you in return. And the principal thing is, that she must not on any account go out alone."

The two elder Poltavsteffs are smiling at Mdme. Lambert and playing with Zina's dogs; the youngest, coquettishly turning up her eyes, tells Vova that she does not believe either in friendship or love.

"And, in my opinion, it's all folly," says Aunt Mary. "What is the use of their going there? Why, they will all die of hunger. I know perfectly well what the Crimea and the Caucasus are. Starvation, _ennui,_ and dirt. It's simply throwing away money. And why have they such confidence in Variashski? As if there were no doctors abroad!"

"Yes, indeed!" agrees Aunt Sophy. "We were told to go to Essentouki, too, but of course we shall go to Carlsbad instead. As if it were possible!"

The last bell sounds. Vava gives her father a parting hug, and, with a little scream, throws herself impetuously into the carriage, getting very much in the guard's way as she does so. Aunt Julia exchanges a suffering look with Zina. Mimotchka shows her pale face at the window and smiles at her friends. They all nod, bow, and smile at her in return. "_Bon voyage! Bon voyage!_"

Spiridon Ivanovitch gazes after her with a tender, loving look, and the train smoothly and quietly moves from its place and glides out from under the dark arches of the station. Mamma makes the sign of the cross,[8] Mimotchka yawns, and Vava goes out of the _coupé._[9]

Now they are at the end of the platform, now past the hoardings and the market gardens. The barracks, with all their windows staring at the departing train, have disappeared, and the train flies out into the open and steams along at full speed.

[8] Orthodox Russians make the sign of the cross before they start on a journey.

[9] Russian railway carriages are constructed like American cars, and have a passage running through the middle.

Mamma makes a survey of the luggage. "Is everything here?... Is everything in its proper place? And where has Vava gone?" ...

"She must be in the passage," answers Mimotchka lazily, closing her eyes.

"I think that is her singing. Do you hear? What a mad thing she is!" But Mimotchka only yawns.

The fact of Vava's immediately running away from them rather troubles mamma. How is she to manage this queer girl? The best way is to influence her by kindness and affection. Vava's father had begged mamma to do so, and Merjeffsky, the doctor, had also mentioned it. Of course she has such a highly-strung, nervous nature. Mamma and Aunt Julia have quite different ideas on the subject of education. Mamma always thought Aunt Julia was too harsh with Vava "On ne prend pas les mouches avec du vinaigre, mais avec du miel." Mamma will prove that it is quite possible to get on, even with Vava. "Julie est une femme de beaucoup d'esprit, mais elle manque de cœur." But mamma--is just the contrary. To use her own expression, with her the heart comes first, and the head last. She will influence Vava by kindness.

Vava remains in the passage, at the open window, singing at the top of her voice "Heavenly Cloudlets."

It is both wild and absurd, but mamma, on reflection, decides to leave her to herself, and not to interfere. Let her stand there and sing if she likes. After all, she is ill. She must first be tamed, and then re-educated.

And mamma, cautiously looking through the crack in the door, sits down again, and once more begins to count over the things and feel if the little leather bag containing money that is sewn in her dress is quite safe.

Mimotchka has taken off her travelling hat, unbuttoned her jacket, and, lying back on the velvet cushions, plays with her dog, pulling its ears, stroking its head, and talking to it.

"Well, what is it, Monitchka, my beauty? Does Monitchka want her tea? Yes?... She shall have it; she shall have it directly. How can the little dog go to bed without her tea! Ask grandmamma when we shall have tea? Yes, yes, dear, tea.... Du thé.... Et du sucre, oui un peu de sucre."

At Luban, the first station, the dog is regaled with tea, sugar, and biscuits. The ladies also take tea, brought to them in the carriage by a tall, fine-looking young guard, upon whom the crimson coat lining and liberality of Spiridon Ivanovitch have made a due impression.

It gets dark. Mimotchka puts the pug to bed; mamma puts Mimotchka to bed. The guard lifts up the cushioned seat and makes up a bed for Vava, who is placed above mamma; he draws the shade over the lamp, and in the _coupé_ darkness and silence reign, only interrupted by the snoring of the pug curled up in a ball on its quilted feather-bed.

And the train flies along, thumping and rattling, flies across ditches, bridges, and marshes, and, singing its monotonous wild song, rocks the tired passengers to sleep.

Mamma feels very comfortable. Having settled Mimotchka (who has been very quiet and uncomplaining to-day) for the night, mamma puts on her slippers, takes off her cap, ties a little shawl over her head, and stretches herself out with great enjoyment on the sofa. Well, now they're off, mamma very much hopes that the waters and change of air will act beneficially on her poor invalid. And then Variashski will be there, that is the main point. On that score mamma is quite at rest. She owns to herself that she will enjoy the journey, the holiday, and the rest for a time from all the bother of the servants, from the continual thought and worry about dinner, about the meat, about baby's food and his bath, about the price of sugar and candles, about the laundress and the kerosine for the lamps. Three months of entire rest from it all! As to baby, there is no reason to be anxious about him. He is in trustworthy hands, and will be most carefully looked after. Besides, Spiridon Ivanovitch will go to Peterhof to see him. And in the autumn Spiridon Ivanovitch himself is expecting a reward from the Emperor, which he is pretty sure to get. So that everything is very satisfactory on that side. And, in the meantime, they will travel, breathe the fresh air, and lay in stores of health and strength for the winter. Vava, now asleep over mamma's head, may certainly give some trouble, but well, never mind if she does. The great thing will be to influence her by kindness. Katia shall always go out with her; Aunt Julia has given Katia extra wages, and is paying her journey one way. In general, Aunt Julia is behaving very liberally about Vava's cure, her board, lodging, and any unforeseen expenses that may be incurred on her account. Mamma is taking such a lot of money with her that she really will hardly sleep at night for fear of thieves. And yet her sisters say that Julia is mean. No, she isn't mean. She is pedantic, and a little near about money perhaps, but not mean. For instance, she has allowed two hundred roubles for the doctor who is to attend Vava during the summer. Mamma thinks it a great deal too much. Surely Mimotchka won't have to pay Variashski as much? Oh no. They paid him very little in Petersburg? And a hundred roubles would be more than sufficient. Or perhaps they might have to give him a hundred and fifty. Mamma has so much confidence in him. And really he is such a nice, sympathetic man ... and un bel homme too. But still a hundred would be quite enough. A hundred?... a hundred and fifty ... or a hundred?...

And without having decided the question, mamma begins a gentle snore.