Chapter C: Hagberg Wright (4)

Of course this was all very ridiculous, and Mimotchka would never have allowed herself to be as silly as the widow. Peuh! She felt so happy and bright, and yet without any love-making whatever. An officer of her husband's division rode with her and introduced his friends to her. They all admired and liked her. She could easily have got to know _l'homme au chien._ But she herself did not wish to. After all, what was the good of it? Mimotchka, like Vava, chiefly delighted in the feeling of her freedom, and in the absence of all restraint and guardianship. Here mamma did not bother her, and did not accompany her on her walks. She would have liked to have done so, but the burning Caucasian sun prevented her. Mamma could not stand heat. In the morning, after seeing the young people off, and, like Providence, arranging everything for their comfort, mamma, when they had gone, closed the shutters, pulled down the blinds, and, having made it dark and cool, lay down on her bed with a book. In thought she was, of course, with her poor, sick children, who were broiling in the sun. She felt quite comfortable about Mimotchka, but Vava gave her considerable uneasiness. Vava was like fire, so impulsive, so impressionable (those slim girls were always so _passionnées,_) and here, besides, there was something in the very air of the place, the burning sun.... And yet Vava was so bright, so nice, so much improved in her looks, and so contented with everything.... Supposing there was some secret reason for all this.

And mamma got frightened, very much frightened. And in the stillness of the night, more than once, the images of the student and the military cadet flew over her pillowed head like two demons come to trouble her sleep and disturb her rest. After much consideration and preparation mamma tried to caution Vava. Vava only answered her warnings with a look, but such a look that mamma's soul sunk into her shoes, and she inwardly determined never again to revert to the subject. In order to quiet her conscience, however, and relieve herself of all responsibility towards Julia, she called the maid Katia, and ordered her to look strictly after her young lady and let her know with whom she walked, where she went, and whether she was ever alone with anyone.

And Katia, after having ironed Mimotchka's petticoats and laid out everything that would be required for the evening, went out into the park, with the firm intention of looking after her young lady. But as her young lady was very much on the move, and running after her was very tiring, Katia wisely sat down on a bench under the shade of a spreading tree, which Vava must certainly pass on her way home to dinner, and sat there watching the people going by.

Opposite the bench, on a little eminence, stood some hawkers with glass cases, an Italian selling corals and mosaics, and some Armenians with Caucasian wares. Among them was a small Armenian with cunning little eyes, an enormous nose, and a high black cap. And standing by his glass case, in which were displayed Caucasian turquoises and oxidised silver things, belts, daggers, brooches, and pins, all bearing the inscription, "Kavkas, Kavkas, Kavkas," he looked at Katia so knowingly and so expressively, just as if he knew how she was deceiving her mistress.

Three days running Katia sat on the same bench, and the Armenian walked round his wares and shot killing glances at her, while his eyes seemed to grow still narrower and his nose still bigger. But Katia pretended not to notice anything, and drew figures on the gravel with her parasol. Then he spoke to her. She was passing him and looking across at Beshtau, when he said, "How hot it is! Why do you go out walking at this time? It's not pleasant walking now. The evening is the time for going out. It's not hot in the evening; it's nice then." Katia still pretended not to hear, and went up in the direction of the mountain, coquettishly swinging her parasol. Then he began to bow to her. Then Katia bowed in return, at first gravely, and afterwards with a smile. Finally, he tried to persuade her to buy something.

"Your prices are too high," said Katia; "they're not for my pocket."

"But you must know them first, and then say.... I'll not ask too high.... You look at the things and ask the prices."

So Katia began examining and choosing the things in his glass case. In a week's time she already knew all the things in his show-case by heart; she knew his name, how old he was, that he had a cousin in Petersburg in a Caucasian wine-shop, and that he himself would also come to Petersburg; she also heard all about Tiflis and Kislovodsk, heard that it was a great deal pleasanter in the park in the evening than in the daytime, and that it was so dark, so very dark! Katia learnt all this, but as yet _she_ did not choose anything out of his glass case, but postponed doing so until she got to Kislovodsk.

Meanwhile Vava, who had aroused such black suspicions in mamma's mind, sat quietly at the gymnasium with her friend the governess, and, unable to contain herself any longer, unfolded to her her project of a home for destitute children. The governess sympathised with her idea, but did not quite believe in the possibility of its realisation, and, shaking her head, smiled incredulously.

"It's all very nice," she said, when Vava had finished, "but it will never come to anything. You will marry and bring up your own children, which will be a great deal better."

"In what way?"

"It will be more natural. It's impossible to love strange children like your own."

"But they won't be strange children, because they will be mine almost from the day of their birth."

"For all that, it's not the same. Of course I can't judge from my own experience; but every one says so, and I think it must be so myself. A strange child can never be the same as your own. I know it wouldn't be to me."

"But I could love a strange child like my own.... How not to love them? One pities them so, poor little forsaken, innocent things; and if you love out of pity, you love better and stronger."

"No--anyhow there is something unnatural about it. I should understand if you were unhappy, or had been disappointed in your own personal happiness, then it would be all very well; but why imagine all this when you have still the possibility of being happy?"

"Yes, but then I can only be happy in that way."

During this time Mimotchka was sitting by herself in the summer-house by the Bishop's Palace, reading _La Grande Marnière._ Her reading did not advance much. The book did not interest her, and she read over the same page several times. In the summer-house, besides her, were seated two priests and some nurses with children, and although their conversation was uninteresting, still it amused her; and Mimotchka did not care to move, because it was pleasanter and cooler here than anywhere else.

The priests got up and, as they went out, knocked up against _l'homme au chien,_ who was just entering the summer-house with his dog. The young man walked up to the railings, and, resting his elbows on them, gazed into the distance. Mimotchka became absorbed in her reading. The nurses, after looking at the newcomer, resumed their conversation.

"Why are there so many priests here?"

"They've all got something or other the matter with them. Lenten fare is bad for their insides. That's why they all drink this mud water. It's a very good water, this muddy kind is. Our folks drink it." ...

"And ours, too, began by drinking it. But now they drink the Bariatinski spring. Only my lady was too lazy to go herself in the morning to the spring, and always sent me to fetch the muddy water for her; and so I had to go, although it's a good way off. Now they drink Bariatinski water."

"Then your lady is making a cure herself?"

"No--all our people are. The young lady, and the master, and the mistress."

"And are they really ill, or is it only from too good living?"

"No, it's not exactly from too good living, but it's just as the Lord sends it. The master isn't quite right in his head. Yes, at one time he really was shut up in a madhouse. He threw himself into the water and tried, so to say, to make away with himself. Well, now he's better. Kousmitch cured him. Now he is able to go about by himself. He takes the waters, too--and afterwards we shall go to the Crimea. Now there is not much the matter with him...."

"Out of his mind? Why, what a dreadful thing!"

"Yes, indeed; Heaven preserve us from it! It was awful what we had to put up with in the house! Kousmitch cured him, though."

"And your young lady--how about her?"

"Nothing much. She's a poor frightened thing, very thin, and has pimples on her face. She's a quiet enough young lady; there's no harm in her. We had a young man after her at one time--yes, a real one, a military man, too, in a uniform.... Only he got hold of part of the dowry in advance and went after someone else. And she fretted and fretted--she's all right now--Kousmitch did her good."

"And your lady herself?"

"The mistress was dreadfully bad. You can see for yourself how yellow she is. Well, this I winter she suffered from her liver, and the winter before last she was even worse. What a lot of doctors and nurses she had!--and she was ill the whole time, and couldn't walk because she had something the matter with her inside. Yes; what a lot of money we did spend! First one doctor comes and attends her, then we hear of another, a more expensive one, and then we try him. Well, he comes and prescribes for her, and then somebody tells us of another still more expensive one, and so we call him in. And we had prayers put up and icons brought in from the church. And it was all no good at all. And in the spring, when we were coming to the Caucasus, I said, says I, 'Mistress, little mother,[15] which way are we going? Aren't we going past Samara?' says I. 'We are going by steamer up the Volga, and shall pass. Samara,' says she. (And I come from Samara, from the district of Bousoulouk.) 'Well,' says I, 'little mother, you do as you like, but if you want to do the master good as well as yourself and get God to give you both your health again, you go and see Kousmitch (for in our part lives Kousmitch, who is worth all the doctors in the world; he comes of peasant stock, but princes and generals and lots of gentlefolk go to him to be cured, because he cures all those that the doctors can't cure). So you go to him, little mother,' says I. 'It's God Himself that's sending you to Samara.' 'Be quiet, nurse,' they say. 'You don't understand anything about it. What's all this about your Kousmitch? You do as you're told and go to the chemist's.' 'Very well,' says I; 'what do I care? I'll go.' And then, when we're sailing down the Volga and come to Samara, my lady comes up to me and says, 'Look here,' says she, 'nurse, don't tell anybody, but we're going to Kousmitch.' (You must know my people are merchants, and very rich ones, too; they have five houses in the Kalashnikoffskaia Pristan,[16] but they're shy of gentle-folks.) Says I, 'Well, what of it? Why should I tell anyone? I won't say anything about it. You go if you like to. Who should I tell? I won't say anything about it.' So they went to him, to the little father, Kousmitch. And he, the little father--he can see right into everybody, and he cured them both. First he looked at the master, took him by the hand, and felt his arm down from the shoulder. Doctors only take hold of your wrist and count by their watch, but he, the little father, feels over the whole arm down from the shoulder and finds out the illness without any watch at all. And he said to the master, 'You,' says he, 'have rheumatic swellings. Don't be afraid; you'll get well--drink!' And he gave him a bottle of stuff directly. Yes! And to the mistress he said, 'It's just your liver that's wrong. And there's something the matter inside as well,' says he; 'it's a bad business. You,' says he, 'take care, because, if you don't take care, you'll die. Yes! you must keep lying down,' says he--'yes, lie down often; then you'll get better; and here's this for you--drink!' And he gave her another bottle. Our young lady didn't want to show herself to him; she laughed and said, 'What does a peasant like him understand?' But he, the little father, said, 'What are you laughing at? You had a young man,' says he, 'but he ran off.' The little father knew all about it, you see. 'Don't be afraid; you'll find another. You've got money, haven't you?' says he. 'She has, little father,' said we; 'how shouldn't she have, with five houses on the Kalashnikoffskaia Pristan?' 'Well,' says he, 'it's all right. You'll be married and get quite well; and, meanwhile, here's this for you--drink!' And he gave her another bottle, and he told the children to drink too; and I says to him, says I, 'My back aches, little father.' And he gave me a bottle of stuff too. 'Drink,' says he, 'old woman.' Well, and so we all drink."

[15] The terms "little mother" and "little father" are used by the lower classes in Russia as a mark of respect.

[16] A quarter of St. Petersburg, up the Neva, where all the granaries are situated.

"And does it do you good?"

"It does us good. In the morning, when we get up, we drink some of his stuff before eating anything. We don't say anything about it to the doctor. And at first the mistress drank the muddy water, and now she drinks Bariatinski water. And all the stuff they bring us from the chemist's we throw away, because Kousmitch said it was all no good; and if the mistress feels worse, she gives up drinking the waters, and only takes what Kousmitch gave her. It's a decoction of peppermint." ...

"Peppermint is a good thing. But for my part I drink nothing but Michailovsky water here. That's what I like. It's such a fresh-tasted water."

"But is it good for healthy people to drink? I don't drink any of the waters. I am afraid. You might get some illness from drinking them."

"No, it's all right enough. They're not good enough for fat people to drink, but for thin, full-blooded ones, there's no harm to be got, only good."

"I'd drink them too if I wasn't afraid." ...

"What is there to be afraid of? Let's come and have some at once. Where have my little rascals got to? Vania, Vassia, come here! We're going to the gymnastics."

The nurses got up and went out of the summer-house, leading away their charges. Mimotchka and _l'homme au chien_ were left alone together. Mimotchka turned over the leaves without raising her eyes from her book. He sat down so as to have a sideway view of her, and taking out a newspaper also began reading. They both felt each other's presence and proximity, and also felt that if they were to throw aside their reading and begin talking it would be pleasant and amusing; but they did not speak to each other. He did not dare; she did not wish to. Now and then Mimotchka raised her blue eyes and fixed them on the blue distance. He sat secretly admiring her, the way her hair was done, the tip of her little foot, and all her young, fresh, elegant person.... Mimotchka felt he was looking at her, and rather maliciously thought to herself, "Aha! so it's not only actresses that are pretty?" Then he put away his newspaper, took out his oxidised silver cigar-case, and asked her permission to smoke. Mimotchka signified her consent by an inclination of the head. Then she was suddenly seized with a panic. He would speak to her directly. What could she answer? And what would it lead to? Up till now it had all been so nice and interesting, and now it would all be spoilt. If he spoke to her like he would to a cocotte, she would be offended. She was a general's wife and a respectable woman. She didn't like being spoken to by people she didn't know. And Mimotchka shut up her book, got up, and walked out of the summer-house with her light, graceful walk. And he looked after her and whistled "Azra." Nothing more happened. But Mimotchka felt so light-hearted, so very light-hearted. And although she would very much have liked to go back to him, she went home without once looking round.

All three ladies met at dinner in the best of spirits. They dined amicably and gaily, laughing at the unappetising dishes (at the everlasting mutton they were so tired of), and praising and doing honour to mamma's successful cookery; for she had not only prepared cutlets and beefsteaks but had artfully managed even pastry, jelly, and _compote_ besides.

Katia picked the caterpillars and insects off Vava; Mimotchka examined her face in the looking-glass, wiping off the specks of dust, while mamma informed them of the results of her observations of her neighbours. These surrounding love affairs revolted mamma, but still they excited and interested her. In spite of the heroines being only bakers' or farmers' wives, mamma almost twisted her neck in following out their progress.... Katia, while modestly serving the dinner, completed mamma's stories with information she had gathered from private sources of her own.

"Now, it's all clear to me," said mamma, catching her breath in her excitement, and speaking of a doctor's wife in their street. "Le mari sait tout ... c'est clair comme le jour.... What things one does see and hear!" ...

After dinner Mimotchka and Vava went off again, while mamma, without hurrying, dressed herself in Petersburg fashion, wiped the perspiration off her face, powdered it lightly, and having thus smartened herself up, went to the Kursaal, where she read the newspapers, after which she sat on the verandah with an old dignitary from Petersburg, who was suffering from a gastric and liver affection, and played picquet with him.

Towards the end of July, in the latter days of the month, when in our northern climes the mountain ash berries already begin to get red and fill with juice, while at Jeleznovodsk piles of apricots and peaches make their appearance on the swarthy fruit-sellers' trays, one beautiful morning two unknown ladies came up to Mimotchka and asked her, on behalf of the other residents in the town of Jeleznovodsk, to take part in a charitable _fête,_ got up for the benefit of a home for poor children. Mimotchka gave her consent. She had often held stalls at charitable bazaars in Petersburg, and it was even one of her favourite distractions.

And on the appointed day Mimotchka, in a most exquisite peach-blossom coloured dress, stood behind a table, decorated with green garlands and flags, and sold tea. In a line with her Baroness Benkenstein in blue and Mdme. Tchereshneff in red, and two other ladies belonging to the "cream" of Jeleznovodsk society, one in white and the other in a crushed strawberry dress, sold pastry, fruit, and sweets.

At the other end of the square were tables at which the actresses, with the fat Mdlle. Borissow at their head, sold tickets for raffles.

Mamma and the officer from Spiridon Ivanovitch's division helped Mimotchka pour out and sell tea; Doctor Variashski helped Mdme. Tchereshneff, and _l'homme au chien_ was the baroness's _aide._ Mimotchka saw that now she could not well avoid making acquaintance with him, but this time the prospect did not alarm her. The baroness and she had already spoken to each other at the baths, so that when they met here they at once bowed to each other.... Mimotchka liked the baroness. She was a little bit eccentric, but very nice. Besides which, _elle était bien née et bien apparentée,_ which mamma thought a great deal of. The baroness had come to Jeleznovodsk with her husband, who had spent five days there and gone on further, leaving his wife to make a cure. And she drank the waters, gathering around her a circle of lively young people, in which _l'homme au chien_ did not play the smallest _rôle._ At the _fête_ mamma was a great deal more talkative and sociable than Mimotchka; he and the baroness made acquaintance, and followed it up by mutual invitations, and in the meanwhile he, _l'homme au chien,_ was introduced to Mimotchka.

How pretty and graceful Mimi was that evening, how she smiled, counting over the money and giving change! Somehow it happened, quite by itself, that _he_ became her helper, and the officer went over to the baroness. It Was so easy, so simple to talk to him, not like Variashski, who always seemed to be laughing at everything. By way of a beginning Mimotchka asked him, "Are you in the Caucasus for the first time?" She always said that to everyone. Oh no, it was already the fourth summer that he had come here, as if it were merely going out of town. Four years ago he had come here ill, sad, and weary, with a heavy burden on his soul, and here he had found calm and healing. ... Since then ... And their conversation flowed on easily and freely. Mimotchka was of a silent nature, and difficult to get on with, but he could talk for two, and both question and answer. And she only glistened, smiled, shook her head, and following his talk, raised her Madonna-like eyes to his with such a speaking look in them that he became still more animated and more eloquent. And meanwhile mamma, looking at him sideways through her eyeglass, found out all about him. Had the baroness known him before? Of course she had! She had known him a long time, he was a great friend of her husband's. He was a barrister from Kieff, and a rich man, that is to say, he was married to the daughter of a rich Kieff manufacturer and landowner. His wife was a charming person, but rather unsociable and serious. She went out very little because she was so occupied with her children, but they were received in the best society. Now his wife was with the children on their estates, but he came here every summer to take the waters. He was in every way a most correct person.... And mamma, hearing all this, and nodding her head, invited Valerian Nicolaevitch, _l'homme an chien,_ to come and see them.

The bazaar was over. The receipts were splendid, and the ladies of the _beau-monde_ had realised fifteen roubles more than the ladies of the _demi-monde._ Mdme. Tchereshneff was particularly proud of this. The baroness was tired, and said she felt half dead.... Mimotchka was in the highest spirits. How much better and stronger she had got!

She even went afterwards with mamma and Valerian Nicolaevitch to the dance in the evening at Tchichvadze's Hotel. Of course she didn't dance herself, but she sat and looked on at the others dancing. Valerian Nicolaevitch sat by her and indulged in a great many witticisms at the expense of the dancers. And by general desire Prince Djoumardjidze, Princess Ardjivanidze, and Prince Kakoushadze danced the Lesginka.[17] Outside on the balcony, a Caucasian lieutenant, who had drunk too much Kachetinsk, got very excited, drew out his dagger, and threatened to cut the hotel-keeper's throat because he had given him a tough fowl for dinner. All the rooms at Tchichvadze's were pervaded by an odour of burnt fat and the fumes of cooking. Doctor Babanine, in a Tcherkesk costume with a _nagaiki_[18] in his hand, circulated among his patients, making up a party for an evening ride to Mount Beshtau. The musicians in their high fur caps and beautiful white costumes piped the Lesginka with all their might, and to its irritating strains Princess Ardjivanidze fluttered about amidst the vapour of kitchen fumes.

[17] The Caucasian national dance.

[18] A Tcherkesk riding-whip.

Mamma got so excited that she decided on having a regular jollification. In accordance with her desire Valerian Nicolaevitch ordered Kachetinsk and champagne to be served to the ladies with _shashlik_ and _tchihirtma._[19] They sat down to supper.

[19] Fowl prepared in Caucasian fashion with lemon and rice.

"The Caucasus is before me," ... declaimed Valerian Nicolaevitch, pouring out Mimotchka a glass of Kachetinsk, and she caught up a little bit of burnt mutton on the end of her fork and said, smilingly:

"Mais c'est excellent, le _shashlik!_"

Valerian Nicolaevitch saw the ladies home. It was a beautiful evening. A full moon had risen in the heavens, flooding the white houses and slumbering gardens with her tender light.... On bidding good-bye mamma renewed her invitation to him to call on them.

Mimotchka still smiled a long while after she had got home. Mamma had an unpleasant remembrance of the _shashlik_ she had eaten, and looked about for her little bottle of nux vomica. And Mimotchka began curling her fringe, and while she curled it, went on thinking of him, and recalling his face and his glances. How all the women, and his wife among them, must admire him! What kind of a wife has he?.... Why isn't she with him? Perhaps she is a horrid, ugly thing.... Or, she may be lovely.... What had he said to her? How beautifully, how intelligently, how easily he talks!... She doesn't know anyone who talks so well. And how perfectly at ease she feels with him! What a nice man he is! And how well everything has turned out. They had made acquaintance in such a proper sort of way.

She had not sought his acquaintance, she had not lost her womanly dignity.... Everything had happened by itself. It was a pity they had exchanged glances on the journey. It would have been better if it hadn't happened. But still these are only trifles, and he has evidently forgotten all about it.... Oh, he is so very correct! He would never forget what was due to himself and to her, and of course she would never allow him to.

How nice it was that they had made acquaintance! Perhaps they would form a true, pure friendship. He was just the sort of friend she wanted!... She likes him.... And then he is so intelligent. He is exactly what she requires.... She has no friend or companion suitable to her age, clever, interesting in conversation, and also perfectly honourable and correct.... And isn't he honourable and correct? A few more such people and she would have a sympathetic little circle of her own, in which it would be so pleasant and delightful to rest her soul from the bitterness and oppression that her ill-assorted marriage had left in her heart. Ill-assorted? Of course it was ill-assorted. And naturally such a circle would only consist of honourable and correct people. She does not require any wild gaiety. She does not want to be as giddy as Nettie. Heaven preserve her from becoming such a _tapageuse!_ She would never tread a perilous path. She does not Want anything wrong. She only wishes to have friends, honourable, nice people, whom she could meet and converse with about the things that interest her. She has already found one such friend. He is married and she is married. They are neither of them free, so that nothing can interfere with their friendly intercourse. How nice it is that they have made acquaintance!

"What is he doing now?" thought Mimotchka, twisting up the twelfth and last curl-paper before her looking-glass. "Is he thinking of me? What does he think of me?" ...

And after undressing and blowing out the candle Mimotchka laid her pretty head, crowned with its row of curl-papers, on the pillow.... But somehow the thoughts and curl-papers got entangled with each other and prevented her sleeping.... What is he thinking of? what is he doing?...

And Valerian Nicolaevitch, having returned to his hotel, sat by Prince Kakoushadze, whose acquaintance he had made only the day before, and pouring himself out some Kachetinsk, said:

"Well, now at last I have made acquaintance with my general's wife. She does not particularly shine by her intelligence, but in her eyes there is a boundless sea. And her hand, her foot!..."

And Valerian Nicolaevitch blew an airy kiss in Mimotchka's direction.

The next day they went on horseback to Karass. The riding party consisted of ten persons, but Mimotchka and he rode together, and there were moments when they were left quite alone. He talked even more than the day before. Where did he get it all from? And how lightly he passed from one subject to another. Mimotchka asked him if he had had his dog long. And straight after answering her question he passed on to love. And it flowed on and on....

He said that life without love was wearisome, was like a desert without water, that a woman lives by love alone, that without it she struggles like a fish thrown on the dry sand, that woman's nature is demoralised and distorted by the absurd education given her, that women of their own free will lay on themselves chains and fetters, under the weight of which they afterwards almost sink. And if anyone were now to tell them that the end of the world, the end of life, would come to-morrow, and that the whole edifice of prejudices and conventional ideas would be broken down, they would throw aside their mask, lay bare their real feelings and desires, and speak in a real living tongue. ... The pent-up waters would burst through the dikes.... And he quoted now a verse from Heine, and then a verse from Byron, ... here a Latin citation, there a couplet from an operetta.

Love moves the world. Love is the flower of life, its perfume, its fragrance. Love is the crown, the cupola on the edifice of human happiness.... How beautifully Musset has said ... And Schiller, in speaking of ... And Baudelaire, and Setchenoff, and Fett, and King Solomon, and Dranmore, and Kousma Proutkoff.[20] ... Let the reader select what he likes from this poetical chaos!

Mimotchka's horse shook its ears, and Mimotchka herself put back her hair, which had blown forward from under her hat, and looked as lovely as the Caucasian sun itself.

[20] Fett, a Russian poet; Kousma Proutkoff, a Russian philosophical writer in the style of La Rochefoucauld; Setchenoff, a Russian author.

They rode on side by side through a little path in the wood. The green boughs were close over their heads, and he held them up with his hand while she bent her head down low. In front of them they could hear the sound of the horses' hoofs and the laughter and talk of the baroness and her companions.

An unexpected storm overtook them in the wood. Mimotchka was generally afraid of storms, but with him she did not feel afraid, only excited and gay. The rain poured down and the whole cavalcade galloped on furiously. He had his _bourka_[19] with him, which he threw over Mimotchka's shoulders. When they arrived at Karass they all took refuge in a barn to shelter themselves from the rain. The storm went on. The lightning flashed among the mountains, and the thunder pealed over the heads of the drenched riding party. They were all in high spirits, and animated by the rapidity of their ride: the baroness in particular was quite in ecstasies, and considered her picnic party a great success. The servants set tables and benches in the barn, prepared the _samovar_ and unpacked the provisions and wine.... They all sat down to tea. Presently Doctor Babanine's party, also all wet through, galloped up to the barn. The baroness invited them to join her tea-party. The company united, and they all became still livelier. And Mimotchka threw off the cloak and drank some cognac that Valerian Nicolaevitch poured out for her. He brought her her tea, and waited on her and entertained her, and she was so amused and happy that she even left off lamenting that her hair had got out of curl.

[19] Caucasian cloak, made of hairy cloth.

When the storm was over and the moon rose up in the sky, the party distributed themselves in three boats and went for a row on the lake. Somebody sang and the baroness rowed. Doctor Babanine, in his Tcherkesk costume and with a _nagaika_ in his hand, swam across the lake on horseback. And they returned home very, very late. Mimotchka was tired, but she did not regret having gone. And how delicious the air was after the storm! What a night! What a moon!

And then began a series of bright, cloudless days. In the morning, when she got up, Mimotchka already knew that she would meet him almost immediately. And, in fact, they met at the morning music. And once they were together--it was all right, that was the chief thing, all the rest was of secondary importance. They had established a pleasant, friendly intercourse together, in which there was nothing, nothing whatever to find fault with. They met, walked together, talked, and made fun of the baroness and her friends. He related to her episodes of the baroness's past life, then he told her what he had done since he had last seen her, whom he had met and what he had thought about, and then they talked over how they would spend the evening: whether they would ride or go to the concert. If there was nothing to talk about, he talked about love, declaimed Fett, Musset, or Byron, but never permitted himself to speak personally, and of course she would never have allowed him to do so. Mimotchka knew which of her dresses, and which way of doing her hair he liked best, and she did her best to please him. She caressed Rex, and Valerian Nicolaevitch, on his part, showed himself well disposed and gracious to the pug. He gave Mimotchka some valuable advice on the subject of dress. He had a delicate and elegant taste, and knew a great deal about laces and the blending of colours. In general he was able to teach Mimotchka a great, very great deal.

They were both fond of music, and did not miss a single concert. And when Mimotchka, sitting by his side, listened to the songs, it seemed to her that it was not at all the same music she had heard during the winter sitting by the side of Spiridon Ivanovitch in the Salle de la Noblesse in Petersburg. Either the singer here sang a great deal better than Figner,[21] or else she had got so much better and stronger that everything appeared to her in another light; but anyhow it was quite, quite different music. Mamma rarely appeared at the concerts: the expense, for one thing, deterred her (for mamma was stingy to herself), and besides, somebody must stay with Vava, who liked to go to bed early and couldn't bear the _kursaal._ So Mimotchka went to the concerts alone with Valerian Nicolaevitch. After spending the evening in the rooms, they walked home together. He gave her his arm and in a low voice sang over some of the melodies they had just heard. And she raised her Madonna-like eyes to the stars and then turned them back to him, and their eyes met and said something that their lips did not dare say, because he would never, never have allowed himself to, and she would never have permitted it.

[21] A famous Russian tenor.

They were happy. And everything that surrounded Mimotchka, everything that she saw and heard, the dark mountains and the green woods, and the glimmering of the stars and the moonlight, the noise of the horses' hoofs, the rustling of the branches, the talking of the crowd, the songs that the singers sang, the chirping of the crickets--all this was the scenery and orchestra to that new, sweet song that the voice of nature itself was singing to her.

She never thought of analysing her own feelings, she would not have known how to. There was nothing to alarm herself about. Nothing had happened. It was simply that acquaintance and intercourse with such a clever, charming man gave her pleasure. Now there was someone with whom she never, never felt dull! And Mimotchka said to Vava:

"I have never yet met such a clever, highly educated man. How well he speaks French, English, and German! What intelligence, what a memory! You can talk with him the whole day and hardly notice how the time passes."

Vava didn't like him; but then what did a stupid girl like her understand? And besides, mamma both liked and admired Valerian Nicolaevitch, and often said to Mimotchka:

"Isn't Valerian Nicolaevitch coming to see us to-day? Ask him to come and have a cup of tea."

And Valerian Nicolaevitch came and drank his tea and patiently listened to mamma's stories, and was so chivalrously respectful to Mimotchka that mamma could hardly refrain from embracing him. Mamma thought him very handsome; she considered him even handsomer than the hussar Anutin, who had made such a sensation at the Mineral Waters.

And the maid Katia, buttoning the boots on Mimotchka's little feet, said, as she dexterously used her buttonhook, "What a nice gentleman he is! how I do like him! The chambermaid, Dasha, who knows his man, says, too, that he is such a nice gentleman. They have their own house in Kieff. And they say he is such a good master." ...

"Oh yes," thought Mimotchka, "and then the chief thing is, he is so clever!"

At night, when she went to bed, she tried to remember what he had said to her. It was difficult, because he talked so much. But what she remembered perfectly Well were his glances. How he had looked at her when they had turned back to Griasnoushka, and then, when he sang "Azra," and she asked him for the words of it. Oh, what eyes he has, what eyes! It's a good thing that he has so much respect for her, because, if he had not, she would be afraid for herself. Now, of course, she is quite easy. She already knows him quite well enough to feel assured that he would never allow himself ... She is a respectable woman, she isn't like Nettie. She likes him as a friend.... If she were free, perhaps she might like him in another way. Of course, if she had known him, she would never have chosen anyone else.... But she is not free, and only likes him as a friend. It's so nice, such a friendship!...

And in the darkness Mimotchka opened her eyes and imagined how it would be in the future. He liked her. By degrees he would let himself be carried away by his feelings, and he would love her, love her so much that he would follow her to Petersburg. And he would suffer from her cruelty, poor, dear fellow I would endure everything, and at last would explain himself. And she herself would suffer too, but she would say to him: "And I love you too, have loved you a long while, but duty and my obligations to others ... We must part." And so they would part, poor things! How they would suffer! But still it was impossible to do otherwise ... And Mimotchka sighed and turned over her pillow and put the displaced sheet straight again. In the room, in spite of the door being open on to the balcony, it was close and hot. And next door the indefatigable widow was singing:

"And the night, and love, and the moon."

And the officer, who had taken the initiative, coughed and yawned loudly.

"They won't let you get to sleep, they're intolerable! I'll shut that door directly," said mamma, getting up, and, lowering her voice to a whisper, so as not to wake the sleeping Vava, she added, "Just imagine what I saw to-day; they kissed before me. So, _pour tout de bon._ ... I went out on the balcony to shake a petticoat, and they were sitting there kissing.... Schopenhauer lay on the table and they were kissing. How disgusting!"

One day followed another without bringing any great changes. Mimotchka's cure was drawing to a close, and mamma had already put a mark in her almanac against the day fixed for their removal to Kislovodsk.

Vava went on with her cure, walked, read, and talked, and argued till she was hoarse with her new friends about the immortality of the soul, about the woman's question, and about the thoughts and looks of Leo Tolstoi.

Mimotchka was without a care, and flirted gaily with Valerian Nicolaevitch. Her maid Katia flirted no less gaily with David Georgevitch, and mamma played at picquet with the bilious dignitary from Petersburg, or craned her neck watching other people's love affairs. And both Vava and Mimotchka improved in health and looks every day, so that mamma, joyfully noticing this, said to her partner:

"How fond people are of praising up everything foreign and running down their own country. What things they told us about the Caucasus I And yet how my young people have improved here! If you had only seen my daughter in the spring.... She looked like a ghost! We were afraid she would go into a consumption. Do you know, our waters are better than those abroad."

The old gentleman did not even smile, but, dealing the cards with his bony fingers, he contradicted mamma. He could not take upon himself to give any opinion about ladies' illnesses--it was beyond the sphere of his competence.... Perhaps the ladies had improved in health, perhaps ... But in regard to his fellow-men he would venture to say that here it was only the healthy that improved. The doctors improved; yes, those robbers certainly improved their circumstances.... A set of clowns who couldn't distinguish one illness from another (the old gentleman had already changed doctors four times, and acknowledged to mamma that he couldn't digest a fifth). They went about courting and flirting and riding on horseback like madmen, while the invalids had to put up with every discomfort. What was the Government about? They took bribes and commissions under the inspector's very nose. It was all robbery, pillage, and disorder.... Wait a bit!... If the fifth doctor did not kill him, he would write an article about them under the title of "Our watering-places and our doctors." And they would recognise themselves, they would recognise themselves.... Wait a bit!...

Mamma smiled good-humouredly and indulgently as she sorted her cards. What was the use of arguing with a man who was a martyr to his liver and stomach! How could he digest his doctor when he couldn't digest his dinner?... And with her sweetest smile, and in a voice that mamma knew how to make softer than almond oil, she said to him: "But do you know what I would advise you to try?--a simple, but well-known remedy. My son-in-law suffered for years from the most obstinate catarrh; and he made a cure and took the waters. But do you know what did him good? I'll tell you. Just a pinch on the end of a knife." ... And so on.

It was a hot, very hot day. Mimotchka, on coming from the baths, went up on the mountain and sat down on a bench where she generally rested after her bath. She wore a light cambric dress, and yet could hardly breathe. The heat acted unpleasantly on her nerves; besides which, she had something on her mind. The day before they had had a quarrel, and now she felt ashamed and vexed with herself. He had been angry with her yesterday, and had said that he would not go on to Kislovodsk, but would go straight from Jeleznovodsk to the baroness's country place, where he had been invited to stay. He was angry because Mimotchka would not go out riding with him alone, and had said that it would look "awkward!" Oh, what a fool she was, what a fool! Now she would gladly give half her life to get back that word. How coarse and stupid it was! She had showed that she was afraid. And what was there to be afraid of? Hadn't she gone out riding alone with Variashski, and with the officer of Spiridon Ivanovitch's division? didn't the baroness ride alone with _him,_ with Valerian Nicolaevitch? And what of it? Was anyone shocked by it? Not in the least. Awkward, awkward!... Oh, what a fool she was! And what must he think of her now? Good heavens, what could she do to please him? Now they would part coldly and inimically, and if he ever after thought of her, it would be as a fool and an idiot. But no, it was impossible, surely they would not part so?

Here he comes. He came up to her with a solemn, dignified expression of countenance, and saluted her coldly. Then he talked of the weather, and, having asked her permission to sit down beside her, seated himself at the further end of the bench. Oh, what a chill seemed to come from his elegant person! The top of Mount Elbrouz itself couldn't be colder. And Mimotchka's hands and feet grew cold from the proximity of this Elbrouz, and she felt ready to cry.

And yet the sun was hot, and the air burning and close. Nature seemed exhausted with the heat. The cracked, parched earth prayed to the heavens for rain; the splendidly grown trees stood morosely and lazily; not a leaf stirred; on every rock from below and above the grasshoppers chirped loudly.

The conversation flagged. Mimotchka was dreadfully ashamed. She felt that she had lost her dignity as a general's wife, and tormented herself trying to think what she could say.

Valerian Nicolaevitch silently enjoyed her agitation and trouble. It was not only Mimotchka's appearance that pleased him, but her very silentness and slowness of comprehension. What a good listener she was! In Valerian Nicolaevitch's eyes this was a most precious quality, because he liked to be the only one to talk. How tired he was of those talkative women, with their pretensions to wit and intelligence, who had read a little, would chatter about something, interrupt without listening to what you were saying, cavil at your ideas and catch up your words.... How different Mimotchka was! What a depth of womanliness there was in her. She possessed what the poet calls "das ewig Weibliche." ... She was not clever, certainly; but this very want of cleverness was so pleasing in her. And why should she be clever? What would it add to that pure, limpid look in her eyes? She had both tact and grace. And although she was not clever, still she had a very charming manner, not too free and yet not too shy. She was very, very charming, and he had not been so taken with anyone for a long time. He intended that the _dénouement_ should take place at Kislovodsk, and yesterday evening, according to his programme, a preliminary _tête-a-tête_ ride should have taken place in order to reassure Mimotchka, and quiet her alarm, as he saw that, in spite of everything, she was still on her guard.... And then suddenly she wouldn't go. Just think of it! So that's the way, is it? Very well! Now she must be punished, and made to ask him to come to Kislovodsk.

And so he sat there by her, gazing mournfully and coldly before him, and cutting off the tops of the grass with his stick. The conversation flagged ...?

The sister of the actress, Mdlle. Lenskaia, passed close by them. A little old man, thawing under the influences of beauty, like a candle under the rays of the Caucasian sun, was giving her his arm.

Mimotchka began talking about her. The Lenskis interested her very much, because she had long been jealous of them on Valerian Nicolaevitch's account, and she often asked him about them. He, according to the humour he was in, either lauded them to the skies or trampled them in the mud. This time Mdlle. Lenskaia turned up at a very lucky moment for herself. Valerian Nicolaevitch began extolling her. There was a real woman for you. She was worthy of bearing the high and holy name of woman.... She lived herself and gave fresh life to those around her.... Like the sun, she shed light and warmth on all those who drew breath in her presence.... In her old age, when she drew near her end, her conscience would not reproach her in any way. She would have fulfilled her earthly task. She would have lived and loved.... She is no mere dressmaker's dummy, only made for trying on Parisian toilettes, she is a living creature, with warm blood running in her veins, with nerves vibrating in her, and life brimming over within her. ... She is not a puppet whose strings are pulled by public opinion.... And he poured forth a flood of stern and terrible philippics against the women of society, those egotists, those hard-hearted, empty-headed coquettes.... A nice education they have given them! Their mothers impregnate them with their absurd morality with as much zeal as they lay camphor in their carpets and shawls to keep away the moth. And they attain their object. The moth does not touch their shawls, and passion does not come near their well-brought-up daughters. But the atmosphere that surrounds them is hard to breathe in. A man feels half suffocated. He feels dull in their presence.... Yes, intolerably dull.... And is it surprising that men flee from them to such women as Lenskaia?

Mimotchka was ready to cry. He was dull with her.... He had always felt dull in her society.... She was only a dressmaker's dummy for trying on dresses.... He would leave her and go to Lenskaia. For shame, for shame!... And he continued thundering against the women of society, interlarding his speech with verses and quotations. Love moves the world. There are women unworthy of the happiness of love, unworthy of high and holy moments. A woman incapable of love is like the foolish virgin without oil.... And the Lord will say to her, "Depart, I know you not." ... Watch.... Yes.... And old age will come, terrible, merciless old age, with its grey hairs and wrinkles, and will seize upon the heart with its cold hand, and the heart will quail with fear and will thirst for life, but it will be late, too late.... And then came a verse from Musset, and then one from Fett.

Valerian Nicolaevitch got more and more excited by his own eloquence. Lowering his voice now to a whisper, and now raising it, he never glanced at Mimotchka, never even turned towards her, but looked straight before him as if addressing the gentlemen of the jury. And it seemed to Mimotchka that the grasshoppers and black trunks of the trees, which played the part of jury, said with one voice, "Guilty, guilty, and not deserving extenuating circumstances."

Mimotchka knew she was guilty, but she really did not know how to set things right, nor what to do to stop his anger and make him come to Kislovodsk. She looked up at him. How handsome he Was! He took off his hat, and she saw his white forehead, his wavy hair, and his brilliant eyes.... She felt drawn towards him, and yet was afraid of vexing him.... What can she say? good heavens, what can she say?... And she hung her head lower and lower, and drew figures on the sand with her parasol, while he went on saying those dreadful things.

Some ugly-looking Armenian women, in their muslin veils, went past and gazed stupidly at poor Mimotchka with their round black eyes. The passers-by smiled knowingly, and looked back at Mimotchka with a low whistle....

And Valerian Nicolaevitch continued to thunder on like an inspired prophet.