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MIMI'S MARRIAGE
V. MIKOULITCH
(LIDIA IVANOVNA VESELITSKAYA)
TRANSLATED FROM THE RUSSIAN
WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY
C. HAGBERG WRIGHT, LL.D.
T. FISHER UNWIN LTD.
ADELPHI TERRACE, LONDON
1915
INTRODUCTION
The genius of Turgeniev and Tolstoy, of Dostoevsky and Gorky, has given
fame and distinction to the Russian novel, but while the principal
works of these great writers and their fellows are well known to
English readers, the women novelists of Russia have been left almost
untouched by the translator. Yet there are many authoresses of talent
in the literary world of Russia at the present day; notably Madame
Dmitrieva, born 1859, of peasant parents. Her first novel was entitled
_From the Heart not from the Head._ Two of her best-known books are
_Mityukha, the Schoolmaster,_ and _In Various Directions._ She has said
that "her first school was the village street, and her teachers, the
grey old village folk and dire need."
Other writers of ability are Olga Chumina (born 1864), who has
translated several poems by Francis Coppée, and also produced a play
entitled _The Flicker that Went Out;_ Madame Smirnov, author of the
powerful novel, _The Salt of the Earth;_ M. V. Krestovskaya (born
1862), whose stories of theatrical life have the charm of simplicity
and truth, and whose _Woman-Artist_ appeared in the _Journal des
Débats;_ Madame Verbitskaya, who attained an extraordinary popularity
with her daring novel _The Keys of Happiness;_ and Madame Lidia
Ivanovna Veselitskaya, who, under the pseudonym of V. Mikoulitch, has
written sketches of Russian society which are full of humour and clever
characterisation. The best known are the series entitled _Mimi's
Marriage, Mimi_ (or Mimotchka) _at the Springs,_ and _Mimi Poisons
Herself,_ which have been translated into no less than six European
languages.
The writer of these genial satires on the weaknesses of her sex was
born in 1857. She belonged to a noble family with estates in Southern
Russia, and was educated at the Pavlovsk Institute, one of the great
schools for women in Russia. Soon after her debut in society, she
married an officer in the Russian army.
She began her literary career with some simple tales intended for
young people; _Family Evenings, In the Family and in the School,_
and _Of Children's Reading,_ but in 1883 she struck a bolder note
with _Mimotchka, the Bride,_ or _Mimi's Marriage,_ which made its
first appearance in the _Vestnik Evropy,_ a leading Russian monthly
review. But it was not until the second of the series, _Mimotchka at
the Springs,_ was published seven years later that "V. Mikoulitch"
sprang to her present position of widespread popularity. The witty
superficiality of the chapters descriptive of Mimi's girlhood develops
in _Mimi at the Springs_ into a brilliant, incisive study of a selfish,
empty-headed, and exceedingly pretty young woman. The analysis of her
character is so penetrating and pitiless that Tolstoy, who admired the
book, remarked that "the author must be a man, as no woman would be so
frank in writing of her own sex."
Mimi bears a surface resemblance to Anna Karenina, but she escapes the
whirl-pool of passion that engulfed Tolstoy's ill-starred heroine,
and glides almost unscathed through the romantic episode of _l'homme
au chien._ The latter, though only lightly sketched in, is a cleverly
suggested portrait of a cultivated and elegant Russian of the
wealthy upper classes who, if he permits himself an occasional lapse
from conjugal fidelity, trims the balance by the "correction" of his
manners. He is a past master in the art of guiding a novice through the
mazes of flirtation and emerging free from entanglement.
At the end of it all Mimi's heart is touched but not broken. Perhaps
she Was even slightly disillusioned by the calmness with which her
"correct" admirer met the crisis of her departure from the Caucasus.
The secondary characters are also well drawn; notably that of the
mother of Mimi, a self-sacrificing "doormat" whose mission in life
is to make things smooth for her cherished daughter; but to those
who seek to discover the personality of an author through the medium
of his puppets, and are ready to find a veiled autobiography in the
career of the hero or heroine, it may be suggested that the character
of Vava, the lonely, idealistic, day-dreaming cousin of Mimi, is far
nearer to the writer's heart than the fascinating heroine who fills the
title-role.
Vava has many traits in common with the boy-hero of Tolstoy's
_Childhood,_ which is only another way of saying that in Russia young
people of both sexes are more thoughtful, introspective, and inclined
to philosophise upon abstract subjects than the romps and tomboys of
our English nurseries and schoolrooms.
The sympathetic earnestness of the description of Vava's love of
solitude in the Caucasian woods, amounts to an avowal that the author
also has felt the joy of loneliness shared with crickets, lady-birds,
butterflies, and bees, "while over her head a great eagle soars calmly
up, as if carrying on his broad wings her dreams, her hopes, and her
faith in God." In scenes like these the prevailing tone of playful
irony yields to one of genuine emotion, and one is tempted to wish that
the writer had given her inner convictions fuller play. V. Mikoulitch
has, however, struck a deeper note of human feeling in her recent story
of humble life entitled _The Bath--_ a village tragedy turning upon
the incident of the theft of an old woman's petticoat in the public
bath-house; but it seems doubtful whether her success in this new vein
will equal that of her earlier works.
To the background of _Mimi at the Springs_ may be ascribed some measure
of its popularity. The Caucasus has inspired many of the greatest of
the writers of Russia, and to the Russian reading public it is still
dear as the land of legend and romance.
Pushkin, Lermontov, Tolstoy (in his early masterpiece _The Cossacks,_)
have each revelled in the beauty of the great southern mountain range,
with its luxuriant forests, its snow-clad peaks, and innumerable
springs of mineral water.
The Slav temperament, with its swift transitions from feverish gaiety
to nervous exhaustion, finds peculiar relief in reverting to the simple
life of the Caucasian watering-places. There many a disgraced official
or disappointed genius has regained contentment if not happiness, and
realised, despite the pain of exile, that there is a sweetness in
adversity.
In describing the scenery of the Caucasus, V. Mikoulitch has followed
not unworthily in the steps of her great fore-runners, and shown that
her cynicism is the mere protective armour of one who is at heart an
idealist.
A sequel, _Mimi Poisons Herself,_ appeared in the _Vestnik Evropy_
in 1893, but was received more coldly than its predecessor, owing,
perhaps, to the disappointment of readers with a taste for tragedy,
since Mimi does not succeed in poisoning herself after all.
C. HAGBERG WRIGHT.
MIMI'S MARRIAGE
I
MIMOTCHKA--_is engaged!_ Mimotchka[1] is once more engaged, and this
time, it seems, engaged in earnest. She receives congratulations, pays
visits to her relations, and accepts presents from them. Her aunts
question her with curiosity and interest about the details of her
trousseau; her uncles bring their best wishes, joking at Mimotchka
and teasing her, while Mimotchka slightly blushes and casts down her
innocent-looking eyes.
"And are you very much in love with your _fiancé?_" they ask Mimotchka.
[1] Mimotchka, or Mimi, is sometimes used as a diminutive name for
Marie.
"As yet, I know my _fiancé_ too little to be in love with him, but I
... respect him," she answers.
What a reply! Nobody had expected she would answer so _cleverly._ All
the aunts think she has answered very cleverly, though up till now
Mimotchka had never shown any more cleverness than would be required of
so pretty a girl as she.
She respected her _fiancé._ And really Spiridon Ivanovitch was quite
worthy of her respect. He was well off, had a good rank, and occupied
a sufficiently prominent position in the Government service; he was no
longer very young, but still he was not very old; he was not handsome,
was bald, perhaps rather too stout, but still he was a fine-looking
man, and might have aspired to a rich bride.
And really how lucky Mimotchka is I know that many girls of her age
among her friends, and especially their mothers, are ready to burst
with envy and vexation that they could not get Spiridon Ivanovitch
for themselves, and say that he was mercilessly hunted down, and that
Mimotchka was thrown at his head.... But, goodness me, what won't
envious women's tongues say! Instead of repeating such absurdities, let
us rather rejoice with Mimotchka, rejoice with our whole heart, as do
her good aunts.
"Well, thank God, thank God!" says Aunt Sophy; "I am so glad about
Mimotchka. I do hope she will be happy with him. It's just as well that
he isn't young; Mimi is still such a child, she requires an elderly,
serious man...."
"Of course it's best that he isn't young," confirms Aunt Mary; "it's
easier to keep such a husband under her thumb. And, as a good aunt, I
advise you, Mimotchka, to take your Spiridon Ivanovitch well in hand in
time."
"I told you that everything was for the best," says Aunt Julia, in
conclusion. "Just think how fortunate it is that you 'broke it off'
with that other good-for-nothing fellow!"
And really everything was for the best. Mimotchka's first _fiancé_
was a brilliant young guardsman, with beautiful shiny boots, black
moustaches, curly chestnut hair, and a gold-mounted pince-nez.
Mimotchka met him for the first time at an evening party, where he led
the dancing,[2] clinking his spurs, facetiously fanning himself with
the fans and scented hand-kerchiefs of the ladies he danced with,
smiling gaily to show his brilliantly white teeth, and with diabolical
_entrain_ calling out: "Ser-r-r-r-rez le rond!... Chaîne!" ... He took
a few turns with Mimotchka, admired her while she was waltzing with
some one else, and, having ascertained what was the social position of
her parents, asked to be presented to her.
[2] At dances in Russia a leader or conductor is generally chosen,
who directs and calls out the figures in the cotillion, mazourka, and
quadrilles, which are more complicated than in England.
Then he took to calling, then he began to pay her attention, and
finally made her an offer.
The brilliant guardsman and adroit dancer passed for a dangerous
lady-killer. He flirted with all the pretty girls, widows, and married
women that he was acquainted with, and was said to be the object of
the affections of many of them. So that to carry him off from them all
must have been very flattering to the vanity of both Mimotchka and her
mamma.
Mimotchka accepted his offer, and was announced to be _"fiancée._"
On this occasion Aunt Sophy gave a dance, Aunt Mary a dinner with
champagne, and Aunt Julia a _folle-journée_ with dancing, champagne,
and a sleigh drive out of town.
The young man was respectful, attentive, and amiable to his _fiancées_
relations, and pleased them all.
"Do you know, Mimotchka," said Aunt Mary to her, "he is so nice, so
very nice, that if I were only a little younger, on my word of honour,
I should try and cut you out."
"Yes, you will make a handsome couple," confirmed Aunt Sophy.
"And you were quite right, my dear, to accept his offer," concluded
Aunt Julia. "Such a _fiancé_ is not met with every day. He's on the
right road, and is sure to advance a great deal in the service."
The _fiancé_ was not only "on the right road," but he was a "prince"
besides, of a somewhat decayed family, certainly, but still he was a
prince, and not an Eastern one. And, in addition to this, he was, he
said, the nephew and sole heir of a rich, childless uncle, who owned
land in the south, fifteen thousand _dessiatines,_[3] and coal mines as
well.
[3] 40,500 acres.
Having given their blessing, Mimotchka's parents set about preparing
a most luxurious trousseau for the future princess. It had to be done
on credit, because their affairs were just then terribly involved....
However, as long as Mimotchka could remember, her parents' affairs
had always been terribly involved; but this did not prevent their
living without denying themselves any pleasures, excepting always the
pleasure of paying their debts, the sum of which had thus grown and
grown like ill weeds.
In view of the approaching marriage, they again had to borrow from one
and another, but to owe a few thousand of roubles more or less--what
could that matter when the happiness of an only daughter was concerned?
And then in the future Mimi would have the childless uncle's coal
mines! All Mimotchka's relations made her presents. Aunt Sophy gave
her a costly fur cloak (_shouba._) Aunt Mary an elegant tea-gown in
vert-jaspe plush, lined with bleu-nuage satin, and trimmed with rich
lace. Aunt Julia gave the silver. All the linen was marked with a
princess's coronet. Aunt Julia said that this was not correct, because
Mimotchka was not a princess, and the linen ought to be marked with
the bride's monogram, and that it was ridiculous to be in such a
hurry about the coronet, as if they could not conceal their joy that
Mimotchka was going to be a princess. But Aunt Mary and Aunt Sophy
backed up mamma, saying, "After all, what did it matter? Would not the
linen that was made after the marriage be marked with a princess's
coronet; why, then, not have the same marks on all at once?" And so all
the linen was marked with a princess's coronet.
Before Mimotchka's engagement was officially announced, papa came to
a clear understanding with the young man. He confessed that just at
the present time his affairs were perhaps rather involved, and that he
was not in a position to give anything to Mimotchka.... But he took on
himself all the expenses of fitting up a nest for the young couple,
and promised to help them afterwards, as far as was possible, by
allowing his daughter a part of his income.
The young man, although he thanked papa for speaking so openly, warmly
assuring him that in choosing Mimotchka he had not been guided by any
interested motives, still could not hide some disappointment on hearing
that Mimotchka was--portionless. He had never expected it, and openly
said, that it would oblige him--not to give up his _fiancée--_ oh no,
certainly not!--but to put off the marriage to an indefinite period.
In his turn he confessed that just now he was passing through some
rather unpleasant monetary difficulties. Of course, these difficulties
could not give him any very serious anxiety while he was alone and
an unmarried man, and, after all, his uncle's coal mines must come
eventually to him; but none the less he would consider himself the most
abject and dishonourable of men if, under the present circumstances,
he were to allow himself to marry a portionless girl, that is, without
waiting, if not for the death of the childless coal uncle, at any rate
for some advancement in the service.
The prince added, that in the not very distant future he expected to
be appointed to the command of a battalion, and that it would be very
agreeable for him to be appointed to the command of a battalion in
N----, a pretty, gay town, where life was not very expensive, and where
he might somehow settle down and manage to live with his young wife, of
course not without substantial help from papa and the childless uncle.
If papa would like to make use of his influence and connections to
advance the interests of his future son-in-law, perhaps he might hasten
Mimotchka's marriage, and secure the happiness of the young people.
In conclusion, the _fiancé,_ as a man of honour, plainly declared
that he would only marry in the event of his being appointed to the
above-mentioned battalion. Papa must arrange the nomination.
It was difficult, but the happiness of an only daughter is worth
labouring for. Papa's toils and efforts were crowned with success. The
future bridegroom received the command of the battalion, and went to
N---- to accept it. The day of the wedding was already fixed, there
remained but two weeks to it. But it was unexpectedly put off on
account of mourning.
Poor papa died suddenly, died at a friend's house, almost at the
card-table, from a stroke or a rupture of the heart--I cannot
say which. A telegram announcing the catastrophe was sent off at
once to the _fiancé,_ but he did not even come for the funeral.
This immediately struck all Mimotchka's relations unpleasantly,
and especially her mamma, into whose heart there stole alarming
suspicions. And her suspicions appeared well founded. When he returned
to Petersburg the young man quite changed in his intercourse with his
future bride and his future mother-in-law. It soon became evident that
he was only looking out for a pretext to break off the engagement. He
tried being jealous with his _fiancée,_ made fun of her, corrected her,
educated her, but Mimotchka had such an immovably angelic character,
that, in spite of all his efforts, her intended could not succeed in
quarrelling with her. Then he attacked mamma; there matters went
easier, and the encounters soon took a dangerous turn. They began
with reproaches, pin-pricks, innuendoes; then both sides came to open
explanations.
The _fiancé_ maintained that papa had promised to give Mimotchka two
thousand four hundred roubles[4] a year.
[4] About £250.
Mamma maintained that papa had never made any such promise.
To this the _fiancé_ replied that if so (that is, if they wished to
deceive him and call him a liar to his face), then, as a man of honour,
there only remained for him to....
Mamma did not allow the man of honour to finish his threats, but
offered to give up all her pension to the young people, stipulating
only that they should let her live with them. The prince had had very
good quarters assigned to him in N----, in which he could easily spare
a corner for mamma.
But, on hearing this proposal, the _fiancé_ announced categorically,
that he would only marry in the event of mamma's giving up the whole of
her pension to Mimotchka, and living herself where and how she liked,
only not with them. He had seen too many examples of how mothers-in-law
had ruined the conjugal happiness of their daughters not to wish to
guard Mimotchka from the possibility of such unpleasantness in the
future, more especially so as it already seemed sufficiently clear that
he, personally, could not get on with his future mother-in-law.
The young man's impudence agitated mamma to such a degree that she went
to complain of him to her sisters, asking their advice and help. The
aunts were also agitated and consternated on hearing from mamma's lips
that "this poor, miserable little prince, this guardsman _frotteur,_
this _passez-moi le mot,_ blackguard, wished, it seemed, to refuse to
make Mimotchka happy!"
The aunts took the matter up warmly, and set to work to effect a
reconciliation. They went from one to another, almost choked themselves
with excitement, talked till their throats were dry, shrugged their
shoulders, threw up their hands, severely discussed and judged the
matter from all sides, admonished the young man, admonished mamma, and
pitied and comforted the unfortunate Mimotchka.
"I don't understand how it can all finish," said Aunt Sophy, "but it
seems to me that it would be really best for them to separate now....
Anyhow, he has shown himself a dishonourable fellow. He got the
command, and now he won't marry her!"
"But, you know," observed Aunt Mary, "speaking openly, one can
understand that this marriage does not particularly charm him. After
all, what has Mimotchka? She is pretty, certainly. But, all the same,
what sort of a match is it for him? He understands that he can do a
great deal better.... And you will see that he won't marry her. Of
course, all these explanations are only a pretext. It's as clear as the
day that he simply doesn't want to marry her."
"But he must be made to marry her," said Aunt Julia. "It's impossible
to compromise a girl like that and go unpunished."
It finished by the aunts almost quarrelling among themselves; but
all the same mamma received from the intended a long and eloquent
epistle, in which he declared that it was time to put an end to these
disagreeable misunderstandings. For some time past he had been clearly
convinced, both of his _fiancée's_ indifference towards him, and of the
inevitability of unpleasant encounters with his future mother-in-law;
so that he would consider himself the most abject and dishonourable of
men if, weighing all this, he did not decide to sacrifice his feelings
and give back her promise to Mimotchka, asking her to consider herself
perfectly free from that moment, and wishing her every happiness. In
conclusion, he added that he was leaving Petersburg that day for N----,
from where he would not fail to send the furniture and other things
belonging to Mimotchka that had been already sent to furnish the little
nest by her affectionate relations. There was a P.S., in which it Was
mentioned that if mamma would like to sell the furniture, and if she
would agree to let it go for ... (a modest figure was stated), then the
_fiancé_ would like to buy it, and would not fail to send the money.
Mamma, panting with excitement, and beside herself with vexation, read
this letter to her sisters. The aunts comforted and quieted her.
"Well, perhaps it's for the best," said Aunt Sophy; "speaking openly, I
never cared for him. I always felt that no good would come out of that
connection."
"No, don't let us be partial," remarked Aunt Mary, "he has
qualities.... Only, as a man that has been a good deal spoilt, he is
perhaps a little selfish.... Yes, and wants to make a good career
too.... That was evident from the very beginning. I must acknowledge
that, when I heard that my late brother-in-law was asked to exert
himself about getting that appointment, I said to my husband, "You may
say what you like, but, il y a du louche."
"Well, let him go, and Heaven bless him!" concluded Aunt Julia. "There
are as good fish in the sea as ever came out. Mimotchka can make a much
better match. It's a good thing that he has left Petersburg. At any
rate it will all be done with and forgotten. It's no use despairing.
Believe me, everything is for the best."
And perhaps really it is all for the best. Thank Heaven, Mimotchka is
once more engaged, once more receiving congratulations.... This time
not only the day, but also the "hour" of the marriage is fixed, and
that hour is so near that Aunt Julia's carriage and black horses are
waiting at the door to take Mimotchka to the fashionable church where
the guests are assembling.
And Mimotchka herself is sitting before her toilet-table in her pink,
young girl's room, and looks in the glass, watching the movements of
the _coiffeur_ Gustave arranging her pretty hair.
On the bed, with its folded-back pink curtains, lies the white dress,
the tulle veil, and the wreath of orange blossoms.
II
When Mimotchka was four years old she had not any idea either of "The
little shooter," or "The canary bird,"[5] but she could sing "Il était
une bergêr" ... and "Malbrough s'en va-t-en guerre." At seven she could
already lisp and chatter very prettily in French. Mdlle. Victoire, her
nurse, had, up to that time, taught her the French alphabet and a few
little songs. Then she was given Perrault's and Berken's fairy tales,
which acquainted her with the histories of Bluebeard, Puss-in-Boots,
and Peau D'Ane.
[5] Russian nursery rhymes.
And what a cherub Mimotchka was, with her sweet little face, her flaxen
hair, her plump, bare arms and shoulders, dressed like a doll in a
white frock with a broad sash! It was impossible not to admire her,
and not to tell her that she was a most charming child. And Mimotchka
liked to be told so, cast down her eyes, made a pretty curtsy, and was
already coquettish.
When she grew older and had mastered all the four _conjugaisons,_ she
was half reluctantly taught to read and write Russian, German, and
English, and she had masters for dancing, caligraphy, and drawing.
Music was also tried, first the piano, then the harp, and then the
violin.... But nohow could the instrument, method, and teacher
predestinated by Providence to make a musician of Mimotchka be found,
and after three years these musical exercises were entirely given up,
as it seemed that Mimotchka's health was too delicate to stand them.
In conclusion, to crown Mimotchka's education, she was placed for two
years either in Mdlle. Dudu's or Mdlle. Dodo's _pension,_ or in the
Institution, or else she was sent to France to a convent. I don't
exactly remember what was done with our Mimotchka, but I remember that
mamma either would not or could not limit herself to "home education,"
but placed her daughter in some fashionable finishing establishment.
Having finished or half finished her course of study (in most cases
Mimotchka did not finish the course on account of the delicacy of her
health or on account of unforeseen circumstances), Mimotchka returned
home, a grown-up young lady, and wore long dresses. She was pretty,
graceful, and feminine. She could speak and read French; could even
write in that language freely enough to compose an invitation to tea
or a letter to her dressmaker. She had learnt something besides at
her school, but as that "something" was unnecessary, unimportant, and
uninteresting, she promptly forgot it.
But I would ask you, reader, your hand on your heart, is it necessary
for a pretty woman to have any other knowledge besides the knowledge
of the French language? Do her wants, her joys, and her actions show
the indispensability of any other knowledge? Does Mimotchka want to be
dressed, shod, have her hair done; does she wish to furnish and arrange
her rooms, to have her table nicely served--the knowledge of the French
language will facilitate her explanations with the French _modiste,
coiffeur,_ and upholsterer, who are all ready, not only to fulfil her
orders, but, in case of need, to give her ideas and good advice....
Does Mimotchka want to entertain her guests, in what other language,
pray, can she converse so prettily and unaffectedly of the weather, the
races, and the opera?... Does Mimotchka wish to read light, agreeable
reading that does not take her away from the beautiful world of balls
and ribbons, does not wrinkle up her forehead, does not excite her
thoughts and her heart--reading light as the vaporous flounces on the
skirt of her ball-dress--French literature gives her clean little
volumes, perhaps of not entirely clean contents, but nicely printed on
good paper, and with such interesting characters!
You think, perhaps, that Mimotchka had studied but little and that
poorly, that she did not care anything at all about books? On the
contrary, she was "awfully" fond of reading. After toilettes and going
out there was nothing in the world she liked so much as _chocolat
mignon_ and French novels.
Don't think either that because Mimotchka was so fond of French novels
she was unpatriotic, or that she had forgotten the Russian alphabet.
Not at all. She would have been glad to read Russian, but there
was really nothing to read! If a careful mother wished to give her
daughter a Russian book to read, what could you recommend her besides
Fillipoff's or Galakhoff's selections from the best authors, which, of
course, cannot be expected to satisfy the imagination of a girl at an
age when she naturally dreams of love and of marriage....
Mamma once raised this question at her sisters', and the aunts only
confirmed her own opinion, that in Russian there was absolutely nothing
whatever to read.
Aunt Sophy declared that she had subscribed to the _World of Fashion,_
and was sorry that she had done so, because it could not be compared
to French publications of that kind. Aunt Mary took in _Records of the
Fatherland,_ and said that the contributors to that magazine used such
vulgar expressions that she was really obliged to have a dictionary by
her when reading.
"I was told," said she, "over and over again of a certain
Stchedrin.... And my husband read his books and went into such
ecstasies.... And so one day I tried to read them--I understood
nothing! Really, literally nothing!... Such coarseness, all about
peasants and their shirts.... And so I told my husband. 'Well,' I
said, 'I don't know, either I am too stupid, or goodness knows what it
all means!'"
Aunt Julia read the _Russian Messenger,_ and although she owned that
there were some good novels published in that magazine, yet, all
the same, she would not advise their being given to Mimotchka to
read, because latterly there was hardly a novel without Socialists
being introduced into it.... And what might not an acquaintance with
Socialists lead to?... And the aunts decided that there was no reason
for Mimotchka to read Russian while there were so many nice French
books.
But still people say there are good writers in Russia. Yes, of course
there are. Only, all the same, which of them would you give Mimotchka
to read? Perhaps _On the Brink,_ by Gontcharoff; _On the Eve,_ of
Tourgueneff; _In the Storm,_ by Ostroffsky; Tolstoy's _Anna Karenina;_
or Dostoievsky's _Brothers Karamsine?_ Yes, but had you seen Mimotchka,
seen that innocent, feminine creature, looking as if she had flown half
out of a cloud, half out of a fashion plate! No, better for Mimotchka
to read Octave Feuillet, with his limpidly pure style, his poetical
heroes and heroines, writhing convulsively in an unnatural struggle
between their unnatural passions and their imaginary duty. If she tires
of Octave Feuillet she will find other matter in French literature.
Let her read Ponson-du-Terrail. Fairy tales, you say. Perhaps, but
still fairy tales are interesting and exciting....
So, gaily, from ball to ball, going out to try on new dresses or buy
new gloves, resting on the soft, narrow little bed in the pretty
pink room, with its porcelain figures, caskets, bouquets, and
_bonbonnières,_ eating _chocolat mignon_ or _chocolat praliné,_ and
reading Ponson-du-Terrail! It was amusing, in imagination, to trip
through the gas-lit streets of Paris, to drive round the lake or the
cascade of the Bois de Boulogne, to listen to the uninterrupted sound
of the pistol shots in the duels, to follow out the vicissitudes of
love--love criminal, but beautiful and always well dressed--to defeat
the machinations of the evildoers, and finally to unite the lovers....
Amusing, too, with a fainting, but fast-beating heart and lightly
raised skirt, to run through the dark, unknown ways of Paris, to
penetrate into the boudoirs of brilliant cocottes, to rest on their
soft velvet or satin couches, to take baths of milk, to bathe in
champagne, to adorn one's self with lace and diamonds, to feast, to
squander money, to fall in love sentimentally with some handsome but
poorly dressed young fellow, an illegitimate son, turning out in the
end to be a viscount, a marquis, or even a prince, and of course a
millionaire. They may be all fairy tales, but at any rate not dull
ones, like those about "Annoushka" and "Lubinka."
And Mimotchka, amidst toilettes and visits, devours this sort of light
literature, and it imperceptibly poisons her mind. At that wonderful
time when a poet would have likened her awakening heart to a bud
ready to open, her soul was filled with the image of Henri, Armand, or
Maurice. Such a hero as Maurice neither eats nor drinks, nor is subject
to any unpoetical weakness or maladies. The only thing that the author
allows him from time to time is a slight scratch (the result of one of
the innumerable duels), in consequence of which Maurice appears before
the readers with his arm in a sling and an interesting pallor on his
countenance. The author does not allow him either any fixed occupation
or business, so that the whole time of the fascinating hero is devoted
to love and ladies. Of course he is endowed with every imaginable
quality and all possible talents; he rides, swims, and shoots
admirably, makes every woman he meets fall in love with him, eclipses
every man in nobleness and bravery, scatters purses filled with gold
all around him, and comes into one inheritance after another. The
image of Maurice, his sayings, manners, and doings, are imprinted on
Mimotchka's heart, and, like that hero's other victims, she is deeply
in love with him.
III
And so, having finished, or half finished, her studies, Mimotchka
returns home a grown-up young lady, and wears long dresses.
Life meets her with a smile of welcome. Mimotchka begins to "go out."
She dances and amuses herself.... Balls are succeeded by theatres,
theatres by concerts, picnics, and assaults-at-arms.... In the
intervals reading, _chocolat mignon,_ and dreams of Maurice.
Meanwhile mamma, having passed through the hard school of life, and
knowing that her daughter will not eternally remain a butterfly,
fluttering over the fields, is already occupied with the question of
how to settle Mimotchka advantageously in life. Mamma dreams of finding
a husband for Mimotchka, rich, in society, and in the Government
service, with a title, if possible, and of good family. Mimotchka
must make a brilliant marriage. All her education had been conducted
with that object. Otherwise what would have been the use of paying
extravagant sums to dancing and writing masters, what would have been
the use of taking the girl abroad and of sending her to Mdlle. Dudu's
classes? Only think what it had all cost! Yes, Mimotchka's parents
could indeed say that they had spared no expense for the education and
instruction of their only daughter.
Mimotchka knows all the best shops in Petersburg; perhaps even she
knows the best shops in Paris, London, and Vienna besides; she knows
how to spend money, knows how to dress, and how to behave in society.
Now a husband must be found for her who can give her full opportunity
of displaying her acquirements in all their splendour, who can surround
her with becoming surroundings, and be worthy of receiving from mamma's
hands that hothouse flower and plant it in the soil of married life.
Mimotchka expects it herself. She still dreams of love and of Maurice,
but, all the same, she knows that the chief thing is--money: that
without a carriage, without becoming surroundings, and without
toilettes, she would not care about love.
Mimotchka knows that she is _une demoiselle à marier,_ but she also
knows that she is still young, that she is quite a "child," and as
she is "a child" she waltzes, smiles, and plays with her fan and her
innocent eyes.
... How artful young men are nowadays! How difficult it is to bring
them to the point! Oh, if only Maurice had been amongst them, he would
have prized Mimotchka; he would have chosen her without looking into
poor papa's purse. But only try and find such a young man!
And meanwhile time flies.... The poor girl is already obliged to take
quinine and iron. These intoxicating balls, these sleepless nights--all
this tires her out.
And so, reader, imagine the moment when Mimotchka, her first freshness
past, begins to get thin and lose her beauty; the doctor, a friend of
the family, who is tired of prescribing arsenic, iron, and pepsine
gratis, orders the young lady to some foreign watering-place; there is
no money to be got anywhere; the dress-makers refuse to make even the
simplest travelling dress on credit.... Then imagine how it would be
if, at such a moment, unpleasant in itself, some catastrophe were to
happen: supposing one of the parents were to fall dangerously ill, or
the father be dismissed in disgrace from the service in consequence
of the discovery of some unlawful transactions; or supposing he were
to die, leaving his family a small pension and unpaid debts.... It
matters little what it is exactly that happens.... But there is nothing
to guarantee that such things will not happen.
In our Mimotchka's life the catastrophe was her poor papa's death.
He died, leaving his wife a pension and debts, the sum of which had
latterly considerably increased on account of the expenses of the
trousseau. Mamma simply did not know what to do with the creditors, who
seemed to creep out of every crevice. The faithless _fiancé_ had broken
off the marriage, and, having bought Mimotchka's furniture for a mere
song, had relapsed into complete silence. Indirectly, a little later
on, mamma heard a rumour that he was going to marry the daughter of the
Governor of N----.
The position of the poor women was in all respects terrible. There
was literally not a copeck in the house. Mamma tore her hair and
anathematised the faithless, good-for-nothing bridegroom. The aunts
comforted and condoled with her, but among themselves they could not
help rather blaming poor mamma.
"Of course Annette's position is awful," said Aunt Mary, "but one
can't but say that she herself is to blame. What was the use of
ordering such a trousseau when they were already so badly off? There is
nothing to eat in the house, and Mimotchka has linen like a princess!
And into whose eyes did they expect to throw dust by it?"
"Yes, of course, they themselves are to blame," agreed Aunt Sophy,
"but, all the same, I am sorry for poor Mimotchka. She has been so
spoilt; and who knows what yet awaits her in the future! It may end by
her having to go out as a governess."
"I gave them a hundred roubles to-day," said Aunt Julia, in conclusion,
"but I can't give every day. If I were only to count up all I have
already given ..."
Mimotchka's personal wants were but little affected; as before, she had
everything necessary for her toilet, her silk stockings, her chocolate
and French novels. But the irritatingly dejected aspect of mamma, her
tearful explanations with the aunts, the scenes with the sharp French
_fournisseurs,_ demanding more and more money, could not fail to make a
disagreeable impression on the young girl.
And Mimotchka was sulky and capricious. She refused to take her iron
because she had been told it spoiled the teeth, and purposely refused
to eat the underdone rump-steak ordered for her, purposely ate nothing
but _chocolat praliné._ She gave up reading novels, gave up doing
crochet, gave up washing and combing her dog and teasing it--in a word,
she threw aside all her usual occupations and--sulked. Now Mimotchka
lay on the sofa for whole days together, her arms supporting her
head, or stood looking aimlessly out of the window. On account of her
mourning she did not go out. She was so dull! Mimotchka was sorry that
her marriage had been broken off. Not that she had particularly cared
for her _fiancé,_ oh no! She had liked many of her other dancers a
great deal better.... And besides, she had been told that he was "a
good-for-nothing fellow," which she could not but repeat because she
Was accustomed to believe her mamma and aunts in everything. But,
good-for-nothing fellow or not, she was sorry that she was not married.
If you only knew how sick she was of all these reproaches, questions,
and condolences!... Sick of all her girlish pink and white frocks, of
her little gold cross and the string of pearls round her neck.... How
near had been the married woman's little caps, diamonds, and velvet
dresses, and the freedom from mamma's guardianship, and how suddenly it
had all flown away, all fallen into ruins!
Mimotchka sulked, was capricious, and longed for some change, some
way out of her present position. Mamma also longed for some way out
of their difficulties, and spent her nights in prayers, tears, and
dreams, either of a fresh bridegroom appearing as a deliverer, or of an
unexpected inheritance, or of winning the great lottery prize of two
hundred thousand roubles.
IV
What way out could Mimotchka herself hope for? And what could be
expected to happen in the life of a poor girl of nineteen? Don't be
vexed with me, Mimotchka, for the expression "a poor girl," I know
that such an expression does not sound well, reminding one, perhaps,
of a governess or a telegraph girl.... And such an appellation is ill
suited to an elegant young lady in a jacket from Brissac and a hat from
Bertrand. But appearances are deceitful.... And I hope that Mimotchka
herself will not contradict me when I say that she is--a portionless
young person, _qui n'a pas le sou._
So what can be expected to happen in the life of a poor girl of
nineteen? To marry a young man, as poor as herself, let us say, but
honest, energetic, and loving, worthy of all love and respect, but
possessing neither houses, nor lands, nor shares, nor bonds, nor having
any other sources of income besides his work.... To love such a man,
to become his wife, friend, and helpmate, to lay her pretty head on his
shoulder, to rest her soft little hand trustingly on his strong arm,
and walk with him through life's way, brightening and cheering that way
for him by her love and caresses?... To bring into the worker's modest
abode her beauty, her youth, and grace, to forget herself in her care
for her beloved, and in her turn to become the object of another's
thoughts and care and the crown of another's life?...
But, allow me.... You say that he has not any other sources of income
besides his own personal work. Let us suppose that your young man works
very hard--let us suppose even hard enough for Mimotchka not to have to
dress like a poor creature in an old-fashioned gown. But if he were to
die--in what position would she be left? If he were an elderly man, he
might, at least, leave her a pension; but a young man, say, what can
he leave her? Children, most likely.... What is to become of her with
these unfortunate children, who inherit neither houses nor lands, who
inherit nothing but work? I agree that work is in itself a capital,
by the interest of which Mimotchka can profit as long as it is in her
husband's hands, but if her husband were to die and the capital pass
into Mimotchka's own hands, I doubt if she would be satisfied with such
an inheritance.
Don't think, however, that Mimotchka was exceptionally idle, greedy,
and heartless. Perhaps she would have been glad to love and sacrifice
luxury to the man she loved. Had she not dreamt of Maurice? But she
could only make such a sacrifice in the event of meeting with a young
man--well, say a young man like "_le jeune homme pauvre_" of Octave
Feuillet. Do you remember how the poor young fellow almost dies of
hunger and gnaws the buds and leaves of the trees in the Tuileries
gardens, after having spent his last money in buying expensive soap,
bonbons, and prints for his sister? How touching! What woman's heart
would not prize such generosity, such delicacy! And how charming are
the young man's elegant manners, his tact and behaviour in the modest
social position he occupies. So that you feel all the while that he is
really only masquerading _en jeune homme pauvre,_ and when the right
moment comes he throws off the wooden shoes and straw hat of the poor
steward and shows himself incomparably richer than his bride.
Perhaps Mimotchka would have fallen in love with such a young man
as that? Not for one moment! But you must allow that it is not so
easy to fall in love with a young Russian, who does not come into any
inheritance, does not speak French, or, if he does, with a bad accent,
and who thinks a woman ought to study seriously and work, who earns
his daily bread by giving lessons or doing literary work, or perhaps
as a clerk in an office, or else serves on the railway in the capacity
of something like a stoker (because it appears that such young men
really do exist!). You must allow that, if a girl gives up the idea
of a carriage and nice rooms, gives up society and going out, gives
up Brissac and Bertrand, and fine under-linen, perhaps even gives up
_chocolat mignon_ and French novels, then the young man to whom all
this is sacrificed must at least be worthy of her and deserve her. But
our poor young men are so common, so rough, and _d'un terre à terre!_
And such being the case, what can you find attractive in them?
In short, Mimotchka, any one poor is unsuited to you. Yes, and mamma
would never allow you to "bring beggars into the world," as she
expresses it.... And mamma has experience and knows what she says. She
knows what it is to live on small means!
Another prospect: to give up all hope of marrying and to reconcile
herself to the idea of becoming a useless old maid. (That pretty
Mimotchka, who already at seven years old knew what suited her and
cried if they tied her hair with a ribbon she didn't like!)
But supposing that she gives up the idea of marrying. How is she to
live in that case? how exist if, which God forbid, her mamma were to
die (and she certainly will die some day) and there would be nobody
left to look after Mimotchka's toilettes and her meals, nobody to
sell and pawn things, to send away creditors, to borrow and tearfully
squeeze money out of relations and friends? Mimotchka is such a child.
She would be lost by herself.... Live by her work? earn her own living?
become a lady-doctor, clerk, or book-keeper?... But Mimotchka has been
educated with quite different ideas!...
As for medicine, we had better not mention it at all. At the mere
thought, the mere recollection of Mimotchka's innocent-looking,
downcast eyes, I could not bring myself to suggest such an improper
occupation to her as the study of anatomy. And her nerves!... Do you
know, Mimotchka is such a little coward that, every night before
going to sleep, she takes a lighted candle and looks under the bed,
the armchairs, and tables, so as to make quite sure that there is
no Rocambole, Jack Sheppard, or dreadful beggar hidden there. She
even looks in the ventilators of the stove.... She is so afraid, so
afraid of everything! How could you ever accustom her to the sight of
suffering, of blood, and of death?
It is equally absurd to imagine Mimotchka a clerk, for instance, in
the office of a railway company, to imagine her in a room furnished
with tables and desks at which are seated dreadful, unknown men. Of
course they would all admire her, and all fall in love with her. But in
general, for her to have to sit in the same room with men from ten in
the morning till five in the evening.... Say what you like, it's not
proper! Don't think, however, that Mimotchka had never sat in the same
room with men. She had even been held in their arms to the enchanting
strains of fashionable Waltzes played by Rosenberg or Schmidt. To tell
you the truth (and quite in confidence), a certain young guardsman had
kissed her more than once in convenient corners both before and after
the "proposal." But in the first place she had never told anybody about
it except her particular friend Mdlle. X. and Douniasha, her maid,
so that neither mamma nor anyone else had any suspicion of it; and,
secondly, he really Was her _fiancé._ Of course, if all Mimotchka's
_valseurs_ had kissed her, I do not say but that it would have been
wrong, very wrong; but, anyhow, it seems to me that it would have
been less improper than her sitting all day in some office. All these
_valseurs,_ at any rate, were young men of her own class, introduced
into society by her acquaintances, but who knows what sort of people
there are in offices? Jews, perhaps, or tradespeople.... And who can
be sure that some of them might not kiss Mimotchka? She is still such a
child!...
Perhaps Mimotchka might give lessons, _courir le cachet?_ But lessons
in what--French? She has read Ponson-du-Terrail and Co., read both
Belot and Malot, read Octave Feuillet, but of grammar she has only
the most confused ideas, and a knowledge of grammar is required in a
teacher. And then to give lessons--that again means going about the
streets alone and risking to be taken for Heaven knows what.... Poor
Mimotchka is so pretty and feminine that, if she has not a proper
companion with her and a footman walking behind her, she might be taken
for goodness knows what!
Mimotchka neither knows how to sew nor cut out; she has never been
taught to; and anyhow she could not become a dressmaker! She only knows
how to cut out lamp-shades and do crochet. But then doing crochet does
not bring in much.