sending them to Jeleznovodsk, and tries to sound her about taking
charge of baby and his nurse for the summer. Aunt Julia will take
charge of them with pleasure for the whole summer if mamma will consent
to take Vava with her to Jeleznovodsk. Merjeffsky has advised that she
should be separated from her family for a time, and has ordered her
to take iron waters this summer. And they will all breathe more freely
when Vava is gone. She is getting unbearable. She sets every one in the
house at loggerheads. Her brother has predicted that she will finish
on the gallows, and advises her being sent for two or three years to
France, or perhaps to Switzerland to some _pension._ Her father won't
hear of it; he always takes Vava's part. Good heavens, if only some one
would take charge of her!... One service in return for another. Vava
for baby, baby for Vava. And so the matter is settled.
At dinner mamma informs Spiridon Ivanovitch of the results of their
visit to Variashski and of their negotiations with Aunt Julia. At the
mention of the Caucasus Spiridon Ivanovitch brightens up and gets
quite good-humoured. In the Caucasus were passed the best years of
his life, the best years of his military service. Even now he has
many friends both in Tiflis and Piatigorsk--a wonderful land of which
he has wonderful reminiscences. _Shaslik, katchetinsk, narzan,_[6]
and riding-parties through the moonlight nights! If only Spiridon
Ivanovitch were free, he himself would go with the ladies. Of course
Mimotchka must go and make a cure there. The sun and the iron waters
will certainly restore her to health. Perhaps in August he might be
able to join them there himself. Oh yes, yes; she must go. Of course it
would never do for her to go alone. Goodness knows what sort of society
is to be found at the springs. But with mamma and Vava she might
venture. About how much will the journey cost?
[6] _Shaslik,_ small pieces of mutton roasted on a spit in Caucasian
fashion. _Katchetinsk,_ a wine something like Burgundy, made in the
Caucasus. _Narzan,_ a sparkling mineral water.
May in Petersburg. A cold wind raises clouds of dust in the streets,
but the bright sun, the ladies' light gauze veils and parasols, and
the noise of wheels, relieving the deep stillness of winter--all this
already tells of spring, and what speaks more clearly of it than
anything is the pure blue sky, across which all kinds of bright hopes
and promises for the future flit alluringly. It seems to say that
somewhere, far away from the granite quays and stone houses, from the
dusty streets and squares with their meagre foliage, spring has already
come, real spring, with her light breezes, with the nightingales' and
larks' trills, with the scent of lilacs and cherry blossoms in the
air--spring, that gladdens the heart of everyone who wishes to get away
and can from the close, dusty town; and everyone who wishes to and can
hastens to do so.
At the Nicholas railway station there is bustle and animation. Porters
and carriers are rushing up and down the platform and jostling each
other at the doors. From the refreshment rooms comes the noise of
knives and forks, the clinking of glasses, the sound of conversation
and exclamations, the scraping of feet, and all the busy fuss and noise
of a crowd in movement.
On the platform, in front of the high, blue railway carriage, stands
an elegant group seeing Mimotchka off. It is composed of the stout
Spiridon Ivanovitch in his crimson-lined overcoat,[7] the tall
and majestic Aunt Julia with a long eyeglass, through which she
superciliously examines the surrounding public; the fat, rosy-faced
Vova, Aunt Julia's favourite, her joy and pride; pretty Zina, in
a huge, fashionable hat and short, fashionable jacket, and with
two little white dogs, who look on God's world as haughtily and
indifferently as their mistress; Mdme. Lambert, her governess: the
three sisters Poltavsteff in thick veils; Aunt Mary with her son,
and Aunt Sophy with her husband. Mimotchka is already seated in the
carriage with her lapdog, which she could not make up her mind to
leave behind her in Petersburg, and is smelling her _sel de vinaigre._
She is dreadfully tired, and besides that she is so sick of them all.
The sooner she gets off the better. And there is Spiridon Ivanovitch,
climbing up into the carriage again, and almost tumbling into the
cushions, to inquire if she is quite comfortable.... Quite, quite; she
has everything she wants!
[7] Russian generals wear overcoats lined with crimson.
Vava, a thin, black-eyed girl of sixteen, stands on the platform by
her father, and, holding on to him with both hands, gives him her word
of honour not to quarrel with her aunt, and in general to be good, and
not like she is in Petersburg. And Vava, in her turn, makes him promise
that he will write her long letters and often.
Mamma is fussily and anxiously whispering to Aunt Julia, giving her
last instructions about baby, nurse, and the servants she has left
behind. Then the expression of both their faces changes. Mamma's takes
one of condolence and sympathy, Aunt Julia's of patient endurance;
evidently they are talking of the cross she has to bear--of Vava.
"I know it's a great charge," says Aunt Julia, "but I will do all I can
for you in return. And the principal thing is, that she must not on any
account go out alone."
The two elder Poltavsteffs are smiling at Mdme. Lambert and playing
with Zina's dogs; the youngest, coquettishly turning up her eyes, tells
Vova that she does not believe either in friendship or love.
"And, in my opinion, it's all folly," says Aunt Mary. "What is the
use of their going there? Why, they will all die of hunger. I know
perfectly well what the Crimea and the Caucasus are. Starvation,
_ennui,_ and dirt. It's simply throwing away money. And why have they
such confidence in Variashski? As if there were no doctors abroad!"
"Yes, indeed!" agrees Aunt Sophy. "We were told to go to Essentouki,
too, but of course we shall go to Carlsbad instead. As if it were
possible!"
The last bell sounds. Vava gives her father a parting hug, and, with a
little scream, throws herself impetuously into the carriage, getting
very much in the guard's way as she does so. Aunt Julia exchanges a
suffering look with Zina. Mimotchka shows her pale face at the window
and smiles at her friends. They all nod, bow, and smile at her in
return. "_Bon voyage! Bon voyage!_"
Spiridon Ivanovitch gazes after her with a tender, loving look, and
the train smoothly and quietly moves from its place and glides out
from under the dark arches of the station. Mamma makes the sign of the
cross,[8] Mimotchka yawns, and Vava goes out of the _coupé._[9]
Now they are at the end of the platform, now past the hoardings and the
market gardens. The barracks, with all their windows staring at the
departing train, have disappeared, and the train flies out into the
open and steams along at full speed.
[8] Orthodox Russians make the sign of the cross before they start on a
journey.
[9] Russian railway carriages are constructed like American cars, and
have a passage running through the middle.
Mamma makes a survey of the luggage. "Is everything here?... Is
everything in its proper place? And where has Vava gone?" ...
"She must be in the passage," answers Mimotchka lazily, closing her
eyes.
"I think that is her singing. Do you hear? What a mad thing she is!"
But Mimotchka only yawns.
The fact of Vava's immediately running away from them rather troubles
mamma. How is she to manage this queer girl? The best way is to
influence her by kindness and affection. Vava's father had begged mamma
to do so, and Merjeffsky, the doctor, had also mentioned it. Of course
she has such a highly-strung, nervous nature. Mamma and Aunt Julia
have quite different ideas on the subject of education. Mamma always
thought Aunt Julia was too harsh with Vava "On ne prend pas les mouches
avec du vinaigre, mais avec du miel." Mamma will prove that it is quite
possible to get on, even with Vava. "Julie est une femme de beaucoup
d'esprit, mais elle manque de cœur." But mamma--is just the contrary.
To use her own expression, with her the heart comes first, and the head
last. She will influence Vava by kindness.
Vava remains in the passage, at the open window, singing at the top of
her voice "Heavenly Cloudlets."
It is both wild and absurd, but mamma, on reflection, decides to leave
her to herself, and not to interfere. Let her stand there and sing if
she likes. After all, she is ill. She must first be tamed, and then
re-educated.
And mamma, cautiously looking through the crack in the door, sits down
again, and once more begins to count over the things and feel if the
little leather bag containing money that is sewn in her dress is quite
safe.
Mimotchka has taken off her travelling hat, unbuttoned her jacket, and,
lying back on the velvet cushions, plays with her dog, pulling its
ears, stroking its head, and talking to it.
"Well, what is it, Monitchka, my beauty? Does Monitchka want her tea?
Yes?... She shall have it; she shall have it directly. How can the
little dog go to bed without her tea! Ask grandmamma when we shall have
tea? Yes, yes, dear, tea.... Du thé.... Et du sucre, oui un peu de
sucre."
At Luban, the first station, the dog is regaled with tea, sugar, and
biscuits. The ladies also take tea, brought to them in the carriage by
a tall, fine-looking young guard, upon whom the crimson coat lining and
liberality of Spiridon Ivanovitch have made a due impression.
It gets dark. Mimotchka puts the pug to bed; mamma puts Mimotchka to
bed. The guard lifts up the cushioned seat and makes up a bed for Vava,
who is placed above mamma; he draws the shade over the lamp, and in the
_coupé_ darkness and silence reign, only interrupted by the snoring of
the pug curled up in a ball on its quilted feather-bed.
And the train flies along, thumping and rattling, flies across ditches,
bridges, and marshes, and, singing its monotonous wild song, rocks the
tired passengers to sleep.
Mamma feels very comfortable. Having settled Mimotchka (who has been
very quiet and uncomplaining to-day) for the night, mamma puts on
her slippers, takes off her cap, ties a little shawl over her head,
and stretches herself out with great enjoyment on the sofa. Well, now
they're off, mamma very much hopes that the waters and change of air
will act beneficially on her poor invalid. And then Variashski will be
there, that is the main point. On that score mamma is quite at rest.
She owns to herself that she will enjoy the journey, the holiday, and
the rest for a time from all the bother of the servants, from the
continual thought and worry about dinner, about the meat, about baby's
food and his bath, about the price of sugar and candles, about the
laundress and the kerosine for the lamps. Three months of entire rest
from it all! As to baby, there is no reason to be anxious about him.
He is in trustworthy hands, and will be most carefully looked after.
Besides, Spiridon Ivanovitch will go to Peterhof to see him. And in
the autumn Spiridon Ivanovitch himself is expecting a reward from the
Emperor, which he is pretty sure to get. So that everything is very
satisfactory on that side. And, in the meantime, they will travel,
breathe the fresh air, and lay in stores of health and strength for the
winter. Vava, now asleep over mamma's head, may certainly give some
trouble, but well, never mind if she does. The great thing will be to
influence her by kindness. Katia shall always go out with her; Aunt
Julia has given Katia extra wages, and is paying her journey one way.
In general, Aunt Julia is behaving very liberally about Vava's cure,
her board, lodging, and any unforeseen expenses that may be incurred
on her account. Mamma is taking such a lot of money with her that she
really will hardly sleep at night for fear of thieves. And yet her
sisters say that Julia is mean. No, she isn't mean. She is pedantic,
and a little near about money perhaps, but not mean. For instance,
she has allowed two hundred roubles for the doctor who is to attend
Vava during the summer. Mamma thinks it a great deal too much. Surely
Mimotchka won't have to pay Variashski as much? Oh no. They paid him
very little in Petersburg? And a hundred roubles would be more than
sufficient. Or perhaps they might have to give him a hundred and fifty.
Mamma has so much confidence in him. And really he is such a nice,
sympathetic man ... and un bel homme too. But still a hundred would be
quite enough. A hundred?... a hundred and fifty ... or a hundred?...
And without having decided the question, mamma begins a gentle snore.
Mimotchka lies on the opposite sofa, gracefully resting her pretty
head on her hand. She likes lying there, and thinks it a great deal
nicer than in her own bed at home. There, when she had suffered so much
from sleeplessness, she had been surrounded by such absolute stillness
and silence from without, that she had felt all in a disturbance and
tumult within. Everything in her had seemed to tremble, beat, knock,
and shake. What exhaustion and what torments she had endured! But here,
on the contrary, here all the noise and disturbance are from without,
and that is what acts beneficially on her. She likes the whistling and
ringing, the shaking and swaying of the sofa, the noise of the wheels,
the jarring of the window-panes, and the rattling of the cinders in
the ashpan. All these chaotic sounds soothe her and lull her to sleep.
She enjoys lying there, and thinks about her new dresses. What hat
shall she wear with her _mousse_ gown? She is taking five hats with
her, but none of them quite suits with the _mousse_ gown; perhaps the
blue flowers might be taken out of the black hat, and pale pink flowers
and _mousse_ ribbon put in instead. And Mimotchka thinks over the hat.
But what is really perfect, indisputably perfect, is--her riding-habit.
She has never had a bodice in her life that fits her like that. It's
a dream! When the riding-habit had been brought home from Tedeschi's
and Spiridon Ivanovitch had seen the bill, he had grumbled at the
expense, and she had cried. How stupid she had been! What was there to
cry about when the bodice fitted so divinely? But who would she ride
with? Variashski would be there. She liked him very much. He was so
tall and had such a good figure. He had said, "I will see that you are
not dull." Perhaps they would be neighbours. They would become better
acquainted. It doesn't matter about his being a doctor. He has his rank
of general,[10] just the same as Spiridon Ivanovitch. They would get
intimate and ride together. No doubt he rides Well. He ...
[10] In Russia, as in Germany and Austria, the civil service is divided
into ranks like the military service.
And Mimotchka, closing her eyes, clearly sees the figure of Doctor
Variashski; by degrees the figure begins to look at her from the back
of the velvet sofa, from the looking-glass door, from the shaking
windows, covered with their blue blinds, and from the ceiling with its
glimmering, shaded light. And either the influence of her doctor's
image, or her confidence in him, but anyhow something makes Mimotchka
fall asleep, fall asleep without chloral or valerian, and she sees in
her dreams the figure of Doctor Variashski.
Vava is more wakeful than any of them. She has no desire to sleep. She
would like even now to be standing at the open window, inhaling the
night breezes and watching how thicket after thicket vanishes, how the
lights gradually appear in the open, and how the stars are beginning
to shine in the heavens. But she had given her word of honour to be
obedient, and so her aunt had hardly hinted that it was time to go to
sleep when Vava at once climbed up into her bed. Now she is sorry to be
lying down here. She finds it stuffy and dull; besides which she has to
lie very quiet so as not to wake mamma and Mimotchka. Vava is glad that
she is going to the Caucasus, and chiefly glad to be going alone; for
Vava considers that she is going alone. She knows that mamma and Katia
will be so taken up with Mimotchka and her comforts that they will not
have any time left for her. She will be free. And for her that is the
chief thing: to be free and in the open air the whole day long. What
happiness!
There she will walk about the mountains and the forests without any
French or English governess at her side to poison her pleasure. It
will be warm there, it will be a beautiful place: there will be
mountains, verdure, and sunshine.... There will be fresh people, fresh
acquaintances. Perhaps there she will at last see and get to know those
great and good people whom she so longs and so looks forward to meeting
with. People like Washington, Cromwell, William Tell, Joan of Arc, or
the mother of the Gracchi.... It is impossible that such people should
not exist. If they were to be found in history it proved that they
really had existed, and so such people must still exist. Only she has
not met them. But that was because it had so happened. And she will yet
meet with them, because she so wishes, so longs to become acquainted
with them, to live in their intimacy, to learn of them, to raise
herself to their level.... She will never believe that the whole world
is only inhabited by people like her family's acquaintances. Oh! those
acquaintances! How can anyone live in such a senseless, stupid fashion!
If they were not sometimes roused from their apathy by avarice, envy,
and vanity they would probably go to sleep altogether, and never wake
again. And the majority of those she knows lead this sort of life,
such a mean, empty, aimless, senseless existence. This is how her
mother, sister, and aunts live.... They laugh at her, they call her
odd, queer, and fantastic because she longs for something different,
for something nobler and worthier. She understands that she must seem
unbearable to them, but she cannot consider herself to blame.... Her
father--he is not like all the rest; he, the darling, is good. He is
clever and kind, and how kind he is to her! If it were not for him she
would most likely have run away long ago. Her father is a splendid
man! But still he is afraid.... Yes, he is afraid of his wife and her
sisters, and gives way to them. Why?... He almost seems to want to make
himself appear like one of them, and when he does show the best side of
his nature he does it in a joking sort of way, as if he were laughing
at himself and excusing himself to them. Why? Who does he give way
to, who is he afraid of? Why not make them do as he chooses and follow
him? How different it would all be if people were only bold, firm, and
strong!... But those whom she knows are all alike--
"They are ashamed to own their love, they thrust
thought aside,
And are ready to barter their free will ...
But still it is impossible that there should not be any genuine people
in the world. Only she has not met with them. Perhaps there are hardly
any in their circle. But still the world is wide, and somewhere
there are simple, honest, labour-loving, healthy people; energetic,
disinterested, large-minded men; tender, self-denying, patient women....
Of course Vava will get to know such people. They will teach her, and
will explain away all her doubts. She has so many doubts! She had had
an idea of writing to Count Leo Tolstoy, but she was ashamed to. And
afterwards, when she heard that one of her friends had written to him,
she didn't like it at all, and was very glad that she had not carried
out her idea. As if every little beetle could venture to trouble such
a sun I No, you must think out things for yourself, and make yourself
worthy of the friendship of great and good people. And she will try to;
yes, she will try....
She thinks that just there where she is going, where there are
mountains and eagles, where nature itself is wonderful, there she will
find these great and good people. There everything will be beautiful.
There will be no affectations, no empty talk; her mother will not be
there, with her cold inimical glance, nor her brother with his joking
and mocking, nor her sister, that living fashion-plate.... But suddenly
finding herself judging her relations, Vava, as usual, is horrified at
her own wickedness and malice, and at once begins praying earnestly to
God, that He would forgive her all her sins, both the sin of judging
her relations and the terrible sin of not loving her mother; that He
would somehow help her to bear everything and prepare her for life;
that He would sustain her and not forsake her, and would give her
strength and health both of soul and body. And with prayer on her lips
and in her thoughts, thin, black-haired Vava goes to sleep on her perch
above mamma, who is snoring regularly, and pale, ethereal Mimotchka.
On the third day the ladies arrived safely at Rostoff, where they had
to change carriages. In spite of the comfort with which they had
travelled, they were very tired. And both Vava and Mimotchka, seated
at the table awaiting the breakfast they had ordered, looked so out
of sorts and depressed that it was not difficult to recognise in them
patients for Jeleznovodsk. Mimotchka was so tired that she had not even
strength to raise her smelling-salts to her nose. And leaning against
the wall, she gazed apathetically at the row of bottles with their
gaudy tickets ranged in front of her. The pug lay by her side, and, its
tongue hanging out of its mouth, breathed hard. Vava also no longer
looked out for Washington or the mother of the Gracchi among the crowd.
... Her head ached, her temples throbbed, and she could hardly see out
of her eyes, besides which, instead of Washington and the mother of the
Gracchi, she saw close to her on one side a lady with a shaking head,
whom she recognised from seeing in Dr. Merjeffsky's waiting-room, and
on the other, a boy with St. Vitus's dance, who alternately put out his
tongue and made strange contortions with his body.
In fact, the majority of the public were already talking of the
proximity of the waters, this pool of Siloam towards which the sick and
suffering flock from all parts of Russia.... Pale, hysterical ladies,
paralytics, yellow-faced, gloomy-looking patients for Essentouki,
invalids of every kind and description from Piatigorsk, all these moved
or sat about in the dusty, grimy waiting-room, resting and eating while
they waited for the train.
Now someone was brought in, carried on a stretcher. Mimotchka closed
her eyes. Good heavens! is it possible that they will have to bear
the sight of such horrors the whole summer? Better die at once than
continue this dreadful journey.
But suddenly, amidst this ill-favoured, nondescript crowd, there came
into the room, from the town entrance, an elegantly dressed man of
about thirty-five, whose appearance attracted general attention. He
was followed by an enormous black retriever and a porter carrying a
handsome portmanteau and a railway rug strapped up and fastened with
beautiful new straps. The young man came to the table at which Vava
and Mimotchka were seated, carelessly paid the porter, carelessly
ordered something to eat for himself and something for his dog of the
insinuating waiter, sat down to the table, and, without dropping his
eyeglass, rapidly glanced at Vava and Mimotchka, then took off his
eyeglass and again, but this time more fixedly and attentively, looked
at Mimotchka.
She had never expected to meet such a fine gentleman in that stuffy,
dingy waiting-room, amongst all those deformities, and was sorry that
she had not taken more pains to freshen and beautify herself. Vava
began, openly and rather loudly, admiring the dog, while Mimotchka
examined the dog's master's pale face, with its beautiful dark eyes,
and all the details of his perfect toilet.
Mamma, who had been rushing about settling Katia, came back, panting
from the heat and fatigue, and sat down by the side of them. Breakfast
was brought to the ladies; Mimotchka unwillingly put up her veil: she
thought she must be looking awful; but she was mistaken, and of this
she was at once assured by a glance from the black eyes that rested so
admiringly on her. Mimotchka felt more cheerful than she had for a long
time, and from that moment her journey appeared to her in a perfectly
different light. It was certainly rather a bore, but still it was
something fresh, and a change from the monotonous, everyday Petersburg
life.