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.