sleep, only lay there and rejoiced at his having come. How could she
possibly sleep now? It rested her only to think of him. Could the
presence, the vicinity of any other person bring such joy, such light
into her life? Well, now he is here. And again they will be together
amongst a crowd of strangers. That is all she wants. To be together,
and to be young and lovely for him and through him. Because, for
instance, the reason why she looks so well to-day is that he has come.
The joy of it beautifies her. Oh, how she loves him! She never, never
felt so before. And the chief thing is that there is nothing wrong in
it. How can that be wrong which awakens the best part of her soul? She
fears nothing, nothing.... Is it possible that she really loves him?
Well, what if she does? She cannot hold back her heart nor stop it;
how it beats!... Of course he will never know. She will never allow him
to, and he would never permit himself ... What does it matter if she
loves him? The purest and most honourable Woman may be carried away
by her feelings.... And in spite of it she may have the strength to
remain honest.... They are going out riding, and again there will be
a whole evening for them together, they two alone! How beautiful! How
beautiful!
Then she began to dress.... Never in her life had her toilet been
so successful. Her hair seemed to arrange itself on her head, the
buttoned-up habit bodice set like a glove, and when Mimotchka, having
scented her handkerchief and taken her riding-whip from Katia's hands,
threw a last glance at herself in the mirror, there looked out at her
from it such an angelic, poetical little face, with shining eyes and a
happy smile, that she almost blew a kiss to her own image. The horses
were already brought round. He was seated on horseback, and talking to
mamma through the window.
"Please, Valerian Nicolaevitch, do see that she doesn't ride too fast
and too far. Any over fatigue is so bad for her, and she has got so
venturesome and careless lately.... After all it's not long since her
recovery. Do look after her. I give her into your charge."
"Be quite easy, Anna Arcadievna."
Mimotchka came down the steps and sprang lightly into the saddle; she
smiled up at mamma and rode off beside Valerian Nicolaevitch, with
Osman following a little behind them. And mamma looked after them and
thought to herself: "What a fine-looking couple they make! If we lived
in Arcadia instead of Petersburg that would have been the sort of
husband to have. Still, everything is for the best. A man like that
wouldn't have married her, but would have looked out for money, and
after marriage would only have amused himself and deceived her.... Les
beaux maris ne sont pas les meilleurs.... And you can always find as
many admirers as you like, but a husband like Spiridon Ivanovitch is
not picked up every day." ...
And mamma meditatively returned to her _coiffure,_ for she was going to
see the princess. But where has Vava gone? "Where's your young lady?"
she asked Katia.
"She was here a minute ago."
"A minute ago! I ask you where she is _now?_ What are you thinking of,
pray? What do you receive wages for from Julia Arcadievna? You were
told not to leave your young lady alone for a minute. Go and find her
directly!"
Katia listened submissively to mamma, and after she had put together
Mimotchka's scattered petticoats and hairpins, she did her hair,
scented herself with Mimotchka's eau de toilette, put on a little grey
jacket and a hat with a wing at the side, and hurried off to the park,
where, at the end of a shady walk, she met David Georgevitch, who was
Waiting for her, and who had already presented her with a Caucasian
brooch and two turquoise rings.
After leaving Kislovodsk, Valerian Nicolaevitch and Mimotchka rode
along the country road. Sometimes they went along slowly and sometimes
galloped. (Valerian Nicolaevitch only rode at the kind of pace that
pleased Mimotchka; _he_ was not like Variashksi!) At the first pause
he began talking about horses, and told Mimotchka what kind of horses
he had at Kieff and what kind on his estate. Afterwards, crossing the
fords, they remembered Petchorin and Princess Mary,[24] and he talked
about Lermontoff and literature.... It was just the same to Mimotchka
on what subject she kept silence as long as she could listen to him.
Then he began to speak of nature. And she, did she care about nature?
Oh yes! (Mimotchka forgot that she had previously only cared about
nature somewhere round a bandstand.) It seemed to her then that she
loved and always had loved nature. Didn't she like cantering over
this green steppe, that waved about like a sea? Didn't she admire
the delicate outline of the chain of mountains that bordered the
horizon? Oh yes, she loves nature. She had not known anything about
it before. In Petersburg and Paris you only see nature in pictures at
exhibitions....
[24] The hero and heroine of a novel, by Lermontoff, called a _Hero of
our Times,_ and in which the scene laid in the Caucasus.
In the midst of their peaceful chat they met a carriage in which were
seated General Baraeff and the widow. The general bowed amiably to
Mimotchka, who nodded to him in return. Valerian Nicolaevitch began
making fun of the general.
"It's Baraeff, a friend of my husband's," said Mimotchka.
When she mentioned her husband a shadow always passed over Valerian
Nicolaevitch's face. Mimotchka was already aware of this, and was sorry
she had mentioned him so _mal à propos._ They became silent, and pushed
on their horses as if the recollection of poor Spiridon Ivanovitch
obliged them to hasten to the object of their excursion.
"Where are we going to-day?" asked Mimotchka, when the horses got tired
and fell back into a walking pace.
"We are going to-day to the 'Castle of Love and Treachery.'"
"A castle? Is there really a castle there?"
"No, there is no castle whatever; but there are rocks, very
picturesquely situated rocks.... It's a lovely spot.... And there is a
legend connected with the rocks. If it won't bore you to listen, I will
tell you the legend."
"On the contrary, I should very much like to hear it."
"Well then, listen. A certain merchant had a daughter--of course she
was young and beautiful."
"Why 'of course'?"
"Because otherwise she would not be worth talking about. Well, this
daughter loved a youth, also young and beautiful. The young people
loved each other as it is only possible to love under such a sun
and amidst such scenery. (Probably you won't understand this, mais
passons.) Well, the young people loved each other, but, as is generally
the case, fate and circumstances were against them. The father of the
girl rejected the suit of the enamoured youth, who was poor, and found
another bridegroom for his daughter, a rich merchant like himself. The
young people tried to overcome his objections, but he was inexorable;
so they decided to die. One beautiful morning they came to these
rocks--you will see them directly-stood at the edge of the abyss, so
as to throw themselves down and be dashed to pieces on the stones,
and said good-bye to each other--good-bye to life, to light, and to
nature. 'Throw yourself down!' said the girl, 'and I will after you.'
He smiled at her, threw himself into the gulf below, and was killed.
And she ..."
"And she?"
"She went back home and married the rich merchant!"
"Oh, what an ..."
"Artful one, wasn't she? She married the merchant and the rocks kept
the secret of his love and her treachery. Look--they are already
visible, do you see? More to the left.... But we can go down there
below." ...
"Then you have been here before?" ...
"Oh, more than once! But never in such charming company." ...
"What's that? un compliment?"
"No, I am not joking. Do you know, I love these rocks, this wild,
picturesque spot, where every pathway, every stone awakens in me so
many feelings and thoughts that have nothing in common with my dull,
grey, everyday life.... And whenever I was here before, I always
thought how beautiful it would be to come with some charming, poetical
creature--in fact, to come as I have come to-day. And when I go home I
shall say, 'Now let thy servant depart in peace!'" ...
The idea passed through Mimotchka's head: "Is he going to allow himself
to?" ... But no, he had already begun talking again about the horses.
Then they were both silent. They had to get down below by a steep,
narrow path. Osman rode on in front, to show the way.
It had got dark. The moon had not yet made her appearance.
"This doesn't look much like a moonlight night. You said there would be
a moon."
"Wait a little, only wait. There will be a moon."
"But we shan't see anything down there."
Mimotchka began to get alarmed at the darkness.
"Why shan't we see anything? Don't you see the rocks? How beautiful
that pass is! And the moon will come out directly."
"Yes, but while we are waiting for the moon it will get late, and when
shall we get back?"
"Late? What does it matter if it is late? It will be as light as day
for us to ride back when the moon is up. You are not going anywhere
this evening, are you?"
"No, I am not going anywhere, but mamma will be uneasy."
"She won't be uneasy, because she knows you are with me. And why
think of going back when it is so beautiful here? But women never do
understand how to enjoy the present moment. I pity them! Then you don't
care for it here? I thought you were more sensitive to the beauties of
nature.... Look at these rocks, at that sky, at those stars.... Do you
remember those lines of Musset--
'J'aime! voilà le mot que la nature entière
Crie au vent qui l'emporte, à l'oiseau qui le suit!
Sombre et dernier soupir que poussera la terre
Quand elle tombera dans l'éternelle nuit;
Oh! vous le murmurez dans vos sphères sacrées,
Etoiles du matin, ce mot triste et charmant!
La plus faible de vous, quand Dieu vous a crées,
A voulu traverser les plaines éthérées,
Pour chercher le soleil, son immortel amant.
Elle s'est élancée au sein des nuits profondes.
Mais une autre l'aimait elle-meme; et les mondes
Se sont mis en voyage autour du firmament.'
How beautiful they are, aren't they? I am sorry I can't see your face.
I should like to know if you look as you always do."
"And how do I always look?"
"Cold, severe.... Like a general's wife."
"A general's wife? Naturally, I look what I am."
"Don't calumniate yourself. You are a woman. You should look like a
woman, such a woman as stood there on the top of those rocks, wavering
between sacrifice and treachery."
"But I don't in the least wish to resemble her."
"Why?"
"Because she behaved odiously."
"Perfidiously, yes, but she acted like a woman, a weak, false woman.
And that is what pleases me. I like weakness in women. I don't care
about strong-minded women-heroines. Let those who will sing their
praises, I shall never be among their admirers. Strength of mind is
as little suited to a woman as physical strength. A woman should be
all weakness, all love, all tenderness. Let her weakness make her
false. What does it matter as long as she is charming!... But you,
how would you have acted in her place? Imagine that you are in love
with someone--well, say, for instance, with me. I hope that such a
supposition made in joke won't offend you. Imagine, then, that you are
in love with me, here, now, as you are, in your present position."
"In my present position?... I think that if I were in love with you, I
should endeavour that you should never find it out."
"And why so?"
"Because I am married, I am not free."
"La belle raison!"
"Comment, ce n'est pas une raison?... What would you say if your wife.."
At the mention of Spiridon Ivanovitch, Valerian Nicolaevitch had
frowned; at the mention of his wife a bored, weary expression
overspread his countenance. Mimotchka knew the expression well, and
she always rejoiced at it. Although she had heard from the baroness
that his wife was a charming woman, still it was more agreeable to
her to think that she was dull, unsuited to him, and as little wanted
as Spiridon Ivanovitch himself. If he were happy with her, he would
not come away from her, and would not have such a pale, weary looking
face and sunken cheeks, would he?... No; he was probably unhappy and
suffering, and only did not complain because he was too proud. Poor
dear!...
Meanwhile they had got down to the pass, and Valerian Nicolaevitch
proposed to Mimotchka to dismount and walk to a place from where he
considered the view of the rocks to be even finer. Osman led away
the horses, and they made their way over the stones by the side of a
murmuring mountain stream. A high, perpendicular rock rose behind them
like a menacing wall. It seemed to Mimotchka as if she were descending
into the bowels of the earth, or as if she were at the bottom of a
deep well. The steppe across which they had galloped was so high above
her head, and the sky, on which the long-expected moon had at last
appeared, illuminating the rocks and their picturesque verdure, seemed
so far off.
"Well, how do you like it?" ...
"C'est féerique," murmured Mimotchka "c'est féerique!" And what
stillness, what utter stillness! No; decidedly she is somewhere not
on the earth. And for an instant, for the last time, the disquieting
thought came into Mimotchka's head. Had she done right to come here?
He had asked her to come, but perhaps he would have had a better
opinion of her if she had not come. But, no; what nonsense! What harm
is there? Everybody comes here to admire nature, and she has also come
to admire nature. It's no use to come to the Caucasus and not visit its
picturesque parts. Otherwise afterwards, when she looks at photographs,
she will find that she has not seen anything. Why doesn't Vava ride on
horseback? She might have come with them. And what harm is there in
her having come here alone with him? If she were to have gone with him
to some restaurant now, that would have been dreadful! (But of course
she would never have gone with him.) And they have only come here to
admire nature. Yes, and besides, after all, they have the Tartar groom
with them. Somewhere in the distance she can hear a horse neighing;
those are their horses and Osman.
And, having quieted her conscience by such reflections, Mimotchka
repeated, "C'est féerique!" ... And she sincerely admired the
picturesque rocks, and Valerian Nicolaevitch sincerely admired her.
"You are not tired?" asked he, spreading out his cloak upon the ground.
"Sit down; I am sorry that I have already told you the legend about the
poor youth who was killed here. I ought to have told you it now, here,
in view of the rocks.... Well, I must tell you something else."
Decidedly Mimotchka was no longer on earth. It was impossible that that
could be the same moon that shone on Spiridon Ivanovitch and baby.
That was somewhere far away, but this was quite a different moon so
benignly protecting them. And what a soft, languorous, magic light she
sheds over that little corner where they are alone together and so far
from the crowds of people, from the noise and the world....
How quiet it is, how quiet!... What moments of full, perfect, unalloyed
happiness! If one could only fall asleep here, die, and never awake
again, never come back to life. And he was with her, near her, and
gazing at her as her humble, faithful slave, as her devoted friend.
And for the first time in her life Mimotchka no longer thought if she
was looking pretty or not, nor how she was dressed, nor what her aunts
would say of her. She felt somehow strange, as if she were neither
asleep nor awake. She had never experienced anything like it before.
And her breathing was oppressed. For some moments she was afraid she
was going to faint.
A stone fell and they both started. He drew still nearer to her. Were
you frightened? Is that really him? Yes; those are his eyes shining.
How pale he is! And how pale the moon is! What is it all--a dream
or a reality? And Mimotchka, wishing to break through this fearful,
oppressive silence and to get the better of the numbness overpowering
her, repeated again, "C'est féerique, c'est féerique!"
And really there was something fairy-like, something extraordinary
about the evening. And the most extraordinary thing of all was
that Valerian Nicolaevitch took Mimotchka into his arms and kissed
her--kissed her eyes, her lips, and her hair. How did it happen? How
could he allow himself to, and how could she permit it?... Oh, "Castle
of Love and Treachery!" Then he told her, in a caressing whisper,
that it must have happened. Well, of course, once it had happened,
probably it must have happened. But anyhow they must go home now quick,
quick!... And when he put her into the saddle, he said to her, "My
darling! My beautiful darling!" ... And she, helplessly putting her
hair straight, said, "Il fait tard, il fait tard!" But she looked more
radiantly beautiful than Spiridon Ivanovitch had ever seen her look,
in spite of the fact of his commanding a division and having a whole
division under his supervision.
They must ride back fast, very fast; but Mimotchka had somehow lost her
riding-whip on the mountain. Osman and Valerian Nicolaevitch ran back
to find it. They found the whip, and all three set off furiously across
the steppe, now flooded by the moonlight.
The lights of Kislovodsk were shining when they rode up the long alley
of poplars. From the chief hotel came the sounds of a waltz. Mamma was
looking out for her daughter, sitting at the open window and getting
uneasy.
"Here you are at last!" said she. "I was getting afraid that something
had happened to you, that you had been attacked.... Well, what? Are
you tired?" ...
"Yes; we hurried back so."
"Come in, Valerian Nicolaevitch, come in and have some tea."
Valerian Nicolaevitch thanked her, but refused. He had promised to go
to a party somewhere. And when he had helped Mimotchka down from the
saddle, he came to the gate with her, and whispered to her, "À demain!"
and, with a look and a pressure of the hand, thanked her for going with
him.
When she came in, Mimotchka refused tea and all refreshment, but went
straight into her own room and hurriedly began undressing. She did
not want to see anyone; and having put out the candle, she laid her
radiant face on the pillow. How had it happened? She had no feeling
either of repentance or of shame. She only felt happy and peaceful.
This--fall, this--terrible step; it was a stain that could not be
effaced; it was--a sin, she thought to herself; but how easy it had
been to commit it! Maintenant c'est fini, elle est une femme perdue!
And her husband?... But she mustn't think about it--no, she must not;
better think about _him:_ Val! Val!... And Mimotchka went off to
sleep soundly and tranquilly, as only happy people with a pure and easy
conscience sleep.
In the morning they met under the verandah of the Kursaal. There was
only a month left before they returned to Petersburg, and how much
there was to talk over, how much for them to say to each other. They
had to tell each other how they had fallen in love at sight, at their
very first meeting, even then, at Rostoff.... Un coup de foudre!...
How afterwards they had remembered each other, looked out for each
other, and been jealous of each other, until they met again and became
acquainted.... And how everything had happened as it must have done.
They had to tell each other that they had always waited for each other,
that they had foreseen this, and now were bound to each other for all
eternity. Oui, c'est pour la vie, c'est pour la vie!... And principally
they had to arrange about the time and place of their meetings.
He lived alone, and by taking proper precautions Mimotchka might come
to his rooms. This would be the most convenient way. He would not have
proposed it to her if there had been any risk, for Mimotchka's honour
and good name were above all things dear to him. And Mimotchka, having
reconnoitred and assured herself that "Maman ne se doute de rien," and
that she and Princess X---- and all their circle were completely taken
with the hussar Anutin and his intended bride, was tranquillised, and,
taking all due precautions, came to his rooms.
How she enjoyed being there! Everything that surrounded him and that
he used bore the stamp of his exquisite taste. Mimotchka turned over
his letter-case, his albums, and looked at the portraits of his wife
and children.... His wife was a great deal too handsome, and excited
her jealousy, but Valerian Nicolaevitch pacified her: "Handsome?...
Yes; she is handsome, but that is not sufficient. Une femme doit
plaire. That is the chief thing." His wife was not suited to him. A
cold, lifeless beauty; a soulless creature, a blue-stocking, a second
Lady Byron.... She was a mother, only a mother, not a woman to love.
She lived for the children, and expected him to do the same. It was
absurd. The children would live and enjoy life themselves some day. And
meanwhile he wishes to enjoy his life. Another life will not be granted
to him. He must live, live....
And he kissed Mimotchka, kissed her eyes, and said, "Let me drink of
this sea!"
Mimotchka was not aware before that there was a sea in her eyes.
Having got over her jealousy, Mimotchka hid the photograph of his wife
further on in the book, so that it should not meet her eyes, and went
on turning over his things.
Valerian Nicolaevitch had forty neckties and forty pairs of socks,
and for each necktie there were socks to match. And what a lot of
_breloques,_ pins, and rings besides, which he varied, also selecting
them to match the neckties. In general, he was rather a dandy, but
Mimotchka liked it. She looked over and arranged the forty neckties in
a rosewood box, separating one necktie from the other with a sachet
of his favourite perfume, "Cherry-blossom." And she told him which
neckties she liked, and which she didn't like, and which he was to
wear the next day. And one necktie she called the necktie of "Love and
Treachery." That was her favourite. Occasionally, chiefly on the days
she received letters from Spiridon Ivanovitch, Mimotchka had a fit of
the "blue devils," as she called it, and she reproached herself for
her guilt towards her husband. "Je suis une femme perdue," she said.
"Anyhow, I have wronged him, injured him.... And he has in nowise
deserved it. And what will happen if he gets to know? He will kill me
or turn me out of the house ... Enfin je suis une femme perdue. And you
yourself must despise me. Yes, you despise me, Val; I see you do." ...
"What a child you are!" And he tried to convince her that there was
nothing to despise her for. "On vit comme on peut. Look at the people
we know; look at Marie Petrovna; look at Marie Lvovna!" ...
Mimotchka reflected and remembered. Certainly, there was both Marie
Petrovna and Marie Lvovna. And Nettie, above all! But then, on the
other hand, there was Anna Vassilievna, and Aunt Julia, and mamma. No,
there were still some honest, good women, not like her. Otherwise, why
such harsh, pitiless judgments, why so much hypocrisy in the world?...
Valerian Nicolaevitch explained it all to her.
"Don't you see, people suffer and bear too much because they don't
seize the moments of happiness that fall to their share."
"Oh yes, people do suffer."
And she told him all about Spiridon Ivanovitch, and how dull it was
for her with him. She was rather afraid that Val would despise her
for having an old husband--he had so thundered against mercenary love.
But no, it did not disturb him at all. In general, since the ride to
the "Castle of Love and Treachery," his feelings towards Spiridon
Ivanovitch had quite changed. He did not even frown when Mimotchka
mentioned his name, but, on the contrary, he endeavoured to instil into
her that with such a husband she could lead a very pleasant, easy life.
Only she must be wise. And he proceeded to give her some advice.
In the winter he would come to Petersburg. His wife would remain at
Kieff with the children, and they would spend a beautiful winter
together. Only there must be no imprudences. He praised Mimotchka
because while she was here she had behaved so rightly, so quietly, and
so naturally. Neither her mamma, who loved her so tenderly, nor that
sharp girl, Vava, had noticed anything whatever. That was as it should
be: yes, just as it should be. They loved one another, and they must
set up a wall between themselves and the world. Their secret was the
wall behind which they could love each other boldly and fully. They
must hide their happiness like a treasure, like something precious.
"L'amourette que l'on ébruite
Est un rosier déraciné."
Let people try and guess if they chose to, let them suspect what they
liked, but don't let them know anything.
Mimotchka told him how she came to marry, how everybody had persuaded
her to, and how she could never have made up her mind to it by herself.
Valerian Nicolaevitch did not understand why. It was wise, and she had
acted very rightly. Money was not the last thing in life; if it was
not happiness, at any rate it was the key to happiness. Only, these
last four years she had not understood how to arrange her life. She
herself had made it dull. Everything depends on ourselves.