Part 2

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!...