Part 9

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.

They were happy. And everything that surrounded Mimotchka, everything that she saw and heard, the dark mountains and the green woods, and the glimmering of the stars and the moonlight, the noise of the horses' hoofs, the rustling of the branches, the talking of the crowd, the songs that the singers sang, the chirping of the crickets--all this was the scenery and orchestra to that new, sweet song that the voice of nature itself was singing to her.

She never thought of analysing her own feelings, she would not have known how to. There was nothing to alarm herself about. Nothing had happened. It was simply that acquaintance and intercourse with such a clever, charming man gave her pleasure. Now there was someone with whom she never, never felt dull! And Mimotchka said to Vava:

"I have never yet met such a clever, highly educated man. How well he speaks French, English, and German! What intelligence, what a memory! You can talk with him the whole day and hardly notice how the time passes."

Vava didn't like him; but then what did a stupid girl like her understand? And besides, mamma both liked and admired Valerian Nicolaevitch, and often said to Mimotchka:

"Isn't Valerian Nicolaevitch coming to see us to-day? Ask him to come and have a cup of tea."

And Valerian Nicolaevitch came and drank his tea and patiently listened to mamma's stories, and was so chivalrously respectful to Mimotchka that mamma could hardly refrain from embracing him. Mamma thought him very handsome; she considered him even handsomer than the hussar Anutin, who had made such a sensation at the Mineral Waters.

And the maid Katia, buttoning the boots on Mimotchka's little feet, said, as she dexterously used her buttonhook, "What a nice gentleman he is! how I do like him! The chambermaid, Dasha, who knows his man, says, too, that he is such a nice gentleman. They have their own house in Kieff. And they say he is such a good master." ...

"Oh yes," thought Mimotchka, "and then the chief thing is, he is so clever!"

At night, when she went to bed, she tried to remember what he had said to her. It was difficult, because he talked so much. But what she remembered perfectly Well were his glances. How he had looked at her when they had turned back to Griasnoushka, and then, when he sang "Azra," and she asked him for the words of it. Oh, what eyes he has, what eyes! It's a good thing that he has so much respect for her, because, if he had not, she would be afraid for herself. Now, of course, she is quite easy. She already knows him quite well enough to feel assured that he would never allow himself ... She is a respectable woman, she isn't like Nettie. She likes him as a friend.... If she were free, perhaps she might like him in another way. Of course, if she had known him, she would never have chosen anyone else.... But she is not free, and only likes him as a friend. It's so nice, such a friendship!...

And in the darkness Mimotchka opened her eyes and imagined how it would be in the future. He liked her. By degrees he would let himself be carried away by his feelings, and he would love her, love her so much that he would follow her to Petersburg. And he would suffer from her cruelty, poor, dear fellow I would endure everything, and at last would explain himself. And she herself would suffer too, but she would say to him: "And I love you too, have loved you a long while, but duty and my obligations to others ... We must part." And so they would part, poor things! How they would suffer! But still it was impossible to do otherwise ... And Mimotchka sighed and turned over her pillow and put the displaced sheet straight again. In the room, in spite of the door being open on to the balcony, it was close and hot. And next door the indefatigable widow was singing:

"And the night, and love, and the moon."

And the officer, who had taken the initiative, coughed and yawned loudly.

"They won't let you get to sleep, they're intolerable! I'll shut that door directly," said mamma, getting up, and, lowering her voice to a whisper, so as not to wake the sleeping Vava, she added, "Just imagine what I saw to-day; they kissed before me. So, _pour tout de bon._ ... I went out on the balcony to shake a petticoat, and they were sitting there kissing.... Schopenhauer lay on the table and they were kissing. How disgusting!"

One day followed another without bringing any great changes. Mimotchka's cure was drawing to a close, and mamma had already put a mark in her almanac against the day fixed for their removal to Kislovodsk.

Vava went on with her cure, walked, read, and talked, and argued till she was hoarse with her new friends about the immortality of the soul, about the woman's question, and about the thoughts and looks of Leo Tolstoi.

Mimotchka was without a care, and flirted gaily with Valerian Nicolaevitch. Her maid Katia flirted no less gaily with David Georgevitch, and mamma played at picquet with the bilious dignitary from Petersburg, or craned her neck watching other people's love affairs. And both Vava and Mimotchka improved in health and looks every day, so that mamma, joyfully noticing this, said to her partner:

"How fond people are of praising up everything foreign and running down their own country. What things they told us about the Caucasus I And yet how my young people have improved here! If you had only seen my daughter in the spring.... She looked like a ghost! We were afraid she would go into a consumption. Do you know, our waters are better than those abroad."

The old gentleman did not even smile, but, dealing the cards with his bony fingers, he contradicted mamma. He could not take upon himself to give any opinion about ladies' illnesses--it was beyond the sphere of his competence.... Perhaps the ladies had improved in health, perhaps ... But in regard to his fellow-men he would venture to say that here it was only the healthy that improved. The doctors improved; yes, those robbers certainly improved their circumstances.... A set of clowns who couldn't distinguish one illness from another (the old gentleman had already changed doctors four times, and acknowledged to mamma that he couldn't digest a fifth). They went about courting and flirting and riding on horseback like madmen, while the invalids had to put up with every discomfort. What was the Government about? They took bribes and commissions under the inspector's very nose. It was all robbery, pillage, and disorder.... Wait a bit!... If the fifth doctor did not kill him, he would write an article about them under the title of "Our watering-places and our doctors." And they would recognise themselves, they would recognise themselves.... Wait a bit!...

Mamma smiled good-humouredly and indulgently as she sorted her cards. What was the use of arguing with a man who was a martyr to his liver and stomach! How could he digest his doctor when he couldn't digest his dinner?... And with her sweetest smile, and in a voice that mamma knew how to make softer than almond oil, she said to him: "But do you know what I would advise you to try?--a simple, but well-known remedy. My son-in-law suffered for years from the most obstinate catarrh; and he made a cure and took the waters. But do you know what did him good? I'll tell you. Just a pinch on the end of a knife." ... And so on.

It was a hot, very hot day. Mimotchka, on coming from the baths, went up on the mountain and sat down on a bench where she generally rested after her bath. She wore a light cambric dress, and yet could hardly breathe. The heat acted unpleasantly on her nerves; besides which, she had something on her mind. The day before they had had a quarrel, and now she felt ashamed and vexed with herself. He had been angry with her yesterday, and had said that he would not go on to Kislovodsk, but would go straight from Jeleznovodsk to the baroness's country place, where he had been invited to stay. He was angry because Mimotchka would not go out riding with him alone, and had said that it would look "awkward!" Oh, what a fool she was, what a fool! Now she would gladly give half her life to get back that word. How coarse and stupid it was! She had showed that she was afraid. And what was there to be afraid of? Hadn't she gone out riding alone with Variashski, and with the officer of Spiridon Ivanovitch's division? didn't the baroness ride alone with _him,_ with Valerian Nicolaevitch? And what of it? Was anyone shocked by it? Not in the least. Awkward, awkward!... Oh, what a fool she was! And what must he think of her now? Good heavens, what could she do to please him? Now they would part coldly and inimically, and if he ever after thought of her, it would be as a fool and an idiot. But no, it was impossible, surely they would not part so?

Here he comes. He came up to her with a solemn, dignified expression of countenance, and saluted her coldly. Then he talked of the weather, and, having asked her permission to sit down beside her, seated himself at the further end of the bench. Oh, what a chill seemed to come from his elegant person! The top of Mount Elbrouz itself couldn't be colder. And Mimotchka's hands and feet grew cold from the proximity of this Elbrouz, and she felt ready to cry.

And yet the sun was hot, and the air burning and close. Nature seemed exhausted with the heat. The cracked, parched earth prayed to the heavens for rain; the splendidly grown trees stood morosely and lazily; not a leaf stirred; on every rock from below and above the grasshoppers chirped loudly.

The conversation flagged. Mimotchka was dreadfully ashamed. She felt that she had lost her dignity as a general's wife, and tormented herself trying to think what she could say.

Valerian Nicolaevitch silently enjoyed her agitation and trouble. It was not only Mimotchka's appearance that pleased him, but her very silentness and slowness of comprehension. What a good listener she was! In Valerian Nicolaevitch's eyes this was a most precious quality, because he liked to be the only one to talk. How tired he was of those talkative women, with their pretensions to wit and intelligence, who had read a little, would chatter about something, interrupt without listening to what you were saying, cavil at your ideas and catch up your words.... How different Mimotchka was! What a depth of womanliness there was in her. She possessed what the poet calls "das ewig Weibliche." ... She was not clever, certainly; but this very want of cleverness was so pleasing in her. And why should she be clever? What would it add to that pure, limpid look in her eyes? She had both tact and grace. And although she was not clever, still she had a very charming manner, not too free and yet not too shy. She was very, very charming, and he had not been so taken with anyone for a long time. He intended that the _dénouement_ should take place at Kislovodsk, and yesterday evening, according to his programme, a preliminary _tête-a-tête_ ride should have taken place in order to reassure Mimotchka, and quiet her alarm, as he saw that, in spite of everything, she was still on her guard.... And then suddenly she wouldn't go. Just think of it! So that's the way, is it? Very well! Now she must be punished, and made to ask him to come to Kislovodsk.

And so he sat there by her, gazing mournfully and coldly before him, and cutting off the tops of the grass with his stick. The conversation flagged ...?

The sister of the actress, Mdlle. Lenskaia, passed close by them. A little old man, thawing under the influences of beauty, like a candle under the rays of the Caucasian sun, was giving her his arm.

Mimotchka began talking about her. The Lenskis interested her very much, because she had long been jealous of them on Valerian Nicolaevitch's account, and she often asked him about them. He, according to the humour he was in, either lauded them to the skies or trampled them in the mud. This time Mdlle. Lenskaia turned up at a very lucky moment for herself. Valerian Nicolaevitch began extolling her. There was a real woman for you. She was worthy of bearing the high and holy name of woman.... She lived herself and gave fresh life to those around her.... Like the sun, she shed light and warmth on all those who drew breath in her presence.... In her old age, when she drew near her end, her conscience would not reproach her in any way. She would have fulfilled her earthly task. She would have lived and loved.... She is no mere dressmaker's dummy, only made for trying on Parisian toilettes, she is a living creature, with warm blood running in her veins, with nerves vibrating in her, and life brimming over within her. ... She is not a puppet whose strings are pulled by public opinion.... And he poured forth a flood of stern and terrible philippics against the women of society, those egotists, those hard-hearted, empty-headed coquettes.... A nice education they have given them! Their mothers impregnate them with their absurd morality with as much zeal as they lay camphor in their carpets and shawls to keep away the moth. And they attain their object. The moth does not touch their shawls, and passion does not come near their well-brought-up daughters. But the atmosphere that surrounds them is hard to breathe in. A man feels half suffocated. He feels dull in their presence.... Yes, intolerably dull.... And is it surprising that men flee from them to such women as Lenskaia?

Mimotchka was ready to cry. He was dull with her.... He had always felt dull in her society.... She was only a dressmaker's dummy for trying on dresses.... He would leave her and go to Lenskaia. For shame, for shame!... And he continued thundering against the women of society, interlarding his speech with verses and quotations. Love moves the world. There are women unworthy of the happiness of love, unworthy of high and holy moments. A woman incapable of love is like the foolish virgin without oil.... And the Lord will say to her, "Depart, I know you not." ... Watch.... Yes.... And old age will come, terrible, merciless old age, with its grey hairs and wrinkles, and will seize upon the heart with its cold hand, and the heart will quail with fear and will thirst for life, but it will be late, too late.... And then came a verse from Musset, and then one from Fett.

Valerian Nicolaevitch got more and more excited by his own eloquence. Lowering his voice now to a whisper, and now raising it, he never glanced at Mimotchka, never even turned towards her, but looked straight before him as if addressing the gentlemen of the jury. And it seemed to Mimotchka that the grasshoppers and black trunks of the trees, which played the part of jury, said with one voice, "Guilty, guilty, and not deserving extenuating circumstances."

Mimotchka knew she was guilty, but she really did not know how to set things right, nor what to do to stop his anger and make him come to Kislovodsk. She looked up at him. How handsome he Was! He took off his hat, and she saw his white forehead, his wavy hair, and his brilliant eyes.... She felt drawn towards him, and yet was afraid of vexing him.... What can she say? good heavens, what can she say?... And she hung her head lower and lower, and drew figures on the sand with her parasol, while he went on saying those dreadful things.

Some ugly-looking Armenian women, in their muslin veils, went past and gazed stupidly at poor Mimotchka with their round black eyes. The passers-by smiled knowingly, and looked back at Mimotchka with a low whistle....

And Valerian Nicolaevitch continued to thunder on like an inspired prophet.

Women do not wish, and do not understand how to be intelligent. When the sun shines on them, when the heavens smile on them, they pull down the blinds.... Everything is only play, amusement, and a joke to them. Not one them of knows how to raise herself to the height of a serious feeling.... Flirts, who don't deserve that a man with a soul should waste his time and lose his heart for them.... Well did Heine say ... And what a bitter truth Byron wrote ... and Montesquieu, that great jurist.... Mimotchka finally gave up trying to understand altogether. Great men's names always bewildered her. Her lips trembled, she would have liked to cry. And why does he scream at her here so, where so many people are passing, and when she cannot say anything for fear she will burst into tears?

Taking advantage of a momentary silence, Mimotchka got up and said:

"I think it is time for me to go home." He bowed coldly and politely. "Aren't you going to see me home?"

"If you desire it."

And they came down the mountain. He played with his stick; Mimotchka looked on the ground, and Rex walked lazily after them, wagging his tail, and wondering they were not tired of such stupid talk.

"When are you going to Kislovodsk?" asked Valerian Nicolaevitch.

"To-morrow. And you?" and Mimotchka looked up at him with the tenderest, most beseeching look.

"I am not going there at all."

There was a silence.

"Why are you in such a hurry to get home?" began Mimotchka again.

"I am not going home. I think I already told you that the baroness had asked me to come and stay at their place.... The baron is an old school friend of mine, and I shall be glad to see him again! And she is such a charming woman too...."

And again they went on in silence. Mimotchka was struggling with herself, not knowing whether to ask him to come to Kislovodsk or not. If she asks him what reason shall she give for asking him to come, and how will he take it? And if she doesn't ask him he won't come. No, she will ask him, she will ask him. But still she was undecided, and said:

"I wish you would say some verses to me."

"Some verses? Certainly." He plucked a flower from the wayside and began declaiming:

"Elle était belle, si la nuit Qui dort dans la sombre chapelle," ...

and so on. When he had pronounced the last words with great effect, they had reached the door of the house, where mamma was waiting dinner for Mimotchka, but still she did not ask him to come, to Kislovodsk. She remarked that it was yet early, and that very likely Vava hadn't returned, so they might as well take another turn. Valerian Nicolaevitch offered her his arm, and they went on a little further, then they came back and passed the house on the other side of the way. After a little while Mimotchka spoke, and when they stopped at the door for the third time, and mamma had warmed up the soup on the kerosene stove for the second time, everything that was necessary had been said. He had promised to come to Kislovodsk for a month (that is, for the whole time that she would be there), and she had promised to go out riding with him the first evening they were there. Why did he so hold to it? Well, anyhow it didn't matter? They had made it up.