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.