At dinner mamma informs Spiridon Ivanovitch of the results of their visit to Variashski and of their negotiations with Aunt Julia. At the mention of the Caucasus Spiridon Ivanovitch brightens up and gets quite good-humoured. In the Caucasus were passed the best years of his life, the best years of his military service. Even now he has many friends both in Tiflis and Piatigorsk—a wonderful land of which he has wonderful reminiscences. Shaslik, katchetinsk, narzan,[6] and riding-parties through the moonlight nights! If only Spiridon Ivanovitch were free, he himself would go with the ladies. Of course Mimotchka must go and make a cure there. The sun and the iron waters will certainly restore her to health. Perhaps in August he might be able to join them there himself. Oh yes, yes; she must go. Of course it would never do for her to go alone. Goodness knows what sort of society is to be found at the springs. But with mamma and Vava she might venture. About how much will the journey cost?
[6] Shaslik, small pieces of mutton roasted on a spit in Caucasian fashion. Katchetinsk, a wine something like Burgundy, made in the Caucasus. Narzan, a sparkling mineral water.
May in Petersburg. A cold wind raises clouds of dust in the streets, but the bright sun, the ladies' light gauze veils and parasols, and the noise of wheels, relieving the deep stillness of winter—all this already tells of spring, and what speaks more clearly of it than anything is the pure blue sky, across which all kinds of bright hopes and promises for the future flit alluringly. It seems to say that somewhere, far away from the granite quays and stone houses, from the dusty streets and squares with their meagre foliage, spring has already come, real spring, with her light breezes, with the nightingales' and larks' trills, with the scent of lilacs and cherry blossoms in the air—spring, that gladdens the heart of everyone who wishes to get away and can from the close, dusty town; and everyone who wishes to and can hastens to do so.
At the Nicholas railway station there is bustle and animation. Porters and carriers are rushing up and down the platform and jostling each other at the doors. From the refreshment rooms comes the noise of knives and forks, the clinking of glasses, the sound of conversation and exclamations, the scraping of feet, and all the busy fuss and noise of a crowd in movement.
On the platform, in front of the high, blue railway carriage, stands an elegant group seeing Mimotchka off. It is composed of the stout Spiridon Ivanovitch in his crimson-lined overcoat,[7] the tall and majestic Aunt Julia with a long eyeglass, through which she superciliously examines the surrounding public; the fat, rosy-faced Vova, Aunt Julia's favourite, her joy and pride; pretty Zina, in a huge, fashionable hat and short, fashionable jacket, and with two little white dogs, who look on God's world as haughtily and indifferently as their mistress; Mdme. Lambert, her governess: the three sisters Poltavsteff in thick veils; Aunt Mary with her son, and Aunt Sophy with her husband. Mimotchka is already seated in the carriage with her lapdog, which she could not make up her mind to leave behind her in Petersburg, and is smelling her sel de vinaigre. She is dreadfully tired, and besides that she is so sick of them all. The sooner she gets off the better. And there is Spiridon Ivanovitch, climbing up into the carriage again, and almost tumbling into the cushions, to inquire if she is quite comfortable.... Quite, quite; she has everything she wants!
[7] Russian generals wear overcoats lined with crimson.
Vava, a thin, black-eyed girl of sixteen, stands on the platform by her father, and, holding on to him with both hands, gives him her word of honour not to quarrel with her aunt, and in general to be good, and not like she is in Petersburg. And Vava, in her turn, makes him promise that he will write her long letters and often.
Mamma is fussily and anxiously whispering to Aunt Julia, giving her last instructions about baby, nurse, and the servants she has left behind. Then the expression of both their faces changes. Mamma's takes one of condolence and sympathy, Aunt Julia's of patient endurance; evidently they are talking of the cross she has to bear—of Vava.
"I know it's a great charge," says Aunt Julia, "but I will do all I can for you in return. And the principal thing is, that she must not on any account go out alone."