It gets dark. Mimotchka puts the pug to bed; mamma puts Mimotchka to bed. The guard lifts up the cushioned seat and makes up a bed for Vava, who is placed above mamma; he draws the shade over the lamp, and in the coupé darkness and silence reign, only interrupted by the snoring of the pug curled up in a ball on its quilted feather-bed.
And the train flies along, thumping and rattling, flies across ditches, bridges, and marshes, and, singing its monotonous wild song, rocks the tired passengers to sleep.
Mamma feels very comfortable. Having settled Mimotchka (who has been very quiet and uncomplaining to-day) for the night, mamma puts on her slippers, takes off her cap, ties a little shawl over her head, and stretches herself out with great enjoyment on the sofa. Well, now they're off, mamma very much hopes that the waters and change of air will act beneficially on her poor invalid. And then Variashski will be there, that is the main point. On that score mamma is quite at rest. She owns to herself that she will enjoy the journey, the holiday, and the rest for a time from all the bother of the servants, from the continual thought and worry about dinner, about the meat, about baby's food and his bath, about the price of sugar and candles, about the laundress and the kerosine for the lamps. Three months of entire rest from it all! As to baby, there is no reason to be anxious about him. He is in trustworthy hands, and will be most carefully looked after. Besides, Spiridon Ivanovitch will go to Peterhof to see him. And in the autumn Spiridon Ivanovitch himself is expecting a reward from the Emperor, which he is pretty sure to get. So that everything is very satisfactory on that side. And, in the meantime, they will travel, breathe the fresh air, and lay in stores of health and strength for the winter. Vava, now asleep over mamma's head, may certainly give some trouble, but well, never mind if she does. The great thing will be to influence her by kindness. Katia shall always go out with her; Aunt Julia has given Katia extra wages, and is paying her journey one way. In general, Aunt Julia is behaving very liberally about Vava's cure, her board, lodging, and any unforeseen expenses that may be incurred on her account. Mamma is taking such a lot of money with her that she really will hardly sleep at night for fear of thieves. And yet her sisters say that Julia is mean. No, she isn't mean. She is pedantic, and a little near about money perhaps, but not mean. For instance, she has allowed two hundred roubles for the doctor who is to attend Vava during the summer. Mamma thinks it a great deal too much. Surely Mimotchka won't have to pay Variashski as much? Oh no. They paid him very little in Petersburg? And a hundred roubles would be more than sufficient. Or perhaps they might have to give him a hundred and fifty. Mamma has so much confidence in him. And really he is such a nice, sympathetic man ... and un bel homme too. But still a hundred would be quite enough. A hundred?... a hundred and fifty ... or a hundred?...
And without having decided the question, mamma begins a gentle snore.
Mimotchka lies on the opposite sofa, gracefully resting her pretty head on her hand. She likes lying there, and thinks it a great deal nicer than in her own bed at home. There, when she had suffered so much from sleeplessness, she had been surrounded by such absolute stillness and silence from without, that she had felt all in a disturbance and tumult within. Everything in her had seemed to tremble, beat, knock, and shake. What exhaustion and what torments she had endured! But here, on the contrary, here all the noise and disturbance are from without, and that is what acts beneficially on her. She likes the whistling and ringing, the shaking and swaying of the sofa, the noise of the wheels, the jarring of the window-panes, and the rattling of the cinders in the ashpan. All these chaotic sounds soothe her and lull her to sleep. She enjoys lying there, and thinks about her new dresses. What hat shall she wear with her mousse gown? She is taking five hats with her, but none of them quite suits with the mousse gown; perhaps the blue flowers might be taken out of the black hat, and pale pink flowers and mousse ribbon put in instead. And Mimotchka thinks over the hat. But what is really perfect, indisputably perfect, is—her riding-habit. She has never had a bodice in her life that fits her like that. It's a dream! When the riding-habit had been brought home from Tedeschi's and Spiridon Ivanovitch had seen the bill, he had grumbled at the expense, and she had cried. How stupid she had been! What was there to cry about when the bodice fitted so divinely? But who would she ride with? Variashski would be there. She liked him very much. He was so tall and had such a good figure. He had said, "I will see that you are not dull." Perhaps they would be neighbours. They would become better acquainted. It doesn't matter about his being a doctor. He has his rank of general,[10] just the same as Spiridon Ivanovitch. They would get intimate and ride together. No doubt he rides Well. He ...
[10] In Russia, as in Germany and Austria, the civil service is divided into ranks like the military service.
And Mimotchka, closing her eyes, clearly sees the figure of Doctor Variashski; by degrees the figure begins to look at her from the back of the velvet sofa, from the looking-glass door, from the shaking windows, covered with their blue blinds, and from the ceiling with its glimmering, shaded light. And either the influence of her doctor's image, or her confidence in him, but anyhow something makes Mimotchka fall asleep, fall asleep without chloral or valerian, and she sees in her dreams the figure of Doctor Variashski.
Vava is more wakeful than any of them. She has no desire to sleep. She would like even now to be standing at the open window, inhaling the night breezes and watching how thicket after thicket vanishes, how the lights gradually appear in the open, and how the stars are beginning to shine in the heavens. But she had given her word of honour to be obedient, and so her aunt had hardly hinted that it was time to go to sleep when Vava at once climbed up into her bed. Now she is sorry to be lying down here. She finds it stuffy and dull; besides which she has to lie very quiet so as not to wake mamma and Mimotchka. Vava is glad that she is going to the Caucasus, and chiefly glad to be going alone; for Vava considers that she is going alone. She knows that mamma and Katia will be so taken up with Mimotchka and her comforts that they will not have any time left for her. She will be free. And for her that is the chief thing: to be free and in the open air the whole day long. What happiness!
There she will walk about the mountains and the forests without any French or English governess at her side to poison her pleasure. It will be warm there, it will be a beautiful place: there will be mountains, verdure, and sunshine.... There will be fresh people, fresh acquaintances. Perhaps there she will at last see and get to know those great and good people whom she so longs and so looks forward to meeting with. People like Washington, Cromwell, William Tell, Joan of Arc, or the mother of the Gracchi.... It is impossible that such people should not exist. If they were to be found in history it proved that they really had existed, and so such people must still exist. Only she has not met them. But that was because it had so happened. And she will yet meet with them, because she so wishes, so longs to become acquainted with them, to live in their intimacy, to learn of them, to raise herself to their level.... She will never believe that the whole world is only inhabited by people like her family's acquaintances. Oh! those acquaintances! How can anyone live in such a senseless, stupid fashion! If they were not sometimes roused from their apathy by avarice, envy, and vanity they would probably go to sleep altogether, and never wake again. And the majority of those she knows lead this sort of life, such a mean, empty, aimless, senseless existence. This is how her mother, sister, and aunts live.... They laugh at her, they call her odd, queer, and fantastic because she longs for something different, for something nobler and worthier. She understands that she must seem unbearable to them, but she cannot consider herself to blame.... Her father—he is not like all the rest; he, the darling, is good. He is clever and kind, and how kind he is to her! If it were not for him she would most likely have run away long ago. Her father is a splendid man! But still he is afraid.... Yes, he is afraid of his wife and her sisters, and gives way to them. Why?... He almost seems to want to make himself appear like one of them, and when he does show the best side of his nature he does it in a joking sort of way, as if he were laughing at himself and excusing himself to them. Why? Who does he give way to, who is he afraid of? Why not make them do as he chooses and follow him? How different it would all be if people were only bold, firm, and strong!... But those whom she knows are all alike—
"They are ashamed to own their love, they thrust
thought aside,
And are ready to barter their free will ...