Mimi's Marriage

by Lidiia Ivanovna Veselitskaia

At the mention of Spiridon Ivanovitch, Valerian Nicolaevitch had frowned; at the mention of his wife a bored, weary expression overspread his countenance. Mimotchka knew the expression well, and she always rejoiced at it. Although she had heard from the baroness that his wife was a charming woman, still it was more agreeable to her to think that she was dull, unsuited to him, and as little wanted as Spiridon Ivanovitch himself. If he were happy with her, he would not come away from her, and would not have such a pale, weary looking face and sunken cheeks, would he?... No; he was probably unhappy and suffering, and only did not complain because he was too proud. Poor dear!...

Meanwhile they had got down to the pass, and Valerian Nicolaevitch proposed to Mimotchka to dismount and walk to a place from where he considered the view of the rocks to be even finer. Osman led away the horses, and they made their way over the stones by the side of a murmuring mountain stream. A high, perpendicular rock rose behind them like a menacing wall. It seemed to Mimotchka as if she were descending into the bowels of the earth, or as if she were at the bottom of a deep well. The steppe across which they had galloped was so high above her head, and the sky, on which the long-expected moon had at last appeared, illuminating the rocks and their picturesque verdure, seemed so far off.

"Well, how do you like it?" ...

"C'est féerique," murmured Mimotchka "c'est féerique!" And what stillness, what utter stillness! No; decidedly she is somewhere not on the earth. And for an instant, for the last time, the disquieting thought came into Mimotchka's head. Had she done right to come here? He had asked her to come, but perhaps he would have had a better opinion of her if she had not come. But, no; what nonsense! What harm is there? Everybody comes here to admire nature, and she has also come to admire nature. It's no use to come to the Caucasus and not visit its picturesque parts. Otherwise afterwards, when she looks at photographs, she will find that she has not seen anything. Why doesn't Vava ride on horseback? She might have come with them. And what harm is there in her having come here alone with him? If she were to have gone with him to some restaurant now, that would have been dreadful! (But of course she would never have gone with him.) And they have only come here to admire nature. Yes, and besides, after all, they have the Tartar groom with them. Somewhere in the distance she can hear a horse neighing; those are their horses and Osman.

And, having quieted her conscience by such reflections, Mimotchka repeated, "C'est féerique!" ... And she sincerely admired the picturesque rocks, and Valerian Nicolaevitch sincerely admired her.

"You are not tired?" asked he, spreading out his cloak upon the ground. "Sit down; I am sorry that I have already told you the legend about the poor youth who was killed here. I ought to have told you it now, here, in view of the rocks.... Well, I must tell you something else."

Decidedly Mimotchka was no longer on earth. It was impossible that that could be the same moon that shone on Spiridon Ivanovitch and baby. That was somewhere far away, but this was quite a different moon so benignly protecting them. And what a soft, languorous, magic light she sheds over that little corner where they are alone together and so far from the crowds of people, from the noise and the world....

How quiet it is, how quiet!... What moments of full, perfect, unalloyed happiness! If one could only fall asleep here, die, and never awake again, never come back to life. And he was with her, near her, and gazing at her as her humble, faithful slave, as her devoted friend.

And for the first time in her life Mimotchka no longer thought if she was looking pretty or not, nor how she was dressed, nor what her aunts would say of her. She felt somehow strange, as if she were neither asleep nor awake. She had never experienced anything like it before. And her breathing was oppressed. For some moments she was afraid she was going to faint.

A stone fell and they both started. He drew still nearer to her. Were you frightened? Is that really him? Yes; those are his eyes shining. How pale he is! And how pale the moon is! What is it all—a dream or a reality? And Mimotchka, wishing to break through this fearful, oppressive silence and to get the better of the numbness overpowering her, repeated again, "C'est féerique, c'est féerique!"