[MIMI'S MARRIAGE]
[MIMOTCHKA AT THE SPRINGS]

MIMI'S MARRIAGE

V. MIKOULITCH

(LIDIA IVANOVNA VESELITSKAYA)

TRANSLATED FROM THE RUSSIAN

WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY

C. HAGBERG WRIGHT, LL.D.

T. FISHER UNWIN LTD.

ADELPHI TERRACE, LONDON

1915

[INTRODUCTION]

The genius of Turgeniev and Tolstoy, of Dostoevsky and Gorky, has given fame and distinction to the Russian novel, but while the principal works of these great writers and their fellows are well known to English readers, the women novelists of Russia have been left almost untouched by the translator. Yet there are many authoresses of talent in the literary world of Russia at the present day; notably Madame Dmitrieva, born 1859, of peasant parents. Her first novel was entitled From the Heart not from the Head. Two of her best-known books are Mityukha, the Schoolmaster, and In Various Directions. She has said that "her first school was the village street, and her teachers, the grey old village folk and dire need."

Other writers of ability are Olga Chumina (born 1864), who has translated several poems by Francis Coppée, and also produced a play entitled The Flicker that Went Out; Madame Smirnov, author of the powerful novel, The Salt of the Earth; M. V. Krestovskaya (born 1862), whose stories of theatrical life have the charm of simplicity and truth, and whose Woman-Artist appeared in the Journal des Débats; Madame Verbitskaya, who attained an extraordinary popularity with her daring novel The Keys of Happiness; and Madame Lidia Ivanovna Veselitskaya, who, under the pseudonym of V. Mikoulitch, has written sketches of Russian society which are full of humour and clever characterisation. The best known are the series entitled Mimi's Marriage, Mimi (or Mimotchka) at the Springs, and Mimi Poisons Herself, which have been translated into no less than six European languages.

The writer of these genial satires on the weaknesses of her sex was born in 1857. She belonged to a noble family with estates in Southern Russia, and was educated at the Pavlovsk Institute, one of the great schools for women in Russia. Soon after her debut in society, she married an officer in the Russian army.

She began her literary career with some simple tales intended for young people; Family Evenings, In the Family and in the School, and Of Children's Reading, but in 1883 she struck a bolder note with Mimotchka, the Bride, or Mimi's Marriage, which made its first appearance in the Vestnik Evropy, a leading Russian monthly review. But it was not until the second of the series, Mimotchka at the Springs, was published seven years later that "V. Mikoulitch" sprang to her present position of widespread popularity. The witty superficiality of the chapters descriptive of Mimi's girlhood develops in Mimi at the Springs into a brilliant, incisive study of a selfish, empty-headed, and exceedingly pretty young woman. The analysis of her character is so penetrating and pitiless that Tolstoy, who admired the book, remarked that "the author must be a man, as no woman would be so frank in writing of her own sex."

Mimi bears a surface resemblance to Anna Karenina, but she escapes the whirl-pool of passion that engulfed Tolstoy's ill-starred heroine, and glides almost unscathed through the romantic episode of l'homme au chien. The latter, though only lightly sketched in, is a cleverly suggested portrait of a cultivated and elegant Russian of the wealthy upper classes who, if he permits himself an occasional lapse from conjugal fidelity, trims the balance by the "correction" of his manners. He is a past master in the art of guiding a novice through the mazes of flirtation and emerging free from entanglement.

At the end of it all Mimi's heart is touched but not broken. Perhaps she Was even slightly disillusioned by the calmness with which her "correct" admirer met the crisis of her departure from the Caucasus.

The secondary characters are also well drawn; notably that of the mother of Mimi, a self-sacrificing "doormat" whose mission in life is to make things smooth for her cherished daughter; but to those who seek to discover the personality of an author through the medium of his puppets, and are ready to find a veiled autobiography in the career of the hero or heroine, it may be suggested that the character of Vava, the lonely, idealistic, day-dreaming cousin of Mimi, is far nearer to the writer's heart than the fascinating heroine who fills the title-role.

Vava has many traits in common with the boy-hero of Tolstoy's Childhood, which is only another way of saying that in Russia young people of both sexes are more thoughtful, introspective, and inclined to philosophise upon abstract subjects than the romps and tomboys of our English nurseries and schoolrooms.

The sympathetic earnestness of the description of Vava's love of solitude in the Caucasian woods, amounts to an avowal that the author also has felt the joy of loneliness shared with crickets, lady-birds, butterflies, and bees, "while over her head a great eagle soars calmly up, as if carrying on his broad wings her dreams, her hopes, and her faith in God." In scenes like these the prevailing tone of playful irony yields to one of genuine emotion, and one is tempted to wish that the writer had given her inner convictions fuller play. V. Mikoulitch has, however, struck a deeper note of human feeling in her recent story of humble life entitled The Bath— a village tragedy turning upon the incident of the theft of an old woman's petticoat in the public bath-house; but it seems doubtful whether her success in this new vein will equal that of her earlier works.

To the background of Mimi at the Springs may be ascribed some measure of its popularity. The Caucasus has inspired many of the greatest of the writers of Russia, and to the Russian reading public it is still dear as the land of legend and romance.

Pushkin, Lermontov, Tolstoy (in his early masterpiece The Cossacks,) have each revelled in the beauty of the great southern mountain range, with its luxuriant forests, its snow-clad peaks, and innumerable springs of mineral water.

The Slav temperament, with its swift transitions from feverish gaiety to nervous exhaustion, finds peculiar relief in reverting to the simple life of the Caucasian watering-places. There many a disgraced official or disappointed genius has regained contentment if not happiness, and realised, despite the pain of exile, that there is a sweetness in adversity.

In describing the scenery of the Caucasus, V. Mikoulitch has followed not unworthily in the steps of her great fore-runners, and shown that her cynicism is the mere protective armour of one who is at heart an idealist.

A sequel, Mimi Poisons Herself, appeared in the Vestnik Evropy in 1893, but was received more coldly than its predecessor, owing, perhaps, to the disappointment of readers with a taste for tragedy, since Mimi does not succeed in poisoning herself after all.

C. HAGBERG WRIGHT.

[MIMI'S MARRIAGE]

I

MIMOTCHKA—is engaged! Mimotchka[1] is once more engaged, and this time, it seems, engaged in earnest. She receives congratulations, pays visits to her relations, and accepts presents from them. Her aunts question her with curiosity and interest about the details of her trousseau; her uncles bring their best wishes, joking at Mimotchka and teasing her, while Mimotchka slightly blushes and casts down her innocent-looking eyes.

"And are you very much in love with your fiancé?" they ask Mimotchka.

[1] Mimotchka, or Mimi, is sometimes used as a diminutive name for Marie.

"As yet, I know my fiancé too little to be in love with him, but I ... respect him," she answers.

What a reply! Nobody had expected she would answer so cleverly. All the aunts think she has answered very cleverly, though up till now Mimotchka had never shown any more cleverness than would be required of so pretty a girl as she.

She respected her fiancé. And really Spiridon Ivanovitch was quite worthy of her respect. He was well off, had a good rank, and occupied a sufficiently prominent position in the Government service; he was no longer very young, but still he was not very old; he was not handsome, was bald, perhaps rather too stout, but still he was a fine-looking man, and might have aspired to a rich bride.

And really how lucky Mimotchka is I know that many girls of her age among her friends, and especially their mothers, are ready to burst with envy and vexation that they could not get Spiridon Ivanovitch for themselves, and say that he was mercilessly hunted down, and that Mimotchka was thrown at his head.... But, goodness me, what won't envious women's tongues say! Instead of repeating such absurdities, let us rather rejoice with Mimotchka, rejoice with our whole heart, as do her good aunts.

"Well, thank God, thank God!" says Aunt Sophy; "I am so glad about Mimotchka. I do hope she will be happy with him. It's just as well that he isn't young; Mimi is still such a child, she requires an elderly, serious man...."

"Of course it's best that he isn't young," confirms Aunt Mary; "it's easier to keep such a husband under her thumb. And, as a good aunt, I advise you, Mimotchka, to take your Spiridon Ivanovitch well in hand in time."

"I told you that everything was for the best," says Aunt Julia, in conclusion. "Just think how fortunate it is that you 'broke it off' with that other good-for-nothing fellow!"

And really everything was for the best. Mimotchka's first fiancé was a brilliant young guardsman, with beautiful shiny boots, black moustaches, curly chestnut hair, and a gold-mounted pince-nez. Mimotchka met him for the first time at an evening party, where he led the dancing,[2] clinking his spurs, facetiously fanning himself with the fans and scented hand-kerchiefs of the ladies he danced with, smiling gaily to show his brilliantly white teeth, and with diabolical entrain calling out: "Ser-r-r-r-rez le rond!... Chaîne!" ... He took a few turns with Mimotchka, admired her while she was waltzing with some one else, and, having ascertained what was the social position of her parents, asked to be presented to her.

[2] At dances in Russia a leader or conductor is generally chosen, who directs and calls out the figures in the cotillion, mazourka, and quadrilles, which are more complicated than in England.

Then he took to calling, then he began to pay her attention, and finally made her an offer.

The brilliant guardsman and adroit dancer passed for a dangerous lady-killer. He flirted with all the pretty girls, widows, and married women that he was acquainted with, and was said to be the object of the affections of many of them. So that to carry him off from them all must have been very flattering to the vanity of both Mimotchka and her mamma.

Mimotchka accepted his offer, and was announced to be "fiancée."

On this occasion Aunt Sophy gave a dance, Aunt Mary a dinner with champagne, and Aunt Julia a folle-journée with dancing, champagne, and a sleigh drive out of town.

The young man was respectful, attentive, and amiable to his fiancées relations, and pleased them all.

"Do you know, Mimotchka," said Aunt Mary to her, "he is so nice, so very nice, that if I were only a little younger, on my word of honour, I should try and cut you out."

"Yes, you will make a handsome couple," confirmed Aunt Sophy.

"And you were quite right, my dear, to accept his offer," concluded Aunt Julia. "Such a fiancé is not met with every day. He's on the right road, and is sure to advance a great deal in the service."

The fiancé was not only "on the right road," but he was a "prince" besides, of a somewhat decayed family, certainly, but still he was a prince, and not an Eastern one. And, in addition to this, he was, he said, the nephew and sole heir of a rich, childless uncle, who owned land in the south, fifteen thousand dessiatines,[3] and coal mines as well.

[3] 40,500 acres.

Having given their blessing, Mimotchka's parents set about preparing a most luxurious trousseau for the future princess. It had to be done on credit, because their affairs were just then terribly involved.... However, as long as Mimotchka could remember, her parents' affairs had always been terribly involved; but this did not prevent their living without denying themselves any pleasures, excepting always the pleasure of paying their debts, the sum of which had thus grown and grown like ill weeds.

In view of the approaching marriage, they again had to borrow from one and another, but to owe a few thousand of roubles more or less—what could that matter when the happiness of an only daughter was concerned? And then in the future Mimi would have the childless uncle's coal mines! All Mimotchka's relations made her presents. Aunt Sophy gave her a costly fur cloak (shouba.) Aunt Mary an elegant tea-gown in vert-jaspe plush, lined with bleu-nuage satin, and trimmed with rich lace. Aunt Julia gave the silver. All the linen was marked with a princess's coronet. Aunt Julia said that this was not correct, because Mimotchka was not a princess, and the linen ought to be marked with the bride's monogram, and that it was ridiculous to be in such a hurry about the coronet, as if they could not conceal their joy that Mimotchka was going to be a princess. But Aunt Mary and Aunt Sophy backed up mamma, saying, "After all, what did it matter? Would not the linen that was made after the marriage be marked with a princess's coronet; why, then, not have the same marks on all at once?" And so all the linen was marked with a princess's coronet.

Before Mimotchka's engagement was officially announced, papa came to a clear understanding with the young man. He confessed that just at the present time his affairs were perhaps rather involved, and that he was not in a position to give anything to Mimotchka.... But he took on himself all the expenses of fitting up a nest for the young couple, and promised to help them afterwards, as far as was possible, by allowing his daughter a part of his income.

The young man, although he thanked papa for speaking so openly, warmly assuring him that in choosing Mimotchka he had not been guided by any interested motives, still could not hide some disappointment on hearing that Mimotchka was—portionless. He had never expected it, and openly said, that it would oblige him—not to give up his fiancée— oh no, certainly not!—but to put off the marriage to an indefinite period.

In his turn he confessed that just now he was passing through some rather unpleasant monetary difficulties. Of course, these difficulties could not give him any very serious anxiety while he was alone and an unmarried man, and, after all, his uncle's coal mines must come eventually to him; but none the less he would consider himself the most abject and dishonourable of men if, under the present circumstances, he were to allow himself to marry a portionless girl, that is, without waiting, if not for the death of the childless coal uncle, at any rate for some advancement in the service.

The prince added, that in the not very distant future he expected to be appointed to the command of a battalion, and that it would be very agreeable for him to be appointed to the command of a battalion in N——, a pretty, gay town, where life was not very expensive, and where he might somehow settle down and manage to live with his young wife, of course not without substantial help from papa and the childless uncle. If papa would like to make use of his influence and connections to advance the interests of his future son-in-law, perhaps he might hasten Mimotchka's marriage, and secure the happiness of the young people.

In conclusion, the fiancé, as a man of honour, plainly declared that he would only marry in the event of his being appointed to the above-mentioned battalion. Papa must arrange the nomination.

It was difficult, but the happiness of an only daughter is worth labouring for. Papa's toils and efforts were crowned with success. The future bridegroom received the command of the battalion, and went to N—— to accept it. The day of the wedding was already fixed, there remained but two weeks to it. But it was unexpectedly put off on account of mourning.

Poor papa died suddenly, died at a friend's house, almost at the card-table, from a stroke or a rupture of the heart—I cannot say which. A telegram announcing the catastrophe was sent off at once to the fiancé, but he did not even come for the funeral. This immediately struck all Mimotchka's relations unpleasantly, and especially her mamma, into whose heart there stole alarming suspicions. And her suspicions appeared well founded. When he returned to Petersburg the young man quite changed in his intercourse with his future bride and his future mother-in-law. It soon became evident that he was only looking out for a pretext to break off the engagement. He tried being jealous with his fiancée, made fun of her, corrected her, educated her, but Mimotchka had such an immovably angelic character, that, in spite of all his efforts, her intended could not succeed in quarrelling with her. Then he attacked mamma; there matters went easier, and the encounters soon took a dangerous turn. They began with reproaches, pin-pricks, innuendoes; then both sides came to open explanations.

The fiancé maintained that papa had promised to give Mimotchka two thousand four hundred roubles[4] a year.

[4] About £250.

Mamma maintained that papa had never made any such promise.

To this the fiancé replied that if so (that is, if they wished to deceive him and call him a liar to his face), then, as a man of honour, there only remained for him to....

Mamma did not allow the man of honour to finish his threats, but offered to give up all her pension to the young people, stipulating only that they should let her live with them. The prince had had very good quarters assigned to him in N——, in which he could easily spare a corner for mamma.

But, on hearing this proposal, the fiancé announced categorically, that he would only marry in the event of mamma's giving up the whole of her pension to Mimotchka, and living herself where and how she liked, only not with them. He had seen too many examples of how mothers-in-law had ruined the conjugal happiness of their daughters not to wish to guard Mimotchka from the possibility of such unpleasantness in the future, more especially so as it already seemed sufficiently clear that he, personally, could not get on with his future mother-in-law.

The young man's impudence agitated mamma to such a degree that she went to complain of him to her sisters, asking their advice and help. The aunts were also agitated and consternated on hearing from mamma's lips that "this poor, miserable little prince, this guardsman frotteur, this passez-moi le mot, blackguard, wished, it seemed, to refuse to make Mimotchka happy!"

The aunts took the matter up warmly, and set to work to effect a reconciliation. They went from one to another, almost choked themselves with excitement, talked till their throats were dry, shrugged their shoulders, threw up their hands, severely discussed and judged the matter from all sides, admonished the young man, admonished mamma, and pitied and comforted the unfortunate Mimotchka.

"I don't understand how it can all finish," said Aunt Sophy, "but it seems to me that it would be really best for them to separate now.... Anyhow, he has shown himself a dishonourable fellow. He got the command, and now he won't marry her!"

"But, you know," observed Aunt Mary, "speaking openly, one can understand that this marriage does not particularly charm him. After all, what has Mimotchka? She is pretty, certainly. But, all the same, what sort of a match is it for him? He understands that he can do a great deal better.... And you will see that he won't marry her. Of course, all these explanations are only a pretext. It's as clear as the day that he simply doesn't want to marry her."

"But he must be made to marry her," said Aunt Julia. "It's impossible to compromise a girl like that and go unpunished."

It finished by the aunts almost quarrelling among themselves; but all the same mamma received from the intended a long and eloquent epistle, in which he declared that it was time to put an end to these disagreeable misunderstandings. For some time past he had been clearly convinced, both of his fiancée's indifference towards him, and of the inevitability of unpleasant encounters with his future mother-in-law; so that he would consider himself the most abject and dishonourable of men if, weighing all this, he did not decide to sacrifice his feelings and give back her promise to Mimotchka, asking her to consider herself perfectly free from that moment, and wishing her every happiness. In conclusion, he added that he was leaving Petersburg that day for N——, from where he would not fail to send the furniture and other things belonging to Mimotchka that had been already sent to furnish the little nest by her affectionate relations. There was a P.S., in which it Was mentioned that if mamma would like to sell the furniture, and if she would agree to let it go for ... (a modest figure was stated), then the fiancé would like to buy it, and would not fail to send the money.

Mamma, panting with excitement, and beside herself with vexation, read this letter to her sisters. The aunts comforted and quieted her.

"Well, perhaps it's for the best," said Aunt Sophy; "speaking openly, I never cared for him. I always felt that no good would come out of that connection."

"No, don't let us be partial," remarked Aunt Mary, "he has qualities.... Only, as a man that has been a good deal spoilt, he is perhaps a little selfish.... Yes, and wants to make a good career too.... That was evident from the very beginning. I must acknowledge that, when I heard that my late brother-in-law was asked to exert himself about getting that appointment, I said to my husband, "You may say what you like, but, il y a du louche."

"Well, let him go, and Heaven bless him!" concluded Aunt Julia. "There are as good fish in the sea as ever came out. Mimotchka can make a much better match. It's a good thing that he has left Petersburg. At any rate it will all be done with and forgotten. It's no use despairing. Believe me, everything is for the best."

And perhaps really it is all for the best. Thank Heaven, Mimotchka is once more engaged, once more receiving congratulations.... This time not only the day, but also the "hour" of the marriage is fixed, and that hour is so near that Aunt Julia's carriage and black horses are waiting at the door to take Mimotchka to the fashionable church where the guests are assembling.

And Mimotchka herself is sitting before her toilet-table in her pink, young girl's room, and looks in the glass, watching the movements of the coiffeur Gustave arranging her pretty hair.

On the bed, with its folded-back pink curtains, lies the white dress, the tulle veil, and the wreath of orange blossoms.

II

When Mimotchka was four years old she had not any idea either of "The little shooter," or "The canary bird,"[5] but she could sing "Il était une bergêr" ... and "Malbrough s'en va-t-en guerre." At seven she could already lisp and chatter very prettily in French. Mdlle. Victoire, her nurse, had, up to that time, taught her the French alphabet and a few little songs. Then she was given Perrault's and Berken's fairy tales, which acquainted her with the histories of Bluebeard, Puss-in-Boots, and Peau D'Ane.

[5] Russian nursery rhymes.

And what a cherub Mimotchka was, with her sweet little face, her flaxen hair, her plump, bare arms and shoulders, dressed like a doll in a white frock with a broad sash! It was impossible not to admire her, and not to tell her that she was a most charming child. And Mimotchka liked to be told so, cast down her eyes, made a pretty curtsy, and was already coquettish.

When she grew older and had mastered all the four conjugaisons, she was half reluctantly taught to read and write Russian, German, and English, and she had masters for dancing, caligraphy, and drawing. Music was also tried, first the piano, then the harp, and then the violin.... But nohow could the instrument, method, and teacher predestinated by Providence to make a musician of Mimotchka be found, and after three years these musical exercises were entirely given up, as it seemed that Mimotchka's health was too delicate to stand them.

In conclusion, to crown Mimotchka's education, she was placed for two years either in Mdlle. Dudu's or Mdlle. Dodo's pension, or in the Institution, or else she was sent to France to a convent. I don't exactly remember what was done with our Mimotchka, but I remember that mamma either would not or could not limit herself to "home education," but placed her daughter in some fashionable finishing establishment.

Having finished or half finished her course of study (in most cases Mimotchka did not finish the course on account of the delicacy of her health or on account of unforeseen circumstances), Mimotchka returned home, a grown-up young lady, and wore long dresses. She was pretty, graceful, and feminine. She could speak and read French; could even write in that language freely enough to compose an invitation to tea or a letter to her dressmaker. She had learnt something besides at her school, but as that "something" was unnecessary, unimportant, and uninteresting, she promptly forgot it.

But I would ask you, reader, your hand on your heart, is it necessary for a pretty woman to have any other knowledge besides the knowledge of the French language? Do her wants, her joys, and her actions show the indispensability of any other knowledge? Does Mimotchka want to be dressed, shod, have her hair done; does she wish to furnish and arrange her rooms, to have her table nicely served—the knowledge of the French language will facilitate her explanations with the French modiste, coiffeur, and upholsterer, who are all ready, not only to fulfil her orders, but, in case of need, to give her ideas and good advice.... Does Mimotchka want to entertain her guests, in what other language, pray, can she converse so prettily and unaffectedly of the weather, the races, and the opera?... Does Mimotchka wish to read light, agreeable reading that does not take her away from the beautiful world of balls and ribbons, does not wrinkle up her forehead, does not excite her thoughts and her heart—reading light as the vaporous flounces on the skirt of her ball-dress—French literature gives her clean little volumes, perhaps of not entirely clean contents, but nicely printed on good paper, and with such interesting characters!

You think, perhaps, that Mimotchka had studied but little and that poorly, that she did not care anything at all about books? On the contrary, she was "awfully" fond of reading. After toilettes and going out there was nothing in the world she liked so much as chocolat mignon and French novels.

Don't think either that because Mimotchka was so fond of French novels she was unpatriotic, or that she had forgotten the Russian alphabet. Not at all. She would have been glad to read Russian, but there was really nothing to read! If a careful mother wished to give her daughter a Russian book to read, what could you recommend her besides Fillipoff's or Galakhoff's selections from the best authors, which, of course, cannot be expected to satisfy the imagination of a girl at an age when she naturally dreams of love and of marriage....

Mamma once raised this question at her sisters', and the aunts only confirmed her own opinion, that in Russian there was absolutely nothing whatever to read.

Aunt Sophy declared that she had subscribed to the World of Fashion, and was sorry that she had done so, because it could not be compared to French publications of that kind. Aunt Mary took in Records of the Fatherland, and said that the contributors to that magazine used such vulgar expressions that she was really obliged to have a dictionary by her when reading.

"I was told," said she, "over and over again of a certain Stchedrin.... And my husband read his books and went into such ecstasies.... And so one day I tried to read them—I understood nothing! Really, literally nothing!... Such coarseness, all about peasants and their shirts.... And so I told my husband. 'Well,' I said, 'I don't know, either I am too stupid, or goodness knows what it all means!'"

Aunt Julia read the Russian Messenger, and although she owned that there were some good novels published in that magazine, yet, all the same, she would not advise their being given to Mimotchka to read, because latterly there was hardly a novel without Socialists being introduced into it.... And what might not an acquaintance with Socialists lead to?... And the aunts decided that there was no reason for Mimotchka to read Russian while there were so many nice French books.

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.

Mimotchka expects it herself. She still dreams of love and of Maurice, but, all the same, she knows that the chief thing is—money: that without a carriage, without becoming surroundings, and without toilettes, she would not care about love.

Mimotchka knows that she is une demoiselle à marier, but she also knows that she is still young, that she is quite a "child," and as she is "a child" she waltzes, smiles, and plays with her fan and her innocent eyes.

... How artful young men are nowadays! How difficult it is to bring them to the point! Oh, if only Maurice had been amongst them, he would have prized Mimotchka; he would have chosen her without looking into poor papa's purse. But only try and find such a young man!

And meanwhile time flies.... The poor girl is already obliged to take quinine and iron. These intoxicating balls, these sleepless nights—all this tires her out.

And so, reader, imagine the moment when Mimotchka, her first freshness past, begins to get thin and lose her beauty; the doctor, a friend of the family, who is tired of prescribing arsenic, iron, and pepsine gratis, orders the young lady to some foreign watering-place; there is no money to be got anywhere; the dress-makers refuse to make even the simplest travelling dress on credit.... Then imagine how it would be if, at such a moment, unpleasant in itself, some catastrophe were to happen: supposing one of the parents were to fall dangerously ill, or the father be dismissed in disgrace from the service in consequence of the discovery of some unlawful transactions; or supposing he were to die, leaving his family a small pension and unpaid debts.... It matters little what it is exactly that happens.... But there is nothing to guarantee that such things will not happen.

In our Mimotchka's life the catastrophe was her poor papa's death. He died, leaving his wife a pension and debts, the sum of which had latterly considerably increased on account of the expenses of the trousseau. Mamma simply did not know what to do with the creditors, who seemed to creep out of every crevice. The faithless fiancé had broken off the marriage, and, having bought Mimotchka's furniture for a mere song, had relapsed into complete silence. Indirectly, a little later on, mamma heard a rumour that he was going to marry the daughter of the Governor of N——.

The position of the poor women was in all respects terrible. There was literally not a copeck in the house. Mamma tore her hair and anathematised the faithless, good-for-nothing bridegroom. The aunts comforted and condoled with her, but among themselves they could not help rather blaming poor mamma.

"Of course Annette's position is awful," said Aunt Mary, "but one can't but say that she herself is to blame. What was the use of ordering such a trousseau when they were already so badly off? There is nothing to eat in the house, and Mimotchka has linen like a princess! And into whose eyes did they expect to throw dust by it?"

"Yes, of course, they themselves are to blame," agreed Aunt Sophy, "but, all the same, I am sorry for poor Mimotchka. She has been so spoilt; and who knows what yet awaits her in the future! It may end by her having to go out as a governess."

"I gave them a hundred roubles to-day," said Aunt Julia, in conclusion, "but I can't give every day. If I were only to count up all I have already given ..."

Mimotchka's personal wants were but little affected; as before, she had everything necessary for her toilet, her silk stockings, her chocolate and French novels. But the irritatingly dejected aspect of mamma, her tearful explanations with the aunts, the scenes with the sharp French fournisseurs, demanding more and more money, could not fail to make a disagreeable impression on the young girl.

And Mimotchka was sulky and capricious. She refused to take her iron because she had been told it spoiled the teeth, and purposely refused to eat the underdone rump-steak ordered for her, purposely ate nothing but chocolat praliné. She gave up reading novels, gave up doing crochet, gave up washing and combing her dog and teasing it—in a word, she threw aside all her usual occupations and—sulked. Now Mimotchka lay on the sofa for whole days together, her arms supporting her head, or stood looking aimlessly out of the window. On account of her mourning she did not go out. She was so dull! Mimotchka was sorry that her marriage had been broken off. Not that she had particularly cared for her fiancé, oh no! She had liked many of her other dancers a great deal better.... And besides, she had been told that he was "a good-for-nothing fellow," which she could not but repeat because she Was accustomed to believe her mamma and aunts in everything. But, good-for-nothing fellow or not, she was sorry that she was not married. If you only knew how sick she was of all these reproaches, questions, and condolences!... Sick of all her girlish pink and white frocks, of her little gold cross and the string of pearls round her neck.... How near had been the married woman's little caps, diamonds, and velvet dresses, and the freedom from mamma's guardianship, and how suddenly it had all flown away, all fallen into ruins!

Mimotchka sulked, was capricious, and longed for some change, some way out of her present position. Mamma also longed for some way out of their difficulties, and spent her nights in prayers, tears, and dreams, either of a fresh bridegroom appearing as a deliverer, or of an unexpected inheritance, or of winning the great lottery prize of two hundred thousand roubles.

IV

What way out could Mimotchka herself hope for? And what could be expected to happen in the life of a poor girl of nineteen? Don't be vexed with me, Mimotchka, for the expression "a poor girl," I know that such an expression does not sound well, reminding one, perhaps, of a governess or a telegraph girl.... And such an appellation is ill suited to an elegant young lady in a jacket from Brissac and a hat from Bertrand. But appearances are deceitful.... And I hope that Mimotchka herself will not contradict me when I say that she is—a portionless young person, qui n'a pas le sou.

So what can be expected to happen in the life of a poor girl of nineteen? To marry a young man, as poor as herself, let us say, but honest, energetic, and loving, worthy of all love and respect, but possessing neither houses, nor lands, nor shares, nor bonds, nor having any other sources of income besides his work.... To love such a man, to become his wife, friend, and helpmate, to lay her pretty head on his shoulder, to rest her soft little hand trustingly on his strong arm, and walk with him through life's way, brightening and cheering that way for him by her love and caresses?... To bring into the worker's modest abode her beauty, her youth, and grace, to forget herself in her care for her beloved, and in her turn to become the object of another's thoughts and care and the crown of another's life?...

But, allow me.... You say that he has not any other sources of income besides his own personal work. Let us suppose that your young man works very hard—let us suppose even hard enough for Mimotchka not to have to dress like a poor creature in an old-fashioned gown. But if he were to die—in what position would she be left? If he were an elderly man, he might, at least, leave her a pension; but a young man, say, what can he leave her? Children, most likely.... What is to become of her with these unfortunate children, who inherit neither houses nor lands, who inherit nothing but work? I agree that work is in itself a capital, by the interest of which Mimotchka can profit as long as it is in her husband's hands, but if her husband were to die and the capital pass into Mimotchka's own hands, I doubt if she would be satisfied with such an inheritance.

Don't think, however, that Mimotchka was exceptionally idle, greedy, and heartless. Perhaps she would have been glad to love and sacrifice luxury to the man she loved. Had she not dreamt of Maurice? But she could only make such a sacrifice in the event of meeting with a young man—well, say a young man like "le jeune homme pauvre" of Octave Feuillet. Do you remember how the poor young fellow almost dies of hunger and gnaws the buds and leaves of the trees in the Tuileries gardens, after having spent his last money in buying expensive soap, bonbons, and prints for his sister? How touching! What woman's heart would not prize such generosity, such delicacy! And how charming are the young man's elegant manners, his tact and behaviour in the modest social position he occupies. So that you feel all the while that he is really only masquerading en jeune homme pauvre, and when the right moment comes he throws off the wooden shoes and straw hat of the poor steward and shows himself incomparably richer than his bride.

Perhaps Mimotchka would have fallen in love with such a young man as that? Not for one moment! But you must allow that it is not so easy to fall in love with a young Russian, who does not come into any inheritance, does not speak French, or, if he does, with a bad accent, and who thinks a woman ought to study seriously and work, who earns his daily bread by giving lessons or doing literary work, or perhaps as a clerk in an office, or else serves on the railway in the capacity of something like a stoker (because it appears that such young men really do exist!). You must allow that, if a girl gives up the idea of a carriage and nice rooms, gives up society and going out, gives up Brissac and Bertrand, and fine under-linen, perhaps even gives up chocolat mignon and French novels, then the young man to whom all this is sacrificed must at least be worthy of her and deserve her. But our poor young men are so common, so rough, and d'un terre à terre! And such being the case, what can you find attractive in them?

In short, Mimotchka, any one poor is unsuited to you. Yes, and mamma would never allow you to "bring beggars into the world," as she expresses it.... And mamma has experience and knows what she says. She knows what it is to live on small means!

Another prospect: to give up all hope of marrying and to reconcile herself to the idea of becoming a useless old maid. (That pretty Mimotchka, who already at seven years old knew what suited her and cried if they tied her hair with a ribbon she didn't like!)

But supposing that she gives up the idea of marrying. How is she to live in that case? how exist if, which God forbid, her mamma were to die (and she certainly will die some day) and there would be nobody left to look after Mimotchka's toilettes and her meals, nobody to sell and pawn things, to send away creditors, to borrow and tearfully squeeze money out of relations and friends? Mimotchka is such a child. She would be lost by herself.... Live by her work? earn her own living? become a lady-doctor, clerk, or book-keeper?... But Mimotchka has been educated with quite different ideas!...

As for medicine, we had better not mention it at all. At the mere thought, the mere recollection of Mimotchka's innocent-looking, downcast eyes, I could not bring myself to suggest such an improper occupation to her as the study of anatomy. And her nerves!... Do you know, Mimotchka is such a little coward that, every night before going to sleep, she takes a lighted candle and looks under the bed, the armchairs, and tables, so as to make quite sure that there is no Rocambole, Jack Sheppard, or dreadful beggar hidden there. She even looks in the ventilators of the stove.... She is so afraid, so afraid of everything! How could you ever accustom her to the sight of suffering, of blood, and of death?

It is equally absurd to imagine Mimotchka a clerk, for instance, in the office of a railway company, to imagine her in a room furnished with tables and desks at which are seated dreadful, unknown men. Of course they would all admire her, and all fall in love with her. But in general, for her to have to sit in the same room with men from ten in the morning till five in the evening.... Say what you like, it's not proper! Don't think, however, that Mimotchka had never sat in the same room with men. She had even been held in their arms to the enchanting strains of fashionable Waltzes played by Rosenberg or Schmidt. To tell you the truth (and quite in confidence), a certain young guardsman had kissed her more than once in convenient corners both before and after the "proposal." But in the first place she had never told anybody about it except her particular friend Mdlle. X. and Douniasha, her maid, so that neither mamma nor anyone else had any suspicion of it; and, secondly, he really Was her fiancé. Of course, if all Mimotchka's valseurs had kissed her, I do not say but that it would have been wrong, very wrong; but, anyhow, it seems to me that it would have been less improper than her sitting all day in some office. All these valseurs, at any rate, were young men of her own class, introduced into society by her acquaintances, but who knows what sort of people there are in offices? Jews, perhaps, or tradespeople.... And who can be sure that some of them might not kiss Mimotchka? She is still such a child!...

Perhaps Mimotchka might give lessons, courir le cachet? But lessons in what—French? She has read Ponson-du-Terrail and Co., read both Belot and Malot, read Octave Feuillet, but of grammar she has only the most confused ideas, and a knowledge of grammar is required in a teacher. And then to give lessons—that again means going about the streets alone and risking to be taken for Heaven knows what.... Poor Mimotchka is so pretty and feminine that, if she has not a proper companion with her and a footman walking behind her, she might be taken for goodness knows what!

Mimotchka neither knows how to sew nor cut out; she has never been taught to; and anyhow she could not become a dressmaker! She only knows how to cut out lamp-shades and do crochet. But then doing crochet does not bring in much.

In fact, all this talk of woman's work and woman's independence shows itself to be pure nonsense. And why argue about it when woman's calling and duties are plainly shown to her both by God and nature. She is to be a wife and a mother, the companion of man, from whose rib she was created for that purpose. Therefore, Mimotchka, wait, look out and secure a bridegroom—of course one that can be depended upon, and who has means. There is the third prospect for you, the third (and, it would seem, the only possible) way out for you from your present position.

There are some husbands predestinated by Fate itself for girls like Mimotchka, for girls who are poor, but have been spoilt, brought up in luxury, and are unaccustomed to privations. There are two classes of such husbands—either rich old bachelors, who have wasted their strength, health, intellect, and senses in a stormily spent youth, wasted everything except their too easily got money, and have tried every sensation that this money can give them, except that of possessing for their "very own" an innocent young wife, to purchase which, however, it is never too late; or else there are old bachelors in the contrary position to the first, who have begun their life and career in want and privation, timid, calculating, having been obliged to deny themselves everything in youth, and having at last scraped together the desired capital by fair means or foul, and attained the longed-for rank, position, period, and age which will enable them to contract a marriage with a young and pretty girl.

Heaven was not deaf to mamma's prayers, but sent her Spiridon Ivanovitch. Through the aunts and friends the marriage was settled and interviews arranged—of course everything being conducted in the most correct manner.

Spiridon Ivanovitch may be stupid or clever, good or bad; he may be pleasing or unpleasing, ugly or handsome—all these are unimportant details; what is important and beyond a doubt is, that he is a man of substantial means, elderly, capable, and reliable; he is also bald and wrinkled, suffers from a catarrh and rheumatism, and perhaps gout besides....

Is it really possible to marry him? Mamma stands up for Spiridon Ivanovitch. Mimotchka, believe mamma; she has more experience than you; she knows what life is. But what do you know about it? From novels?... "La vie n'est pas un roman," they tell you, and you will soon be convinced yourself that they are right.

And so Mimotchka submits. She gives her consent, coquettishly laughing at Spiridon Ivanovitch and victoriously tapping on the ground with the point of her little shoe, under the heel of which she is determined to keep her future husband.

V

The marriage was arranged in the following manner. Aunt Julia, between visiting, vint,[6] and the opera, somehow heard of Spiridon Ivanovitch and managed to get acquainted with him. When she was quite sure that his estate in the Government of Koursk was not mortgaged, but yielded a good income, and also that Spiridon Ivanovitch himself had not any serious entanglement (if you don't count a dancer, who was no longer very young, to whom he was only attached from habit, and by whom he had four rather pretty children), then Aunt Julia gave mamma to understand that she had something in view suitable for Mimotchka.

[6] Vint, a game at cards in the style of whist, but much more complicated, and played a great deal in Russia.

Mamma went at once to the monastery of St. Sergius and had a Te Deum sung.

Soon afterwards Aunt Julia sent out invitations to her friends for a dance. Mamma was told beforehand that Spiridon Ivanovitch would be there. Mimotchka had a charming toilette crême made for her, which was worthy of being described in the pages of some "chronique de l'élégance." The toilette was very successful, and was much appreciated by all those present at the party. It was the first time Mimotchka had been out anywhere that winter; her mourning was only just over. The talk about her unexpectedly broken-off marriage and the mean way in which her fiancé had behaved was unceasing, and went from mouth to mouth with additions and embellishments. In consequence of this, or perhaps simply because Mimotchka was particularly well dressed that evening, she anyhow attracted more attention than usual. She was universally admired and complimented. She danced more than any of the others, was unusually animated, and really was the queen of the evening.

Resting on a seat, giddy from the last tour de valse, slightly out of breath and blushing a tender carnation, she felt approving glances directed at her from all sides, and the knowledge of her success made her look even prettier.

Spiridon Ivanovitch had been playing at cards; but before supper he came towards the dancing-room and stood at the door watching the dancers. He admired Mimotchka very much. That evening he was in luck and in good spirits. With the freedom of an old bachelor he loudly and openly praised the grace and loveliness of this charming doll, and even said that if he could only throw off some fifteen years from his shoulders he would make her an offer at once.

Mamma, who had been watching over Spiridon Ivanovitch the whole evening, caught these unguarded words, and her heart beat with a joyful hope.

During the mazourka,[7] Mimotchka, by Aunt Julia's advice, chose Spiridon Ivanovitch, who was still standing at the door, and crossed the room with him amidst general enthusiasm. Every one smiled as they looked at them: either at pretty Mimotchka's fancy in choosing such an old and unattractive partner, or at Spiridon Ivanovitch's venturing to dance at his age, with his rank and with his asthma, and without knowing how, or finally because Aunt Julia's guests had guessed her intentions and greeted the couple as future bride and bridegroom—be this as it may, anyhow everyone smiled and rejoiced as they looked at them. The stout Spiridon Ivanovitch, perspiring and puffing like a steam-engine, smiled himself, and the ethereal Mimotchka also smiled.

[7] The mazourka has figures, like a cotillion.

At supper they were seated side by side. The amiable Spiridon Ivanovitch, having frankly and rather nervously warned Aunt Julia that he was quite unaccustomed to the society of "respectable" women, and especially of innocent young girls, sat by Mimotchka's side and continued to gaze admiringly at her, playfully and most respectfully paid his addresses to her, was in fact quite taken up with her, and almost talked baby language so as to fall into the right tone and make himself understood.

Excited by the dancing and the champagne she had drunk, besides being very flattered by the attentions and admiration of this ridiculous stout man with the fringed epaulets,[8] Mimotchka became quite lively, flushed, and talked a great deal more than usual.

[8] Only Russian officers of staff rank wear fringed epaulets.

She told Spiridon Ivanovitch that she loved dancing, and that she had passed a very dull winter last year, because she had not gone out on account of her mourning for her papa; so that now she did so enjoy dancing again!... Then Mimotchka told him that she also loved little dogs, and that she had had such a darling of a dog, such a tiny, tiny little thing; its name was "Fanfreluche," and it had died! Mimotchka had cried a whole week. It had been the greatest sorrow of her life. She did so love that dog! And now Aunt Mary had given her another dog. It was a little larger, but also a darling, and she called it "Turlurette." ... And it could already stand on its hind legs!...

Spiridon Ivanovitch proposed the health of "Turlurette." ... Mimotchka laughed, coquetted, drank her champagne, clinking glasses with Spiridon Ivanovitch, and, her bright eyes sparkling, openly declared that she had never, never enjoyed herself so much!

And mamma looked at them from the other end of the table and was quite touched.

The next morning mamma, all in a flutter, came to see Aunt Julia and talk things over. They talked of the estates in the Government of Koursk, of the dancer and her children, and of Spiridon Ivanovitch's behaviour of the previous evening. It was decided to make a serious attack on him. Aunt Julia generously promised to help, and she managed the affair so cleverly that in some two or three weeks' time the unfortunate Spiridon Ivanovitch was caught and bound, and it only remained for him to fix the day of the wedding.

Mamma was beside herself with joy. At first she had perhaps hoped for something more brilliant; but now, in their terrible, hopeless position, after all the trouble and unpleasantness with the first fiancé, Spiridon Ivanovitch appeared to her a treasure such as she had hardly-hoped to find. Yes, and looking at it seriously, what more could you desire in a fiancé? He was a general, rich, and seemed to be a kind man besides.... There was the dancer and her children! Well, but it was really impossible for everything to be so entirely free from annoyance and irritation. As long as he did not ruin himself over that family, Mimotchka had really nothing to do with the matter and need not pay any attention to it.

Both mamma and Mimotchka quite wore themselves out over the trousseau. The bridegroom hurried on the wedding, and it was impossible to keep so highly respected a man waiting as if he were a mere boy! Besides, mamma had had too much worry with the first fiancé not to wish to strike while the iron was hot.

The chief things in the trousseau—the linen, furs, and silver—were already there. The princess's coronet only had to be taken off. But some of the dresses had to be altered, and some new ones made besides. In the sixteen months' interval between the two fiancés fashion had made rapid strides. The aunts and uncles consulted together and made Mimotchka fresh presents. And Spiridon Ivanovitch was no niggard in his presents either. Everything went on swimmingly. Mamma exulted. Mimotchka took the arsenic prescribed for her, drank pyro-phosphorous iron water, tried on her new dresses, received congratulations, opened jewel cases and boxes from the leading Petersburg jewellers, and was delighted with the diamonds, sapphires, and emeralds that were sent to her by Spiridon Ivanovitch.

Everybody rejoiced; everybody congratulated her heartily, sincerely, and truly—wished her everything good, and repeated in chorus, "Thank God, thank God!"

VI

And so not only the day, but the hour of the wedding is fixed....

Mimotchka's coiffure is finished. Gustave is sent out of the room while Mimotchka puts on her wedding dress, with its garlands and bouquets of orange blossoms and its long train of thick white faille lined with Lyons satin, a wonderful dress ordered from Mdme. Lesserteur. Mimotchka surveys herself rather anxiously in the looking-glass. The bodice fits exquisitely.

It only remains to pin on the veil and wreath, Monsieur Gustave's services are again in requisition. He has to be hurried. It appears that the best man has already arrived. Yes, yes; he really has come. ... The bridegroom is already in the church.... It's time!

Directly, directly, Mimotchka will be ready directly. I look at her and involuntarily some emotion takes possession of me, involuntarily my thoughts run on, and I see the lit-up church, where the crowd of festively attired relations and friends are chatting and looking about them while they wait for the bride. I see the stout Spiridon Ivanovitch, resplendent with orders, his bald head shining, and wearing a new pair of fringed epaulets. Now there is a movement in the crowd, the talk ceases, all the heads are turned round. From the choir come the strains of a solemn chant, and Mimotchka appears at the threshold of the church. Uncle Theodore, wearing the ribbon of the White Eagle,[9] gives her his arm and leads her up along the soft carpet. How pretty she is! I vow that the orange blossoms and cloud of white tulle never adorned a lovelier and more charming head.

"Approach, approach, thou pure dove." ...[10]

But do you know what you are going to, poor dove? Think, Mimotchka; won't you stop before it is too late?...

Why?... And what is the good of thinking about it? Every one does it. Some time or other the step must be taken. It seems it must. And how can one escape from it?...

[9] One of the highest Russian orders.

[10] The opening words of the hymn sung in the marriage service when the bride enters the church.

But you're pale, Mimotchka; you lower your eyelashes, and the wax taper trembles in your little hand.... Are you afraid? Are you ashamed?

No; only nervous and ill at ease.... In the church it seems cold.... Or does the bodice press?... Something feels strange, unpleasant.... And then how every one stares!...

But my thoughts are wandering. Mimotchka is not yet even in the church. She is still in her room, standing before the large mirror; she cannot tear herself away from the contemplation of herself in her new dress.

Her toilet is finished. The veil and wreath are unusually becoming to the bride, and so everyone tells her; but Mimotchka no longer smiles her usual, unchanging smile. She is a little agitated. On her cheek there is a pink spot, her hand slightly trembles as she draws on her glove. Why does she feel so cold?

All those around her are agitated too. The maid Douniasha makes faces as she gulps down her tears. Lulushka or Turlurette yelps and barks, offended because she is turned off Mimotchka's train. They all surround the bride, looking at her from all sides, arranging her dress, her veil, giving her her gloves, scent....

It's time, Mimotchka, time! Go into the drawing-room now for your mother to bless you before you leave. The bridegroom is already in church.... Make haste; they are waiting for you....

Look round for the last time on your young girl's room, look at your pretty pink room, in which you ate chocolat mignon and read French novels, and bid farewell to it! You will never come back here. What awaits you in the new life?

Mamma blesses Mimotchka, and sheds a few tears as she embraces and kisses her pale daughter. "You don't feel unwell, Mimi?"

"No, no, not at all...."

Mimotchka goes down the stairs. At the entrance on the pavement there already stands a group of curious, gaping spectators: the weeping housemaid Douniasha, the cook, the neighbour's servants, and some outsiders....

Aunt Julia, the little boy who is to carry the icon,[11] and the bride take their places in the carriage. The footman slams the door and jumps up on the box. The carriage fast disappears down the street.

[11] A little boy, generally a relative or the child of an intimate friend, carries an icon in the bridal procession.

Good-bye, Mimotchka, be happy!

You perhaps expected, Mimotchka, that I should follow you to the church, and further and further.... No, there are spectators enough at your wedding without me. Only look at that motley collection of people, whom the police are allowing to crowd on to the broad pavement of the Liteynaia, the whole length of the long line of carriages. Look at the seamstresses, housemaids" gossiping women, young and old, gazing open-mouthed as they go on their way, with bundles or bandboxes in their hands; they have not strength to resist the temptation of stopping to admire your uncle's orders and epaulets, your aunts' light, elegant toilettes, and above all they long to catch a glimpse of you, Mimotchka—you, the chief person in all this pageant.

They are waiting for you.... Do you see how they stand on tiptoe, how they crane their necks at your approach? Perhaps they have heard about you; perhaps one of those old gossips is even now giving the rest the most trustworthy or untrustworthy information about you; perhaps, looking at you, they exchange pitying remarks of the kind of those overheard and caught up from them by the great author of Anna Karénina.

"Isn't she a sweet pretty bride, decked out like a lamb for the sacrifice! But, say what you like, we women are sorry for our sister!"

[MIMOTCHKA AT THE SPRINGS]

Mimotchka is getting thin, Mimotchka looks pale, Mimotchka is dull....

Mamma is anxious and fusses; Spiridon Ivanovitch grunts and frowns; baby is tiresome and roars....

Such, in its general features, is Mimotchka's life—and yet it had seemed to begin so well!

Directly after the wedding the young couple went abroad. The doctor had long advised Spiridon Ivanovitch to take a course of waters, and even before meeting his bride he had intended to pass the summer abroad. His unexpected marriage had not changed previous plans, and, having obtained three months' leave, Spiridon Ivanovitch started with his young wife for Vichy.

They travelled with every possible comfort, and Spiridon Ivanovitch was so careful and attentive during the journey, that Mimotchka was obliged to own that it was much nicer and pleasanter travelling with him than with mamma. However, in spite of it all, on their arrival in Paris she was so tired out, and above all so enervated, so enervated, that she cried the whole day long, and even thought she would like to kill herself, because it seemed to her that she cared for nothing in life. Paris was so dark, so gloomy, horrible, and disgusting.... The sun never shone, and the rain poured and poured.... And she cried and cried.... The tears certainly rather troubled Spiridon Ivanovitch, but after all what could he do?... The rain—what rain it was to be sure! But it was God's will.... And he only drummed on the table with his fingers and swore at the servants.

But when the young people arrived at Vichy, where the comfortable rooms, that had been ordered beforehand and had a balcony overlooking the crowded boulevard, were awaiting them, when they had dined both savourily and satisfactorily in these bright, cheerful rooms, and when, above all, they had unpacked their trunks and bags, then again everything looked nice and bright. Mimotchka saw that, in spite of everything, life was still endurable and might even be very pleasant. She wiped away her tears and occupied herself in hanging up her new dresses.

Then they sent for a doctor. And there came a dark-eyed young Frenchman, good-looking and chatty. And how he spoke French—gracious heavens, how he spoke! What a doctor! Everyone, everyone all round, beginning with the grey-haired landlady, and ending with Joseph, the concierge's fourteen-year-old son, every one was so amiable, elegant, attentive, and lively.... It seemed to Mimotchka as if she had come to her native land. The chemist, to whom the young people went, directly after their arrival, for some rhubarb and magnesia, was as like as two peas to the jeune premier of the Théâtre Michel, so that Mimotchka quite blushed when Spiridon Ivanovitch, having got his magnesia, began to inquire of the young man about some further remedies.... And the postman was very like the well-known coiffeur from the Bolshaia Konushenaia....

Spiridon Ivanovitch set about his cure without delay and with great zeal. He liked being doctored and understood all about it. Not satisfied with the punctilious fulfilment of his own doctor's prescriptions, he secretly consulted other doctors, consulted the invalids with whom he made acquaintance at the baths and springs, consulted the chemist and other tradespeople, bought heaps of medical works, pamphlets, and manuals, bought medicinal wines and medicines advertised in the papers, discovered that he had some fresh malady every day, and expounded the symptoms of his illness to his doctor so significantly and with so many details, that the young Frenchman, while listening to him with profound and polite attention, could not help glancing stealthily and with tender commiseration at pretty pale Mimotchka, and twirling the end of his silky moustaches, said to her in a look, "Poor little thing! and so pretty!" ...

Spiridon Ivanovitch decided that Mimotchka should make a cure for anæmia and nerves. Mamma had asked him so much about it! So Mimotchka drank the "source Mesdames" and took baths, and Walked up and down in the park. But, as her cure was less complicated and serious than Spiridon Ivanovitch's cure, she still had a good deal of spare time, which she employed in watching the people and in looking at her new dresses. And as both these occupations were very congenial to her tastes, she was not dull. The season was one of the most successful and most brilliant. At the waters there was Strauss, there was Patti; there was an English royal personage with his wife; there were American millionaires with their daughters, and lots of cocottes and aristocrats besides.... There were no end of stories about and two or three scandals.... The weather was lovely and warm, perhaps even too warm. But what walks there were, what riding parties in the evening on the shores of the Allier, what concerts and dances in the evening at the Casino! Of course Mimotchka did not make any acquaintances—society is so mixed at watering-places!—but still, without knowing anyone, it was amusing to look at other people's toilettes and watch others' intrigues. Altogether she Was very much amused. And in answer to her cousin Zina and her friends, the three sisters Poltavsteff, who asked her if she was happy, Mimotchka wrote: "So happy, so happy.... Jamais je ne me suis tant amusée qu'à Vichy. Figurez-vous ..." and so on.

Time flew on quickly and imperceptibly. Spiridon Ivanovitch's cure was finished. He had got thinner, but felt brisker and healthier. Mimotchka was blooming, and had grown even prettier in the pure air of the South of France. One month's leave yet remained. Spiridon Ivanovitch asked his wife to decide where they should spend this last month—in Italy, Switzerland, or Paris?... Doctor Souly's pamphlet recommends some quiet corner in Switzerland for an after-cure, but Mimotchka preferred Paris. Spiridon Ivanovitch willingly submitted to this decision, and, having liberally paid the landlady, the dark-eyed doctor, and others, the young people packed up their baggage and went back to Paris, where the honeymoon really began. Just at that time Spiridon Ivanovitch received a good round sum from his tenants, and Mimotchka was in a state of perfect bliss, buying right and left everything that took her fancy. Oh, her honeymoon!... They stayed at an expensive and very good hotel. In the morning the general got up first and read the Russian and French newspapers while he drank his coffee, but Mimotchka lay in bed a long time after. Then she got up when she liked, and without hurrying began her toilet. Every day she had a new kind of soap, new kinds of scents, toilet waters and pomatums. And what stockings, boots, and garters she bought herself!... Oh, her honeymoon!...

When she was dressed Mimotchka went in to her husband, who kissed her per-fumed hand, and, holding it in his, bent down his bald forehead for her to kiss. They breakfasted off hors d'œuvre, lobster, and côtelettes en papillottes, and, having thus fortified themselves, they went out walking or driving to see museums or the environs of Paris.... Before dinner Spiridon Ivanovitch returned home to have a nap, while Mimotchka went shopping and bought more and more.... Then came dinner, and afterwards a theatre, cirque, or café concert.... Spiridon Ivanovitch knew Paris well, and was particularly well acquainted with its places of amusement; and, as he held the opinion that abroad a respectable woman might go anywhere, because nobody knew her, he took his wife to both "Mabille" and "Bullier," and to all the Eldorados besides, so as to show her the cocottes of both sides of the Seine.

Having thus spent their honeymoon, the young couple returned to Petersburg with empty purses, with an increased number of trunks and bandboxes, with a store of amusing and agreeable reminiscences, and on much more intimate and friendly terms with each other than when they had started.

All the relations met Mimotchka with open arms. She was no longer a portionless girl, looking out for a husband, whom the aunts could keep in the background and snub if they liked.... Now she was the wife of a general commanding a division, the wife of a highly-respected and wealthy man, a lady with fresh toilettes from Paris and a position in society.

Besides her position in society, Mimotchka was before long in what is termed an "interesting position." To tell the truth, this last position was somewhat burdensome to her, and, if mamma and Spiridon Ivanovitch had not watched over her like a goddess, Mimotchka would have made away with herself. But, when all the suffering and misery were over, when the heir of Spiridon Ivanovitch occupied his appointed place in this world of grief and tears, when his screams began to resound through the general's large house, and Mimotchka was up and well again, then she was glad in her heart and well satisfied. Glad both because she had grown prettier and plumper, and because now she has a real live baby of her own, while her friends, the three sisters Poltavsteff, are still painting on china and singing Italian arias and gipsy songs, in the vain hope of attracting some one who can give them une position dans le monde and a real, live baby.

And Mimotchka possesses both the one and the other. And although all the three sisters Poltavsteff, when they come to see Mimotchka and admire the baby, kissing his soft, dimpled little hands and feet, say with one accord that they can only understand marrying for love, and that not one of them would marry except for love; still Mimotchka knows perfectly well that this is only talk, and that, had Spiridon Ivanovitch taken a fancy to one of them instead of her, any of the three would have married him directly. It's no laughing matter. He is in command of a division, and a whole division is under his inspection. And even more awaits him in the future. Spiridon Ivanovitch's career is not nearly finished.... It would have been indeed stupid to refuse such a partie.

Why then, now, six years after marriage, is Mimotchka dull? Why does she get thin and pale? What can she want? She has her family. She has her son, her husband, and her mother. She has plenty of money, carriages, and a box at the opera. What more can she desire? Mimotchka herself does not know what she wants. She does not want anything. She is simply tired of life. It is quite immaterial to her whether she lives or dies. Dies? Oh yes, and even now, directly. So she says, and poor mamma cannot hear it without tears and sighs. She sees that her daughter is really ill, that she is hiding something, and that she gets weaker and more irritable every day.... Mamma implores Mimotchka to consult Doctor Variashski (mamma believes in him as she does in the Almighty). But Mimotchka is obstinate and angry, and says, "Ah, laissez done! je me porte à merveille! Je suis tout à fait bien." And mamma sighs and Mimotchka gets paler and thinner.

The aunts are much concerned at the change in Mimotchka's appearance.

"But how plain Mimi is growing," said Aunt Sophy. "And why is she getting so sickly?"

"She has an old husband," says Aunt Mary shortly.

"Oh, how can you talk like that?" says Aunt Julia reproachfully. "And, after all; old, old ... Enfin elle a un enfant. Qu'est ce qu'elle a à se plaindre?"

"Annette thinks that she has never been quite strong since her confinement, her confinement and the chloroform, and..

"That's an old story! On the contrary, she improved so much then."

"And I am convinced that she is simply ill from want of something to do," says Aunt Julia severely. "Why, for whole days she doesn't move one finger over another. Look at my Zina; she orders the dinner and pours out the tea, then she attends classes, then she practises her voice.... Every minute is occupied. And look what a colour the girl has, how healthy she is. People say, Petersburg, Petersburg.... Rubbish! You can be healthy anywhere. But Mimotchka.... If I led such a life I should have been dead long ago."

And the aunts are perfectly right. Mimotchka is getting plain, Mimotchka is dull, and Mimotchka does nothing.

Mamma loves her so tenderly that she considers every occupation, even of the slightest and easiest description, to be beyond Mimi's strength and too much for her. All the cares of the housekeeping, all the care of the child, mamma takes upon herself, leaving Mimotchka to drive, dress, go out, and receive. At first these occupations had satisfied Mimotchka, but now they wearied her. Yes, nothing satisfies her now.... To quote the words of Schopenhauer—she had lost appetite for life....

And by the side of the apathy taking possession of her there grows an instinctive feeling of irritation against mamma and Spiridon Ivanovitch—a feeling of irritation very near to antipathy. She does not know in what way they interfere with her or of what they deprive her. She only knows that each day they become stranger and more wearisome to her. She feels confusedly that the life they have made for themselves is warm and pleasant to them, while she is entangled in it and struggles like a fly in a spider's web. And she cannot extricate herself from this spider's web because it is woven of the tenderest care for her. If she goes to the theatre, or to an evening party, either mamma or Spiridon Ivanovitch invariably accompanies her, and she cannot say a word, or make a step that is not known to them and commented upon. Mimotchka sees that Spiridon Ivanovitch is simply jealous—of course he is, even the aunts notice it. But he will not own to it, and his distrust is disguised in phrases such as, "That is not usual in society.... It will look awkward.... People don't do so." So that altogether Mimotchka becomes daily more and more indifferent to life.

Mamma and Spiridon Ivanovitch get on very well together, and soon become fast friends. They understand each other almost without speaking. Spiridon Ivanovitch's reviews, committees, and projects deeply interest mamma, who, even during her late husband's lifetime, had been accustomed to hearing about military matters. Mimotchka considers everything relating to her husband's military service stupid and dull. It seems to her that he talks on purpose before mamma about "Committees, re-or-ga-ni-sa-tion.... With bayonets or without bayonets." And mamma actually replies as if it interests her! Besides conversations about the service they have conversations about the education of children, which she also detests. Mimotchka knows that however you may educate children, whatever books you may read, they will scream and soil their pinafores just the same, and then be tiresome and disobedient. And theories are no use at all. You must have a good nurse and be able to pay her good wages. What is the use of saying the same things over and over again?

But the worst of all, the most unbearable of all, is their conversation about politics. Politics—Mimotchka's bête noire. In the newspapers she only reads the last sheet, because only the deaths and advertisements of sales interest her, but mamma and Spiridon Ivanovitch devour the whole paper from A to Z, so that every day at dinner they go over all the articles in it again. All this talk about Bismarck, about the Emperor William, about Italy and Austria, and about that most boring Bulgaria, will certainly drive Mimotchka out of her mind or into her grave! What does she care about the Coburgs or about Battenberg! She is twenty-six; she is at an age to enjoy life, to laugh and amuse herself, and not to sit here between her grey-haired mamma and bald-headed Spiridon Ivanovitch, who sniffs, and coughs, and spits, and pours himself out bitters. And Mimotchka, irritated beyond all bearing by Battenberg, capriciously pushes her plate of cutlets away from her as if they had offended her as well as everything else in the house, and says, "Encore ce Battenberg! Il m'agace à la fin!"

And mamma sighs and Spiridon Ivanovitch frowns.

Well now, for instance, there is her friend, Nettie Poltavsteff, she is married to a young man; perhaps rather a thoughtless young fellow, without any prospects, but how they enjoy themselves! my goodness, how they enjoy themselves! True, they are squandering their capital, and the old Poltavsteffs shake their heads fearfully and disapprovingly. True, that Nettie's admirer takes root more and more firmly in the house, so that many people smile meaningly when they speak of him; true, that Mimotchka herself repeats after mamma and the aunts that Nettie is in a dangerous way; true, that Mimotchka, by Aunt Julia's advice, purposely lets a long period elapse before she returns Nettie's visits, but what of that? anyhow, Nettie amuses herself, Nettie really enjoys life ... Nettie dresses eccentrically, Nettie goes to see burlesques, goes to masquerades and restaurants, laughs at everything and everybody, and contents herself with men's society. She is a good deal talked about, and not always Well spoken of, but she laughs at that too. Her husband tolerates her doings, and so do others.... And around Nettie life and gaiety play and sparkle like the champagne that is always on her table.

Formerly she and Mimotchka were great friends, but now mamma and Spiridon Ivanovitch have put a veto on their friendship. They consider Nettie too frivolous, and look on her as a bad example for Mimotchka. And so Mimotchka does not return her visits because, of course, she is in a dangerous way.... But, all the same, Mimotchka is very sorry that Nettie is in a dangerous way, because if she were not it would be very amusing to go and see her.... She is very nice, Nettie is, and so full of fun.... And, even putting Nettie aside, anyhow Mimotchka finds it livelier at the three sisters Poltavsteff's house than at her own home. They sing, dance, play, and build castles in the air.... They are always in love with somebody or other, always talking about captains and lieutenants, or about Nettie's admirers.... They have dreams, hopes, and plans for the future, everything to look forward to. But she? What can she expect? What can she hope for? Her life is over. She has no illusions left. She knows what life is, knows what men are, what marriage is, what this much-vaunted love is—une horreur! And yet Aunt Mary says to her, "Mind you don't fall in love with anyone!" She—fall in love! Why, she does not even care to live.... And her best years have gone, irrevocably gone.... She is already an old woman. She is twenty-six. Yes, quite an old woman.... She feels so old, so old, so tired of life....

And Mimotchka is dull and gets thin and pale.

By the spring her nervous depression reaches such a pitch that one fine evening, when Spiridon Ivanovitch proposes to the ladies to decide whether they would like to spend the summer in the country on his estates or take a datcha[1] elsewhere, Mimotchka goes off into a fit of hysterics, a real fit of hysterics, laughing, crying, and screaming.... Mamma is in despair. This is what it has come to! And what had she been thinking of to allow it to go on?...

[1] Villa residences let for the summer season in the environs of St. Petersburg.

Energetic measures must be immediately taken; yes, immediately. Mimi gives way, she agrees to consult Doctor Variashski. Mamma has such confidence in Variashski! He had attended Mimotchka before, once he had even saved her life, he understands her nature.... And such a nice man besides, so attentive and amusing.... No mere boy either, but a reliable, respectable man, a professor too.... Mamma believes in him as she does in the Almighty. Now they can only look to Doctor Variashski to save Mimotchka. They will do whatever he tells them. If he says, Go to Madeira, they will go to Madeira.... Spiridon Ivanovitch is ready to provide the money. It's impossible to stop at any expense when it comes to a question of saving life, and the life of one near and dear to you. They will do whatever Variashski tells them to.

"Whom do I see! My humble respects "says Doctor Variashski, introducing mamma and Mimotchka into his consulting-room and rapidly glancing, through his spectacles, round the reception-room, full of patients of every age and description, whispering in the corners or turning over the leaves of the newspapers as they await their turn.

Mimotchka, on entering the consulting-room, throws herself wearily into a soft armchair near the writing-table, and in a languid voice replies mono-syllabically and unwillingly to the doctor's questions, while mamma, turning her anxious gaze from the doctor to her daughter and back again, tries to gather something from the expression of his countenance. And in her terrified and loving imagination she already sees behind her beloved daughter fearful, menacing spectres—consumption, or death from exhaustion.... But no, the doctor seems calm, he is even cheerful.

"So you really think, Krondide Feodorovitch, that this dreadful weakness can be conquered?"

"Yes, I think there is no impossibility whatever in it."

"Ah, God grant it, God grant it!... But you must know she is not telling you everything. She is so patient, so patient; but of course I can see how she suffers!"

And mamma, in spite of her daughter, begins in an agitated and lugubrious voice to relate to Krondide Feodorovitch in the most detailed manner how Mimotchka gets out of breath going upstairs, how she cries without any cause, how cross she gets with her maid and with baby, how thin she is getting, which is evident from the bodices of her dresses, how yesterday at dinner she only ate half a cutlet, and to-day—and so on and on.

"So," says the doctor, writing out a prescription, "and what do you think of doing this summer?"

"Ah, Krondide Feodorovitch, that is the chief reason why we came to you. We will do whatever you tell us. Wherever you send us.... You know that we have both money and time to spare. I had already thought that perhaps sea-bathing ... abroad ..."

"Yes, of course; abroad is all very well. But what would you say to the Caucasus? You were never in the Caucasus?"

"No; but I have heard from many people that it is still very primitive there, nothing properly arranged ... no lodgings nor doctors.... They say there are only most awful veterinary surgeons there.... And nothing whatever to eat." ...

"Oh, well, that's all very much exaggerated. And you can always find something to eat if you are not too dainty. And as to doctors, you apparently do me the honour of having some confidence in me?"

"Oh, Krondide Ivanovitch, you! I believe in you as I do in God!... All my hope is in you!"

"Well, then, you see no other doctor will be required. I myself will attend Marie Ilinishna." ...

"What, you will be there? Oh, that alters the question.... Once you are there.... When will you be there?"

"At the beginning of the season; you know, where the ladies are, there I am to be found too. And all the ladies go there. Jeleznovodsk is called the ladies' spring."

Mimotchka brightens up a little. She would like to go to the Caucasus. Nettie had spent last summer at Kislovodsk and had come back with very pleasant remembrances of it. There she had completely emancipated herself, and from there she had brought back her present adorer. And, sitting here, all at once Mimotchka recognises clearly for the first time exactly what she wants. She wants to go somewhere alone. She will take her maid Katia with her and start off, and the others can all do what they like. The doctor inwardly makes a note of this brightening up, and, glancing occasionally at Mimotchka, continues giving mamma some indispensable information about Jeleznovodsk. Mimotchka is to drink iron water and take baths for two months, and then go for another month to Kislovodsk to, so to say, polish off, and by the autumn she will be so much better that it will be quite impossible to recognise her.

"God grant it, God grant it!" says mamma, with a sad, doubting smile, and delicately slipping a little pinkish paper[2] into the doctor's hand, she follows Mimotchka out of the consulting-room, letting the next patient pass in in his turn.

[2] A ten-rouble bank-note, equal to about a guinea in English money.

"Well, Mimi," says mamma, taking her seat in the carriage by the side of her daughter, "what do you say to his idea? I think we ought to go. As he is going to be there himself.... Will you go?"

Mimotchka is silent. Her momentary animation has again changed into an expression of suffering and apathy. Mamma looks at her and is silent for five minutes, at the end of which she repeats her question.

"What is the use of talking about it?" answers Mimotchka. "It matters little what I wish.... He will only say ... He will say again...." (Mimotchka sighs.) "He will say, 'Let's go to the country!'"

And Mimotchka sheds bitter tears.

Mamma is in despair, but tries to smile.

"Oh, do stop, stop crying; don't excite yourself so, darling!... Of course we won't go to the country.... He is so fond of you. He will do anything you like. Hier encore, il m'a dit.... Do stop crying, Mimi; it's so bad for you! Where is your sel de vinaigre? ... Smell it, dear; it's all because you are so tired.... Where are we going: to Julia's or shopping?"

"To Knopps'," says Mimotchka, "I want to go to Knopps'."

They drive to Knopps'. On the way the ladies continue to discuss Doctor Variashski's advice. Sniffing at the smelling-salts and blowing her nose, Mimotchka explains herself more definitely. She would of course go without Spiridon Ivanovitch (it would anyhow be impossible for him to go). Baby also might stay with mamma. Mimotchka could not take him with her. She was already so sick of the child's crying that if she had to drag him everywhere after her she would never get any better. Besides, taking baby means taking nurse and the under-nurse and a doctor. Variashski does not attend children. What would become of them without a children's doctor? Does mamma want to kill baby? No; let her remain here with him, and Mimotchka will go alone with Katia....

Mamma agrees with Mimotchka in everything but one point. To let her daughter go without her, her daughter who has fainting fits and hysterical attacks, to let her go with only a young and inexperienced girl—no, this is not to be thought of.... Mamma herself will go with her. But who will stay with baby? Perhaps Aunt Julia would take him and his nurse with her to the country? Oh yes, she will take him!... At Knopps all other anxieties are momentarily lost sight of in the anxiety of choosing an umbrella. Mimotchka turns over the whole shop in search of an umbrella with a handle the like of which she can only have seen in her dreams. In the meantime she comes across many new, useful, and practical objects which may be serviceable to her on her approaching journey, and Which she buys. So that, when she takes her seat with mamma in the carriage, quite a pile of parcels and boxes is carried after them. Mimotchka looks refreshed and calmer.

"You're not too tired, Mimi? Perhaps we had better leave Julia for another time?" asks mamma.

"No, no, better do it all at once," says Mimotchka, closing her eyes.

Aunt Julia receives on Wednesdays. Visitors and tea in the afternoon; cards and now and then a dance for Zina and the young people in the evening.

Aunt Julia is a much respected, clever woman, with a great deal of character. Her sisters say of her: "Julie est une femme de beaucoup d'esprit, mais elle manque de cœur. C'est tout le contraire d'Annette."

Aunt Julia is an irreproachable wife, housewife, and mother. She has brought up her two elder children extremely well—Vova, a rosy-faced cavalry officer, and Zina, who has been educated at Trouba's.[3] And Vova and Zina are the pride and joy of their mother's life, to whom, however, the Lord has sent a trial in the person of her youngest daughter Vava, a sickly, capricious, fanciful girl. They doctor her up and correct her, but all to no purpose. Up to now Vava is the nightmare, plague, and cross of Aunt Julia's life.

[3] A famous ladies' school, that was under the patronage of the late Grand Duchess Helen.

When mamma and Mimotchka enter Aunt Julia's lilac drawing-room, they find a great many ladies there and a few young men, friends of Vova's. A cross-fire of conversation is going on in the room.

"And so you're going again to Merekule?"[4]

"Yes, to Merekule. We're always faithful to Merekule. And you?"

"Oh, je n'aime pas à avoir une datcha; j'aime mieux rester ici. Then I can go to one place one day and another the next."

[4] A seaside resort in Finland.

"Et Louise?... Elle est toujours à Naples?"

"Comment? Le bordeaux avec le rose pâle.... Oh, mais quand c'est fait par une française, par une bonne faiseuse, ... c'est délicieux comme mélange." ...

"And so yesterday I went to the exhibition." ...

"What did you think of the exhibition?"

"Oh dear, how we laughed!... We go in and whom do we meet...."

"Et tous les soirs elles vont aux îles. Et tous les soirs c'est la même chose. C'est triste." ...

Mimotchka is met with inquiries about her health. Mamma informs her nearest neighbours that they have only just come from Variashski's.

"How can you have any confidence in Variashski?" says Aunt Mary in horror, as she shakes the ash off her cigarette. "He simply murdered a friend of mine. She died under the knife. And afterwards it appeared that there Was no need at all of an operation.... It was all a mistake." ...

"You're mixing it up, Mary. You told us that story of Lisinski."

"Really? Well, perhaps. It's all the same. One's as bad as the other."

"Why don't you try homœopathy?" says a homœopathic lady. "I am sure it Would do your daughter good; especially in cases of nervous illnesses." ...

"Yes; I really do not understand," continues Aunt Mary, finishing another cigarette, "why you go to Variashski. Isn't he an accoucheur? ... Si c'est une maladie de nerfs, why don't you consult Merjeffsky?"

"And I should have taken her straight to Botkin," says Aunt Julia. "She could not have got so thin without some cause. He would have determined what her illness is, and would have recommended you a specialist if he thought necessary. I only believe in Botkin."

"And even Botkin makes mistakes," says the homœopathic lady. "No, seriously, try homœopathy. Why, I myself am a living advertisement for homœopathy. Just think how many doctors I have consulted, how many remedies I have tried.... And only since I consulted Brazolle ..."

"Brazolle, oh yes, Brazolle! Why, I have met him in society. Il est très bien."

"Is he married? Who is he married to?"

The medical conversation becomes general.

"Brazolle? Yes, who did he marry? And Solovieff, what a wonderfully conscientious doctor he is. Of course, of course.... He has a hospital of his own.... And he is so busy, so very busy.... And Baron Vreffski.... You're joking f Not in the least.... An extraordinary case.... He cured a blind man, a real blind man, perfectly blind, whom I saw with my own eyes, ... with that water of his, or by electricity.... Enfin il réussit. Of course faith has a great deal to do with it.... Oh, I should think so!... For instance, Father John[5] ... Oh, ce n'est plus du tout la même chose.... Vous croyez? Mais, c'est un saint! Oh, he's only a sinful man like the rest of us, je ne crois pas à sa sainteté. C'est la mode, voilà tout.... Oh, don't say so.... If you only saw him, ... a little, thin man, ... and with such a look in his eyes, something so heavenly!... He took tea with us and ate some fruit.... He is very fond of grapes.... Of course you must have faith.... Oh yes, faith—that's all!... But who works wonders—is Batmaieff.... Qu'est ce que ce Batmaieff? est-ce que c'est encore un saint? Non, non, c'est un médecin.... I can give you his address if you like." ...

[5] A priest at the cathedral of Cronstadt, famous for his faith healing.

Under cover of the noise mamma tells Aunt Julia about Variashski's sending them to Jeleznovodsk, and tries to sound her about taking charge of baby and his nurse for the summer. Aunt Julia will take charge of them with pleasure for the whole summer if mamma will consent to take Vava with her to Jeleznovodsk. Merjeffsky has advised that she should be separated from her family for a time, and has ordered her to take iron waters this summer. And they will all breathe more freely when Vava is gone. She is getting unbearable. She sets every one in the house at loggerheads. Her brother has predicted that she will finish on the gallows, and advises her being sent for two or three years to France, or perhaps to Switzerland to some pension. Her father won't hear of it; he always takes Vava's part. Good heavens, if only some one would take charge of her!... One service in return for another. Vava for baby, baby for Vava. And so the matter is settled.

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."