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It was a foul day; it had been raining all the morning, and the invalids,
with their parasols, had flocked into the arcades. |
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Kitty was walking there with her mother and the Moscow colonel, smart and
jaunty in his European coat, bought ready-made at Frankfort. They were walking
on one side of the arcade, trying to avoid Levin, who was walking on the other
side. Varenka, in her dark dress, in a black hat with a turndown brim, was
walking up and down the whole length of the arcade with a blind Frenchwoman,
and, every time she met Kitty, they exchanged friendly glances. |
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"Mamma, couldn't I speak to her?" said Kitty, watching her
unknown friend, and noticing that she was going up to the spring, and that they
might come there together. |
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"Oh, if you want to so much, I'll find out about her first and make
her acquaintance myself," answered her mother. "What do you see in her
out of the way? A companion, most probably. If you like, I'll make acquaintance
with Madame Stahl; I used to know her belle-soeur," added the Princess,
lifting her head haughtily. |
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Kitty knew that the Princess was offended because Madame Stahl had
apparently avoided making her acquaintance. Kitty did not insist. |
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"How wonderfully sweet she is!" she said, gazing at Varenka
just as she handed a glass to the Frenchwoman. "Look how natural and sweet
it all is." |
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"It's so funny to see your engouements," said the Princess.
"No, we'd better go back," she added, noticing Levin coming toward
them with his companion and a German doctor, to whom he was talking very noisily
and angrily. |
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They turned to go back, when suddenly they heard, not merely noisy talk,
but actual shouting. Levin, stopping short, was shouting at the doctor, and the
doctor, too, was excited. A crowd gathered about them. The Princess and Kitty
beat a hasty retreat, while the colonel joined the crowd to find out what was
up. |
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A few minutes later the colonel overtook them. |
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"What was it?" inquired the Princess. |
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"Scandalous and disgraceful!" answered the colonel. "The
one thing to be dreaded is meeting Russians abroad. That tall gentleman was
abusing the doctor, flinging all sorts of insults at him because he wasn't
treating him quite as he liked, and he began waving his stick at him. It's
simply scandalous!" |
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"Oh, how unpleasant!" said the Princess. "Well, and how
did it end?" |
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"Luckily at that point that miss... the one in the mushroom hat...
intervened. She is a Russian lady, I think," said the colonel. |
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"Mademoiselle Varenka?" Kitty asked joyously. |
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"Yes, yes. She came to the rescue before anyone else; she took the
man by the arm and led him away." |
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"There, mamma," said Kitty, "yet you wonder why I'm
enthusiastic about her." |
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The next day, as she watched her unknown friend, Kitty noticed that
Mademoiselle Varenka was already on the same terms with Levin and his companion
as with her other proteges. She went up to them, entered into conversation with
them, and served as interpreter for the woman, who could not speak any foreign
language. |
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Kitty began to entreat her mother still more urgently to let her make
acquaintance with Varenka. And, disagreeable as it was to the Princess to seem
to take the first step in wishing to make the acquaintance of Madame Stahl, who
thought fit to give herself airs, she made inquiries about Varenka, and, having
ascertained particulars about her tending to prove that there could he no harm,
even if little good in the acquaintance, she herself approached Varenka and made
acquaintance with her. |
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Choosing a time when her daughter had gone to the spring, while Varenka
had stopped outside the baker's, the Princess approached her. |
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"Allow me to make your acquaintance," she said, with her
dignified smile. "My daughter has lost her heart to you," she said.
"Possibly you do not know me. I am..." |
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"That feeling is more than reciprocal, Princess," Varenka
answered hurriedly. |
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"What a good deed you did yesterday to our poor compatriot!"
said the Princess. |
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Varenka flushed a little. |
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"I don't remember. I don't think I did anything," she said. |
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"Why, you saved that Levin from disagreeable consequences." |
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"Yes, sa compagne called me, and I tried to pacify him; he's very
ill, and was dissatisfied with the doctor. I'm used to looking after such
invalids." |
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"Yes, I've heard you live at Mentone with your aunt- I think- Madame
Stahl: I used to know her belle-soeur." |
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"No, she's not my aunt. I call her maman, but I am not related to
her; I was brought up by her," answered Varenka, flushing a little again. |
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This was so simply said, and so sweet was the truthful and candid
expression of her face, that the Princess saw why Kitty had taken such a fancy
to Varenka. |
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"Well, and what's this Levin going to do?" asked the Princess. |
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"He's going away," answered Varenka. |
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At that instant Kitty came up from the spring beaming with delight
because her mother had become acquainted with her unknown friend. |
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"See, Kitty, your intense desire to make friends with
Mademoiselle..." |
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"Varenka," Varenka put in smiling, "that's what everyone
calls me." |
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Kitty blushed with pleasure, and slowly, without speaking, squeezed her
new friend's hand, which did not respond to her pressure, but lay motionless in
her hand. The hand did not respond to her pressure, but the face of Mademoiselle
Varenka glowed with a soft, glad, though rather mournful, smile, that showed
large but handsome teeth. |
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"I have long wished for this too," she said. |
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"But "But you are so busy..." |
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"Oh, no I'm not at all busy," answered Varenka, but at that
moment she had to leave her new friends because two little Russian girls,
children of an invalid, ran up to her. |
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"Varenka, mamma's calling!" they cried. |
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And Varenka went after them. |
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The particulars which the Princess had learned in regard to Varenka's
past and her relations with Madame Stahl were as follows: |
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Madame Stahl, of whom some people said that she had worried her husband
out of his life, while others said it was he who had made her wretched by his
immoral behavior, had always been a woman of weak health and enthusiastic
temperament. When, after her separation from her husband, she gave birth to her
only child, the child had died almost immediately, and the family of Madame
Stahl, knowing her sensibility and fearing the news would kill her, had
substituted another child, a baby born the same night and in the same house in
Peterburg, the daughter of the chief cook of the Imperial Household. This was
Varenka. Madame Stahl learned later on that Varenka was not her own child, but
she went on bringing her up, especially as very soon afterward Varenka had not a
relation of her own living. |
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Madame Stahl had now been living without a break, more than ten years
abroad, in the south, never leaving her couch. And some people said that Madame
Stahl had made her social position as a philanthropic, highly religious woman;
other people said she really was at heart the highly ethical being, living for
nothing but the good of her fellow creatures, which she represented herself to
be. No one knew what her faith was- Catholic, Protestant, or Orthodox. But one
fact was indubitable- she was in amicable relations with the highest dignitaries
of all the churches and sects. |
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Varenka lived with her all the while abroad, and everyone who knew Madame
Stahl knew and liked Mademoiselle Varenka, as everyone called her. |
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Having learned all these facts, the Princess found nothing to object to
in her daughter's intimacy with Varenka, more especially as Varenka's breeding
and education were of the best- she spoke French and English extremely well-
and, what was of the most weight, brought a message from Madame Stahl expressing
her regret that she had been prevented by her ill-health from making the
acquaintance of the Princess. |
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After getting to know Varenka, Kitty became more and more fascinated by
her friend, and every day she discovered new virtues in her. |
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The Princess, hearing that Varenka had a good voice, asked her to come
and sing to them in the evening. |
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"Kitty plays, and we have a piano; not a good one, it's true, but
you will give us so much pleasure," said the Princess with her affected
smile, which Kitty disliked particularly just then, because she noticed that
Varenka had no inclination to sing. Varenka came, however, in the evening, and
brought a roll of music with her. The Princess had invited Marya Eugenyevna and
her daughter, and the colonel. |
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Varenka seemed quite unaffected by the presence of persons whom she did
not know, and she went directly to the piano. She could not accompany herself,
but she could sing music at sight very well. Kitty, who played well, accompanied
her. |
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"You have an extraordinary talent," the Princess said to her
after Varenka had sung the first song excellently. |
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Marya Eugenyevna and her daughter expressed their thanks and admiration. |
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"Look," said the colonel, looking out of the window, "what
an audience has collected to listen to you." |
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There actually was a considerable crowd under the windows. |
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"I am very glad it gives you pleasure," Varenka answered
simply. |
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Kitty looked with pride at her friend. She was enchanted by her talent,
and her voice, and her face, but most of all by her manner, by Varenka's
obviously thinking nothing of her singing and being quite unmoved by their
praise. She seemed only to be asking: "Am I to sing again, or is that
enough?" |
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"If it had been I," thought Kitty, "how proud I should
have been! How delighted I should have been to see that crowd under the windows!
But she's utterly unmoved by it. Her only motive is to avoid refusing and to
please maman. What is there about her? What is it gives her the power to look
down on everything, to be calm independently of everything? How I should like to
know it, and to learn it from her!" thought Kitty, gazing into her serene
face. The Princess asked Varenka to sing again, and Varenka sang another song,
also smoothly, distinctly, and well, standing erect at the piano and beating
time on it with her thin, dark-skinned hand. |
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The next song in the book was an Italian one. Kitty played the opening
bars, and looked round at Varenka. |
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"Let's skip that," said Varenka, flushing a little. |
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Kitty let her eyes rest on Varenka's face, with a look of dismay and
inquiry. |
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"Very well, the next one," she said hurriedly, turning over the
pages, and at once feeling that there was something connected with the song. |
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"No," answered Varenka with a smile, laying her hand on the
music, "no, let's have that one." And she sang it just as quietly, as
coolly, and as well as the others. |
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When she had finished, they all thanked her again, and went off to tea.
Kitty and Varenka went out into the little garden that adjoined the house. |
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"Am I right, that you have some reminiscences connected with that
song?" said Kitty. "Don't tell me," she added hastily, "only
say if I'm right." |
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"No, why not? I'll tell you," said Varenka simply, and, without
waiting for a reply, she went on: "Yes, it brings up memories, once painful
ones. I cared for someone once, and I used to sing him that song." |
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Kitty with big, wide-open eyes gazed silently, sympathetically at
Varenka. |
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"I cared for him, and he cared for me; but his mother was opposed,
and he married another girl. He's living now not far from us, and I see him
sometimes. You didn't think I had a love story, too," she said, and there
was a faint gleam in her handsome face of that fire which Kitty felt must once
have glowed all over her. |
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"I didn't think so? Why, if I were a man, I could never care for
anyone else after knowing you. Only I can't understand how he could, to please
his mother, forget you and make you unhappy; he had no heart." |
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"Oh, no, he's a very good man, and I'm not unhappy; quite the
contrary- I'm very happy. Well, we shan't be singing any more now," she
added, turning toward the house. |
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"How good you are! How good you are!" cried Kitty, and stopping
her, she kissed her. "If I could only be even a little like you!" |
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"Why should you be like anyone? You're lovely as you are," said
Varenka, smiling her gentle, weary smile. |
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"No, I'm not lovely at all. Come, tell me... Stop a minute, let's
sit down," said Kitty, making her sit down again beside her. "Tell me,
isn't it humiliating to think that a man has disdained your love, that he hasn't
cared for it?..." |
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"But he didn't disdain it; I believe he cared for me, but he was a
dutiful son...." |
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"Yes, but if it hadn't been on account of his mother, if it had been
his own doing?..." said Kitty, feeling she was giving away her secret, and
that her face, burning with the flush of shame, had betrayed her already. |
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"In that case he would have done wrong, and I should not have
regretted him," answered Varenka, evidently realizing that they were now
talking not of her, but of Kitty. |
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"But the humiliation," said Kitty, "the humiliation one
can never forget- never!" she said, remembering her look at the last ball
during the pause in the music. |
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"Where is the humiliation? Why, you did nothing wrong?" |
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"Worse than wrong- shameful." |
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Varenka shook her head and laid her hand on Kitty's. |
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"Why, what's shameful about it?" she said. "You didn't
tell a man who didn't care for you, that you loved him, did you?" |
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"Of course not; I never said a word, but he knew it. No, no, there
are looks, there are ways; I can't forget it, if I live a hundred years." |
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"Why so? I don't understand. The whole point is whether you love him
now or not," said Varenka, who called everything by its name. |
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"I hate him; I can't forgive myself." |
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"Why, what for?" |
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"The shame, the humiliation!" |
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"Oh! if everyone were as sensitive as you are!" said Varenka.
"There isn't a girl who hasn't been through the same. And it's all so
unimportant." |
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"Why, what is important?" said Kitty, looking into her face
with inquisitive wonder. |
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"Oh, there's so much that's important," said Varenka, smiling. |
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"Why, what?" |
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"Oh, so much that's more important," answered Varenka, not
knowing what to say. But at that instant they heard the Princess's voice from
the window. "Kitty, it's cold! Either get a shawl, or come indoors." |
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"It really is time to go in!" said Varenka, getting up. "I
have to go on to Madame Berthe's; she asked me to." |
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Kitty held her by the hand, and with passionate curiosity and entreaty
her eyes asked her: "What is it, what is this of such importance, that
gives you such tranquility? You know, tell me!" But Varenka did not even
know what Kitty's eyes were asking her. She merely thought that she had to go to
see Madame Berthe too that evening, and to make haste home in time for maman's
tea at twelve o'clock. She went indoors, collected her music, and saying good-by
to everyone, was about to go. |
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"Allow me to see you home," said the colonel. |
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"Yes, how can you go alone at night like this?" chimed in the
Princess. "Anyway, I'll send Parasha." |
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Kitty saw that Varenka could hardly restrain a smile at the idea that she
needed an escort. |
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"No, I always go about alone and nothing ever happens to me,"
she said, taking her hat. And kissing Kitty once more, without saying what was
important, she stepped out courageously with the music under her arm and
vanished into the twilight of the summer night, bearing away with her her secret
of what was important, and what gave her that calm and dignity so much to be
envied. |
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Kitty made the acquaintance of Madame Stahl too, and this acquaintance,
together with her friendship with Varenka, did not merely exercise a great
influence on her- it also comforted her in her mental distress. She found this
comfort through a completely new world being opened to her by means of this
acquaintance, a world having nothing in common with her past; an exalted, noble
world, from the height of which she could contemplate her past calmly. It was
revealed to her that besides the instinctive life to which Kitty had given
herself up hitherto there was a spiritual life. This life was disclosed in
religion, but a religion having nothing in common with that one which Kitty had
known from childhood, and which found expression in masses and evening services
at the Widow's Home, where one might meet one's friends; and in learning by
heart Slavonic texts with the priest. This was a lofty, mysterious religion
connected with a whole series of noble thoughts and feelings, which one could
not merely believe because one was told to believe, but which one could love. |
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Kitty found all this out not from words. Madame Stahl talked to Kitty as
to a charming child that one regards with pleasure, as one regards the memory of
one's youth, and only once she said in passing that in all human sorrows nothing
gives comfort but love and faith, and that in the sight of Christ's compassion
for us no sorrow is trifling- and immediately talked of other things. But in
every gesture of Madame Stahl, in every word, in every heavenly- as Kitty called
it- look; and, above all, in the whole story of her life, which she heard from
Varenka, Kitty recognized that something "that was important," of
which, till then, she had known nothing. |
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Yet, elevated as Madame Stahl's character was, touching as was her story,
and exalted and moving as was her speech, Kitty could not help detecting in her
some traits which perplexed her. She noticed that, when questioning her about
her family, Madame Stahl had smiled contemptuously, which was not in accord with
Christian meekness. Kitty noticed, too, that when she had found a Catholic
priest with her, Madame Stahl had studiously kept her face in the shadow of the
lamp shade and had smiled in a peculiar way. Trivial as these two observations
were, they perplexed her, and she had her doubts as to Madame Stahl. But on the
other hand Varenka, alone in the world, without friends or relations, with a
melancholy disappointment in the past, desiring nothing, regretting nothing, was
just that perfection of which Kitty dared hardly dream. In Varenka she realized
that one has but to forget oneself and love others, and one will be calm, happy
and good. And that was what Kitty longed to be. Seeing now clearly what was most
important, Kitty was not satisfied with being enthusiastic over it; she at once
gave herself up with her whole soul to the new life that was opening to her.
From Varenka's accounts of the doings of Madame Stahl and other people whom she
mentioned, Kitty had already constructed the plan of her own future life. She
would, like Madame Stahl's niece, Aline, of whom Varenka had talked to her a
great deal, seek out those who were in trouble, wherever she might be living,
help them as far as she could, giving them the Gospel; she would read the Gospel
to the sick, to the criminals, to the dying. The idea of reading the Gospel to
criminals, as Aline did, particularly fascinated Kitty. But all these were
secret dreams, of which Kitty did not talk either to her mother or to Varenka. |
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While awaiting the time for carrying out her plans on a large scale,
however, Kitty, even then at the springs, where there were so many people ill
and unhappy, readily found a chance for practicing her new principles in
imitation of Varenka. |
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At first the Princess noticed nothing but that Kitty was much under the
influence of her engouement, as she called it, for Madame Stahl, and still more
for Varenka. She saw that Kitty did not merely imitate Varenka in her conduct,
but unconsciously imitated her in her manner of walking, of talking, of blinking
her eyes. But later on the Princess noticed that, apart from this adoration,
some kind of serious spiritual change was taking place in her daughter. |
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The Princess saw that in the evenings Kitty read a French Testament that
Madame Stahl had given her- a thing she had never done before; that she avoided
society acquaintances and associated with the sick people who were under
Varenka's protection, and especially one poor family, that of a sick painter,
Petrov. Kitty was unmistakably proud of playing the part of a sister of mercy in
that family. All this was well enough, and the Princess had nothing to say
against it, especially as Petrov's wife was a perfectly respectable woman, and
that the German Princess, noticing Kitty's devotion, praised her, calling her an
angel of consolation. All this would have been very well, if there had been no
exaggeration. But the Princess saw that her daughter was rushing into extremes,
and so indeed she told her. |
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"Il ne faut jamais rien outrer," she said to her. |
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Her daughter made her no reply, but in her heart she thought that one
could not talk about exaggeration where Christianity was concerned. What
exaggeration could there be in the practice of a doctrine wherein one was bidden
to turn the other cheek when one was smitten, and give one's shirt if one's coat
were taken? But the Princess disliked this exaggeration, and disliked even more
the fact that she felt her daughter did not care to show her all her heart.
Kitty did in fact conceal her new views and feelings from her mother. She
concealed them not because she did not respect or did not love her mother, but
simply because she was her mother. She would have revealed them to anyone sooner
than to her mother. |
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"How is it Anna Pavlovna's not been to see us for so long?" the
Princess said one day, referring to Madame Petrov. "I've asked her, but she
seems put out about something." |
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"No, I've not noticed it, maman," said Kitty, flushing hotly. |
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"Is it long since you've been to see them?" |
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"We intend making an excursion to the mountains tomorrow,"
answered Kitty. |
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"Well, you may go," answered the Princess, gazing at her
daughter's embarrassed face and trying to guess the cause of her embarrassment. |
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That day Varenka came to dinner and told them that Anna Pavlovna had
changed her mind and given up the excursion for the morrow. And the Princess
noticed again that Kitty reddened. |
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"Kitty, haven't you had some misunderstanding with the
Petrovs?" said the Princess, when they were left alone. "Why has she
given up sending the children and coming to see us?" |
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Kitty answered that nothing had happened between them, and that she could
not tell why Anna Pavlovna seemed displeased with her. Kitty answered perfectly
truthfully. She did not know the reason Anna Pavlovna had changed toward her,
but she guessed it. She guessed at something which she could not tell her
mother, which she did not put into words to herself It was one of those things
which one knows but which one can never speak of even to oneself, so terrible
and shameful would it be to be mistaken. |
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Again and again she went over in her memory all her relations with the
family. She remembered the simple delight expressed on the round, good-natured
face of Anna Pavlovna at their meetings; she remembered their secret
confabulations about the invalid, their plots to draw him away from the work
which was forbidden him, and to get him out of doors; the devotion of the
youngest boy, who used to call her "my Kitty," and would not go to bed
without her. How lovely it all was! "Then she recalled the thin, terribly
thin figure of Petrov, with his long neck, in his brown coat, his scant, curly
hair, his questioning blue eyes that were so terrible to Kitty at first, and his
painful attempts to seem hearty and lively in her presence. She recalled the
efforts she had made at first to overcome the repugnance she felt for him, as
for all consumptive people, and the pains it had cost her to think of things to
say to him. She recalled the timid, softened look with which he gazed at her,
and the strange feeling of compassion and awkwardness, and later of a sense of
her own goodness, which she had felt at it. How lovely it all was! But all that
was at first. Now, a few days ago, everything was suddenly spoiled. Anna
Pavlovna had met Kitty with affected cordiality, and had kept continual watch on
her and on her husband. |
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Could that touching pleasure he showed when she came near be the cause of
Anna Pavlovna's coolness? |
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"Yes," she mused, "there was something unnatural about
Anna Pavlovna, and utterly unlike her good nature, when she said angrily the day
before yesterday: 'There, he will keep waiting for you; he wouldn't drink his
coffee without you, though he's grown so dreadfully weak.'" |
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"Yes, perhaps, too, she didn't like it when I gave him the rug. It
was all so simple, but he took it so awkwardly, and was so long thanking me,
that I felt awkward too. And then that portrait of me he did so well. And most
of all that look of confusion and tenderness! Yes, yes, that's it!" Kitty
repeated to herself with horror. "No, it can't be, it oughtn't to be! He's
so much to be pitied!" she said to herself directly after. |
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This doubt poisoned the charm of her new life. |
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Before the end of the water cure, Prince Shcherbatsky, who had gone on
from Carlsbad to Baden and Kissingen to Russian friends- to get a breath of
Russian atmosphere, as he said- came back to his wife and daughter. |
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The views of the Prince and of the Princess on life abroad were
completely opposed. The Princess thought everything delightful, and in spite of
her established position in Russian society, she tried abroad to be like a
European fashionable lady, which she was not for the simple reason that she was
a typical Russian gentlewoman; and so she was affected, which did not altogether
suit her. The Prince, on the contrary, thought everything foreign detestable,
got sick of European life, kept to his Russian habits, and purposely tried to
show himself abroad less European than he was in reality. |
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The Prince returned thinner, with the skin hanging in loose bags on his
cheeks, but in the most cheerful frame of mind. His good humor was even greater
when he saw Kitty completely recovered. The news of Kitty's friendship with
Madame Stahl and Varenka, and the reports the Princess gave him of some kind of
change she had noticed in Kitty, troubled the Prince and aroused his habitual
feeling of jealousy of everything that drew his daughter away from him, and a
dread that his daughter might have got out of the reach of his influence into
regions inaccessible to him. But this unpleasant news was all drowned in the sea
of kindliness and good humor which was always within him, and more so than ever
since his course of Carlsbad waters. |
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The day after his arrival the Prince, in his long overcoat, with his
Russian wrinkles and baggy cheeks propped up by a starched collar, set off with
his daughter to the spring in the greatest good humor. |
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It was a lovely morning: the tidy, cheerful houses with their little
gardens, the sight of the red-faced, red-armed, beer-drinking German waitresses,
working away merrily, and bright sun did one's heart good. But the nearer they
got to the springs the oftener they met sick people; and their appearance seemed
more pitiable than ever among the everyday conditions of prosperous German life.
Kitty was no longer struck by this contrast. The bright sun, the brilliant green
of the foliage, the strains of the music were for her the natural setting of all
these familiar faces, with their changes to greater emaciation or to
convalescence, for which she watched. But to the Prince the brightness and
gaiety of the June morning, and the sound of the orchestra playing a gay waltz
then in fashion, and above all, the appearance of the robust waitresses, seemed
something unseemly and monstrous, in conjunction with these slowly moving
cadavers gathered together from all parts of Europe. |
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In spite of his feeling of pride and, as it were, of the return of youth,
when he walked with his favorite daughter on his arm, he felt awkward, and
almost ashamed of his vigorous step and his sturdy, stout and fat limbs. He felt
almost like a man not dressed in a crowd. |
|
|
"Present, present me to your new friends," he said to his
daughter, squeezing her hand with his elbow. "I like even your horrid Soden
for making you so well again. Only it's melancholy, very melancholy here. Who's
that?" |
|
|
Kitty mentioned the names of all the people they met, of some with whom
she was acquainted, and some with whom she was not. At the very entrance of the
garden they met the blind lady, Madame Berthe, with her guide, and the Prince
was delighted to see the old Frenchwoman's face light up when she heard Kitty's
voice. She at once began talking to him with the exaggerated politeness of the
French, applauding him for having such a delightful daughter, extolling Kitty to
the skies before her face, and calling her a treasure, a pearl and a consoling
angel. |
|
|
"Well, she's the second angel, then," said the Prince, smiling.
"She calls Mademoiselle Varenka angel number one." |
|
|
"Oh! Mademoiselle Varenka- she's a real angel, allez," Madame
Berthe assented. |
|
|
In the arcade they met Varenka herself. She was walking rapidly toward
them, carrying an elegant red bag. |
|
|
"Here is papa come," Kitty said to her. |
|
|
Varenka made- simply and naturally as she did everything- a movement
between a bow and curtsy, and immediately began talking to the Prince, without
shyness, naturally, as she talked to everyone. |
|
|
"Of course I know you; I know you very well," the Prince said
to her with a smile, in which Kitty detected with joy that her father liked her
friend. "Where are you off to in such haste?" |
|
|
"Maman's here," she said, turning to Kitty. "She has not
slept all night, and the doctor advised her to go out. I'm taking her her
work." |
|
|
"So that's angel number one?" said the Prince when Varenka had
gone on. |
|
|
Kitty saw that her father had meant to make fun of Varenka, but that he
could not do it because he liked her. |
|
|
"Come, so we shall see all your friends," he went on,
"even Madame Stahl, if she deigns to recognize me." |
|
|
"Why, did you know her, papa?" Kitty asked apprehensively,
catching the gleam of irony that kindled in the Prince's eyes at the mention of
Madame Stahl. |
|
|
"I used to know her husband, and her too a little, before she'd
joined the Pietists." |
|
|
"What is a Pietist, papa?" asked Kitty, dismayed to find that
what she prized so highly in Madame Stahl had a name. |
|
|
"I don't quite know myself. I only know that she thanks God for
everything, for every misfortune, and thanks God too that her husband died. And
that's rather droll, as they didn't get on together. Who's that? What a piteous
face!" he asked, noticing a sick man of medium height sitting on a bench,
wearing a brown overcoat and white trousers that fell in strange folds about his
long, fleshless legs. This man lifted his straw hat, showed his scanty curly
hair and high forehead, painfully reddened by the pressure of the hat. |
|
|
"That's Petrov, an artist," answered Kitty blushing. "And
that's his wife," she added, indicating Anna Pavlovna, who, as though on
purpose, at the very instant they approached, walked away after a child that had
run off along a path. |
|
|
"Poor fellow! And what a fine face he has!" said the Prince.
"Why don't you go up to him? He wanted to speak to you." |
|
|
"Well, let us go, then," said Kitty, turning round resolutely.
"How are you feeling today?" she asked Petrov. |
|
|
Petrov got up, leaning on his stick, and looked shyly at the Prince. |
|
|
"This is my daughter," said the Prince. "Let me introduce
myself." |
|
|
The painter bowed and smiled, showing his strangely dazzling white teeth. |
|
|
"We
expected you yesterday, Princess," he said to Kitty. |
|
|
He staggered as he said this, and then repeated the motion, trying to
make it seem as if it had been intentional. |
|
|
"I meant to come, but Varenka said that Anna Pavlovna sent word you
were not going." |
|
|
"Not going!" said Petrov, blushing, and immediately beginning
to cough, and his eyes sought his wife. "Aneta! Aneta!" he said
loudly, and the swollen veins stood out like cords on his thin white neck. |
|
|
Anna Pavlovna came up. |
|
|
"So you sent word to the Princess that we weren't going!" he
whispered to her angrily, losing his voice. |
|
|
"Good morning, Princess," said Anna Pavlovna, with an assumed
smile utterly unlike her former manner. "Very glad to make your
acquaintance," she said to the Prince. "You've long been expected,
Prince." |
|
|
"Why did you send word to the Princess that we weren't going?"
the artist whispered hoarsely again, still more angrily, obviously exasperated
that his voice failed him so that he could not give his words the expression he
would have liked to. |
|
|
"Oh, mercy on us! I thought we weren't going," his wife
answered crossly. |
|
|
"What, when..." He coughed and waved his hand. |
|
|
The Prince took off his hat and moved away with his daughter. |
|
|
"Ah! ah!" he sighed deeply. "Oh, poor things!" |
|
|
"Yes, papa," answered Kitty. "And you must know they've
three children, no servant, and scarcely any means. He gets something from the
Academy," she went on briskly, trying to drown the distress that queer
change in Anna Pavlovna's manner toward her had aroused in her. "Oh, here's
Madame Stahl," said Kitty, indicating an invalid carriage, where, propped
on pillows, something in gray and blue was lying under a sunshade. This was
Madame Stahl. Behind her stood the gloomy, robust German workman who pushed the
carriage. Close by was standing a flaxen-headed Swedish Count, whom Kitty knew
by name. Several invalids were lingering near the low carriage, staring at the
lady as though she were some curiosity. |
|
|
The Prince walked up to her, and Kitty detected that disconcerting gleam
of irony in his eyes. He walked up to Madame Stahl, and addressed her with
extreme courtesy and charm in that excellent French which so few speak nowadays. |
|
|
"I don't know if you remember me, but I must recall myself to thank
you for your kindness to my daughter," he said taking off his hat and not
putting it on again. |
|
|
"Prince Alexandre Shcherbatsky," said Madame Stahl, lifting
upon him her heavenly eyes, in which Kitty discerned a look of annoyance.
"Delighted! I have taken a great fancy to your daughter." |
|
|
"You are still in weak health?" |
|
|
"Yes; I'm used to it," said Madame Stahl, and she introduced
the Prince to the Swedish Count. |
|
|
"You are scarcely changed at all," the Prince said to her.
"It's ten or eleven years since I had the honor of seeing you." |
|
|
"Yes; God sends the cross and sends the strength to bear it. Often
one wonders what is the goal of this life?... The other side!" she said
angrily to Varenka, who had rearranged the rug over her feet not to her
satisfaction. |
|
|
"To do good, probably," said the Prince with a twinkle in his
eye. |
|
|
"That is not for us to judge," said Madame Stahl, perceiving
the shade of expression on the Prince's face. "So you will send me that
book, dear Count? I'm very grateful to you," she said to the young Swede. |
|
|
"Ah!" cried the Prince, catching sight of the Moscow colonel
standing near, and with a bow to Madame Stahl he walked away with his daughter
and the Moscow colonel, who joined them. |
|
|
"That's our aristocracy, Prince!" the Moscow colonel said with
ironical intention. He cherished a grudge against Madame Stahl for not making
his acquaintance. |
|
|
"She's the same as ever," replied the Prince. |
|
|
"Did you know her before her illness, Prince- that's to say, before
she took to her bed?" |
|
|
"Yes. She took to her bed before my eyes," said the Prince. |
|
|
"They say it's ten years since she has stood on her feet." |
|
|
"She doesn't stand up because her legs are too short. She has a very
bad figure." |
|
|
"Papa, it's not possible!" cried Kitty. |
|
|
"That's what wicked tongues say, my darling. And your Varenka is to
endure still," he added. "Oh, these invalid ladies!" |
|
|
"Oh, no, papa!" Kitty objected warmly. "Varenka worships
her. And then she does so much good! Ask anyone! Everyone knows her and Aline
Stahl." |
|
|
"Perhaps so," said the Prince, squeezing her hand with his
elbow; "but it's better when one does good so that you may ask everyone and
no one knows." |
|
|
Kitty did not answer, not because she had nothing to say, but because she
did not care to reveal her secret thoughts even to her father. But, strange to
say, although she had made up her mind so firmly not to be influenced by her
father's views, not to let him into her inmost sanctuary, she felt that the
heavenly image of Madame Stahl, which she had carried for a whole month in her
heart, had vanished, never to return, just as the fantastic figure made up of
some clothes thrown down at random vanishes when one sees that it is only some
fallen garment. All that was left was a woman with short legs, who lay down
because she had a bad figure, and worried patient Varenka for not arranging her
rug to her liking. And by no effort of her imagination could Kitty bring back
the former Madame Stahl. |
|
|
|
|
|
The Prince communicated his good humor to his own family and his friends,
and even to the German landlord in whose rooms the Shcherbatskys were staying. |
|
|
On coming back with Kitty from the springs, the Prince, who had asked the
colonel, and Marya Eugenyevna, and Varenka all to come and have coffee with
them, gave orders for a table and chairs to be taken into the tiny garden under
the chestnut tree, and lunch to be laid there. The landlord and the servants,
too, grew brisker under the influence of his good spirits. They knew his
openhandedness; and half an hour later the invalid doctor from Hamburg, who
lived on the top floor, looked enviously out of his window at the merry party of
healthy Russians assembled under the chestnut tree. In the trembling circles of
shadow cast by the leaves, at a table covered with a white cloth, and set with
coffeepot, bread, butter, cheese, and cold game, sat the Princess in a high cap
with lilac ribbons, distributing cups and sandwiches. At the other end sat the
Prince, eating heartily, and talking loudly and merrily. The Prince had spread
out near him his purchases- carved boxes, and knickknacks, and paper knives of
all sorts, of which he had bought a heap at every watering place, and bestowed
them upon everyone, including Lieschen, the servant girl, and the landlord, with
whom he jested in his comically bad German, assuring him that it was not the
water had cured Kitty, but his splendid cookery- especially his plum soup. The
Princess laughed at her husband for his Russian ways, but she was more lively
and good-humored than she had been all the while she had been at the waters. The
colonel smiled, as he always did, at the Prince's jokes, but as far as regards
Europe, of which he believed himself to be making a careful study, he took the
Princess's side. The goodhearted Marya Eugenyevna simply roared with laughter at
everything absurd the Prince said, and his jokes made Varenka helpless with
feeble but infectious laughter, which was something Kitty had never seen before. |
|
|
Kitty was glad of all this, but she could not be lighthearted. She could
not solve the problem her father had unconsciously set her by his good-humored
view of her friends, and of the life that had so attracted her. To this doubt
there was joined the change in her relations with the Petrovs, which had been so
conspicuously and unpleasantly marked that morning. Everyone was good-humored,
but Kitty could not feel good-humored, and this increased her distress. She felt
a feeling such as she had known in childhood, when she had been shut in her room
as a punishment, and had heard her sisters' merry laughter outside. |
|
|
"Well, but what did you buy this mass of things for? said the
Princess, smiling, and handing her husband a cup of coffee. |
|
|
"One goes for a walk, one looks in a shop, and they ask you to buy.
'Erlaucht, Excellenz, Durchlaucht?' Directly they say 'Durchlaucht,' I can't
hold out- and ten thalers are gone." |
|
|
"It's simply from boredom," said the Princess. |
|
|
"Of course it is. Such boredom, my dear, that one doesn't know what
to do with oneself." |
|
|
"How can you be bored, Prince? There's so much that's interesting
now in Germany," said Marya Eugenyevna. |
|
|
"But I know everything that's interesting: the plum soup I know and
the pea sausages I know. I know everything." |
|
|
"No, you may say what you like, Prince- there's the interest of
their institutions," said the colonel. |
|
|
"But what is there interesting? They're all as beaming with joy as
brass halfpence; they've conquered everybody. And why am I to be pleased at
that? I haven't conquered anyone; only I have myself to take off my own boots,
and, besides, to expose them before the door; in the morning, get up and dress
at once, and go to the coffeeroom to drink bad tea! How different it is at home!
You get up in no haste, you get cross, grumble a little and come round again.
You've time to think things over, and no hurry." |
|
|
"But time's money, you forget that," said the colonel. |
|
|
"Time, indeed! Why, there are times one would give a month of for
half a rouble, and times you wouldn't give half an hour of for any money. Isn't
that so, Katenka? What is it? Why are you so depressed?" |
|
|
"I'm not depressed." |
|
|
"Where are you off to? Stay a little longer," he said to
Varenka. |
|
|
"I must be going home," said Varenka, getting up, and again she
broke out laughing. When she had recovered, she said good-by, and went into the
house to get her hat. |
|
|
Kitty followed her. Even Varenka struck her as different. She was not
inferior, but different from what she had fancied her before. |
|
|
"Oh, dear! It's a long while since I've laughed so much!" said
Varenka, gathering up her parasol and her handbag. "What a dear your father
is!" |
|
|
Kitty did not speak. |
|
|
"When shall I see you again?" asked Varenka. |
|
|
"Maman meant to go and see the Petrovs. Won't you be there?"
said Kitty, to try Varenka. |
|
|
"Yes," answered Varenka. "They're getting ready to go
away, so I promised to help them pack." |
|
|
"Well, I'll come too, then." |
|
|
"No, why should you?" |
|
|
"Why not? Why not? Why not?" said Kitty, opening her eyes wide,
and clutching at Varenka's parasol, so as not to let her go. "No, wait a
minute- why not?" |
|
|
"Oh, nothing; your father has come, and, besides, they will feel
awkward at your helping." |
|
|
"No, tell me why you don't want me to be often at the Petrovs? You
don't want me to- why not?" |
|
|
"I didn't say that," said Varenka quietly. |
|
|
"No, please tell me!" |
|
|
"Tell you everything?" asked Varenka. |
|
|
"Everything, everything!" Kitty assented. |
|
|
"Well, there's really nothing of any consequence; only that Mikhail
Alexeievich" (that was the artist's name) "had meant to leave earlier,
and now he doesn't want to go away," said Varenka, smiling. |
|
|
"Go on, go on!" Kitty urged impatiently, looking somberly at
Varenka. |
|
|
"Well, and for some reason Anna Pavlovna told him that he didn't
want to go because you are here. Of course, that was nonsense; but there was a
dispute over it- over you. You know how irritable these sick people are." |
|
|
Kitty, scowling more than ever, kept silent, and Varenka went on speaking
alone, trying to soften or soothe her, and seeing a storm coming- she did not
know whether of tears or of words. |
|
|
"So you'd better not go... You understand; you won't be
offended?..." |
|
|
"And it serves me right! And it serves me right!" Kitty cried
quickly, snatching the parasol out of Varenka's hand, and avoiding looking at
her friend's face. |
|
|
Varenka felt inclined to smile, looking at her friend's childish fury,
but she was afraid of wounding her. |
|
|
"How does it serve you right? I don't understand," she said. |
|
|
"It serves me right, because it was all sham; because it was all
done on purpose, and not from the heart. What business had I to interfere with
outsiders? And so it's come about that I'm the cause of a quarrel, and that I've
done what nobody asked me to do. Because it was all a sham! A sham! A
sham!..." |
|
|
"A sham? With what object?" said Varenka gently. |
|
|
"Oh, it's so idiotic! So hateful! There was no need whatever for
me... Nothing but sham!" she said, opening and shutting the parasol. |
|
|
"But with what object?" |
|
|
"To seem better to people, to myself, to God; to deceive everyone.
No! Now I won't descend to that. One could be bad; but anyway not a liar, not a
cheat." |
|
|
"But who is a cheat?" said Varenka reproachfully. "You
speak as if..." |
|
|
But Kitty was in one of her gusts of fury, and she would not let her
finish. |
|
|
"I don't talk about you- not about you at all. You're perfection.
Yes, yes, I know you're all perfection; but what am I to do if I'm bad? This
would never have been if I weren't bad. So let me be what I am, but not to be a
sham. What have I to do with Anna Pavlovna? Let them go their way, and me go
mine. I can't be different.... And yet it's not that, it's not that." |
|
|
"What is it?" asked Varenka in bewilderment. |
|
|
"Everything. I can't act except from the heart, and you act from
principle. I simply liked you, but you most likely only wanted to save me, to
improve me." |
|
|
"You are unjust," said Varenka. |
|
|
"But I'm not speaking of other people, I'm speaking of myself." |
|
|
"Kitty," they heard her mother's voice, "come here, show
papa your necklace." |
|
|
Kitty, with a haughty air, without making peace with her friend, took the
necklace in a little box from the table and went to her mother. |
|
|
"What's the matter? Why are you so red?" her mother and father
said to her with one voice. |
|
|
"Nothing," she answered. "I'll be back directly," and
she ran back. |
|
|
"She's still here," she thought. "What am I to say to her?
Oh, dear! What have I done, what have I said? Why was I rude to her? What am I
to do? What am I to say to her?" thought Kitty, and she stopped in the
doorway. |
|
|
Varenka in her hat and with the parasol in her hands was sitting at a
table examining the parasol spring which Kitty had broken. She lifted her head. |
|
|
"Varenka, forgive me, do forgive me," whispered Kitty, going up
to her. "I don't remember what I said. I..." |
|
|
"I really didn't mean to hurt you," said Varenka, smiling. |
|
|
Peace was made. But with her father's coming all the world in which she
had been living was transformed for Kitty. She did not give up everything she
had learned, but she became aware that she had deceived herself in supposing she
could be what she wanted to be. Her eyes were, it seemed, opened; she felt all
the difficulty of maintaining herself without hypocrisy and self-conceit on the
pinnacle to which she had wished to mount. Moreover, she became aware of all the
dreariness of the world of sorrow, of sick and dying people, in which she had
been living. The efforts she had made to like it seemed to her intolerable, and
she felt a longing to get back quickly into the fresh air, to Russia, to
Ergushovo, where, as she knew from letters, her sister Dolly had already gone
with her children. |
|
|
But her affection for Varenka did not wane. Parting Kitty begged her to
come to them in Russia. |
|
|
"I'll come when you get married," said Varenka. |
|
|
"I shall never marry." |
|
|
"Well, then, I shall never come." |
|
|
"Well, then, I shall be married simply for that. Mind now, remember
your promise," said Kitty. |
|
|
The doctor's prediction was fulfilled. Kitty returned home, to Russia,
cured. She was not as gay and thoughtless as before, but she was serene. Her
Moscow troubles had become a memory to her. |
|
|
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| |
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|
