This Russian girl, Kitty decided, was not related to Madame Stahl, but neither was she a paid companion. Madame Stahl called her by the diminutive ‘Varenka’, and others called her Mademoiselle Varenka. But besides the fact that it interested Kitty to observe the relations of this girl with Madame Stahl and with others, she experienced (as often happens) an inexplicable attraction toward this Mlle Varenka, and felt, when the girl’s eyes met hers, that the feeling was mutual.

 

This Mlle Varenka was not exactly past her early youth, but seemed to be a person destitute of youthfulness: she might be nineteen years old or she might be thirty.

 

If one examined her features, she was good-looking rather than plain, despite her unhealthy complexion. Her figure would have been good had she not been too lean and her head too large for her medium height; but she was not likely to prove attractive to men. She was like a beautiful flower which though not yet in full bloom is already beginning to fade and has no scent. Another reason why she could not be attractive to men was because she lacked that of which Kitty had too much — a restrained flame of vitality and consciousness of her own attractiveness. She seemed always occupied with something there could be no doubt about, and therefore it seemed that no side issue could interest her. By this contrast to herself Kitty was specially attracted. She felt that in her and in her way of life could be found a model of what she herself was painfully seeking: interest in life, the worth of life — outside the social relations of girls to men, which now seemed disgusting to Kitty, who regarded them as shameful exhibitions of goods awaiting a buyer. The more Kitty observed her unknown friend, the more she was convinced that this girl really was the perfect being she imagined her to be, and the more she wished to make her acquaintance.

 

The two girls came across one another several times a day, and every time they met Kitty’s eyes said: ‘Who are you? What are you? Surely you are the delightful creature I imagine you to be? But for heaven’s sake’ — her look added — ‘do not think that I shall force myself on you. I simply admire and love you.’ ‘I too love you, and you are very, very sweet. I should love you still more if I had the time,’ the stranger’s look replied. And Kitty saw that the girl really was always occupied: now taking the children of some Russian family home from the Wells, now carrying an invalid’s plaid or wrapping it round her, now trying to soothe an irritable patient, now choosing and buying biscuits for some one’s coffee.

 

Soon after the Shcherbatskys’ arrival, two new persons who provoked everybody’s disapproval began to appear of a morning at the Wells. They were a very tall, round-shouldered man with black eyes, naïve and at the same time dreadful, and enormous hands, who wore an old overcoat too short for him, and a slightly pock-marked, sweet-faced woman, badly and tastelessly dressed. Having recognized them to be Russians, Kitty at once began to make up a beautiful and touching romance about them. But the Princess, having found out from the visitors’ list that they were Nicholas Levin and Mary Nikolavna, explained to Kitty what a bad man this Levin was, and all her dreams about those two people vanished. Not so much because of what her mother had told her, as because the man was Constantine’s brother, these two people appeared very disagreeable to Kitty. This Levin, by his habit of jerking his head, now inspired an irrepressible feeling of aversion in her.

 

It seemed to her that his large, dreadful eyes, which followed her insistently, expressed hatred and irony, and she tried to avoid encountering him.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 31

 

 

 

—>>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<—

 

 

 

IT was a dull day, it rained the whole morning, and the patients with their umbrellas crowded the covered gallery.

 

Kitty was walking with her mother and the Moscow Colonel, who swaggered gaily in his short, German coat, bought ready-made in Frankfurt. They kept to one side of the gallery, trying to avoid Levin, who was walking on the other side. Varenka, in her dark dress and a black hat with turned-down rim, was pacing the whole length of the gallery with a blind Frenchwoman, and each time she met Kitty they exchanged a friendly look.

 

‘Mama, may I speak to her?’ asked Kitty, following her unknown friend with her eyes and noticing that she was moving toward the Well and that they could meet her there.

 

‘Well, if you want to so much, I will inquire about her first and will speak to her myself,’ answered her mother. ‘What do you see particularly in her? I expect she’s a companion. If you like I will make Madame Stahl’s acquaintance. I knew her sister-in-law,’ added the Princess, raising her head proudly.

 

Kitty knew that her mother was offended that Madame Stahl seemed to avoid making her acquaintance. Kitty did not insist.

 

‘She is wonderfully sweet!’ she said, looking at Varenka, who was handing a tumbler to the Frenchwoman. ‘See how naturally and sweetly she does it.’

 

‘How absurd your infatuations are,’ said the Princess. ‘Come, we’d better turn back,’ she added, as she noticed Levin coming toward them with his lady and a German doctor, to whom he was talking loudly and angrily.

 

They were just turning to go back, when they suddenly heard voices not merely loud, but shouting. Levin had stopped and was shouting, and the doctor was also excited. A crowd collected about them. The Princess and Kitty withdrew hurriedly, but the Colonel joined the crowd to find out what the noise was all about.

 

In a few minutes he overtook Kitty and her mother.

 

‘What was the matter?’ asked the Princess.

 

‘It’s shameful and scandalous,’ replied the Colonel. ‘The one thing to fear is meeting Russians abroad. That tall gentleman has been quarrelling with the doctor and insulting him, because he is dissatisfied with the doctor’s treatment. He shook his stick at him! It’s simply shameful!’

 

‘Ah, how unpleasant!’ said the Princess. ‘But how did it all end?’

 

‘Luckily that . . . you know the girl with a hat like a mushroom — she’s Russian, I think — intervened,’ said the Colonel.

 

‘Mlle Varenka?’ asked Kitty in a pleased tone.

 

‘Yes, yes. She knew what to do before anyone else. She took that fellow by the arm and led him away.’

 

‘There, Mama,’ said Kitty. ‘And you are surprised that I admire her.’

 

The next day, watching her unknown friend, Kitty noticed that she was already on the same footing with Levin and his young woman as she was with her other protégés. She went up to them, talked to them, and acted as interpreter for the woman, who spoke nothing but Russian.

 

Kitty begged her mother more than ever to allow her to make Varenka’s acquaintance, and, much as the Princess disliked appearing to take the first step toward getting acquainted with Madame Stahl, who allowed herself to be proud of something or other, she made inquiries about Varenka, and having learnt particulars which allowed her to conclude that though there might be little good there would be no harm in this acquaintance, she herself approached Varenka.

 

Choosing a moment when her daughter had gone to the Well and Varenka had stopped in front of a baker’s shop, the Princess went up to her.

 

‘Allow me to introduce myself,’ said the Princess with her dignified smile. ‘My daughter has fallen in love with you. Perhaps you don’t know me. I . . .’

 

‘It is more than mutual, Princess,’ replied Varenka hurriedly.

 

‘What a good action you performed yesterday for our unfortunate fellow-countryman!’ said the Princess.

 

Varenka blushed. ‘I don’t remember; I don’t think I did anything,’ she said.

 

‘Oh, yes, you saved that Levin from unpleasantness.’

 

‘Well, you see, his companion called me and I tried to soothe him; he is very ill and was dissatisfied with his doctor. I am used to looking after invalids of that kind.’

 

‘Oh, yes, I have heard that you live in Mentone with your aunt, I think, Madame Stahl. I knew her sister-in-law.’

 

‘No, she is not my aunt. I call her Mama, but I am not related to her. She adopted me,’ answered Varenka, and blushed again.

 

This was said so simply, and the frank and open expression of her face was so amiable, that the Princess understood what made Kitty so fond of this Varenka.

 

‘Well, and what about that Levin?’

 

‘He is leaving,’ answered Varenka.

 

Just then Kitty, beaming with joy that her mother had made acquaintance with her unknown friend, returned from the Well.

 

‘There, Kitty, your great wish to make acquaintance with Mlle . . .’

 

‘Varenka,’ prompted Varenka with a smile, ‘everybody calls me so.’

 

Kitty blushed with joy, long and silently pressing her new friend’s hand, which lay passively in hers. But though her hand did not return the pressure, Mlle Varenka’s face shone with a soft and pleased, though rather sad, smile, which disclosed her large but splendid teeth.

 

‘I have long wished it myself,’ she said.

 

‘But you are so busy . . .’

 

‘Oh, on the contrary, I have no occupation at all,’ answered Varenka; but at that very moment she had to leave her new friends because two little Russian girls, the children of one of the invalids, ran up to her.

 

‘Varenka, Mama wants you!’ they shouted.

 

And Varenka went with them.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 32

 

 

 

—>>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<—

 

 

 

THE particulars the Princess Shcherbatskaya learnt about Varenka’s past and about her relations with Madame Stahl, and about Madame Stahl herself were the following:

 

Madame Stahl, of whom some people said that she had tormented her husband to death, while others said that, by his immoral conduct, he had tormented her, had always been a sickly and ecstatic woman. When her first baby was born, she being already divorced from her husband, it died at once; and her relations, knowing how susceptible she was and fearing that this news might kill her, changed her dead child for one who had been born that night in the same house in Petersburg, the daughter of a chef at a palace. That child was Varenka. Madame Stahl learnt afterwards that Varenka was not her daughter, but continued to bring her up, the more readily because it happened that very soon Varenka had no relations left.

 

Madame Stahl had lived continuously abroad in the South for more than ten years, hardly ever leaving her bed. Some people said that she had made for herself a position in Society by her pose as a philanthropic and highly religious woman; others said that she really was the highly moral being, living only to do good, that she seemed to be. No one knew what her religion was: Roman Catholic, Protestant, or Greek Orthodox, but one thing was certain, namely, that she was in friendly relations with the most highly-placed personages of all the churches and denominations.

 

Varenka always lived with her abroad, and all who knew Madame Stahl knew and liked Mlle Varenka, as everybody called her.

 

Having learnt all these particulars, the Princess saw nothing to object to in a friendship between her daughter and Varenka, especially as Varenka’s manners and education were excellent — she spoke French and English admirably, and, above all, she brought Madame Stahl’s regrets at having been deprived through illness of the pleasure of making the Princess’s acquaintance.

 

When she had made Varenka’s acquaintance Kitty became more and more fascinated by her friend and found new virtues in her every day.

 

The Princess, having heard that Varenka sang very well, invited her to come and sing to them one evening.

 

‘Kitty plays, and we have a piano, — though not a good one, — and you would give us great pleasure,’ said the Princess with her feigned smile, which was especially unpleasant to Kitty now because she noticed that Varenka did not wish to sing. Varenka, however, came in the evening and brought her music. The Princess had also invited Mary Evgenyevna with her daughter and the Colonel.

 

Varenka did not seem at all abashed by the fact that strangers were present, and she went straight up to the piano. She could not accompany herself but she sang at sight admirably. Kitty, who played well, accompanied her.

 

‘You have an exceptional talent,’ said the Princess, after Varenka had sung her first song excellently.

 

Mary Evgenyevna and her daughter thanked her and praised her singing.

 

‘See,’ said the Colonel, looking out of the window, ‘what an audience has assembled to hear you.’ Underneath the window a considerable crowd really had collected.

 

‘I am very glad it gives you pleasure,’ said Varenka simply. Kitty looked at her friend with pride. She was enraptured by her singing, her voice, her face, and above all by her manner, — by the fact that Varenka evidently attached no importance to her own singing and was quite indifferent to the praise she got; she only seemed to ask: ‘Have I to sing again or is it enough?’

 

‘If it were I,’ thought Kitty, ‘how proud I should feel! How glad I should be to see that crowd under the windows! But she is quite indifferent. She only wished not to refuse, and to give Mama pleasure. What is it in her? What gives her this power to disregard everything and to be so quietly independent? How I should like to know this, and to learn it from her!’ thought Kitty, gazing into the calm face. The Princess asked Varenka to sing again, and she sang another song just as truly, clearly, and well, standing straight at the piano, and beating time on it with her thin brown hand.

 

The next piece in the music book was an Italian song. Kitty played the prelude and looked round at Varenka. ‘Let us skip this one,’ said Varenka, blushing. Kitty anxiously and inquiringly fixed her eyes on Varenka’s face. ‘Well then, another one,’ she said, hurriedly turning over the pages, immediately realizing that there was something particular connected with that song.

 

‘No,’ answered Varenka, putting her hand on the music and smiling. ‘No, let us sing that one.’ And she sang the piece just as calmly, coldly, and well as the previous ones.

 

When she had finished everybody again thanked her and went to drink tea. But Kitty and Varenka went out into the little garden belonging to the house.

 

‘Am I not right, you have some memory attached to that song?’ asked Kitty. ‘Don’t tell me about it,’ she added hurriedly, ‘only say if I am right!’

 

‘Why not? I will tell you,’ said Varenka simply; and without waiting for a reply continued: ‘Yes, there is a memory attached to it and it was painful once. I loved a man and used to sing that song to him.’

 

Kitty, deeply moved, gazed silently with wide-open eyes at Varenka.

 

‘I loved him and he loved me; but his mother would not have it, and he married another. He lives not far from us now, and I see him sometimes. You did not think that I too have had a romance?’ she said, and on her handsome face there flickered for an instant a spark of the fire which, Kitty felt, had once lighted up her whole being.

 

‘I — not think it? Why, if I were a man I could not have loved anyone else after knowing you. But I can’t understand how, to satisfy his mother, he could forget you and make you unhappy. He must be quite heartless.’

 

‘Oh no. He is a very good man, and I am not unhappy; on the contrary, I am very happy. Well, we shan’t sing any more to-day?’ she added, and went toward the house.

 

‘How good you are, how good!’ exclaimed Kitty, stopping her and kissing her. ‘If only I could be a little bit like you!’

 

‘Why should you be like anyone? You’re very good as you are,’ said Varenka, smiling her gentle, weary smile.

 

‘No, I am not at all good. But tell me . . . Wait a bit, let us sit down again,’ said Kitty, making Varenka sit down on a garden seat beside her. ‘Tell me, is it possible that you are not offended at the thought that a man despised your love? That he did not wish . . . ?’

 

‘But he did not despise it; I believe that he loved me, but he was an obedient son . . .’

 

‘Yes, but if it had not been his mother’s doing, but his own?’ said Kitty, feeling that she had given away her secret and that her face, burning with a blush of shame, had already betrayed her.

 

‘Then he would have behaved badly and I should not regret him,’ replied Varenka, evidently conscious that they were now speaking not about her but about Kitty.

 

‘But the humiliation?’ said Kitty. ‘One cannot forget the humiliation, one cannot,’ and she remembered the look she gave Vronsky at the ball, when the music stopped.

 

‘Where is the humiliation? You did not do anything wrong?’

 

‘Worse than wrong, shameful.’

 

Varenka shook her head and put her hand on Kitty’s.

 

‘Shameful in what respect?’ she said. ‘You could not have told a man who was himself indifferent to you that you loved him?’

 

‘Of course not; I never said a single word, but he knew it. No, no; there are such things as looks and ways of behaving. If I live to be a hundred I shall never forget it.’

 

‘What does it matter? I don’t understand. The question is, do you love him now or not?’ said Varenka, calling everything by its plain name.

 

‘I hate him: and I cannot forgive myself.’

 

‘But what does it matter?’

 

‘The shame, the humiliation . . .’

 

‘Dear me, if every one were as sensitive as you are!’ said Varenka. ‘There is no girl who has not gone through the same sort of thing. And it is all so unimportant.’

 

‘Then what is important?’ asked Kitty, looking into her face with surprised curiosity.

 

‘Ah, many things are important,’ replied Varenka, not knowing what to say. But at that moment they heard the Princess’s voice from the window:

 

‘Kitty, it is getting chilly! Either take a shawl or come in.’

 

‘Yes, I really must be going!’ said Varenka, rising. ‘I have to look in at Madame Berthe’s; she asked me to.’

 

Kitty held her hands, and with passionate curiosity and entreaty questioned Varenka with her eyes: ‘What — what is more important? What gives you such peace? You know, tell me!’ But Varenka did not even understand what Kitty’s eyes were asking. She only knew that she had to call on Madame Berthe and get home in time for Mama’s midnight tea. She went in, collected her music, and having said good-night to everybody, prepared to go.

 

‘Allow me to see you home,’ said the Colonel.

 

‘Yes, how can you go alone at this time of night?’ agreed the Princess. ‘I will at any rate send Parasha with you.’

 

Kitty noticed that Varenka had difficulty in suppressing a smile at the idea that she needed anyone to see her home.

 

‘Oh no, I always go out alone and nothing ever happens to me,’ she said, taking up her hat. And kissing Kitty again, but without telling her what was most important, she went out with vigorous steps with her music under her arm, and disappeared in the semi-darkness of the summer night, carrying with her the secret of what was important, and to what she owed her enviable tranquillity and dignity.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 33

 

 

 

—>>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<—

 

 

 

KITTY also became acquainted with Madame Stahl, and this acquaintanceship, together with Varenka’s friendship, not only had a great influence on Kitty, but comforted her in her sorrow. What comforted her was that a perfectly new world was revealed to her, a world that had nothing in common with her past: an exalted, admirable world, from the heights of which it was possible to regard that past calmly. It was revealed to her that besides that instinctive life she had lived hitherto there was also a spiritual life. That life was revealed by religion, but a religion that had nothing in common with that which Kitty had known since her childhood and which found expression in Mass and vespers at the private chapel of the Widow’s Almshouse where one could meet one’s friends, and in learning Slavonic texts by heart with the priest. This was a lofty, mystical religion connected with a series of beautiful thoughts and feelings, which it was not only possible to believe because one was told to, but even to love.

 

Kitty did not learn all this from words. Madame Stahl spoke with her as with a dear child who gives one pleasure by reminding one of one’s own past, and only once mentioned that love and faith alone can bring relief in all human sorrows and that no sorrows are too trivial for Christ’s compassion. Then she immediately changed the subject. But in Madame Stahl’s every movement, every word, every ‘heavenly’ look (as Kitty called it), and especially in the whole story of her life, which Kitty learnt from Varenka, she discovered what was important and what she had not known before.

 

But however lofty may have been Madame Stahl’s character, however touching her story, and however elevated and tender her words, Kitty could not help noticing some perplexing traits in her. She noticed that Madame Stahl, when inquiring about Kitty’s relatives, smiled contemptuously, which did not accord with Christian kindness. And once, when Kitty met a Roman Catholic priest at the house, she observed that Madame Stahl carefully hid her face behind the lampshade and smiled in a peculiar manner. Trifling as these things were they disturbed Kitty, and she felt doubts about Madame Stahl. But Varenka, lonely, without relatives or friends, with her sad disillusionment, wishing for nothing and regretting nothing, personified that perfection of which Kitty only allowed herself to dream. In Varenka she saw that it was only necessary to forget oneself and to love others in order to be at peace, happy, and lovely. And such a person Kitty wished to be. Having now clearly understood what was most important, Kitty was not content merely to delight in it, but immediately with her whole soul devoted herself to this newly-revealed life. She formed a plan for her future life, based on what Varenka told her about the work of Madame Stahl and of others whom she named. Like Madame Stahl’s niece, Aline, of whom Varenka told her a great deal, Kitty determined, wherever she lived, to seek out the unfortunate, help them as much as she could, distribute Gospels, and read the Gospel to the sick, to criminals, and to the dying. The idea of reading the Gospels to criminals, as Aline did, charmed Kitty particularly. But all these were secret dreams, which she did not speak of either to her mother or to Varenka.