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mediately 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.
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.
She 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
noble. And that was what Kitty longed to be. Seeing now clearly what
was the 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, give them the Gospel, read the
Gospel to the sick, 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.
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.
At first the princess noticed nothing but that Kitty was much un-
der 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.
The princess saw that in the evenings Kitty read a French testa-
ment 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 nice sort of 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.
“Il ne faut jamais rien outrer,” she said to her.
Her daughter made her no reply, only in her heart she thought that
one could not talk about exaggeration where Christianity was con-