"Varia, PLEASE go on reading," she said at length, at the same time handing her niece the book, and patting her hand kindly."I wish to know whether he ever found HER again " (as a matter of fact, the novel in question contained not a word about any one finding any one else)."And, Mitia dear," she added to her nephew, despite the glum looks which he was throwing at her for having interrupted the logical thread of his deductions, "you had better let me poultice your cheek, or your teeth will begin to ache again."
After that the reading was resumed.Yet the quarrel had in no way dispelled the calm atmosphere of family and intellectual harmony which enveloped this circle of ladies.
Clearly deriving its inspiration and character from the Princess Maria Ivanovna, it was a circle which, for me, had a wholly novel and attractive character of logicalness mingled with simplicity and refinement.That character I could discern in the daintiness, good taste, and solidity of everything about me, whether the handbell, the binding of the book, the settee, or the table.
Likewise, I divined it in the upright, well-corseted pose of the Princess, in her pendant curls of grey hair, in the manner in which she had, at our first introduction, called me plain "Nicolas" and "he," in the occupations of the ladies (the reading and the sewing of garments), and in the unusual whiteness of their hands.Those hands, en passant, showed a family feature common to all--namely, the feature that the flesh of the palm on the outer side was rosy in colour, and divided by a sharp, straight line from the pure whiteness of the upper portion of the hand.Still more was the character of this feminine circle expressed in the manner in which the three ladies spoke Russian and French--spoke them, that is to say, with perfect articulation of syllables and pedantic accuracy of substantives and prepositions.All this, and more especially the fact that the ladies treated me as simply and as seriously as a real grown-up--
telling me their opinions, and listening to my own (a thing to which I was so little accustomed that, for all my glittering buttons and blue facings, I was in constant fear of being told:
"Surely you do not think that we are talking SERIOUSLY to you? Go away and learn something")--all this, I say, caused me to feel an entire absence of restraint in this society.I ventured at times to rise, to move about, and to talk boldly to each of the ladies except Varenika (whom I always felt it was unbecoming, or even forbidden, for me to address unless she first spoke to me).
As I listened to her clear, pleasant voice reading aloud, I kept glancing from her to the path of the flower-garden, where the rain-spots were ****** small dark circles in the sand, and thence to the lime-trees, upon the leaves of which the rain was pattering down in large detached drops shed from the pale, shimmering edge of the livid blue cloud which hung suspended over us.Then I would glance at her again, and then at the last purple rays of the setting sun where they were throwing the dense clusters of old, rain-washed birches into brilliant relief.Yet again my eyes would return to Varenika, and, each time that they did so, it struck me afresh that she was not nearly so plain as at first I had thought her.
"How I wish that I wasn't in love already!" I reflected, "or that Sonetchka was Varenika! How nice it would be if suddenly I could become a member of this family, and have the three ladies for my mother, aunt, and wife respectively!" All the time that these thoughts kept passing through my head I kept attentively regarding Varenika as she read, until somehow I felt as though I were magnetising her, and that presently she must look at me.
Sure enough, at length she raised her head, threw me a glance, and, meeting my eyes, turned away.
"The rain does not seem to stop," she remarked.
Suddenly a new feeling came over me.I began to feel as though everything now happening to me was a repetition of some similar occurrence before--as though on some previous occasion a shower of rain had begun to fall, and the sun had set behind birch-
trees, and I had been looking at her, and she had been reading aloud, and I had magnetised her, and she had looked up at me.
Yes, all this I seemed to recall as though it had happened once before.
"Surely she is not--SHE?" was my thought."Surely IT is not beginning?" However, I soon decided that Varenika was not the "SHE" referred to, and that "it" was not "beginning." "In the first place," I said to myself, "Varenika is not at all BEAUTIFUL.She is just an ordinary girl whose acquaintance I have made in the ordinary way, whereas the she whom I shall meet somewhere and some day and in some not ordinary way will be anything but ordinary.This family pleases me so much only because hitherto I have never seen anybody.Such things will always be happening in the future, and I shall see many more such families during my life."
