which had not even been begun by the languid lady--was a Russian, the
daughter of a ruined official, educated at a government boarding
school, a very emotional, soft-hearted, and deceitful creature; she
was for ever falling in love, and ended in her fiftieth year (when
Elena was seventeen) by marrying an officer of some sort, who deserted
her without loss of time. This governess was very fond of literature,
and wrote verses herself; she inspired Elena with a love of reading,
but reading alone did not satisfy the girl; from childhood she
thirsted for action, for active well-doing--the poor, the hungry, and
the sick absorbed her thoughts, tormented her, and made her heart
heavy; she used to dream of them, and to ply all her friends with
questions about them; she gave alms carefully, with unconscious
solemnity, almost with a thrill of emotion. All ill-used creatures,
starved dogs, cats condemned to death, sparrows fallen out of the
nest, even insects and reptiles found a champion and protector in
Elena; she fed them herself, and felt no repugnance for them. Her
mother did not interfere with her; but her father used to be very
indignant with his daughter, for her--as he called it--vulgar
soft-heartedness, and declared there was not room to move for the cats
and dogs in the house. 'Lenotchka,' he would shout to her, 'come
quickly, here's a spider eating a fly; come and save the poor wretch!'
And Lenotchka, all excitement, would run up, set the fly free, and
disentangle its legs. 'Well, now let it bite you a little, since you
are so kind,' her father would say ironically; but she did not hear
him. At ten years old Elena made friends with a little beggar-girl,
Katya, and used to go secretly to meet her in the garden, took her
nice things to eat, and presented her with handkerchiefs and pennies;
playthings Katya would not take. She would sit beside her on the dry
earth among the bushes behind a thick growth of nettles; with a
feeling of delicious humility she ate her stale bread and listened to