hile her father,
who had been proud of her while she had been regarded as an exceptional
child, had come to be afraid of her when she was grown up, and said of
her that she was a sort of enthusiastic republican--no one could say
where she got it from. Weakness revolted her, stupidity made her angry,
and deceit she could never, never pardon. She was exacting beyond
all bounds, even her prayers had more than once been mingled with
reproaches. When once a person had lost her respect--and she passed
judgment quickly, often too quickly--he ceased to exist for her. All
impressions cut deeply into her heart; life was bitter earnest for her.

The governess to whom Anna Vassilyevna had entrusted the finishing of
her daughter's education--an education, we may remark in parenthesis,
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,