ocured a fascinating carriage, and an exquisite piano.
Before a week had passed, she crossed the street, wore her shawl,
opened her parasol, and put on her gloves in a manner equal to the most
true-born Parisian. And she soon drew round herself acquaintances.
At first, only Russians visited her, afterwards Frenchmen too,
very agreeable, polite, and unmarried, with excellent manners and
well-sounding names; they all talked a great deal and very fast, bowed
easily, grimaced agreeably; their white teeth flashed under their rosy
lips--and how they could smile! All! of them brought their friends, and
la belle Madame de Lavretsky was soon known from Chausee d'Antin to Rue
de Lille. In those days--it was in 1836--there had not yet arisen the
tribe of journalists and reporters who now swarm on all sides like ants
in an ant-hill; but even then there was seen in Varvara Pavlovna's salon
a certain M. Jules, a gentleman of unprepossessing exterior, with a
scandalous reputation, insolent and mean, like all duelists and men
who have been beaten. Varvara Pavlovna felt a great aversion to this M.
Jules, but she received him because he wrote for various journals,
and was incessantly mentioning her, calling her at one time Madame
de L-----tski, at another Madame de -----, cette grande dame russe si
distinguee, qui demeure rue de P----- and telling all the world, that
is, some hundreds of readers who had nothing to do with Madame
de L-----tski, how charming and delightful this lady was; a
true Frenchwoman in intelligence (une vraie francaise par
l'esprit)--Frenchmen have no higher praise than this--what an
extraordinary musician she was, and how marvelously she waltzed (Varvara
Pavlovna did in fact waltz so that she drew all her hearts to the hem
of her light flying skirts)--in a word, he spread her fame through the
world, and, whatever one may say, that is pleasant. Mademoiselle Mars
had already left the stage, and Mademoiselle Rachel had not yet made her
appearance; nevertheless, Varvara Pavlovna was assiduous in visiting the
theatres. She went into raptures over Italian music, yawned decorously
at the Comedie Francaise, and wept at the acting of Madame Dorval in
some ultra romantic melodrama; and a great thing--Liszt played twice
in her salon, and was so kind, so simple--it was charming! In such
agreeable sensations was spent the winter, at the end of which Varvara
Pavlovna was even presented at court. Fedor Ivanitch, for his part,
was