pains to cure her of it. He was complete master at home, no one stood in his way, he might even speculate with her fortune, according to his inclination, he might play at cards all night, he might be at home or not as he pleased. Even the servants did not grumble at their mistress. She never scolded them, she did not tire them with many orders nor was she too particular about their work. Everything appeared as it really went on, there were no subterfuges; no one had to complain of the mistress nor did any one really love her, and the lady bore with them all.
It was a condition of married life such as we see frequently. Tenderness was not yet developed in Karla. She did not live with her husband in any sort of intimacy, and if her husband was at home, it seemed as natural to her as that day should follow night, if he went away she was as little apprehensive about him as about the coming of night.
Formality ruled her world: she felt no pressing wants and the warmth of her conjugal affection was no greater than her appetite for the fifth course at table. She enjoyed it but she did not need it.
Karla’s intelligence was moreover such as we frequently find. She was cultivated because it is necessary to be so and people expect something of the sort. Neither Karla’s parents nor her instructors nor herself understood what is the true substance of a cultivated mind. Her instructors developed in her a series of merely mechanical accomplishments, spiritual warmth and earnestness slept like the combustible matter in a piece of wood, when it is taken out of the fire. She learnt to read and read—but only because there were books in the world: if there had not been any she would not have yearned for them. She took a walk in her books so to speak—like an indifferent man in a fine country. If you ask him what he has seen in it, he will tell you that there are trees in it and also grass.
A rose is a rose to him because it is not called a nettle, a butterfly is a butterfly to him because it flutters over the wild flowers in a manner different from a bird.
In the most beautiful gallery he sees only frames, painted canvass. He pauses before a picture because people are talking about it and many are standing before it. He who has not soul sees soul nowhere and where the mind has no innate loftiness, neither Tiziano nor Michelangelo can win a hearing. Karla’s cultivation was like that of many a girl and woman. They know more or less, but no one cares to talk about it with them. Their
