LIBRARY j 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 CALI .-RNIA 
 
 SAN >EGO
 
 Methuen's Shilling Library 
 
 36 De Prof undis Oscar Wilde 
 
 37 Lord Arthur Savile's Crime Oscar Wilde 
 
 38 Selected Poems Oscar Wilde 
 
 39 An Ideal Husband Oscar Wilde 
 
 40 Intentions Oscar Wilde 
 
 41 Lady Windermere's Fan Oscar Wilde 
 
 42 Charmides and other Poems Oscar Wilde 
 
 43 Harvest Home E. V. Lucas 
 
 44 A Little of Everything E. V. Lucas 
 
 45 Vailima Letters Robert Louis Stevenson 
 
 46 Hills and the Sea H. Belloc 
 
 47 The Blue Bird Maurice Maeterlinck 
 
 48 Mary Magdalene Maurice Maeterlinck 
 
 49 Under Five Reigns Lady Dorothy Nevill 
 
 50 Charles Dickens G. K. Chesterton 
 
 51 Man and the Universe Sir Oliver Lodge 
 *52 The Life of Robert Louis Stevenson Graham Balfour 
 
 53 Letters from a Self-Made Merchant to his Son 
 
 George Horace Lorimer 
 
 *54 The Life of John Ruskin W. G. Collingwood 
 
 55 The Parish Clerk P. H. Ditchfield 
 
 56 The Condition of England C. F. G. Masterman 
 
 57 Sevastopol and other Stories Leo Tolstoy 
 
 58 The Lore of the Honey- Bee Tickner Edwardes 
 
 59 Tennyson A. C. Benson 
 *6o From Midshipman to Field Marshal Sir Evelyn Wood 
 
 <>2 John Boyes, King of the Wa-Kikuyu John Boyes 
 
 63 Oscar Wilde Arthur Ransom e 
 
 64 The Vicar of Morwenstow S. Baring-Gould 
 
 65 Old Country Life S. Baring-Gould 
 
 66 Thomas Henry Huxley P. Chalmers Mitchell 
 67 Chitral Sir G. S. Robertson 
 
 68 Two Admirals Admiral John Moresby 
 
 76 Home Life in France M. Betham-Edwards 
 
 77 Selected Prose Oscar Wilde 
 
 78 The Best of Lamb E. V. Lucas 
 So Selected Letters Robert Louis Stevenson 
 83 Reason and Belief Sir Oliver Lodge 
 85 The Importance of Being Earnest Oscar Wilde 
 88 The Tower of London Richard Davey 
 9 1 Social Evils and their Remedy Leo Tolstoy 
 
 93 The Substance of Faith Sir Oliver Lodge 
 
 94 All Things Considered G. K. Chesterton 
 
 95 The Mirror of the Sea Joseph Conrad 
 
 96 A Picked Company Hilaire Belloc 
 101 A Book of Famous Wits Walter Jerrold 
 1 1 6 The Survival of Man Sir Oliver Lodge 
 
 1 26 Science from an Easy Chair Sir Ray Lankester 
 
 * Slightly Abridged. 
 
 Methuen & Co., Ltd. 36 Essex Street, London, W.C.
 
 Methuen's Shilling Novels 
 
 1 The Mighty Atom Marie Corelli 
 
 2 Jane Marie Corelli 
 
 3 Boy Marie Corelli 
 
 4 Spanish Gold G. A. Birmingham 
 
 5 The Search Party G. A. Birmingham 
 
 6 Teresa of Watling Street Arnold Bennett 
 
 7 Anna of the Five Towns Arnold Bennett 
 
 8 Fire In Stubble Baroness Orczy 
 
 9 The Unofficial Honeymoon Dolf Wyllarue 
 
 10 The Botor Chaperon C. N. and A. M. Williamson 
 
 1 1 Lady Betty across the Water C. N. and A. M. Williamson 
 
 12 The Demon C. N. and A. M. Williamson 
 
 13 The Woman with the Fan Robert Hichens 
 
 14 Barbary Sheep Robert Hichens 
 
 15 The Guarded Flame W. B. Maxwell 
 
 1 6 Hill Rise W. B. Maxwell 
 
 17 Joseph Frank Danby 
 
 1 8 Round the Red Lamp Sir A. Conan Doyle 
 
 19 Under the Red Robe Stanley Weyinan 
 
 20 Light Freights W. W. Jacobs 
 
 21 The Gate of the Desert John Oxenham 
 
 22 The Long Road John Oxenham 
 
 33 The Missing Delora E. Phillips Oppenheim 
 
 34 Mirage E. Temple Thurston 
 
 71 The Gates of Wrath Arnold Bennett 
 
 72 Short Cruises W. W. Jacobs 
 
 73 The Pathway of the Pioneer Dolf Wyllardc 
 75 The Street Called Straight Basil Kins; 
 8 1 The Card Arnold Bennett 
 84 The Sea Lady H. G. Welis 
 
 86 The Wild Olive Basil King 
 
 87 Lalagc's Lovers G. A. Birmingham 
 90 A Change in the Cabinet Hilaire Belloc 
 92 White F-ang Jack London 
 97 A Nine Days' Wonder B. M. Croker 
 99 The Coil of Carne John Oxenham 
 
 100 The Mess Deck W. F. Shannon 
 
 1 02 The Beloved Enemy E. Maria Albanesi 
 
 103 The Quest of the Golden Rose John Oxenham 
 
 104 A Counsel of Perfection Lucas Malet 
 
 106 The Wedding Day C. N. and A M. Williamson 
 
 107 Th Lantern Bearers Mrs Alfred Sidgwick 
 
 108 The Adventures of Dr. W bitty G. A. Birmingham 
 
 109 The Sea Captain H. C. Bailey 
 no The Babes in the Wood B. M. Croker 
 in Th Remington Sentence W. Pett Ridge 
 
 112 My Danish ^vectlieart W. Clark Russell 
 
 113 Lavender anil OKI Lace Myrtle Reed 
 
 114 The Ware Case George Pleydell 
 
 115 Old Rose and Silver Myrtle Reed 
 
 117 The Secret A<rsnt Joseph Conrad 
 
 118 My Husband and I Leo Tolstoy 
 
 1 19 Set in Silver C. N. and A. M. Williamson 
 
 1 20 A Weaver of Webs John Oxenham 
 
 121 Peggy of the Bartons B. M. Croker 
 132 The Double Life of Mr. Alfred Burton H. Phillips Oppenheim 
 
 123 There was a Crooked Man Dolf Wyllardc 
 
 124 The Governor of England Marjorie Bowen 
 
 125 The Regent Arnold Bennett 
 
 127 Sally D. Conyers 
 
 128 The Call of the Blood Robert Hichens 
 
 129 Th Lodger Mrs. Belloc Lowndes
 
 MY HUSBAND AND I 
 
 AND OTHER STORIES 
 
 BY 
 
 LEO TOLSTOY 
 
 METHUEN & CO. LTD. 
 
 36 ESSEX STREET W.C. 
 
 LONDON
 
 First Published by Methuen &* Co. Ltd. at is. net in 1916
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PACE 
 
 MY HUSBAND AND I . . .7 
 
 THE DEATH OF IVAN ILIITCH . . .88 
 
 THE ROMANCE OF A HORSE . . .158
 
 MY HUSBAND AND I 
 
 WE were in mourning for my mother, who had 
 died early in the autumn, and Macha, Sonia, 
 and I had passed the entire winter in the country. 
 Macha had been an old friend of my mother, and was 
 my governess, whom I had known and loved as long 
 as I could remember. Sonia was my younger sister. 
 
 The winter had been sad and dreary at Pokrovski, 
 our old country house. It was cold, and the wind 
 swept the snow in thick drifts as high as the window 
 ledges ; the window panes remained frosted for days 
 together, and we seldom walked or drove out. 
 Visitors came but rarely, and the few who did come 
 brought neither mirth nor amusement with them. 
 They had mournful faces, and spoke with bated 
 breath, as if they feared to awaken a sleeper ; they 
 never smiled, but sighed and wept when they saw 
 little Sonia and me in our black dresses. It was as 
 if the Angel of Death was ever hovering in the air 
 as if the atmosphere was ever oppressed with his 
 dread presence. My mother's room was kept shut, 
 but I never passed the closed door without feeling 
 an invisible something drawing me towards the cold 
 and silent chamber. 
 
 I had passed my seventeenth birthday, and it had 
 been my mother's intention to go to St. Petersburg 
 that winter, so that I might be formally introduced 
 into society. My mother's loss had been a great 
 grief to me, but I must confess that in the midst of 
 my sorrow for her, I also felt a painful shrinking 
 from the thought of spending another winter in the 
 death-like solitude of the country. 
 
 7
 
 8 MY HUSBAND AND I 
 
 After a time the mingled emotions of loneliness, 
 grief, and lassitude attained to such a degree that I 
 scarcely ever left my room, never opened the piano, 
 or took a book in my hand. When Macha urged me 
 to occupy myself with this thing or that, my answer 
 was always the same : ' I cannot ; I have no heart 
 for it,' while a voice within me whispered : ' Why 
 try to make anything of myself since the best days 
 of my life are slipping away so drearily ? ' To this 
 depressing query I had but one reply tears. 
 
 I heard them say I was much altered and was 
 growing thinner, but I cared nothing for that. W'hy 
 should I trouble myself on that account, since it 
 seemed that I was doomed to spend the remainder 
 of my life in this cheerless solitude a thought which 
 took from me all strength of will, and almost the 
 desire to escape. 
 
 Towards the end of the winter Macha began to be 
 seriously concerned as to my condition, and resolved 
 to remove me from Pokrovski as soon as possible. 
 But money was necessary for the accomplishment 
 of such a purpose, and we did not as yet know how 
 much would be left us, after the settlement of my 
 mother's estate. So we waited, day after day, for 
 a visit from my guardian, who was to inform us of 
 the condition of affairs. 
 
 Finally, in March, he came. ' Thank God,' said 
 Macha one day, as I glided like a shadow, from one 
 corner to another, listless and unconcerned. ' Thank 
 God, Sergei Mikhailovitch has come. He has sent 
 word that he will be here to dinner. Pray arouse 
 yourself, my little Katia,' she added imploringly. 
 ' What will he think of you ; he used to be so fond 
 of you both.' 
 
 Sergei Mikhailovitch was one of our neighbours, 
 and an old friend of my dead father, although much 
 the younger of the two. Apart from the fact that 
 his arrival might completely change our mode of life, 
 I had loved and reverenced him since my babyhood, 
 and Macha wished me to exert myself, because she 
 knew it would cause me more pain to appear before
 
 MY HUSBAND AND I 9 
 
 him in an unfavourable light than before any other 
 of our acquaintances. 
 
 Not only because I, as well as every one else in the 
 house, from Macha and Sonia, his god-daughter, 
 down to the youngest stable boy, loved him, but 
 also because of a remark my mother once made in 
 my hearing, to the effect that she should be glad if I 
 secured such a man as Sergei Mikhailovitch for my 
 husband. 
 
 At the time it appeared to me a very absurd idea, 
 My ideal was very different ; he was young, tall, 
 slender, pale, and melancholy ; Sergei Mikhailovitch, 
 on the contrary, was no longer young, and he was 
 stout, strong, and always merry. 
 
 Yet, in spite of this difference, my mother's words 
 kept constantly recurring to my memory, and six 
 years before, when I was only eleven, and when 
 Sergei Mikhailovitch had still said ' Thou ' to me, 
 and called me a spring violet, I had occasionally 
 asked myself with inward trepidation : ' What shall 
 I do if he wishes to marry me ? ' 
 
 Shortly before dinner, for which Macha had pre- 
 pared a cream and some spinach, Sergei Mikhailovitch 
 arrived. I saw him through the window as he drew 
 near the house in a small sledge, and I hastened into 
 the drawing-room, intending to act as though I did 
 not expect to see him ; however, no sooner did I 
 hear the sound of his footsteps in the hall, and his 
 loud, cheery voice replying to Macha's softer one 
 bidding him welcome, than I forgot my resolution 
 and ran to join them. 
 
 . He was holding Macha's hand, talking rapidly and 
 laughing gaily ; but, as soon as he caught sight of me, 
 he became silent and stood quite still, not offering 
 me a word or sign of greeting. For my part, I \vas 
 very uncomfortable, and felt myself blushing. 
 
 ' Can it be possible ! Yes, it is you ; but how 
 changed/ he said at last, drawing me towards him 
 with both hands in his simple, hearty fashion. ' How 
 you have grown ! Our little violet has become trans- 
 formed into a full-blown rose.'
 
 io MY HUSBAND AND I 
 
 He then clasped my hand so firmly as to almost 
 give me pain. I expected him to kiss my hand, and 
 had leaned l towards him ; but he only gazed steadily 
 at me with his bright, kind eyes. 
 
 I had not seen him for six years, and found him 
 also greatly changed. He was older, browner, and 
 wore a heavy beard, which was not becoming ; 
 however, he had the same simple, frank manner, 
 and the same true, honest eyes, and pleasant, almost 
 childlike, smile. 
 
 Five minutes later, we had forgotten that he was a 
 guest, and looked upon him as one of the family, as 
 the servants also did, showing their delight at seeing 
 him by their eager attention to his wants. 
 
 He was not like our other neighbours, who thought 
 it their duty to sigh and groan as long as they were 
 with us. Quite the contrary ; he was talkative and 
 merry, not alluding in the remotest degree to my 
 mother, so that I thought such indifference astonish- 
 ing and, in so intimate a friend, almost unpardonable. 
 Later on I knew it to be, not indifference, but 
 thoughtfulness. 
 
 After dinner, Macha had tea served in the little 
 parlour, which my mother had generally used for 
 that purpose. Sonia and I sat near her, and old 
 Grigoriy brought Sergei Mikhailovitch one of my 
 father's pipes. As in other days, he commenced to 
 smoke while walking up and down the room. 
 
 ' How many melancholy changes have taken place 
 here when I think of it,' he said, pausing suddenly 
 in his promenade. 
 
 ' Yes, yes,' replied Macha, covering up the samovar, 
 and looking at Sonia and me as if half disposed to cry. 
 
 ' Do you recollect your father ? ' asked Sergei 
 Mikhailovitch, turning to me. 
 
 ' Very faintly,' I answered. 
 
 ' What a blessing it would be if he were with you 
 now,' he said slowly and thoughtfully. ' I loved your 
 
 1 It is customary in Russia for the gentleman to kiss the lady's 
 band, and she returns the salutation by kissing the gentleman's 
 forehead. Trans.
 
 MY HUSBAND AND I n 
 
 father dearly,' he added softly, a dreamy expression 
 coming into his eyes. 
 
 ' The dear God called him from us,' said Macha, 
 throwing her napkin over the tea-caddy, while the 
 tears dropped slowly into her lap. 
 
 ' Yes, sad changes have occurred,' repeated Sergei 
 Mikha'ilovitch, turning away ; ' Sonia, come and show 
 me your toys,' he added abruptly, going out into the 
 large hall. With eyes full of tears I looked after 
 him. 
 
 ' We have one true friend,' said Macha. 
 
 ' Yes, indeed,' I cried, my heart feeling unusually 
 warm and comforted by the sympathy of this good 
 man. The sounds of Sonia's laughter and -his jests 
 reached us from the hall. I sent him a cup of tea, 
 and presently we heard him open the piano and strike 
 the keys with Sonia's tiny fingers. 
 
 ' Katia Alexandrowna,' he called ; ' come here, 
 pray, and give me some music.' 
 
 It pleased me to hear him use this simple yet 
 authoritative tone, so I arose and went to him 
 immediately. 
 
 ' Play this,' he said, placing a copy of the Adagio 
 of Beethoven's sonata, Quasi una Fantasia, on the 
 rack. ' Let me hear how you can play,' he added, 
 and taking up his cup of tea he went to the other 
 end of the room. 
 
 I felt, though why I am sure I cannot tell, that it 
 would be impossible to do otherwise than as he bid, 
 or indeed even to make any apologies for want of 
 practice or bad playing. So I seated myself at the 
 piano and began, though I greatly feared his criticism, 
 for I knew that he not only loved music but under- 
 stood it. 
 
 The Adagio expressed the very emotions awakened 
 by the conversation at the tea table, and my render- 
 ing of it appeared to satisfy him. The Scherzo he 
 would not allow me to play. 
 
 ' No, that would not go well,' he said, coming 
 towards me. ' The Adagio was not badly performed. 
 You understand music, I find.'
 
 12 MY HUSBAND AND I 
 
 This moderate praise was so delightful that I felt 
 myself colouring. It was a new and agreeable 
 sensation, that of having my father's old friend talk 
 to me as an equal, instead of as a child. 
 
 When Macha went upstairs to put little Sonia to 
 bed, he spoke to me of my father ; how he had first 
 made his acquaintance ; how the bond which united 
 them had grown stronger with each added year, 
 until death came for my father, while I was still a 
 child in the nursery, busy with my toys and kitten. 
 
 For the first time I felt as if I knew my father, a 
 noble-hearted, amiable man, created to love and be 
 loved. Afterwards Sergei Mikhailovitch questioned 
 me regarding my studies and my favourite occupa- 
 tions. He was no longer the jovial, fun-loving play- 
 fellow that I remembered, but an earnest, serious 
 man, showing me sympathy and esteem. It was 
 pleasant, and yet I felt an occasional dread lest 
 something I might say would induce him to think me 
 unworthy of being my father's daughter. 
 
 On Macha's return to the drawing-room she com- 
 plained to Sergei Mikhailovitch of my apathy and 
 dulness, matters which I had carefully refrained from 
 mentioning. 
 
 ' So she failed to tell me the most important thing 
 concerning herself ? ' he remarked, shaking his head 
 at me, half jestingly, half reproachfully. 
 
 ' What was there to tell ? ' I replied. ' It is tire- 
 some to think of, and will pass away.' In truth, I 
 not only felt as if my melancholy would vanish, 
 but as if it had either already done so, or had never 
 existed at all. 
 
 ' It is unfortunate not to know how to endure 
 solitude. Are you really a young lady ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, I believe so,' I laughingly replied. 
 
 ' No, you are not ; or, at least, you are only a very 
 naughty one, who is only happy as long as she is 
 receiving homage, and relapses into weariness as soon 
 as she is left to her own devices.' 
 
 ' You must have a fine opinion of me,' I said, trying 
 to hide my embarrassment.
 
 MY HUSBAND AND I 13 
 
 ' No, it cannot be ; you are so like your father. 
 There must be something in you.' 
 
 Then his kind eyes turned on me again, filling me 
 with singular emotion. I noticed now for the first 
 time that despite his seemingly gay face and eyes, 
 apparently expressive of unclouded serenity, there 
 was an undercurrent of thoughtfulness, mingled with 
 a little sadness, in his expression. 
 
 ' It isn't possible for you to feel dull,' he added ; 
 ' you have music which you understand, books, 
 various studies your whole life is now open before 
 you, and you must work to prepare yourself for it, 
 so that you may have nothing to regret hereafter. 
 In another year or so it may be too late.' 
 
 He thus spoke to me as a father or an uncle might 
 have done, *and I realized that he made an effort to 
 remain on the same level as myself. I felt a little 
 bit offended that he should consider me so much 
 beneath him, but on the other hand I was pleased 
 that he thought fit to make this effort for my sake. 
 
 During th2 remainder of the evening he talked to 
 Macha on business. 
 
 ' And now, good-bye, my dear Katia/ he said, 
 taking my hand. 
 
 ' When shall we see you again ? ' inquired Macha. 
 
 ' Not before the spring. I am now on my way to 
 Donilouka (our second estate) to see how affairs are 
 going there, and then I must start for Moscow, greatly 
 against my inclinations. But in the summer you 
 will see me frequently.' 
 
 ' Why do you intend to be away so long ? ' I asked 
 mournfully. I had expected to be able to see him 
 daily, and was so disturbed by this blow to my hopes 
 that my sadness instantly returned to me. This 
 must have been visible on my face and in my voice, 
 for Sergei Mikha'ilovitch remarked : ' If you keep 
 yourself busy and occupied the winter will soon 
 pass by.' 
 
 His tone and manner were cold and quiet. ' I will 
 examine you in the spring,' he added, allowing my 
 hand to fall and then turning away.
 
 14 MY HUSBAND AND I 
 
 In the vestibule, where we accompanied him, he 
 hastened to put on his fur coat, and avoided looking 
 at me. ' I wonder why/ I thought. ' Can it be 
 that he fancies I care for his attention ? He is 
 certainly a good man, very good, but that is 
 all.' 
 
 That evening Macha and I were very wakeful, 
 and we talked a long time, not of him, but of the 
 coming summer, and of how and where we should 
 spend the winter. An important question to our 
 minds, but why ? For my part it seemed evident 
 and simple that life must consist in being happy, 
 indeed I would not picture anything else but happi- 
 ness in the future ; it was as if our gloomy old 
 residence at Pokrovski had been suddenly flooded 
 with light and sunshine. 
 
 II 
 
 PRING came at last ! My melancholy had 
 ^ vanished, and in its place had come a whole 
 train of dreamy, yet objectless, hopes and longings. 
 My entire mode of life was changed. I busied 
 myself with Sonia ; I enjoyed my music as I had 
 never enjoyed it before ; I studied with fresh zest ; 
 
 1 wandered along the green garden pathways, or 
 sat under the spreading trees, dreaming and hoping 
 and thinking of God alone knows what ! 
 
 Sometimes I would remain by my window the 
 whole night long, especially if it were moonlight ; or 
 wrapped in a long cloak, I would slip out of the house 
 very quietly, so that Macha might not hear me, and 
 roam up and down the terrace, even occasionally 
 going through the dew to the pond, and making the 
 circuit of the garden in the soothing stillness of the 
 night. 
 
 I find it difficult to recall many of the reveries in 
 which I then indulged ; and, when by chance I 
 succeed in remembering some of them, I can scarcely 
 realize that they were the products of my own brain :
 
 MY HUSBAND AND I 15 
 
 they were so weird and so far removed from the 
 realities of life. 
 
 Towards the end of May Sergei Mikhailovitch 
 returned. He called upon us, quite unexpectedly, 
 as we sat on the terrace, where Macha had ordered tea. 
 
 The garden was already quite green ; the nightin- 
 gales had built their nests in the shrubbery close by, 
 and they were celebrating the close of the bright, 
 warm day with their sweetest songs. The bushy 
 lilac trees were covered with fragrant white and 
 tinted buds, just ready to burst into loveliness and 
 perfume ; and the thick foliage of the birch walks 
 was illuminated by the red light of the setting sun. 
 The terrace already lay in the cool shadows ; the 
 night dew sprinkled the grass ; and, in the court- 
 yard behind the garden, one could hear people moving 
 about, and the flocks bleating on their arrival from 
 the fields. 
 
 Silly Nikon drove before the terrace with his 
 water-casks, and the cool stream flowing from the 
 watering-pots described dark circles on the freshly 
 dug earth around the dahlia plants. On the round 
 table before us the brightly polished samovar shone 
 and steamed, whilst cream, pancakes, and tarts lay 
 invitingly on the white damask cloth. 
 
 Macha moved the cups about with her plump white 
 hands in true housewifely fashion, whilst I, feeling 
 very hungry after my bath, could not wait till tea 
 was ready, but began eating some bread with fresh 
 thick cream. I wore a linen blouse with open sleeves, 
 and had a white kerchief tied over my damp hair. 
 
 Macha was the first to observe our friend's arrival. 
 ' Ah, Sergei Mikhailovitch/ she said, ' how glad I 
 am ! We were but just now speaking of you.' 
 
 I jumped up and tried to escape, but he caught 
 me as I reached the hall door. 
 
 ' You are surely not going to stand on ceremony 
 in the country ? ' he laughingly asked, looking 
 quizzically at my head-dress. ' You do not object 
 to wearing it before Grigoriy, and why should you 
 before me ? '
 
 16 MY HUSBAND AND I 
 
 I thought to myself that Sergei Mikhailovitch and 
 old Grigoriy were two very different persons, though 
 I kept the thought to myself. Besides, Sergei looked 
 at me in a manner which disturbed me. 
 
 ' I will be back in one moment,' I replied, breaking 
 away from him. 
 
 ' But what objection have you to your toilette ? I 
 find it very picturesque.' 
 
 ' How oddly he looked at me,' I thought, as I 
 dressed myself. ' Thank God, he is back again. 
 Now we shall begin to live.' 
 
 One hasty glance in the mirror, and then I ran 
 downstairs, and not caring to conceal my haste I 
 reached the terrace quite out of breath. 
 
 Sergei Mikhailovitch sat by the table discussing 
 business affairs with Macha. He smiled when his 
 eyes met mine, but did not interrupt his conversa- 
 tion. He reported that he had found our property 
 in excellent order, and said that we need not remain 
 in Pokrovski longer than the following autumn, 
 when we might go either to St. Petersburg for 
 Sonia's education, or to Switzerland or Italy for 
 our amusement. 
 
 ' I wish you could go with us,' sighed Macha ; ' I 
 am afraid that if we went alone we should lose 
 ourselves, as the babes did in the wood.' 
 
 ' How gladly would I travel over half the world 
 with you,' he answered, half in jest and half in earnest. 
 
 ' Very well, then/ I said, ' let us make a tour 
 around the globe.' 
 
 ' And what would become of my mother and my 
 business ? But tell me now of all you have been 
 doing since I left you.' 
 
 Then I told him of my occupations and amuse- 
 ments, adding that I had not felt the slightest shadow 
 of loneliness. He praised and caressed me, just as 
 if I had been a child and he my natural protector. 
 So it seemed quite right to tell him, not only of all 
 the praiseworthy things I had done, but of others 
 also which I knew would not please him, as if I had 
 been in the confessional and he the confessor.
 
 MY HUSBAND AND I 17 
 
 The evening was so lovely that we lingered on the 
 terrace after the removal of the tea things, and the 
 conversation interested me so much that I did not 
 notice how by degrees the busy hum of life and 
 labour ceased. 
 
 The whole air was full of the odour of flowers ; the 
 dew bathed the grass ; the nightingales sang in the 
 lilac bushes near at hand, and the blue, starry sky 
 bent close above us. 
 
 I first observed that night had crept upon us when 
 a bat flew suddenly under the sailcloth covering of 
 the terrace, and brushed against my white dress 
 with his whirring wings. I shrank into a corner, 
 and was on the point of uttering a shriek when he 
 vanished into the darkness of the garden from whence 
 he had come. 
 
 ' How I love your Pokrovski ! ' said Sergei 
 Mikhailovitch, changing the conversation. ' I should 
 like to spend the rest of my life sitting thus.' 
 
 ' Do it, then,' said Macha. 
 
 ' Yes, do it indeed/ he repeated. ' Life will not 
 allow it.' 
 
 ' Why do you not marry ? ' asked Macha. ' You 
 would make a good husband.' 
 
 ' Because I am fond of sitting still ? ' he laughingly 
 inquired. ' No, Macha, for you and for me it is too 
 late to think of marriage. All my acquaintances 
 have long since ceased to think of me as a marriage- 
 able man, and I myself agree with them truly ! ' 
 
 These final words had, it seemed to me, been uttered 
 with forced vivacity. 
 
 ' What nonsense ! ' said Macha. ' Thirty-six years 
 old, and the book of life already closed ! ' 
 
 ' Yes, to be allowed to sit still is now my dearest 
 wish ; and certainly some very different ambition 
 would be required if I dreamed of marriage. Ask 
 Katia,' he added, indicating me by a nod of the head. 
 ' Between us, you and I, we must marry her to some 
 good man, and then we can be happy in seeing her 
 happiness. ' 
 
 There was an undercurrent of bitterness in his
 
 18 MY HUSBAND AND I 
 
 voice and words which did not escape me. For a 
 time he kept quite silent, and neither Macha nor I 
 broke the stillness. 
 
 ' Imagine if you can,' he began again, moving 
 uneasily on his seat, ' what would be the situation 
 if I, through some unhappy accident, had married a 
 seventeen-year-old maiden, like Katia Alexandrowna, 
 for instance I fancy I have found an admirable 
 illustration, the best possible.' He here laughed, 
 and so did I, though I could not tell why. 
 
 ' Now tell me truly and honestly,' he continued, 
 looking at me steadily, ' would you not think it a 
 great misfortune to find your life, still young and 
 fresh, bound to that of an old, worn-out man, whose 
 chief idea of happiness is rest and quiet, while in 
 your heart and mind God alone knows what longings 
 and aspirations are fermenting ? ' 
 
 The question made me very uncomfortable and I 
 remained silent, for I really was at a loss for an 
 answer. 
 
 ' I am not making you a proposal,' he laughingly 
 resumed. ' But tell us frankly if it is of such a 
 husband as I have described that you dream when 
 you wander alone in the twilight through the garden 
 paths. Such a husband would be a serious encum- 
 brance and source of unhappiness, would he not ? ' 
 
 ' Not unhappiness, but ' I commenced to say. 
 
 ' But assuredly not happiness,' he retorted quickly. 
 
 ' No, and yet possibly I may deceive myself.' 
 
 ' Say no more ; you are right, and I am obliged 
 to you for your frankness. I am glad we have had 
 this conversation, for although the unhappiness of 
 such a marriage might be very great on the side of 
 the young girl, yet on mine the misery would be 
 much greater.' 
 
 ' What an odd fellow you are ! ' remarked Macha, 
 as she went in to order supper. ' Years do not seem 
 to have changed you in the least.' 
 
 After Macha left us all was still as nature about us. 
 There was no sound save the nightingale's song, and 
 this did not sound in snatches as it had done earlier
 
 MY HUSBAND AND I 19 
 
 in the evening, but in subdued, long-drawn trills 
 which flooded the whole garden with delicious melody. 
 For the first time that season a second nightingale 
 replied from a distant thicket, and for a moment the 
 first singer was silent, and then both voices united 
 and floated in quiet harmony over the world of 
 night. 
 
 The gardener went by to his bed in the tool house ; 
 two shrill whistles were heard from the high road, 
 and then all became silent again. The evening breeze 
 began to stir the foliage, the awning above us rocked 
 gently to and fro, and with the gusts fresh perfume 
 came floating over the terrace. 
 
 The silence became painful to me after the con- 
 versation just recorded, but I did not know how to 
 break it. 
 
 ' How beautiful is life ! ' he said at last. I 
 breathed deeply. 
 
 ' What is the matter ? ' he asked. 
 
 ' Yes, life is beautiful/ I repeated, and we again fell 
 into profound silence. My discomfort increased, for 
 I feared that I had offended him by acknowledging 
 that I thought him old, and I longed to make an 
 apology, or offer an explanation, but I did not know 
 how. 
 
 ' Good night ! ' he finally said, rising suddenly. 
 ' My mother expects me home to supper. I have 
 scarcely spoken to her to-day.' 
 
 ' But I wanted to play you a new sonata ! ' 
 
 ' Another time/ he answered coldly. ' Adieu ! ' 
 
 I was now quite convinced that I had hurt his 
 feelings, and it grieved me sorely, though I knew 
 not how to make amends. 
 
 Macha and I went with him to the steps of the 
 outer court, where we stood watching him until he 
 was out of sight, and the sound of his horse's hoofs 
 had died away in the distance. Then I returned to 
 the terrace and began walking up and down, gazing 
 at the garden ; and amid the damp haziness and the 
 sounds of the night I lingered, watching and listening 
 to whatever my fancy made visible or audible.
 
 2 MY HUSBAND AND I 
 
 After two or three more visits from Sergei Mikhailo- 
 vitch, the odd, uncomfortable feeling with which this 
 strange conversation had inspired me died away. 
 He came two or three times a week usually, and I soon 
 became so accustomed to these visits, that I not only 
 felt disappointed if he failed to come, but it almost 
 seemed as if life could not be endured without them. 
 
 He treated me now as a dear friend, gave me advice 
 and sympathy, scolded me occasionally, laughed at 
 me not a little, but despite his cordiality and simple 
 kindliness I always felt that there was a whole world 
 of thought and feeling buried under the surface of 
 his nature, in which I was allowed no share. 
 
 From Macha I heard that besides the care of his 
 mother, who lived with him, the management of his 
 own estate and our guardianship, he had other 
 business affairs which were just then causing him a 
 deal of trouble and annoyance. 
 
 But never a word could I inveigle him into saying 
 about his own concerns, his plans and hopes. He 
 always wrinkled his forehead in a curious fashion, as 
 if to say ' Pray let those matters alone. They 
 cannot concern you ! ' and then he turned the 
 conversation into a totally different channel. 
 
 This vexed me at first, but after a while I grew 
 accustomed to hear him speak only of what related 
 to us, and found it natural and agreeable. 
 
 Another thing which tried me at first was his 
 marked indifference to my personal appearance. 
 Never did he intimate by word or glance that he 
 thought me pretty ; on the contrary, if any one 
 complimented me in his presence, he wrinkled his 
 brows and laughed mockingly. The fashionable 
 dresses and head-gear with which Macha loved to 
 adorn me on special occasions, called forth only 
 sneers and ridicule from him, which vexed Macha 
 and puzzled me. 
 
 Poor Macha, who had decided in her own mind 
 that he liked me, could not understand why he would 
 never look at me when I was most becomingly and 
 tastefully arrayed, but I soon comprehended his
 
 MY HUSBAND AND I 21 
 
 reasons. He wished me to be quite free from vanity, 
 and as soon as I made this discovery I put aside every 
 vestige of coquetry in dress and deportment, though 
 after a time I began to coquet with simplicity itself. 
 
 I felt sure that Sergei Mikhailovitch liked me, 
 though whether as a woman or child I did not stop 
 to ask ; and as I did not wish him to surmise that I 
 was not all he would have me to be, I commenced to 
 deceive him, involuntarily, though I think that in 
 the effort to seem better than I was I really did 
 grow better. 
 
 I knew that my personal appearance was so familiar 
 to him that no deception would be possible there ; 
 but he did not know my mind fully, and in this 
 respect I might cheat him. How happy I was 
 whenever he said to me, with feelings which he strove 
 to hide under a jesting tone : ' Yes, I believe there 
 really is something in you.' 
 
 And on what occasions did he make these remarks, 
 which made my heart dance for joy, and filled me 
 with pride and satisfaction ? 
 
 Only when I said either that I could understand 
 old Grigoriy's love for his little grandchild, or when 
 some story or poem had moved me to tears, or when 
 I declared that I preferred Mozart to Schulhoff. 
 It seems strange now, in looking back, to see with 
 what unerring instinct I chose the good and true, 
 although I could have given no reason for doing so. 
 
 Sergei Mikhailovitch never interfered with my 
 amusements or occupations, yet it only required a 
 certain peculiar movement of the eyebrows on his 
 part to make what I had once loved utterly dis- 
 tasteful to me. If it occurred to him to give me some 
 advice on any matter, I guessed in advance what he 
 was about to say. If he questioned me with a 
 glance, this glance at once drew from me the thought 
 he was anxious to know. Indeed, it happened that 
 my thoughts and opinions at that period of my life 
 were scarcely so much my own as his, lent to me 
 to brighten and illumine my otherwise dull existence. 
 
 Unconsciously I saw every one with changed
 
 22 MY HUSBAND AND I 
 
 vision Macha, Sonia, the servants even my own 
 avocations appeared in a new light. Reading, which 
 had formerly been only a means of killing time, and 
 of making me forget my loneliness, now became my 
 chief delight, because we read together books which 
 he selected. Teaching Sonia had once been a heavy 
 task for me, but under his supervision her progress 
 became my highest pride. 
 
 I had once regarded learning a piece of music 
 perfectly as an impossibility, but now I knew he 
 would hear it, and perhaps praise me for it ; and I 
 could repeat the same strain fifty times without 
 fatigue, until poor Macha in despair put cotton in 
 her ears to shut out the sounds. 
 
 Macha, too, whom I loved as a part of myself, 
 became a new creature in my eyes. Then it was I 
 first realized that it had not been her bounden duty 
 to act as mother, friend, and slave for Sonia and me ; 
 then, for the first time I understood the self-denial 
 and devotion of her loving nature, the amount of 
 my indebtedness to her, and the utter impossibility 
 of my ever being able to make any adequate return. 
 
 I learned, too, to think very differently of the 
 servants and labourers on the estate. I had lived 
 in their midst for seventeen years, yet the idea that 
 they could love, and hope, and suffer as I could had 
 never crossed my mind. Moreover, our garden, our 
 woods, our fields which I had known ever since my 
 birth, suddenly became new things to me, and I 
 began to admire their beauty. 
 
 One day Sergei Mikhailovitch remarked that the 
 only real happiness in life was to be found in living 
 for others. I was greatly puzzled at first, but by 
 and by his meaning became clear to me, and a 
 whole world of new interests and pleasures opened 
 up before me, without conflicting at all with my own 
 especial joys. Everything since my infancy had 
 remained shrouded in gloom and silence, as it were, 
 and had awaited Sergei Mikhailovitch's coming to 
 become apparent and appeal to my heart, filling it 
 with felicity.
 
 MY HUSBAND AND I 23 
 
 It frequently happened that summer that I was 
 unable to sleep after I went to bed. Sometimes I 
 would get up and sit by Macha, telling her over and 
 over again how happy I was, which was quite un- 
 necessary, seeing that it must have been plainly 
 visible to the most superficial observer. Generally 
 she would say that she too was happy and quite 
 content with life as she found it, but, occasionally, 
 she would be sleepy, and then she would scold me 
 and order me to bed, where I would lie awake for 
 hours, perhaps, thrilled through with a foreboding 
 of coming happiness. 
 
 Sometimes my heart would be so full that I would 
 arise and kneel down for the second time to give 
 thanks to God for the blessings with which my life 
 was crowned. How still it was at such times ! 
 Only the regular breathing of the sleeping Macha, 
 the monotonous ticking of my watch, or the buzzing 
 of an imprisoned fly could be heard. The doors and 
 shutters were closed, and I should have been glad 
 never to have left the room, never to have seen the 
 dawn dispel the sensations I experienced. 
 
 My dreams, my longings, and my prayers peopled 
 the darkness for me, sat by my bed, hovered over my 
 pillow ; and every thought was of him \ every 
 emotion for him ! Yet how little did I then know 
 that it was love ! 
 
 Ill 
 
 ONE afternoon, at the close of the harvest, Sonia, 
 Macha, and I went out, after dinner, into the 
 garden to our favourite seat under an old linden tree. 
 It was near the high road, across which we could 
 see the fields with the thick woods beyond. 
 
 Sergei Mikhailovitch had not been to Pokrovski 
 for. three days, but we were certain of his coming 
 that afternoon, for he had promised the overseer to 
 visit the harvest field. 
 
 About two o'clock I saw him riding here and there
 
 24 MY HUSBAND AND I 
 
 among the busy throng of reapers. Macha sent for 
 some peaches and cherries, of which he was very fond, 
 and then she leaned back, put her handkerchief over 
 her face and went to sleep. I broke off a branch of 
 the linden to fan her with, while watching the path 
 through the fields by which I expected him to come. 
 
 Sonia sat on the stump of a tree, building a bower 
 for her doll. The day was hot, the air motionless. 
 Now and again I could hear a faint roll of thunder 
 and see a zigzag flash of lightning come from a bank 
 of dark clouds edging the horizon. 
 
 On the road close by large wagons heaped with 
 grain went creaking past, and, after depositing their 
 burdens, came rattling back, the peasants standing 
 up in them, with cracking whips and fluttering 
 kaftans. From the dusty fields came the sound of 
 many voices, and I could see the women binding the 
 yellow sheaves, in clear relief against the sombre 
 green of the woods beyond. It was summer changing 
 into autumn before my very eyes. 
 
 But while so many were labouring wearily in the 
 dust and heat, Macha slept on under her soft cambric 
 covering ; a dish of black juicy cherries stood 
 temptingly on the garden table ; the ice water in the 
 antique glass jug shone in rainbow tints in the sun- 
 shine, and I was so happy ! 
 
 ' What have I done to deserve so much ? ' I 
 thought. ' What can I do to share my happiness 
 with others ? ' 
 
 The sun was sinking behind the linden grove ; the 
 dust in the field was laid ; the distant hills grew 
 purple in the gathering twilight. Beyond the trees 
 and near the barn I could see the points of three new 
 stacks rise up ; the last wagon-load of grain drove 
 by, and then, with pitchforks on their shoulders 
 and ears of wheat in their hats, the labourers went 
 singing home. But still Sergei Mikhailovitch did 
 not come ! 
 
 Suddenly his tall form appeared in an entirely 
 different direction from the one in which I had been 
 expecting him. With bright face and raised hat he
 
 MY HUSBAND AND I 25 
 
 came towards me. When he saw that Macha was 
 asleep, he pressed his lips close together, nodded to 
 me and walked on tiptoe. I perceived instantly 
 that he was in one of his merriest moods moods we 
 used to designate as his ' mad joy.' 
 
 ' Good day, little violet ! how are you ? Well ? ' 
 he inquired, pressing my hand. 
 
 ' I am particularly well,' he replied in answer to a 
 corresponding inquiry from me ; ' I am but thirteen 
 years old to-day, and am ready to play at horses or 
 to climb trees. But what has poor Macha Karlowna 
 done that you should be thus punishing her nose ? ' 
 
 I then discovered that I had displaced her hand- 
 kerchief and that my linden branch was tapping her 
 innocent face. I laughed. 
 
 ' No matter, when she wakes she will be sure to 
 declare she has not been asleep at all/ I whispered, 
 more for the pleasure of using a confidential tone 
 than from fear of waking Macha. 
 
 He seized the plate of cherries as if it had been 
 forbidden fruit and went to Sonia's play-house, 
 taking a seat in her doll's place. Sonia was indignant, 
 but he only laughed and teased her, declaring that 
 she was out of temper because he would not give her 
 all the cherries. However, they soon made peace 
 and began eating them together. 
 
 ' Shall I send for some more, or shall we go for 
 them ? ' I asked. 
 
 By way of reply he took the plate, put Sonia's 
 doll on it, and thus we went to the hot-house, 1 
 Sonia running behind and pulling the skirt of his 
 coat until he gave her back her doll. 
 
 ' You must be a violet,' he said, ' for when I came 
 in your neighbourhood to-day something like the 
 odour of violets seemed to envelop me ; not the 
 strong perfume of hot-house violets, but the faint, 
 delicious breath of the first dark blossoms which 
 peep out from the melting snow in the early spring.' 
 
 ' How have things gone in the fields to-day ? ' I 
 
 1 In Russia, fruit trees are reared in houses, whose roofs are 
 replaced by nets in warm weather. Trans.
 
 26 MY HUSBAND AND I 
 
 asked, to hide the secret emotion his words awakened 
 in my heart. 
 
 1 Exceedingly well ; these people are so trusty ; 
 the better one knows them the more cordially one 
 esteems them.' 
 
 ' Yes/ I rejoined, ' before you came to-day I 
 watched them at their work, and felt ashamed of 
 my easy, useless life, contrasted with theirs, so full 
 of hardship and toil.' 
 
 ' Do not coquet with such feelings as these, Katia/ 
 he said seriously. ' God forbid that you should ever 
 know by experience the life these people lead. But 
 where are the cherries ? ' 
 
 The hot-house was locked, and none of the gardeners 
 were to be seen. Sonia ran to get the key, but 
 Sergei Mikhailovitch would not wait. Climbing on 
 to the wall, he lifted the net, and sprang under it. 
 
 ' If you want some cherries, hand me the plate,' 
 he said. 
 
 ' No ; I wish to pick them myself. I will go for 
 the key ; Sonia will never find it,' I answered. 
 
 But at that moment an indescribable longing to 
 see him, when he fancied himself unobserved, came 
 over me. I crept upon tiptoe to the other side of 
 the hot-house, climbed upon an empty barrel which 
 stood there, and, leaning over the wall, peered into 
 the house with its old, knotted trees laden with black, 
 luscious fruit. After a moment I saw Sergei Mikhailo- 
 vitch leaning against an old tree, his eyes closed 
 and his hat off. He evidently thought that I had 
 gone off, and that no one could see him. Seating 
 himself upon a stump, he rolled a bit of gum between 
 his fingers. Then suddenly he shrugged his shoulders, 
 opened his eyes, and uttered a word with a smile. 
 This word surprised me so much that I felt ashamed 
 of my spying action ; I fancied that he had said 
 ' Katia ! ' 
 
 ' It cannot be,' I thought to myself ; but just then 
 he repeated, still more tenderly, ' Dear Katia ! ' 
 
 I heard these words distinctly. My heart beat 
 so violently with a rush of joyous feeling that I
 
 MY HUSBAND AND I 27 
 
 was forced to grasp the wall to keep myself from 
 falling. 
 
 But my involuntary movement was heard. He 
 looked up, blushing deeply ; our eyes met, and I 
 laughed, whereupon his face brightened with pleasure. 
 It seemed to be all aglow with happiness ; and he 
 was no longer the old, affectionate uncle, to be 
 obeyed and revered, but a man like other men, 
 loving me and fearing me, and whom I also feared and 
 loved. 
 
 For a minute or two not a word was uttered, and 
 then he became grave. The smile on his lips and 
 the light in his eyes died away. It was as if we had 
 been doing something wrong ; as if he had realized 
 it, and having made an effort to master himself, 
 wished me to act in the same way. He turned to me 
 with brotherly coldness, and said : ' Get down ; you 
 might fall and hurt yourself. And smooth your hair. 
 What a sight you are ! ' 
 
 My heart sank. ' Why should he dissemble and 
 treat me thus ? ' I thought, and a great desire to 
 try my power upon him took possession of me. 
 
 ' No, I wish to pick some cherries/ I replied, taking 
 hold of the nearest bough with both hands, and 
 swinging myself over the wall and into the hot-house 
 before he could say a word. 
 
 ' What folly ! ' he exclaimed ; and indeed, this 
 act of mine, as soon as committed, had made me 
 feel most uncomfortable. 
 
 ' You might have hurt yourself,' he added. ' How 
 will you get out again ? ' 
 
 He now seemed more disturbed than before ; but 
 his trouble no longer delighted me ; on the contrary, 
 it frightened me. I also felt disturbed. I blushed 
 and drew aside, not knowing what to say ; and I 
 began to gather some fruit, not knowing where to 
 put it. I reproached myself, I repented, I felt 
 frightened, and it seemed to me that I had lowered 
 myself in his eyes by my inconsiderate conduct. 
 In our embarrassing situation we both remained 
 silent until Sonia returned with the key and released
 
 28 MY HUSBAND AND I 
 
 us. We then still avoided speaking to one another, 
 and in preference we addressed ourselves to the child. 
 
 When we got back to Macha, who declared, as I had 
 predicted, that she had not been asleep at all, I felt 
 more at ease. Sergei Mikhailovitch now resumed his 
 old fatherly tone and manner. But this did not 
 deceive me, for I recalled a conversation which had 
 taken place a short time previously. Macha had 
 remarked that, while it was perfectly proper for a 
 man to declare his love, all the world would scorn a 
 woman who should do so unasked. 
 
 ' Not so,' replied Sergei Mikhailovitch. ' It often 
 happens that a man neither can nor dare say that he 
 loves.' 
 
 ' Why not ? ' I asked. 
 
 ' Oh ! because people seem to expect some marvel- 
 lous phenomenon as the outcome of a declaration. 
 I think that the men who say " I love you " so 
 solemnly often deceive themselves, or what is worse, 
 deceive others.' 
 
 ' But how is a woman to know she is loved, if the 
 man says nothing ? ' persisted Macha. 
 
 ' That I know not. If the feeling is there, it will 
 not fail to show itself. When I read a novel I cannot 
 help fancying what a foolish face Lieutenant Stretski 
 or Sir Alfred Vere de Vere must wear, when they say 
 " I love you, Elenora ! " They think that some- 
 thing extraordinary will then take place, whereas 
 nothing at all happens, neither in them nor in the 
 lady : faces, looks, and all the rest remain quite the 
 same.' 
 
 I knew at the time that this jesting was a cover for 
 some hidden emotion, but Macha was extremely 
 annoyed at hearing her heroes of romance so dis- 
 respectfully handled. ' Eternal paradoxes ! ' she 
 impatiently complained. ' Tell me truly, Sergei 
 Mikhailovitch, have you never told a woman you 
 loved her ? ' 
 
 ' No ; never have I fallen on my knees before any 
 woman, neither do I ever mean to do so,' he answered 
 gaily.
 
 MY HUSBAND AND I 29 
 
 ' He need not say he loves me/ I thought, recalling 
 the scene in the hot-house. ' He loves me, I know, 
 and all his artifices will not change my opinion.' 
 
 During the evening he scarcely spoke to me, but I 
 detected his love in each of his words, in each of his 
 gestures and his glances. The only thing that 
 moved me was that he still thought it necessary to 
 hide his love and feign indifference, when everything 
 was already so clear, when we might so easily have 
 been happy beyond expression. However, on the 
 other hand, I felt guilty in having jumped into the 
 hot-house to join him, and it still seemed to me that 
 he could no longer esteem me, and must feel incensed 
 with me. 
 
 After tea I went to the piano, and he followed me 
 there. 
 
 ' Play something, Katia. It is a long while since 
 I heard you/ said he. 
 
 ' I wanted, Sergei Mikhai'lovitch ' I began, and 
 
 suddenly I looked him straight in the eyes. ' I want 
 to know whether you are angry with me ? ' 
 
 ' Why, pray ? ' 
 
 ' Because I didn't obey you this afternoon/ I 
 answered, blushing. 
 
 He understood me ; shook his head, and began to 
 smile. And his smile told me that he had indeed 
 been inclined to scold me, but that he no longer felt 
 the necessary strength to do so. 
 
 ' It 's over, isn't it ? And we are good friends 
 again ? ' said I, as I sat down at the piano. 
 
 ' I should think so, indeed/ he answered. 
 
 The only light in the long, lofty room was that 
 given by the wax candles on the piano. The re- 
 mainder of the apartment was in darkness. Through 
 the open windows the soft air of the summer night 
 stole in ; all sounds were hushed, except Macha's 
 regular footfall as she paced up and down, and the 
 impatient pawing of Sergei Mikhailovitchs horse, 
 waiting for his master. 
 
 He sat down behind me so that I could not see him ; 
 but amid the gloom, amid the harmony that filled
 
 30 MY HUSBAND AND I 
 
 the room, I felt that he was present. Each of his 
 looks and movements, though I could not behold 
 them, penetrated into my heart. I played Mozart's 
 Fantasia Sonata, and though I was thinking of 
 Sergei Mikhailovitch and not of the music, I felt that 
 I played well and pleased him. I partook of the 
 enjoyment he experienced, and realized that his 
 eyes were fixed upon me. By an involuntary move- 
 ment, while my fingers still touched the keys, un- 
 conscious of what they were doing, I looked round 
 and saw his head standing out against the luminous 
 sky. He was sitting with his forehead resting on his 
 hand, and gazing at me attentively with his sparkling 
 eyes. I smiled, as I noticed his glance, and stopped 
 playing. He also smiled and nodded towards the 
 piano with a reproachful air, as if asking me to 
 continue. While I had been playing, the moon had 
 risen, and shining through the open windows, it now 
 flooded the room with its silvery light. Macha 
 paused in her promenade, to say it was against 
 conscience I should break off in the finest part of 
 the composition- besides which, I had played very 
 carelessly. 
 
 Sergei Mikhailovitch responded, however, that I 
 had never played so well, and then he began to walk 
 out and in from the moonlit room to the dark hall, 
 ever and anon looking at me with a smile. I also 
 smiled, and even without cause. I longed to laugh, 
 so happy did I feel. . I threw my arms round Macha's 
 neck, and kissed her on her round throat beneath her 
 chin ; then, as Sergei walked into the room again, I 
 assumed a serious expression though I still longed to 
 laugh. ' What is the matter with her to-day ? ' said 
 Macha to him, with a puzzled look. He made no 
 reply, but only glanced at me and smiled. 
 
 ' What a night it is ! ' he said, stepping out into 
 the garden. We followed, and indeed I think I have 
 never seen such another night. The full moon hung 
 in a cloudless sky over the house, and the shadows 
 of the statues and the awning fell upon the paths 
 and grass-plot in front of us. The glass dome of the
 
 MY HUSBAND AND I 31 
 
 conservatory shone in the white light, while the 
 broad garden alleys stretched out between the flower 
 beds and became lost in the hazy distance. On our 
 right hand, in the shadow of the house, all was black 
 and mysterious, but the more vivid in contrast were 
 the fantastic tips of the silver poplars, which seemed 
 as if they were preparing with spread wings to fly 
 off into the deep blue heavens. ' Shall we take a 
 walk ? ' I asked. 
 
 Macha assented, but remarked that I must have 
 some overshoes. 
 
 I replied coolly that it was not necessary, for Sergei 
 Mikhailovitch would give me his arm, just as if that 
 would protect my feet from the dewy ground. How- 
 ever, no one seemed to find anything out of the way 
 in the remark. He had never given me his arm before, 
 and now I took it, and he did not seem surprised by 
 my doing so. We all three went out. All the little 
 world around me, the heavens, the garden, the air 
 I breathed, no longer seemed the same. When I 
 looked before me down the path, it seemed to me 
 as if one could not go further, as if the world ended 
 there. 
 
 It seemed, too, as though every object had been 
 petrified into motionless and changeless beauty. 
 But by and by it became our own garden again, 
 with its familiar flowers and trees, its mingled lights 
 and shadows ; it was indeed his slow and regular 
 footsteps which kept pace with mine, and Macha's 
 creaking shoes ; with the lady nioon looking on 
 between the interlaced boughs of the linden grove. 
 At one moment I looked at him. There were no 
 trees at that point of the path, and his face appeared 
 to me in the full moonlight. He looked so handsome 
 and so happy. 
 
 ' Ah ! there 's a frog/ suddenly cried a voice near 
 me. 
 
 ' Who said that, and why ? ' I wondered, until I 
 recollected that it was Macha's voice, and that she 
 was afraid of frogs. I saw the tiny fellow hop away 
 from my feet and sit motionless in front of us, so
 
 32 MY HUSBAND AND I 
 
 that his small shadow was clearly reflected on the 
 path. 
 
 ' You are not afraid ? ' questioned Sergei Mikha'ilo- 
 vitch. I glanced up at him. He had said, ' You 
 are not afraid,' but the words I heard were, ' I love 
 you, beloved ! I love you ! ' and lights, shadows, 
 sky, and land, all repeated again and again, ' I love 
 you.' 
 
 We walked on until Macha said that it was time to 
 go in. I had compassion on the poor soul, for why 
 was she not young and happy and beloved like 
 myself ? 
 
 We returned to the house, but he did not leave us 
 for a long while yet. Macha forgot to tell us that it 
 was late, and we talked on about all sorts of things, 
 indifferent matters, seated near one another and 
 without in the least degree imagining that it was 
 three o'clock in the morning. The cocks had crowed 
 three times when he went away. He took leave in 
 his usual fashion, without saying anything in 
 particular. But I knew that he was now mine, 
 and that I could not lose him. As I, myself, realized 
 that I loved him I told everything to Macha. She 
 was glad but could not sleep, and, for my own part, 
 I remained for a long while yet upon the terrace and 
 in the garden, trying to recall each word, each incident 
 of the evening, again and again strolling along the 
 paths down which we had passed together. 
 
 I did not go to bed all night, and for the first time 
 in my life I saw the sun rise and learned what day- 
 break was. I never so enjoyed a night or morning. 
 Only, I asked myself, why did he not simply tell me 
 that he loved me ? ' Why does he invent difficulties ? ' 
 I thought ; ' why does he call himself old, when 
 everything might so easily be settled ? Why lose 
 precious time which will perhaps never return again ? 
 He must tell me that he loves me, he must take my 
 hand in his, bow his head and say, " I love." When, 
 with a flush, he lowers his eyes before me, then I will 
 tell him everything. Or rather, I will tell him 
 nothing, but I will press him in my arms and burst
 
 MY HUSBAND AND I 33 
 
 into tears. But supposing I were mistaken ? What 
 if he did not love me ? ' 
 
 This thought suddenly passed through my mind. 
 I felt afraid. Heaven alone knows how far my 
 feelings might have led me. The recollection of his 
 confession and mine in the hot-house, when I had 
 jumped in to join him, already gave me a pang at 
 the heart. Tears moistened my eyes, I began to 
 pray, and a rather strange thought took possession 
 of me, imparting calmness and reviving hope within 
 me. I resolved to begin my devotions, and to select 
 my birthday for my betrothal. How, and why ? 
 How could that be ? I knew not ; but from that 
 very moment I thought it would happen thus. In 
 the meantime, while I had been thinking in this 
 fashion, it had become quite light, and indeed every 
 one was getting up when I at last retired to my 
 room. 
 
 IV 
 
 THE Fast of the Assumption had begun, and as 
 my birthday occurred towards the close of that 
 ^eek, it was only natural for me to prepare for the 
 reception of the Sacrament. 
 
 Sergei Mikhailovitch did not come near us the 
 whole of that week ; but far from feeling hurt or 
 annoyed by this negligence, I felt glad, merely 
 hoping for his coming on my birthday. Every day 
 that week I rose with the lark, and walked alone in 
 the garden, seeking to recall my sins of omission and 
 commission in days that were past, so that I might 
 refrain from again falling into the same errors. 
 
 After an early breakfast the drozhky would drive 
 up, Macha or one of the maids would get in with 
 me, and we would then drive the three miles to the 
 church. On arriving there, I invariably remembered 
 that prayers were offered for ' all who entered in the 
 fear of God,' and I took great care to ascend the two 
 or three grass-grown steps with a reverential mind.
 
 34 MY HUSBAND AND I 
 
 At that time of day there were usually only ten 
 or twelve persons present, principally labourers or 
 peasants. I returned their salutations with friendli- 
 ness and humility, and always purchased from the 
 sacristan (an old soldier) a lighted candle to place 
 before the sacred pictures. 
 
 Through the chief portal of the Holy Place l I 
 could see the altar cloth which my mother had 
 embroidered, while over the holy screen were the two 
 angels with star-studded robes, who had appeared 
 so large to my childish eyes, and above them hovered 
 the dove with the golden glory, a never-failing source 
 of wonder and admiration to my infant mind. 
 
 Behind the railing of the choir stood the font in 
 which I had been baptized. The old pope wore a 
 stole made from my father's pall, and he read the 
 service in the same monotonous voice which I heard 
 him use when he had baptized Sonia and buried my 
 father and mother. Then I heard the cracked voice 
 of the chorister, also familiar, and that of an old 
 woman whom I had seen at the church ever since I 
 could remember ; who was always there, leaning 
 against the wall, pressing a handkerchief between her 
 clasped hands, gazing with tear-dimmed eyes at 
 one of the sacred pictures over the choir, and murmur- 
 ing prayers with her toothless mouth. There was 
 nothing new to me in all this ; indeed, it was holy 
 to me through old and tender associations, but in 
 those days it seemed to have gained a new and strange 
 significance. 
 
 I joined in the prayers with devotion, earnestly 
 imploring God to enlighten me when I did not under- 
 stand, and to forgive me when I erred through ignor- 
 ance. When the prayers of penitence were read, I 
 recalled my past life, and this past time of my 
 innocent childhood seemed so black to me, in com- 
 parison with the present serenity of my soul, that in 
 my fright I wept for myself. But, at the same time, 
 
 1 In Russian churches the Holy Place, into which no woman 
 must enter, is separated from the body of the church by a rood 
 screen with three doors. Trans.
 
 MY HUSBAND AND I 35 
 
 I felt that I was forgiven, and that if I had had still 
 a larger number of transgressions to reproach my- 
 self with, my repentance would have been all the 
 more agreeable. When the pope said, ' The blessing 
 of God be with you/ it was as if actual bodily comfort 
 and security had been communicated to me, and my 
 heart was flooded with light and warmth. 
 
 When the service was over, if the pope drew near 
 to me and asked me if he ought not to go to our 
 house to celebrate the vesper service, I thanked him 
 with emotion for his offer, and told him that I would 
 come to the church. 
 
 ' You will really take that trouble ? ' he asked. 
 
 I did not know what to reply to that ; I was afraid 
 of sinning through pride. 
 
 When Macha was not with me, I always returned 
 home on foot. It was a real pleasure to be able to 
 step out into the wet, dirty road, as if I were gaining 
 some spiritual good by the sacrifice of my personal 
 comfort. 
 
 One evening I overheard our steward telling Macha 
 that the peasant Simon had come that day begging 
 for a few planks to enable him to make a coffin for 
 his daughter, who had just died. 
 
 ' Are they so poor as that ? ' I asked. 
 
 ' So poor that they have no salt even for their 
 bread,' x was the answer. 
 
 It was as though something sharp had pierced my 
 heart, but at the same time I was pleased, as it were, 
 that I had heard this. Telling Macha that I was 
 going out for a walk, I ran upstairs, gathered 
 together all the money I had (which was not much, 
 it is true) and ran through the garden towards the 
 village. I reached Simon's hut unobserved, placed 
 the money on the window-sill and knocked. The 
 creaking door was opened, and a voice asked, 
 ' Who is there ? ' Then I shrank back like a criminal, 
 and ran away home as quickly as I could, trembling 
 with excitement. 
 
 On my return Macha asked me where I had been, 
 1 A Russian expression signifying great misery. Trans.
 
 36 MY HUSBAND AND I 
 
 and what was the matter with me ; but I did not 
 even understand what she said, and I did not answer 
 her. I shut myself up in my room and walked about, 
 feeling incapable of doing anything, or even of 
 thinking, unable, indeed, to realize the sensations I 
 experienced. I pictured to myself the joy of Simon's 
 family, the blessings they showered upon the person 
 who had left them the money ; and I now regretted 
 that I had not given it to them in person. I asked 
 myself what Sergei Mikhailovitch would have said 
 had he known of the step I had taken, and I felt 
 glad that he would never know of it. And, indeed, 
 I felt so joyful, so pleased with myself and others, 
 that even the idea of death seemed to me full of 
 happiness. I smiled, I prayed, I wept, and suddenly 
 I loved every one upon earth, including myself, 
 with strange, unnatural fervour. 
 
 I passed a deal of time in reading the Gospels, 
 and the more I read them the more simple and restful 
 seemed the story of that God-like career, the more 
 firm and stable our hope of a future life through Jesus. 
 And when laying the book aside, I again thought of 
 one's present existence, everything seemed to me 
 clear and easy : it appeared impossible to act other- 
 wise than rightly, or to avoid loving every one and 
 being loved in return. I cannot tell how good and 
 loving every one was to me at that time ; even Sonia, 
 whose lessons were always more or less of a trial to me, 
 now took exceeding pains to be studious and obedient. 
 Others behaved towards me as I endeavoured to 
 behave towards them. In thinking over those to 
 whom I might have given offence, in order that 
 I might ask their forgiveness before receiving the 
 Holy Sacrament, I remembered a lady in the neigh- 
 bourhood, of whom I had once made fun in the 
 presence of one of her friends, and who, feeling very 
 much hurt, had never visited us since. I now wrote 
 to her, acknowledging my fault, and begging her 
 forgiveness. She returned a note, in which she 
 accused herself and exonerated me. I wept for 
 pleasure as I read the simple, kindly missive. Now
 
 MY HUSBAND AND I 37 
 
 I began to understand why Sergei Mikhailovitch had 
 said that true happiness was only to be found in 
 living for others. I no longer dreamed of society, 
 or travel, but of a quiet home life in the country, 
 of self-abnegation, love and peace, and gratitude to 
 kind and comforting Providence. 
 
 I partook of the Holy Sacrament on my birthday 
 as I had intended to do, and I left the church in such 
 a state of exaltation that I dreaded the return of my 
 old life. We had scarcely alighted from the drozhky 
 after the service before a well-known troika thundered 
 over the bridge, and I recognized Sergei Mikhailovitch. 
 He at once congratulated me, and we entered the 
 house together. 
 
 Never had I felt so unconstrained in his presence 
 as on that morning. It was as if I moved in a world 
 above him, of which he knew nothing. Perhaps he 
 understood what was transpiring within me, for he 
 treated me with especial gentleness, almost with 
 deference. When I opened the piano, he closed and 
 locked it, putting the key in his pocket, and saying : 
 ' Do not play to-day ; there is a harmony in your 
 soul better than music.' 
 
 I felt grateful to him for saying this ; but at the 
 same time it rather annoyed me that he should so 
 easily, so clearly understand what was going on in 
 my mind matters which I had been desirous of 
 keeping secret from every one. 
 
 During dinner he announced that he had come, 
 not only to congratulate me, but also to say good-bye, 
 for he purposed starting for Moscow on the following 
 morning. 
 
 He looked at Macha as he spoke, but I saw his eyes 
 scan my face, as if he feared to read trouble there. 
 However, I did not show myself either astonished or 
 disturbed. I did not even ask him if his absence 
 would be of long duration. I had expected that he 
 would use this language ; and I knew that he would 
 not go away. How did I know it ? I cannot now 
 explain ; but on that memorable day it seemed to 
 me that I knew all that had happened and that would
 
 38 MY HUSBAND AND I 
 
 happen. I was, so to say, in one of those happy 
 dreams in which one has a luminous vision of the 
 past and the future. 
 
 Sergei Mikhailovitch wished to leave soon after 
 dinner, but Macha had lain down, and he was obliged 
 to wait to say good-bye to her. As it was very warm 
 in the drawing-room, we went out on to the terrace. 
 
 We had scarcely taken our seats before I began the 
 conversation which was to decide the fate of my love. 
 Where my quietness and self-possession came from, 
 I do not know. It was as though another person 
 were speaking with my voice. 
 
 Sergei Mikhailovitch sat opposite to me, leaning 
 against the balustrade, and picking the leaves from 
 a twig of lilac which he held in his hand. When I 
 commenced to speak he let the branch fall, and leant 
 his head on his hand, an attitude which quite as 
 frequently indicates disturbance of spirit as repose 
 of mind. 
 
 ' Why are you going away ? ' I asked, looking 
 him full in the face. 
 
 ' I have some business to attend to,' he answered, 
 lowering his eyes. I knew how hard it was for him 
 to answer me with such a falsehood. 
 
 ' Listen,' I said ; ' you know how important a day 
 this has been to me, and I won't hide from you how 
 much I love you, or how greatly I need your presence. 
 And now, again I ask you, why are you going ? I 
 must know ! ' 
 
 ' It is not easy to tell you the truth,' he answered. 
 ' I have thought a great deal about you and myself 
 during this past week, and I have decided that I 
 must go. Why, you can surmise, and if you care for 
 me you will not press me further.' Then, after 
 wiping his forehead with his hands, he covered his 
 eyes and added : ' It is very hard for me and you 
 must understand why.' 
 
 My heart throbbed violently at these words. 
 
 ' No, I do not understand you,' I answered. 
 ' Speak out, in God's name. I am prepared to hear 
 anything.'
 
 MY HUSBAND AND I 39 
 
 He changed his position uneasily, and again 
 picked up the twig of lilac. 
 
 ' Well/ he said, after a pause, during which he 
 had vainly struggled to regain his usual firmness of 
 voice, ' it is almost impossible for me to explain my 
 meaning, and yet I will try to do so.' As he said this 
 he again covered his face as if suffering physical pain. 
 
 ' Well ? ' I questioned. 
 
 ' Well, fancy, if you can, an old man worn out, 
 whom we will call A, and a bright young maiden 
 whom we will call B. The latter is ignorant of both 
 men and life. Peculiar famity circumstances have 
 thrown them together, and he loved her at first as a 
 daughter, never thinking it possible to care for her 
 in any other way.' 
 
 He paused, but I said nothing, and he presently 
 resumed in a quicker, firmer tone, but without 
 looking at me : ' By and by A forgot that B was 
 so young, and that life was as yet only an amusement 
 to her, and suddenly he awoke with a shock, to find 
 that he loved her with his whole being. This dis- 
 covery frightened him, his feelings weighed him 
 down like remorse, and he resolved to go away before 
 their old friendly intercourse had had time to change 
 in character.' 
 
 So saying he again passed his hand before his 
 eyes. 
 
 ' But why was he afraid of loving her otherwise ? ' 
 I asked, in my usual manner I thought, but there 
 must have been some faint touch of raillery in my 
 voice, for he replied in a depressed tone : ' You are 
 young, I am not. Life to you is but play. To me 
 it is real and serious. Do not trifle with me ; it would 
 not be right to do so, as you might one day discover. 
 So A would have answered B,' he added. ' Now 
 you know why I am going, so let us say no more 
 about the matter, I implore you.' 
 
 ' Yes, yes, we must talk about it/ I replied, tears 
 choking my utterance. ' Tell me truly, did he love 
 her or did he not ? ' 
 
 Sergei Mikhailovitch made no answer.
 
 40 MY HUSBAND AND I 
 
 ' If he did not love her, why did he amuse himself 
 with her, as if she were a child ? ' 
 
 ' A was wrong/ he answered, ' but he made an end 
 of it, and they parted as friends.' 
 
 ' That is dreadful ! But was no other ending 
 possible ? ' I persisted, drawing back the next 
 moment, however, alarmed at my words. 
 
 ' Yes,' replied Sergei Mikhailovitch, ' two endings 
 were possible.' Then he took his hands from his 
 eyes and gazed at me fixedly. ' Do not interrupt 
 me again, and for God's sake understand me aright. 
 A did indeed love B truly, and told her so, but she 
 laughed and said it could only be a joke. Since then 
 A has become mad ; what was only jesting for her 
 has been a life curse for him.' 
 
 I shuddered and made an attempt to speak, but 
 he would not allow it. 
 
 ' Wait,' he continued, in a trembling voice, ' some 
 one said that she took pity on him, the poor child, 
 who as yet knew nothing of life or man, and so 
 imagined that pity was love. And she actually 
 married him and he, foolish fellow, fancied that 
 life might bloom anew for him ; but he realized only 
 too soon that both he and she had been deceived. 
 However, don't let us speak of it any longer,' he 
 concluded, unable to say any more, and then he 
 began to pace up and down with impatient steps. 
 
 ' Don't let us speak of it any longer,' had been 
 his final words, but I knew that he was waiting with 
 feverish anxiety for what I should say. I tried to 
 speak, but could not. I looked at him. His face 
 was white, his lips quivering. I made a mighty 
 effort and at last burst the bonds which seemed to 
 enthral me. In a faint, scarcely audible voice, I 
 said : ' And the third ending was, that he did not 
 love her, but caused her sore grief, thinking he had 
 a right to do so. And he went away, feeling proud 
 of his conduct. Yes, the trifling has been on your 
 side, not on mine, for I have loved you from the first 
 yes, I love you,' I repeated, and the words ended 
 in a wild shriek which frightened me.
 
 MY HUSBAND AND I 41 
 
 Sergei Mikhailovitch stood before me with blanched 
 face, his lips trembled more and more, and two great 
 tears rolled down his cheeks. 
 
 ' It was wicked of you/ I cried, and I thought I 
 should suffocate with my bitter, repressed tears. I 
 attempted to go away, but he prevented me. His 
 head sank on my knees, his lips pressed my trembling 
 hands, while his hot tears rained upon them. 
 
 ' My Lord, if I had only known 1 ' he murmured. 
 
 ' Why ? Why ? ' I repeated mechanically, and 
 my heart was full of that happiness which at times 
 soon fades away, that happiness which, once gone, 
 will never more return. 
 
 Five minutes later Sonia rushed upstairs to Macha, 
 shouting so that the whole house could hear her, 
 ' Our Katia is going to marry Sergei Mikhailovitch.' 
 
 was no reason why we should postpone 
 our marriage, although Macha greatly desired 
 to go to Moscow to procure a trousseau for me, while 
 Sergei Mikhailovitch 's mother wished him to re- 
 furnish the old house and buy a new carriage. But 
 we were both of the opinion that such details could 
 be just as well attended to afterwards ; so we were 
 married two weeks after my birthday, very quietly, 
 without guests, bridesmaids, or champagne, or any 
 of the usual accessories of a wedding. 
 
 Sergei Mikhailovitch told me that his mother was 
 greatly dissatisfied with a marriage destitute of any 
 of the pomp and show usual on such occasions. She 
 wanted some music and an avalanche of presents, 
 and would have been glad if the house had been 
 turned topsy-turvy, as on the occasion of her own 
 wedding which had cost thirty thousand roubles. 
 Making the best of the situation, however, she had 
 explored all the chests in the store-room and had 
 held a long discussion with Mariushka, her house-
 
 42 MY HUSBAND AND I 
 
 keeper, as to certain carpets, curtains, and trays 
 which she considered were indispensable to our 
 happiness. 
 
 At home, Macha and my maid Kushminishna 
 made the most of this opportunity for the display 
 of their skill in housewifely arts. They were quite 
 willing that we should spend our days in dreaming 
 of love and our happy future, while they busied 
 themselves with the details of my wardrobe, and 
 debated the important question as to the proper 
 width of the embroidery on my clothes, and the 
 hemming of my new napkins and table-cloths. 
 
 Many were the mysterious communications which 
 passed between Nikolski and Pokrovski, and although 
 Sergei Mikhailovitch's mother and Macha Karlowna 
 had always been the best of friends, still one could 
 now perceive a certain degree of rivalry between 
 them. 
 
 Tatiana Simonowna, with whom I now grew 
 better acquainted, was a stern, strict housewife of 
 the old school. Sergei reverenced her as his mother, 
 and loved her with tenderness, regarding her as the 
 best and wisest woman in the world. Tatiana 
 Simonowna had always been friendly towards our 
 family, and she was highly pleased with her son's 
 alliance. Still, whenever we were together during 
 this fortnight, she constantly endeavoured to impress 
 upon me the fact that I was not nearly good enough 
 for Sergei, an opinion in which I heartily concurred. 
 
 During the time which elapsed between our 
 betrothal and our marriage we saw one another, 
 Sergei and I, every day. He came to dinner and 
 stayed till midnight ; but although he often told me, 
 and I knew he spoke the truth, that he could not 
 live without me, he never spent a whole day in my 
 company, but attended regularly to his business 
 matters. Our intercourse remained much the same 
 as formerly ; we addressed each other as ' you,' not 
 as ' thou ' ; he did not even kiss my hand, and he 
 not only did not seek, but he avoided opportunities 
 of finding himself alone with me, as if he had feared
 
 MY HUSBAND AND I 43 
 
 giving way to the great and dangerous tenderness 
 that possessed him. 
 
 During the whole of this fortnight the weather was 
 very stormy, forcing us to keep indoors. Our 
 favourite seat was between the piano and the window. 
 The candlelight played on the dark window panes 
 within, the rain-drops spattered against them without. 
 The water, which we could hear pouring from the 
 gutter on the roof, and the heavy fog which lay over 
 the garden and terrace, made our corner warmer and 
 cosier by contrast. 
 
 ' Do you remember the story I once told you of A 
 and B ? ' Sergei asked me on one of those stormy 
 evenings when we sat together in our snug corner. 
 
 ' How can I help recollecting that stupid story ? 
 What a fortunate thing it ended so well ! ' 
 
 ' Yes, and how easily I might have lost my happi- 
 ness by my own fault. You saved me. But I lied 
 then, and have been ashamed of it ever since.' 
 
 ' No matter, it is past now.' 
 
 ' Ah ! I was trying to preach reason to myself.' 
 
 ' What for ? One should never do so in such a 
 case,' I retorted. 
 
 ' I did it badly enough ! And yet, when I came 
 into the country, after all my mistakes and disillu- 
 sions, I thought and said that love was over for me, 
 and that it only remained for me to faithfully fulfil 
 the duties of middle age. It was long before I 
 suspected my feelings for you. I hoped, I feared, 
 I knew not what to think. At length, however, one 
 evening (do you remember it ?) when we walked 
 in the garden, I became alarmed. My good fortune 
 seemed too great to be possible. I was to receive 
 so much and give so little. You are still a bud, only 
 beginning to bloom ; you love for the first time, 
 whereas ' 
 
 ' Tell me,' I interrupted ; but pausing again, 
 afraid of the possible reply, I added : ' Never mind, 
 it is nothing.' 
 
 ' You wish to know if I have ever loved any one 
 else ? ' he said, guessing my thoughts. ' No, I have
 
 44 MY HUSBAND AND I 
 
 never loved nor been loved.' He hesitated, as if 
 moved by some sorrowful memory. ' No/ he re- 
 peated. ' But, after all, what have I to give you ? 
 Love, it is true.' 
 
 ' Is that so little ? ' I said, looking him in the eyes. 
 
 ' Little for you, dear heart, though my happiness 
 often prevents me sleeping ; I think of what a 
 charmed life we shall lead. I have lived a long 
 while already, and yet it seems to me that I have 
 only now found happiness. A pleasant, quiet life 
 in our little nook, with the possibility of doing good 
 to others ; work, whence some advantage is always 
 derived ; then for recreation some books and music, 
 nature, and a few intimate friends. All that means 
 happiness, more happiness than I ever dreamed of. 
 And above it all, such a wife as you will be, children 
 perhaps ; in one word, everything that a man can 
 wish for in this world.' 
 
 ' Yes,' said I. 
 
 ' Yes, for me, for my youth has gone by ; but not 
 for you,' he answered. ' You might have preferred 
 to seek for happiness elsewhere, and have found it 
 elsewhere. It seems to you that what I have men- 
 tioned means happiness, simply because you love me.' 
 
 ' No, I have never longed or cared for aught else 
 than a quiet family life. You have just expressed 
 my own thoughts.' 
 
 He smiled. ' So it seems to you, dearest,' he 
 remarked. ' But it is little, very little for you. 
 You have beauty and youth/ he added pensively. 
 
 I felt slightly irritated on finding that he would 
 not believe me, and that he seemingly reproached 
 me for my youth and good looks. ' Well, why do 
 you love me, then ? ' I asked impatiently, ' for my 
 youth or for myself ? ' 
 
 ' I don't know, but I love you/ he answered, 
 giving me a keen and fascinating glance. 
 
 I made no reply, but involuntarily looked him in 
 the eyes. And suddenly something very strange 
 happened to me. I ceased to behold the surround- 
 ings, even his face disappeared from before me, and
 
 MY HUSBAND AND I 45 
 
 all that I felt conscious of was the fire of his eyes 
 flashing into mine ; and it seemed to me as if his 
 eyes penetrated me, and then everything became 
 confused ; I no longer saw anything whatever, and 
 was obliged to lower my eyelids to escape from the 
 feeling of mingled fright and pleasure which his 
 glance had imparted to me. 
 
 On the evening before our wedding day the skies 
 cleared, and the first cold, bright autumnal weather 
 followed upon the long rain which had begun during 
 the last days of summer. 
 
 I went to bed that night happy in thoughts of what 
 the morrow was to bring, and I awoke with the dawn. 
 I went into the garden. The sun was just rising, 
 shooting his pale rays through the half-stripped 
 linden trees. The paths were covered with dead 
 leaves, the dahlias hung black and limp on their 
 stalks, and the white frost lay like a silver covering 
 on the green sward and the iron rails of the verandah. 
 There was not a cloud in the clear, cold sky. 
 
 ' Is the day already here ? ' I thought. ' Can it be 
 possible -that to-morrow I shall no longer count this 
 as home ? Am I to live without Macha or Sonia 
 after to-day ? Shall I never again knock on the wall 
 of Sonia's room for a morning greeting, and hear for 
 answer her silvery laughter ? ' 
 
 I awaited Sergei's coming with impatience, for my 
 heart was oppressed with strange emotion. He came 
 early, and at about noon we went to church to hear 
 memorial prayers for my father and mother. 
 
 ' If they were only living,' my heart whispered, as 
 we turned homewards, and I silently pressed the arm 
 of the man who had been their dearest friend. My 
 father's spirit had seemed near me, blessing my 
 choice, when I bowed my face against the cold stones 
 paving the church. 
 
 Memories and hopes, joy and pain, had produced a 
 curious stir of feelings in my breast, with which the 
 fresh air, the stillness, the bare fields, the cold, 
 bright sunshine appeared to sympathize. 
 
 Suddenly Sergei Mikha'ilovitch turned his thought-
 
 46 MY HUSBAND AND I 
 
 ful face towards me. ' Will he speak of what I am 
 thinking about ? ' I thought ; and then, without 
 mentioning any name, he began to talk of my father, 
 as if resuming an interrupted conversation. ' He 
 said to me one day, jestingly, " I wish you would 
 marry my little Katia." 
 
 ' How happy, then, he must be if he knows of it/ 
 I replied, pressing closer to Sergei. 
 
 ' You were a very tiny child then/ he continued, 
 looking into my eyes. ' I often kissed those eyes 
 then, because they were so like your father's, not 
 thinking that I should ever love them so fondly for 
 their own sake.' 
 
 We walked home slowly through the fields of 
 stubble, along the unfrequented footpaths, no one 
 near enough to hear our steps or voices. On our 
 right, the greyish brown meadows stretched off to the 
 distant woods ; on our left, rows of winter corn 
 drooped under the frost of the past night ; long, 
 transparent cobwebs floated through the clear atmo- 
 sphere, flew into our faces and on to our hair ; and 
 as we talked, the sound of our voices rose above us 
 in the motionless air, as if we were the only living 
 creatures in the universe as if we were quite alone 
 under the blue vault in which the autumnal sun now 
 shone so brightly. 
 
 When we reached home Sergei Mikhailovitch's 
 mother and two or three unavoidable guests were 
 waiting for us ; and we were not alone again until, 
 on leaving the church after the ceremony, we were in 
 the carriage on our way to Nikolski. 
 
 During the marriage ceremony the church was 
 nearly empty. I saw Tatiana Simonowna standing 
 by the choir, Macha in lilac ribbons and with tearful 
 eyes, and two or three peasant girls who watched me 
 curiously. Sergei Mikhailovitch I did not see, though 
 I felt his presence. I listened to the prayers, repeat- 
 ing the responses aloud at the proper places, but they 
 awoke no echo in my soul. I could not pray, but 
 only gazed stupidly on the pictures, the candles, 
 the embroidered vestments and the painted windows.
 
 MY HUSBAND AND I 47 
 
 It was not until the pope put his hand on my head 
 and said, that having baptized me, he was glad he 
 had been permitted to marry me, that I awoke from 
 my lethargy. 
 
 Macha and Tatiana Simonowna kissed me, and 
 then I heard Grigoriy call the carriage, and felt 
 astonished and frightened at the thought that it was 
 all over without any extraordinary sensation having 
 entered my mind or heart. We kissed one another, 
 and our kisses seemed to me so strange, so foreign 
 to our feelings, that I could not help thinking, ' Is it 
 only that ? ' 
 
 We repaired to the open space in front of the 
 church ; the rumble of the carriage wheels awoke 
 the echoes of the old building, and the fresh air swept 
 across my face, whilst he, with his hat under his arm, 
 assisted me into the vehicle. I could see the moon 
 shining over the frosty evening scene. Then Sergei 
 seated himself near me and closed the carriage door ; 
 the security with which he did so causing me a curious 
 sensation of pain. 
 
 We started off. Ensconced in one corner of the 
 carriage, I gazed through the window upon the fields 
 and road, which lay white in the moonlight. I 
 wondered at myself, and was shocked to find that 
 no such blessing of peace was in my heart as might 
 have been expected. Was this all ? Had the hour 
 from which I expected so much nothing more to give 
 me ? 
 
 I turned to Sergei Mikha'ilovitch with the intention 
 of saying something, but could find no words. It 
 was as if I had never felt one throb of tenderness for 
 him, but only fear and dread. 
 
 ' Until now I never believed it could really be true,' 
 he remarked quietly, as if in answer to my glance. 
 
 ' I am afraid,' I said ; ' I don't know why.' 
 
 ' Not of me, dear heart/ he answered, taking my 
 hand and bending his head over it. 
 
 ' Yes, of you,' I retorted. My hand lay passive 
 in his, and my heart seemed as cold as a stone. Then 
 he touched my hand with his lips ; my heart began
 
 48 MY HUSBAND AND I 
 
 to beat again, my eyes sought his in the gloom, and 
 I suddenly felt that I no longer feared him, or else 
 that this fear of mine had changed into a newer, 
 stranger, and more passionate love than before, and 
 that the power he had over me constituted the 
 groundwork of all my future happiness. 
 
 VI 
 
 DAYS, weeks, two whole months sped by in the 
 uneventful monotony of country life. Yet 
 there had been enough bliss, enough excitement of 
 feeling to have spread over a lifetime. 
 
 My day-dreams were indeed not quite realized, 
 but the reality was more delightful than the con- 
 ception had been. Of the serious fulfilment of duties, 
 the stern abnegation of self, and the living for others 
 which I had pictured to myself, there was nothing 
 required. In truth, Sergei Mikhaiilovitch and I lived 
 only for each other, utterly forgetful of every one else. 
 
 He, of course, left me for part of every day to 
 drive into town or to attend to business on the 
 estate, but I could see what trouble it cost him to 
 tear himself away, and that comforted me during his 
 absence. 
 
 He owned to me that when I was not beside him 
 everything seemed to him destitute of interest ; and 
 it was the same with me. I read, I occupied myself 
 with my music, with his mother, and with the 
 schools ; but I only did so because it was his wish, 
 and as soon as I had to attend to anything in which 
 he was not concerned, I felt weary and annoyed. 
 He alone existed for me in the whole world. I con- 
 sidered him to be the best and most handsome of 
 men, and I lived for him alone, bent upon remaining 
 what he judged me to be the first and most capti- 
 vating woman that existed, endowed with all possible 
 perfections. Indeed, I strove to be the best woman 
 in the world.
 
 MY HUSBAND AND I 49 
 
 He came to my room one day as I knelt before the 
 sacred picture, took his seat by the table, and began 
 to turn over the leaves of a book. I continued my 
 prayers, but I felt his eyes upon me. 
 
 ' Have you performed your devotions ? ' I inquired. 
 
 ' Yes, but don't allow me to disturb yours. I will 
 go away again,' he answered. 
 
 ' Come, dearest, read this one prayer with me,' 
 said I. 
 
 Then he knelt by me, letting his arms hang stiffly 
 by his side, and he read the prayer with a serious face, 
 pausing for an instant now and then to look at me, 
 as if for encouragement. When he had finished, I 
 laughed and embraced him. 
 
 ' You treat me as if I were a boy of ten,' he said, 
 flushing and kissing my hand. 
 
 Nikolski, our home, was an old-fashioned country 
 house, where a long line of Sergei Mikhailovitch's 
 ancestors had lived and died. The very atmosphere 
 was perfumed with family memories which became 
 my possession as soon as I entered the place. The 
 household was directed by Tatiana Simonowna 
 according to ancient usages. That our surroundings 
 were splendid I cannot assert, but from the service to 
 the furniture and the meals, all was rich, abundant, 
 and good. 
 
 In the large drawing-room the furniture was 
 arranged in geometrical order against the walls, 
 which were adorned with family portraits, and the 
 highly polished floor was covered with rugs manu- 
 factured in the house. In the small drawing-room 
 there was an old piano, two chiffoniers which were 
 not mates, a couple of divans, and several small 
 tables inlaid with malachite. 
 
 In my room, which Tatiana Simonowna had 
 arranged with especial care, the best furniture of the 
 house had been placed, but it was of many varieties 
 and of various centuries. I recall particularly an 
 antique escritoire which I could not look upon at 
 first without a sort of shudder, but which after a 
 time became a trusted friend.
 
 50 MY HUSBAND AND I 
 
 Tatiana Simonowna's voice was never heard in 
 the house, yet everything moved with the precision 
 of a well-regulated clock. The servants all wore 
 soft flat slippers, for my nervous mother-in-law 
 could not endure creaking soles or flapping heels. 
 These servants were proud of their position in the 
 family, were reverential in their demeanour towards 
 their mistress, and almost caressing towards Sergei 
 Mikhailovitch and me. Regularly every Saturday 
 the floors were washed and the carpets beaten. On 
 the first day of each month a Te Deum was sung, 
 and holy water was distributed. The birthdays of 
 my mother-in-law and Sergei were always celebrated 
 with a banquet and a ball, as every one in the neigh- 
 bourhood knew, and as had been the case ever since 
 Tatiana Simonowna could remember. 
 
 My husband took no thought for household affairs. 
 He rose early to see after the farm hands, even in 
 winter, so that he was always off before I was awake. 
 When he came in to breakfast, which we took alone, 
 he was as full of fun and spirits as a boy. 
 
 Tatiana Simonowna always stayed in her room 
 during the morning, exchanging greetings with us 
 by means of messengers. How often I struggled 
 with my desire to laugh, when her maid, with folded 
 arms and grave face, repeated in monotonous, never 
 varying accents : ' Tatiana Simonowna desires to 
 know how you have rested after your long drive ; 
 the noble lady also wishes me to say that she was 
 unable to sleep all night, because of a stitch in her 
 side and the howling of a dog in the village. Further- 
 more, she would like to know how you have found 
 the new bread which was not made this time by 
 Terasse, but by Nickalasch, who, she thinks, has 
 succeeded remarkably well for the first occasion. 
 The worthy lady found the rolls particularly good, 
 but the pastry was baked a trifle too much.' 
 
 Between breakfast and dinner Sergei Mikhailovitch 
 and I saw little of each other. That was my time 
 for practising and reading, and his for study or busi- 
 ness. However, at the dinner hour, wh^ch was four
 
 MY HUSBAND AND I 51 
 
 o'clock, we all assembled in the drawing-room. 
 Mamma then came forth from her retirement with 
 the visitors who chanced to be in the house, usually 
 decayed gentlewomen, of whom, indeed, there was 
 always one or two staying with us. 
 
 Sergei invariably offered his mother his arm, she 
 just as invariably asking me to take the other, and 
 in this fashion we entered the dining-room. Mamma 
 always presided at the dinner table, and the conver- 
 sation was usually stiff and constrained, though now 
 and then some of my chatter with Sergei intruded 
 upon the solemnity of this dignified meal. 
 
 After dinner Tatiana Simonowna sat in her large 
 arm-chair in the drawing-room, smoking a cigarette 
 or cutting the leaves of a new book. Sergei and I 
 either read aloud or went to the music-room, for 
 although we read a great deal in those days, still 
 music remained our chief delight. When I played 
 Sergei's favourite sonatas, he would go to the other 
 end of the room, so that I could scarcely see him in 
 the dim light ; but often when he least expected it, 
 I rose up and going to him found in the tender light 
 of his eyes and in the flush on his cheeks, traces of 
 emotion which he could not quite conceal. 
 
 The evening tea I usually prepared in the drawing- 
 room, and it was a very solemn affair. It was very 
 long before I felt at ease presiding over such a large 
 samovar ; I felt too young to occupy such a dignified 
 post, and quite unfit for the responsibility of placing 
 the glasses on the tray and saying, ' This is for Marya 
 Minitschna,' or ' This is for Ivan Ivanovitch,' or 
 of asking if the tea were sufficiently sweet, and send- 
 ing one of the servants round with the sugar basin. 
 
 ' Beautifully done, really quite like a woman,' 
 my husband would remark, only increasing my con- 
 fusion. After tea his mother would kiss us, and 
 then we went to our own room, where we sat and 
 talked till midnight in subdued tones, for fear that 
 mamma might hear us, since ' early to bed ' was one 
 of her pet themes. Occasionally we grew hungry, 
 and stealing quietly downstairs to the dining-room
 
 52 MY HUSBAND AND I 
 
 sideboard, we searched for some cold supper to take 
 to our own room. 
 
 Sergei Mikhaiilovitch and I lived almost as aliens 
 in that large, old house, over which a stern spirit of 
 the past moved, embodied in Tatiana Simonowna. 
 Not only did she inspire me with a species of respect 
 bordering upon awe, but I had the same feeling 
 respecting the servants, the old pictures, and the 
 very furniture. 
 
 When I look back I see that much of this un- 
 changeable order and the superfluity of servants and 
 guests was not only unnecessary but really burden- 
 some. However, it made us cling the closer together, 
 seeking refuge in our love, and we were both careful 
 to repress any feeling of dissatisfaction with the 
 established order of things. My husband, indeed, 
 seemed to try to hide from himself any delinquency 
 on the part of the servants. 
 
 For instance, Demetri Sideroff, the butler, was an 
 inveterate smoker, and every evening while we sat 
 in the music-room, he would slip into my husband's 
 study and help himself to tobacco. It was amusing 
 on these occasions to observe with what anxiety 
 Sergei Mikhai'lovitch would come to me on tiptoe, 
 and with shining eyes and uplifted finger point to 
 Demetri Sideroff, who never dreamed that he was 
 being watched ; and how when Demetri had dis- 
 appeared, my husband would kiss me and declare 
 that I was charming, though this he did on every 
 possible occasion. 
 
 Sometimes his patience and inexhaustible good- 
 humour provoked me. I knew I should not have 
 tolerated such things myself, and I fancied he was 
 weak and childish. 
 
 ' Ah ! dear heart,' he said one day when I re- 
 proached him for his forbearance, ' how can I worry 
 about such trifles when I am so happy ? Besides, 
 I learned long ago, that it is much easier to bend 
 one's own will than that of another. I cannot be 
 cross now ; besides, the French say, Le mieux cst 
 I'ennemi du bien, as you know. And will you believe
 
 MY HUSBAND AND I 53 
 
 it ? I never hear the bell, receive a letter, or even 
 wake up in the morning without remembering that 
 life is passing and that changes must come in it ; 
 but better than it is now it can never be.' 
 
 I believed what he said, though I did not fully 
 understand him, for I could not see any reason why 
 we should not always be as happy as we were then, 
 or even happier. 
 
 Two months passed by in this way, and winter, 
 with its snow and storms, came upon us. Then, 
 although Sergei Mikhailovitch was with me, I com- 
 menced to realize that our mode of life was mono- 
 tonous, and that there was nothing new in it either 
 for him or for me. 
 
 It seemed to me, indeed, as if we were always 
 retracing our footsteps. My husband then began 
 to busy himself about his affairs in .a more marked 
 degree than formerly, and it seemed to me that in 
 the depths of his being there was some reserved 
 corner to which he would not admit me. I felt 
 irritated by his invariable serenity. I loved him 
 no less, but my love stood still, and a strange, rest- 
 less feeling troubled me. I needed excitement, 
 movement ; I longed for danger and self-sacrifice. 
 I possessed some superfluous energy which did not 
 find employment in the quiet life we led, and I ex- 
 perienced moments of sadness which I tried to hide 
 from him, and transports of tenderness and gaiety 
 which alarmed him. He observed me as he had 
 formerly done, and one ofay he suggested that we 
 should go to town for a time. But I would not hear 
 of it ; I asked him not to change our mode of life, 
 not to touch the edifice of our happiness. And 
 indeed I was happy ; only I felt worried that my 
 happiness did not call for any work or sacrifice such 
 as I longed for. I loved my husband, I saw that 
 I was everything in the world to him ; but I wanted 
 others to witness our love and to try to prevent my 
 loving him, so that in defiance I might love him all 
 the more. I found food for my mind and feelings 
 at home, but conscious of my youth, and of a certain
 
 54 MY HUSBAND AND I 
 
 need of motion, I did not obtain perfect satisfaction 
 in the quiet life we led. 
 
 Why had he suggested that we should go to stay 
 in town ? If he had not said that to me, I should 
 perhaps have understood that the feeling which 
 oppressed me was but a baneful, chimerical one, 
 and that I erred in giving way to it. However, the 
 thought that I might rid myself of my weariness, 
 simply by going to stay in town, involuntarily passed 
 through my mind. On the other hand, this would 
 mean taking him away from everything he liked. I 
 was ashamed to do that ; moreover, I did not want 
 him to forgo his own delights simply to please me. 
 
 Time sped on. The snow heaped itself higher and 
 higher around the house. Our lives moved on in 
 the same unvarying monotony, while not far away 
 a crowd of human beings struggled, rejoiced, and 
 suffered. The worst of it, too, was that every day 
 riveted the chains which bound us to this wearisome 
 machine-like life, in which our very feelings ran in 
 regular set grooves. In the morning we were merry, 
 at mid-day we were polite, in the evening affectionate. 
 
 After a while these curious conflicts of mind worked 
 upon my health. My nerves began to suffer. One 
 morning, when I was feeling worse than usual, Sergei 
 Mikha'ilovitch returned from his farm inspection out 
 of sorts, a most unusual circumstance. I noticed it 
 and inquired the reason, but the only answer I could 
 obtain was, ' Nothing worth speaking of.' I after- 
 wards learned that there had been some unpleasant- 
 ness with the officials about our peasants, but at 
 the time I imagined that he would not tell me his 
 worry because he considered me too much of a child 
 to understand business ; so I turned away from him 
 abruptly, and went to summon Marya Minitschna, 
 who was visiting us, to breakfast. After this meal, 
 which I finished as speedily as possible, I went into 
 the music-room with my guest, and began chatting 
 about some nonsense which did not interest me in 
 the least. 
 
 Sergei Mikhailovitch followed us into the room,
 
 MY HUSBAND AND I 55 
 
 and walked up and down looking at us. His presence 
 worked on my nerves so that I talked louder and 
 louder, laughing almost hysterically. Every remark 
 that Marya made seemed to me remarkably comic. 
 Finally Sergei left the room without having made any 
 observation, and no sooner had the door closed 
 behind him than my mirth vanished, so suddenly, 
 indeed, that Marya asked me what was the matter. 
 I could not answer, but sat down ready to cry. 
 
 ' What must he think of me ? ' was my thought. 
 ' Will he think it nonsense or something worse ? 
 If he would only ask me, so that I might tell him ! ' 
 
 I felt my tears oppressing my heart, and I began to 
 grow angry with him. But I shrank from giving way 
 to such feelings and repaired to his study. 
 
 He was writing when I entered. On hearing my 
 step he raised his eyes for a moment, and then went 
 on quietly with his writing. His scrutiny did not 
 please me, and I took up a book in place of speaking 
 to him. 
 
 He again paused in his work to look at me. 
 
 ' Katia, you are out of temper,' he said. 
 
 I replied with an icy glance, as much as to say, 
 ' That is no matter to you.' 
 
 He shook his head and laughed softly ; but for 
 the first time in my life I did not give smile for smile. 
 
 ' What was the matter with you this morning ? ' 
 I asked. ' Why would you not tell me ? ' 
 
 ' A mere trifling annoyance. Some peasants have 
 been sent to the town ' 
 
 But I would not allow him to finish. ' Why did 
 you not tell me before breakfast, when I asked you ? ' 
 I inquired. 
 
 ' I should have said something absurd, for I was 
 vexed.' 
 
 ' But I wished to know then.' 
 
 1 Why then ? ' 
 
 ' Because you think I can never be of any use to 
 you in your business perplexities.' 
 
 ' How can I think that ? ' he said, throwing aside 
 his pen. ' I think, indeed I know, that I cannot live
 
 56 MY HUSBAND AND I 
 
 without you. You are not only a help to me, you 
 are my all. I live only for you, and if I find life 
 sweet and pleasant it is only because I have you 
 because ' 
 
 ' Yes, yes, you think I am nothing more than a 
 child, to whom you must always say smooth things/ 
 I interrupted, and with such petulance that he gazed 
 at me in astonishment. ' I have no patience left me. 
 You have enough for both though if, indeed, you 
 haven't too much,' I continued fretfully. 
 
 ' Listen,' he said quickly, as if afraid I might say 
 too much. ' We ' 
 
 ' No, I will listen to nothing,' I replied, although 
 I was longing to have a good talk with him. But 
 it was so delightful to disturb his repose. ' I do 
 not wish to play at life any longer. I want to live 
 in earnest as you do ; to be equal with you, as I 
 have a right to be.' I stopped short at this point, 
 the sudden, quick flush on his cheek warning me 
 that I might be going too far. 
 
 ' In what way are you not my equal ? Is it because 
 I refuse to tell you stories about drunken peasants 
 and their brawls ? ' 
 
 ' Not only that,' I replied. 
 
 ' Understand me, dearest,' he rejoined. ' I know 
 by long experience that these cares, be they ever so 
 trifling, cause trouble and worry, and it is because I 
 love you that I wish to shield you from every annoy- 
 ance. That is the business of my life. Do not, I 
 pray, make it impossible for me.' 
 
 ' You are right, of course ; you always are,' I 
 impetuously rejoined. It angered me to see him so 
 calm and unmoved again, when my heart and brain 
 were in a tumult of conflicting emotions. 
 
 ' Katia, what can be the matter with you ? It 
 isn't a question as to who is right. Are you ill, or 
 have you anything against me ? Don't answer too 
 hastily, but think it over, and let me know how I 
 have offended you.' 
 
 What could I say ? How could I open my heart 
 to him ? The thought that he had immediately
 
 MY HUSBAND AND I 57 
 
 divined me, that I was like a child before him, that 
 I could not do anything without him understanding 
 and foreseeing it, now worried me more than ever. 
 
 ' I have nothing against you,' I answered. ' But 
 I am tired of this sameness, this dreary monotony of 
 life. I wish it could be changed. But of course 
 it can't be, you will say, and of course you will be 
 right again.' 
 
 I looked at him as I said this. The arrow reached 
 the mark. Pain and dread were visible upon his 
 face. 
 
 ' Katia/ he began in a low, deeply moved voice, 
 ' what we are now saying is no jesting matter. Our 
 whole future life may hang upon it. Why will you 
 torture me so ? ' 
 
 I interrupted him again. ' Spare yourself the 
 trouble of explanations, since I know exactly what 
 you will say, and as I remarked before, you are always 
 right.' I said this quite coldly, as if it were not I, 
 but some perverse spirit speaking with my lips. 
 
 ' If you could only know what you are doing ! ' 
 he said, in a faltering voice. 
 
 I began to cry and my heart grew lighter ; I felt 
 ashamed and repented of my words, but I dared not 
 look at him, lest his eyes should express the scorn 
 and anger which I knew I deserved. However, 
 when I did at last turn towards him, a gentle, loving 
 look was fixed on me. Then I took his hand and 
 said : ' Forgive me, I do not know what I said.' 
 
 ' Yes, but I know, and you told me the truth.' 
 
 ' What was it, then ? ' 
 
 ' That we must start for St. Petersburg immediately. 
 There is no hindrance just at present.' 
 
 ' As you like.' 
 
 He took me in his arms and kissed me tenderly. 
 
 ' Forgive me. I have wronged you, though un- 
 intentionally.' 
 
 I sat for a long while at the piano that evening, 
 while he walked up and down murmuring to himself. 
 It was a habit he had, and I often asked him to 
 repeat his croonings to me. Sometimes it was a bit
 
 58 MY HUSBAND AND I 
 
 of poetry, sometimes only nonsense, but it always 
 furnished me with the key to his state of mind. 
 
 ' What were you saying just now ? ' I asked. 
 
 He paused in his promenade, and smilingly re- 
 peated two lines of one of Sermontoff's poems : 
 
 ' But he, the fool, he longed for the storm, 
 As if in the storm his rest to find.' 
 
 ' He is more than human ! He knows everything ! 
 How can I help loving him ? ' I thought. Rising, 
 I took his arm and began to walk about with him, 
 trying to take the same long strides that he did. 
 
 ' Well, is it not so ? ' he asked smilingly. 
 
 ' Yes,' I whispered softly. 
 
 Then a frolicsome mood came over us. We took 
 longer and longer steps, finally walking into the 
 drawing-room on tiptoe, to the astonishment of 
 mamma and the indignation of Demetri Sideroff, 
 who was making preparations for tea. 
 
 Two weeks later, before the holidays, we were in 
 St. Petersburg. 
 
 VII 
 
 OUR journey to St. Petersburg, the week we spent 
 in Moscow, making acquaintance with my own 
 and Sergei Mikhailovitch's relatives, passed before me 
 like a pleasant dream. All was so novel and bright, 
 so illumined by my husband's love and presence, 
 that our still country life seemed far away and half 
 forgotten before we were fairly settled in our new 
 abode. 
 
 To my surprise and pleasure, instead of the stiff 
 and formal reception I had expected from acquaint- 
 ances and relatives, I was met with such simple and 
 hearty cordiality as to charm and put me at my ease 
 instantly. Moreover, contrary to my anticipations, 
 in numerous circles of society, even in those of the 
 highest rank, I discovered that my husband possessed 
 connections which he had never mentioned to me ;
 
 MY HUSBAND AND I 59 
 
 and I often thought it strange and even disagreeable 
 to hear him pass severe judgments upon people who 
 seemed to me to be so nice. I could not understand 
 why he treated them so curtly, and why he avoided 
 making acquaintance with people whom, to my mind, 
 it was advantageous for one to know. I should have 
 thought the more worthy people one knew the better 
 it was, and all of these were apparently worthy people. 
 
 The day before we left Nikolski my husband had 
 said to me, ' Here in the country I am a small 
 Croesus, but in St. Petersburg I shall be less than 
 rich. We can remain there until Easter, but we 
 must not mingle much in gay society, lest we should 
 be tempted to indulge in undue expenditure.' 
 
 ' Very well,' I had answered. ' We can just go to 
 some concerts and the theatre, and come back to 
 Nikolski before Easter.' 
 
 But these resolutions were forgotten soon after 
 reaching St. Petersburg. I suddenly found myself 
 in a bright new world, so surrounded with new 
 interests and new amusements that I became entirely 
 oblivious of my past life and the plans which we had 
 formed. My true life I felt was just commencing. 
 
 The unrest, and yearning for I knew not what, 
 which had tortured me in the country now vanished 
 as if by magic. My love for my husband became 
 more subdued, and I no longer tormented myself 
 with doubts as to whether he loved me less than at 
 first. Though, indeed, I could not have any rightful 
 misgivings on that score, since he understood my 
 every thought, and fulfilled my every wish before 
 expressed. 
 
 Often, after I had played the part of hostess with 
 many inward tremblings, he would exclaim to my 
 great delight : ' Excellently done, my child ! Quite 
 beautiful ! ' 
 
 Shortly after our arrival he wrote a letter to his 
 mother, and when he called me to add a postscript, 
 he told me not to read what he had written, which, 
 however, I very naturally did immediately, despite, 
 or on account of, his prohibition. It ran thus :
 
 6o MY HUSBAND AND I 
 
 ' You would scarcely recognize Katia ; I myself am 
 half puzzled at times. Where did she acquire her 
 charming graciousness of manner, her suave polite- 
 ness ? And withal she is so good and simple. 
 Everybody is delighted with her, and I love her 
 more than ever, if that be possible.' 
 
 ' Ah ! ' thought I, ' I also love Sergei Mikhailovitch 
 more than ever, if that be possible.' 
 
 My reception by my unknown relatives was unex- 
 pectedly flattering. Here was an uncle, yonder an 
 aunt, who heaped favours upon me. One declared 
 that I had not my equal in St. Petersburg ; another 
 thought that I need only have the will to become 
 the leader of society. My favourite among them all . 
 was the Princess Demikoff, a cousin of my husband, 
 a thorough woman of the world, who was no longer 
 young, and who loaded me with flattery until my 
 brain was turned. 
 
 The first time she came to invite me to go to a ball 
 with her, Sergei Mikhailovitch looked at me with 
 a scarcely perceptible smile, and artfully asked if I 
 wished to go. I nodded in token of assent, and 
 blushed. 
 
 ' Blushing like a criminal making confession/ he 
 teasingly remarked. 
 
 ' You told me that we could not afford to go into 
 society, and that it was distasteful to you,' I answered 
 with a smile and a supplicating glance. 
 
 ' If you desire it very much, we will go,' he said. 
 
 ' But perhaps it would be best not to do so.' 
 
 ' Oh ! it is not wrong to visit the gay world once 
 in a while. The danger is in going too frequently 
 and indulging in social ambition which cannot be 
 gratified. But we will go to this ball certainly/ he 
 concluded. 
 
 ' To tell the truth, I never wished to go anywhere 
 so much as to this ball.' 
 
 We went to it, and the pleasure I had anticipated 
 was more than realized. It seemed to me as if I 
 were the central pivot of the whole affair ; as if the 
 vast gallery had been lighted up for me alone ; as
 
 MY HUSBAND AND I 61 
 
 if the music played for my especial benefit, and as if 
 the throng had gathered solely to gaze at me in 
 ecstasy. Everybody, from my hairdresser and wait- 
 ing-maid, to my partners in the dance, and the old 
 gentlemen who walked through the rooms, all gave 
 me to understand that I had fascinated them, and, 
 indeed, the universal testimony, so I heard from my 
 cousin, was that I was utterly unlike any other 
 women, being as simple and fresh as a country 
 blossom. 
 
 I was so intoxicated by these comments that I 
 urged Sergei Mikhai'lovitch to go with me to several 
 other balls, which he did very willingly for a time 
 despite his principles, and seeming to rejoice in my 
 success. 
 
 But by and by he grew weary of society, and the 
 excitement made him uncomfortable. Still I did 
 not bother myself over this, and when I occasionally 
 felt his penetrating glance fixed on me, I would not 
 understand. I was so fascinated by the admira- 
 tion of strangers, the elegance, amusement, and 
 general change, that his steady, serious influence 
 over me seemed lost. It was pleasant to me to 
 mingle in society, not merely side by side with him, 
 but with a feeling that I was on a higher level than 
 he was ; and withal to love him with increased 
 strength and independence. And I could not under- 
 stand that he disliked to see me enjoying social 
 successes. When I entered a ballroom, and saw all 
 eyes turned towards me, a feeling of enhanced pride 
 and self-satisfaction arose in my heart. He, how- 
 ever, used on such occasions to hurry away from my 
 side, and disappear in the crowd of bystanders, as 
 if he were ashamed that I belonged to him. 
 
 ' Only wait/ I would say to myself, as I followed 
 him with my eyes, ' only wait till we are at home 
 again, and I will prove to you for whose sake I wish 
 to be beautiful, and whom it is I love.' 
 
 Once in a while the possibility of my husband 
 being jealous flitted across my mind, but he was 
 always so composed, and the young men I met were
 
 62 MY HUSBAND AND I 
 
 so insignificant when compared with him, that the 
 idea vanished as soon as conceived. However, the 
 attention which so many people bestowed on me in 
 the drawing-rooms I visited proved a source of plea- 
 sure and gratified my vanity, and even caused me 
 to consider that it was very meritorious on my part 
 to continue loving my husband, as I did, with in- 
 creasing assurance and freedom of manner. 
 
 ' I saw how engaged you were with the Countess 
 Ablomovitz last evening,' I said to him one morning 
 after a ball, shaking my finger at him threateningly. 
 The lady of whom I spoke was one of our best friends 
 and well known in St. Petersburg. My intention 
 was to tease him a little, because he was so particu- 
 larly silent that day. 
 
 ' Katia, how can you speak to me like that ? ' he 
 said, between his clenched teeth. ' Such jests are 
 not seemly on your part. Leave them to others. 
 Those artificial ways can only spoil our love and 
 respect for each other, if they have not already 
 done so.' 
 
 I felt ashamed and kept sjjent. 
 
 ' Well, Katia, what do you say to that ? ' he 
 asked. 
 
 ' Our love and respect for each other are not 
 spoiled, and never can be,' I answered. This I 
 believed with all my heart when I said it. 
 
 ' God grant it ! ' he replied. ' Still, I think it is 
 time we returned home.' 
 
 After this he never again alluded to our return to 
 Nikolski. I knew how weary he was of city life, 
 but I remembered also how I had pined in the 
 country, and I inexpressibly dreaded the return to 
 such a state of existence. 
 
 The winter passed with astonishing rapidity, and 
 contrary to our expectations we kept the Easter 
 feast in St. Petersburg. On the Tuesday after 
 Easter, when our trunks were packed ready for our 
 departure, my husband, who had completed his 
 purchases of presents and effects needful to us in 
 the country, became quite gay and affectionate
 
 MY HUSBAND AND I 63 
 
 again. However, his cousin, the Princess Demikoff 
 unexpectedly arrived to entreat that we should 
 remain until after Saturday, to attend a ball given 
 by the Countess Woronski. 
 
 ' The countess is especially desirous of your 
 
 company,' she said to me, ' for Prince M says 
 
 that you are the most beautiful woman in Russia, 
 and he refuses to attend the ball unless you are to 
 be there. Indeed, I think it against all reason that 
 you should persist in burying yourself alive, before 
 this final and most magnificent entertainment of the 
 season.' 
 
 While the princess was speaking Sergei Mikhailo- 
 vitch had been talking to a servant at the other end 
 of the room, and I was not certain whether he had 
 heard her. 
 
 ' Well, what shall you do, Katia ? ' persisted our 
 cousin ; ' will you go ? ' 
 
 'We are going to Nikolski to-morrow/ I replied, 
 glancing towards my husband. Our eyes met and 
 he turned quickly away. 
 
 ' I will persuade your husband to remain,' urged 
 the princess. 
 
 ' But that would upset all our plans,' I said, 
 though longing to yield. 
 
 ' Would it not be better for you to go and pay your 
 respects to the prince this evening ? ' asked my 
 husband, with an amount of excitement in his voice 
 and manner which I had never seen in him before. 
 
 ' Ha, ha ! ' laughed our cousin. ' He is actually 
 jealous. It is charming to see him roused from his 
 placidity for once. But really, Sergei Mikha'ilovitch, 
 it is not only on account of the prince that we want 
 Katia so much.' 
 
 ' She can do as she likes,' my husband rejoined, 
 leaving the room. I saw that he was strangely 
 excited, and so I would not give the princess any 
 definite answer. 
 
 When she was gone I went in search of my husband, 
 and found him pacing up and down the library with 
 a thoughtful face.
 
 64 MY HUSBAND AND I 
 
 ' He is thinking of Nikolski and of our merry 
 breakfasts in our own cosy little room/ I said to 
 myself, ' and of his fields, his peasants, and our 
 delightful evenings in the music-room, followed by 
 our stolen supper. No, no ! not all the balls in the 
 world are worth his tender love, nor would I give one 
 of his merry smiles for the flatteries and attentions 
 of a thousand princes.' 
 
 I was on the point of telling him that I would 
 adhere to our original intention of going home on 
 the morrow, when he caught sight of me, and 
 wrinkled his forehead in a most forbidding manner. 
 The gentle, thoughtful expression disappeared from 
 his face, and was replaced by a harsh and gloomy 
 one. Then suddenly he assumed a look of pene- 
 trating wisdom and quiet protection. He never 
 liked to let simple human nature appear upon his 
 face ; with me, he wished to remain a kind of demi- 
 god perched upon a pedestal. 
 
 1 What is the matter, my dear ? ' he carelessly 
 asked, as he turned and faced me. 
 
 I did not answer at first. I felt annoyed at seeing 
 him feign with me, instead of remaining as I liked him. 
 
 ' Do you care to attend that ball on Saturday ? ' 
 he asked. 
 
 ' I should have liked to, but our boxes are packed, 
 and it would not be agreeable for you,' I replied. 
 I spoke coldly, for his nonchalant tone angered me, 
 and I was vexed also at his having prevented me 
 from making the sacrifice voluntarily. 
 
 He also looked at me coldly ; indeed, never had 
 he looked at me or spoke to me so coldly before. 
 
 ' I shall not go before Wednesday next week,' 
 he said ; ' and I will give orders to have everything 
 unpacked.' As usual, when excited, he paced up 
 and down the floor with quick jerky steps. 
 
 ' I really cannot understand you,' I observed, 
 following his movements with my eyes. ' Why do 
 you speak to me so strangely ? I am quite ready to 
 sacrifice my pleasure to yours ; why do you treat me 
 so coldly ? '
 
 MY HUSBAND AND I 65 
 
 ' You offer me a sacrifice \ ' he said, emphasizing 
 the last word. ' Well, on my side I bring you one, 
 so we are quits. What more could be expected from 
 any happy married pair ? ' 
 
 It was the first time that I had ever heard such 
 mocking words fall from his lips ; but their effect was 
 to anger and harden me. 
 
 ' You are greatly changed,' I said, with a sigh. 
 ' What is the matter with you ; are you angry with 
 me ? It can't simply be a matter of this ball ; you 
 must have some old grievance against me. Tell me 
 frankly what it is.' 
 
 ' What will he say ? ' I asked myself, remembering 
 with satisfaction that he could not lay the slightest 
 indiscretion to my charge. As I spoke, I stepped 
 into the middle of the room, where he would be 
 forced to pass me in his promenade. 
 
 ' He will come, embrace me, and all will be well,' 
 I hoped. But he paused in his walk at the other 
 end of the room, and looked at me. 
 
 ' You do not understand me ? ' he inquired. 
 
 'No.' 
 
 ' Then allow me to explain to you that the emotion 
 now working in my heart for the first time, is one 
 which I cannot immediately repress.' 
 
 He stood quite still as he spoke, as if half shocked 
 himself at the roughness of his voice. 
 
 ' What do you mean ? ' I asked, crying in spite of 
 myself. 
 
 ' I mean this. I feel indignant that, because the 
 prince has found you to his taste, you should run 
 after him, forgetful of your husband, of yourself, of 
 your womanly dignity. You cannot even under- 
 stand what your husband must feel, since you your- 
 self have lost all consciousness of dignity. Far from 
 it, indeed ; you come and declare to your husband 
 that you are ready to sacrifice yourself, which is the 
 same as saying : "I should be delighted to be able 
 to please the prince, but I will forgo that satisfaction 
 in consideration of my husband's prejudices." 
 
 As he spoke he grew more and more earnest, being
 
 66 MY HUSBAND AND I 
 
 excited by his own voice and words. His face glowed, 
 and I felt afraid of him, but my self-esteem was 
 wounded and I would not give way. 
 
 ' I have been expecting this outbreak for some 
 time/ I said. ' Continue ! ' 
 
 ' What you may have expected, I do not know, 
 but 7 have expected the worst, watching you day 
 after day in this whirlpool of luxury, idleness, and 
 dissipation. I have dreaded being brought to shame, 
 as has happened to-day. Your friend comes and 
 tears my heart with her soiled hands, making a 
 mockery of my jealousy my jealousy of whom ? 
 Of a man of whom you know as little as I do ! And 
 you can't understand me. You offer me a sacrifice 
 I am ashamed of myself and of you a sacrifice, 
 indeed ! ' 
 
 ' How like a man,' I thought. ' I have done 
 nothing to offend, and yet he would like me to fall 
 on my knees and acknowledge that he is justified in 
 his anger. I will not do it.' 
 
 ' No, I will not offer you any sacrifice,' I said, 
 my nostrils dilating and my cheeks burning. ' I 
 shall go to the Countess Woronski's on Saturday.' 
 
 ' I wish you much enjoyment,' he cried with scorn. 
 ' Between us, however, all is at an end. You shall 
 not torment me any longer. I was foolish enough 
 
 to ' At this point his lips quivered, and, 
 
 making a visible effort, he refrained from finishing 
 his sentence. 
 
 I both hated and feared him at that hour. How 
 gladly would I have returned scorn for scom, con- 
 tempt for contempt, but I dared not speak lest I 
 should end in bitter sobs, which would have been an 
 untold humiliation. 
 
 I left the room silently, but I was scarcely out of 
 the sound of his footsteps before I realized the 
 possibility of my having sundered the happy bond 
 which had once united us. I half resolved to go 
 back to him, but I was afraid that he would interpret 
 any compromise on my part into an acknowledgment 
 of my being in fault, and he in the right. Would he
 
 MY HUSBAND AND I 67 
 
 not grant me pardon with proud tranquillity ! Ah ! 
 why had he so offended me, he whom I had loved so 
 well! 
 
 So I stayed alone in my chamber, recalling the 
 sting of every word, and weeping silently, until tender, 
 subdued thoughts came and swept away the harsh 
 ones that I had been cherishing. 
 
 When I took my seat at the dinner table, where 
 
 Mr. O , a visitor, was sitting with my husband, 
 
 I felt that a great gulf indeed had opened between 
 
 us. Mr. O inquired how soon we purposed 
 
 leaving St. Petersburg. 
 
 Before I could reply Sergei Mikhailovitch answered: 
 ' Next Wednesday. We are going to a ball at the 
 Countess Woronski's on Saturday. You intend to 
 go, I believe ? ' This he said to me, with a sneering, 
 contemptuous expression. 
 
 ' Yes, I expect to go/ I replied, looking at him 
 timidly. 
 
 That evening, after Mr. O had left, Sergei 
 
 Mikhailovitch came to me and offered me his hand, 
 exclaiming : ' Pray forgive what I said to you this 
 morning.' 
 
 I took his hand, a trembling smile flitted over my 
 face, and my eyes filled with tears, but he abruptly 
 withdrew his hand and took a seat at some distance 
 off, as if he feared a scene. 
 
 ' Is it possible that he still thinks he was in the 
 right ? ' I pondered, and I had, on the tip of my 
 tongue, a request for a frank explanation, and for 
 permission not to go to the ball. 
 
 However, my husband suddenly exclaimed : ' I 
 must write to my mother that our journey has been 
 postponed, otherwise she will be anxious.' 
 
 ' And when shall we start ? ' 
 
 ' Next Wednesday.' 
 
 ' I hope nothing else will occur to prevent it,' I 
 said. But he gazed at me with such a curious look 
 in his eyes that it prevented all further conversation. 
 
 We attended the ball, and to all appearance we 
 vrere on affectionate terms again, but it was in reality
 
 68 MY HUSBAND AND I 
 
 very different to the past. I was seated between 
 two ladies when the prince approached me, and I 
 was, of course, forced to rise. As I did so, I glanced 
 at Sergei Mikha'ilovitch, who averted his face. I 
 was conscience-smitten, and it was extremely un- 
 pleasant to feel myself colouring and growing 
 confused under the scrutiny of the prince. Our 
 conversation was brief. There was no room for him 
 to sit down near me, and when he left me, he 
 said he would be glad to make my husband's 
 acquaintance. 
 
 Later in the evening I saw them standing together 
 in another part of the room. The prince must have 
 been saying something about me, for he looked 
 towards me with a smile. Suddenly Sergei Mikhailo- 
 vitch grew scarlet, bowed low, and abruptly left the 
 prince. ' What will he think of me, and especially 
 of my husband ? ' I thought. I felt sure that almost 
 every one present had witnessed how the prince had 
 been treated by Sergei Mikhailovitch. ' God knows 
 what they must have thought,' I said to myself ; 
 ' possibly they have guessed at the state of affairs 
 between us.' 
 
 My cousin drove me home, and on the way I told 
 her of the difficulty we had had on account of this 
 unfortunate entertainment. She endeavoured to 
 soothe me, saying that such little storms occurred in 
 every married life, and passed over leaving no trace 
 behind. She also blamed my husband as being over 
 reserved and haughty, in which opinion I concurred, 
 for it seemed to enable me to understand his char- 
 acter better, and to judge his conduct in a calmer 
 fashion. 
 
 But when I was at home and alone, these words 
 lay on my conscience like a stone, and I felt that the 
 chasm which separated us was becoming wider and 
 deeper, all through my own fault.
 
 MY HUSBAND AND I 69 
 
 VIII 
 
 A FTER that day there came a great change in 
 *"V our mode of life. We no longer felt at ease 
 when alone together ; there were certain questions 
 which we avoided discussing, and the presence of a 
 third party was always hailed as a relief. As soon 
 as there was the slightest allusion, in the course of 
 conversation, either to balls or to country life a 
 strange light danced in our eyes, and we felt too 
 much embarrassed to look at one another. It seemed 
 as if we both understood where and how the gulf 
 parted us, and as if we feared to approach the brink 
 of the precipice. I felt convinced that he was proud 
 and headstrong, and that I must be very circumspect 
 to avoid any clash with his failings. And he, on his 
 side, was convinced that I could not live apart from 
 society, that country life did not suit me, and that 
 he must resign himself to my unfortunate tastes. 
 Thus, on either side, we avoided any direct allusion 
 to all unpleasant subjects, and we judged each other 
 wrongly. We had long since ceased to be the most 
 perfect beings in the world for one another ; on the 
 contrary, we compared ourselves to other people 
 around us, and pondered secretly, each from his own 
 point of view, over the failings of our characters. 
 
 On the day before that appointed for us to leave 
 for Nikolski I was taken seriously ill, so that we 
 simply rented a country house near St. Petersburg. 
 When I had somewhat recovered, Sergei Mikhai'lo- 
 vitch went to visit his mother. I begged to be 
 allowed to accompany him, but he persuaded me to 
 remain, on account of my health, although I knew 
 that the real reason was his unwillingness to be alone 
 with me in our old home, so full of tender associations. 
 
 My time passed slowly and heavily without him, 
 and yet on his return I realized more keenly than 
 ever the immense difference between our present 
 and past relations. We each had our separate cares
 
 70 MY HUSBAND AND I 
 
 and interests, which we never attempted to share 
 with one another, although we were as punctilious 
 in fulfilling each other's wish as if we had still 
 been lovers. Whenever we remained alone together, 
 which did not often happen, I felt neither pleasure, 
 nor trouble, nor embarrassment : it was as if I had 
 been alone by myself. Still, I knew that he who 
 was with me was not a stranger but a worthy man, 
 my husband, whom I believed I knew as well as I 
 knew myself. However, I now expected nothing 
 from him : he was simply my husband, nothing 
 more, and there could be no possible change in the 
 situation. Moreover, I no longer had any time for 
 reflection. 
 
 Fashionable life, with its glare and glitter, took 
 the place in my heart once occupied by my husband 
 and my home. I had scarcely an 'hour to call my 
 own from morning till bed-time. This existence 
 neither amused nor wearied me : I accepted it as a 
 necessity. 
 
 Three years went by in this way, marked, how- 
 ever, by two important events : the death of my 
 mother-in-law and the birth of my first child. 
 
 At first the motherly instinct was so strong within 
 me, that I fancied it to be the beginning of a new and 
 delightful life. But when the novelty had worn off, 
 and I was able to go out again, this feeling faded 
 away by degrees, ending finally in a cold fulfilment 
 of my maternal duties. 
 
 For Sergei Mikhailovitch, however, the birth of 
 his child seemed the renewal of his youth. He was 
 again the gentle, home-loving man of other days, 
 devoting all his fun and tenderness to the boy. 
 
 Frequently, when I entered the nursery, in my 
 ball-dress, to say ' good night ' to the little one, I 
 would find my husband there ; and his stern, re- 
 proachful look made me suddenly feel ashamed. 
 I felt frightened at the indifference with which I 
 treated my child, and I asked myself whether I 
 were different to other women. 
 
 I loved the dear little boy certainly, but to sit by
 
 MY HUSBAND AND I 71 
 
 him and tend him for hours was more than I could 
 endure. 
 
 My mother-in-law's death was a sore trial to my 
 husband. I sincerely sympathized with him, and I 
 missed her to a certain degree ; but I must confess 
 that it was pleasanter for me at Nikolski without her 
 iron-rule customs. 
 
 The third year after our first journey to St. Peters- 
 burg, we went to Baden-Baden to spend the summer. 
 I was then about twenty-one. My health was ex- 
 cellent ; we had abundant means ; my toilet was 
 elegant ; the weather was glorious, and I was happy ! 
 It was not such happiness, however, as had made life 
 so sweet to me during the first few months at Nikolski ; 
 still, it was happiness. I feared nothing, hoped for 
 nothing ; my cup was full to the brim, and my con- 
 science was easy. 
 
 Among the throng of visitors crowding Baden- 
 Baden that summer, there was scarcely one deserv- 
 ing any special notice. About the only difference 
 between them was that some were old, others young ; 
 some, fair Englishmen ; others, moustachioed 
 Frenchmen. The only one to whom I gave a second 
 thought was an Italian, the Marquis Michaelli, who 
 had attracted my attention by the bold manner in 
 which he expressed his admiration for my person. 
 He allowed no opportunity to escape of meeting 
 me, dancing with me, riding out and going to the 
 casino with me, and he incessantly repeated that I 
 was charming. From my window sometimes I saw 
 him strolling round our house, and the boldness of 
 the glances which he darted at me with his sparkling 
 eyes often made me blush and avert my face. He 
 was young, handsome, and elegant ; and bore a 
 certain resemblance to my husband, particularly in 
 the brow and smile, though the quiet, gentle expres- 
 sion of my husband's mouth was changed in the 
 Italian to something coarse and animal. Despite 
 myself, I felt afraid of this man, and thought oftener 
 of him than I ought to have done. Sergei Mikhailo- 
 vitch had become acquainted with him, and associated
 
 72 MY HUSBAND AND I 
 
 with him more intimately than with other people, 
 among whom he simply figured as his wife's husband, 
 retaining all his haughty coldness of manner. 
 
 A short time before the close of the season, I was 
 taken ill and confined to my room for a fortnight. 
 On the first- occasion that I visited the casino after 
 my recovery, I heard of the arrival of Lady Spelton, 
 an Englishwoman, famous for her beauty. I had 
 no lack of cavaliers on this occasion, but a much 
 greater number were collected about Lady Spelton, 
 concerning whose grace and loveliness ah 1 lips were 
 eloquent. She certainly was very captivating ; and 
 yet I was disagreeably impressed by the look of 
 self-sufficiency apparent on her countenance. Every- 
 thing which had formerly seemed so gay thoroughly 
 wearied me that day. On the morrow, Lady Spelton 
 made up a party to visit the Castle, but I was not 
 one of it. I was left almost alone in the hotel, and 
 felt desolate enough. I could have cried gladly, 
 and felt anxious to return to Russia as soon as was 
 practicable. A new and unhealthy feeling had taken 
 possession of me, but I would not confess it to myself. 
 I pretended that I was not well, and from that day 
 I kept aloof from society, only walking to the wells 
 or driving out with Lyona Maruscha, one of my 
 Russian friends. Sergei Mikhailovitch was then at 
 Heidelberg, only coming now and then on a visit to 
 Baden-Baden. As soon as I had finished drinking 
 the waters we were to return to Russia. 
 
 One day when Lady Spelton and most of the 
 visitors had gone off on a hunting party, I drove in 
 the evening to the Castle with Lyona Maruscha. 
 As our carriage crept slowly up the hill under the 
 century-old chestnut trees which shaded the drive, 
 and between which one distinguished a lovely prospect 
 all aglow with the rays of the setting sun, we began 
 to talk seriously, which was contrary to our wont. 
 I had known Lyona Maruscha for a long while, but 
 this was perhaps the first time that I really appre- 
 ciated her society. We talked of our children, our 
 Russian home life, of the vanity and emptiness of
 
 MY HUSBAND AND I 73 
 
 our present existence. Under the pleasurably pain- 
 ful influence of this conversation we entered the 
 Castle grounds. 
 
 Behind the walls it was shady and cool, but the 
 rays of the sun still lingered on the ruins, and through 
 the gateway we could see the charming landscape 
 as in a frame. Each word and footstep was re- 
 echoed under the vaults. We sat down upon some 
 stones to rest, and at that moment heard some voices. 
 They soon became more distinct, and I fancied I 
 heard my name. Involuntarily I listened, and each 
 word came to us with terrible distinctness. The 
 persons chatting together were the Marquis Michaelli 
 and his most intimate friend, a Frenchman. The 
 latter was comparing Lady Spelton and me, and 
 analysing our respective charms. He said nothing 
 depreciatory, yet the blood rushed to my brain as I 
 heard him coldly counting up my defects and good 
 points. 
 
 I had had a child, he said, whereas Lady Spelton 
 was only just nineteen. I had beautiful hair, Lady 
 Spelton a graceful figure. Besides, Lady Spelton 
 was of almost royal blood, while I belonged to one 
 of those petty noble families of Russia which are 
 superabundant. 
 
 He concluded with the remark that I had shown 
 great good sense and discretion in leaving the field 
 to my rival, since I was dead and buried so far as 
 Baden-Baden society was concerned. 
 
 ' When she goes I go too/ said the voice with the 
 Italian accent. 
 
 ' Happy mortal, to still be capable of loving,' 
 tauntingly answered his companion. 
 
 ' Loving ! ' repeated his friend. ' Yes, I cannot 
 exist without loving, and this romance has but just 
 begun. I must finish it. I always finish these 
 affairs.' 
 
 ' Well, here 's luck to you,' said the Frenchman. 
 
 I heard no more, for they went away. In a short 
 time, however, their footsteps were heard from the 
 other side ; they descended the steps, and a few
 
 74 MY HUSBAND AND I 
 
 minutes afterwards came out by a side door, express- 
 ing great surprise at finding us there. 
 
 I blushed when I met the marquis's eyes, and it 
 was very painful to be obliged to accept his escort 
 when we left the Castle. Still, I could not refuse, 
 and while Lyona went on ahead with the Frenchman, 
 we walked together towards my carriage. 
 
 I was greatly annoyed at the Frenchman's opinion 
 of me, although he had only put my own thoughts 
 into words ; but I was still more thoroughly vexed 
 and disgusted by the remarks of the marquis, while 
 the possibility of his knowing that I had overheard 
 his conversation made his presence almost unendur- 
 able to me. 
 
 Without looking at him or listening to what he 
 said, I hastened after Lyona Maruscha as speedily 
 as possible, letting my fingers barely touch his arm. 
 He made some trite remark upon the beautiful view, 
 his pleasure at meeting me, and something else I did 
 not hear. 
 
 My thoughts were all the time with my husband, 
 my child, and Russia ! I longed for my solitary 
 room at the H6tel de Bade, but Lyona Maruscha 
 walked slowly, my carriage was at a distance, and 
 my escort seemed to slacken his pace, as if resolved 
 to be alone with me. I tried to walk faster, but he 
 positively held me back, pressing my arm. 
 
 At last Lyona Maruscha and her escort turned a 
 corner of the road, and we were alone. ' Excuse 
 me,' I said coldly, taking my hand from his arm ; 
 but the lace on my mantle caught on his sleeve- 
 button. He leaned over to unfasten it, and his 
 gloveless hand touched my arm. A curious sensa- 
 tion shot through my veins ; I looked at him, wishing 
 to express the hatred I felt for him, but I only 
 succeeded in showing him that I was afraid. His 
 moist, burning eyes were fixed on mine, with his 
 hands he caught hold of my arms just above the 
 wrists, and then he began to stammer something 
 that he loved me, that I was all in all to him, his 
 hands grasping my arms still more tightly.
 
 MY HUSBAND AND I 75 
 
 It grew dark before my eyes. I trembled, and the 
 words with which I sought to repel him died away 
 on my lips. Suddenly, I felt a kiss on my cheek. 
 Unable to move, trembling and icy cold, I waited 
 for something to restore me to action I knew not 
 what. This helpless terror endured but a moment ; 
 but that moment was dreadful. I saw the marquis's 
 low, broad forehead, so like my husband's, his hand- 
 some nose, his long, waxed moustache, his smooth 
 cheeks, and brown neck, and I felt that, although I 
 hated and feared him, although he was a stranger to 
 me, something of his trouble and passion was being 
 imparted to myself. 
 
 ' I love you/ he repeated, while the faces of Sergei 
 Mikhailovitch and my babe flitted before my mind's 
 eye, just as in an hour of danger the remembrance 
 of long-dead dear ones returns. 
 
 Happily for me, at that moment Lyona Maruscha 
 called me. The sound of her voice restored my 
 power of action. I snatched my hands from the 
 marquis's, and hastened to my friend without a 
 glance or a word. We took our seats in the carriage, 
 and then only did I look at him. He lifted his hat, 
 and made some remark. He must have felt the un- 
 speakable aversion my eyes expressed, for he coloured 
 slightly, man of the world as he was. 
 
 My present seemed hopeless, my future dark, for 
 I felt the kiss of the marquis burning my cheek as 
 a brand of shame. And when I thought of my 
 husband and my child, I was in despair indeed. 
 
 When I finally reached my room, the loneliness 
 was unendurable. I could not swallow the tea which 
 I ordered, and without knowing why, I began, in 
 feverish haste, to pack my boxes, intending to go to 
 Heidelberg to my husband. 
 
 It was only when I was seated in the railway 
 carriage with my maid, and when the fresh night 
 air sweeping through the open window fanned my 
 throbbing head, that I was able to think. For the 
 first time, during several years, I recalled with 
 longing our quiet country life ; for the first time I
 
 76 MY HUSBAND AND I 
 
 asked myself what happiness my husband had 
 enjoyed since we had given it up, and then my con- 
 science upbraided me. Ah ! why had he not tried 
 to keep me with him, why had he practised dis- 
 simulation, why had he always avoided any explana- 
 tion, why had he offended me ? Why had he not 
 tried the power of his love upon me ? Was it that 
 he no longer loved me ? However, whether he had 
 cause for self-reproach or not, the stranger's kiss 
 remained branded upon my cheek, and I still seemed 
 to feel it. 
 
 The nearer the train drew to Heidelberg, the more 
 I dreaded the meeting with Sergei Mikha'ilovitch. 
 
 ' I will confess all all,' I resolved, bursting into 
 tears, ' and surely he will forgive me.' But in truth 
 I did not know what to say, nor did I really think 
 that he could forgive me. 
 
 When I entered his room, and saw his quiet but 
 surprised face, I could neither make a confession nor 
 implore forgiveness. And yet sorrow and repentance 
 weighed upon my heart. 
 
 ' Why have you come, my dear ? I intended to 
 join you to-morrow,' he said, and then, evidently 
 startled by something he saw in my face, he con- 
 tinued : ' What is the matter ? What is the matter ? ' 
 
 ' Nothing,' I replied, as quietly as I could, though 
 it was hard work to repress my tears. ' I have left 
 Baden-Baden for good, and if it suits you, we will 
 return to Russia to-morrow.' 
 
 ' What has happened ? ' he said, looking at me 
 steadily and attentively. 
 
 I blushed involuntarily and lowered my eyes. 
 In his there shone a presentiment of something 
 outrageous, an omen of violent anger. I feared his 
 thoughts, and with an amount of dissimulation of 
 which I had believed myself incapable, I hastily 
 replied : 
 
 ' Nothing has happened, but I was lonely, and have 
 realized at last the injustice I have done you in 
 forcing you into a sort of life so foreign to your 
 tastes. I feel that I have acted very badly towards
 
 MY HUSBAND AND I 77 
 
 you,' I added, with tears in my eyes. ' Let us go to 
 Nikolski and remain there for ever.' 
 
 ' Spare me a scene, dear friend,' he said coldly. 
 ' It is necessary for us to go home, for we are short of 
 cash. But for ever is a long time, and you will 
 doubtless soon tire again of our monotonous country 
 life. But now you must have a cup of tea. That 
 will do you good,' he added, rising up to ring for a 
 servant. 
 
 The knowledge that he had good cause to doubt 
 me lay heavy on my heart. I dreaded the suspicious 
 glances which he gave me. ' No, he will not, cannot 
 understand me,' I thought, and I escaped from his 
 presence as quickly as I could. I longed to be alone 
 to weep, weep, weep ! 
 
 IX 
 
 OUR house at Nikolski, which had so long 
 remained deserted, was once more full of life ; 
 but it was not the life of former times ; Sergei's 
 mother was dead, and we were thenceforth alone, 
 face to face with one another. And now it was no 
 longer solitude that we required ; our loneliness 
 weighed upon us. The winter went by, full of 
 suffering for me, and I only felt well again after the 
 birth of my second boy. 
 
 My relations with Sergei Mikhailovitch were cold, 
 but friendly ; every book, every picture, every divan 
 reminded me of what I had once possessed and what 
 I had lost. It was as if an unforgiven transgression 
 separated us ; you might have said that he wished to 
 punish me for something, but how was I to ask 
 forgiveness without knowing what had been my 
 error ? It occurred to me at times that he only 
 feigned indifference in view of worrying me, and that 
 the old feelings of bygone times still abided in him. 
 I tried to bring about an explanation, but he eluded it. 
 It was as if he suspected me of dissimulation, and 
 feared any display of sentimentality as something
 
 78 MY HUSBAND AND I 
 
 ridiculous. His eyes and his manner seemed to say 
 to me : ' I know everything. You have nothing 
 to tell me ; I am quite aware of what you would like 
 to confide to me. I know that you talk in one way 
 and act in another.' 
 
 At the outset I felt offended at seeing him so afraid 
 of being frank with me, but by degrees I accustomed 
 myself to the thought that it was not lack of frank- 
 ness in his nature, but rather a feeling that he saw 
 no necessity for frankness. On my side, I could no 
 longer have told him point-blank that I loved him ; 
 or have asked him to read prayers with me ; or have 
 called him when I was playing the piano. Our life 
 was no doubt regulated with a certain regard for 
 each other's comfort and convenience, though we 
 really lived apart, he having his occupations in which 
 I felt no interest, and I having my little nothings, of 
 which he took no notice and upon which he passed 
 no comments. As for the children, they were, per- 
 haps, yet too young to serve as a bond between us. 
 
 Spring came ; Macha and Sonia arrived in the 
 country for the summer ; there were some repairs 
 to be made at our house, and we were invited to stay 
 with them at Pokrovski. 
 
 It was still the dear old house, with its sunny 
 terraces, the piano in its accustomed place in the 
 bright drawing-room, and my own little chamber 
 with its white hangings, and the faint perfume of 
 my girlish dreams. Two beds now stood in the 
 room. In one slept my stout, noisy Kokoscha, in the 
 other Vania's rosy cheek pressed the pillow. 
 
 Often when they were sweetly sleeping, I sat by 
 their beds, and from every corner of the quiet room 
 silent ghosts of my girlhood would float to meet me, 
 and old well-known voices would sing me long- 
 forgotten songs. What had become of all those 
 spirits, those sweet, prophetic songs of maidenhood ? 
 
 What I had scarcely dared to hope for had been 
 mine, but the sweetness had become bitterness while 
 in my grasp. Still, outwardly all was unchanged. 
 The same garden, the same footpaths, the same
 
 MY HUSBAND AND I 79 
 
 nightingale-song from the bushes under the window, 
 the same lilacs in flower, the same silvery moon 
 flooding earth and sky with light all the same and 
 yet so changed ! What had once been so bright 
 and warm had become cold and cheerless. As in 
 the olden days, I sat and chatted with Macha in the 
 morning-room ; but her face was pale and serious, 
 her eyes dark with care and sympathy, and instead 
 of praising Sergei Mikhailovitch's goodness, we sat 
 in judgment upon him ; and instead of wishing that 
 all the world were as happy as ourselves, we asked 
 for the hundredth time how things could possibly 
 have changed so sadly. He was always the same, 
 though the wrinkle across his forehead had become 
 deeper, his hair greyer about the temples ; and now 
 his deep eyes, constantly averted from mine, seemed 
 covered as with a cloud. I too was still the same, 
 but there was no longer any love or desire for love 
 within me. No need for work, no self-satisfaction. 
 How distant, how incredible now seemed my religious 
 transports of former times, my old love for him, and 
 that plenitude of life which I had experienced. I no 
 longer understood what had once seemed to me so 
 luminous and true the happiness of living for others. 
 Why for others, when I did not even care to live for 
 myself ? 
 
 I had almost entirely given up music since our 
 residence in St. Petersburg, but the sight of the old 
 piano revived my early taste. I had not been well 
 one day, and had stayed alone while Macha and 
 Sonia had gone to Nikolski with Sergei Mikhailovitch, 
 to overlook some alterations being made in the old 
 house. 
 
 Towards the evening, as I was awaiting their 
 return, I sat down to the piano, and opening the 
 sonata, Quasi una Fantasia, I began to play it. When 
 I had finished the first movement, I looked mechani- 
 cally towards the corner where, years before, Sergei 
 had always sat but now the place was vacant ! 
 
 I saw through the open window the light of the 
 setting sun tinting the lilac blossoms, and the breath
 
 8o MY HUSBAND AND I 
 
 of flowers stole into the room, according harmoni- 
 ously with the mournful, sadly-sweet tones of the 
 instrument. Then I hid my face in my hands, and 
 sat so for a long time, recalling the past with bitter 
 pain and keen longing. 
 
 ' Can it be/ I thought, ' that my life is ended ! ' 
 and to avoid further thought I commenced to play 
 again still the same Andante. ' My God,' I prayed, 
 ' if I have sinned, forgive me, and restore to me the 
 happiness I have lost. Purify my soul. Teach me 
 what I ought to do, how I ought to live.' 
 
 While I was still playing a rumble of wheels re- 
 sounded outside, then I heard a soft, familiar foot- 
 step on the terrace ; finally all was still. But the 
 sounds had not awakened in my heart the feeling of 
 other days. I went on playing, and when I had 
 finished I again heard footsteps, this time behind 
 me, and a hand was laid gently on my shoulder. 
 
 ' How it pleases me to hear that sonata again ! ' 
 said Sergei Mikhai'lovitch. 
 
 I gave no reply. 
 
 ' Have you had tea ? ' 
 
 I shook my head, not daring to look at him, for 
 fear he might see any signs of emotion on my face. 
 
 ' Macha and Sonia will soon be here,' he resumed. 
 ' They preferred to walk, the horse was so restless.' 
 
 ' We will wait for them/ I answered, going out on 
 to the terrace, hoping that he would follow me, but 
 he went off to hunt for the children. Once more his 
 presence, the sound of his voice, had dissuaded me 
 from the belief that all was lost for me. ' What 
 more can I desire ? ' I thought. ' He is kind and 
 gentle ; an excellent father, an excellent husband. 
 I myself cannot tell what I lack.' 
 
 Going on to the terrace I took my seat on the very 
 same bench upon which I had sat on the night of 
 our betrothal. The sun had set, but behind the 
 trees shimmered a rosy streak of evening light, and 
 over house and gardens hung a heavy cloud. The 
 wind had died away. Not a leaf or blade of grass 
 stirred. The rose bushes, which were not yet in
 
 MY HUSBAND AND I 81 
 
 bloom, stretched out their long branches over the 
 black, freshly turned up beds, the frogs croaked, 
 and the nightingales called to each other from the 
 neighbouring thickets. 
 
 Before long Sergei Mikhaiilovitch came out and 
 took a seat beside me. 
 
 ' I am afraid Sonia and Macha will get wet,' he 
 said. ' It looks as if it would rain.' 
 
 ' Yes ; it looks so,' I answered, and then we were 
 both silent. In the meantime the clouds sank lower 
 and lower. Suddenly a drop of rain fell upon the 
 awning, a second splashed on to the garden path, and 
 then faster and faster the water fell upon the thirsty 
 earth and waiting shrubs. The frogs and nightin- 
 gales were silent now, except one bird whose nest 
 was in a bush under the dining-room window. 
 
 Sergei rose up as though he were going away. 
 
 ' Where are you going ? ' I asked. ' It is plea- 
 sant here.' 
 
 ' I must send some umbrellas to Macha and Sonia.' 
 
 ' It is not necessary : the shower will soon be 
 over.' 
 
 He agreed with me, and we remained leaning over 
 the balustrade. The cool water sprinkled upon my 
 neck and hair. The rain cloud, which was becoming 
 lighter each moment, burst above us ; then after 
 the persistent sound of the downpour came the pit-a- 
 pat of the last drops. Again the frogs began to 
 croak, again the nightingales shook their wings and 
 began to call each other from among the damp bushes, 
 now on one side and now on another. All had once 
 more become serene. 
 
 ' How enjoyable it is/ said Sergei, leaning over 
 the balustrade, and passing his hand over my damp 
 hair. 
 
 This simple caress caused me a strange feeling. 
 I felt inclined to cry. 
 
 ' What more can a man require ? ' he resumed. 
 ' I feel so delighted at this moment that there is 
 nothing wanting. I am completely happy.' 
 
 ' You did not talk to me like that when I only
 
 82 MY HUSBAND AND I 
 
 needed such words to fill my heart with felicity,' I 
 thought. ' However great your happiness may have 
 been, you then said that you wanted it to be greater 
 and greater still. And yet now you are calm and 
 contented, whereas my heart is full of bitterness, 
 and my eyes are ready to shed tears ! ' 
 
 ' Life is also kind to me,' I said aloud, ' but I feel 
 sad because it is so kind. I always seem so strange ; 
 I always long for something, and yet here every- 
 thing is so nice and quiet. Is it possible that no 
 grief ever mingles with your delights, as if for in- 
 stance you regretted something of the past ? ' 
 
 He withdrew his hand, which was resting upon my 
 head, and remained for a moment silent. ' Well,' 
 he said to me at last, ' long ago, in the spring seasons, 
 I spent whole nights lying awake and dreaming of 
 my hopes and longings. But then everything was 
 before me, whereas now it is behind. And now I 
 am pleased with what exists ; that is perfection for 
 me,' he concluded, with so much assurance that, 
 although I was sorely pained by his words, I felt 
 that he was speaking the truth. 
 
 ' Then there is nothing that you desire ? ' I asked. 
 
 ' Nothing impossible.' 
 
 ' Do you regret nothing of the past, then ? ' I 
 asked, my heart sinking within me. 
 
 He was again silent for a moment, and I saw that 
 he wished to answer me truly. 
 
 ' No,' he said, at last. ' I am thankful for the 
 happiness I had then, but I do not mourn for it now.' 
 
 ' But would you not recall it if you could ? ' I 
 insisted. 
 
 ' I no more wish for it than for the wings of a bird. 
 Both are impossible.' 
 
 ' And you never reproach either yourself or me ? ' 
 
 ' Never.' 
 
 ' Listen to me,' I said, taking his hand and com- 
 pelling him to look at me. ' Why did you allow 
 me a freedom I did not know how to use ? If you 
 had restrained me, as you might have done had you 
 only chosen, we should have been happy still.'
 
 MY HUSBAND AND I 83 
 
 ' Are we not happy, then ? ' he asked in surprise. 
 
 ' Happy ? No ! you have withdrawn from me 
 your love, your esteem, and your confidence. When 
 I recall the days that are past, I cannot believe 
 that you love me now. Nor was this change my 
 fault alone. You allowed me, an ignorant girl, to 
 wander in strange paths. I have now ended by 
 understanding what is necessary in life. For a year 
 I have been struggling to return to you, but you 
 invariably repulse me, pretending that you do not 
 understand. Yes, you would like to force me again 
 into those ways which I hate, to your misery and 
 my own.' 
 
 ' What do you mean ? ' he said, visibly shocked. 
 
 ' Did you not say yesterday, don't you continually 
 say, that life here isn't suited to me, and that we 
 must go to St. Petersburg at the end of the month ? 
 St. Petersburg, which I now detest ! ' 
 
 He looked at me with increasing surprise. 
 
 ' Instead of helping me,' I continued, ' you have 
 avoided being frank with me, you have never said 
 a kind, sincere word. And should harm ever befall 
 me, you will reproach me as if it were all my 
 fault.' 
 
 ' Stop, stop ! ' said he, coldly and severely. ' You 
 must not speak like that. I see, though, that 
 you are badly disposed towards me, that you do 
 not ' 
 
 ' That I do not love you ! Dare to say it ! ' I 
 replied, and tears rushed from my eyes. Then I 
 seated myself on a bench, and hid my face with my 
 handkerchief. ' And that is how he understands 
 me,' I thought, striving to repress my sobs. ' It 
 is all over, our old love is dead ' thus sounded a 
 voice in my heart. 
 
 Meanwhile he did not draw near to me, or try to 
 console me. What I had said had wounded him. 
 His voice was curt and quiet when he replied. 
 
 ' I do not see why you should reproach me thus,' 
 he began. 'If I do not love you as in the early 
 months of our married life, it is the fault of time.
 
 84 MY HUSBAND AND I 
 
 Each age has its special kind of love. When I first 
 knew you I passed many sleepless nights, thinking 
 of you alone. In St. Petersburg, and again at 
 Baden-Baden, I spent frightful nights striving to tear 
 that love from my heart, for it had become only a 
 torment. But I was unable to destroy it as I wished, 
 though I grew calmer ; and now I certainly love you 
 still, though it is in a different way ' 
 
 ' Do you call this love ? It is torture,' I rejoined. 
 ' Why did you allow me to go into society knowing 
 it to be so pernicious. It is the fault of society that 
 you have ceased to love me.' 
 
 ' No, society was not the guilty one,' said he. 
 
 ' Why did you not avail yourself of your rights ? ' 
 I resumed. ' Why did you not tie me up, kill me 
 even ? Death would have been preferable to the 
 loss of all my happiness, and there would have been 
 shame the less.' 
 
 Then I again began to sob and hid my face. 
 
 At that moment Macha and Sonia, gay although 
 wet, arrived, laughing and talking, on the terrace. 
 On perceiving us, however, they discreetly held their 
 peace and immediately withdrew. 
 
 The silence lasted some time longer ; I shed all my 
 tears and felt relieved. Then I looked at him. He 
 was seated with his head resting on his hand, and it 
 seemed as though he wished to say something to me. 
 However, he contented himself with heaving a deep 
 sigh. 
 
 I approached him and drew his hand away from 
 his face. Then he turned his eyes upon me with a 
 pensive look. 
 
 ' Yes,' said he, as if pursuing a train of thought, 
 ' for all of us, and particularly for women, it is 
 necessary to taste the cup of frivolous life before 
 partaking of real existence. In that matter no one 
 is contented with another's experience. In your 
 earlier days you had not dabbled much in the 
 science of graceful frivolities ; so I let you learn a 
 little more of it for a time, and indeed I had not the 
 right to prevent your doing so.'
 
 MY HUSBAND AND I 85 
 
 ' Why did you let me live a life of frivolity if you 
 loved me ? ' I asked. 
 
 ' Because it was necessary that you should learn 
 things for yourself ; you would not have believed 
 what I might have told you.' 
 
 ' You reasoned a great deal, I see/ said I. ' You 
 can have loved me but little.' 
 
 We again relapsed into silence. 
 
 ' What you have just told me was hard to hear, 
 but it was the truth,' he suddenly resumed, rising up 
 and beginning to walk along the terrace. ' Yes, 
 the truth. I was guilty,' he added, pausing in front 
 of me. ' I ought not to have loved you at all, or 
 else I ought to have loved you in a more simple 
 fashion.' 
 
 ' Let us forget everything, Sergei,' said I timidly. 
 
 ' No, what has passed cannot return ; one can 
 never retrace one's steps,' he answered, and I noticed 
 that his voice softened as he spoke. 
 
 ' All has come back again,' I said in my turn, 
 laying a hand upon his shoulder. He took it and 
 pressed it. 
 
 ' I did not tell the truth,' he began, ' when I pre- 
 tended that I did not regret the past. I mourn for 
 the love which cannot be recalled. Who is guilty 
 in the matter ? I don't know. Affection may have 
 remained, but it is no longer the same ; it lacks 
 strength and tone. Recollection and gratitude still 
 survive, but ' 
 
 ' Pray do not speak like that,' I interrupted. ' Let 
 love be born anew, such as it was formerly. Cannot 
 that be ? ' I asked, looking him full in the face. 
 His eyes had become serene and calm as they turned 
 upon mine. They had quite lost their thoughtful 
 expression. 
 
 Whilst I spoke, I already realized that what I 
 longed for was no longer unobtainable. He smiled 
 at me in a peaceful, gentle way. It was like the 
 smile of an old man, a father, I thought. 
 
 ' How young you still are and how old I am 
 already/ he said. ' I no longer possess what you are
 
 86 MY HUSBAND AND I 
 
 seeking for. Why deceive oneself ? ' he added, still 
 smiling. 
 
 I stood beside him and felt peace descending into 
 my heart. 
 
 ' Don't let us try to repeat life over again,' he 
 continued. ' Don't let us cheat ourselves. It will 
 be a great deal to have no trouble or anxiety left us. 
 We have nothing more to seek. We have found a 
 happy lot already. Our duty now is to show him the 
 right way/ he added, pointing to little Vania, who 
 at that moment appeared on the terrace in his 
 nurse's arms. ' That is what we must do, my dear,' 
 concluded my husband, as he leant forward and kissed 
 me on the hair. 
 
 It was not a lover's embrace ; it was that of an 
 old friend. 
 
 From the garden arose the perfumed evening 
 freshness, distant sounds vibrated in the air, then all 
 was still and the stars twinkled in the heavens. 
 I looked at him and suddenly I felt infinite relief 
 in my heart. It was as if I had experienced some 
 successful operation, and had been rid of some 
 troublesome nerve that had made me suffer. I then 
 clearly and calmly understood the feeling that had 
 swayed me during that phase of my life, now for 
 ever past ; and I realized not only that its return was 
 impossible, but that it would have been painful and 
 odious to me could I have experienced it anew. I 
 had had enough of that time, it had been so painful 
 to me despite all its seeming pleasures, and it had 
 lasted so long, so long. 
 
 ' It is tea time/ now said my husband gently, and 
 we entered the drawing-room together. 
 
 On the threshold I again saw the nurse with Vania. 
 I took the child in my arms, I covered up his little 
 bare feet, I pressed him to my heart and kissed him. 
 He moved his little arms, stretching out his tiny 
 wrinkled fingers, and he opened his sleepy eyes as 
 if looking for some one, or trying to recollect some- 
 thing. Suddenly his eyes turned upon me, a spark 
 of intelligence illumined them, and then his lips
 
 MY HUSBAND AND I 87 
 
 parted in a smile. ' You are mine, mine/ I thought, 
 with a delicious feeling which passed through my 
 whole frame, and I pressed him to my bosom. Then 
 I kissed his cold little feet, his chest, his arms, and 
 his head, upon which there was scarcely any hair. 
 My husband approached me. ' Ivan Sergeiovitch,' 
 said he playfully, and he began to tickle the little 
 fellow's round dimpled chin. 
 
 But I drew away with him. ' He belongs to no 
 one but me,' I said. 
 
 Sergei Mikhailovitch laughed, and for the first time 
 for a long, long while I found it pleasant to meet his 
 gaze. 
 
 Thus ended my romance with my husband. The 
 old passionate emotions remained a dear memory ; 
 but a new feeling of love for my children and their 
 father laid the foundation for another life, happier 
 in a different sense to that which had gone before. 
 And this existence still lasts, and has an endless 
 charm for me, for I have learnt that true happiness 
 can only be found at one's fireside, amid the pure 
 delights of family life.
 
 THE DEATH OF IVAN ILIITGH 
 
 IN the great palace containing the law-courts, 
 during a temporary suspension of the sitting 
 devoted to the Melvinsky suit, the judges and pro- 
 curators had gathered together in Ivan Egorovitch 
 Schebek's private room. The subject of conversa- 
 tion was the famous Krassovsky case. 
 
 Feodor Vassilivitch waxed warm in demonstrating 
 how it had not a leg to stand upon. Ivan Egoro- 
 vitch took the opposite side, while Piotr Ivanovitch, 
 who had refrained from the first from engaging in 
 the discussion, glanced over a paper which had been 
 just brought in. 
 
 ' And so, gentlemen,' said he, ' Ivan Iliitch is 
 actually dead.' 
 
 ' Indeed ! ' 
 
 ' Look here, read for yourself,' said he to Feodor 
 Vassilivitch, as he handed over the crisp perfumed 
 sheet, upon which was printed the following notice, 
 encircled by a black border : ' Prascovia Feodorovna 
 Golovina announces with deep grief to her relatives 
 and friends the death of her beloved husband, Ivan 
 Iliitch Golovine, member of the Court of Appeal, 
 who died on the 4th of February 1882. His remains 
 will be interred on Friday at i P.M.' 
 
 Ivan Iliitch had been the colleague of the assembled 
 gentlemen, and had been held in esteem by them all. 
 He had been ill for several weeks, and his complaint 
 had been reported incurable. 
 
 His appointment had been kept open for him, but 
 in case he did not recover, Alexieff had the next 
 chance of it, while Vinnikoff and Schtabel had an 
 
 88
 
 THE DEATH OF IVAN ILIITCH 89 
 
 eye to Alexieff's post. Thus, on learning the tidings 
 of Ivan Iliitch's death, the first thought of each of 
 the assembled gentlemen was for its probable conse- 
 quences in the way of nominations and promotions 
 for themselves and their friends. 
 
 ' Now I am sure to get Schtabel or Vinnikoff's 
 berth/ thought Feodor Vassilivitch. ' I have had 
 the promise of it for a long time past, and the pro- 
 motion will increase my salary by eight hundred 
 roubles, to say nothing of the sum allowed for 
 expenses.' 
 
 ' I must get my brother-in-law from Kaluga 
 appointed one of us now,' mused Piotr Ivanovitch ; 
 ' that will please my wife, and then she will never 
 be able to say again that I do nothing for her family.' 
 
 ' I thought he would never leave his bed again,' 
 continued Piotr Ivanovitch, aloud. ' What a pity 
 it is ! ' 
 
 ' But what was the exact nature of his illness ? ' 
 
 ' The doctors cannot tell. At least they all profess 
 to know, but each says something different. When 
 I last saw him, I fancied that he would get over it.' 
 
 ' For my part, I have never set foot in his house 
 since the rejoicings : I was always intending to call 
 and see him.' 
 
 ' Had he any private means ? ' 
 
 ' I think that his wife has something, but not 
 much.' 
 
 ' Well, we shall have to call. It is a long way to 
 their house.' 
 
 ' A long way from where you live, you mean. 
 You are a long way from everything.' 
 
 ' Why, he cannot forgive me for living on the other 
 side of the water,' said Piotr Ivanovitch with a 
 smile, as he looked at Schebek. 
 
 They next began to talk of the distances between 
 everything in large cities, and then they returned 
 into the court. 
 
 Apart from the reflections which arose in each 
 gentleman's mind as to the possible changes to which 
 this death might give rise, the mere fact of the demise
 
 90 THE DEATH OF IVAN ILIITCH 
 
 of an estimable friend produced in them the usual 
 feeling of satisfaction that this piece of ill luck had 
 befallen him rather than themselves. 
 
 ' You see, he is dead, and I am not,' was the pre- 
 vailing feeling or reflection. 
 
 Moreover, Ivan Iliitch's acquaintances, those 
 whom he had called his friends, could not help reflect- 
 ing that they had now a tiresome social duty to 
 discharge, that of attending the funeral after paying 
 a call of condolence on the widow. 
 
 Feodor Vassilivitch and Piotr Ivanovitch had been 
 most intimate with Ivan Iliitch. The latter, indeed, 
 had been a fellow pupil with the deceased at the 
 Law Schools, and had considered himself under 
 obligations to him. So Piotr, after giving his wife 
 the news at dinner, and telling her what he thought 
 of the chances of getting his brother-in-law appointed 
 as one of his colleagues, donned his dress-coat and 
 set out for Ivan Iliitch's residence. Upon reaching 
 the steps leading up to the house, he found a private 
 carriage and two isvostchiks l standing outside. 
 
 In the vestibule on the ground floor, near the hat 
 stand, the coffin-lid, decorated with tassels and silver 
 fringe dipped in whitening, was reared up against 
 the wall. Two ladies, dressed in black, stood there 
 taking off their little shoubas. 2 One of them was 
 Ivan Iliitch's sister, whom Piotr Ivanovitch knew, 
 but the other he had never seen before. Schwartz, 
 one of his judicial colleagues, was on the point of 
 coming down the stairs, but as soon as he caught 
 sight of the new arrival, he stopped short and gave 
 a wink, as much as to say : ' Ivan Iliitch has managed 
 matters badly ; we have done better ! ' 
 
 Schwartz's face, with his English whiskers and 
 meagre profile appearing above his black coat, re- 
 tained its usual solemn grace, and there was some- 
 thing peculiarly piquant about his air of assumed 
 solemnity, which accorded ill with his jovial disposi- 
 tion ; at least so thought Piotr Ivanovitch. 
 
 He allowed the ladies to go up first, and then 
 
 1 Cabs. * Fur mantles.
 
 THE DEATH OF IVAN ILIITCH 91 
 
 slowly mounted the staircase behind them. Schwartz 
 had remained above. Piotr Ivanovitch understood 
 why ; it was evident that his colleague wanted to 
 arrange about their rubber that evening. 
 
 The ladies turned towards the widow's room, and 
 Schwartz, with lips solemnly pursed and a jovial 
 glance, indicated the chamber of death to Piotr 
 Ivanovitch by a twitch of his eyebrows. 
 
 Piotr Ivanovitch entered, uncertain, as people 
 usually are on such occasions, as to what he ought 
 to do. He was aware, however, that the sign of the 
 cross never comes amiss, but as to what bows he 
 ought or ought not to make he felt doubtful ; so he 
 chose an intermediate course. Upon entering the 
 room he crossed himself and bowed slightly. At 
 the same time, he took stock of everything, that is, 
 as far as the movements of his head and arms would 
 allow. 
 
 Two young men, one of whom was a collegian, a 
 relative, it appeared, of the deceased, were leaving 
 the room, crossing themselves as they went out. 
 An old woman was standing there motionless, and 
 a lady, whose eyebrows were strangely elevated, 
 was whispering something in her ear. A diligent 
 and resolute sacristan in a tunic was reading aloud, 
 in a tone which would brook no opposition, and 
 meanwhile Guerassim, the house moujik, was 
 sprinkling something on the floor, as he paced with 
 short steps in front of Piotr Ivanovitch. 
 
 The latter, just as he caught sight of the servant, 
 detected the faint odour of a decomposing corpse. 
 In the course of the last visit that he had paid to 
 Ivan Iliitch in his study, he had noticed this moujik, 
 who had acted as his master's nurse, and of whom 
 the deceased had been very fond. Piotr Ivano- 
 vitch went on crossing himself and bowing slightly, 
 in a manner which might be taken to be meant as 
 much for the dead man as for the sacristan and eikons. 
 Then fearing lest he might be too profuse with his 
 crosses, he paused, and began to examine the corpse. 
 
 It was stretched out as corpses always are, and
 
 92 THE DEATH OF IVAN ILIITCH 
 
 lay a heavy mass, with all its limbs rigid, surrounded 
 by the coffin lining. The head, which had sunk to 
 rest on the pillow for the last time, displayed, as is 
 usual with the heads of corpses, a waxen brow, with 
 bare patches over the sunken temples, and a nose 
 protruding so far as almost to conceal the upper 
 lip. What a change ! The deceased had grown 
 even thinner since Piotr Ivanovitch had last seen 
 him; though, on the other hand, death made his 
 face look finer, and certainly more dignified than 
 when he had been alive. Its expression seemed to 
 convey that he had done the right thing, and in the 
 right manner too. Moreover, there still lingered on 
 his features a look of reproach, an exhortation like 
 ' Remember ! ' addressed to the survivors. 
 
 This reminder seemed to Piotr Ivanovitch out of 
 place ; at any rate he did not choose to take it to 
 himself. He all at once felt ill at ease, so that he 
 abruptly crossed himself again ; and then turning 
 on his heel, with unseemly haste as he himself felt, 
 he made for the door. 
 
 Schwartz stood waiting for him in the adjoining 
 room, with his legs planted apart, and his hands 
 behind his back, playing with his opera hat. A single 
 glance at Schwartz's clean, elegant, and beaming 
 countenance instantly restored Piotr Ivanovitch's 
 self-possession. He felt that Schwartz was quite 
 superior to this sort of thing, and that such over- 
 whelming impressions barely influenced him. Indeed, 
 Schwartz's whole manner demonstrated that this 
 incident of Iliitch's funeral could be no sufficient 
 pretext for ' suspending the sitting,' in other words, 
 that there was nothing to prevent their clapping a 
 fresh pack of cards on the table that very evening as 
 soon as the footman brought the lights. ' In fact, 
 there is no reason why this incident should prevent 
 us from enjoying ourselves.' These were the very 
 words that Schwartz addressed to Piotr Ivanovitch, 
 as he suggested in a low tone that they should meet 
 at Feodor Vassilivitch's. 
 
 However, it did not seem as if Piotr Ivanovitch
 
 THE DEATH OF IVAN ILIITCH 93 
 
 was destined to play a rubber that evening, for at 
 this moment the widow made her appearance. 
 
 Prascovia Feodorovna, a shortish, stoutish woman, 
 in spite of her efforts to appear the contrary (she 
 grew wider all the way from the shoulders down- 
 wards), was dressed entirely in black, with her head 
 covered with lace, and her eyebrows as strangely 
 elevated as those of the lady standing opposite the 
 coffin. She came out of her rooms with some other 
 ladies, and as she accompanied them into the apart- 
 ment where the corpse lay, she exclaimed : ' The 
 service for the dead is about to begin ; pray, 
 go in.' 
 
 Schwartz bowed vaguely and remained standing 
 as before, neither accepting nor declining the pro- 
 position. Then Prascovia Feodorovna, who had 
 recognized Piotr Ivanovitch, let a sigh escape her, 
 came up to him, grasped his hand, and said : ' I 
 know that you were a real friend of Ivan Iliitch's.' 
 
 She fixed her eyes on him as she spoke, and waited 
 for a fitting reply. 
 
 Piotr Ivanovitch was conscious that as it had been 
 the correct thing for him to cross himself just before, 
 so now he was expected to clasp her hand, heave a 
 sigh, and murmur : ' Indeed I was ! ' He did so, 
 and, having carried out this programme, he felt that 
 the desired result was obtained. He was touched, 
 and so was she. 
 
 ' Come with me,' she said ; ' I want to speak to 
 you before the service begins ; give me your arm.' 
 
 Piotr Ivanovitch offered it, and they passed into 
 the rooms behind, sweeping past Schwartz, who 
 winked at his friend with a look of commiseration. 
 
 ' It is all over with our whist now,' said his jovial 
 glance. ' But don't be annoyed, we will find another 
 partner ; maybe you will be able to come and take 
 a hand when you have finished.' 
 
 In response Piotr Ivanovitch heaved a still deeper 
 and sadder sigh ; and Prascovia Feodorovna, mis- 
 taking the cause, pressed his arm gratefully. 
 
 On reaching the drawing-room, upholstered in pink
 
 94 THE DEATH OF IVAN ILIITCH 
 
 cretonne, and feebly lighted by a solitary lamp, 
 they seated themselves near the table ; she on a 
 couch, and he on a low ottoman, the worn springs of 
 which gave way uncomfortably beneath his weight. 
 Prascovia Feodorovna wanted to ask him to take 
 another seat, but imagined that it might be improper 
 to do so under these trying circumstances. As her 
 visitor sat down upon the ottoman, he remembered 
 that Ivan Iliitch, when refurnishing his drawing-room, 
 had asked his advice about this very pink cretonne 
 with which the furniture was upholstered. 
 
 The widow, in passing the table on her way to the 
 couch, caught her black lace mantilla in the carved 
 wood-work. Piotr Ivanovitch rose to free it, and 
 the ottoman, thus lightened, began to undulate and 
 start up beneath him. The widow tried to unhook 
 the lace herself, whereupon Piotr Ivanovitch sat 
 down again, crushing the rebellious settee into sub- 
 jection. Then, finding that Prascovia Feodorovna 
 could not manage to set herself free, he rose again, 
 and once more the ottoman trembled and groaned. 
 As soon as the widow had settled herself, she took 
 out a clean cambric handkerchief and burst into 
 tears, while Piotr Ivanovitch, whose composure had 
 been restored by the accident with the lace and his 
 contest with the ottoman, maintained a severe 
 demeanour. Fortunately this embarrassing situation 
 was terminated by Sokoloff, the butler, coming to 
 announce that the plot of ground in the cemetery 
 which Prascovia Feodorovna had thought of pur- 
 chasing would cost two hundred roubles. 
 
 She at once stopped crying, and, looking at Piotr 
 Ivanovitch with a victimized air, remarked in French 
 that all this was most painful to her. He signified, 
 by a silent gesture, that it could not be otherwise. 
 
 ' I beg that you will smoke,' she observed, in a tone 
 of mingled generosity and depression. 
 
 Then she began to discuss the question of the 
 burial plot with Sokoloff. 
 
 Piotr Ivanovitch lighted a cigarette, and heard her 
 ask the price of different plots, and choose the one
 
 THE DEATH OF IVAN ILIITCH 95 
 
 that suited her best. Then, when she had given 
 instructions about the choir, Sokoloff withdrew. 
 
 ' I arrange everything myself,' said she, as she 
 moved the albums to one side of the table. 
 
 She had noticed that the ash from Piotr Ivano- 
 vitch's cigarette was about to fall on the table, and 
 she promptly pushed the ash-tray towards him, 
 and then added : 
 
 ' It seems to me hypocritical to pretend that 
 sorrow prevents my attending to practical matters ; 
 on the contrary, although they cannot console me, 
 they at least divert my mind from my grief.' 
 
 She then caught up her handkerchief once more, 
 as if to prepare for another fit of weeping, seemed to 
 make a sudden effort to control her emotion, and 
 calmly resumed : 
 
 ' But I have something to say to you.' 
 
 Piotr Ivanovitch bowed, without giving too much 
 liberty to the springs of the ottoman, which were 
 already beginning to work again. 
 
 ' He suffered terribly during the last few days.' 
 
 ' Indeed ! did he suffer so much ? ' asked Piotr. 
 
 ' Yes, frightfully. Throughout his last hours I 
 do not say his last moments he never stopped 
 screaming all the while. For three days and nights 
 it never ceased. It was past endurance. I cannot 
 imagine how I stood it. He could be heard through 
 three doors. Oh ! what I have gone through ! ' 
 
 ' And was he conscious ? ' asked Piotr Ivanovitch. 
 
 ' Yes/ she replied in a low tone, ' to the very end. 
 He took leave of us a quarter of an hour before he 
 died, and even begged of us to take Volodia away.' 
 
 The idea of the sufferings of a man whom he had 
 known so intimately as a boy, and afterwards as a 
 student, and then as his partner at the card-table, 
 suddenly terrified Piotr Ivanovitch, conscious though 
 he was of this woman's hypocrisy and his own. 
 Once more he saw the deceased's forehead, his nose 
 overhanging his lip, and he trembled for himself. 
 ' Three days and nights of intense suffering, and theo 
 to die ! And that might happen to me now, at any
 
 96 THE DEATH OF IVAN ILIITCH 
 
 instant to my own self ! ' he thought. And then 
 for a moment he felt startled and alarmed. But, 
 almost involuntarily, the idea occurred to him that 
 this thing had befallen Ivan Iliitch and not himself ; 
 that it could not, nay, must not befall him ; that if 
 he gave way to such reflections, he would become a 
 prey to gloomy impressions, which he ought to resist 
 just as Schwartz did. 
 
 These considerations restored his serenity ; he 
 asked with much interest for some details respecting 
 Ivan Iliitch's last days, as if death were an accident 
 peculiar to Ivan Iliitch, and did not concern himself 
 in the least. 
 
 After a detailed account of the terrible bodily 
 sufferings really undergone by the deceased, and 
 which only interested Piotr in so far as they operated 
 on Prascovia Feodorovna's nerves, the widow 
 thought it time to proceed to business. 
 
 ' Ah, Piotr Ivanovitch, how painful it is, how 
 terribly painful, terribly painful/ she said. 
 
 Here her tears began to flow again. 
 
 He sighed, and waited till she had used her hand- 
 kerchief, and when she had done so, he remarked : 
 
 ' Indeed it must be ! ' 
 
 Then she began to speak again, and acquainted 
 him with what was evidently her chief anxiety. 
 This was the amount of money which she hoped to 
 obtain from Government in consequence of the death 
 of her husband. She professed to ask Piotr Ivano- 
 vitch's advice about getting a pension ; but it was 
 obvious that she had already studied the question 
 thoroughly, and knew more than he did about the 
 best way of obtaining the largest possible sum from 
 the Treasury. She would have been glad, however, 
 if he could have furnished her with information as 
 to how she might secure a still larger amount. 
 
 Piotr Ivanovitch endeavoured to discover some 
 way of doing so, but after considering for a moment, 
 and blaming, as in duty bound, the parsimony of 
 Government, he told her that he thought it would be 
 impossible to get more than she had stated. Upon
 
 THE DEATH OF IVAN ILIITCH 97 
 
 this she sighed, and evidently sought a pretext for 
 dismissing her visitor. He took the hint, put out 
 his cigarette, rose up, grasped her hand, and left the 
 apartment. 
 
 In the dining-room, where Piotr Ivanovitch 
 recognized a timepiece which Ivan Iliitch had bought 
 at a broker's, and of which he had seemed so proud, 
 he met the priest and some other persons he knew 
 who had come for the service ; and here he also saw 
 Ivan Iliitch's daughter, a handsome girl. Her slim 
 waist looked smaller than ever in her black dress. 
 She seemed sad, but resolute, and almost angry, and 
 she greeted Piotr Ivanovitch as if she owed him a 
 grudge. Behind her, looking equally annoyed, 
 stood her betrothed, an examining magistrate, a 
 wealthy young man whom Piotr Ivanovitch knew 
 but slightly. Piotr made a melancholy bow to the 
 affianced couple, and was about to pass on into the 
 room where the corpse lay, when he caught sight of 
 the collegian's small face peering up the stairs and 
 reminding him forcibly of the deceased. The lad 
 was just the picture of the little Ivan Iliitch whom 
 he, Piotr Ivanovitch, had known at the Law Schools. 
 His eyes were red with crying, much like those of a 
 slovenly lad of thirteen or fourteen. The boy shrank 
 back with a grave and bashful demeanour upon 
 seeing Piotr Ivanovitch, who greeted him and then 
 passed on to the dead man's room. 
 
 The service was commencing. There were tapers, 
 sighs, incense, tears, and sobs. 
 
 Piotr Ivanovitch stood erect, and fixed a melan- 
 choly gaze upon his boots. He never once glanced 
 at the corpse, but struggled against the depressing 
 influence till it was all over ; then he was one of the 
 first to leave the room. 
 
 There was no one in the vestibule. However, 
 Guerassim, the house moujik, promptly came out 
 of the chamber of death, turned all the shoubas over 
 with his vigorous arms until he found Piotr Ivano- 
 vitch's, and held it out for him. 
 
 ' Well, brother Guerassim,' said the visitor, by
 
 98 THE DEATH OF IVAN ILIITCH 
 
 way of making some remark, ' what a misfortune 
 this is ! ' 
 
 ' It is God's will ! It is what must happen to us 
 all,' returned Guerassim, showing his closely-set 
 white teeth. Then he opened the door briskly, like 
 a man who has his work before him, called the 
 coachman, helped the gentleman into his carriage, 
 and sprang back to the head of the steps, as if actuated 
 by the thought of how much he had yet to do. 
 
 Piotr Ivanovitch felt delighted to breathe the pure 
 air after all the odour of incense, death, and dis- 
 infectants. 
 
 ' Where am I to drive ? ' asked his coachman. 
 
 ' It is not very late ; I will go to Feodor Vassili- 
 vitch's,' replied Piotr. 
 
 So he did ; and there he found the whist-players, 
 and was in time to take a hand. 
 
 II 
 
 IVAN ILIITCH'S story was as simple, as common- 
 place, and also as terrible as possible. 
 
 He had died at the age of five-and-forty, a member 
 of the Court of Appeal. He was the son of an official 
 whose career in the Ministries at St. Petersburg had 
 procured him one of those situations which, when a 
 man has ceased to be of any use, he is allowed to 
 retain for the sake of his long services in the past, 
 and the rank he has readied : sinecures yielding 
 tangible salaries of from six to ten thousand roubles, 
 upon which a man may live to a very advanced age. 
 
 Such had been the Councillor Ilia Efimovitch 
 Golovine, a useless member of various useless 
 administrations. He had had three sons, of whom 
 Ivan Iliitch was the second. The eldest had followed 
 much the same career as his father, but in a different 
 department, and was already approaching that 
 professional age when appointments drop in merely 
 by the force of acquired velocity. The third son
 
 THE DEATH OF IVAN ILIITCH 99 
 
 had proved a ne'er-do-well. He had tried several 
 callings, and had failed in them through his own 
 fault ; now he was employed on a railway line, 
 and his relations, especially his sisters-in-law, not 
 merely objected to meet him, but even affected to 
 ignore his existence. The brothers had a sister who 
 had married Baron Gref, a St. Petersburg official 
 like his father-in-law. 
 
 As for Ivan Iliitch, he was regarded as the phoenix 
 of the family. He was less reserved and methodical 
 than his elder brother, and less incorrigible than the 
 youngest one, thus forming a happy medium between 
 them. Bright, intelligent, and well-mannered, he 
 had pursued his studies at the Law Schools at the 
 same time as his younger brother. The latter never 
 completed his, for he was expelled when in the fifth 
 class. Ivan Iliitch, however, went through the 
 whole course. 
 
 While at college his character showed itself what 
 it remained throughout his future life : he was 
 clever, quick-witted, genial, and sociable, while 
 strict in discharging whatever he regarded as his 
 duty. It may be stated that duty, for him, meant 
 whatever was required by his hierarchical superiors. 
 
 His disposition had never been obsequious, but 
 from his early childhood he had always felt drawn 
 to people of good social standing, just as a moth is 
 drawn to a candle, and he had easily acquired their 
 views and manners, whilst insinuating himself into 
 their companionship. 
 
 The temptations of youth and early manhood 
 passed over him without leaving many traces. 
 Although he indulged in voluptuous pleasures, and 
 was influenced by vanity, his well-balanced nature 
 kept everything within certain limits. 
 
 At college he had committed actions which he had 
 regarded at the time as ignoble ; which had indeed 
 made him utterly despise himself at the moment 
 of their accomplishment. Subsequently, however, 
 he perceived that persons of repute did as much 
 without seeming to be in the least degree ashamed,
 
 ioo THE DEATH OF IVAN ILIITCH 
 
 and then, if he did not go so far as to glory in such 
 deeds, he tried at least to forget them, and was not 
 much disturbed by his conscience. 
 
 When he left college, with a tenth-class grade, 1 
 his father furnished him with the necessary money 
 for his uniform. Ivan Iliitch ordered it from 
 Scharmer, the great tailor, added the tiny medal 
 inscribed ' respice finem ' to his other trinkets, took 
 leave of the prince who was patron of his college, 
 and also of the rector, and dined with his friends 
 at Donon's. Then, equipped with new trunks, linen, 
 clothes, razors, and other toilet necessaries, as well 
 as a plaid, all bought or ordered at the leading shops 
 in St. Petersburg, he started for the provinces as 
 an official with a special mission to the governor, 
 a piece of rare luck which he owed to his father. 
 
 On reaching his province Ivan Iliitch arranged 
 matters so as to lead the same easy, agreeable life 
 that he had led at college. He discharged his official 
 duties, attended to his business, and, at the same 
 time, lived in the pleasantest and most respectable 
 manner possible. Sometimes, when deputed by his 
 superiors, he visited the districts, and proved ad- 
 mirably suited for his part, treating both his superiors 
 and his subordinates in a dignified manner. His 
 missions, especially those relating to the Raskolniki , z 
 were discharged with exemplary accuracy and probity, 
 upon which he could not help priding himself. 
 
 While thus professionally engaged, he maintained, 
 in spite of his youth and gay temperament, an official 
 reserve akin to austerity. But in his social relations 
 he often showed himself jovial, sprightly, and ' ex- 
 cellent company/ as was remarked by the governor 
 and his wife, at whose house he was a welcome visitor. 
 
 The elegant young official had formed other 
 
 1 In Russia civil officials are classified into fourteen grades, 
 corresponding very nearly to those in the army. 
 
 2 A tolerably numerous sect of old believers in Russia. When 
 the patriarch Nikon proceeded, in 1654, to revise the Scriptures, a 
 certain number of the faithful declared themselves in favour of the 
 original version, and separated from the Orthodox Church. They 
 formed the Raskolnik sect.
 
 THE DEATH OF IVAN ILIITCH 101 
 
 relations certainly, notably with a lady who threw 
 herself at his head. There were also certain passages 
 with a pretty milliner, and there were pleasure 
 parties with passing aides-de-camp, and excursions 
 to remote streets after supper. Still, all this was 
 done with such an air of good breeding that no one 
 could think of qualifying it by any opprobrious 
 epithet, and it all passed muster under the phrase, 
 ' youth will have its fling.' 
 
 It was all done with clean hands, clean linen, French 
 expressions, and, above all, in the best society, 
 so that it met with the approval of the best people. 
 
 This was the life led by Ivan Iliitch for five years, 
 till the time came for him to be promoted. Some 
 new courts of justice were being instituted and some 
 fresh men were required. He became one of these 
 fresh men. An appointment as examining magis- 
 trate was offered to him, and he accepted it, regard- 
 less of its removing him into a fresh sphere, where 
 he would have to form new connections. 
 
 His friends stood by him. They all had themselves 
 photographed in a group, and they presented him 
 with a silver cigarette case, after which he left for 
 his new post. 
 
 As an examining magistrate he was just as well-bred 
 as he had been as an official entrusted with an 
 extraordinary mission, and by carefully keeping his 
 public duties apart from his private life, he acquired 
 just the same consideration. 
 
 As to his new occupation, it was much more inter- 
 esting and attractive to him than the old one had 
 been. He had certainly enjoyed passing, in the 
 uniform made for him by Scharmer, before the 
 solicitors and officials who were tremulously waiting 
 to be received by the governor, and who envied him 
 the privilege of stepping at once into his excellency's 
 private room, to smoke and drink tea with him. 
 But there had be^n very few people upon whom he 
 could bring his authority to bear, only some isprav- 
 niks, 1 or some raskolniks, whenever he went on a 
 
 1 Police officials.
 
 102 THE DEATH OF IVAN ILIITCH 
 
 mission. He liked to treat the poor fellows depend- 
 ent on him in a courteous and almost friendly manner; 
 he liked to show them that, though it lay in his 
 power to crush them, his behaviour was kind and 
 simple. 
 
 Now that he had become an examining magistrate, 
 he ascertained that every one, without exception, up 
 to the very highest personages, lay in his power ; he 
 had only to write a few words on a paper with a 
 certain heading, to bring into his presence any proud 
 and self-sufficient aristocrat either as defendant or 
 witness, and this aristocrat, however exalted his 
 rank, would have to stand, unless he, Ivan Iliitch, 
 chose to invite him to be seated, and he would be 
 bound to answer his questions whatever they were. 
 
 Ivan Iliitch certainly never abused this power ; 
 on the contrary, he tried to temper its use. Still, 
 the consciousness that he possessed it, and that it 
 depended on him alone to temper it, constituted the 
 real interest and attraction of his new functions. 
 
 As to the examinations themselves, he was quick 
 in taking up anything fresh, and he excelled in 
 eliminating all the circumstances extraneous to any 
 case ; he could draw up a clear account of the most 
 complicated affairs, giving a thoroughly impersonal 
 character to his reports, and never obtruding his 
 own opinion. Moreover, he was most scrupulous in 
 observing all the necessary formalities. These were 
 quite novel at the time, for he was among the first 
 magistrates who found themselves called upon to 
 apply the Code of 1864. 
 
 When Ivan Iliitch changed his residence, he struck 
 out a fresh line for himself. He kept the minor 
 provincial authorities at a respectful distance, and 
 formed a better connection for himself among the 
 magistrates and gentry of the place. He also began 
 to censure the Government slightly, and posed as a 
 Moderate Liberal possessed of Western culture. 
 
 Meanwhile he paid as much attention as ever to 
 his dress ; the only change about his appearance was 
 that he left off shaving his chin, and grew a beard.
 
 THE DEATH OF IVAN ILIITCH 103 
 
 He led a very pleasant existence ; the members of 
 the Liberal Association which had received him into 
 its bosom formed a close brotherhood ; his salary 
 was higher than formerly, and among other new 
 amusements he took very kindly to whist, playing 
 with so much spirit and intelligence that he almost 
 always found himself a winner. 
 
 After two years had passed by in this position, he 
 met the lady who was destined to become his wife. 
 Prascovia Feodorovna Michel was the most intelligent 
 and attractive girl whom he had met in society, and 
 he found a pleasant diversion from his magisterial 
 duties in paying attentions to her. 
 
 In the days when he had acted as an official on 
 an extraordinary mission he had been very fond of 
 dancing, but since becoming a magistrate he had 
 danced very rarely. Whenever he did foot it, it 
 was to show that, although he was a partisan of the 
 new school and a magistrate of the fifth class, he 
 could dance better than most people. Thus it 
 occasionally happened that he danced towards the 
 end of a party with Prascovia Feodorovna, and it 
 was thanks to his talent in this respect that he made 
 his conquest. She fell in love with him. He had 
 never made up his mind to marry ; but when this 
 young girl fell in love with him, he began to ask 
 himself why he should not take a wife ? Prascovia 
 Feodorovna was of good family and prepossessing 
 appearance ; besides which, she had a little money. 
 The match suited Ivan Iliitch well enough, though 
 he might have been fairly expected to make a better 
 one. Still, he had his official salary, and had reason 
 to hope that she would bring him an equivalent in 
 money on her side. She was well connected, pretty, 
 and decorous in her behaviour. To say that he 
 married her because he had fallen in love with her, 
 and that their views were mutually sympathetic, 
 would be as erroneous as to maintain that he married 
 for the sake of pleasing the members of his club. 
 
 Two reasons led Ivan Iliitch to decide upon 
 matrimony : it gave him pleasure to attach such a
 
 104 THE DEATH OF IVAN ILIITCH 
 
 woman to himself, and at the same time he realized 
 that he was performing an action which would meet 
 with the approval of society. 
 
 So Ivan Iliitch married. 
 
 During the period of the bridal festivities and the 
 early days of wedded life which followed, thanks to 
 his wife's loving caresses, the new furniture, plate, 
 and linen with which he was surrounded, all went on 
 smoothly, and, indeed, everything remained satis- 
 factory until Mrs. Iliitch became enceinte. Her 
 husband was just beginning to think that marriage, 
 far from disturbing his easy, pleasant, joyous, but 
 always decorous way of living sanctioned by the 
 society he frequented, would only serve to adorn it, 
 but in the altered circumstances which supervened 
 he discovered that there was a fresh element in his 
 existence, something unexpected, disagreeable and 
 painful, and, what was still worse, inconvenient ; 
 something it had been impossible for him to foresee 
 and impossible to avoid. 
 
 His wife, without any reason so far as he could see, 
 began to disturb the ease and comfort of his life ; 
 she became jealous without any ground, required him 
 to pay her constant attentions, showed herself ready 
 to take offence at the merest trifles, and made actual 
 scenes with him. 
 
 Ivan Iliitch attempted at first to escape from all 
 these annoyances by reverting to the amusements 
 of his bachelor life ; he tried to pay no attention to 
 his wife's bad humour, and endeavoured to continue 
 his pleasant butterfly existence, asking his friends 
 to his house, arranging card-parties, or going to his 
 club and visiting his acquaintances. However, 
 at last he took alarm, for his wife assailed him with 
 so much virulent abuse, and persisted in it whenever 
 he refused to yield to her demands, being evidently 
 determined to increase the latter until he made up 
 his mind to give in to her by staying at home and 
 remaining as dull as herself. 
 
 This taught him that marriage does not always add 
 to the charms and comforts of life, but, on the
 
 THE DEATH OF IVAN ILIITCH 105 
 
 contrary, entails many inconveniences, from which 
 it is expedient for a man to free himself. Accordingly 
 he set to work to find some means of deliverance ; his 
 official duties were the only matters of which Pras- 
 covia Feodorovna stood in awe ; so that he could 
 rely on his position, and all it entailed, to back him 
 against his wife, and enable him to form a circle of 
 his own. 
 
 After the birth of a child, various fruitless attempts 
 to suckle it and other failures ; after different real 
 and imaginary ailments of both mother and child, 
 in which Ivan Iliitch was forced to interfere, little as 
 he knew of such matters, he realized more strongly 
 than ever the imperious necessity of creating a life of 
 his own outside the family circle. Thus, as his wife 
 became more irritable and exacting, he concentrated 
 his interest more and more on his work. He began to 
 feel more and more attached to his professional 
 occupations, and ambition became his mainspring. 
 He clearly saw that family life, while offering some 
 advantages, was in reality a horribly complex and 
 troublesome business, and that in order that he 
 might discharge its duties by which he meant 
 living so as to secure the approval of society it 
 must be regulated like his official work. 
 
 Accordingly he regulated his intercourse with his 
 wife. She was to play the part as mistress of the 
 household, to secure to her husband all needful 
 bedroom comforts, as well as the convenience of 
 breakfasting and dining at home, and, above all, 
 to respect the outward formalities required by public 
 opinion. As to the rest, if any pleasant domestic 
 moments came, he hailed them with gratitude ; 
 while if he were assailed by any shock or recrimination, 
 he took speedy refuge in his public life, where peace 
 reigned. 
 
 Ivan Iliitch was appreciated for his excellent 
 magisterial qualities, and within three years he was 
 appointed deputy-prosecutor. His new powers, their 
 importance, his authority to summon before him 
 and send to prison whomsoever he pleased, the
 
 106 THE DEATH OF IVAN ILIITCH 
 
 publicity given to his speeches, and the success of 
 his measures all served to attach him still more to 
 his public career. 
 
 Children came to him in rapid succession ; his 
 wife grew more and more shrewish and irritable ; 
 however, the footing upon which he had established 
 matters rendered him almost invulnerable. 
 
 At the end of seven years' residence in the same 
 city, he was dispatched to another province as 
 procurator. He removed. His income was not 
 large, and the post was not to his wife's taste. The 
 salary, indeed, was higher, but they found living 
 dearer in the locality where they now resided. 
 Added to this, they lost two children in their new 
 home, so that it grew more distasteful than ever. 
 
 Prascovia Feodorovna considered her husband 
 responsible for all the misfortunes that had befallen 
 them in this place. Almost every conversation 
 between husband and wife, especially those relating 
 to the children's education, degenerated into disputes. 
 
 Occasionally, indeed, they relapsed into affectionate 
 intercourse, but that never lasted long. There 
 might be some peaceful isles where their tossed bark 
 anchored for awhile ; but it was soon carried out 
 into an ocean of covert hatred, made manifest by 
 their mutual estrangement. 
 
 Ivan Iliitch might have been annoyed by this 
 estrangement if he had not regarded it as inevitable. 
 He had even come to consider the situation not 
 merely as natural, but as calculated to exercise his 
 activity within his domestic circle. He kept trying 
 to free himself from these worries, and to make them 
 less annoying ; and this he managed by bestowing 
 less and less time upon his family. When he could 
 not avoid his wife's company, he contrived to make 
 it endurable by the presence of others. 
 
 His main interest, however, was in his official work. 
 This was the pivot of his existence, and absorbed the 
 ardour of his mind. 
 
 He felt the charm of being able to ruin any one he 
 chose, and was conscious of his own importance
 
 THE DEATH OF IVAN ILIITCH 107 
 
 (manifest even whenever he met his subordinates 
 on entering the court), as well as the happy way he 
 had of dealing both with superiors and inferiors. 
 All this, added to his conversations with his colleagues 
 dining out, and games at whist, occupied his life so 
 fully that it passed away comfortably and pleasantly, 
 as he had expected it to do. 
 
 Another seven years thus elapsed. The eldest 
 daughter was nearly sixteen ; they had lost another 
 child, and the only son remaining to them was a 
 collegian, an interminable subject of debate. Ivan 
 Iliitch would have liked to enter the young fellow 
 at the Law Schools ; but Prascovia Feodorovna, on 
 purpose to thwart her husband, had sent the lad to 
 college. As for their daughter, she was educated at 
 home and paid great attention to her lessons ; the 
 collegian also showed great industry. 
 
 Ill 
 
 passed seventeen years of Ivan Iliitch's 
 -* married life ; and he had become a procurator of 
 long standing, having several times declined to change 
 his post in order to await some more important pro- 
 motion, when a vexatious incident occurred to dis- 
 turb his peace. He had expected to be nominated as 
 presiding judge in a university town, but a colleague 
 named Hoppe forestalled him in some inexplicable 
 fashion and obtained the appointment. Ivan Iliitch 
 felt irritated, and heaped reproaches on his favoured 
 rival, besides quarrelling with his superiors and 
 offending them ; the result was that when the next 
 set of changes came, he found himself passed over. 
 
 This happened in 1880, the worst year in his life. 
 On the one hand, his earnings were now insufficient 
 to meet the family expenses ; and on the other, 
 what he regarded as a cruel injustice seemed to 
 others quite a simple matter. Even his father did 
 not feel obliged to come to the rescue.
 
 io8 THE DEATH OF IVAN ILIITCH 
 
 He felt himself deserted by his friends, to whom 
 his situation, with a salary of three thousand five 
 hundred roubles, appeared natural and even brilliant. 
 
 He was the only person who realized that, what 
 with the feeling of the various wrongs inflicted upon 
 him, with his wife's constant harping, and the debts 
 he was beginning to incur by living in a style beyond 
 his means, his situation was anything but natural. 
 
 During that summer he took a holiday by way of 
 retrenching, and went to live with his wife at her 
 brother's house in the country. While condemned 
 to an idle life there, he became profoundly disgusted 
 with everything ; he found that it would be impos- 
 sible to go on living in the former style, and that 
 some decisive step must be taken. 
 
 After a sleepless night, spent in pacing the terrace, 
 he determined to proceed to St. Petersburg in order 
 to agitate, and avenge himself on those who had 
 been unable to appreciate him, by getting himself 
 transferred to another department. 
 
 On the very next day, regardless of the objections 
 of his wife and brother-in-law, he started for the 
 capital. 
 
 He had only one request to make, a request for a 
 post worth five thousand roubles, no matter in what 
 department or ministry, and no matter however 
 great might be the violence done to his opinions. 
 All that he wanted was an appointment worth five 
 thousand roubles a year, either in some Government 
 department, in a bank, on a railway company, in the 
 Empress Marie's institutions, 1 or even in the custom- 
 house service. It was all the same to him, provided 
 the situation were only worth the amount he had 
 decided upon. Moreover, under any circumstance 
 he intended to leave a department which had treated 
 him so unjustly. However, this journey of Ivan 
 Iliitch's met with startling success. 
 
 At Kursk a friend of his, named Iline, entered the 
 first-class compartment which he occupied, and told 
 him of a telegram that had just been received by the 
 Governor of Kursk, announcing a change of minister. 
 
 1 Educational establishments for young girls.
 
 THE DEATH OF IVAN ILIITCH 109 
 
 Ivan Simionovitch was about to succeed Stepan 
 Grigorievitch. This change, besides its general 
 importance to Russia, had a special significance for 
 Ivan Iliitch, since it brought into office a fresh 
 personage, Piotr Petrovitch, and also one of the 
 latter's friends, Zakhar Ivanovitch, a circumstance 
 very favourable to the interests of Ivan Iliitch, who 
 was intimate with the last-named individual. 
 
 At Moscow he heard the news confirmed, and as 
 soon as he reached St. Petersburg he went in search 
 of Zakhar Ivanovitch, who promised to find some- 
 thing to suit him in the same ministry. 
 
 A week afterwards he telegraphed to his wife : 
 ' Zakhar to Muller's place ; on first movement, 
 nomination certain.' 
 
 Ivan Iliitch, thanks to these changes, obtained 
 such promotion that all at once he found himself 
 two steps ahead of his former colleagues : his appoint- 
 ment had a salary of five thousand roubles attached 
 to it, and three thousand five hundred were allowed 
 him for expenses. 
 
 He then forgot his grudges against his old enemies 
 and the ministry, and considered himself perfectly 
 happy. He returned into the country happier than 
 he had been for a long time. Even Prascovia 
 Feodorovna shared his delight, and peace was re- 
 established between them. 
 
 Ivan Iliitch gave her an account of the honourable 
 treatment he had experienced in St. Petersburg, and 
 of the confusion of his enemies, who now sought his 
 good graces ; he described how jealous they were, 
 and how much those in authority had made of him. 
 Prascovia Feodorovna listened as though she believed 
 him, never once contradicting him, but contenting 
 herself with forming plans for settling in the city 
 to which they would have to remove. 
 
 Ivan Iliitch was delighted to find that his wife's 
 ideas were in unison with his own, and that his life, 
 after deviating for a moment from the right track, 
 was about to resume its usual course of ease and 
 pleasure.
 
 no THE DEATH OF IVAN ILIITCH 
 
 He had only returned for a brief period, for on the 
 loth of September he was to enter upon his post. 
 He needed some time to move from his province, 
 to make needful purchases and issue needful orders ; 
 in a word, to set up such an establishment as he and 
 his wife had planned together. Now that everything 
 was so happily settled, and such a good under- 
 standing established between the pair, especially 
 now that they met so rarely, they affected a cordiality 
 in their relations such as they had never been 
 acquainted with since their marriage. Ivan Iliitch 
 had at first thought of taking all his family away 
 with him at once. His brother and sister-in-law, 
 however, who had suddenly become quite affectionate 
 relatives, prevailed on him to start alone. 
 
 He departed, and the good humour, engendered as 
 much by his success as by the union restored between 
 himself and his wife, never once forsook him. He 
 lighted upon a wonderful suite of apartments, just 
 what they had both dreamt of, with large and lofty 
 entertaining rooms in the good old style, a handsome 
 and convenient library, a boudoir for his wife and 
 daughter, a tiny study for his son ; in fact, just 
 what they -wanted in every point. 
 
 Ivan Iliitch arranged every detail himself, chose 
 the hangings and bought the furniture, which in- 
 cluded certain second-hand pieces upon which he set 
 particular store. The whole gradually began to 
 assume shape, and his ideal picture was becoming 
 realized. Indeed, when his task was but half com- 
 plete, the result surpassed his expectations. He 
 pictured the elegant and distinguished appearance 
 which his residence would present when finished, as 
 something quite out of the common. When he 
 retired for the night, his thoughts still lingered with 
 his drawing-room, and as he glanced round the bare 
 walls he could fancy the fireplace adornments already 
 there, with the screen, and the little what-not he had 
 bought ; the little chairs placed here and there, the 
 china plaques duly hung, and the bronze figures 
 properly arranged. He enjoyed the prospect of the
 
 THE DEATH OF IVAN ILIITCH in 
 
 surprise which he was preparing for Paschka and 
 Lisanka, 1 who were persons of taste like himself. 
 They would certainly never expect all this, especially 
 his good luck in getting at a bargain certain old pieces 
 of furniture which would give the house quite an air of 
 distinction. In his letters he spoke almost disparag- 
 ingly of everything, in order to enhance the surprise. 
 
 He became so much absorbed in these cares that 
 he took less interest than he had anticipated in his 
 official duties, although he liked them. During the 
 sittings his thoughts often wandered away, and he 
 pondered over what sort of poles he should have for 
 his curtains, and so on. The arrangements pre- 
 occupied him so much that he often set to work with 
 his own hands, altering the disposition of the furniture 
 and hanging up the curtains. 
 
 One day, when he had mounted upon a stool to 
 explain to an upholsterer how he wished to have 
 some drapery arranged, his foot slipped, and he fell. 
 However, being strong and agile, he recovered his 
 balance, and merely hurt his side against the window- 
 fastening. He felt it for a time, but the pain soon 
 left him. Neither his health nor his spirits were 
 impaired : in fact, he wrote to his family, ' I feel 
 myself fifteen years younger.' 
 
 He expected to have had everything ready in 
 September, but the business lagged on until the 
 middle of October. To atone for this, the decorations 
 proved perfect, not merely in his own eyes, but in 
 those of all his visitors. In point of fact, the place 
 was furnished in the style adopted by people of 
 moderate income, who try to ape the wealthy and 
 merely succeed in their attempt at imitation : 
 hangings, ebony, flowers, carpets, bronzes, were to be 
 seen ; here there was a dark tone, and there a touch 
 of brilliancy ; in fact, there was everything that 
 people of one class affect so as to resemble those of 
 another. The resemblance in this case was really so 
 perfect that nothing deserved special notice, although 
 Ivan Iliitch took credit to himself for originality. 
 
 1 Diminutives of Prascovia and Elizabeth.
 
 H2 THE DEATH OF IVAN ILIITCH 
 
 He met his family at the station, and brought them 
 to the newly-decorated suite of rooms, which had 
 been properly lighted up ; a footman, with a white 
 tie, threw open the door of the hall, which was set 
 out with flowers, and when the mother and daughter 
 passed on to the drawing-room and library, uttering 
 admiring ejaculations at every step, Ivan Iliitch's 
 heart swelled with pride and his face beamed. 
 
 That very evening when Prascovia Feodorovna 
 asked him, in the course of conversation over the 
 tea-table, how it happened that he had fallen, he 
 began to laugh, and then mimicked himself and his 
 fall, and the upholsterer's alarm. 
 
 ' I am not a gymnast for nothing ; another man 
 might have been killed on the spot,' he said, ' but I 
 only just grazed my side a little, here if I touch it, 
 it still hurts, but it is getting right now ; it is merely 
 a bruise.' 
 
 IV 
 
 SO the family took up their abode in the new 
 house, where they found themselves just short 
 of one room after a time, we always find ourselves 
 short of a room living upon the new income, which 
 was just short of a few roubles ; five hundred more, 
 and it would have been perfection. 
 
 At first all went on smoothly. Things were not 
 quite complete ; something wanted finishing, another 
 required to be ordered, a third article had to be 
 moved or rearranged. However, in spite of some 
 slight differences of opinion between husband and 
 wife, they were so delighted, and found so much to 
 occupy them, that everything was settled without 
 any great dissension. 
 
 But when there was nothing more left to arrange, 
 they began to feel bored. They became conscious 
 of the fact that something was wanting to their 
 happiness. Still, they formed fresh acquaintances, 
 and resumed their habits, and their life seemed fully
 
 THE DEATH OF IVAN ILIITCH 113 
 
 occupied. Ivan Iliitch spent his mornings in court, 
 and came home to dinner. At first he was in the 
 best of humours, though occasionally he felt annoyed, 
 mainly about the furniture ; a mark on the carpet 
 or the hangings, or a broken curtain cord, would 
 irritate him ; indeed, he had taken so much trouble 
 about everything that he resented the slightest 
 damage. On the whole, however, his life flowed on 
 as he expected it to do, lightly, smoothly, and 
 pleasantly. 
 
 At nine o'clock he rose, took his coffee, read the 
 newspaper, donned his uniform, and went to the 
 court. There his neck, accustomed to the yoke, 
 bowed under it without any effort. The applicants 
 who came to him, the information he had to give, 
 his office work, the public sittings, and the adminis- 
 trative conferences he had to attend, were so many 
 claims which compelled him to put aside all domestic 
 cares, such as might have interfered with the regular 
 course of business ; in fact, he was bound to have 
 none but official relations with the public. 
 
 A man might come, for instance, to apply for some 
 information. In his private character Ivan Iliitch 
 had no reason for obliging him, but if the man's 
 relations to the magistrate proved of a kind to be 
 noted down on official paper, Ivan Iliitch would 
 exert himself to the utmost in his favour, always 
 retaining the polite and affable manners distinguishing 
 an amiable man. 
 
 Ivan Iliitch excelled in establishing a line of 
 demarcation between his professional duties and 
 private life. Occasionally, however, he seemed to 
 amuse himself by confounding them, which his long 
 practice and cultivated talents allowed him to do. 
 While keeping well within the bounds of decorum, 
 he displayed not merely readiness but dexterity in 
 this game. 
 
 In the intervals of business he smoked, drank tea, 
 discussed politics, general topics, and card-playing ; 
 however, his favourite subject was promotion. 
 Then, a little fatigued, but as proud as a first violin
 
 H4 THE DEATH OF IVAN ILIITCH 
 
 who has just played his part in an orchestra in 
 excellent style, he returned home. 
 
 His wife and daughter, meanwhile, were receiving 
 or paying visits, the son was at college, or preparing 
 his tasks at home with his tutors ; he had a very 
 retentive memory for all that he was taught. 
 
 , Everything went on smoothly. After dinner, if 
 there were no visitors, Ivan Iliitch sometimes read 
 the book of the day, and in the evening he devoted 
 himself to his work, dissecting reports, examining 
 the Code, comparing depositions, and finding the 
 suitable purview for each case. This neither amused 
 nor bored him. He would rather have been playing 
 whist, to be sure, but in default thereof, he far 
 preferred this work to remaining in idle solitude or 
 bestowing his company upon his wife. 
 
 What gave him most delight were the little dinners 
 to which he invited persons of both sexes who made 
 a figure in society ; this pastime reminded him of 
 the entertainments given by distinguished people, 
 just as his drawing-room reminded him of their 
 reception halls. Once he even had a regular reception. 
 There was dancing, Ivan Iliitch enjoyed it thoroughly, 
 and the party would have been perfect had it not 
 been for an altercation with his wife relating to 
 the cakes and sweetmeats. Contrary to Prascovia 
 Feodorovna's advice he had ordered everything from 
 an expensive pastry-cook's, and in great profusion, 
 so that the bill amounted to forty-five roubles. The 
 dispute ran high ; his wife treating him as a crazy 
 fool, and he, in his anger, pronouncing the word 
 ' divorce.' 
 
 The party itself, however, passed off capitally. 
 It was attended by the best society, and Ivan Iliitch 
 danced with Princess Trufonova, a sister of the 
 famous founder of the ' Emporte mon chagrin ' society. 
 
 His self-esteem was gratified by the discharge of 
 his official duties ; his vanity by mixing in good 
 society ; but his real pleasure lay in cards. He 
 confessed that after the saddest events he felt supreme 
 delight delight that made his face beam in sitting
 
 THE DEATH OF IVAN ILIITCH 115 
 
 down with some good players and a skilful partner 
 to four-handed whist (with five players the game is 
 less amusing, though politeness makes people say 
 they like it). He delighted to play a serious and 
 intelligent game (especially when in luck), to sup 
 afterwards, take a glass of good wine, and then go 
 to bed satisfied, particularly if he had won a trifle 
 (to win too much is unpleasant). 
 
 Such was the life led by Ivan Iliitch and his family. 
 Their society was select ; persons of good position 
 and young people came to the house. The father, 
 mother, and daughter held just the same views as 
 to their social relations ; and all three, without 
 exchanging a word, concurred in dropping certain 
 friends and relatives, insignificant people who, full 
 of ardour and overflowing with affection, came to 
 see them in their drawing-room adorned with 
 Japanese china. Thus the obscure friends soon 
 ceased to come with such ardour, and the Golovines 
 saw none but the best society. 
 
 Meanwhile the young men fluttered round Lisanka, 
 and one of them, Petrichtcheff, an examining 
 magistrate, the son of Dimitri Ivanovitch Petricht- 
 cheff, and sole heir to his property, began to pay her 
 such marked attentions that Ivan Iliitch was already 
 consulting his wife as to whether it would not be 
 advisable for them all to drive out together in a 
 troika, or to get up some amateur theatricals. 
 
 ALL the family were in good health. The term 
 indisposition could scarcely be applied to what 
 Ivan Iliitch occasionally complained of, viz., a queer 
 taste in his mouth, and an uncomfortable sensation 
 on the left side of the stomach. 
 
 This uncomfortable sensation, however, increased 
 without degenerating exactly into illness, and Ivan 
 Iliitch finally experienced a constant feeling of
 
 u6 THE DEATH OF IVAN ILIITCH 
 
 heaviness in the side, and acquired an irritable 
 temper, which grew worse day by day, soon spoiling 
 the comfort of the domestic circle. The constant 
 bickerings that ensued banished all pleasure, and 
 there was even a difficulty in keeping up appearances. 
 
 Scenes grew more and more frequent. The little 
 isles, where the couple could light for a moment 
 without disputing, grew further and further apart. 
 Prascovia Feodorovna used to say, and not without 
 due grounds, that her husband now had an awful 
 temper. However, she was given to exaggeration, 
 and she would go on to say that he had always been 
 the same, and that she must be an angel to have 
 borne it for twenty years. It was true that now 
 Ivan Iliitch was always the one to begin the quarrel. 
 
 He began to grumble regularly when they sat down 
 to table. At the beginning, over the soup, he would 
 sometimes complain that the plates were cracked, 
 or that the dinner was not to his mind, or else that 
 his son put his elbows on the table ; while at other 
 times he did not like the style in which his daughter's 
 hair was dressed ; and all the blame was invariably 
 laid on Prascovia. 
 
 At first his wife would justify herself, and give him 
 a sharp answer in return. But when, on two 
 occasions, she saw him thus fly into a rage at the 
 commencement of the meal, she decided that it must 
 be a crisis produced by taking food, and she gave in. 
 Instead of saying a word, she simply hurried over 
 the dinner. 
 
 She regarded this submission on her part as very 
 meritorious. She made up her mind that her 
 husband was rendering her very miserable by his 
 dreadful temper, and began to bemoan her fate. 
 The more she pitied herself, the more she detested 
 her husband. She might have longed for his death, 
 but could not ; for if he were to die, there would be 
 an end to his salary, and this thought made her hate 
 him all the more. She considered herself the most 
 unfortunate of women, since even death would bring 
 her no deliverance ; and her irritation became all
 
 THE DEATH OF IVAN ILIITCH 117 
 
 the more intense as she considered herself called 
 upon to conceal it. 
 
 At last, after a scene in which Ivan Iliitch had 
 shown himself peculiarly unjust, as he himself owned, 
 attributing his excessive irritability to his ailments, 
 Prascovia Feodorovna advised him to attend to his 
 health, and sent him off to consult a celebrated doctor. 
 
 He went. It was just as he had expected, he had 
 to wait, and then he saw the doctor, who displayed 
 the stiff professional manners which he knew so well 
 in himself as a magistrate. There were the little 
 thumps, the questions which called forth stereotyped 
 replies scarcely heard, the examination with the 
 stethoscope and the air of importance conveying the 
 idea that the patient had nothing to do with the 
 matter. ' We are going to make it all clear,' the 
 doctor implied ; ' we know everything beforehand, 
 and how to set to work ; always in the same fashion, 
 no matter what may be your temperament.' Ivan 
 Iliitch could have fancied himself in court. The airs 
 he assumed towards the prisoners in the dock were 
 similar to those which the doctor assumed towards 
 his patients. 
 
 What the doctor said was this : ' This and that 
 in you denote that and this ; but should our sup- 
 positions not be confirmed, then, after such and such 
 investigations, we must conclude this and that, 
 and if we conclude this and that, then,' etc. etc. 
 
 The only interest Ivan Iliitch felt was in one point 
 was his condition serious or not ? But the doctor 
 paid no heed to such an ill-timed inquiry. From a 
 professional point of view it was an idle question, 
 and unworthy of discussion. As for an exact 
 diagnosis, the complaint, so the doctor said, was a 
 displaced spleen, or chronic catarrh, or an affection 
 of the pylorus. But as to whether Ivan Iliitch's life 
 were in danger, not a word. 
 
 There was a struggle for supremacy between the 
 displaced spleen and the pylorus ; and in the dis- 
 cussion carried on in Ivan Iliitch's presence, the doctor 
 pronounced a brilliant judgment in favour of the
 
 n8 THE DEATH OF IVAN ILIITCH 
 
 pylorus ; with a caution, however, that an analysis 
 of his patient's urine might point to a different com- 
 plaint, in which case he must begin his examination 
 afresh. 
 
 This was precisely Ivan Iliitch's usual mode of 
 proceeding with hundreds of persons under suspicion, 
 a mode of proceeding which he carried out with 
 admirable perfection. The doctor gave his diagnosis 
 of the case just as admirably, even casting a trium- 
 phant glance over his spectacles at the suspicious 
 case before him. 
 
 The conclusion drawn by Ivan Iliitch from this 
 diagnosis was that everything about him was out of 
 order, and that neither the doctor, nor possibly any 
 one else, cared a jot about the matter. This con- 
 clusion sent a sickly shock through his mind, inspiring 
 him with deep commiseration for himself, and with 
 wrath against the doctor who was so indifferent to 
 such an important question. 
 
 He did not show this, however. He rose up, laid 
 the fee on the table, and then said with a sigh : 
 
 ' We invalids are no doubt often too inquisitive ; 
 however, is my complaint of a serious nature or not ? ' 
 
 The doctor gave him a severe glance over his 
 spectacles, as much as to say : ' Prisoner, if you 
 deviate from the question, I shall be forced to have 
 you conducted to prison.' 
 
 Then he observed aloud : ' I have already told 
 you all that I consider it needful or advisable for 
 you to know. Another examination will complete 
 the diagnosis.' 
 
 And thereupon the doctor bowed him out. 
 
 Ivan Iliitch slowly retired, stepped sadly into his 
 sledge and drove home. On the way he kept ponder- 
 ing over the doctor's words, trying to comprehend 
 all the scientific jargon he had heard, and to translate 
 it into plain language, so that he might solve the 
 question : ' Am I really ill, very ill, or is it nothing 
 of importance ? ' 
 
 It seemed to him as if the meaning of the doctor's 
 words was that he was very ill. Everything in the
 
 THE DEATH OF IVAN ILIITCH 119 
 
 street, the isvostchiks, the houses, and the shops 
 looked gloomy. His dull, continuous pain never 
 gave him a moment's respite, and the doctor's 
 ambiguous words began to acquire grave significance. 
 Ivan Iliitch, agitated by a new and painful sensation, 
 listened to his own tale of suffering. 
 
 When he reached home, he began telling every- 
 thing to his wife, who listened, but in the middle of 
 his story in came his daughter, with her hat on, 
 ready to go out with her mother. She sat down 
 reluctantly to submit to the delay ; however, neither 
 of them would hear him out. 
 
 ' Very well, I am very glad ! ' said Prascovia 
 Feodorovna. ' I now hope that you will take care 
 of yourself and remember your medicine regularly. 
 Give me the prescription ; I will send Guerassim to 
 the druggist's.' 
 
 And then off she went to put on her bonnet. 
 
 Ivan Iliitch had lost his breath with talking all 
 the time his wife was in the room. When she left 
 it, he heaved a deep sigh. 
 
 ' Well/ said he, ' perhaps after all it may be 
 nothing.' 
 
 He took the medicines prescribed for him, likewise 
 following the treatment, which had been revised 
 after an examination of his urine. But some con- 
 fusion was caused by the result of the analysis and 
 the modifications which it introduced into the treat- 
 ment. Matters were not referred to the doctor, 
 whose instructions, moreover, were but ill understood. 
 Perhaps, too, either from forgetfulness or negligence, 
 he had not pointed out clearly what ought to be done, 
 or possibly he had concealed something. 
 
 However this may have been, Ivan Iliitch followed 
 the treatment scrupulously, and this in itself served 
 to console him. 
 
 His chief care, since his visit to the doctor, had 
 been to observe to the letter every prescription 
 bearing upon his general health as well as his par- 
 ticular complaint, and to study his ailments and 
 bodily functions. He was more interested in study-
 
 120 THE DEATH OF IVAN ILIITCH 
 
 ing the state of the human frame in health and 
 disease than in any other subject. Whenever any 
 mention was made in his presence of sickness, death, 
 or recovery, and especially when any one alluded to 
 an illness akin to his own, he listened eagerly, and 
 with an attempt to disguise his emotion he asked 
 questions, and made comparisons with his own 
 complaint. 
 
 His sufferings did not abate ; still, he forced himself 
 to believe that he was improving. When nothing 
 irritated him, he was able to delude himself ; but a 
 dispute with his wife, any contradiction in court, 
 or an unsuccessful rubber, instantly showed him the 
 aggravated nature of his complaint. Formerly he 
 had been able to bear such little annoyances in hopes 
 that matters would take a better turn, that obstacles 
 would be surmounted, and that success was near at 
 hand ; whereas now the least drawback depressed his 
 spirits and made him give way to despair. 
 
 He would say to himself : ' I was just beginning 
 to get better, and the treatment was taking effect, 
 when this wretched piece of ill luck befell me, or this 
 unpleasant occurrence happened.' And then he 
 felt enraged with the people or things which were 
 thus persecuting him to death. 
 
 He felt that his anger did him harm, and yet he 
 could not restrain it. One would have fancied that, 
 realizing that his anger with persons and events 
 only increased his sufferings, he would not have 
 dwelt upon such slight annoyances. But he acted 
 quite in a contrary fashion ; after telling himself 
 that he needed repose, and thinking of avoiding 
 whatever might interfere with it, he became excited 
 by the smallest worry. 
 
 He made his condition still worse by reading 
 medical books and reports. The aggravation of his 
 complaint proceeded in such a slow and regular 
 manner that it was possible for him to deceive himself 
 by comparing one day with its predecessor, so slight 
 was the difference between the two. But when he 
 consulted the doctors, he felt himself growing worse
 
 THE DEATH OF IVAN ILIITCH 121 
 
 and worse, and at an alarming rate too. However, 
 he went on consulting them. 
 
 That very month he had gone to another medical 
 celebrity, who had expressed himself much to the 
 same effect as the first one, although he had worded 
 his questions differently. This fresh consultation 
 only increased Ivan Iliitch's anxiety and alarm. 
 A friend's friend an able medical man then gave 
 a different opinion as to the nature of his complaint, 
 and though he promised to cure it, his questions and 
 hypotheses only served to bewilder Ivan Iliitch the 
 more. 
 
 A homoeopathic doctor gave a different name to 
 his malady, and ordered globules, which, unknown 
 to all, Ivan swallowed religiously for a whole week. 
 But when, at the end of it, he found himself no 
 better, besides having lost all confidence in the 
 virtue of his previous treatment, his dejection became 
 very great. 
 
 One day a lady of his acquaintance tokl him of a 
 case that had been cured by the agency of eikons. 
 Ivan Iliitch caught himself listening attentively, 
 and pondering as to the reality of the cure. This 
 discovery terrified him. 
 
 ' Can my mental faculties have become so much 
 weaker ? ' he asked himself. ' There is nothing in 
 it, surely. It 's all nonsense. I must not take such 
 a gloomy view of things. I will keep to one doctor, 
 and follow one treatment absolutely. I will not 
 trouble my mind again, but will persevere with the 
 same regimen till the summer comes. Then we 
 shall see. I will have done with hesitation ! ' 
 
 This was easier to say than to do. The pain in his 
 side kept growing more acute, and hardly ever left 
 him ; the queer taste on his palate became stronger, 
 he perceived a fetid smell in his mouth, and his 
 appetite and strength were both waning. There was 
 no blinding himself to the fact that something terrible, 
 unusual, and of vital consequence was taking place 
 within him ; and he was the only person aware of 
 it ; those about him did not or would not understand,
 
 122 THE DEATH OF IVAN ILIITCH 
 
 but went on thinking that nothing in the world had 
 changed. 
 
 This was what tortured him the most. 
 
 He could see that his family, especially his wife 
 and daughter, both in a whirl of gaiety, failed to 
 understand the situation, and felt impatient at his 
 gloomy airs and exactions just as if he had been at 
 fault. In spite of their attempts at dissimulation, 
 he could also perceive that they considered him a 
 nuisance. As for Prascovia Feodorovna, she had 
 made up her mind on the subject of her husband's 
 illness, and she stuck to her opinion, no matter what 
 he said or did. 
 
 ' You must know/ she would say to her friends, 
 ' that Ivan Iliitch will not follow the doctor's advice, 
 as any reasonable man would. One day he takes his 
 medicine, eats what he has been ordered to eat, and 
 goes to bed early ; but on the morrow, unless I look 
 after him, he forgets his physic, partakes of sturgeon 
 (which he ought not to touch), and sits up till one 
 o'clock in the morning, playing at whist.' 
 
 ' What ! When ? ' Ivan Iliitch would ask 
 peevishly, on hearing this. ' Once only, at Piotr 
 Ivanovitch's.' 
 
 ' And yesterday, with Schebek ! ' 
 
 ' Because my pain would not allow me to sleep.' 
 
 ' What difference did that make ? If you act 
 like that, you will never get well, but simply go on 
 plaguing us.' 
 
 According to Prascovia Feodorovna's complaints 
 to her visitors, and to Ivan Iliitch himself, this 
 illness was simply a device of his, another trick which 
 he was playing on her. He felt that such was her 
 real conviction ; however, this did not make him 
 any the better. 
 
 In court he noticed, or thought he noticed, a 
 similar manner of treating him : he fancied that his 
 colleagues and subordinates looked on him as a man 
 whose place would soon be vacant : his friends rallied 
 him on his depressed spirits, as though this terrible 
 incomprehensible something that was gnawing at his
 
 THE DEATH OF IVAN ILIITCH 123 
 
 vitals and urging him irresistibly down some abyss, 
 were a matter for pleasantry. Schwartz, with his 
 gay exuberant spirits and air of propriety, especially 
 reminded him of what he himself had been ten years 
 earlier, and made him feel half mad. 
 
 One evening some friends came in for a game. 
 They sat down, and the cards were dealt ; the 
 diamonds came together : there were seven of them. 
 His partner announced ' without trumps/ and 
 reserved two diamonds. What more was needed 
 to put any one in good spirits. They could make 
 every trick ! Yet all at once Ivan Iliitch felt his 
 pain and the bad taste in his mouth return ; it then 
 seemed to him most ridiculous to care about his luck. 
 
 He looked at his partner, Mikhail Mikhai'lovitch, 
 and saw him dash his red hand down upon the 
 table, and while refraining with an amiable and 
 condescending air from taking up the cards, push 
 them across to him Iliitch so that he might have 
 the pleasure of counting the tricks. 
 
 ' What is he thinking of ? That I am too feeble 
 to stretch out my hand ? ' thought Ivan Iliitch. 
 
 He covered the trumps and kept one too many ; 
 in fact, they missed the game by three tricks. The 
 worst of it was, he saw Mikhail Mikhai'lovitch suffer- 
 ing, while he himself felt quite indifferent. Was not 
 this very indifference an alarming symptom ? 
 
 Every one saw how this idea distressed him. 
 
 ' We can stop, if you feel tired,' they said. ' Rest 
 a bit ! ' 
 
 Rest ? No, he was not in the least tired, and 
 would finish the rubber ! 
 
 Every one remained silent and depressed. Ivan 
 Iliitch felt that he was the cause of this gloomy 
 constraint, but he was unable to remove it. 
 
 After supper the others took their departure, and 
 Ivan Iliitch was left alone, conscious not only that 
 his life was poisoned and was poisoning that of others, 
 but that the poison was not dying out, but pene- 
 trating deeper and deeper into his system. 
 
 Yet, despite this consciousness, despite his physical
 
 124 THE DEATH OF IVAN ILIITCH 
 
 sufferings and apprehensions, he was obliged to go 
 to bed, often only to be kept awake by his pain 
 during the greater part of the night. And when 
 morning came, he had to rise again, dress, go to the 
 court, speak and write, or if he stayed at home he 
 had to count, one by one, the four-and-twenty hours, 
 each of which was so much protracted torture. Thus 
 he lived, on the verge of an abyss, completely isolated, 
 without any one to understand or compassionate him. 
 
 VI 
 
 ONE month, two months passed by in this position. 
 On New Year's Eve, Ivan Iliitch's brother-in- 
 law came to see them. Prascovia Feodorovna had 
 gone out shopping. 
 
 Ivan Iliitch was in court at the time. On return- 
 ing to his study, he found his brother-in-law, a strong, 
 florid-looking man, unpacking his own trunk there. 
 
 When the latter heard Ivan Iliitch's step, he raised 
 his head and gazed at him silently for a second. 
 His glance revealed everything to the ailing man. 
 The brother-in-law's lips parted as if to utter an 
 exclamation, but he refrained from giving vent to it. 
 This movement confirmed everything. 
 
 ' Well, you find me a good deal changed, don't 
 you ? ' asked Iliitch. 
 
 ' Yes there is a change.' 
 
 And the brother-in-law evaded all Ivan Iliitch's 
 attempts to keep the conversation to the subject of 
 his looks. 
 
 When Prascovia Feodorovna returned, her brother 
 went to her room to see her. Ivan Iliitch then 
 locked himself in his study and examined himself 
 for a long time in the glass, gazing first at his full 
 face and then at his profile. He took down his 
 portrait and compared it with the image reflected in 
 the mirror. There was a great difference between 
 the two. Next, he rolled up his sleeve to the elbow.
 
 THE DEATH OF IVAN ILIITCH 125 
 
 examined his arm, turned down his sleeve again, 
 and seated himself on the couch ; then he turned as 
 black as night. 
 
 ' It must not be, it must not ! ' he said to himself. 
 Then suddenly starting to his feet, he went to the 
 table, took up a legal paper and tried to peruse it, 
 but could not succeed. 
 
 He opened his study door and went to the sitting- 
 room. The door of the further drawing-room was 
 closed. He advanced on tiptoe, straining his ears. 
 
 ' No, you are exaggerating ! ' he heard Prascovia 
 Feodorovna saying. 
 
 ' Exaggerating ! Cannot you see that he is a 
 walking corpse ! Look at his glassy eyes. Why, 
 what is the matter with him ? ' 
 
 ' Who can say ? Nikolaieff (another doctor) said 
 something, I forget what. Lechtchetitski (the cele- 
 brated man) said just the opposite 
 
 Ivan Iliitch turned away, went to his own room, 
 lay down, and tried to reflect. 
 
 ' The spleen the displaced spleen.' 
 
 He recollected all that the doctors had told him 
 as to how it had become displaced and kept moving 
 about ; then by an effort of the imagination he 
 tried to seize hold of it, stop it, and fix it in its place. 
 It seemed such a simple thing to do. 
 
 ' Well, I will go to Piotr Ivanovitch again,' he 
 said, referring to the friend who knew the doctor. 
 
 He rang the bell, ordered the horse to be put in, 
 and prepared to start. 
 
 ' Where are you off to, Ivan ? ' asked his wife in an 
 unusually subdued tone, and with a gentleness to 
 which he was not accustomed. 
 
 This peculiar gentleness irritated him. He looked 
 at her gloomily. 
 
 ' I have to go and see Piotr Ivanovitch,' he replied. 
 
 He called on the friend who was intimate with the 
 doctor, and asked him to accompany him to the 
 latter's house. They found the doctor at home, and 
 had a long conversation with him. 
 
 On reviewing what the doctor had told him, by the
 
 126 THE DEATH OF IVAN ILIITCH 
 
 light of anatomy combined with physiology, Ivan 
 Iliitch understood the whole business. 
 
 There was something infinitesimal the matter with 
 the pylorus. This might be eliminated : one had 
 only to reinforce the energy of one organ to diminish 
 the activity of another, and then assimilation would 
 be the result, and equilibrium would be restored. 
 
 He came home late for dinner. He ate, and 
 chatted in a lively strain, but could not make up his 
 mind to shut himself up to work. At length, how- 
 ever, he made the resolution, returned to his study, 
 and set himself at once to his task. He turned over 
 his papers ; but still the feeling of important private 
 business waiting in the background to be dispatched 
 never abandoned him. 
 
 When he had finished, he remembered that this 
 private matter was the pylorus. Still, he would not 
 let it affect his spirits, but went into the drawing- 
 room for tea. There were some visitors, they con- 
 versed, and there was singing and playing ; the 
 examining magistrate, whom he considered such a 
 desirable match for his daughter, was there. 
 
 Ivan Iliitch spent the evening in brighter spirits 
 than usual, so far as his wife could see ; but he 
 never forgot for an instant that the all-important 
 subject of the pylorus was awaiting him. 
 
 At eleven o'clock he bade good evening to his 
 visitors, and returned to his room. Since his illness 
 he had slept alone in a small chamber adjoining his 
 study. He lay down and opened one of Zola's 
 novels, but his thoughts were too much occupied to 
 allow him to read. In his imagination he anticipated 
 the ardently desired cure of the pylorus to assimi- 
 late, secrete, and restore regular activity. 
 
 ' Yes, that is all, that is all,' said he to himself ; 
 ' all we have to do is to give nature a helping hand.' 
 
 He suddenly remembered that he had a dose to 
 take, so he rose up, swallowed it, then stretched 
 himself again upon his back, studying the salutary 
 action of the remedy, and the relief it gradually 
 brought him.
 
 THE DEATH OF IVAN ILIITCH 127 
 
 ' All I have to do is to physic myself regularly, 
 and avoid all injurious influences. I feel myself a 
 little better already a good deal better.' 
 
 He touched his side and felt no pain. 
 
 ' No, I do not feel it now ; I am much better/ he 
 said to himself. Then he blew out the candle and 
 lay on his side, thinking the pylorus must be recover- 
 ing and assimilating. Suddenly, however, the well- 
 known pain returned, sharp, dull, shooting, obstinate, 
 silent and grave ; there was also the same strange 
 taste in his mouth. Then his heart misgave him, 
 and his head reeled. 
 
 ' What, again,' he groaned, ' again ! Will this 
 never end ? V 
 
 Suddenly the current of his thoughts changed. 
 ' The pylorus, the spleen,' he said to himself. ' Why ! 
 The matter isn't one of the pylorus or spleen, but of 
 life and death. Yes, life was here, and now it is 
 departing ; it is departing and I cannot detain it. 
 Why should I delude myself ? Does not every one 
 except myself plainly realize that I am dying ; it is 
 a mere question of weeks or days perhaps it is even 
 close at hand now. There was light, and now dark- 
 ness has come. I was here, and now I am going 
 whither ? ' 
 
 He felt himself grow chill, his breath almost 
 stopped. All that he could hear was the palpitation 
 of his heart. 
 
 ' I shall cease to live on earth,' he mused, ' but what 
 will continue to exist ? Nothing will remain. Where 
 shall I be when my earthly existence has ceased-? 
 Can this be death ? No, it shall not be ! ' 
 
 He started up, tried to light the candle, groped 
 about with his trembling hands, and finally let the 
 candlestick fall. Then he threw himself back upon 
 his pillows. 
 
 ' Why not ? What does it matter ? ' he asked 
 himself as he stared into the darkness. ' Death, yes, 
 it is death, and they do not understand ; they will 
 not understand it, they do not pity me. They go 
 on playing,' he added, as the sound of voices and
 
 128 THE DEATH OF IVAN ILIITCH 
 
 musical refrains reached him through the door. 
 ' What do they care ? However, they will have to 
 die, too, the fools ! I may go first, but they must 
 follow. Their time will come. And yet the idiots 
 can laugh ! ' 
 
 He was choking with rage, and suffering agonies. 
 Can it be possible that we are all subject to such 
 gloomy terrors ? 
 
 Again he raised himself up. ' No, I have not 
 fathomed it yet,' he reflected, ' I must take courage 
 and think it all out again.' 
 
 Accordingly he began to think. 
 
 ' Yes, the beginning of my illness was that blow on 
 my side. I did not feel any change ; merely a little 
 dull pain. Then it grew worse ; next came the 
 doctor, my depressed spirits, irritation, and the 
 doctor again ; whilst I kept constantly drawing 
 nearer and nearer to the verge of the abyss. My 
 strength kept declining I grew weaker and weaker, 
 and now I am worn out ; my eyes are glazed, death 
 is upon me, while all I can think of is the pylorus ! 
 my only idea is to cure my intestines ! can this 
 actually be death ? ' 
 
 His terror then returned to him. Still panting, 
 he stooped down, and hunted for the matches. He 
 pressed his elbow against the table by his bedside. 
 It hurt him, and was in his way. He turned his 
 anger upon the piece of furniture, hurled it im- 
 patiently on one side, and finally knocked it over. 
 Maddened, and panting for breath, he next threw him- 
 self on his back, expecting the end to come presently. 
 
 At this moment the visitors were taking their 
 leave, and as Prascovia Feodorovna saw them to the 
 door, she heard the noise of the fall, and went into 
 her husband's room. 
 
 ' What is the matter ? ' she asked. 
 
 ' Nothing ; I knocked something down unin- 
 tentionally.' 
 
 She went out, and returned with a light. Ivan 
 Iliitch was lying down, panting like a man who has 
 just run a verst. He looked at her with fixed eyes.
 
 THE DEATH OF IVAN ILIITCH 129 
 
 ' What is it, Ivan ? ' she asked. 
 
 ' Nothing ; I knocked down ' 
 
 But what was the use of speaking ? She would 
 not understand. 
 
 She did not, certainly. However, she picked up 
 the table, lighted her husband's candle, and left the 
 room. She had to take leave of other friends. 
 
 When she came back he was still in the same 
 position, on his back, with his eyes fixed on the 
 ceiling. 
 
 ' What is it ? Do you feel worse ? ' she asked. 
 
 ' Yes.' 
 
 She shook her head, and sat down again for a 
 moment. 
 
 ' Tell me, Ivan, had we not better send for 
 Lechtchetitski ? ' she inquired. This meant calling 
 in the celebrated doctor, regardless of expense. 
 
 He smiled bitterly, and answered, ' No.' 
 
 She waited for another minute, and then went up 
 to him and kissed his brow. He hated her from 
 the bottom of his heart as she kissed him, and had 
 to exercise great self-control to avoid repulsing her. 
 
 ' Good-bye for the present. You will get a little 
 sleep, won't you ? ' she said as she went off. 
 
 ' Yes/ answered her husband gloomily. 
 
 VII 
 
 T VAN ILIITCH saw himself dying. He was over- 
 -* whelmed with perplexity, plunged into lasting 
 despair. He knew in his inmost soul that he was 
 dying, still he could not habituate himself to the 
 idea : he neither did nor could entertain it. 
 
 The following syllogism, which he had learnt in 
 Kiziveter's Logic : ' Kay is a man ; all men are 
 mortal ; so Kay is mortal,' he had always regarded 
 as just referring to Kay, but not in the least applic- 
 able to himself. It regarded Kay, as being a man 
 in the abstract, and this was perfectly natural ;
 
 130 THE DEATH OF IVAN ILIITCH 
 
 but he was neither Kay nor a man in the abstract, 
 he was a being with a distinct personality. He had 
 been little Varna, 1 with a papa and mamma, with 
 Mitia and Volodia, 2 his brothers, with playthings, a 
 coachman and a nurse, and afterwards with Katinka, 
 with all the joys, sorrows, and enthusiasm of child- 
 hood, youth, and early manhood. 
 
 Was it Kay who had inhaled the scent of the 
 leather ball which Vania was so fond of sniffing at ? 
 Was it Kay who had kissed his mamma's hand, who 
 had delighted in hearing the rustle of a silk dress, 
 or had made a clamour for cakes at the Law Schools ? 
 Had he been in love ? Was it Kay who had presided 
 so cleverly over the debates in court ? 
 
 ' Yes, it was true that Kay was mortal, and it was 
 quite natural that he should die ; but I, Vania, Ivan 
 Iliitch, with all my feelings and mental powers, I 
 am something very different, and it is quite un- 
 natural that I should die. It would be treating me 
 too badly.' 
 
 These were his feelings : ' If I had to die like Kay, 
 I should accept the fact ; my inner consciousness 
 would have re-echoed it. But such is not my case. 
 I and my friends both plainly understood that we 
 had not Kay's fate to fear. And yet now what is 
 going to happen ? ' he asked himself. ' It is im- 
 possible, quite impossible, and still it is so. But how 
 can such a thing be, how can I comprehend it ? ' 
 
 He could not, so he attempted to banish the 
 ridiculous and morbid notion, and to replace it by 
 more sane and judicious thoughts. But the idea 
 seemed to assume a form, constantly returning and 
 rising up before him. 
 
 He summoned other arguments to his assistance, 
 hoping that they might furnish him with some 
 consolation. He endeavoured to cling to those 
 primitive notions which used to hide from him the 
 image of death. However, strange to say, the things 
 which used to disguise, obliterate, or remove the 
 consciousness of mortality had now lost their efficacy. 
 
 1 Diminutive of Ivan. * Diminutives of Mikhail and Vladimir.
 
 THE DEATH OF IVAN ILIITCH 131 
 
 In his latter days Ivan Iliitch exhausted himself with 
 efforts to reconstruct the series of sensations which 
 had formerly interposed between himself and death. 
 
 Sometimes he would say : 
 
 ' I will resume my official duties ; they used to 
 suffice for my happiness.' 
 
 Then he returned to the court, banished all his 
 perplexities, conversed with his colleagues, and 
 seated himself as he used to do, his eyes wandering 
 with a pensive and absent gaze over the crowd, 
 while his thin hands rested on the arms of his oak 
 chair ; then, bending forward as usual towards the 
 assessor, he turned over his notes, spoke in a low 
 voice, and suddenly lifting his eyes and sitting bolt 
 upright, he pronounced the customary formulas, 
 declaring that the proceedings were about to begin. 
 But, all at once, his pain would overtake him. 
 Without paying any regard to the public proceedings, 
 Ivan Iliitch, who was on the watch, endeavoured 
 to dismiss the idea of its presence, but there was no 
 shaking it off. Then it rose before him and looked 
 him in the face ; he became rigid, his eyes grew 
 dim, and again he began to ask himself : 
 
 ' Is it the only reality ? ' 
 
 His colleagues and subordinates eyed with painful 
 surprise the brilliant, acute magistrate, their 
 colleague, losing the thread of his discourse and 
 beginning to blunder. 
 
 He shook himself, tried to recover his self-control, 
 and with much difficulty conducted the remainder 
 of the proceedings ; then he returned home, painfully 
 aware that his judicial functions were incapable of 
 procuring him the oblivion he sought, or of delivering 
 him from it. The worst of all was that it was 
 dragging him home, not that he might occupy him- 
 self, but merely that he might look it full in the face, 
 idly contemplate it, and suffer tortures. 
 
 Ivan Iliitch sought for some remedy to screen him 
 from this vision ; these various screens were of 
 service for a time, but then, all at once, without 
 actually vanishing, they allowed it to shine through,
 
 132 THE DEATH OF IVAN ILIITCH 
 
 as though it could penetrate anywhere and never 
 be concealed. 
 
 One day he happened to enter the drawing-room 
 which he himself had decorated, the room in which 
 he had slipped, for which bitter and absurd as it 
 was to remember it he had sacrificed his life, for 
 he knew that his illness dated from that fall. He 
 entered, and discovered on the polished table a 
 deep scratch, like a groove ; he looked to see what 
 had caused it, and found that it was owing to one 
 of the bronze corners of an album having loosened 
 and projected. He took the album, the precious 
 album which he had arranged so carefully, and felt 
 indignant at the negligence of his daughter and her 
 friends in dinging in the corners while turning over 
 the photographs. He arranged it all again and 
 settled the bronze. 
 
 Then he thought of removing the table and albums 
 to a corner, close to the flowers. He rang for the 
 footman, but it chanced that his wife and daughter 
 came in, and when they objected he protested and 
 got vexed ; still, what did it matter so long as that 
 was kept out of his memory. 
 
 As he moved the furniture about, his wife said : 
 
 ' Do leave it alone ; the servants can see to it. 
 You will be hurting yourself again.' 
 
 Then it suddenly peeped through the screen, and 
 he saw it. He kept hoping it would vanish, but, 
 in spite of himself, he kept watching his complaint ; 
 alas, it was always the same thing, the same shooting 
 pain, he could no longer forget it, and it seemed to 
 be looking at him behind the flowers. 
 
 ' It is a fact that I have thrown away my life for 
 the sake of arranging a curtain, just as if I had fallen 
 on the battlefield,' he thought. ' Is it possible ? 
 How terrible and yet how absurd ! No, it is impos- 
 sible ! Impossible, and yet it is the fact ! ' 
 
 Then he returned to his study, lay down, and again 
 found himself alone with his thought. He could 
 not argue with it, he could only look it in the face and 
 grow chill.
 
 THE DEATH OF IVAN ILIITCH 133 
 
 VIII 
 
 IT would not be easy to say how this befell Ivan 
 Iliitch in the third month of his illness. For 
 it came about insensibly and gradually, without any 
 one being aware of it. His wife, his son and daughter, 
 his friends and servants, the doctor, and even he 
 himself grew to feel that the interest taken in him 
 by every one was concentrated upon a single point : 
 how long he would be in -vacating his place, in ridding 
 those around him of his troublesome presence and 
 delivering himself from his sufferings. 
 
 He obtained less and less sleep, whereupon he took 
 opium and had morphia injected, but nothing gave 
 him permanent relief. The apathy which overtook 
 him during his half-unconscious interludes at first 
 afforded him some respite through its novelty ; but 
 the pain soon became more acute and oppressive 
 than before. 
 
 Special dishes were prepared for him by the 
 doctor's orders, but he found them more and more 
 insipid, nay, even distasteful. 
 
 Special arrangements had also to be made for his 
 evacuations. These were a constant source of torture 
 to him, not merely on account of their offensiveness, 
 but because they compelled him to depend upon 
 others for assistance. It was, however, from these 
 inconveniences that a new source of comfort arose. 
 It was the business of Guerassim, the house moujik, 
 to assist him. Guerassim was a young, clean, 
 healthy fellow, who always had a happy, beaming 
 countenance. The mere sight of this young man 
 in his neat Russian dress, who had such repulsive 
 duties to discharge, made Ivan Iliitch feel ashamed. 
 
 One day when he was gazing with horror at his 
 bare emaciated thighs, the muscles of which stood 
 out, Guerassim stepped into the room with a light 
 firm step in his thick boots, diffusing around him a
 
 134 THE DEATH OF IVAN ILIITCH 
 
 pleasant scent of tar and winter freshness. He wore 
 a clean apron and a cotton shirt, with the sleeves 
 rolled back from his robust young arms. He was 
 evidently restraining the healthy spirits which 
 sparkled from his eyes, lest he should give the sick 
 man pain. 
 
 ' Guerassim ! ' said Ivan Iliitch in a feeble voice, 
 whereupon the moujik turned upon the invalid his 
 honest, simple, fresh young face, on which the hair 
 was only beginning to sprout. 
 
 ' What can I do for you, sir ? ' he asked. 
 
 ' I am thinking how disagreeable all this must be 
 to you ; excuse me, I cannot help myself.' 
 
 ' Oh, sir,' responded Guerassim, with a bright face 
 and a smile which displayed his white teeth. ' Why 
 shouldn't you trouble me ? You are ill.' 
 
 And having discharged his accustomed office, he 
 left the room with a light step. In another five 
 minutes he returned, as buoyant as ever. 
 
 Ivan Iliitch was still sitting in his easy chair as 
 before. 
 
 ' Guerassim,' said he, ' pray come here and help me.' 
 
 Guerassim came to his side. 
 
 ' Raise me ; I cannot manage it alone, and I have 
 sent Dimitri away.' 
 
 The moujik laid hold of him with a grasp as light 
 as his step ; and without making the slightest effort, 
 or seeming to exert any force, supported him to the 
 sofa, upon which he seated him. 
 
 ' Thank you. How easily you do it ! ' said Ivan 
 Iliitch. 
 
 The moujik smiled once more, and was about to 
 retire. Ivan Iliitch, however, felt such a comfort 
 in having him there that he would not let him go. 
 
 ' Here. Please bring that chair nearer,' said he ; 
 ' not that one, this other ; put it under my feet ; I 
 feel better when my feet are raised.' 
 
 Guerassim brought the chair, placed it noiselessly, 
 and arranged Ivan Iliitch's legs upon it. 
 
 The invalid fancied that he felt better while the 
 man lifted his feet.
 
 THE DEATH OF IVAN ILIITCH 135 
 
 ' I feel more comfortable with my feet raised/ he 
 said. ' Put that cushion under my feet.' 
 
 Guerassim obeyed. He raised his master's legs 
 and put the cushion under them. Ivan Iliitch again 
 felt relieved while Guerassim held his feet. When 
 they were lowered, however, the pain returned. 
 
 ' Guerassim,' said he, ' are you busy now ? ' 
 
 ' Not in the least.' 
 
 ' What have you left to do ? ' 
 
 ' What should there be ? I have done everything ; 
 there is merely some wood to chop for to-morrow.' 
 
 ' Then hold my feet a little higher, will you ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, certainly. I can easily do that.' 
 
 The moujik raised his master's legs still higher, 
 and the sick man fancied that in this position he no 
 longer felt his pain. 
 
 ' But what will you do about the wood ? ' he asked. 
 
 ' Don't trouble yourself, sir. There will be time 
 enough to attend to it.' 
 
 Ivan Iliitch then told him to sit down and hold up 
 his feet. They talked, and, strange to say, he felt 
 better during the time the moujik held up his legs. 
 
 After this, Ivan Iliitch would call on Guerassim 
 from time to time. He would beg him to let his 
 legs rest on his shoulders, and was fond of talking to 
 him. 
 
 The moujik' showed a readiness to oblige, and an 
 amount of simple kindness, dexterity, and thought- 
 fulness which were greatly appreciated by Ivan 
 Iliitch. The health, strength, and exuberant spirits 
 of others were distasteful to the patient. Guerassim's 
 strength and cheerfulness, however, seemed to 
 soothe rather than annoy him. 
 
 What tortured him more than anything else was 
 the fiction kept up by everybody that he was merely 
 ill and not dying, that he ought to cheer up and 
 persevere with his treatment, and that the result 
 would be successful. He knew perfectly well that 
 all that could ensue from any measures taken would 
 be aggravated suffering and death. The falsehood 
 pained him greatly. It tormented him to see the
 
 136 THE DEATH OF IVAN ILIITCH 
 
 attempts which were made to hide what every one, 
 including himself, knew so well ; it also tormented 
 him to feel himself countenancing them. It oppressed 
 him cruelly standing as he did upon the brink of 
 death to find such an awful and solemn business as 
 dying degraded to the level of a matter of visits, 
 curtains, and sturgeon. And, strange to say, again 
 and again, when the fiction was maintained in his 
 presence, he was within an ace of crying out : ' Don't 
 lie any more ! You know well enough that I am 
 dying, and so do I. So have done with these lies ! ' 
 However, he never had the energy to carry out this 
 idea. He saw the dreaded act of dying reduced by 
 his family to the level of an inconvenient accident 
 merely fraught with annoyance, just like the case of 
 a man who introduces an unpleasant smell into a 
 drawing-room. 
 
 He found himself surrounded by the convention- 
 alities he had worshipped throughout his life. He 
 saw that no one could pity him, for they would not 
 even realize his condition. Guerassim was the only 
 one who could understand, he was the only one who 
 pitied ; and this was why Ivan Iliitch never felt 
 completely at his ease except with the moujik. 
 
 He felt happy while Guerassim sat all night 
 supporting his legs instead of going to bed, and when 
 he said : ' Don't distress yourself, Ivan Iliitch, I 
 shall have plenty of time to sleep.' And he was 
 happy, too, when the moujik forgot himself so far 
 as to address him in a familiar manner, adding : 
 ' If you were not ill why then, to be sure ! But 
 since you are, why should you not be waited on ? ' 
 
 Guerassim was the only one who never attempted 
 to disguise the truth. It was easy to see that he 
 alone entered into the situation, and did not think it 
 necessary to conceal it. He usually confined himself 
 to pitying his sick master, but once, when Ivan 
 Iliitch wanted to send him to lie down, he went so 
 far as to say : ' We shall all have to die, so why 
 should I not do what I can for you ? ' thus attempt- 
 ing to convey the idea that he did not mind the
 
 THE DEATH OF IVAN ILIITCH 137 
 
 labour when it was in the service of a dying man, 
 since he himself hoped one day to be nursed in his 
 turn. 
 
 Besides this fiction, or owing to it, what troubled 
 Ivan Iliitch most was that no one save Guerassim 
 pitied him, and he longed so much for pity ! Now 
 and again, after prolonged suffering, what he most 
 ardently wished for, ashamed as he would have been 
 to own it, was to be pitied like a sick child. He would 
 have liked to be petted, kissed, and cried over, like 
 an infant who wants soothing. He knew that he 
 was a leading magistrate with a grey beard, and that 
 the thing was impossible, and yet he could not help 
 longing for it. Guerassim's treatment was the 
 nearest approach to what he sought for, and therefore 
 it comforted him. 
 
 He wanted to cry, and to have some one to cry 
 with him and caress him ; but then his colleague 
 Schebek came ; and Ivan Iliitch, instead of crying 
 and being fondled, assumed a grave, austere, and 
 pensive expression, and yielding to the force of habit, 
 gave his opinion upon the bearing of some judgment 
 issued by the Court of Appeal, and became obstinate 
 in defending it. The lie thus acted around him, and 
 in which even he himself took a part, did more than 
 anything else to poison Ivan Iliitch's last days. 
 
 IX 
 
 EARLY one morning Guerassim had just left the 
 sick man, and had been replaced by Piotr, 
 the footman. The latter put out the lights, drew 
 the curtains, and arranged everything noiselessly. 
 Was it morning, or was it evening ? Was it a 
 Friday or a Sunday ? It mattered little to Ivan 
 Iliitch, it was always the same thing ; the same 
 horrible shooting pain which never left him, the 
 feeling of life ebbing away, but not yet flown ; 
 always the same horrible, frightful consciousness of
 
 138 THE DEATH OF IVAN ILIITCH 
 
 death advancing, the one reality ! with the same 
 fiction still kept up. So why should he keep account 
 of the weeks, days, or hours ? 
 
 ' Will you be pleased to take some tea ? ' asked 
 Piotr. 
 
 ' He wishes everything to be systematic ; he wants 
 his master to take tea each morning ! ' thought 
 Ivan Iliitch. 
 
 And all the answer he gave was ' No ! ' 
 
 ' Shall I move you to the couch ? ' asked the 
 footman. 
 
 ' He wants to tidy the room and I am in the way ; 
 I am dirt and disorder itself/ thought Ivan Iliitch. 
 All, however, that he said was : ' No, leave me.' 
 
 The footman fidgeted about for a little longer. 
 Finally, his master stretched out his hand. Piotr 
 then came forward. 
 
 ' What can I bring you ? ' he asked. 
 
 ' My watch ! ' 
 
 Piotr took the watch and handed it to Ivan Iliitch. 
 
 ' Half-past eight. They are not up yet, are they ? ' 
 
 ' No. Vassili Ivanovitch (the son) has started for 
 college, and Prascovia Feodorovna ordered me to 
 call her if you asked for her. Do you wish me to 
 awake her ? ' 
 
 ' No. It is not worth while.' 
 
 ' Shall I take some tea ? ' he thought. ' Yes, tea, 
 bring it.' 
 
 Piotr prepared to leave the room, whereupon 
 Ivan Iliitch grew frightened at the thought of being 
 left alone. How should he detain the man ? Oh, 
 the medicine, to be sure. 
 
 ' Piotr, give me my medicine.' 
 
 ' Who knows ? Perhaps I may feel the better for 
 it/ he thought. Then he took a spoonful. 
 
 ' No, it is useless to go on hoping. It is folly, a 
 voluntary delusion/ he mused, as the familiar taste 
 rose in his mouth. 
 
 ' Yes, I cannot drink now. But this pain, why 
 should I feel it ? Oh, that it would only cease, 
 if but for a moment ! '
 
 THE DEATH OF IVAN ILIITCH 139 
 
 He began to moan. Piotr returned to his side. 
 
 ' No, go away and get me some tea,' said his master. 
 
 Piotr left the room, and as soon as Ivan Iliitch 
 was left alone he began to groan, not so much on 
 account of his pain, intense as it was, but on account 
 of his mental anguish. ' The same thing for ever ! 
 These interminable nights and days oh, that it 
 would end at once ! What, at once ? To exchange 
 darkness for death ! No, no, anything but death ! ' 
 
 When Piotr re-entered with the tea on a salver, 
 Ivan Iliitch was so completely unhinged that he 
 gazed at him for some time before realizing who he 
 was or what he wanted. The footman looked uneasy, 
 and it was his discomposure that recalled Ivan 
 Iliitch to himself. 
 
 ' Oh, the tea/ he said ; ' very well. Put it down 
 there, and help me first to dress and put on a clean 
 shirt.' 
 
 Then he began his toilet, washing his hands and 
 face with many pauses ; brushing his teeth, combing 
 his hair, and looking at himself in the glass. He was 
 particularly startled by the sight of his damp locks 
 clinging round his pale face. 
 
 Whilst his shirt was being changed, he knew that 
 his terror would be redoubled if he caught sight of 
 his wasted frame, so he took care to turn his eyes 
 away from it. When his toilet was completed he 
 threw on a dressing-gown, wrapped himself in a 
 plaid, and sat down in his easy chair to drink his 
 tea. For the moment he felt refreshed ; but no 
 sooner had he moistened his lips than the bad taste 
 and the old pain returned. He forced himself to 
 finish the cup, however, and then lay down, stretching 
 out his legs, and dismissing Piotr. 
 
 Always the same ! No sooner was there a gleam 
 of hope than an ocean of despair followed, and the 
 pain went on and on, just like his desolation ; it 
 was always the same thing. He was languishing in 
 his terrible isolation. He would fain have called 
 for some one to come, but he knew that he should 
 feel still worse if any one did.
 
 140 THE DEATH OF IVAN ILIITCH 
 
 ' If they would only give me some more morphia, 
 that I might at least forget everything ! ' he thought. 
 ' I will ask the doctor to find some other remedy for 
 me. It is impossible, perfectly impossible, to go on 
 like this ! ' 
 
 One hour, two hours passed in the same manner. 
 Then came a ring at the bell. It might be the 
 doctor. So it was. In he came, fresh, florid, 
 flourishing, and cheerful, with a manner that seemed 
 to say : ' You may be as much alarmed as you like, 
 but we will set it all right.' 
 
 The doctor was aware that this manner of his was 
 not appropriate in this case ; but he had assumed it 
 once for all and was unable to change it he was like 
 a man who puts on his dress-coat the first thing in 
 the morning in order to pay a round of calls. 
 
 He rubbed his hands cheerfully, by way of inspiring 
 his patient with confidence. 
 
 ' I am bringing the cold in with me. It is freezing 
 hard. Let me just warm myself, first of all,' said he, 
 with an air which was evidently intended to convey 
 the idea that when he did but get warm, he would 
 ' set it all right.' 
 
 ' Well, and how are we getting on ? ' he asked. 
 
 Ivan Iliitch felt that the doctor wanted to know 
 what was going on inside him, but the doctor himself 
 understood that there was no telling this, so he 
 inquired what sort of a night the invalid had passed. 
 
 Iliitch cast an inquiring glance at him, as much as 
 to say : ' Will you never be ashamed of keeping up 
 this deception ? ' 
 
 But the doctor did not choose to comprehend the 
 query. And so Ivan Iliitch said : 
 
 ' This is all so alarming. The pain never ceases, 
 never leaves me. Could you not, at least, give me 
 something ? ' 
 
 ' Just the way with you sick people ! You are all 
 alike ! Well, I think I have warmed myself enough 
 now. Even the cautious Prascovia Feodorovna 
 would be satisfied, and wouldn't fear my giving you 
 a cold. Now, first let me wish you good morning.'
 
 THE DEATH OF IVAN ILIITCH 141 
 
 And then they shook hands. 
 
 After that the doctor laid aside his cheerful manner, 
 and gravely examined the patient, his pulse, and 
 the temperature of his body the stethoscope and 
 the little thumps again coming into play. 
 
 Ivan Iliitch was quite aware that all this was a 
 mere farce. Still, when the doctor knelt down and 
 leant over him, applying his ear first above and then 
 below, as he executed various gymnastic evolutions 
 with a solemn face, Ivan Iliitch allowed himself to 
 be impressed, just as he had formerly done with the 
 barristers' pleadings, conscious as he was all the time 
 of their endeavours to delude him, and of the object 
 of their phrases. The doctor was still kneeling on the 
 sofa and listening to his instrument, when the rustle 
 of Prascovia Feodorovna's silk dress was heard out- 
 side the door, accompanied by sundry reproofs 
 addressed to Piotr for not having told her that the 
 doctor had arrived. 
 
 In she came, kissed her husband, and at once began 
 to explain that she had been up for some time, and 
 that only a misunderstanding had prevented her 
 from being with him when the doctor arrived. 
 
 Ivan Iliitch looked at her with a scrutinizing 
 glance ; in his heart he begrudged her her clear 
 complexion, her white hands and plump neck, the 
 gloss on her hair, and the sparkle of her vivacious 
 eyes. He hated her with all his heart, and any 
 contact with her made the feeling difficult to restrain. 
 
 Prascovia Feodorovna's attitude towards her 
 husband and her opinion of his illness had not 
 altered. Just as the doctor had adopted a mode of 
 proceeding with his patients which he had grown 
 powerless to modify, so had she framed her own 
 view of the case. She felt that if Ivan Iliitch were 
 ill, it was because he was not doing what he ought ; 
 it was his own fault, and she gently reproached him 
 with it. And having once arrived at this conviction, 
 Prascovia Feodorovna was unable to eradicate it 
 from her mind. 
 
 ' You must know that he will pay no heed to any
 
 142 THE DEATH OF IVAN ILIITCH 
 
 one ; he does not take his medicine when it would do 
 him good ; and above all, he adopts a position which 
 must certainly do him harm he will have his feet 
 in the air.' 
 
 Then she related how he behaved with Guerassim. 
 
 The doctor gave an affable and contemptuous 
 smile, which seemed to say, ' What is to be done ? 
 These sick folk always have some whim, it is as well 
 to humour them.' 
 
 When the doctor had finished his examination, he 
 looked at his watch. Then Prascovia Feodorovna 
 declared to Ivan Iliitch that, whether he approved 
 of it or not, she meant to send that very day for 
 the celebrated doctor to examine him in concert with 
 Mikhail Danilovitch (the family physician). 
 
 ' Pray, do not refuse. It is on my account,' she 
 said ironically, intending to express, on the contrary, 
 that she was doing this for his sake, and that he had 
 no right to oppose her. 
 
 He remained silent, and frowned, feeling that the 
 fiction woven around him was becoming so com- 
 plicated that he could not find his way out of it. 
 All that she cared about him was in her own interest : 
 it was really for her own sake that she was doing 
 what she professed to do ; she said it to him, how- 
 ever, in a tone meant to imply the contrary. 
 
 Towards half-past eleven the celebrated doctor 
 arrived. The stethoscope was again used, and grave 
 consultations went on, partly in Ivan's presence and 
 partly in the adjoining room, respecting the spleen 
 and the pylorus ; the queries and replies assuming 
 such importance, that the question of life or death, 
 which alone affected Ivan Iliitch, was quite forgotten. 
 The result of the discussion proved that the spleen 
 and the pylorus had both turned refractory ; Mikhail 
 Danilovitch and the celebrity intended, however, 
 to bring their authority to bear upon the case at 
 once, and to show these organs the path of duty. 
 
 The celebrated doctor took leave with a grave but 
 by no means dejected air. In reply to the timid 
 question asked by Ivan Iliitch's eyes, ' Whether there
 
 THE DEATH OF IVAN ILIITCH 143 
 
 were any chance of a cure ? ' he replied that he could 
 affirm nothing, but there certainly was a chance. 
 The glance of hope which Ivan Iliitch then darted 
 at the doctor was so pitiful that Prascovia Feodo- 
 rovna herself perceived it, and began to cry as she 
 left the room to give the celebrated man his fee. 
 
 The confidence engendered by the doctor's sanguine 
 words did not last long, however. Ivan Iliitch again 
 became depressed by the sight of the old room, by 
 the self-same pictures, the curtains, hangings, and 
 medicine bottles, and by his own sick and suffering 
 body ; and he began to moan again. Finally he had 
 morphia injected, and became torpid. 
 
 When he regained consciousness it was growing 
 dark. His dinner was brought in. He could only 
 take a little broth, and then a fresh night began. 
 
 After dinner, at seven o'clock, Prascovia Feodo- 
 rovna entered his room in evening dress, with her 
 fine bust displayed ; she was tightly laced, and her 
 face was dusted with violet powder. 
 
 She had told him in the morning that they were 
 going that evening to the theatre, where Sarah 
 Bernhardt was playing on her tour. They had 
 taken a box by Ivan Iliitch's express wish. He had 
 forgotten this, however, and her dress startled him. 
 Still he made no remark, remembering that he 
 himself had told her to take a box and go, as it 
 would be both an aesthetic and instructive amusement 
 for their children. 
 
 Prascovia Feodorovna, feeling self-satisfied, but 
 as embarrassed as if she had been a criminal, took a 
 seat, asked after his health, rather for the sake of 
 saying something (as he perceived) than of learning 
 any particulars ; for what was there for her to learn ? 
 She said the proper thing : that nothing in the world 
 would have induced her to go to the theatre that 
 night if she had not already taken the box, and 
 that she felt it was impossible to let her daughter 
 go alone with Petrichtchef , the examining magistrate, 
 who so much admired Lisanka. She (Prascovia) 
 did so wish she could have stayed with Ivan Iliitch.
 
 144 THE DEATH OF IVAN ILIITCH 
 
 However, he must be sure to follow the doctor's 
 advice while she was away. 
 
 ' Ah ! Petrichtchef wanted to come in with me/ 
 she added. ' May he come, and Lisanka too ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, let them come ! ' 
 
 His daughter made her appearance in evening 
 dress, with bare shoulders, which annoyed him. 
 She made a fine display of them. Tall, healthy, 
 and full of her engagement, she felt annoyed by the 
 illness, sufferings, and coming death which stood in 
 the way of her happiness. 
 
 Petrichtchef appeared also, in a dress-coat, with his 
 hair arranged 4 la Capoul, his long sinewy neck 
 clasped by a spotless collar, and showing a good deal 
 of shirt front. His strong legs were encased in tight 
 black trousers, and he held a single white glove and 
 his opera hat in his hand. Behind them crept the 
 young collegian in his gay new uniform, and wearing 
 gloves ; unfortunate lad, he had blue lines round his 
 eyes which Ivan Iliitch knew how to interpret. 
 
 He always felt sorry for his son, whose sad, 
 frightened looks were in sympathy with his own feel- 
 ings. He fancied that, excepting Guerassim, Vassia 
 was the only one who understood and pitied him. 
 
 They all sat down. Inquiries were made after his 
 health. Then silence ensued, and finally Lisanka 
 asked her mother where the opera-glass was. They 
 began to dispute ; each accused the other of having 
 mislaid it. It was a strange time to choose for 
 wrangling ! 
 
 Petrichtchef, however, asked Ivan Iliitch if he had 
 ever seen Sarah Bernhardt. At first the patient 
 failed to understand the inquiry, then he replied : 
 ' No ! Have you ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, in Adrienne Lecouvreur.' 
 
 Prascovia Feodorovna declared that she was 
 especially wonderful in a certain piece, but Lisanka 
 did not agree with her. The conversation then 
 turned upon the grace and lifelike character of her 
 acting, that eternal form of conversation which seems 
 always the same.
 
 THE DEATH OF IVAN ILIITCH 145 
 
 In the course of the talk, however, Petrichtchef 
 cast a glance at Ivan Iliitch, and held his peace. 
 The others glanced too, and followed suit. Ivan 
 Iliitch was glaring and rolling his eyes ; he was 
 evidently furious. They wished to atone for their 
 want of consideration, but it was too late. Though 
 it was necessary to break the crushing silence, no one 
 could summon resolution to do so, and they all felt 
 terrified at the idea of this conventional fiction being 
 swept away and the truth coming to light at last. 
 
 Lisanka was the first to dart into the breach. In 
 trying to conceal what they all felt, she revealed it 
 clearly. 
 
 ' Well, if we are to go, let us go ! ' said she, con- 
 sulting her watch, a present from her father ; and 
 then, makirjg an imperceptible signal to the young 
 man, understood by themselves only, she smiled 
 on him, and rose up, her dress rustling. 
 
 Then the others rose, said good-bye, and left the 
 room. 
 
 Ivan Iliitch felt a little better when they were 
 gone ; the fiction had taken its departure. Still the 
 pain remained behind, the same pain, the same 
 terror ; nothing could affect it now ; it was visibly 
 on the increase. 
 
 Again the moments and hours went by ; always 
 the same interminable pain, and the increasing 
 horror of death. 
 
 ' Send Guerassim here/ said the sufferer to Piotr. 
 
 X 
 
 WHEN the night was far advanced his wife again 
 came in on tiptoe. Still he heard her. He 
 opened his eyes, and closed them again almost 
 immediately. She wanted to send Guerassim away 
 and sit up herself instead. 
 
 But Ivan Iliitch opened his eyes again, and 
 murmured :
 
 146 THE DEATH OF IVAN ILIITCH 
 
 ' No. You can go.' 
 
 ' Are you in much pain ? ' 
 
 ' What does that signify ? ' 
 
 ' Take some opium.' 
 
 He consented, and took some. Then she left him. 
 
 He remained plunged in an uncomfortable torpor 
 until three o'clock in the morning. He dreamt that 
 some one was forcing him into a deep, dark, narrow 
 sack, and that however much he was pushed, there 
 was no getting him in. The terrible thrusts tortured 
 him. He grew frightened, wanted to tumble into 
 the sack, and yet resisted ; and this only led to more 
 pushing. Then all at once it seemed that he broke 
 loose and fell down. His consciousness returned. 
 Guerassim was still there at his feet, drowsy, but 
 calm and patient. 
 
 Iliitch himself was lying down, with his wasted 
 legs resting on the moujik's shoulders ; there was 
 the same candle with its shade, and the same constant 
 pain. 
 
 ' Go now, Guerassim,' he murmured. 
 
 ' It does not matter. I can stay.' 
 
 ' No ; leave me.' 
 
 He then drew away his legs and turned on his side, 
 resting on his hand, and pitied himself. 
 
 He only waited for Guerassim to leave the room ; 
 then he burst into tears, and cried like a child. He 
 wept over his hopeless condition, his frightful solitude, 
 and the cruelty of the Divinity. 
 
 ' Why hast Thou done all this ? Why didst Thou 
 create me ? Why, oh why, dost Thou torture me 
 so cruelly ? ' 
 
 He looked for no answer, still he wept because none 
 came nor could come. The pain grew more acute : 
 yet he never stirred nor summoned any one. He 
 said within himself : 
 
 ' Well, then, strike me ! Again and again ! Yet 
 why ? How have I offended Thee ? Then why ? ' 
 
 He held his peace, no longer crying, but he scarcely 
 breathed, as he listened attentively, not to a voice 
 articulating sounds, but to one within him.
 
 THE DEATH OF IVAN ILIITCH 147 
 
 ' What wouldst thou have ? ' seemed to be the 
 meaning of the first thought he arrested. 
 
 ' What would I have ? ' he slowly repeated to 
 himself. ' What, indeed ? Why, no more suffering, 
 but life/ he replied. 
 
 And again he strained his attention so closely that 
 he lost the perception of his pain. 
 
 ' To live ? To live how ? ' resumed the voice 
 within him. 
 
 ' To live as I used to do : to live comfortably and 
 enjoy myself.' 
 
 ' As thou didst live, comfortably and enjoying 
 thyself ? ' questioned the voice. 
 
 Then he began to review the happiest moments 
 of his happy life. Strange to say, however, all the 
 best moments of this happy life now appeared to 
 him under a completely different aspect, all except 
 the recollections of his early childhood. In those 
 remote days he recognized something really pleasant, 
 a return of which might make life agreeable. But 
 the man who had enjoyed so many things had ceased 
 to exist ; he seemed a different being. 
 
 As soon as he came to the period which had pro- 
 duced the present Ivan Iliitch, his former pleasures 
 seemed to -fade away and assume a vile and worthless 
 aspect. The further he left his childhood behind him, 
 and the nearer he came to the present, the more worth- 
 less and uncertain became the joys he had delighted in. 
 
 The change began with the Law Schools. There 
 had been something really worth having even there, 
 gay spirits, friendship, and hope ; however, already 
 by the time he had reached the upper classes, those 
 happy moments had decreased. Then again, in the 
 course of his functions under the governor, they had 
 returned again. Memories of love yet lingered within 
 him. After this everything became confusion, and 
 the number of happy hours kept steadily decreasing 
 as he approached mature age. 
 
 His marriage so fortuitous, and fraught with so 
 much disenchantment ; the scent of his wife's skin, 
 voluptuousness, and hypocrisy ; his monotone i
 
 148 THE DEATH OF IVAN ILIITCH 
 
 career and his pecuniary anxieties ; one year of this, 
 two, ten, twenty, all precisely the same. The 
 longer he reflected the less life there seemed to have 
 been in it all. 
 
 ' It is as though I had begun to go down hill, just 
 as I fancied I was going up. That is indeed just what 
 happened. Society believed my star to be in the 
 ascendant, whereas my life was in reality ebbing 
 away ; and now it has come to an end I am dying. 
 Well, what does it all mean ? How can it be ? It 
 is impossible, quite impossible, that life should be so 
 poor, so degrading ! If it be really so, why should 
 we die, and perish suffering ? Why should we never 
 realize the worthlessness of life so painfully till we 
 are about to quit it ? There is something in this 
 which I cannot explain. Can it be that I have not 
 lived the life I ought to have led ? ' was the sudden 
 thought that occurred to him. ' But how can that 
 be when I have always been attending to what I 
 thought my duty ? ' he again asked of himself. 
 
 And he promptly repelled this unique solution of 
 the problem of life and death, as something abso- 
 lutely impossible. 
 
 ' What dost thou want now ? To live ! Live 
 how ? Live as thou didst in court, when the usher 
 cried, " Judgment is at hand ! " ' x 
 
 ' Judgment at hand ! ' he thought ; ' why, it is 
 here, close to me ! But I am not guilty ! ' he cried 
 angrily. ' Wherefore ? Guilty of what ? ' 
 
 His tears ceased to flow, as turning his face to the 
 wall he revolved in his mind one solitary thought : 
 ' Whence, oh whence, come all these horrors ? ' 
 
 However, under whatever aspect he surveyed this 
 question, no answer came ; and when the idea rose 
 before him that all this was owing to his not having 
 led the life he ought to have led, he at once reminded 
 himself of his blameless career, and banished the 
 suggestion. 
 
 1 The customary formula in Russia for announcing that the 
 
 court is about to sit.
 
 THE DEATH OF IVAN ILIITCH 149 
 
 XI 
 
 ANOTHER fortnight passed by. Ivan Iliitch 
 *** remained altogether on his couch, refusing 
 to go to bed. With his face turned almost always to 
 the wall, he kept reviewing in solitude his sad and 
 insoluble thoughts. 
 
 ' What is it ? Is this really death ? ' 
 
 And the voice within him replied : ' It is ! ' 
 
 ' But why these sufferings ? ' 
 
 ' For no visible reason. Because ' 
 
 And no other reply came. 
 
 Ever since Ivan Iliitch had become ill and paid 
 his first visit to the doctor, he had been living in 
 alternate states of confidence and dejection ; at 
 one time subject to despair, apprehending a dreaded, 
 mysterious death ; and then again hoping, and 
 studying his bodily organs with interest. At times 
 he had a perception of nothing but the fact that the 
 spleen and intestines were failing for a time to 
 discharge their functions ; and then, at others, the 
 terror of death rose up suddenly before him, haunting 
 all his thoughts. 
 
 These two alternatives at first occupied almost 
 equal intervals. But as his illness progressed, his 
 fancies about the spleen lost their weight, and the 
 apprehension of approaching death became stronger. 
 He had only to go three months back and compare 
 what he had then been with what he was now, to 
 trace how steadily he had been proceeding downhill, 
 and to lose every ray of hope. 
 
 During this last period of solitude while he was 
 living with his face turned to the back of the couch, 
 and although in the midst of a populous city, and 
 among his own family and a large circle of friends, 
 yet in such perfect isolation that no such solitude 
 could have been found in the depths of either earth 
 or ocean Ivan Iliitch simply lived in the past.
 
 150 THE DEATH OF IVAN ILIITCH 
 
 Scenes in his past life kept floating before his eyes. 
 They always began with recent occurrences, and then 
 kept wandering back and back to the distant period 
 of childhood. Some stewed prunes placed before 
 him reminded him of the French plums he had 
 relished when a boy, with their peculiar flavour 
 and their appeal to the palate when the kernel was 
 reached, and these reminiscences evoked a complete 
 succession of images of those younger days : his 
 nurse, his brothers, his playthings. ' I must not 
 think of them ; it is too painful,' then thought 
 Iliitch, and again he recurred to the present. 
 
 ' That button on the back of the couch, and the 
 folds of the leather that leather was expensive, and 
 yet it is not wearing well. We had a discussion 
 about it I can remember some other leather and 
 another discussion, that time when we tore my 
 father's portfolio, and got punished for it. And then 
 mamma brought us some cake.' 
 
 Again he found himself back in his childhood, 
 and once more terribly affected. In vain he tried to 
 drive away such reveries and think of something else. 
 
 Amid these reminiscences, too, the various phases 
 of his illness kept rising up before him. In them also 
 the further he went back the more life and happiness 
 did he find : once, life and happiness had been 
 synonymous. 
 
 ' Just as my torture goes on increasing, so my 
 whole life has grown worse from day to day,' he 
 thought. ' There was a spark of life on the horizon 
 in the far distance, quite at the outset, but since then 
 everything has been growing darker and darker with 
 increasing rapidity, just in proportion to its proximity 
 to death.' 
 
 The image of the stone falling with constantly 
 increasing velocity became stamped upon his brain. 
 Life and its chain of sufferings took swifter and 
 swifter flight towards their close the consummation 
 of agony. 
 
 ' I am on the wing now,' he thought. 
 
 He shuddered, tossed about, and tried to resist ;
 
 THE DEATH OF IVAN ILIITCH 151 
 
 but he knew all the while that every effort was vain ; 
 and his eyes, so weary of looking, yet compelled to 
 see, became fixed on the back of the couch while he 
 awaited the terrible moment, the sudden shock 
 destruction. 
 
 ' It is vain to resist/ he would say to himself, 
 ' but at least I would know why ; yet even that is 
 impossible. People might explain it by saying that 
 I have not lived as I ought to have done ; but it is 
 absolutely impossible to admit that,' he would add, 
 as he thought of the lawful, respectable, orderly life 
 that he had led. 
 
 ' Quite impossible to admit that,' he continued, 
 with a smile on his lips, as if some one were watching 
 him whom he could delude by that smile. 
 
 ' No. There is no possibility of understanding 
 it ! ' he concluded. ' These tortures and death 
 all for what ? ' 
 
 XII 
 
 A FORTNIGHT elapsed thus. During this period, 
 ** what Ivan Iliitch and his wife had hoped 
 for came to pass. One evening Petrichtchef made 
 a formal proposal for Lisanka's hand. On the 
 next morning, Prascovia Feodorovna entered her 
 husband's room, pondering as to what words she 
 should use to announce the news. That very night, 
 however, there had been a change for the worse in 
 the sick man's condition. His wife found him on 
 the couch, but in a fresh position. He lay on his 
 back, groaning and staring into vacancy. 
 
 When she spoke of remedies, he fixed his eyes on 
 her, and she read so much hatred in them that she 
 stopped short. 
 
 ' For Christ's sake, let me die in peace ! ' said he. 
 
 She was turning to leave the room, but at that 
 very moment his daughter entered to bid him good 
 morning. He cast the same glance at her, and in 
 reply to her inquiries after his health, dryly responded
 
 152 THE DEATH OF IVAN ILIITCH 
 
 that they would soon all be rid of him. Both women 
 made no reply, but remained a little longer in the 
 room, and then withdrew. 
 
 ' How are we to blame ? ' said Lisanka to her 
 mother. ' It is as though we were the cause of his 
 illness ! I am very sorry for papa, but why should 
 he plague us like this ? ' 
 
 The doctor came at his usual hour. Ivan replied 
 to him at first in monosyllables, without losing his 
 expression of hatred ; and at last he broke forth : 
 ' You know very well that you can do nothing for 
 me. Well, then, leave me alone.' 
 
 ' We can relieve your sufferings,' observed the 
 doctor. 
 
 ' You cannot do even that. Leave me to myself.' 
 
 The doctor repaired to the sitting-room to tell 
 Prascovia Feodorovna that her husband was much 
 worse, and that there was but one remedy opium 
 to assuage his sufferings, which must indeed be 
 intolerable. 
 
 The doctor was quite right in describing Ivan 
 Iliitch's physical sufferings as intolerable. But how 
 much more intolerable were his mental sufferings ? 
 There lay the rub. 
 
 His mental sufferings arose from an idea that had 
 occurred to him that night, while looking at Gueras- 
 sim's good-humoured, sleepy face and prominent 
 cheek-bones. 
 
 ' What will become of me, supposing my life, the 
 responsible part of it, should not have been what it 
 ought ? ' 
 
 He began to think that what he had regarded as 
 an absurd hypothesis i.e., that his life had not been 
 a good one might possibly be the fact, and that his 
 former faint rebellion against what bore the sanction 
 of society, a half-unconscious revolt soon trampled 
 under foot, might, after all, be truth, and everything 
 else false. His career, the arrangements of his 
 material existence, his family life, all his social and 
 professional interests, might have been nothing but 
 a lie.
 
 THE DEATH OF IVAN ILIITCH 153 
 
 He attempted to defend his former principles, but 
 all at once he became conscious of their weakness. 
 There was nothing now left for him to defend. 
 
 ' If this is the case/ he said to himself, ' I shall quit 
 life with the consciousness of having irretrievably 
 thrown away all that was entrusted to me. What 
 must I do in that case ? ' Then he stretched himself 
 on his back, and passed a mental review of his whole 
 life. 
 
 In the morning, when he set eyes on the footman, 
 then upon his wife, his daughter, and the doctor, 
 each gesture and word of theirs confirmed him in the 
 terrible truth which had dawned upon him that night. 
 In them he saw himself reflected, with all that had 
 composed his existence, and he clearly perceived 
 what a terrible, gigantic lie it had all been, disguising 
 the fact of life and death. This discovery increased 
 his physical sufferings tenfold. He moaned, tossed 
 about, and tore his clothes ; they seemed to oppress 
 and stifle him. This was the origin of his violence 
 towards his wife and daughter. 
 
 A strong dose of opium was administered to him, 
 and he fell into a torpor ; but at dinner-time the 
 crisis returned. He ordered every one out of the 
 room, and seemed quite beside himself. His wife, 
 however, came to his side and said : 
 
 ' My dear Ivan, pray do something for my sake 
 (her sake, indeed !). It can do you no harm, and 
 often proves a comfort. What is it ? Nothing, after 
 all ; even people who are not ill have recourse to it.' 
 
 He opened his eyes wide. 
 
 ' What do you mean ? ' he said. ' Extreme 
 unction ? What good can that do ? I will not have 
 it ! And yet 
 
 She burst into tears. 
 
 ' Yes, dear Ivan, I will send for our own priest. 
 He is a delightful man ! ' 
 
 ' Charming ! Very well,' he returned. 
 
 The priest came, and administered the sacrament. 
 I Hitch meanwhile grew calmer and felt his doubts 
 diminish, and, with them, his sufferings : a gleam
 
 154 THE DEATH OF IVAN ILIITCH 
 
 of hope dawned upon him. He again began to think 
 of his pylorus, and the possibility of curing it. He 
 received extreme unction with tears standing in his 
 eyes. 
 
 After the ceremony he was laid down again, and 
 feeling slightly better, the hope of life again dawned 
 upon him. He began to consider an operation it was 
 proposed to perform upon him. ' I want to live ! ' 
 he said to himself. 
 
 His wife came to congratulate him, and used the 
 phrases customary on such occasions. Then she 
 added : ' You feel better, do you not ? ' 
 
 ' Yes,' he replied, without looking at her. 
 
 Prascovia Feodorovna's dress, attitude, expression, 
 even the sound of her voice, all affected him in the 
 same way. ' All that has surrounded me and 
 surrounds me still is but a lie, a farce intended to 
 conceal life and death from my sight.' 
 
 With this thought his hatred revived, and with 
 it his physical sufferings, and with these sufferings 
 came the certainty of immediate and inevitable death. 
 
 Something strange was taking place within him. 
 It seemed as if a gimlet were being bored through 
 him, as if shot were pounding into his bowels : he 
 could scarcely breathe. 
 
 As he articulated ' Yes ' in answer to his wife's 
 question his face assumed a terrible expression. 
 Then having pronounced the word and looked into 
 his wife's eyes, he turned himself over, with extra- 
 ordinary energy considering his feeble condition, and 
 cried : ' Go ! Go ! Leave me ! ' 
 
 From that moment commenced that shrieking 
 which never ceased for three whole days ; so terrible, 
 that even when heard through two doors it inspired 
 alarm. When he had apostrophized his wife, he saw 
 himself already lost ; there was no hope of a rally ; 
 the end was close at hand ; and yet the problem of 
 life still remained unsolved. 
 
 He began by crying : ' Ne khotchou I ' (I will not !), 
 and the cry was prolonged on the final syllable : 
 ' ou-ou-ou ! '
 
 THE DEATH OF IVAN ILIITCH 155 
 
 For three days he continued to shriek like this. 
 He kept writhing about, already partially in the 
 black sack into which an invisible power was thrust- 
 ing him. He struggled, as a man sentenced to 
 death might struggle in the executioner's hands, 
 upon feeling himself powerless to escape. Each 
 instant, in spite of his desperate efforts, he felt 
 himself urged nearer and nearer to what he dreaded. 
 He was tortured by the feeling of being pushed into 
 a black hole, and yet more by the feeling that he 
 could not enter it. What prevented him from doing 
 so was the idea that his life had been no lie ; it was 
 his self- justification that pinned him down, pulled 
 him back, and kept on torturing him. 
 
 Suddenly, some force struck him on the chest and 
 flank, stifling him : he was thrust down the black 
 hole ; and there, at the bottom, he espied a ray of 
 light. It was much like travelling by rail, when we 
 imagine that we are moving forward, whereas we are 
 in reality going back, and suddenly recognize our 
 real position. 
 
 ' Yes, it was not that ! ' he said to himself. ' But 
 it doesn't matter. That may be done yet. What ! 
 that ? ' 
 
 Then he became silent. 
 
 It was at the end of the third day, an hour before 
 the death agony commenced. At that moment 
 the little collegian stole into his father's room and 
 came up to his bedside. The dying man was still 
 groaning and tossing his arms about wildly. His 
 hand came into contact with his son's head. The 
 little collegian seized hold of it, carried it to his lips, 
 and burst into tears. 
 
 This was at the very moment when Ivan Iliitch, 
 having been dashed down, saw the light, and suddenly 
 understood that his life had not been what it ought 
 to have been, but that there was yet time to redeem 
 it. It was at the instant when he asked himself 
 ' What ! that ? ' and grew silent. It was then that 
 he felt his hand kissed. He opened his eyes and saw 
 his son. He felt sorry for him. His wife drew near
 
 156 THE DEATH OF IVAN ILIITCH 
 
 too, and he glanced at her. She was gazing at him 
 open-mouthed in despair, with tears trickling down 
 her nose and cheeks. He was sorry for her also. 
 
 ' Yes, I am tormenting them,' he thought. ' They 
 are sorry for me, but it will be the best thing for them 
 that I should die.' 
 
 He wished that he could explain this to them, but 
 he had no strength left to do it. 
 
 ' After all, what is the use of talking ; action is 
 what is needed,' he thought. 
 
 He pointed out his son to his wife by the direction 
 of his eyes, and said : ' Amen ! I am sorry and for 
 you too ' 
 
 He meant to add Prosti ! (Forgive !), but he said 
 Propousti ! (Let be !), and having no strength left 
 to correct the mistake, dropped his hand in despair, 
 feeling sure, however, that he should be understood 
 in the right quarter. 
 
 Then, all at once, he perceived that the problem 
 which had beset him was growing clearer in every 
 direction. 
 
 ' I am sorry for them. I should like to see them 
 suffer less, and deliver them and myself too from 
 my sufferings. How merciful and how simple ! ' he 
 thought. ' And my pain, where is it now ? what 
 has become of my pain ? ' 
 
 He concentrated his attention on this point. 
 
 ' Ah, yes, here it is. Well, so much the worse ! 
 And where is death ? ' 
 
 He sought for his habitual dread of death, but 
 could not find it. ' Where is it ? What is death ? ' 
 
 He was no longer afraid, for death had vanished. 
 
 Where death had stood, there was light now. 
 
 ' Ah ! Then that is what it is ! ' he exclaimed 
 aloud. ' How beautiful ! ' 
 
 All this transpired within him in a single instant ; 
 but that instant was decisive. 
 
 His agony lasted for two hours longer. Something 
 seemed to seethe in his breast ; a tremor passed 
 through his wasted body. Then the seething and the 
 rattle both died away.
 
 THE DEATH OF IVAN ILIITCH 157 
 
 ' It is all over ! ' said some one standing at his 
 head. 
 
 He heard the words, and repeated them to himself. 
 
 ' Death is over ! ' he said to himself. ' It is done 
 away with now.' 
 
 He attempted to ejaculate something, but could 
 not get it out then his face contracted he was dead.
 
 THE ROMANCE OF A HORSE 
 
 'T'HE mists of night were dispersing. The dew- 
 -*- drops were sparkling afresh in the first rays 
 of daylight. The moon's paling crescent was 
 vanishing on the horizon. All nature was awakening ; 
 the forest was re-filling with life. 
 
 In the courtyard of the mansion all was animation. 
 On all sides one heard the voices of peasants, the 
 neighing of horses, and a continual stir amongst the 
 straw where the stud had passed the night. 
 
 ' Well, now, will you be quiet ? ' exclaimed the 
 old stud-groom, throwing open the door. ' Hullo ! 
 where are you off to ? ' he continued, as with his 
 whip he struck a young mare who sought to profit 
 by the open door to make her escape. 
 
 Nestor, the old stud-groom, was attired in a short 
 frock, girt round his waist by a belt with steel 
 plates. His whip dangled over his shoulder, and 
 a piece of bread, tied up in a handkerchief, hung 
 from his belt. He was carrying a saddle and 
 bridle. 
 
 The horses did not seem alarmed or offended by 
 the jeering tone of the stud-groom ; they pretended 
 not to pay any attention to him, but slowly moved 
 away from the door. Only an old mare, dark bay, 
 with a long mane, pricked her ears and quivered all 
 over. Profiting by the opportunity, a young mare 
 then pretended to be frightened, and kicked an old 
 horse standing motionless behind her. 
 
 ' Come along,' cried the stud-groom, in a terrible 
 voice, making his way towards the further end of the 
 yard. 
 
 158
 
 THE ROMANCE OF A HORSE 159 
 
 Out of the whole herd only one animal, a piebald 
 horse, standing by itself under the pent-house, 
 showed no signs of impatience. With its eyes half 
 shut, it was licking the oaken beam of the shed with 
 a serious and thoughtful air. 
 
 ' No nonsense,' said the stud- groom, approaching 
 and placing the saddle and the worn saddle-cloth he 
 held in his hand on a heap of dung. 
 
 The piebald horse stopped licking, and, without 
 moving, looked fixedly at old Nestor for some time. 
 He neither smiled nor scowled, but took a step for- 
 ward, sighed sadly, and turned his head aside. The 
 stud-groom then passed his hand round the beast's 
 neck to adjust the bridle. 
 
 ' What have you got to sigh about, old fellow ? ' 
 said he. 
 
 The horse, for his sole answer, moved his tail as 
 though to say, ' Nothing at all, Nestor.' 
 
 Nestor put the saddle-cloth and then the saddle 
 on his back. The horse lowered his ears as though 
 to express his displeasure, and was called a rascal 
 for it. The old man then tried to tighten the girth, 
 whereupon the horse drew a long breath and swelled 
 himself up like a barrel, holding his breath. Nestor 
 stuck his finger in his throat and gave him a kick 
 in the stomach, and the beast had to breathe the 
 wind out again. Although fully persuaded that all 
 resistance was useless, the horse thought it his duty 
 to express his discontent. 
 
 Once saddled he began to champ his bit, although 
 he must have known for a long time that this occupa- 
 tion could not give him any enjoyment. Nestor 
 scrambled on to his back, took his whip in his hand, 
 arranged his frock, settled himself sideways in the 
 saddle, and jerked the reins. The horse then raised 
 his head, meaning to express by this that he was 
 quite ready to obey, and waited. He had long since 
 learned that before starting there were a number of 
 orders to be given to the young groom, Vaska. 
 
 And, indeed, Nestor began to shout, ' Vaska, have 
 you let the mares out ? What are you up to ? Are
 
 160 THE ROMANCE OF A HORSE 
 
 you asleep ? Open the gate and let the mares out 
 first,' etc. 
 
 The gate creaked on its hinges. Vaska, angry and 
 half asleep, held his horse's rein with one hand and 
 let out the mares. 
 
 They passed out one after the other, sniffing at the 
 straw. The young ones came first, then came the 
 little colts, and afterwards the gravid mares, who 
 passed slowly through the gateway shaking their 
 big bellies. 
 
 The young mares grouped themselves together in 
 couples, sometimes in larger numbers. They at 
 first put their muzzles on their companions' backs, 
 and were thus unable to pass through the gateway. 
 Hence they tasted the whip, and then they separated 
 with lowered heads. 
 
 The sucking foals, losing sight of their mothers, 
 neighed in answer to their summonses. One naughty 
 little mare lowered her head and flung out her heels 
 with a loud neigh as soon as she felt herself at liberty. 
 She dared not, however, put herself before the old 
 grey mare, Jouldiba, who always walked with serious 
 step at the head of the herd. 
 
 The courtyard, so lively a few minutes before, now 
 became sad and deserted. Nothing was to* be seen 
 there save the posts and the heaps of straw. This 
 spectacle of desolation seemed to sadden the old 
 piebald horse, although he had long been accustomed 
 to it. He slowly raised and then lowered his head 
 as though bowing to some one, sighed as well as the 
 girth would allow him to do, and then went off after 
 the herd, limping on his stiff old legs, with Nestor 
 on his back. 
 
 ' I know what he is going to do now,' thought the 
 old horse ; ' as soon as we get into the highway, 
 he will take his short pipe out of his pocket, strike a 
 light with his flint and steel, and begin to smoke. 
 I like that well enough. The smell of tobacco is 
 pleasant in the early morning, and besides it reminds 
 me of the good times now gone by. It is a pity that 
 when the old fellow smokes he will always try to
 
 THE ROMANCE OF A HORSE 161 
 
 swagger and sit on one side, always the same side, 
 and, as it happens, I have a pain in that one. But 
 I don't mind very much, I am used to suffer for the 
 pleasure of others. I am even beginning to feel a 
 certain satisfaction in suffering for others. Let him 
 swagger, poor old Nestor. He can only do it when 
 we two are alone together,' thought the old horse, 
 as he walked slowly along in the middle of the road. 
 
 II 
 
 T T AVING reached the bank of the river where the 
 ^ -*- herd were to graze, Nestor alighted and un- 
 saddled his old mount. By degrees the horses 
 scattered over the meadow covered with dew, above 
 which there hung a mist which slowly rose as the sun 
 shone through it. 
 
 After taking off the bridle, Nestor scratched the 
 neck of the old horse, who closed his eyes in token of 
 gratitude. ' He is very fond of that, the old rogue/ 
 said Nestor. 
 
 But the old horse really took no pleasure in this 
 caress, it was only out of delicacy that he pretended 
 to be delighted with it. He bowed his head as 
 though in sign of assent. 
 
 All at once, and without any motive, Nestor, 
 thinking, perhaps, that this caress might be con- 
 sidered by the old horse as a token of familiarity, 
 roughly pushed his head back and gave him a hard 
 smack with the bridle. Then he walked silently 
 away, and sat down near an old tree where he was 
 accustomed to pass the day. 
 
 This roughness vexed the old horse ; still he did 
 not let it be seen, but made his way towards the 
 river, cropping the grass and twitching his tail. 
 He paid no attention to the young mares and little 
 colts who, rejoicing in their freedom, were running 
 about and chasing one another hither and thither. 
 
 He knew from experience that there is nothing so
 
 162 THE ROMANCE OF A HORSE 
 
 good for the health as to drink some fresh water in 
 the morning, fasting. Thus he made his way to a 
 point where the slope of the river bank was least 
 steep, and plunged his muzzle into the stream. 
 He began to draw up the water with his poor old 
 lips, which were torn at their corners, and as his sides 
 swelled out with the water he drank he felt an especial 
 enjoyment, and shook his bare stump of a tail. 
 
 A little chestnut mare who always took pleasure in 
 teasing the old fellow now drew near to him, pre- 
 tending not to see him, and with the sole object of 
 disturbing the water which he was drinking with so 
 much enjoyment. The piebald horse had already 
 finished, however, and he pretended not to notice 
 the trick which the little mare tried to play upon 
 him. One after the other he lifted his hoofs which 
 were plunged in the stream, shook his head, and 
 moved away to graze quietly, apart from the younger 
 animals. 
 
 He grazed steadily for three hours, trying to do as 
 little damage as possible to the grass with his hoofs. 
 When he had finished, he settled himself on his four 
 legs, letting the same weight rest on each so as to suffer 
 as little as possible, and then went quietly to sleep. 
 
 There are all kinds of old age. There is a majestic 
 old age, a hideous old age, and an old age which 
 moves us to deep pity. There is, moreover, an old 
 age which, although majestic, also moves us to pity. 
 
 This was the case with the old piebald horse. He 
 was tall, standing fifteen hands one inch high. 
 His coat had once been black and white, though now 
 the black patches had become a dirty brown. He had 
 three large dark patches ; one on the right side of his 
 head, near the muzzle, extended half-way down his 
 neck. His long mane, all matted together, was half 
 white, half brown. The second patch was on his 
 right side, extending half-way down to his belly. The 
 third one covered his hind quarters and half his tail. 
 The end of his tail was white. 
 
 His head, large and bony, with two deep hollows 
 above his eyes, and a torn and blackened underlip,
 
 THE ROMANCE OF A HORSE 163 
 
 seemed hung on to his thin, bent neck. Through 
 the rent in the underlip one could see the tip of a 
 blackish tongue, twisted to one side, and the yellow 
 stumps of the animal's lower teeth. His ears, one 
 of them slit, hung down on either side of his neck, 
 and were but rarely lifted, even to drive away the 
 flies. The only remnant of his forelock was a tuft 
 of hair hanging behind his left ear. His bare fore- 
 head was sunken and rough, and his skin lay in 
 deep wrinkles along his lean chaps. His veins stood 
 out in knots on his head and neck, and these knots 
 quivered every time that a fly settled on them. 
 The old horse wore an expression of infinite patience 
 and sorrow. 
 
 The animal's limbs seemed far too long for his 
 body. His fore legs, curved like a bow, were swollen 
 just above the hoofs, the left one having a large 
 lump near the knee. His hind legs were better, 
 but from rubbing against one another they had long 
 since lost their hair. His flanks, although rounded, 
 were bare, and covered merely with skin, which 
 seemed to be glued to the spaces between his ribs. 
 His bones showed plainly in his fleshless tail, from 
 which every vestige of hair had disappeared. 
 
 An old wound, covered with thick white hairs, 
 extended along his brown crupper. There was a sore 
 on his right shoulder. His hind knees and tail were 
 dirty, owing to a continual looseness of the bowels. 
 
 However, despite his hideous aspect, a connoisseur 
 on seeing him would at once have recognized a 
 well-bred horse. He would have added that only 
 one breed of horses in Russia possessed such big 
 bones, such hoofs, such an arched neck, and such a 
 fine coat as this animal had once possessed. 
 
 There was, indeed, something grand about the 
 horse's appearance, in his repulsive ugliness, and in 
 the expression of pride and assurance characterizing 
 him. He resembled a living ruin in the midst of 
 the green meadows, surrounded by the young 
 animals, who having scattered on all sides were 
 filling the air with their neighings.
 
 164 THE ROMANCE OF A HORSE 
 
 III 
 
 '""FHE sun had already risen above the forest, and 
 
 * lit up mead and stream. The dew was slowly 
 disappearing. Only a few drops were to be seen 
 here and there. The morning mists were evaporating, 
 leaving merely a few traces by the banks of the river. 
 Some small white clouds were massing, but the 
 air was calm. On the further side of the river a 
 field of fresh green wheat could be seen. The scent 
 of flowers and herbage perfumed the air. In the 
 distance the cuckoo was calling, and Nestor, stretched 
 upon his back, counted how many years he had still 
 to live. The larks were soaring above the meadows. 
 A hare, finding itself in the midst of the herd, fled at 
 full speed, hid itself behind a tuft of grass, and 
 cocked its ears. Vaska went to sleep with his head 
 in another tuft. 
 
 The mares, taking advantage of their freedom, 
 scattered on all sides. The older ones chose a quiet 
 spot where they could feed without being disturbed, 
 but they no longer grazed. They merely picked out 
 juicy bits of grass, which they cropped with enjoy- 
 ment. 
 
 Insensibly the whole of the herd drifted in the same 
 direction. And again it was old Jouldiba who was 
 at their head, and showed the way. The young 
 mare Mouchka, who had dropped her first foal, kept 
 up a continual neighing as she played with it. 
 The young Atlasnaia, who had a coat as sleek as 
 satin, played with the herbage, her head bowed 
 down so that her forelock covered her muzzle and 
 eyes. She kept tearing up a blade of grass, and 
 then casting it aside, as she struck the damp soil 
 with her shapely hoof. 
 
 One of the older colts, who had invented a new 
 game for himself, ran for the twenty-sixth time round 
 his mother with his tail in the air. Accustomed to
 
 THE ROMANCE OF A HORSE 165 
 
 his lively ways, she continued to graze quietly, 
 merely giving him a look from time to time out of 
 the corner of her black eyes. One of the smallest 
 colts, black, with a large head, and a forelock brist- 
 ling between his ears, and with his tail still turned 
 on one side as before his birth, followed his comrade's 
 gambols with an amazed look, and seemed to be 
 asking himself why the other was playing all these 
 tricks. Some of these little ones seemed very much 
 occupied. Others, deaf to their mothers' appeals, 
 made off in another direction, neighing with all the 
 strength of their young lungs. Others again rolled 
 on the grass, whilst the stronger ones imitated the 
 full-grown horses and grazed. 
 
 Two gravid mares quitted the herd, walking with 
 difficulty and grazing in silence. Their condition 
 was respected by the whole herd, which took care 
 not to disturb them. If one of the young ones, 
 bolder than the rest, ventured into their neighbour- 
 hood, a whisk of the tail or a movement of the ears 
 was sufficient to recall her to order and show her the 
 unbecomingness of her conduct. 
 
 The yearling colts thought that they were already 
 too big to share in the gambols of their younger 
 comrades. They grazed with a serious air, arching 
 their graceful young necks, and shaking their little 
 stumps of tails in imitation of their elders. Like 
 them, they rolled on the grass, or mutually rubbed 
 one another's backs. 
 
 The liveliest set was the group of two and three 
 year old mares. They walked about all together, 
 keeping away from the others like young girls. They 
 would collect together, putting their heads on one 
 another's necks, sniffing and jumping, and then 
 suddenly they would gallop off with their tails in the 
 air. The prettiest of the lot and the liveliest was 
 a chestnut mare. All the others imitated her tricks, 
 and followed her about everywhere. It was she 
 who set the fashion. 
 
 She was especially lively that fine day, and felt 
 very much inclined to amuse herself. It was she
 
 166 THE ROMANCE OF A HORSE 
 
 who in the morning had disturbed the water which 
 the old horse was quietly drinking ; then, pretending 
 to be alarmed, she had dashed off like an arrow, 
 followed by the rest of the band, and Vaska had had 
 all the trouble in the world to catch them. Having 
 eaten her fill, she next rolled upon the grass ; then, 
 tired of this game, she began to tease and annoy 
 the old mares by running in front of them. Seeing 
 that one of the little foals was gravely sucking, she 
 frightened it and amused herself with chasing it, 
 pretending that she wanted to bite it. Its mother, 
 in alarm, left off grazing when the little one gave 
 vent to plaintive cries. However, the frolicsome 
 creature did not hurt it. Satisfied with having 
 amused her comrades, who were watching her with 
 interest, she walked away as if nothing were the 
 matter. 
 
 Then the notion occurred to her to turn the head 
 of a grey horse which a peasant was riding in the 
 distance. She halted, cast a proud look about her, 
 turned her pretty head on one side, shook herself, 
 and neighed in a soft and languishing fashion. The 
 neigh expressed both passion and sadness. One 
 could divine in it both promises of love and un- 
 fulfilled desire. 
 
 ' In the forest the cuckoo calls to its mate, the 
 flowers scatter their pollen one to the other. The 
 quails tell their love tale in the tufts of rushes, and 
 yet I, who am young and beautiful, have not yet 
 known love.' This is what her neigh seemed to say 
 as it echoed around and reached the grey horse. 
 
 He pricked his ears and stopped. The peasant 
 gave him a blow with his whip, but the horse, under 
 the charm of the appeal he heard, did not stir ; in 
 lieu thereof he began to answer the young mare. 
 The peasant then grew angry, and gave him such a 
 terrible blow across the ribs that he stopped short 
 in his neighing and resumed his journey. 
 
 However, the little chestnut mare felt moved, and 
 listened for some time to the echo of this interrupted 
 reply, to the steps of the horse retreating further
 
 THE ROMANCE OF A HORSE 167 
 
 and further away, and to the voice of the peasant 
 grumbling. If the mere neigh of the little mare had 
 thus sufficed to cause the grey horse to forget all 
 his duties, what would have happened if he had seen 
 her, with her eyes aglow, her nostrils dilated, and 
 the whole of her beautiful form quivering ? 
 
 But the frolicsome creature did not like to linger 
 in thought. When the voice of the grey horse died 
 away in the distance, she neighed mockingly and 
 began to scrape the ground with her hoof; then, 
 having caught sight of the old piebald horse sleeping 
 peacefully, she ran to rouse and tease him. 
 
 The poor piebald horse was the butt of the young 
 ones ; they made him suffer even more than men did, 
 and yet he had done no harm either to one or the 
 other. Men had need of him, hence their excuse, 
 but why did not the horses leave him alone ? That 
 was a thing which he had never been able to under- 
 stand. 
 
 IV 
 
 HE was old. They were young. He was thin. 
 They were plump. He was sad. They were 
 lively. He was therefore a stranger, a being apart 
 who could not inspire them with any sentiment of 
 pity. Horses only have pity to spare for themselves. 
 They are egotists. 
 
 Was it the fault of the poor old grey horse if he 
 did not resemble the others, if he was old, thin, and 
 hideous ? It would seem to us that it was not his 
 fault, but according to horses' logic it was otherwise. 
 He was wholly in the wrong ; and those who were 
 young, strong, and happy, those who had the future 
 before them, those who could lift their tails like 
 plumes, and whose muscles quivered at the least 
 touch, had all the best reasons in the world on their 
 side. In his calmer moments the piebald horse 
 himself thought, perhaps, that all the faults were on 
 his side, that as his life was drawing to its close he
 
 i68 THE ROMANCE OF A HORSE 
 
 must pay for past enjoyments ; but then he was 
 only a horse, and occasionally he could not help 
 revolting against the young creatures who punished 
 him for that which was awaiting them in a more or 
 less distant future. 
 
 Another reason for their cruelty lay in their 
 aristocratic sentiments. Each of them was descended 
 in a more or less direct line from the celebrated 
 Smetanka. The piebald horse, however, was a 
 stranger of unknown origin, bought three years back 
 at a fair for eighty roubles paper money. 
 
 The chestnut mare, having decided to torment 
 him, feigned to be merely walking by, and came up, 
 pushing him as though by chance. He knew whence 
 the blow came, and so, without opening his eyes, 
 he drew back. The mare then turned round and 
 pretended that she was going to kick out at him with 
 her hind legs, whereupon he opened his eyes and 
 walked calmly afcvay. He no longer felt sleepy, so 
 he began to graze again. 
 
 The tricky creature was not yet satisfied, however. 
 Accompanied by her comrades, she again approached 
 the old horse. A two-year-old filly, who was very 
 stupid, and who imitated her comrade in all things 
 and followed her about step by step, also approached 
 the piebald, and like all imitators, overstepped the 
 bounds of jesting. 
 
 Whenever the frolicsome chestnut mare drew near 
 the old horse, she always pretended not to see him. 
 She passed and repassed in front of him with a busy 
 air, so that he often asked himself whether he ought 
 to feel vexed with her, the more so as she was very 
 amusing. She now recommenced her customary 
 manoeuvre, but her imitator went straight up to the 
 old horse and kicked him. He showed his teeth, 
 and with a rapidity which could not have been 
 expected, threw himself upon her and bit her thigh. 
 Then she rushed at him, and struck him with all her 
 strength in his poor, lean ribs. The old horse snorted, 
 and seemed about to assail her ; but, finally, with a 
 deep sigh, he turned the other way.
 
 THE ROMANCE OF A HORSE 169 
 
 The young animals probably thought that the 
 conduct of the old horse was a mortal insult to all 
 of therri. They did not give him another moment's 
 rest throughout the day, and the stud-groom had to 
 interfere several times to keep them in order. The 
 poor old horse felt so unhappy, that when the 
 time came to return home, he went up to old Nestor 
 of his own accord, and felt happier and more at ease 
 when the latter, after saddling him, mounted upon 
 his back. God alone knew the thoughts that passed 
 through the poor old animal's brain as he went off 
 with Nestor in the saddle. Did he reflect bitterly 
 over the cruelty of his young companions, or did he 
 pardon them their offences with the contemptuous 
 indulgence characterizing old age ? His thoughts 
 could not be guessed, so impenetrable was his aspect. 
 
 That evening some friends of Nestor's came to see 
 him. While passing through the village he perceived 
 their wagon at the door of his dwelling. He was 
 in a hurry to join them, and so scarcely had he re- 
 entered the courtyard than he jumped off the old 
 horse, and went off without even unsaddling him, 
 calling to Vaska to do so when he had finished his work. 
 
 Was it on account of the piebald's insult to a great- 
 granddaughter of Smetanka ? was it on account of 
 the wound thus inflicted upon the aristocratic senti- 
 ments of the younger animals ? one cannot say ; 
 but at all events that night all the other horses began 
 to chase the old nag, who, still saddled, fled to escape 
 the kicks aimed at him from all sides. At length he 
 felt at the end of his tether, and could do nothing 
 to escape his persecutors. In despair he stopped 
 short in the middle of the courtyard. 
 
 Helpless rage was written on his face, and he laid 
 back his ears. But at that moment there occurred 
 an unexpected phenomenon which cooled the anger 
 of the other animals as if by magic. The oldest mare 
 of the herd, Viasopourika, abruptly approached the 
 piebald, snuffed at him, and sighed. He, in return, 
 gave vent to a deep sigh.
 
 170 THE ROMANCE OF A HORSE 
 
 There was something fantastic about the appear- 
 ance of the old horse as he stood in the centre of the 
 yard still saddled, with the moonlight streaming 
 upon him. The others had surrounded him in 
 silence, and were looking at him inquisitively, as if 
 they had just heard something very interesting about 
 him. This is what they learned. 
 
 ' \7ES, indeed, I am the son of Lioubeski I and 
 * Baba. My name, according to the stud- 
 book, is Maujik I, better known as Kolstomier, on 
 account of my long and flowing tail, which had not 
 its equal in all Russia. As for my descent, there is 
 no horse as well bred as myself. I should never have 
 told you so, however. You would never have 
 learned it from my mouth if Viasopourika, who was 
 with me at Krienovo, had not recognized me. You 
 would not have believed me if I had not got Viaso- 
 pourika as a witness. So I should have continued 
 to keep silence ; besides, I had no need of your 
 pity. But you yourselves have willed it thus. 
 
 ' Yes, I am that same Kolstomier whom con- 
 noisseurs sought after. The count had me sold 
 because I beat his favourite, Liabed, in a race. When 
 I came into the world I was ignorant of what the 
 word " piebald " meant ; I only knew one thing, 
 that I was born. The first remarks made about my 
 coat astonished my mother and myself. I was 
 probably born during the night, for in the morning, 
 having been cleansed by my mother, I was already 
 on my feet. I remember that I experienced a 
 vague, indefinite longing, which I was not in a 
 condition to express, and that everything that was 
 taking place about me seemed extraordinary. 
 
 ' Our stable opened into a warm, dark passage, 
 having a grated door, through which everything 
 could be seen. My mother was holding out her
 
 THE ROMANCE OF A HORSE 171 
 
 dugs to me, but I was still so simple that I pushed 
 them away with my muzzle. All at once, however, 
 my mother drew me on one side ; she had just 
 caught sight of the head stableman, who was 
 approaching. He looked through the grating, and 
 then opening the door he said : " Hullo, Baba, so 
 you have dropped your foal ? " 
 
 ' He then came in and put his arms round me. 
 " Look at him, Farasei," said he, laughing, " he 's 
 like a magpie ! " 
 
 ' At this moment I broke from his arms, and 
 stumbling, fell on my knees. " Come, you little 
 devil," said he. 
 
 ' My mother was uneasy, but not daring to defend 
 me she contented herself with sighing deeply, and 
 then moved away. All the other grooms gathered 
 about us, and began to examine me. They all 
 laughed as they noticed the spots on my coat, and 
 gave me the funniest names. Neither I, nor even 
 my mother, could understand the meaning of their 
 words. Until that moment there had never been a 
 piebald horse in our family. Still, we did not think 
 there was any harm in it. As to my shape and 
 strength, they were admired from the day of my 
 birth. 
 
 ' " I should just think he was lively ; one can 
 hardly hold him," I heard the stableman say. 
 
 ' Shortly afterwards the head groom came in. He 
 was astounded to see me, and he even seemed 
 shocked. " Whoever does this monster resemble ? " 
 said he ; " the general will never keep him. Ah ! 
 Baba, you have played me a dirty trick," he added, 
 addressing my mother. " If the little fellow had 
 merely a blaze on his face, it would not matter ; but 
 he is a piebald." 
 
 ' My mother did not answer, but, as always happens 
 in such cases, she gave vent to a deep sigh. 
 
 ' " What the deuce is he like ? He is a regular 
 brute ! " fesumed the head groom ; "he can never 
 be kept for the stud. What a pity ! He is well 
 shaped very well shaped," he added, examining me.
 
 172 THE ROMANCE OF A HORSE 
 
 ' Some days later the general came in person, and 
 the indignant outbursts respecting the colour of my 
 coat recommenced more furiously than ever. Every 
 one seemed angry, and accused my mother of being 
 the cause of it, adding, "He is very well shaped, 
 though." 
 
 ' Until the spring we colts were left with our 
 mothers in the well-warmed stables. Sometimes, 
 however, when it was fine and the snow began to melt 
 away under the rays of the springtide sun, we were 
 allowed to go out into the large yard, strewn with 
 clean straw. It was there that I for the first time 
 made the acquaintance of all my relations, who were 
 very numerous. It was there, too, that I saw all the 
 celebrated mares with their little ones. Amongst 
 others, there were old Gallanka, Mouchka, Smetanka's 
 daughter, and Krasmouchka. Once together they 
 sniffed one another and rolled on the clean straw 
 like simple mortals. I shall never forget that court- 
 yard full of the finest mares that can be imagined. 
 
 ' You may be astonished to learn that I also was 
 once young and frolicsome, but so it was. Viaso- 
 pourika, whom you see here, was only a year old then. 
 She was a nice, lively little filly, but, without offence, 
 one of the ugliest of the stud. She can tell you so 
 herself. My coat, which had displeased the men 
 who saw me so much, met with great success amongst 
 the horses. They surrounded me and began to 
 admire and play with me. Then I began to forget 
 mankind's insulting remarks and to enjoy my success. 
 However, I soon experienced the first grief in my 
 life, and it was my mother who was the cause of it. 
 
 ' When the snow had quite melted, when the 
 sparrows were twittering as they hopped about, and 
 when the air became soft and balmy as it usually is 
 in spring time, my mother completely changed in her 
 manner towards me. Her temper wholly altered. 
 She all at once began to play and run about the yard 
 in a way which was not at all suitable to* a matron 
 like herself. At times also she became thoughtful 
 and melancholy ; she would neigh, bite her female
 
 THE ROMANCE OF A HORSE 173 
 
 friends, and rush at them, and then sniff at me, 
 and drive me away with a discontented air. 
 
 ' One day, however, the head groom came, had a 
 halter slipped over her head, and led her away. 
 She neighed, whereupon I answered and ran after 
 her, but she went off without giving me a farewell 
 look. The stableman, Farasei, caught hold of me 
 just as the door closed behind her. I tore myself 
 from his grasp, however, and dashed to the door ; 
 but it was already closed, and I only heard my 
 mother's neighings in the distance. These neighings 
 were no longer like those she addressed to me ; 
 they had quite another meaning. A powerful voice 
 replied to her call. It was, as I learned later on, 
 that of Dobrii I, whom two stablemen had brought 
 to pay a visit to my mother. 
 
 ' I cannot recollect at all how Farasei left me, I 
 was too sad. I felt that I had lost my mother's 
 love for ever. " And all because my coat is piebald," 
 I said to myself angrily, thinking of the offensive 
 remarks of mankind. 
 
 ' I was then seized with such a fit of rage that I 
 began to strike my head, my knees, and body against 
 the boundary wall until I stopped from exhaustion. 
 Some time afterwards my mother returned. I heard 
 her approaching with a light step. When the gate 
 was opened, and I caught sight of her, I could 
 scarcely recognize her, she was so changed. I thought 
 that she looked younger and handsomer. She 
 sniffed at me and neighed, and I at once saw that she 
 no longer cared for me at all. She spoke to me about 
 Dobrii's comeliness, and his love for her. Their 
 meetings continued, and my intercourse with my 
 mother grew colder and colder every day. 
 
 ' Shortly afterwards we were let out to pasture. 
 From that time forward I experienced fresh delights 
 which consoled me for my vexations. I had friends 
 and companions. We learned to eat grass, to neigh 
 like full-grown horses, and to gambol around our 
 mothers with our tails in the air. It was a happy 
 time. All the other horses and foals admired me,
 
 174 THE ROMANCE OF A HORSE 
 
 they all liked me, and all my escapades were forgiven. 
 However, it was at that period that something terrible 
 befell me.' 
 
 As the old horse said this he sighed deeply. The 
 day was now beginning to break, and suddenly the 
 gate creaked on its hinges, and old Nestor appeared. 
 The horses separated on his entrance, and the stud- 
 groom, after arranging the saddle on the old piebald, 
 let out the herd. 
 
 VI 
 
 AS soon as the horses returned to the yard that 
 evening they again gathered about the old 
 one, who resumed his story as follows : 
 
 ' In the month of August I was separated from my 
 mother, but I felt no grief at this. I saw that she 
 would shortly give birth to a foal, who proved to be 
 my younger brother, the famous Oussane, and so I 
 was relegated to a back seat. I had no jealousy as 
 regards the newcomer ; only I perceived that on 
 my side I no longer felt the same towards my mother. 
 I knew, moreover, that, once separated from her, I 
 should find myself in company with my young 
 friends, and that I should run about every day in the 
 fields and meadows. 
 
 ' I had Mirlii as a companion in my stall. He was 
 a saddle-horse, and when he grew up he had the 
 honour to be ridden by the Emperor, and was 
 depicted in his portraits. At that period, however, 
 he was only a little colt, with a satin coat, a grace- 
 fully arched neck, and straight, clean limbs. He 
 was always in a good temper always ready to play, 
 to lick his friends, and to make game of men and 
 horses. We became united by a tender friendship 
 from always being together ; however, this friendship 
 was of short duration. As I have told you, he was 
 of a lively and frivolous disposition. From a very 
 early age he had begun to pay attention to the little 
 fillies. He always made game of my simplicity.
 
 THE ROMANCE OF A HORSE 175 
 
 Unfortunately, stung by his jests, I imitated his 
 example, and soon afterwards fell in love. This 
 precocious amour was the cause of a great change 
 that took place in my lot. 
 
 ' This is the story of my love in a few words. 
 Viasopourika was a year older than myself. We 
 had always been great friends, but towards the 
 close of the autumn I suddenly perceived that she 
 tried to avoid me. I have not the courage to tell 
 you in detail the story, so full of painful recollections 
 to myself. She herself, however, remembers the 
 fatal passion which I entertained for her. At the 
 moment when I was revealing my sentiments to her 
 the stableman threw himself upon us, drove her 
 away, and began to beat me. That evening I was 
 shut up alone in a loose box, where I passed the 
 night, neighing despairingly, as if from a presenti- 
 ment of what was awaiting me. 
 
 ' In the morning the general, the head groom, 
 and the stablemen visited me. Every one spoke and 
 gesticulated at once. The general was in a rage with 
 the head groom, who excused himself by saying that 
 he was not to blame, and that it was all the fault of 
 the stablemen. The general then declared that he 
 would have every one thrashed, that little stallions 
 could not be kept like that ; whereupon the groom 
 promised that all the general's wishes should be 
 carried out, and then every one went away. I did 
 not understand it at all, but I had a presentiment 
 that something was being plotted against me. 
 
 ' On the following day I became what I am now, 
 and left off neighing for ever. I grew utterly in- 
 different to all about me. I was plunged in bitter 
 thoughts. At first I was overcome with deep 
 discouragement. I even left off eating and drinking. 
 As to games, they no longer existed for me. At 
 times the idea occurred to me to kick, to neigh aloud, 
 and to gallop round my comrades, but then I at 
 once sadly asked myself, " Why ? with what 
 object ? " and I bowed my head.
 
 176 THE ROMANCE OF A HORSE 
 
 ' One evening the groom, who had put a cord round 
 my neck, was walking me up and down in front of the 
 courtyard, just as the herd returned from the fields. 
 I saw at a distance the cloud of dust and the well- 
 known outlines of our mares. I heard the tramp 
 of their hoofs and their mirthful neighing. I stopped 
 short, despite the cord which cut into my neck and 
 caused me to suffer tortures, and I watched the herd 
 as one would watch one's eternally vanished happiness. 
 
 ' As the herd drew near I could make out one by 
 one the faces of all my old friends. Some of them 
 perceived me and stared at me. The groom kept 
 pulling the rope, but I paid no attention to him. 
 I lost my head and began to neigh and jump about, 
 but my voice sounded strange and ridiculous. They 
 did not laugh in the herd, but I could see that they 
 turned away their heads out of politeness. It was 
 plain that I inspired them with pity. I looked 
 ridiculous in their eyes, with my thin neck, my 
 enormous head I had grown terribly thin my 
 long legs, and, above all, my absurd gait, as I began 
 to trot round the groom. No one replied to my 
 appeal, they all turned away from me with one 
 common accord. Light suddenly flashed across my 
 mind, and I at length understood what a gulf 
 separated me from the truth. In despair I followed 
 the groom, and I do not know how I reached my 
 loose box. 
 
 ' From early youth I had been inclined to melan- 
 choly and reflection, and my misfortunes developed 
 this predisposition of mind. My coat, which inspired 
 mankind with such contempt, my exceptional position 
 amongst the stud, which I could not yet quite under- 
 stand, caused me to reflect seriously on the injustice 
 of men. I thought bitterly of the inconstancy o' 
 maternal love and of feminine affection in genera, 
 and I tried to frame for myself a precise notion of 
 that strange race of animals called men. I strove to 
 understand their character by weighing their actions. 
 On one occasion during the winter festivals I remained 
 all day long with nothing to eat or drink, and I
 
 THE ROMANCE OF A HORSE 177 
 
 subsequently learnt that it was because all the 
 stablemen were dead drunk. That very day the 
 head groom, in making his round, visited my box, 
 and seeing that I had no food he broke out into a 
 rage against the absent stableman and went off 
 grumbling. On the following day, when the stable- 
 man brought our food, I noticed his extreme pallor 
 and something painful about the expression of his 
 whole body. He angrily thrust my hay through the 
 grating, and when I tried to put my muzzle on his 
 shoulder gave me such a blow with his fist that I 
 drew back alarmed. He was not satisfied with that, 
 however, for he also gave me a kick in the stomach 
 as he growled : " If it had not been for this mangy 
 brute he would not have done anything to me." 
 
 ' " How is that ? " inquired one of his comrades. 
 
 " Well, he does not look after the count's horses, 
 but as to his own, he pays him two visits a day." 
 " Have they given him the piebald, then ? " 
 " Given or sold, I don't know ; but I might let 
 all the count's horses die of hunger and he wouldn't 
 say a word about it ; whereas, if one dares to let 
 his colt lack anything, it is quite another matter. 
 ' Lie down,' he said to me, and then he began to whip 
 me. He isn't a Christian ; he has more pity for a 
 beast than for a human being. One would think that 
 he had never been baptized. He counted the blows 
 himself. Even the general never whipped so hard ; 
 the whole of my poor back is one wound. He really 
 can't have a Christian soul." 
 
 ' I understood very well what the stableman 
 said about the whipping and Christian pity. As 
 to the rest, I could not quite understand what was 
 meant by the words, " his colt." I gathered from 
 them, however, that the stableman saw some 
 connection existing between the groom and myself. 
 But what that connection was I could not at that 
 time comprehend. Later on, however, when I was 
 kept apart from all the other horses, I clearly 
 realized what was meant. 
 
 ' The words, " my horse," seemed to me as illogical
 
 178 THE ROMANCE OF A HORSE 
 
 as " my earth," " my air," and " my water." Still 
 they made a deep impression upon me. I have 
 reflected at length since then. It was only much 
 later, when I learnt to know mankind better, that I 
 could explain all this to myself. Men, you see, 
 allow themselves to be guided not by facts but by 
 words. And one term which has a very great im- 
 portance for them is the following : " Mine." They 
 make use of it in speaking of various living beings, 
 of the earth, of their fellow-men, and even of horses. 
 It is usual, too, in speaking of any object that only 
 one person should be able to qualify it with the word 
 " mine." The person who is able to apply the word 
 " mine " to a very large number of objects is con- 
 sidered to be the most fortunate of them all. 
 
 ' The reason of this I cannot tell you. For some 
 time I asked myself whether the question of interest 
 were not the mainspring of it all, but I rejected this 
 idea. And this is why I said to myself, " Many 
 people look upon me as their property, and yet they 
 do not make use of me ; it isn't they who feed me 
 and take care of me, but strangers to whom I don't 
 belong stablemen, coachmen, and so on." 
 
 ' A long time elapsed before I formed a clear idea 
 of this word " mine," to which men attach so much 
 importance. I can assure you, however, that it is 
 nothing but the expression of an unworthy bestial 
 instinct which men call the sentiment or right of 
 ownership. 
 
 ' A man says " my house," and does not live in it ; 
 a tradesman says " my shop," and never sets foot in 
 it, or " my drapery establishment," and never takes 
 a yard of stuff for his needs. There are men who say 
 " my estate " without ever having seen it ; there 
 are even some who apply the word " mine " to their 
 fellows, to human beings whom they have never 
 seen, and whom they wrong in every possible or 
 imaginable way. They also say " my wife " in 
 speaking of a woman whom they consider to be their 
 property, but who, nevertheless, is living with some 
 other man. The main object of that strange animal
 
 THE ROMANCE OF A HORSE 179 
 
 called man is not to do that which he thinks right and 
 just, but to have the power of applying the word 
 " mine " to the greatest number of objects. That 
 is the fundamental difference between ourselves and 
 mankind ; and frankly, without speaking of other 
 matters, this difference alone would suffice to place 
 us on a far higher level than theirs in the scale of 
 creation. 
 
 ' Well, this right to call me " my horse " was given 
 to our head groom. This discovery greatly surprised 
 me. I had three sources of grief, my coat, my sex, 
 and this way of treating me as a piece of property 
 I, who only belonged to myself and God, as is indeed 
 the case with all living creatures. The results of this 
 state of affairs were numerous. I was better fed 
 and better cared for, but I was also separated from 
 the other horses and put to harness much sooner 
 than my comrades. Scarcely was I three years old 
 than the men about me wished to put me to work. 
 The first time that I was harnessed, the groom who 
 imagined that I was his property was present 
 Fearing that I should offer a strong opposition, they 
 held me by ropes, and then they put a large leather 
 cross on my back and fastened it to the two shafts 
 of the vehicle, so that I might not smash the latter 
 by kicking with my hind legs. These precautions 
 were quite unnecessary, however. I only asked for 
 the opportunity to show my love of work. 
 
 ' Great was their astonishment when they saw me 
 walk like an old horse. After that I was harnessed 
 every day and taught to trot. I made progress so 
 rapidly that one morning the general himself was 
 astounded at it. However, strange to say, from the 
 moment when the groom, and not the general, 
 applied that word " mine " to me, my gifts no 
 longer seemed to have the same value. Whenever 
 my brothers the stallions were put to, the length of 
 their paces was marked ; they were harnessed to 
 gilded carriages, and were covered with fine trappings. 
 I was harnessed, however, to very plain vehicles, 
 and only went out with the groom when he went to
 
 i8o THE ROMANCE OF A HORSE 
 
 execute any commission. And all this because I 
 was a piebald, but above all, because I no longer 
 belonged to the count, but to the groom. To-morrow, 
 if we are still alive, I will tell you what results this 
 change of ownership had for me.' 
 
 All day the horses showed great respect for old 
 Kolstomier. Only Nestor continued to treat him 
 as before. 
 
 VII 
 
 HPHE moon again lit up the old courtyard, and 
 -L Kolstomier, surrounded by his friends, con- 
 tinued his story in these words : 
 
 ' The most extraordinary consequence of my 
 belonging neither to God nor to the count, but to a 
 mere groom, was that the very quality which in other 
 horses is highly esteemed, became in me a crime, and 
 was the cause of my being exiled. This was my rate 
 of trotting. 
 
 ' They were driving the general's favourite horse 
 Liabed round the ring when the groom and I, return- 
 ing from one of our excursions, approached the group. 
 Liabed passed before us. He was going at a fair 
 pace, but it was all very well for him to show off, 
 I could trot round faster than he could. He passed 
 before us. I made a step in the direction of the 
 ring, and the groom did not check me. 
 
 ' " Suppose I try the pace of my piebald," said he, 
 and when Liabed came round to us a second time I 
 started with him. During the first circuit, as he was 
 already well under way, he headed me, but at the 
 second I had got up speed, and I caught him and 
 distanced him. The race began again, and I had the 
 same success. Decidedly I was the faster trotter. 
 Every one was astounded. The general begged 
 the groom to have me sold as speedily as possible, 
 and to some one at a distance. All haste was made 
 to obey his orders, and so I was sold to a dealer. 
 
 ' I did not remain long in his hands. Fate was
 
 THE ROMANCE OF A HORSE 181 
 
 cruel and unjust towards me. I was deeply hurt, 
 and had but one thought, to leave my native place 
 at once. My position there was too painful. The 
 future belonged to the others. Love, glory, freedom 
 awaited them. As to me, I must work and humiliate 
 mj^self all my life. And why such injustice ? 
 Because I was a piebald and the property of a groom.' 
 
 Kolstomier was unable to tell any more of his 
 story that evening. An event took place in the 
 courtyard which disturbed the whole herd. 
 
 The mare Koupchika, who had been listening to 
 the old horse's story with interest, suddenly began to 
 shiver, and walked slowly away towards the shed. 
 All at once she commenced to groan louder and 
 louder. She lay down, rose up, and then lay down 
 again, whereupon the old mares drew near, and at 
 once saw what was the matter. As to the young 
 ones, they were so moved that they could not listen 
 to Kolstomier's story any longer. 
 
 The next morning a new little foal was standing 
 beside the mare. Nestor, upon perceiving it, called 
 a stableman, who took it up, and led the mother 
 away to a loose box. The other horses repaired, 
 as usual, to the fields. 
 
 VIII 
 
 HTHAT evening, as soon as the gate had closed 
 behind Nestor, and silence was restored, the 
 old horse continued his narrative : 
 
 ' I have had plenty of occasion to observe horses 
 and men during my peregrinations,' he said. ' I 
 remained longest with two owners a prince, who was 
 an officer in the hussars, and a good old lady, who 
 lived at Moscow, near the St. Nicholas Church. The 
 time that I spent with the hussar was the best and 
 most pleasant of all. Although he was the cause 
 of my ruin, and although he never cared for anything 
 in the world, I loved him, and still love him with all 
 the strength of my horse's heart. What pleased me
 
 182 THE ROMANCE OF A HORSE 
 
 about him was that he was young, handsome, happy, 
 and rich, and that, probably on account of all that, 
 he cared for no one. You perfectly understand the 
 sentiment that so often impels us. His coldness, 
 and my dependent position, only served to heighten 
 my love for him. " Kill me, torture me," I thought ; 
 " I shall only feel happier if I suffer at your hand." 
 
 ' He bought me of the dealer to whom the groom 
 had sold me for eight hundred roubles. As I have 
 already told you, those were the happiest hours of 
 my existence. The hussar had a mistress. I knew 
 it, because I took him every day to see her, and 
 often drew them about together. His mistress was 
 handsome, so was he ; and his coachman did not 
 yield to them as regards good looks. This is how my 
 time passed : In the morning a stableman came to 
 attend to my toilet. He was a young peasant. 
 He opened the door of my loose box, which he swept 
 out carefully ; then he took off my cloths and rubbed 
 me down. I nibbled at his fingers and gaily struck 
 the ground with my hoofs to thank him ; then he 
 washed me, and, once my toilet completed, he looked 
 at me admiringly. After placing some hay and 
 oats in the rack and manger he went away, and the 
 head coachman came to see that all was in order. 
 
 ' This coachman, whose name was Teofane, 
 resembled his master ; neither of them was afraid of 
 anything, neither of them loved any one in the 
 world, and it was for that very reason that every 
 one loved and admired them. Teofane always wore 
 a red shirt and a coat and trousers of black velveteen. 
 I liked to see him on feast days, when, well dressed 
 and with his hair nicely arranged, he came into the 
 stables, and cried in a ringing voice, as he gave me 
 a smack on the thigh, " Come, you animal, what are 
 you up to ? " 
 
 ' I understood that it was all a joke because he had 
 never hurt me, and I pricked my ears and smiled. 
 
 ' We also had a black stallion in the stables who 
 was harnessed with me sometimes of an evening. 
 His name was Polkane. He had a bad temper, and
 
 THE ROMANCE OF A HORSE 183 
 
 could not understand a joke. My box was next to 
 his, and I often quarrelled with him ; Teofane, 
 however, was not afraid of him. On one occasion 
 Polkane and myself took the bit between our teeth 
 in the principal street of Moscow, the Kowznetskii 
 moste. However, neither our master nor the coach- 
 man was in any way alarmed. They cried out, 
 " Look out there," laughingly turned to the right and 
 left to avoid accidents, and did not run over anybody. 
 It was in their service that I lost my most precious 
 qualities, indeed half my life. It was in their 
 service that I was watered at the wrong time, and 
 had my knees broken. But all the same I do not 
 complain. I was happy then. 
 
 ' At noon the stableman came to comb my mane 
 and forelock and polish my hoofs, then they put me 
 to. Our sledge was very small, in plaited straw 
 covered with velvet, the harness being ornamented 
 with steel plates of unheard-of elegance. As soon as 
 I was ready, Teofane, in a fine caftan, and with a red 
 sash girthed up to his arm-pits, came to see if every- 
 thing was all right. Satisfied with his examination, 
 he climbed into his seat, joking, took the whip in his 
 hand, although he never touched me even with the 
 tip of his finger, and then said : " Let go." 
 
 ' I gathered myself together, and advanced proudly 
 and gracefully. Every one stopped as we went by. 
 The cook, who had come out to pour away some dirty 
 water, paused in her task to look at us. The peasants 
 stared at us open-mouthed. At last we stopped in 
 front of the porch. Sometimes two or three hours 
 passed before my master made his appearance. In 
 the meantime, surrounded by the servants, we 
 chatted gaily, and exchanged all the news we had 
 heard ; then, being unable to keep still any longer, 
 we took a short turn, and returned to await our 
 master's pleasure. At length, sounds were heard 
 in the ante-room the valet Fiekon, who wore a 
 black coat, ran out and called to us to draw up. 
 Teofane complied, and our master advanced with a 
 careless step, his sword clanking, and his handsome
 
 184 THE ROMANCE OF A HORSE 
 
 head partly hidden by his shako and the beaver 
 collar of his cloak. Without paying any attention 
 to us, whom every one was admiring, he got into the 
 sledge and we started. I always gave him a side- 
 long glance, shaking my head and gracefully turning 
 my neck. 
 
 ' " The prince is in a good humour," I said to 
 myself, when I saw him address Teofane with a 
 smile, and I endeavoured to do honour to my master. 
 
 ' " Look out ! " cried Teofane to the crowd who 
 halted as we passed. 
 
 ' My greatest pleasure was to come across a trotter 
 and beat him. As soon as Teofane and I caught 
 sight in the distance of a rival worthy of us, we 
 dashed off. Without appearing to notice them, 
 we gained on them by degrees. Now we are level 
 with the sledge : we are abreast of the horse. Now 
 he is behind us, and proud of our success, though 
 without deigning to show it, we continue on our way.' 
 
 Kolstomier had reached this point when the gate 
 creaked ; Nestor entered, and the old horse's story 
 was interrupted. 
 
 The sky had been overcast since early morning, 
 not a drop of dew had fallen to refresh the earth. 
 In the evening the horses grouped themselves as 
 usual about the old one, and he resumed his tale : 
 
 ' My happy life was not of long duration,' said he. 
 ' At the close of the second winter I experienced the 
 greatest joy of my life, which was, alas ! followed by 
 a terrible misfortune. It was carnival time. We 
 went with the prince to the races. I saw my old 
 comrades Atlasnii and Bitchek there. I did not 
 quite understand what they were doing. However, 
 our master alighted and ordered Teofane to go 
 into the ring. I remember that I was taken into the 
 ring and placed beside Atlasnii. At the first turn 
 I left him behind, and was greeted with cries of 
 triumph. The crowd followed me, and several 
 people offered the prince five thousand roubles for 
 me. He answered, smiling and showing his white 
 teeth, "He is not a horse, he is a friend. I would
 
 THE ROMANCE OF A HORSE 185 
 
 not part with him for mountains of gold. Good-bye, 
 gentlemen." 
 
 ' So saying he got into the sledge again, giving his 
 mistress's address to the coachman. Off we went. 
 It was the last happy day of my life. 
 
 ' We reached his mistress's house ; she had gone 
 off with another man. The prince learnt this from 
 her maid. It was now already five o'clock. How- 
 ever, he ordered the coachman to follow in pursuit, 
 and without giving me time to breathe, I was started 
 off at full speed. For the first time in my life I was 
 mercilessly beaten ; for the first time in my life, also, 
 I stumbled. I tried to stop, but my master cried, 
 " Go on, make haste ! " and we were off again at a 
 gallop. We caught them up after a run of twenty- 
 five versts. I could not eat, and I shuddered all 
 night long. In the morning they gave me some 
 water, and from that moment I was a ruined horse. 
 I was tortured ; that is what men call doctoring. 
 My hoofs shed their horn, my legs became swollen and 
 bent. I grew weak and apathetic. 
 
 ' Then I was sold to a horse-dealer, who fed me 
 up with carrots and other things. Without curing 
 me he improved my looks ; my strength did not 
 return, but any one, unaware of this, might have 
 been deceived by my appearance. As soon as a 
 customer presented himself, the dealer, armed with 
 a whip, hit at me until I was wild with rage and 
 began to caper about. At length an old lady 
 bought me of him. 
 
 ' She always went to the St. Nicholas Church, and 
 beat her coachman every day. The poor fellow used 
 to come and weep in my box. It was then that I 
 learned that tears have a slightly bitter taste, not 
 unpleasant. Some time afterwards the old lady 
 died. Her steward then took me into the country 
 and sold me to a pedlar. I had wheat given to me 
 to eat, and grew yet more ill. Then I was sold to a 
 peasant, who put me to the plough. Ill-fed and ill- 
 cared-for, I had also the misfortune of being wounded 
 in the leg by a piece of steel. I was laid up again ;
 
 i86 THE ROMANCE OF A HORSE 
 
 the peasant swopped me to a gipsy, who made me 
 suffer martyrdom, and at length sold me to our 
 steward. Thus it happens that I am amongst you.' 
 The whole of the stud remained silent. 
 
 IX 
 
 ON returning home on the following day the herd 
 met their master, who was with a stranger. 
 Old Jouldiba, as she approached the two men, 
 gave them a questioning look. The master was still 
 quite a young man, the other was an old soldier with 
 a puffy face. The old mare went by them quietly, 
 but the young ones were moved and astonished, especi- 
 ally when their master placed himself in the middle 
 of them and pointed out something to his friend. 
 
 ' I bought that dapple-grey mare off Vageikoff,' 
 said he. 
 
 ' And that young mare with the white foot, where 
 does she come from ? She is very pretty,' remarked 
 the old soldier. 
 
 ' She is one of the Krienovo breed,' replied the 
 owner. 
 
 However, they could not examine all the horses 
 in this way ; so they called Nestor, and the old man 
 came up hastily on horseback, taking off his hat as 
 he did so. The old piebald hobbled along as quickly 
 as his damaged legs would let him. He even tried 
 to gallop to show his good will. 
 
 ' There is not a better mare than that one in Russia,' 
 now exclaimed the owner, pointing to one of the 
 young ones. 
 
 The stranger admired her out of politeness. He 
 was deeply bored, though he pretended to be inter- 
 ested in the stud. ' Yes, yes,' he replied, in an 
 absent tone. 
 
 After a little time, when they had passed a con- 
 siderable number of horses in review, he could no 
 longer restrain himself, but said : ' Well, shall we go ? '
 
 THE ROMANCE OF A HORSE 187 
 
 ' We will go if you like,' replied the master, and 
 then they walked away towards the gate. 
 
 The stranger, happy at this release, grew more 
 animated at the idea that they were going back to the 
 house, where he could quietly eat and drink and 
 smoke. On passing Nestor, who still stood awaiting 
 orders, he struck the piebald horse on the crupper 
 with his large hand, saying : ' It is very funny, but 
 I had an animal just like this one. I told you about 
 him, do you remember ? ' 
 
 The master, seeing that his visitor was no longer 
 interested in his horses, paid no attention to what 
 he was saying, but followed the herd with his eyes. 
 Suddenly he heard a weak and trembling neigh. 
 It was the old piebald who had neighed, stopping 
 short, however, astounded by his own temerity. 
 Neither the master nor the stranger paid any attention 
 to him. They made their way towards the house. 
 
 Old Kolstomier had recognized in the old officer 
 his well-beloved master, the hussar. 
 
 X 
 
 A COLD drizzling rain had been falling all the 
 morning, but within the master's house it was 
 not noticed at all. The master, his mistress, and the 
 old officer were seated at a well-served table. The 
 mistress was enceinte. She kept herself very stiff 
 and upright, but the outline of her figure was already 
 prominent. Seated at table before the tea-urn, she 
 gracefully discharged her duties as mistress of the 
 house. 
 
 The master held a box of cigars ten years old. 
 Nobody possessed their equals according to him. 
 He was a handsome young fellow of five-and-twenty, 
 dressed according to the latest fashion by a London 
 tailor. Various trinkets adorned his watch-chain, 
 and fine turquoise sleeve-buttons his wrist-bands. He 
 wore his beard and moustache like Napoleon the Third.
 
 i88 THE ROMANCE OF A HORSE 
 
 His mistress wore a gown of silk muslin with a 
 pattern of large bouquets of flowers. Her hair was 
 fastened up with some large gold pins and her arms 
 were covered with bracelets. The tea-urn was silver 
 and the service Sevres china. The footman, in a 
 black coat and blue waistcoat, stood as upright as a 
 post by the door. The furniture and hangings had 
 an air of wealth. Everything was rare, valuable, 
 and in the latest fashion ; everything was fine, but 
 taste and real elegance were wholly lacking. 
 
 The owner, an enthusiastic sportsman, was one of 
 those persons who are seen everywhere, at races and 
 at theatres, who throw the finest bouquets to actresses 
 and have the most fashionable mistresses. His 
 friend the officer Nikita Serpoukovsky was forty, 
 tall, strongly built, and bald, with a heavy moustache 
 and beard. He must once have been very handsome, 
 but now he showed signs of wear, both morally and 
 physically. His debts were so considerable that to 
 escape imprisonment he had been obliged to petition 
 the Government for a berth in one of the Imperial 
 breeding establishments. All that he wore had a 
 stamp of especial elegance ; the ex-beau was plainly 
 recognizable in him. 
 
 In his youth he had run through a fortune of a 
 million roubles, and incurred debts to the amount of 
 a hundred and twenty thousand more. This past 
 inspired respect on the part of all his tradesmen, 
 who at first gave him unlimited credit. Ten years 
 had elapsed, however, his prestige was now waning, 
 and he began to find life wearisome. He was 
 acquiring the habit of getting drunk, which formerly 
 had never happened to him. He could not, how- 
 ever, be accused of taking to drink, since he had been 
 accustomed to it from his youth upwards. His 
 former self-assurance, moreover, had now vanished ; 
 his look was vague, his movements were undecided. 
 This lack of assurance was harrowing in this old 
 beau, who had been accustomed to make himself 
 obeyed and admired by every one. 
 
 The owner of the house and his mistress had known
 
 THE ROMANCE OF A HORSE 189 
 
 Nikita for a long time, and they now looked at him 
 pityingly, making signs to one another, and striving 
 to put him at his ease. The happiness and wealth 
 of his friend only humiliated poor Nikita, however, 
 and reminded him of his past, which had fled, alas ! 
 for ever. Still, he strove to overcome the emotion 
 which seized on him. 
 
 ' Smoke does not incommode you, I hope, Maria,' 
 he said, addressing the mistress of the house with that 
 blending of deference and familiarity with which one 
 addresses a woman in her position. 
 
 He had no intention of wounding her feelings. 
 On the contrary, in his present position, he was 
 rather desirous of gaining her good graces, although 
 he would have denied it had any one accused him of 
 being capable of lowering himself to this point. 
 Besides, he was sufficiently acquainted with the 
 usages of society to know that one cannot adopt 
 the same tone with a friend's mistress as with his 
 wife. 
 
 As he took out his own cigar-case, the master of 
 the house offered him a handful of cigars with an 
 awkward air, saying, ' These are capital ; take them.' 
 
 Nikita waved them aside, however, with a some- 
 what offended and humiliated look. ' No, thank 
 you/ said he, opening his cigar-case. 
 
 ' Try mine, I beg of you,' rejoined the other. 
 
 The young woman possessed more delicacy than 
 her lover. She wanted to change the conversation, 
 and began to speak rapidly. ' I am very fond of 
 cigars, but I do not smoke because every one about 
 me does,' she said, accompanying her words with an 
 amiable smile. Nikita also replied by a smile. 
 
 ' Come,' resumed the master of the house, who was 
 blind to it all, ' you must take these. I have some 
 others, but they are milder. Fritz, bring another 
 box,' he added in German to the servant. ' Which 
 do you like best ? ' he resumed, addressing Nikita, 
 ' the big ones ? Take the whole of them.' 
 
 He was happy to be able to show off before some 
 one. He did not realize to what a degree he was
 
 IQO THE ROMANCE OF A HORSE 
 
 humiliating poor Nikita, who now lit a cigar and 
 tried to give another turn to the conversation. 
 
 ' What did Atlasnii cost you ? ' he asked. 
 
 ' A long price,' was the reply ; ' not less than five 
 thousand roubles ; but, on the other hand, I am quite 
 satisfied now. You should see his stock. ' 
 
 ' Do they run well ? ' 
 
 ' Rather, they have won three races one at Toula, 
 one at Moscow, and the third at St. Petersburg ; and 
 they had Vageikoff's horses running against them.' 
 
 ' Atlasnii is rather too heavy for my taste,' replied 
 Nikita. 
 
 ' But the mares, they are very elegant. You shall 
 see for yourself to-morrow ; I have two beauties I 
 want to show you.' And then the master of the 
 house began to recapitulate his possessions again. 
 
 His mistress perceived that this conversation was 
 hurting Nikita ; and, so as to cut it short, she said 
 to her lover : ' Will you take another cup of tea ? ' 
 
 ' No, thanks,' he replied, continuing his conversa- 
 tion with his friend. 
 
 Seeing that there was no means of stopping it, she 
 rose. Then the master of the house affectionately 
 took her in his arms and kissed her. 
 
 Nikita smiled on seeing this, but when they dis- 
 appeared behind the hangings covering the door, the 
 expression of his face changed ; it became sad, 
 and even pained, with a certain shade of irritation. 
 
 XI 
 
 HPHE master of the house soon returned and 
 -*- sat down, smiling, face to face with his friend. 
 They both remained silent. The former asked him- 
 self what else he could boast of to poor Nikita, who, 
 on his part, sought for some way of showing that he 
 was not at all so unfortunate as people believed. 
 However, both experienced a difficulty in finding 
 something to say.
 
 THE ROMANCE OF A HORSE 191 
 
 ' If we were only drinking, at any rate,' said 
 Nikita to himself : ' this fellow is as dull as a funeral. 
 We must drink, in order to become a little more 
 lively.' 
 
 ' Shall you stay here much longer ? ' he asked his 
 host. 
 
 ' A month, perhaps. But suppose we have 
 supper ; what do you think ? Is supper ready, 
 Fritz ? ' said the master of the house. 
 
 They then went into the dining-room, where a 
 table laden with the most delicate viands and the 
 rarest vintages awaited them. They drank and ate, 
 and drank and ate again, and the conversation grew 
 more and more animated. Nikita Serpoukovsky 
 now recovered his courage, and spoke calmly of 
 bygone times. They talked of women gipsies, and 
 ballet-girls, and French women. 
 
 ' Well, you have left that Mathieu girl, then ? ' 
 said his host. 
 
 This was the French mistress who had ruined 
 Nikita. 
 
 ' It wasn't I who left her, but she who left me. 
 When 'I think of all the money I spent upon her, I 
 really shudder. Nowadays I think myself very 
 fortunate if I have a thousand roubles before me. 
 
 And yet, of old Ah ! I should like to leave 
 
 Moscow and all my old friends. It is too painful 
 to me to live amongst them.' 
 
 The master of the house felt bored at having to 
 listen to Nikita ; he would have preferred to speak 
 about himself, or to brag about his wealth. Nikita, 
 on his side, felt a need of talking of his past. His 
 host filled his glass and waited for him to finish, 
 anxious to speak of his horses and his Maria, who did 
 not love him for his money, but for himself. 
 
 ' I wanted to tell you that my stud ' he began, 
 
 but Nikita interrupted him, saying : 
 
 ' There was a time when I knew how to enjoy life 
 and to spend money. You are talking of horses. 
 Well, tell me which is your best ? ' 
 
 Thereupon his host, glad of the chance, began a
 
 192 THE ROMANCE OF A HORSE 
 
 long story about his stud. However, Nikita did not 
 let him finish it. ' Yes, yes,' said he, ' you don't 
 keep horses to please yourself ; it is from vanity 
 we know all that. With me, however, it was quite 
 another thing. I told you to-day that I had a 
 piebald horse, just like the old fellow that your 
 stud-groom rides. What a horse that was ! You 
 cannot recollect him. It was in the year '42. I 
 came to Moscow, I went to a dealer's, and there I saw 
 a piebald horse. His shape and make pleased me. 
 " What price ? " I asked. " A thousand roubles." 
 I bought him, and I never had, and I never shall 
 have, a horse like that. You were too young then 
 to judge horseflesh, but you must have heard about 
 him. All Moscow admired him.' 
 
 ' Yes, I have heard of him,' replied the master of 
 the house impatiently ; ' but I wanted to tell you 
 that in my ' 
 
 ' Ah ! you have heard of him. Well, I bought him 
 without knowing his pedigree. It was only later on 
 that I learnt that he was the son of Lioubeski I. 
 He had been sold on account of his coat, which dis- 
 pleased his master. Ah ! that was a fine time. 
 Oh ! my youth, my youth.' 
 
 Nikita was now getting quite intoxicated. 
 
 ' I was twenty-five, and had eighty thousand 
 roubles a year,' he said ; ' not a grey hair, and teeth 
 like pearls. Everything succeeded with me in those 
 days ' 
 
 ' But there were no such good trotters at that time 
 as there are now,' interrupted the master of the 
 house. ' You know my horses ' 
 
 ' Your horses ? But are they to be compared with 
 what there used to be ? I remember it as if it were 
 yesterday. I went with my piebald horse tp the 
 races. My other horses were not at Moscow at that 
 moment. I did not care for trotters, I always 
 preferred thoroughbreds. The piebald was my own 
 harness horse. I had a handsome coachman at that 
 time ; he, too, ended badly. Well, as I was saying, 
 I came on to the race-ground. " Serpoukovsky,"
 
 THE ROMANCE OF A HORSE 193 
 
 said 'some one to me, " where are your trotters ? " 
 " My trotters ? I haven't got any. I have only my 
 piebald horse here, but I will bet that he can distance 
 any one of yours." " Impossible." " Will you bet 
 a thousand roubles ? " I asked. Well, my piebald 
 came in five minutes ahead of all the other animals, 
 and my bet was won. But that is nothing. I 
 covered with my horse a hundred versts in three 
 hours. All Moscow knows it.' 
 
 And Nikita went on chattering so briskly that it 
 was impossible for the master of the house to get in 
 a single word. He looked despairingly at his guest, 
 and kept filling his glass. 
 
 Daylight was now breaking. Nikita was still 
 speaking with animation of his past exploits, and his 
 host was listening to him in disgust. He at length 
 decided to rise from his chair. 
 
 ' Let us go to bed/ said Serpoukovsky. Then he 
 also rose and staggered to the room that had been 
 got ready for him. 
 
 The master of the house in the meanwhile joined 
 his mistress. ' No, Nikita is unbearable,' said he. 
 ' He got drunk, and went on gabbling without 
 leaving off till now.' 
 
 ' Besides, he ventures to make love to me,' replied 
 Maria. 
 
 ' Well, I am very much afraid that he will want 
 to borrow some money of me,' said her lover. 
 
 Serpoukovsky, on his side, threw himself on to his 
 bed fully dressed. 
 
 ' I am afraid I bragged a good bit,' he thought. 
 ' What does it matter ? His wine is good, but he 
 he is a pig. One can detect the parvenu in him at 
 once. But I am a pig too.' And then Nikita began 
 to laugh. ' Once I kept women, and now I am kept. 
 Yes, that Winkler girl keeps me. I take money 
 from her. Suppose I undress but I shall never be 
 able to get my boots off. Hi ! hallo there ! ' he 
 cried. However, the servant had long since gone to 
 bed. 
 
 Then Nikita sat up, took off his uniform coat, his
 
 194 THE ROMANCE OF A HORSE 
 
 waistcoat, his trousers, and even one of his boots, 
 but he could not manage to get the other off. Finally 
 he threw himself back upon the bed and began to 
 snore with all his might, filling the room with the 
 odour of wine and tobacco. 
 
 XII 
 
 THAT night Kolstomier had no time to give to his 
 recollections. Vaska, the under-groom, threw 
 a rug over him, scrambled on to his back, and started 
 off at a gallop. He left him till morning at the door 
 of a tavern in company with a peasant's horse. The 
 two animals licked one another in a friendly way, 
 and in the morning when Kolstomier returned home 
 he scratched himself furiously. 
 
 ' I itch a great deal,' he said to himself. 
 
 Five days went by. Then the veterinary surgeon 
 was called in and said : ' It is the mange ; sell him 
 to the gipsies.' 
 
 ' Why so ? ' replied the groom ; ' it would be 
 better to kill him at once.' 
 
 The morning was fine. All the herd went off to 
 the meadows. Kolstomier alone remained at home. 
 A stranger, poorly clad, with a bespattered caftan, 
 came up to him. It was the knacker. He took the 
 horse by the halter and led him along. Kolstomier 
 followed him docilely, halting on his bad legs. On 
 passing through the gateway he wished to go to the 
 drinking trough, but the knacker pulled the halter, 
 saying : ' It isn't worth while.' 
 
 The knacker and Vaska made their way towards a 
 lonely spot behind the out-buildings. Then the 
 knacker gave Vaska the end of the tether, took off 
 his caftan, and drew a knife and a sharpening stone 
 from his boot. Kolstomier wanted to nibble the 
 halter as he was accustomed to do, but Vaska would 
 not let him. The monotonous noise made by the 
 knacker in sharpening his knife lulled the old horse
 
 THE ROMANCE OF A HORSE 195 
 
 to sleep. He stood motionless, with his lower lip 
 hanging, the stumps of his teeth bared, and a quiver 
 running up his right fore leg. 
 
 Suddenly he felt that something was put round his 
 neck, and then his head was lifted up. He opened 
 his eyes and saw two dogs standing in front of him. 
 The one was watching the movements of the knacker 
 with interest ; the other, seated on his hind legs, 
 looked as if he were expecting something. The horse, 
 after examining them, began to rub his muzzle 
 against the knacker's hand. 
 
 ' They want to cure me probably,' he said to 
 himself. ' Let them do it.' 
 
 And indeed he realized that they had done some- 
 thing extraordinary to his throat. He suddenly felt 
 a sharp pain, shuddered, staggered, recovered his 
 balance, and waited for what might happen. It 
 happened that something warm and wet flowed 
 down his neck and chest ; he drew in a long breath 
 and experienced great relief. Then he closed his eyes 
 and bent his head, which nothing seemed to keep up. 
 His legs were seized with a fit of trembling, his whole 
 body quivered. He was not in any way alarmed, 
 but he felt surprised. All things seemed to have 
 assumed a new aspect. He made a movement 
 forward, but his legs gave way beneath him, and as 
 he strove to take a step, he fell on his left side. 
 
 The knacker waited till the last struggles had 
 ceased. Then he drove off the dogs who had come 
 forward, and seizing the old horse by his hind legs, 
 he began to skin him. 
 
 ' Poor old fellow,' said Vaska. 
 
 ' If he had been fatter his skin would have been a 
 very fine one,' replied the knacker. 
 
 When the herd came home in the evening the 
 horses on the left could see in the distance a red mass 
 surrounded by dogs, crows, and hawks. One dog, 
 with his fore feet reddened with blood, was eagerly 
 tearing at a strip of flesh. The little chestnut mare 
 examined the sight without budging. She had to be 
 beaten to make her move on. During the night one
 
 196 THE ROMANCE OF A HORSE 
 
 heard the howlings of the young wolves rejoicing 
 over the prey they had found. Five in number, 
 they gathered around the body of the poor old horse, 
 and quarrelled over every scrap of his flesh. 
 
 A week later there was nothing to be seen behind 
 the shed save a white skull and two thigh-bones ; 
 all the rest had disappeared. During the following 
 summer a peasant passing by picked up these bones 
 and sold them. 
 
 The living corpse of Nikita, which still continued 
 to eat and drink, was not put under ground till a 
 much later date. Neither his flesh, nor his skin, nor 
 his bones were of the slightest use to any one. 
 
 As for twenty years this living corpse had been a 
 burden to every one, its burial was only a fresh 
 trouble to those who had known it. For a long time 
 past no one had had any need of it. However, 
 other living corpses just like it thought it their duty 
 to array this rotten body in a new uniform and fine 
 boots, to put it in a shell, to place this shell in a 
 leaden coffin for transport to Moscow, and there to 
 rout amongst old graves, in order that this body 
 clad in a fine uniform and patent-leather boots, 
 but swarming with maggots might be hidden and 
 covered over with earth. 
 
 Printed by T. and A. CONSTABLE, Printers to His Majesty 
 at the Edinburgh University Press
 
 24226
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 A 000 824 936 9