THE KREUTZER SONATA by Lev Nikolayevich Tolstoy
First Published in 1889
Translation by Louise and Aylmer Maude
Distributed by the Tolstoy Library
But I say unto you, that everyone that looketh on a woman to lust after
her hath committed adultery with her already in his heart. Matt. v. 28.
The disciples say unto him, If the case of the man is so with his wife, it
is not expedient to marry. But he said unto them, All men cannot receive this
saying, but they to whom it is given. Ibid. xix 10, 11.
CHAPTER I
It was early spring, and the second day of our journey. Passengers going
short distances entered and left our carriage, but three others, like myself,
had come all the way with the train. One was a lady, plain and no longer young,
who smoked, had a harassed look, and wore a mannish coat and cap; another was an
acquaintance of hers, a talkative man of about forty, whose things looked neat
and new; the third was a rather short man who kept himself apart. He was not
old, but his curly hair had gone prematurely grey. His movements were abrupt
and his unusually glittering eyes moved rapidly from one object to another. He
wore an old overcoat, evidently from a first-rate tailor, with an astrakhan
collar, and a tall astrakhan cap. When he unbuttoned his overcoat a sleeveless
Russian coat and embroidered shirt showed beneath it. A peculiarity of this man
was a strange sound he emitted, something like a clearing of his throat, or a
laugh begun and sharply broken off.
All the way this man had carefully avoided making acquaintance of making
any intercourse with his fellow passengers. When spoken to by those near him he
gave short and abrupt answers, and at other times read, looked out of the
window, smoked, or drank tea and ate something he took out of an old bag.
It seemed to me that his loneliness depressed him, and I made several attempts
to converse with him, but whenever our eyes met, which happened often as he sat
nearly opposite me, he turned away and took up his book or looked out of the
window.
Towards the second evening, when our train stopped at a large station, this
nervous man fetched himself some boiling water and made tea. The man with the
neat new things -- a lawyer as I found out later -- and his neighbor, the
smoking lady with the mannish coat, went to the refreshment-room to drink tea.
During their absence several new passengers entered the carriage, among them a
tall, shaven, wrinkled old man, evidently a tradesman, in a coat lined with
skunk fur, and a cloth cap with an enormous peak. The tradesman sat down
opposite the seats of the lady and the lawyer, and immediately started a
conversation with a young man who had also entered at that station and, judging
by his appearance, was a tradesman's clerk.
I was sitting the other side of the gangway and as the train was standing
still I could hear snatches of their conversation when nobody was passing
between us. The tradesman began by saying that he was going to his estate which
was only one station farther on; then as usual the conversation turned to prices
and trade, and they spoke of the state of business in Moscow and then of the
Nizhni- Novgorod Fair. The clerk began to relate how a wealthy merchant, known
to both of them, had gone on the spree at the fair, but the old man interrupted
him by telling of the orgies he had been at in former times at Kunavin Fair. He
evidently prided himself on the part he had played in them, and recounted with
pleasure how he and some acquaintances, together with the merchant they had been
speaking of, had once got drunk at Kunavin and played such a trick that he had
to tell of it in a whisper. The clerk's roar of laughter filled the whole
carriage; the old man laughed also, exposing two yellow teeth. Not
expecting to hear anything interesting, I got up to stroll about the platform
till the train should start. At the carriage door I met the lawyer and the lady
who were talking with animation as they approached.
"You won't have time," said the sociable lawyer, "the second bell will ring
in a moment."
And the bell did ring before I had gone the length of the train. When I
returned, the animated conversation between the lady and the lawyer was
proceeding. The old tradesman sat silent opposite to them, looking sternly
before him, and occasionally mumbled disapprovingly as if chewing something.
"Then she plainly informed her husband," the lawyer was smilingly saying as
I passed him, "that she was not able, and did not wish, to live with him
since..."
He went on to say something I could not hear. Several other passengers
came in after me. The guard passed, a porter hurried in, and for some time the
noise made their voices inaudible. When all was quiet again the conversation
had evidently turned from the particular case to general considerations.
The lawyer was saying that public opinion in Europe was occupied with the
question of divorce, and that cases of "that kind" were occurring more and more
often in Russia. Noticing that his was the only voice audible, he stopped his
discourse and turned to the old man.
"Those things did not happen in the old days, did they?" he said, smiling
pleasantly.
The old man was about to reply, but the train moved and he took off his
cap, crossed himself, and whispered a prayer. The lawyer turned away his eyes
and waited politely. Having finished his prayer and crossed himself three times
the old man set his cap straight, pulled it well down over his forehead, changed
his position, and began to speak. "They used to happen even then, sir, but
less often," he said. "As times are now they can't help happening. People had
got too educated." The train moved faster and faster and jolted over the
joints of the rails, making it difficult to hear, but being interested I moved
nearer. The nervous man with the glittering eyes opposite me, evidently also
interested, listened without changing his place. "What is wrong with
education?" said the lady, with a scarcely perceptible smile. "Surely it can't
be better to marry as they used to in the old days when the bride and bridegroom
did not even see one another before the wedding," she continued, answering not
what her interlocutor had said but what she thought he would say, in the way
many ladies have. "Without knowing whether they loved, or whether they could
love, they married just anybody, and were wretched all their lives. And you
think that this was better?" she said, evidently addressing me and the lawyer
chiefly and least of all the old man with whom she was talking.
"They've got so very educated," the tradesman reiterated, looking
contemptuously at the lady and leaving her question unanswered.
"It would be interesting to know how you explain the connection between
education and matrimonial discord," said the lawyer, with a scarcely perceptible
smile.
The tradesman was about to speak, but the lady interrupted him.
"No," she said, "those times have passed." but the lawyer stopped her.
"Yes, but allow the gentleman to express his views."
"Foolishness comes from education," the old man said categorically.
"They make people who don't love one another marry, and then wonder that
they live in discord," the lady hastened to say, turning to look at the lawyer,
at me, and even at the clerk, who had got up and, leaning on the back of the
seat, was smilingly listening to the conversation. "It's only animals, you
know, that can be paired off as their master likes; but human beings have their
own inclinations and attachments," said the lady, with an evident desire to
annoy the tradesman.
"You should not talk like that, madam," said the old man, "animals are
cattle, but human beings have a law given them."
"Yes, but how is one to live with a man when there is no love?" the lady
again hastened to express her argument, which had probably seemed very new to
her.
"They used not to go into that," said the old man in an impressive tone.
"It is only now that all this has sprung up. the least thing makes them say:
"I will leave you!" The fashion has spread even to the peasants. 'Here you
are!' she says. 'Here, take your shirts and trousers and I will go with Vanka;
his head is curlier than yours.' What can you say? the first thing that should
be required of a woman is fear!"
The clerk glanced at the lawyer, at the lady, and at me, apparently
suppressing a smile and prepared to ridicule or to approve of the tradesman's
words according to the reception they met with.
"Fear of what?" asked the lady.
"Why this: Let her fear her husband! That fear!"
"Oh, the time for that, sir, has passed," said the lady with a certain
viciousness.
"No, madam, that time cannot pass. As she, Eve, was made from the rib of a
man, so it will remain to the end of time," said the old man, jerking his head
with such sternness and such a victorious look that the clerk at once concluded
that victory was on his side, and laughed loudly.
"Ah yes, that's the way you men argue," said the lady unyieldingly, and
turned to us. "You have given yourselves freedom but want to shut women up in a
tower. You no doubt permit yourselves everything."
"No one is permitting anything, but a man does not bring offspring into the
home; while a woman - a wife - is a leaky vessel," the tradesman continued
insistently. His tone was so impressive that it evidently vanquished his
hearers, and even the lady felt crushed but still did not give in.
"Yes, but I think you will agree that a woman is a human being and has
feelings as a man has. What is she to do then, if she does not love her
husband?"
"Does not love!" said the tradesman severely, moving his brows and lips.
"She'll love, no fear!" this unexpected argument particularly pleased the
clerk, and he emitted a sound of approval.
"Oh, no, she won't!" the lady began. "And when there is no love you can't
enforce it."
"Well, and supposing the wife is unfaithful, what then?" asked the lawyer.
"That is not admissible," said the old man. "One has to see to that."
"But if it happens, what then? You know it does occur."
"It happens among some, but not among us," said the old man.
All were silent. The clerk moved, came still nearer, and, evidently
unwilling to be behindhand, began with a smile.
"Yes, a young fellow of ours had a scandal. It was a difficult case to
deal with. It too was a case of a woman who was a bad lot. She began to play
the devil, and the young fellow is respectable and cultured. At first it was
with one of the office- clerks. The husband tried to persuade her with
kindness. She would not stop, but played all sorts of dirty tricks. then she
began to steal his money. He beat her, but she only grew worse. Carried on
intrigues, if I may mention it, with an unchristened Jew. What was he to do?
He turned her out altogether and lives as a bachelor, while she gads about."
"Because he is a fool," said the old man. "If he'd pulled her up properly
from the first and not let her have way, she'd be living with him, no fear!
It's giving way at first that counts. Don't trust your horse in the field, or
your wife in the house."
At that moment the guard entered to collect the tickets for the next
station. The old man gave up his.
"Yes, the female sex must be curbed in time or else all is lost!"
"Yes, but you yourself just now were speaking about the way married men
amuse themselves at the Kunavin Fair," I could not help saying.
"That's a different matter," said the old man and relapsed into silence.
When the whistle sounded the tradesman rose, got out his bag from under the
seat, buttoned up his coat, and slightly lifting his cap went out of the
carriage.
CHAPTER II
As soon as the old man had gone several voices were raised.
"A daddy of the old style!" remarked the clerk.
"A living Domostroy!" [The Housebuilder, a 16th-century manual by the monk
Silvester, on religion and household management.] said the lady. "What
barbarous views of women and marriage!"
"Yes, we are far from the European understanding of marriage," said the
lawyer.
"The chief thing such people do not understand," continued the lady, "is
that marriage without love is not marriage; that love sanctifies marriage, and
that real marriage is only such as is sanctified by love."
The clerk listened smilingly, trying to store up for future use all he
could of the clever conversation.
In the midst of the lady's remarks we heard, behind me, a sound like that
of a broken laugh or sob; and on turning round we saw my neighbor, the lonely
grey-haired man with the glittering eyes, who had approached unnoticed during
our conversation, which evidently interested him. He stood with his arms on the
back of the seat, evidently much excited; his face was red and a muscle twitched
in his cheek.
"What kind of love...love...is it that sanctifies marriage?" he asked
hesitatingly.
Noticing the speaker's agitation, the lady tried to answer him as gently
and fully as possible.
"True love...When such love exists between a man and a woman, then marriage
is possible," she said.
"Yes, but how is one to understand what is meant by 'true love'?" said the
gentleman with the glittering eyes timidly and with an awkward smile.
"Everybody knows what love is," replied the lady, evidently wishing to
break off her conversation with him.
"But I don't," said the man. "You must define what you understand..."
"Why? It's very simple," she said, but stopped to consider. "Love? Love
is an exclusive preference for one above everybody else," said the lady.
"Preference for how long? A month, two days, or half an hour?" said the
grey-haired man and began to laugh.
"Excuse me, we are evidently not speaking of the same thing."
"Oh, yes! Exactly the same."
"She means," interposed the lawyer, pointing to the lady, "that in the
first place marriage must be the outcome of attachment -- or love, if you please
-- and only where that exists is marriage ssacred, so to speak. Secondly, that
marriage when not based on natural attachment -- love, if you prefer the word --
lacks the element that makes it morally binding. Do I understand you rightly?"
He added, addressing the lady.
The lady indicated her approval of his explanation by a nod of her head.
"It follows..." the lawyer continued -- but the nervous man whose eyes now
glowed as if aflame and who had evidently restrained himself with difficulty,
began without letting the lawyer finish:
"Yes, I mean exactly the same thing, a preference for one person over
everybody else, and I am only asking: a preference for how long?"
"For how long? For a long time; for life sometimes," replied the lady
shrugging her shoulders.
"Oh, but that happens only in novels and never in real life. In real life
this preference for one may last for years (that happens very rarely), more
often for months, or perhaps for weeks, days, or hours," he said, evidently
aware that he was astonishing everybody by his views and pleased that it was so.
"Oh, what are you saying?" "But no..." "No, allow me..." we all three
began at once. Even the clerk uttered an indefinite sound of disapproval.
"Yes, I know," the grey-haired man shouted above our voices, "you are
talking about what is supposed to be, but I am speaking of what is. Every man
experiences what you call love for every pretty woman."
"Oh, what you say is awful! But the feeling that is called love does exist
among people, and is given not for months or years, but for a lifetime!"
"No, it does not! Even if we should grant that a man might prefer a
certain woman all his life, the woman in all probability would prefer someone
else; and so it always has been and still is in the world," he said, and taking
out his cigarette-case he began to smoke.
"But the feeling may be reciprocal," said the lawyer.
"No sir, it can't!" rejoined the other. "Just as it cannot be that in a
cartload of peas, two marked peas will lie side by side. Besides, it is not
merely this impossibility, but the inevitable satiety. To love one person for a
whole lifetime is like saying that one candle will burn a whole life," he said
greedily inhaling the smoke.
"But you are talking all the time about physical love. Don't you
acknowledge love based on identity of ideals, on spiritual affinity?" asked the
lady.
"Spiritual affinity! Identify of ideals!" he repeated, emitting his
peculiar sound. "But in that case why go to bed together? (Excuse my
coarseness!) Or do people go to bed together because of the identity of their
ideals?" he said, bursting into a nervous laugh.
"But permit me," said the lawyer. "Facts contradict you. We do see that
matrimony exists, that all mankind, or the greater part of it, lives in wedlock,
and many people honorably live long married lives."
The grey-haired man again laughed.
"First you say that marriage is based on love, and when I express a doubt
as to the existence of a love other than sensual, you prove the existence of
love by the fact that marriages exist. But marriages in our days are mere
deception!"
"No, allow me!" said the lawyer. "I only say that marriages have existed
and do exist."
"They do! But why? They have existed and do exist among people who see in
marriage something sacramental, a mystery binding them in the sight of God.
Among them marriages do exist. Among us, people marry regarding marriage as
nothing but copulation, and the result is either deception or coercion. When it
is deception it is easier to bear. The husband and wife merely deceive people
by pretending to be monogamists, while living polygamously. that is bad, but
still bearable. But when, as most frequently happens, the husband and wife have
undertaken the external duty of living together all their lives, and begin to
hate each other after a month, and wish to part but still continue to live
together, it leads to that terrible hell which makes people take to drink, shoot
themselves, or kill or poison themselves or one another," he went on, speaking
more and more rapidly, not allowing anyone to put in a word and becoming more
and more excited. We all felt embarrassed.
"Yes, undoubtedly there are critical episodes in married life," said the
lawyer, wishing to end this disturbingly heated conversation.
"I see you have found out who I am!" said the grey-haired man softly, and
with apparent calm.
"No, I have not that pleasure."
"It is no great pleasure. I am that Pozdnyshev in whose life that critical
episode occurred to which you alluded; the episode when he killed his wife," he
said, rapidly glancing at each of us.
No one knew what to say and all remained silent. "Well, never mind," he
said with that peculiar sound of his. "However, pardon me. Ah!...I won't
intrude on you."
"Oh, no, if you please..." said the lawyer, himself not knowing "if you
please" what.
But Pozdnyshev, without listening to him, rapidly turned away and went back
to his seat. The lawyer and the lady whispered together. I sat down beside
Pozdnyshev in silence, unable to think of anything to say. It was too dark to
read, so I shut my eyes pretending that I wished to go to sleep. So we
travelled in silence to the next station.
At that station the lawyer and the lady moved into another car, having some
time previously consulted the guard about it. The clerk lay down on the seat
and fell asleep. Pozdnyshev kept smoking and drinking tea which he had made at
the last station.
When I opened my eyes and looked at him he suddenly addressed me resolutely
and irritably:
"Perhaps it is unpleasant for you to sit with me, knowing who I am? In
that case I will go away."
"Oh no, not at all."
"Well then, won't you have some? Only it's very strong."
He poured out some tea for me.
"They talk...and they always lie..." he remarked.
"What are you speaking about?" I asked.
"Always about the same thing. About that love of theirs and what it is!
Don't you want to sleep?"
"Not at all."
"Then would you like me to tell you how that love led to what happened to
me?"
"Yes, if it will not be painful for you."
"No, it is painful for me to be silent. Drink the tea...or is it too
strong?"
The tea was really like beer, but I drank a glass of it." Just then the
guard entered. Pozdnyshev followed him with angry eyes, and only began to speak
after he had left.
CHAPTER III
"Well then, I'll tell you. but do you really want to hear it?"
I repeated that I wished it very much. He paused, rubbed his face with his
hands, and began:
"If I am to tell it, I must tell everything from the beginning: I must
tell how and why I married, and the kind of man I was before my marriage.
"Till my marriage I lived as everybody does, that is, everybody in our
class. I am a landowner and a graduate of the university, and was a marshal of
the gentry. Before my marriage I lived as everyone does, that is, dissolutely;
and while living dissolutely I was convinced, like everyone else in our class,
that I was living as one has to. I thought I was a charming fellow and quite a
moral man. I was not a seducer, had no unnatural tastes, did not make that the
chief purpose of my life as many of my associates did, but I practiced
debauchery in a steady, decent way for health's sake. I avoided women who might
tie my hands by having a child or by attachment for me. However, there may have
been children and attachments, but I acted as if there were not. and this I not
only considered moral, but I was even proud of it."
He paused and gave vent to his peculiar sound, as he evidently did whenever
a new idea occurred to him.
"And you know, that is the chief abomination!" he exclaimed.
"dissoluteness does not lie in anything physical -- no kind of physical
misconduct is debauchery; real debauchery lies precisely in freeing oneself from
moral relations with a woman with whom you have physical intimacy. And such
emancipation I regarded as a merit. I remember how I once worried because I had
not had a n opportunity to pay a woman who gave herself to me (having probably
taken a fancy tome) and how I only became tranquil after having sent her some
money -- thereby intimating that I did not consider myself in any way morally
bound to her ... Don't nod as if you agreed with me," he suddenly shouted at me.
"Don't I know these things? We all, and you too unless you are a rare
exception, hold those same views, just as I used to. Never mind, I beg your
pardon, but the fact is that it's terrible, terrible, terrible!"
"What is terrible?" I asked.
"That abyss of error in which we live regarding women and our relations
with them. No, I can't speak calmly about it, not because of that 'episode,' as
he called it, in my life, but because since that 'episode' occurred my eyes have
been opened and I have seen everything in quite a different light. Everything
reversed, everything reversed!"
He lit a cigarette and began to speak, leaning his elbows on his knees.
It was too dark to see his face, but, above the jolting of the train, I
could hear his impressive and pleasant voice.
CHAPTER IV
"Yes, only after such torments as I have endured, only by their means, have
I understood where the root of the matter lies -- understood what ought to be,
and therefore seen all the horror of what is.
"So you will see how and when that which led up to my 'episode' began. It
began when I was not quite sixteen. It happened when I still went to the
grammar school and my elder brother was a first-year student at the university.
I had not yet known any woman, but, like all the unfortunate children of our
class, I was no longer an innocent boy. I had been depraved two years before
that by other boys. Already woman, not some particular woman but woman as
something to be desired, woman, every woman, woman's nudity, tormented me. My
solitude was not pure. I was tormented, as ninety-nine per cent. of our boys
are. I was horrified, I suffered, I prayed, and I fell. I was already depraved
in imagination and in fact, but I had not yet laid hands on another human being.
But one day a comrade of my brother's, a jolly student, a so-called good fellow,
that is, the worst kind of good-for-nothing, who had taught us to drink and to
play cards, persuaded us after a carousal to go there. We went. My brother was
also still innocent, and he fell that same night. And I, a fifteen-year-old
boy, defiled myself and took part in defiling a woman, without at all
understanding what I was doing. I had never heard from any of my elders that
what I was doing was wrong, you know. and indeed no one hears it now. It is
true it is in the Commandments but then the Commandments are only needed to
answer the priest at Scripture examination, and even then they are not very
necessary, not nearly as necessary as the commandment about the use of ut in
conditional sentences in Latin.
"And so I never heard those older persons whose opinions I respected say
that it was an evil. On the contrary, I heard people I respected say it was
good. I had heard that my struggles and sufferings would be eased after that.
I heard this and read it, and heard my elders say it would be good for my
health, while from my comrades I heard that it was rather a fine, spirited thing
to do. So in general I expected nothing but good from it. The risk of disease?
But that too had been foreseen. A paternal government saw to that. It sees to
the correct working of brothels, and makes profligacy safe for schoolboys.
Doctors too deal with it for a consideration. That is proper. They assert that
debauchery is good for the health, and they organize proper well-regulated
debauchery. I know some mothers who attend to their sons' health in that sense.
And science sends them to the brothels."
"Why do you say 'science'?" I asked.
"Why, who are the doctors? The priests of science. Who deprave youths by
maintaining that this is necessary for their health? They do."
"Yet if a one-hundredth part of the efforts devoted to the cure of syphilis
were devoted to the eradication of debauchery there would long ago not have been
a trace of syphilis left. But as it is, efforts are made not to eradicate
debauchery but to encourage it and to make debauchery safe. That is not the
point however. The point is that with me -- and with nine-tenths, if not more,
not of our class only but of all classes, even the peasants -- this terrible
thing happens that happened to me; I fell not because I succumbed to the natural
temptation of a particular woman's charm -- no, I was not seduced by a woman --
but I fell because, in the set around me, what was really a fall was regarded by
some as a most legitimate function good for one's health, and by others as a
very natural and not only excusable but even innocent amusement for a young man.
I did not understand that it was a fall, but simply indulged in that half-
pleasure, half-need, which, as was suggested to me, was natural at a certain
age. I began to indulge in debauchery as I began to drink and to smoke. Yet in
that first fall there was something special and pathetic. I remember that at
once, on the spot before I left the room, I felt sad, so sad that I wanted to
cry -- to cry for the loss of my innocence and for my relationship with women,
now sullied for ever. Yes, my natural, simple relationship with women was spoilt
for ever. From that time I have not had, and could not have, pure relations
with women. I had become what is called a libertine. To be a libertine is a
physical condition like that of a morphinist, a drunkard, or a smoker. As a
morphinist, a drunkard, or a smoker is no longer normal, so too a man who has
known several women for his pleasure is not normal but is a man perverted for
ever, a libertine. as a drunkard or a morphinist can be recognized at once by
his face and manner, so it is with a libertine. A libertine may restrain
himself, may struggle, but he will never have those pure, simple, clear,
brotherly relations with a woman. By the way he looks at a young woman and
examines, a libertine can always be recognized. And I had become and I remained
a libertine, and it was this that brought me to ruin."
CHAPTER V
"Ah, yes! After that things went from bad to worse, and there were all
sorts of deviations. Oh, god! When I recall the abominations I committed in
this respect I am seized with horror! And that is true of me, whom my
companions, I remember, ridiculed for my so-called innocence. And when one
hears of the 'gilded youths,' of officers, of the Parisians...! And when all
these gentlemen, and I -- who have on our souls hundreds of the most varied and
horrible crimes against women -- when we thirty-year-old profligates, very
carefully washed, shaved, perfumed, in clean linen and in evening dress or
uniform, enter a drawing room or ballroom, we are emblems of purity, charming!
"Only think of what ought to be, and of what is! When in society such a
gentleman comes up to my sister or daughter, I, knowing his life, ought to go up
to him, take him aside, and say quietly, 'My dear fellow, I know the life you
lead, and how and with whom you pass your nights. This is no place for you.
There are pure, innocent girls here. Be off!' that is what ought to be; but
what happens is that when such a gentleman comes and dances, embracing our
sister or daughter, we are jubilant, if he is rich and well-connected. Maybe
after Rigulboche he will honor my daughter! Even if traces of disease remain,
no matter! They are clever at curing that nowadays. Oh, yes, I know several
girls in the best society whom their parents enthusiastically gave in marriage
to men suffering from a certain disease. Oh, oh...the abomination of it! But a
time will come when this abomination and falsehood will be exposed!"
He made his strange noise several times and again drank tea. It was
fearfully strong and there was no water with which to dilute it. I felt that I
was much excited by the two glasses I had drunk. Probably the tea affected him
too, for he became more and more excited. His voice grew increasingly mellow
and expressive. He continually changed his position, now taking off his cap and
now putting it on again, and his face changed strangely in the semi- darkness in
which we were sitting.
"Well, so I lived till I was thirty, not abandoning for a moment the
intention of marrying and arranging for myself a most elevated and pure family
life. with that purpose I observed the girls suitable for that end," he
continued. "I weltered in a mire of debauchery and at the same time was on the
lookout for a girl pure enough to be worthy of me.
"I rejected many just because they were not pure enough to suit me, but at
last I found one whom I considered worthy. She was one of two daughters of a
once-wealthy Penza landowner who had been ruined.
"One evening after we had been out in a boat and had returned by moonlight,
and I was sitting beside her admiring her culs and her shapely figure in a
tight-fitting jersey, I suddenly decided that it was she! It seemed tome that
evening that she understood all that I felt and thought, and that what I felt
and thought was very lofty. In reality it was only that the jersey and the
curls were particularly becoming to her and that after a day spent near her I
wanted to be still closer.
"It is amazing how complete is the delusion that beauty is goodness. A
handsome woman talks nonsense, you listen and hear not nonsense but cleverness.
She says and does horrid things, and you see only charm. And if a handsome
woman does not say stupid or horrid things, you at once persuade yourself that
she is wonderfully clever and moral.
"I returned home in rapture, decided that she was the acme of moral
perfection, and that therefore she was worthy to be my wife, and I proposed to
her next day.
"What a muddle it is! Out of a thousand men who marry (not only among us
but unfortunately also among the masses) there is hardly one who has not already
been married ten, a hundred, or even, like Don Juan, a thousand times, before
his wedding.
"It is true as I have heard and have myself observed that there are
nowadays some chaste young men who feel and know that this thing is not a joke
but an important matter.
"God help them! But in my time there was not one such in ten thousand.
And everybody knows this and pretends not to know it. In all the novels they
describe in detail the heroes' feelings and the ponds and bushes beside which
they walk, but when their great love for some maiden is described, nothing is
said about what has happened to these interesting heroes before: not a word
about their frequenting certain houses, or about the servant-girls, cooks, and
other people's wives! If there are such improper novels they are not put into
the hands of those who most need this information -- the unmarried girls.
"We first pretend to these girls that the profligacy which fills half the
life of our towns, and even of the villages, does not exist at all.
"Then we get so accustomed to this pretence that at last, like the English,
we ourselves really begin to believe this quite seriously. So too did my
unfortunate wife. I remember how, when we were engaged, I showed her my diary,
from which she could learn something, if but a little, of my past, especially
about my last liaison, of which she might hear from others, and about which I
therefore felt it necessary to inform her. I remember her horror, despair, and
confusion, when she learnt of it and understood it. I saw that she then wanted
to give me up. And why did she not do so?..."
He again made that sound, swallowed another mouthful of tea, and remained
silent for a while.
CHAPTER VI "No, after all, it is better, better so!" he
exclaimed. "It serves me right! But that's not to the point -- I meant to say
that it is only the unfortunate girls who are deceived.
"The mothers know it, especially mothers educated by their own husbands --
they know it very well. While pretending to believe in the purity of men, they
act quite differently. They know with what sort of bait to catch men for
themselves and for their daughters.
"You see it is only we men who don't know (because we don't wish to know)
what women know very well, that the most exalted poetic love, as we call it,
depends not on moral qualities but on physical nearness and on the coiffure, and
the color and cut of the dress. Ask an expert coquette who has set herself the
task of captivating a man, which she would prefer to risk: to be convicted in
his presence of lying, of cruelty, or even of dissoluteness, or to appear before
him in an ugly and badly made dress -- she will always prefer the first. She
knows that we are continually lying about high sentiments, but really only want
her body and will therefore forgive any abomination except an ugly tasteless
costume that is in bad style.
"A coquette knows that consciously, and every innocent girl knows it
unconsciously just as animals do.
"That is why there are those detestable jerseys, bustles, and naked
shoulders, arms, almost breasts. A woman, especially if she has passed the male
school, knows very well that all the talk about elevated subjects is just talk,
but that what a man wants is her body and all that presents it in the most
deceptive but alluring light; and she acts accordingly. If we only throw aside
our familiarity with this indecency, which has become a second nature to us, and
look at the life of our upper classes as it is, in all its shamelessness -- why,
it is simply a brothel...You don't agree?
Allow me, I'll prove it," he said, interrupting me. "You say that the women of
our society have other interests in life than prostitutes have, but I say no,
and will prove it. If people differ in the aims of their lives, by the inner
content of their lives, this difference will necessarily be reflected in
externals and their externals will be different. But look at those unfortunate
despised women and at the highest society ladies: the same costumes, the same
fashions, the same perfumes, the exposure of arms, shoulders, and breasts, the
same tight skirts over prominent bustles, the same passion for little stones,
for costly, glittering objects, the same amusements, dances, music, and singing.
As the former employ all means to allure, so do these others."
CHAPTER VII
"Well, so these jerseys and curls and bustles caught me!
"It was very easy to catch me for I was brought up in the conditions in
which amorous young people are forced like cucumbers in a hot-bed. You see our
stimulating super-abundance of food, together with complete physical idleness,
is nothing but a systematic excitement of desire. Whether this astonishes you
or not, it is so. why, till quiet recently I did not see anything of this
myself, but now I have seen it. That is why it torments me that nobody knows
this, and people talk such nonsense as that lady did.
"Yes, last spring some peasants were working in our neighborhood on a
railway embankment. The usual food of a young peasant is rye bread, kvas, and
onions; he keeps alive and is vigorous and healthy; his work is light
agricultural work. When he goes to railway work his rations are buckwheat
porridge and a pound of meat a day. But he works off that pound of meat during
his sixteen hours' work wheeling barrow-loads of half-a-ton weight, so it is
just enough for him. But we who every day consume two pounds of meet, and game,
and fish and all sorts of heating foods and drinks -- where does that go to?
Into excesses of sensuality. And if it goes there and the safety-valve is open,
all is well; but try and close the safety-valve, as I closed it temporarily, and
at once a stimulus arises which, passing through the prism of our artificial
life, expresses itself in utter infatuation, sometimes even platonic. and I
fell in love as they all do.
"Everything was there to hand: raptures, tenderness, and poetry. In
reality that love of mine was the result, on the one hand of her mamma's and the
dressmakers' activity, and on the other of the super-abundance of food consumed
by me while living an idle life. If on the one hand there had been no boating,
no dressmaker with her waists and so forth, and had my wife been sitting at home
in a shapeless dressing gown, and had I on the other hand been circumstances
normal to man -- consuming just enough food to suffice for the work I did, and
had the safety-valve been open -- it happened to be closed at the time -- I
should not have fallen in love and nothing of all this would have happened."
CHAPTER VIII
"Well, and now it so chanced that everything combined -- my condition, her
becoming dress, and the satisfactory boating. It had failed twenty times but
now it succeeded. Just like a trap! I am not joking. You see nowadays
marriages are arranged that way -- like traps. What is the natural way?? The
lass is ripe, she must be given in marriage. It seems very simple if the girl
is not a fright and there are men wanting to marry. That is how it was done in
olden times. The lass was grown up and her parents arranged the marriage. So
it was done, and is done, among all mankind -- Chinese, Hindus, Mohammedans, and
among our own working classes; so it is done among at least ninety-nine percent
of the human race. Only among one percent or less, among us libertines, has it
been discovered that that is not right, and something new has been invented.
And what is this novelty? It is that the maidens sit around and the men walk
about, as at a bazaar, choosing. And the maidens wait and think, but dare not
say: 'Me, please!' 'No me!' 'Not her, but me!' 'Look what shoulders and
other things I have!' And we men stroll around and look, and are very pleased.
'Yes, I know! I won't be caught!' They stroll about and look and are very
pleased that everything is arranged like that for them. And then in an
unguarded moment -- snap! He is caught!"
"Then how ought it to be done?" I asked. "Should the woman propose?"
"Oh, I don't know how; only if there's to be equality, let it be quality.
If they have discovered that pre-arranged matches are degrading, why this is a
thousand times worse! Then the rights and chances were equal, but here the
woman is a slave in a bazaar or the bait in a trap. Tell any mother, or the
girl herself, the truth, that she is only occupied in catching a husband...oh
dear! what an insult! Yet they all do it and have nothing else to do.
What is so terrible is to see sometimes quite innocent poor young girls engaged
on it. and again, if it were but done openly -- but it is always done
deceitfully. 'Ah, the origin of species, how interesting!' 'Oh, Lily takes
such an interest in painting! And will you be going to the exhibition? How
instructive!' And the troyka-drives, and shows, and symphonies! 'Oh! how
remarkable! My Lily is mad on music.' 'And why don't you share these
convictions?' and boating ... but their one thought is: 'Take me, take me!'
'Take my Lily!' 'Or try -- at least!' Oh, what an abomination! What
falsehood!' he concluded, finishing his tea and beginning to put away the tea
things.
CHAPTER IX
"You know," he began while packing the tea and sugar into his bag. "The
domination of women from which the world suffers all arises from this."
"What 'domination of women'?" I asked. "the rights, the legal privileges,
are on the man's side."
"Yes, yes! That's just it," he interrupted me. "that just what I want to
say. It explains the extraordinary phenomenon that on the one hand woman is
reduced to the lowest stage of humiliation, while on the other she dominates.
Just like the Jews:
as they pay us back for their oppression by a financial domination, so it is
with women. 'Ah, you want us to be traders only -- all right, as traders we
will dominate you!' say the Jews. 'Ah, you want us to be merely objects of
sensuality -- all right, as objects of sensuality we will enslave you,' say the
women. Woman's lack of rights arises not from the fact that she must not vote
or be a judge -- to be occupied with such affairs is no privilege -- bur from
the fact that she is not man's equal in sexual intercourse and has not the right
to use a man or abstain from him as she likes -- is not allowed to choose a man
at her pleasure instead of being chosen by him. You say that is monstrous.
Very well! Then a man must not have those rights either. As it is at present,
a woman is deprived of that right while a man has it. and to make up for that
right she acts on man's sensuality, and through his sensuality subdues him so
that he only chooses formally, while in reality it is she who chooses. And once
she has obtained these means she abuses them and acquires a terrible power over
people."
"But where is this special power?" I inquired.
"Where is it? Why everywhere, in everything! Go round the shops in any
big town. There are goods worth millions and you cannot estimate the human
labor expended on them, and look whether in nine-tenths of these shops there is
anything for the use of men. All the luxuries of life are demanded and
maintained by women.
"Count all the factories. An enormous proportion of them produce useless
ornaments, carriages, furniture, and trinkets, for women. Millions of people,
generations of slaves, perish at hard labor in factories merely to satisfy
woman's caprice. Women, like queens, keep nine-tenths of mankind in bondage to
heavy labor. And all because they have been abased and deprived of equal rights
with men. And they revenge themselves by acting on our sensuality and catch us
in their nets. Yes, it all comes of that.
"Women have made of themselves such an instrument for acting upon our
sensuality that a man cannot quietly consort with a woman. As soon as a man
approaches a woman he succumbs to her stupefying influence and becomes
intoxicated and crazy. I used formerly to feel uncomfortable and uneasy when I
saw a lady dressed up for a ball, but now I am simply frightened and plainly see
her as something dangerous and illicit. I want to call a policeman and ask for
protection from the peril, and demand that the dangerous object be removed and
put away.
"Ah, you are laughing!" he shouted at me, "but it is not at all a joke. I
am sure a time will come, and perhaps very soon, when people will understand
this and will wonder how a society could exist in which actions were permitted
which so disturb social tranquility as those adornments of the body directly
evoking sensuality, which we tolerate for women in our society. why, it's like
setting all sorts of traps along the paths and promenades -- it is even worse!
why is gambling forbidden while women in costumes which evoke sensuality are not
forbidden? They are a thousand times more dangerous!"
CHAPTER X
"Well, you see, I was caught that way. I was what is called in love. I
not only imagined her to be the height of perfection, but during the time of our
engagement I regarded myself also as the height of perfection. You know there
is no rascal who cannot, if he tries, find rascals in some respects worse than
himself, and who consequently cannot find reasons for pride and self-
satisfaction. So it was with me: I was not marrying for money -- covetousness
had nothing to do with it -- unlike the majority of my acquaintances who married
for money or connections -- I was rich, she was poor. That was one thing.
Another thing I prided myself on was that while others married intending to
continue in future the same polygamous life they had lived before marriage, I
was firmly resolved to be monogamous after marriage, and there was no limit to
my pride on that score. Yes, I was a dreadful pig and imagined myself to be an
angel.
"Our engagement did not last long. I cannot now think of that time without
shame! What nastiness! Love is supposed to be spiritual and not sensual.
Well, if the love is spiritual, a spiritual communion, then that spiritual
communion should find expression in words, in conversations, in discourse.
There was nothing of the kind. It used to be dreadfully difficult to talk when
we were left alone. It was the labor of Sisyphus. As soon as we thought of
something to say and said it, we had again to be silent, devising something
else. There was nothing to talk about. All that could be said about the life
that awaited us, our arrangements and plans, had been said, and what was there
more? Now if we had been animals we should have known that speech was
unnecessary; but here on the contrary it was necessary to speak, and there was
nothing to say, because we were not occupied with what finds vent in speech.
And moreover there was that ridiculous custom of giving sweets, of coarse
gormandizing on sweets, and all those abominable preparations for the wedding:
remarks about the house, the bedroom, beds, wraps, dressing gowns,
underclothing, costumes. You must remember that if one married according to the
injunctions of Domostroy, as that old fellow was saying, then the feather-beds,
the trousseau, and the bedstead are all but details appropriate to the
sacrament. But among us, when of ten who marry there are certainly nine who not
only do not believe in the sacrament, but do not even believe that what they are
doing entails certain obligations -- where scarcely one man out of a hundred has
not been married before, and of fifty scarcely one is not preparing in advance
to be unfaithful to his wife at every convenient opportunity -- when the
majority regard the going to church as only a special condition for obtaining
possession of a certain woman -- think what a dreadful significance all these
details acquire. They show that the whole business is only that; they show that
it is a kind of sale. An innocent girl is sold to a profligate, and the sale is
accompanied by certain formalities."
CHAPTER XI
"That is how everybody marries and that is how I married, and the much
vaunted honeymoon began. why, its very name is vile!" he hissed viciously. "In
Paris I once went to see the sights, and noticing a bearded woman and a water-
dog on a sign board, I entered the show. It turned out to be nothing but a man
in a woman's low- necked dress, and a dog done up in a walrus skin and swimming
in a bath. It was very far from being interesting; but as I was leaving, the
showman politely saw me out and, addressing the public at the entrance, pointed
to me and said, 'Ask the gentleman whether it is not worth seeing! Come in,
come in, one franc apiece!' I felt ashamed to say it was not worth seeing, and
the showman had probably counted on that. It must be the same with those who
have experienced the abomination of a honeymoon and who do not disillusion
others. Neither did I disillusion anyone, but I do not now see why I should not
tell the truth. Indeed, I think it needful to tell the truth about it. One
felt awkward, ashamed, repelled, sorry, and above all dull, intolerably dull!
It was something like what I felt when I learned to smoke -- when I felt sick
and the saliva gathered in my mouth and I swallowed it and pretended that it was
very pleasant. Pleasure from smoking, just as from that, if it comes at all,
comes later. The husband must cultivate that vice in his wife in order to
derive pleasure from it."
"Why vice?" I said. "You are speaking of the most natural human
functions."
"Natural?" he said. "Natural? No, I may tell you that I have come to the
conclusion that it is, on the contrary, unnatural. Yes, quite unnatural. As a
child, as an unperverted girl.
"Natural, you say!
"It is natural to eat. And to eat is, from the very beginning enjoyable,
easy, pleasant, and not shameful; but this is horrid, shameful, and painful. No,
it is unnatural! And an unspoiled girl, as I have convinced myself, always
hates it."
"But how," I asked, "would the human race continue?"
"Yes, would not the human race perish?" he said, irritably and ironically,
as if he had expected this familiar and insincere objection. "Teach abstention
from child-bearing so that English lords may always gorge themselves -- that is
all right. Preach it for the sake of greater pleasure -- that is all right; but
just hint at abstention from child-bearing in the name of morality -- and, my
goodness, what a rumpus...! Isn't there a danger that the human race may die
out because they want to cease to be swine? But forgive me! This light is
unpleasant, may I shade it?" he said, pointing to the lamp. I said I did not
mind; and with the haste with which he did everything, he got up on the seat and
drew the woolen shade over the lamp.
"All the same," I said, "if everyone thought this the right thing to do,
the human race would cease to exist."
He did not reply at once.
"You ask how the human race will continue to exist," he said, having again
sat down in front of me, and spreading his legs far apart he leant his elbows on
his knees. "Why should it continue?"
"Why? If not, we should not exist."
"And why should we exist?"
"Why? In order to live, of course."
"But why live? If life has no aim, if life is given us for life's sake,
there is no reason for living. And if it is so, then the Schopenhauers, the
Hartmanns, and all the Buddhists as well, are quite right. But if life has an
aim, it is clear that it ought to come to an end when that aim is reached. and
so it turns out," he said with a noticeable agitation, evidently prizing his
thought very highly. "So it turns out. Just think: if the aim of humanity is
goodness, righteousness, love -- call it what you will -- if it is what the
prophets have said,, that all mankind should be united together in love, that
the spears should be beaten into pruning hooks and so forth, what is it that
hinders the attainment of this aim? The passions hinder it. Of all the
passions the strongest, cruelest, and most stubborn is the sex-passion, physical
love; and therefore if the passions are destroyed, including the strongest of
them -- physical love -- the prophecies will be fulfilled, mankind will be
brought into a unity, the aim of human existence will be attained, and there
will be nothing further to live for. As long as mankind exists the ideal is
before it, and of course not the rabbits' and pigs' ideal of breeding as fast as
possible, nor that of monkeys or Parisians -- to enjoy sex-passion in the most
refined manner, but the ideal of goodness attained by continence and purity.
Towards that people have always striven and still strive. You see what follows.
"It follows that physical love is a safety-valve. If the present
generation has not attained its aim, it has not done so because of its passions,
of which the sex-passion is the strongest. And if the sex-passion endures there
will be a new generation and consequently the possibility of attaining the aim
in the next generation. If the next one does not attain it, then the next after
that may, and so on, till the aim is attained, the prophecies fulfilled, and
mankind attains unity. If not, what would result? If one admits that god
created men for the attainment of a certain aim, and created them mortal but
sexless, or created them immortal, what would be the result? Why, if they were
mortal but without the sex-passion, and died without attaining the aim, God
would have had to create new people to attain his aim. If they were immortal,
let us grant that (though it would be more difficult for the same people to
correct their mistakes and approach perfection than for those of another
generation) they might attain that aim after many thousands of years, but then
what use would they be afterwards? What could be done with them? It is best as
it is. ... But perhaps you don't like that way of putting it? Perhaps you are
an evolutionist? It comes to the same thing. The highest race of animals, the
human race, in order to maintain itself in the struggle with other animals ought
to unite into one whole like a swarm of bees, and not breed continually; it
should bring up sexless members as the bees do; that is, again, it should strive
towards continence and not towards inflaming desire -- to which the whole system
of our life is now directed." He paused. "The human race will cease? But can
anyone doubt it, whatever his outlook on life may be? Why, it is as certain as
death. According to all the teaching of the Church the end of the world will
come, and according to all the teaching of science the same result is
inevitable."
CHAPTER XII
"In our world it is just the reverse: even if a man does think of
continence while he is a bachelor, once married he is sure to think continence
no longer necessary. You now those wedding tours -- the seclusion into which,
with their parents' consent, the young couple go -- are nothing but licensed
debauchery. but a moral law avenges itself when it is violated. Hard as I
tried to make a success of my honeymoon, nothing came of it. It was horrid,
shameful, and dull, the whole time. and very soon I began also to experience a
painful, oppressive feeling. That began very quickly.
I think it was on the third or fourth day that I found my wife depressed. I
began asking her the reason and embracing her, which in my view was all she
could want, but she removed my arm and began to cry. What about? She could not
say. But she felt sad and distressed. Probably her exhausted nerves suggested
to her the truth as to the vileness of our relation but she did not know how to
express it. I began to question her, and she said something about feeling sad
without her mother. It seemed to me that this was untrue, and I began
comforting her without alluding to her mother. I did not understand that she
was simply depressed and her mother was merely an excuse. But she immediately
took offence because I had not mentioned her mother, as though I did not believe
her. she told me she saw that I did not love her. I reproached her with being
capricious, and suddenly her face changed entirely and instead of sadness it
expressed irritation, and with the most venomous words she began accusing me of
selfishness and cruelty. I gazed at her. Her whole face showed complete
coldness and hostility, almost hatred. I remember how horror-struck I was when I
saw this. 'How? What?' I thought. 'Love is a union of souls -- and instead of
that there is this! Impossible, this is not she!' I tried to soften her, but
encountered such an insuperable wall of cold virulent hostility that before I
had time to turn round I too was seized with irritation and we said a great many
unpleasant things to one another. The impression of that first quarrel was
dreadful. I call it a quarrel, but it was not a quarrel but only the disclosure
of the abyss that really existed between us. amorousness was exhausted by the
satisfaction of sensuality and we were left confronting one another in our true
relation: that is, as two egotists quite alien to each other who wished to get
as much pleasure as possible each from the other. I call what took place
between us a quarrel, only the consequence of the cessation of sensuality --
revealing our real relations to one another. I did not understand that this
cold and hostile relation was our normal state, I did not understand it because
at first this hostile attitude was very soon concealed from us by a renewal of
redistilled sensuality, that is by love-making.
"I thought we had quarreled and made it up again, and that it would not
recur. But during that same first month of honeymoon a period of satiety soon
returned, we again ceased to need one another, and another quarrel supervened.
This second quarrel struck me even more painfully than the first. 'So the first
one was not an accident but was bound to happen and will happen again,' I
thought. I was all the more staggered by that second quarrel because it arose
from such an impossible pretext. It had something to do with money, which I
never grudged and could certainly not have grudged to my wife. I only remember
that she gave the matter such a twist that some remark of mine appeared to be an
expression of a desire on my part to dominate over her by means of money, to
which I was supposed to assert an exclusive right -- it was something impossibly
stupid, mean, and not natural either to me or to her. I became exasperated, and
upbraided her with lack of consideration for me. She accused me of the same
thing, and it all began again. In her words and in the expression of her face
and eyes I again noticed the cruel cold hostility that had so staggered me
before. I had formerly quarreled with my brother, my friends, and my father,
but there had never, I remember, been the special venomous malice which there
was here. But after a while this mutual hatred was screened by amorousness,
that is sensuality, and I still consoled myself with the thought that these two
quarrels had been mistakes and could be remedied. But then a third and a fourth
quarrel followed and I realized that it was not accidental, but that it was
bound to happen and would happen so, and I was horrified at the prospect before
me. At the same time I was tormented by the terrible thought that I alone lived
on such bad terms with my wife, so unlike what I had expected, whereas this did
not happen between other married couples. I did not know then that it is our
common fate, but that everybody imagines, just as I did, that is their peculiar
misfortune, and everyone conceals this exceptional and shameful misfortune not
only from others but even from himself and does not acknowledge it to himself.
"It began during the first days and continued all the time, ever increasing
and growing more obdurate. In the depths of my soul I felt from the first weeks
that I was lost, that things had not turned out as I expected, that marriage was
not only no happiness but a very heavy burden; but like everybody else I did not
wish to acknowledge this to myself (I should not have acknowledged it even now
but for the end that followed) and I concealed it not only from others but from
myself too. Now I am astonished that I failed to see my real position. It
might have been seen from the fact that the quarrels began on pretexts it was
impossible to remember when they were over. Our reason was not
quick enough to devise sufficient excuses for the animosity that always existed
between us. But more striking still was the insufficiency of the excuses for
our reconciliations. Sometimes there were words, explanations, even tears, but
sometimes...oh! it is disgusting even now to think of it -- after the most cruel
words to one another, came sudden silent glances, smiles, kisses, embraces. ...
Faugh, how horrid! How is it I did not then see all the vileness of it?"
CHAPTER XIII
Two fresh passengers entered and settled down on the farthest seats. He
was silent while they were seating themselves, but as soon as they had settled
down continued, evidently not for a moment losing the thread of his idea.
"You know, what is vilest about it," he began, "is that in theory love is
something ideal and exalted, but in practice it is something abominable,
swinish, which it is horrid and shameful to mention or remember. It is not for
nothing that nature has made it disgusting and shameful. And if it is
disgusting and shameful one must understand that it is so. But here, on the
contrary, people pretend that what is disgusting and shameful is beautiful and
lofty. What were the first symptoms of my love? Why that I gave way to animal
excesses, not only without shame but being somehow even proud of the possibility
of these physical excesses, and without in the least considering either her
spiritual or even her physical life. I wondered what embittered us against one
another, yet it was perfectly simple: that animosity was nothing but the
protest of our human nature against the animal nature that overpowered it.
"I was surprised at our enmity to one another; yet it could not have been
otherwise. That hatred was nothing but the mutual hatred of accomplices in a
crime -- both for the incitement to the crime and for the part taken in it.
What was it but a crime when she, poor thing, became pregnant in the first month
and our swinish connection continued? You think I am straying from my subject?
Not at all! I am telling you how I killed my wife. They asked me at the trial
with what and how I killed her. Fools! They thought I killed her with a knife,
on the 5th of October. It was not then I killed her, but much earlier. Just as
they are all now killing, all, all...."
"But with what?" I asked.
"That is just what is so surprising, that nobody wants to see what is so
clear and evident, what doctors ought to know and preach, but are silent about.
Yet the matter is very simple. Men and women are created like the animals so
that physical love is followed by pregnancy and then by suckling -- conditions
under which physical love is bad for the woman and for her child. There are an
equal number of men and women. What follows from this? It seems clear, and no
great wisdom is needed to draw the conclusion that animals do, namely, the need
of continence. But no. Science has been able to discover some kind of
leukocytes that run about in the blood, and all sorts of useless nonsense, but
cannot understand that. At least one does not hear of science teaching it!
"And so a woman has only two ways out: one is to make a monster of
herself, to destroy and go on destroying within herself to such a degree as may
be necessary the capacity of being a woman, that is, a mother, in order that a
man may quietly and continuously get his enjoyment; the other way out -- and it
is not even a way out but a simple, coarse, and direct violation of the laws of
nature -- practiced in all so-called decent families -- is that, contrary to her
nature, the woman must be her husband's mistress even while she is pregnant or
nursing -- must be what not even an animal descends to, and for which her
strength is insufficient. That is what causes nerve troubles and hysteria in
our class, and among the peasants causes what they call being "possessed by the
devil" -- epilepsy. You will notice that no pure maidens are ever "possessed,"
but only married women living with their husbands. That is so here, and it is
just the same in Europe. All the hospitals for hysterical women are full of
those who have violated nature's law. The epileptics and Charcot's patients are
complete wrecks, you know, but the world is full of half-crippled women. Just
think of it, what a great work goes on within a woman when she conceives or when
she is nursing an infant. That is growing which will continue us and replace
us. And this sacred work is violated -- by what? It is terrible to think of
it! And they prate about the freedom and the rights of women! It is as if
cannibals fattened their captives to be eaten, and at the same time declared
that they were concerned about their prisoners' rights and freedom."
All this was new to me and startled me.
"What is one to do? If that is so," I said, "it means that one may love
one's wife once in two years, yet men..."
"Men must!" he interrupted me. "It is again those precious priests of
science who have persuaded everybody of that. Imbue a man with the idea that he
requires vodka, tobacco, or opium, and all these things will be indispensable to
him. It seems that God did not understand what was necessary and therefore,
omitting to consult those wizards, arranged things badly. You see matters do
not tally. They have decided that it is essential for a man to satisfy his
desires, and the bearing and nursing of children comes and interferes with it
and hinders the satisfaction of that need. What is one to do then? Consult the
wizards! They will arrange it.
And they have devised something. Oh! when will those wizards with their
deceptions be dethroned? It is high time. It has come to such a point that
people go mad and shoot themselves and all because of this. How could it be
otherwise? The animals seem to know that their progeny continue their race, and
they keep it to a certain law in this matter. Man alone neither knows it nor
wishes to know, but is concerned only to get all the pleasure he can. And who
is doing that? The lord of nature -- man! Animals, you see, only come together
at times when they are capable of producing progeny, but the filthy lord of
nature is at it any time if only it pleases him! And as if that were not
sufficient, he exalts this apish occupation into the most precious pearl of
creation, into love. In the name of this love, that is, this filth, he destroys
-- what? why, half the human race! Alll tthe women who might help the progress
of mankind towards truth and goodness he converts, for the sake of his pleasure,
into enemies instead of helpmates. See what it is that everywhere impedes the
forward movement of mankind. Women! and why are they what they are? Only
because of that. Yes, yes..." he repeated several times, and began to move
about, and to get out his cigarettes and to smoke, evidently trying to calm
himself.
CHAPTER XIV
"I too lived like a pig of that sort," he continued in his former tone.
"The worst thing about it was that while living that horrid life I imagined
that, because I did not go after other women, I was living an honest family
life, that I was a moral man and in no way blameworthy, and if quarrels occurred
it was her fault and resulted from her character.
"Of course the fault was not hers. She was like everybody else -- like the
majority of women. She had been brought up as the position of women in our
society requires, and as therefore all women of the leisured classes without
exception are brought up and cannot help being brought up. People talk about
some new kind of education for women. It is all empty words: their education
is exactly what it has to be in view of our unfeigned, real, general opinion
about women.
"The education of women will always correspond to men's opinion about them.
Don't we know how men regard women: Wein, Weib und Gesang, and what the poets
say in their verses? Take all poetry, all pictures and sculpture, beginning
with love poems and the nude Venuses and Phrynes, and you will see that woman is
an instrument of enjoyment; she is so on the Truba and the Grachevka, and also
at the Court balls. And note the devil's cunning: if they are here for
enjoyment and pleasure, let it be known that it is pleasure and that woman is a
sweet morsel. But no, first the knights-errant declare that they worship women
(worship her, and yet regard her as an instrument of enjoyment), and now people
assure us that they respect women. Some give up their places to her, pick up
her handkerchief; others acknowledge her right to occupy all positions and to
take part in the government, and so on.
They do all that, but their outlook on her remains the same. She is a means of
enjoyment. Her body is a means of enjoyment. And she knows this. It is just
as it is with slavery. Slavery, you know, is nothing else than the exploitation
by some of the unwilling labor of many. Therefore to get rid of slavery it is
necessary that people should not wish to profit by the forced labor of others
and should consider it a sin and a shame. But they go and abolish the external
form of slavery and arrange so that one can no longer buy and sell slaves, and
they imagine and assure themselves that slavery no longer exists, and do not see
or wish to see that it does, because people still want and consider it good and
right to exploit the labor of others. and as long as they consider that good,
there will always be people stronger or more cunning than others who will
succeed in doing it. So it is with the emancipation of woman: the enslavement
of woman lies simply in the fact that people desire and think it good, to avail
themselves of her as a tool of enjoyment. Well, and they liberate woman, give
her all sorts of rights equal to man, but continue to regard her as an
instrument of enjoyment, and so educate her in childhood and afterwards by
public opinion. and there she is, still the same humiliated and depraved slave,
and the man still a depraved slave- owner.
"They emancipate women in universities and in law courts, but continue to
regard her as an object of enjoyment. Teach her, as she is taught among us, to
regard herself as such, and she will always remain an inferior being. Either
with the help of those scoundrels the doctors she will prevent the conception of
offspring -- that is, will be a complete prostitute, lowering herself not to the
level of an animal but to the level of a thing -- or she will be what the
majority of women are, mentally diseased, hysterical, unhappy, and lacking
capacity for spiritual development. High schools and universities cannot alter
that. It can only be changed by a change in men's outlook on women and women's
way of regarding themselves. It will change only when woman regards virginity
as the highest state, and does not, as at present, consider the highest state of
a human being a shame and a disgrace. While that is not so, the ideal of every
girl, whatever her education may be, will continue to be to attract as many men
as possible, as many males as possible, so as to have the possibility of
choosing.
"But the fact that one of them knows more mathematics, and another can play
the harp, makes no difference. A woman is happy and attains all she can desire
when she has bewitched a man. Therefore the chief aim of a woman is to be able
to bewitch him. So it has been and will be. so it is in her maiden life in our
society, and so it continues to be in her married life. For a maiden this is
necessary in order to have a choice, for the married woman in order to have
power over her husband.
"The one thing that stops this or at any rate suppresses it for a time, is
children, and then only if the mother is not a monster, that is, if she nurses
them herself. But here the doctors again come in.
"My wife, who wanted to nurse, and did nurse the four later children
herself, happened to be unwell after the birth of her first child. And those
doctors, who cynically undressed her and felt her all over -- for which I had to
thank them and pay them
money -- those dear doctors considered that she must not nurse the child; and
that first time she was deprived of the only means which might have kept her
from coquetry. We engaged a wet nurse, that is, we took advantage of the
poverty, the need, and the ignorance of a woman, tempted her away from her own
baby to ours, and in return gave her a fine head-dress with gold lace. But that
is not the point. The point is that during that time when my wife was free from
pregnancy and suckling, the feminine coquetry which had lain dormant within her
manifested itself with particular force. And coinciding with this the torments
of jealousy rose up in me with a special force. They tortured me all my married
life, as they cannot but torture all husbands who live with their wives and I
did with mine, that is, immorally."
CHAPTER XV
"During the whole of my married life I never ceased to be tormented by
jealousy, but there were periods when I specially suffered from it. One of
these periods was when, after the birth of our first child, the doctors forbade
my wife to nurse it. I was particularly jealous at that time, in the first
place because my wife was experiencing that unrest natural to a mother which is
sure to be aroused when the natural course of life is needlessly violated; and
secondly, because seeing how easily she abandoned her moral obligations as a
mother, I rightly though unconsciously concluded that it would be equally easy
for her to disregard her duty as a wife, especially as she was quite well and in
spite of the precious doctors' prohibition was able to nurse her later children
admirably."
"I see you don't like doctors," I said, noticing a peculiarly malevolent
tone in his voice whenever he alluded to them.
"It is not a case of liking or disliking. They have ruined my life as they
have ruined and are ruining the lives of thousands and hundreds of thousands of
human beings, and I cannot help connecting the effect with the cause. I
understand that they want to earn money like lawyers and others, and I would
willingly give them half my income, and all who realize what they are doing
would willingly give them half of their possessions, if only they would not
interfere with our family life and would never come near us. I have not
collected evidence, but I know dozens of cases (there are any number of them!)
where they have killed a child in its mother's womb asserting that she could not
give it birth, though she has had children quite safely later on; or they have
killed the mother on the pretext of performing some operation. No one reckons
these murders any more than they reckoned the murders of the Inquisition,
because it is supposed that it is done for the good of mankind. It is
impossible to number all the crimes they commit. But all those crimes are as
nothing compared to the moral corruption of materialism they introduce into the
world, especially through women.
"I don't lay stress on the fact that if one is to follow their
instructions, then on account of the infection which exists everywhere and in
everything, people would not progress towards greater unity but towards
separation; for according to their teaching we ought all to sit apart and not
remove the carbolic atomizer from our mouths (though now they have discovered
that even that is of no avail). But that does not matter either. The principal
poison lies in the demoralization of the world, especially of women.
"Today one can no longer say: 'You are not living rightly, live better.'
One can't say that, either to oneself or to anyone else. If you live a bad life
it is caused by the abnormal functioning of your nerves, etc. So you must go to
them, and they will prescribe eight penn'orth of medicine from a chemist, which
you must take!
"You get still worse: then more medicine and the doctor again. An
excellent trick!
"That however is not the point. All I wish to say is that she nursed her
babies perfectly well and that only her pregnancy and the nursing of her babies
saved me from the torments of jealousy. Had it not been for that it would all
have happened sooner. The children saved me and her. In eight years she had
five children and nursed all except the first herself."
"And where are your children now?" I asked.
"The children?" he repeated in a frightened voice.
"Forgive me, perhaps it is painful for you to be reminded of them."
"No, it does not matter. My wife's sister and brother have taken them.
They would not let me have them. I gave them my estate, but they did not give
them up to me. You know I am a sort of lunatic. I have left them now and am
going away. I have seen them, but they won't let me have them because I might
bring them up so that they would not be like their parents, and they have to be
just like them. Oh well, what is to be done? Of course they won't let me have
them and won't trust me. Besides, I do not know whether I should be able to
bring them up. I think not. I am a ruin, a cripple. Still I have one thing in
me. I know! Yes, that is true, I know what others are far from knowing.
"Yes, my children are living and growing up just such savages as everybody
around them. I saw them, saw them three times. I can do nothing for them,
nothing. I am now going to my place in the south. I have a little house and a
small garden there.
"Yes, it will be a long time before people learn what I know. How much of
iron and other metal there is in the sun and the stars is easy to find out, but
anything that exposes our swinishness is difficult, terribly difficult!
"You at least listen to me, and I am grateful for that."
CHAPTER XVI
"You mentioned my children. there again, what terrible lies are told about
children! Children a blessing from God, a joy! That is all a lie. It was so
once upon a time, but now it is not so at all. Children are a torment and
nothing else. Most mothers feel this quite plainly, and sometimes inadvertently
say so. Ask most mothers of our propertied classes and they will tell you that
they do not want to have children for fear of their falling ill and dying. They
don't want to nurse them if they do have them, for fear of becoming too much
attached to them and having to suffer. the pleasure a baby gives them by its
loveliness, its little hands and feet, and its whole body, is not as great as
the suffering caused by the very fear of its possibly falling ill and dying, not
to speak of its actual illness or death. after weighing the advantages and
disadvantages it seems disadvantageous, and therefore undesirable, to have
children. They say this quite frankly and boldly, imagining that these feelings
of theirs arise from their love of children, a good and laudable feeling of
which they are proud. They do not notice that by this reflection they plainly
repudiate love, and only affirm their own selfishness. They get less pleasure
from a baby's loveliness than suffering from fear on its account, and therefore
the baby they would love is not wanted. They do not sacrifice themselves for a
beloved being, but sacrifice a being whom they might love, for their own sakes.
"It is clear that this is not love but selfishness. But one has not the
heart to blame them -- the mothers in well-to-do families -- for that
selfishness, when one remembers how dreadfully they suffer on account of their
children's health, again thanks to the influence of those same doctors among our
well-to-do classes. Even now, when I do but remember my wife's life and the
condition she was in during the first years when we had three or four children
and she was absorbed in them, I am seized with horror! We led no life at all,
but were in a state of constant danger, of escape from it, recurring danger,
again followed by a desperate struggle and another escape -- always as if we
were on a sinking ship. Sometimes it seemed to me that this was done on purpose
and that she pretended to be anxious about the children in order to subdue me.
It solved all questions in her favor with such tempting simplicity. It
sometimes seemed as if all she did and said on these occasions was pretence.
But no! She herself suffered terribly, and continually tormented herself about
the children and their health and illnesses. It was torture for her and for me
too; and it was impossible for her not to suffer. After all, the attachment to
her children, the animal need of feeding caressing, and protecting them, was
there as with most women, but there was not the lack of imagination and reason
that there is in animals. A hen is not afraid of what may happen to her chick,
does not know all the diseases that may befall it, and does not know all those
remedies with which people imagine that they can save from illness and death.
And for a hen her young are not a source of torment. She does for them what it
is natural and pleasurable for her to do; her young ones are a pleasure to her.
when a chick falls ill her duties are quite definite: she warms and feeds it.
And doing this she knows that she is doing all that is necessary. If her chick
dies she does not ask herself why it died, or where it has gone to; she cackles
for a while, and then leaves off and goes on living as before. But for our
unfortunate women, my wife among them, it was not so. Not to mention illnesses
and how to cure them, she was always hearing and reading from all sides endless
rules for the rearing and educating of children, which were continually being
superseded by others. This is the way to feed a child: feed it in this way, on
such a thing; no, not on such a thing, but in this way; clothes, drinks, baths,
putting to bed, walking, fresh air, -- for all these things we, especially she,
heard of new rules every week, just as if children had only begun to be born
into the world since yesterday. And if a child that had not been fed or bathed
in the right way or at the right time fell ill, it appeared that we were to
blame for not having done what we ought.
"That was so while they were well. It was a torment even then. But if one
of them happened to fall ill, it was all up: a regular hell! It is supposed
that illness can be cured and that there is a science about it, and people --
doctors -- who know about it. Ah, but not all of them know -- only the very
best. When a child is ill one must get hold of the very best one, the one who
saves, and then the child is saved; but if you don't get that doctor, or if you
don't live in the place where that doctor lives, the child is lost. This was
not a creed peculiar to her, it is the creed of all the women of our class, and
she heard nothing else from all sides. Catherine Semyonovna lost two children
because Ivan Zakharych was not called in in time, but Ivan Zakharych saved Mary
Ivanovna's eldest girl, and the Petrovs moved in time to various hotels by the
doctor's advice, and the children remained alive; but if they had not been
segregated the children would have died. Another who had a delicate child moved
south by the doctor's advice and saved the child. How can she help being
tortured and agitated all the time, when the lives of the children for whom she
has an animal attachment depend on her finding out in time that what Ivan
Zakharych will say! But what Ivan Zakharych will say nobody knows, and he
himself least of all, for he is well aware that he knows nothing and therefore
cannot be of any use, but just shuffles about at random so that people should
not cease to believe that he knows something or other. You see, had she been
wholly an animal she would not have suffered so, and if she had been quite a
human being she would have had faith in god and would have said and thought, as
a believer does: 'The Lord gave and the Lord hath taken away. One can't escape
from God.'
"Our whole life with the children, for my wife and consequently for me, was
not a joy but a torment. How could she help torturing herself? She tortured
herself incessantly. sometimes when we had just made peace after some scene of
jealousy, or simply after a quarrel, and thought we should be able to live, to
read, and to think a little, we had no sooner settled down to
some occupation than the news came that Vasya was being sick, or Masha showed
symptoms of dysentery, of Andrusha had a rash, and there was an end to peace, it
was not life any more. Where was one to drive to? For what doctor? How
isolate the child? And then it's a case of enemas, temperatures, medicines, and
doctors. Hardly is that over before something else begins. We had no regular
settled family life but only, as I have already said, continual escapes from
imaginary and real dangers. It is like that in most families nowadays, you
know, but in my family it was especially acute. My wife was a child-loving and
a credulous woman.
"So the presence of children not only failed to improve our life but
poisoned it. Besides, the children were a new cause of dissension. As soon as
we had children they became the means and the object of our discord, and more
often the older they grew. they were not only the object of discord but the
weapons of our strife. We used our children, as it were, to fight one another
with. Each of us had a favorite weapon among them for our strife. I used to
fight her chiefly through Vasya, the eldest boy, and she me through Lisa.
Besides that, as they grew older and their characters became defined, it came
about that they grew into allies whom each of us tried to draw to his or her
side. They, poor things, suffered terribly from this, but we, with our
incessant warfare, had no time to think of that. The girl was my ally, and the
eldest boy, who resembled his mother and was her favorite, was often hateful to
me."
CHAPTER XVII
"Well, and so we lived. Our relations to one another grew more and more
hostile and at last reached a stage where it was not disagreement that caused
hostility but hostility that caused disagreement. Whatever she might say I
disagreed with beforehand, and it was just the same with her.
"In the fourth year we both, it seemed, came to the conclusion that we
could not understand one another. We no longer tried to bring any dispute to a
conclusion. We invariably kept to our own opinions even about the most trivial
questions, but especially about the children. As I now recall them the views I
maintained were not at all so dear to me that I could not have given them up;
but she was of the opposite opinion and to yield meant yielding to her, and that
I could not do. It was the same with her. She probably considered herself
quite in the right towards me, and as for me I always thought myself a saint
towards her. When we were alone together we were doomed almost to silence, or
to conversations such as I am convinced animals can carry on with one another:
'What is the time? Time to go to bed. What is today's dinner? Where shall we
go? What is there in the papers? Send for the doctor; Masha has a sore
throat.' We only needed to go a hairbreadth beyond this impossibly limited
circle of conversation for irritation to flare up. We had collisions and
acrimonious words about the coffee, a tablecloth, a trap, a lead at bridge, all
of them things that could not be of any importance to either of us. In me at any
rate there often raged a terrible hatred of her. Sometimes I watched her
pouring out tea, swinging her leg, lifting a spoon to her mouth, smacking her
lips and drawing in some liquid, and I hated her for these things as though they
were the worst possible actions. I did not then notice that the periods of
anger corresponded quite regularly and exactly to the periods of what we called
love. A period of love -- then a period of animosity; an energetic period of
love, then a long period of animosity; a weaker manifestation of love, and a
shorter period of animosity. We did not then understand that this love and
animosity were one and the same animal feeling only at opposite poles. To live
like that would have been awful had we understood our position; but we neither
understood nor saw it. Both salvation and punishment for man lie in the fact
that if he lives wrongly he can befog himself so as not to see the misery of his
position. And this we did. She tried to forget herself in intense and always
hurried occupation with household affairs, busying herself with the arrangements
of the house, her own and the children's clothes, their lessons, and their
health; while I had my own occupations: wine, my office duties, shooting, and
cards. We were both continually occupied, and we both felt that the busier we
were the nastier we might be to each other. 'It's all very well for you to
grimace,' I thought, 'but you have harassed me all night with your scenes, and I
have a meeting on.' 'It's all very well for you,' she not only thought but
said, 'but I have been awake all night with the baby.' Those new theories of
hypnotism, psychic diseases, and hysterics are not a simple folly, but a
dangerous and repulsive one. Charcot would certainly have said that my wife was
hysterical, and that I was abnormal, and he would no doubt have tried to cure
me. But there was nothing to cure.
"Thus we lived in a perpetual fog, not seeing the condition we were in.
And if what did happen had not happened, I should have gone on living so to old
age and should have thought, when dying, that I had led a good life, should not
have realized the abyss of misery and horrible falsehood in which I wallowed.
"We were like two convicts hating each other and chained together,
poisoning one another's lives and trying not to see it. I did not then know
that ninety-nine percent of married people live in a similar hell to the one I
was in and that it cannot be otherwise. I did not then know this either about
others or about myself.
"It is strange what coincidences there are in regular, or even in
irregular, lives! Just when the parents find life together unendurable, it
becomes necessary to move to town for the children's education."
He stopped, and once or twice gave vent to his strange sounds, which were
now quite like suppressed sobs. We were approaching a station.
"What is the time?" he asked.
I looked at my watch. It was two o'clock.
"You are not tired?" he asked.
"No, but you are?"
"I am suffocating. Excuse me, I will walk up and down and drink some
water."
He went unsteadily through the carriage. I remained alone thinking over
what he had said, and I was so engrossed in thought that I did not notice when
he re-entered by the door at the other end of the carriage.
CHAPTER XVIII
"Yes, I keep diverging," he began. "I have thought much over it. I now
see many things differently and I want to express it.
"Well, so we lived in town. In town a man can live for a hundred years
without noticing that he has long been dead and has rotted away. He has no time
to take account of himself, he is always occupied. Business affairs, social
intercourse, health, art, the children's health and their education. Now one
has to receive so-and-so and so-and-so, go to see so-and-so and so-and-so; now
one has to go and look at this, and hear this man or that woman. In town, you
know, there are at any given moment one or two, or even three celebrities whom
one must on no account miss seeing. Then one has to undergo a treatment oneslf
or get someone else attended to, then there are teachers, tutors, and
governesses, but on's own life is quite empty. Well, so we lived and felt less
the painfulness of living together. Besides at first we had splendid
occupations, arranging things in a new place, in new quarters; and we were also
occupied in going from the town to the country and back to town again.
"We lived so through one winter, and the next there occurred, unnoticed by
anyone, an apparently unimportant thing, but the cause of all that happened
later.
"She was not well and the doctors told her not to have children, and taught
her how to avoid it. To me it was disgusting. I struggled against it, but she
with frivolous obstinacy insisted on having her own way and I submitted. The
last excuse for our swinish life -- children -- was then taken away, and life
became viler than ever.
"To a peasant, a laboring man, children are necessary; though it is hard
for him to feed them, still he needs them, and therefore his marital relations
have a justification. But to us who have children, more children are
unnecessary; they are an additional care and expense, a further division of
property, and a burden. So our swinish life has no justification. We either
artificially deprive ourselves of children or regard them as a misfortune, the
consequences of carelessness, and that is still worse.
"We have no justification. But we have fallen morally so low that we do
not even feel the need of any justification.
"The majority of the present educated world devote themselves to this kind
of debauchery without the least qualm of conscience.
"There is indeed nothing that can feel qualms, for conscience in our
society is non-existent, unless one can call public opinion and the criminal law
a "conscience". In this case neither the one nor the other is infringed: there
is no reason to be ashamed of public opinion for everybody acts in the same way
-- Mary Pavlovna, Ivan Zakharych, and the rrest. Why breed paupers or deprive
oneself of the possibility of social life? There is no need to fear or be
ashamed in face of the criminal law either. Those shameless hussies, or
soldiers' wives, throw their babies into ponds or wells, and they of course must
be put into prison, but we do it all at the proper time and in a clean way.
"We lived like that for another two years. The means employed by those
scoundrel-doctors evidently began to bear fruit; she became ;hysically stouter
and handsomer, like the late beauty of summer's end. She felt this and paid
attention to her appearance. She developed a provocative kind of beauty which
made people restless. She was in the full vigour of a well-fed and excited
woman of thirty who is not bearing children. Her appearance disturbed people.
When she passed men she attracted their notice. She was like a fresh, well-fed
harnessed horse, whose bridle has been removed. There was no bridle, as is the
case with ninety-nine hundredths of our women. And I felt this -- and was
frightened."
CHAPTER XIX
He suddenly rose and sat down close to the window.
"Pardon me," he muttered and, with his eyes fixed on the window, he
remained silent for about three minutes. Then he sighed deeply and moved back
to the seat opposite mine. His face was quite changed, his eyes looked
pathetic, and his lips puckered strangely, almost as if he were smiling. "I am
rather tired but I will go on with it. We have still plenty of time, it is not
dawn yet. Ah, yes," he began after lighting a cigarette, "She grew plumper
after she stopped having babies, and her malady -- that everlasting worry about
the children -- began to pass...at least not actually to pass, but she was it
were woke up from an intoxication, came to herself, and saw that there was a
whole divine world with its joys which she had forgotten, but a divine world she
did not know how to live in and did not at all understand. 'I must not miss it!
Time is passing and won't come back!' So, I imagine, she thought, or rather
felt, nor could she have thought or felt differently: she had been brought up
in the belief that there was only one thing in the world worthy of attention --
love. She had married and received something of that love, but not nearly what
had been promised and was expected. Even that had been accompanied by many
disappointments and sufferings, and then this unexpected torment: som many
children! The torments exhausted her. And then, thanks to the obliging
doctors, she learned that it is possible to avoid having children. She was very
glad, tried it, and became alive again for the one thing she knew -- for love.
But love with a husband befouled by jealousy and all kinds of anger, was not
longer the thing she wanted. She had visions of some other, clean, new love; at
least I thought she had. And she began to look about her as if expecting
something. I saw this and could not help feeling anxious. It happened again
and again that while talking to me, as usual through other people -- that is,
telling a third person what she meant for me -- she boldly, without remembering
that she had expressed the opposite opinion an hour before, declared, though
half-jokingly, that a mother's cares are a fraud, and that it is not worth while
to devote one's life to chldren when one is young and can enjoy life. She gave
less attention to the children, and less frenziedly than before, but gave more
and more attention to herself, to her appearance (though she tried to conceal
this), and to her pleasures, even to her accomplishments. She again
enthusiastically took to the piano which she had quite abandoned, and it all
began from that."
He turned his weary eyes to the window again but, evidently making an
effort, immediately continued once more.
"Yes, that man made his appearance..." he became confused and once or
twice made that peculiar sound with his nose.
I could see that it was painful for him to name that man, to recall him, or
speak about him. But he made an effort and, as if he had broken the obstacle
that hindered him, continued resolutely.
"He was a worthless man in my opinion and according to my estimate. And
not because of the significance he acquired in my life but because he really was
so. However, the fact that he was a poor sort of fellow only served to show
how irresponsible she was. If it had not been he then it would have been
another. It had to be!"
Again he paused. "Yes, he was a musician, a violinist; not a professional,
but a semi-professional semi-society man.
"His father, a landowner, was a neighbor of my father's. He had been
ruined, and his children -- there were three boys -- had obtained settled
positions; only this one, the youngest, had been handed over to his godmother in
Paris. There he was sent to the Conservatoire because he had a talent for
music, and he came out as a violinist and played at concerts. He was a man..."
Having evidently intended to say something bad about him, Pozdnyshev restrained
himself and rapidly said: "Well, I don't really know how he lived, I only know
that he returned to Russia that year and appeared in my house.
"With moist almond-shaped eyes, red smiling lips, a small waxed moustache,
hair done in the latest fashion, and an insipidly pretty face, he was what women
call "not bad looking." His figure was weak though not misshapen, and he had a
specially developed posterior, like a woman's, or such as Hottentots are said to
have. They too are reported to be musical. Pushing himself as far as possible
into familiarity, but sensitive and always ready to yield at the slightest
resistance, he maintained his dignity in externals, wore buttoned boots of a
special Parisian fashion, bright-colored ties, and other things foreigners
acquire in Paris, which by their noticeable novelty always attract women. There
was an affected external gaiety in his manner. That manner, you know, of
speaking about everything in allusions and unfinished sentences, as if you knew
it all, remembered it, and could complete it yourself.
"It was he with his music who was the cause of it all. You know at the
trial the case was put as if it was all caused by jealousy. No such thing; that
is, I don't mean 'no such thing,' it was and yet it was not. At the trial it
was decided that I was a wronged husband and that I had killed her while
defending my outraged honor (that is the phrase they employ, you know). That is
why I was acquitted. I tried to explain matters at the trial but they took it
that I was trying to rehabilitate my wife's honor.
"What my wife's relations with that musician may have been has no meaning
for me, or for her either. What has a meaning is what I have told you about --
my swinishness. The whole thing was an outcome of the terrible abyss between us
of which I have told you -- that dreadful tension of mutual hatred which made
the first excuse sufficient to produce a crisis. The quarrels between us had
for some time past become frightful, and were all the more startling because
they alternated with similarly intense animal passion.
"If he had not appeared there would have been someone else. If the
occasion had not been jealousy it would have been something else. I maintain
that all husbands who live as I did, must either live dissolutely, separate, or
kill themselves or their wives as I have done. If there is anybody who has not
done so, he is a rare exception. Before I ended as I did, I had sever times
been on the verge of suicide, and she too had repeatedly tried to poison
herself."
CHAPTER XX
"Well, that is how things were going not long before it happened. We
seemed to be living in a state of truce and had not reason to infringe it. Then
we chanced to speak about a dog which I said had been awarded a medal at an
exhibition. She remarked, 'Not a medal, but an honorable mention.' A dispute
ensues. We jump from one subject to another, reproach one another, 'Oh, that's
nothing new, it's always been like that.' 'You said...' 'No, I didn't say so.'
'Then I am telling lies!...' You feel that at any moment that dreadful
quarrelling which makes you wish to kill yourself or her will begin. You know
it will begin immediately, and fear it like fire and therefore wish to restrain
yourself, but your whole being is seized with fury. She being in the same or
even a worse condition purposely misinterprets every word you say, giving it a
wrong meaning. Her every word is venomous; where she
alone knows that I am most sensitive, she stabs. It gets worse and worse. I
shout: 'Be quiet!' or something of that kind.
"She rushes out of the room and into the nursery. I try to hold her back
in order to finish what I was saying, to prove my point, and I seize her by the
arm. She pretends that I have hurt her and screams: 'Children, your father is
striking me!' I shout: 'Don't lie!' 'But it's not the first time!' she
screams, or something like that. The children rush to her. She calms them
down. I say, 'Don't sham!' She says, 'Everything is sham in your eyes, you
would kill any one and say they were shamming. Now I have understood you.
That's just what you want!' 'Oh, I wish you were dead as a dog!' I shout. I
remember how those dreadful words horrified me. I never thought I could utter
such dreadful, coarse words, and am surprised that they escaped me. I shout
them and rush away into my study and sit down and smoke. I hear her go out into
the hall preparing to go away. I ask, 'Where are you going to?' She does not
reply. 'Well, devil take her,' I say to myself., and go back to my study and
lie down and smoke. A thousand different plans of how to revenge myself on her
and get rid of her, and how to improve matters and go on as if nothing had
happened, come into my head. I think all that and go on smoking and smoking. I
think of running away from her, hiding myself, going to America. I get as far
as dreaming of how I shall get rid of her, how splendid that will be, and how I
shall unite with another woman -- quite different. I shall get rid of her
either by her dying or by a divorce, and I plan how it is to be done. I notice
that I am getting confused and not thinking of what is necessary, and to prevent
myself from perceiving that my thoughts are not to the point I go on smoking.
"Life in the house goes on. The governess comes in and asks: 'Where is
madam? When will she be back?' The footman asks whether he is to serve tea. I
go to the dining room. The children, especially Lisa who already understands,
gaze inquiringly and disapprovingly at me. We drink tea in silence. She has
still not come back. The evening passes, she has not returned, and two
different feelings alternate within me. Anger because she torments me and all
the children by her absence which will end by her returning; and fear that she
will not return but will do something to herself. I would go to fetch her, but
where am I to look for her? At her sister's? But it would be so stupid to go
and ask. And it's all the better: if she is bent on tormenting someone, let
her torment herself. Besides, that is what she is waiting for; and next time it
would be worse still. But suppose she is not with her sister but is doing
something to herself, or has already done it! It's past ten, past eleven! I
don't go to the bedroom -- it would be stupid to lie there alone waiting -- but
I'll not lie down here either. I wish to occupy my mind, to write a letter or
to read, but I can't do anything. I sit alone in my study, tortured, angry, and
listening. It's three o'clock, four o'clock, and she is not back. Towards
morning I fall asleep. I wake up, she has still not come!
"Everything in the house goes on in the usual way, but all are perplexed
and look at me inquiringly and reproachfully, considering me to be the cause of
it all. And in me the same struggle still continues: anger that she is
torturing me, and anxiety for her.
"At about eleven in the morning her sister arrives as her envoy. And the
usual talk begins. 'She is in a terrible state. What does it all mean?'
'After all, nothing has happened.' I speak of her impossible character and say
that I have not done anything.
"'But, you know, it can't go on like this,' says her sister.
"'It's all her doing and not mine,' I say. 'I won't take the first step.
If it means separation, let it be separation.'
"My sister-in-law goes away having achieved nothing. I had boldly said
that I would not take the first step; but after her departure, when I came out
of my study and saw the children piteous and frightened, I was prepared to take
the first step. I should be gld to do it, but I don't know how. Again I pace
up and down and smoke; at lunch I drink vodka and wine and attain what I
unconsciously desire -- I no longer see the stupidity and humiliation of my
position.
"At about three she comes. When she meets me she does not speak. I
imagine that she has submitted, and begin to say that I had been provoked by her
reproaches. She, with the same stern expression on her terribly harassed face,
says that she has not come for explanations but to fetch the children, because
we cannot live together. I begin telling her that the fault is not mine and
that she provoked me beyond endurance. She looks severely and solemnly at me
and says: "Do not say any more, you will repent it." I tell her that I cannot
stand comedies. Then she cries out something I don't catch, and rushes into her
room. The key clicks behind her -- she has locked herself in. I try the door,
but getting no answer, go away angrily. Half-an-hour later Lisa runs in crying.
"What is it? Has anything happened?" "We can't hear mama." We go. I pull at
the double doors with all my might. The bolt had not been firmly secured, and
the two halves both open. I approach the bed, on which she is lying awkwardly
in her petticoats and with a pair of high boots on. An empty opium bottle is on
the table. She is brought to herself. Tears follow, and a reconciliation. No,
not a reconciliation: in the heart of each there is still the old animosity,
with the additional irritation produced by the pain of this quarrel which each
attributes to the other. But one must of course finish it all somehow, and life
goes on in the old way. And so the same kind of quarrel, and even worse ones,
occurred continually: once a week, once a month, or at times every day. It was
always the same. Once I had already procured a passport to go abroad -- the
quarrel had continued for two days. But there was again a partial explanation,
a partial reconciliation, and I did not go.
CHAPTER XXI
"So those were our relations when that man appeared. He arrived in Moscow
-- his name is Trukhachevski -- and came too my house. It was in the morning. I
received him. We had once been on familiar terms and he tried to maintain a
familiar tone by using non-committal expressions, but I definitely adopted a
conventional tone and he at once submitted to it. I disliked him from the first
glance. But curiously enough a strange and fatal force led me not to repulse
him, not to keep him away, but on the contrary to invite him to the house.
After all, what could have been simpler than to converse with him coldly, and
say good-bye without introducing him to my wife? But no, as if purposely, I
began talking about his playing, and said I had been told he had given up the
violin. He replied that, on the contrary, he now played more than ever. He
referred to the fact that there had been a time when I myself played. I said I
had given it up but that my wife played well. It is an astonishing thing that
from the first day, from the first hour of my meeting him, my relations with him
were such as they might have been only after all that subsequently happened.
There was something strained in them: I noticed every word, every expression he
or I used, and attributed importance to them.
"I introduced him to my wife. The conversation immediately turned to
music, and he offered to be of use to her by playing with her. My wife was, as
usual of late, very elegant, attractive, and disquietingly beautiful. He
evidently pleased her at first sight. Besides she was glad that she would have
someone to accompany her on a violin, which she was so fond of that she used to
engage a violinist from the theatre for the purpose; and her face reflected her
pleasure. But catching sight of me she at once understood my feeling and
changed her expression, and a game of mutual deception began. I smiled
pleasantly to appear as if I liked it. He, looking at my wife as all immoral
men look at pretty women, pretended that he was only interested in the subject
of the conversation -- which no longer interested him at all; while she tried to
seem indifferent, though my false smile of jealousy with which she was familiar,
and his lustful gaze, evidently excited her. I saw that from their first
encounter her eyes were particularly bright and, probably as a result of my
jealousy, it seemed as if an electric current had been established between them,
evoking as it were an identity of expressions, looks, and smiles. She blushed
and he blushed. She smiled and he smiled. We spoke about music, Paris, and all
sorts of trifles. Then he rose to go, and stood smilingly, holding his hat
against his twitching thigh and looking now at her and now at me, as if in
expectation of what we would do. I remember that instant just because at that
moment I might not have invited him, and then nothing would have happened. But
I glanced at him and at her and said silently to myself, "Don't suppose that I
am jealous," "or that I am afraid of you," I added mentally addressing him, and
I invited him to come some evening and bring his violin to play with my wife.
She glanced at me with surprise, flushed, and as if frightened began to decline,
saying that she did not play well enough. This refusal irritated me still more,
and I insisted the more on his coming. I remember the curious feeling with
which I looked at the back of his head, with the black hair parted in the middle
contrasting with the white nape of his neck, as he went out with his peculiar
springing gait suggestive of some kind of a bird. I could not conceal from
myself that that man's presence tormented me. "It depends on me," I reflected,
"to act so as to see nothing more of him. But that would be to admit that I am
afraid of him. No, I am not afraid of him; it would be too humiliating," I said
to myself. And there in the anti-room, knowing that my wife heard me, I
insisted that he should come that evening with his violin. He promised to do
so, and left.
"In the evening he brought his violin and they played. But it took a long
time to arrange matters -- they had not the music they wanted, and my wife could
not without preparation play what they had. I was very fond of music and
sympathized with their playing, arranging a music-stand for him and turning over
the pages. They played a few things, some songs without words, and a little
sonata by Mozart. They played splendidly, and he had an exceptionally fine
tone. Besides that, he had a refined and elevated taste not at all in
correspondence with his character.
"He was of course a much player than my wife, and he helped her, while at
the same time politely praising her playing. He behaved himself very well. My
wife seemed interested only in music and was very simple and natural. But
though I pretended to be interested in the music I was tormented by jealousy all
the evening.
"From the first moment his eyes met my wife's I saw that the animal in each
of them, regardless of all conditions of their position and of society, asked,
"May I?" and answered, "Oh yes, certainly." I saw that he had not at all
expected to find my wife, a Moscow lady, so attractive, and that he was very
pleased. For he had no doubt whatever that she was *willing*. The only crux
was whether that unendurable husband could hinder them. Had I been pure I
should not have understood this, but, like the majority of men, I had myself
regarded women in that way before I married and therefore could read his mind
like a manuscript. I was particularly tormented because I saw without doubt
that she had no other feeling towards me than a continual irritation only
occasionally interrupted by the habitual sensuality; but that this man -- by his
external refinement and novelty and still more by his undoubtedly great talent
for music, by the nearness tht comes of playing together, and by the influence
music, especially the violin, exercises on impressionable natures -- was sure
not only to please but certainly and without the least hesitation to conquer,
crush, bind her, twist her round his little finger and do whatever he like with
her. I could not help seeing this and I suffered terribly. But for all that,
or perhaps on account of it, some force obliged me against my will to be not
merely polite but amiable to him. Whether I did it for my wife or for him, to
show that I was not afraid of him, or whether I did it to deceive myself -- I
don't know, but I know that from the first I could not behave naturally with
him. In order not to yield to my wish to kill him there and then, I had to make
much of him. I gave him expensive wines at supper, went into raptures over his
playing, spoke to him with a particularly amiable smile, and invited him to dine
and play with my wife again the next Sunday. I told him I would ask a few
friends who were fond of music to hear him. And so it ended."
Greatly agitated, Pozdnyshev changed his position and emitted his peculiar
sound.
"It is strange how the presence of that man acted on me," he began again,
with an evident effort to keep calm. "I come home from the Exhibition a day or
two later, enter the ante-room, and suddenly feel something heavy, as if a stone
had fallen on my heart, and I cannot understand what it is. It was that passing
through the ante-room I noticed something which reminded me of him. I realized
what it was only in my study, and went back to the anteroom to make sure. Yes,
I was not mistaken, there was his overcoat. A fashionable coat, you know.
(Though I did not realize it, I observed everything connected with him with
extraordinary attention.) I inquire: sure enough he is there. I pass on to the
dancing-room, not through the drawing-room but through the schoolroom. My
daughter, Lisa, sits reading a book and the nurse sits with the youngest boy at
the table, making a lid of some kind spin round. The door to the dancing-room
is shut but I hear the sound of a rhythmic arpeggio and his and her voices. I
listen, but cannot make out anything.
"Evidently the sound of the piano is purposely made to drown the sound of
their voices, their kisses ... perhaps. My God! What was aroused in me! Even
to think of the beast that then lived in me fills me with horror! My heart
suddenly contracted, stopped, and then began to beat like a hammer. My chief
feeling, a usual whenever I was enraged, was one of self pity. "In the presence
of the children! of their nurse!" thought I. Probably I looked awful, for Lisa
gazed at me with strange eyes. "What am I to do?" I asked myself. "Go in? I
can't: heaven only knows what I should do. But neither can I go away." The
nurse looked at me as if she understood my position. "But it is impossible not
to go in," I said to myself, and I quickly opened the door. He was sitting at
the piano playing those arpeggios with his large white upturned fingers. She
was standing in the curve of the piano, bending over some open music. She was
the first to see or hear, and glanced at me. Whether she was frightened and
pretended not to be, or whether she was really not frightened, anyway she did
not start or move but only blushed, and that not at once.
"How glad I am that you have come: we have not decided what to play on
Sunday," she said in a tone she would not have used to me had we been alone.
This and her using the word "we" of herself and him, filled me with indignation.
I greeted him silently.
He pressed my hand, and at once, with a smile which I thought distinctly
ironic, began to explain that he had brought some music to practise for Sunday,
but that they disagreed about what to play: a classical but more difficult
piece, namely Beethoven's sonata for the violin, or a few little pieces. It was
all so simple and natural that there was nothing one could cavil at, yet I felt
certain that it was all untrue and that they had agreed how to deceive me.
"One of the most distressing conditions of life for a jealous man (and
everyone is jealous in our world) are certain society conventions which allow a
man and a woman the greatest and most dangerous proximity. You would become a
laughing-stock to others if you tried to prevent such nearness at balls, or the
nearness of doctors to their women-patients, or of people occupied with art,
sculpture, and especially music. A couple are occupied with the noblest of
arts, music; this demands a certain nearness, and there is nothing reprehensible
in that and only a stupid jealous husband can see anything undesirable in it.
Yet everybody knows that it is by means of those very pursuits, especially of
music, that the greater part of the adulteries in our society occur. I
evidently confused them by the confusion I betrayed: for a long time I could
not speak. I was like a bottle held upside down from which the water does not
flow because it is too full. I wanted to abuse him and to turn him out, but
again felt that I must treat him courteously and amiably. And I did so. I
acted as though I approved of it all, and again because of the strange feeling
which made me behave to him the more amiably the more his presence distressed
me, I told him that I trusted his taste and advised her to do the same. He
stayed as long as was necessary to efface the unpleasant impression caused by my
sudden entrance -- looking frightened and remaining silent -- and then left,
pretending that it was now decided what to play next day. I was however fully
convinced that compared to what interested them the question of what to play was
quite indifferent.
"I saw him out to the ante-room with special politeness. (How could one do
less than accompany a man who had come to disturb the peace and destroy the
happiness of a whole family?) And I pressed his soft white hand with particular
warmth."
CHAPTER XXII
"I did not speak to her all that day -- I could not. Nearness to her
aroused in me such hatred of her that I was afraid of myself. At dinner in the
presence of the children she asked me when I was going away. I had to go next
week to the District Meetings of the Zemstvo. I told her the date. She asked
whether I did not want anything for the journey. I did not answer but sat
silent at table and then went in silence to my study. Latterly she used never
to come to my room especially not at that time of day. I lay in my study filled
with anger. Suddenly I heard her fmiliar step, and the terrible, monstrous idea
entered my head that she, like Uriah's wife, wished to conceal the sin she had
already committed and that that was why she was coming to me at such an unusual
time. "Can she be coming to me?" thought I, listening to her approaching
footsteps. "If she is coming here, then I am right," and an expressible hatred
of her took possession of me. Nearer and nearer came the steps. Is it possible
that she won't pass on to the dancing-room? No, the door creaks and in the
doorway appears her tall handsome figure, on her face and in her eyes a timid
ingratiating look which she tries to hide, but which I see and the meaning of
which I know. I almost choked, so long did I hold my breath, and still looking
at her I grasped my cigarette-case and began to smoke.
"Now how can you? One comes to sit with you for a bit, and you begin
smoking" -- and she sat down close to me on the sofa, leaning against me. I
moved away so as not to touch her.
"I see you are dissatisfied at my wanting to play on Sunday," she said.
"I am not at all dissatisfied," I said.
"As if I don't see!"
"Well, I congratulate you on seeing. But I only see that you behave like a
coquette.... You always find pleasure in all kinds of vileness, but to me it is
terrible!"
"Oh, well, if you are going to scold like a cabman I'll go away."
"Go, but remember that if you don't value the family honour, I value not
you (devil take you) but the honour of the family!"
"But what is the matter? What?"
"Go away, for God's sake be off!"
"Whether she pretended not to understand what it was about or really did
not understand, at any rate she took offence, grew angry, and did not go away
but stood in the middle of the room.
"You have really become impossible," she began. "You have a character that
even an angel could not put up with." And as usual in trying to sting me as
painfully as possible, she reminded me of my conduct to my sister (an incident
when, being exasperated, I said rude things to my sister); she knew I was
distressed about it and she stung me just on that spot. "After that, nothing
from you will surprise me," she said.
"Yes! Insult me, humiliate me, disgrace me, and then put the blame on me,"
I said to myself, and suddenly I was seized by such terrible rage as I had never
before experienced.
"For the first time I wished to give physical expression to that rage. I
jumped up and went towards her; but just as I jumped up I remembered becoming
conscious of my rage and asking myself: "Is it right to give way to this
feeling?" and at once I answered that it was right, that it would frighten her,
and instead of restraining my fury, I immediately began inflaming it still
further, and was glad it burnt yet more fiercely within me.
"Be off, or I'll kill you!" I shouted, going up to her and seizing her by
the arm. I consciously intensified the anger in my voice as I said this. And I
suppose I was terrible for she was so frightened that she had not even the
strength to go away, but only said: "Vasya, what is it? What is the matter
with you?"
"Go!" I roared louder still. "No one but you can drive me to fury. I do
not answer for myself!"
"Having given reins to my rage, I reveled in it and wished to do something
still more unusual to show the extreme degree of my anger. I felt a terrible
desire to beat her, to kill her, but knew that this would not do, and so to give
vent to my fury I seized a paper-weight from my table, again shouting "Go!" and
hurled it to the floor near her. I aimed it very exactly past her. Then she
left the room, but stopped at the doorway, and immediately, while she still saw
it (I did it so that she might see), I began snatching things from the table --
candlesticks and ink-stand -- and hurling them on the floor still shouting "Go!
Get out! I don't answer for myself!" She went away -- and I immediately
stopped.
"An hour later the nurse came to tell me that my wife was in hysterics. I
went to her; she sobbed, laughed, could not speak, and her whole body was
convulsed. She was not pretending, but was really ill.
"Towards morning she grew quiet, and we made peace under the influence of
the feeling we called love.
"In the morning when, after our reconciliation, I confessed to her that I
was jealous of Trukhachevski, she was not at all confused, but laughed most
naturally; so strange did the very possibility of an infatuation for such a man
seem to her, she said.
"Could a decent woman have any other feeling for such a man than the
pleasure of his music? Why, if you like I am ready never to see him again...not
even on Sunday, though everybody has been invited. Write and tell him that I am
ill, and there's an end of it! Only it is unpleasant that anyone, especially he
himself, should imagine that he is dangerous. I am too proud to allow anyone to
think that of me!"
"And you know, she was not lying, she believed what she was saying; she
hoped by those words to evoke in herself contempt for him and so to defend
herself from him, but she did not succeed in doing so. Everything was against
her, especially that accursed music. So it all ended, and on the Sunday the
guests assembled and they again played together.
CHAPTER XXIII
"I suppose it is hardly necessary to say that I was very vain: if one is
not vain there is nothing to live for in our usual way of life. So on that
Sunday I arranged the dinner and the musical evening with much care. I bought
the provisions myself and invited the guests.
"Towards six the visitors assembled. He came in evening dress with diamond
studs that showed bad taste. He behaved in a free and easy manner, answered
everything hurriedly with a smile of agreement and understanding, you know, with
that peculiar expression which seems to say that all you may do or say is just
what he expected. Everything that was not in good taste about him I noticed
with particular pleasure, because it ought all to have had the effect of
tranquillizing me and showing that he was so far beneath my wife that, as she
had said, she could not lower herself to his level. I did not now allow myself
to be jealous. In the first place I had worried through that torment and needed
rest, and secondly I wanted to believe my wife's assurances and did believe
them. But though I was not jealous I was nevertheless not natural with either
of them, and at dinner and during the first half of the evening before the music
began I still followed their movements and looks.
"The dinner was, as dinners are, dull and pretentious. The music began
pretty early. Oh, how I remember every detail of that evening! I remember how
he brought in his violin, unlocked the case, took off the cover a lady had
embroidered for him, drew out the violin, and began tuning it. I remember how
my wife sat down at the piano with pretended unconcern, under which I saw that
she was trying to conceal great timidity -- chiefly as to her own ability -- and
then the usual A on the piano began, the pizzicato of the violin, and the
arrangement of the music. Then I remember how they glanced at one another,
turned to look at the audience who were seating themselves, said something to
one another, and began. He took the first chords. His face grew serious,
stern, and sympathetic, and listening to the sounds he produced, he touched the
strings with careful fingers. The piano answered him. The music began...."
"Pozdnyshev paused and produced his strange sound several times in
succession. He tried to speak, but sniffed, and stopped.
"They played Beethoven's Kreutzer Sonata," he continued. "Do you know the
first presto? You do?" he cried. "Ugh! Ugh! It is a terrible thing, that
sonata. And especially that part. And in general music is a dreadful thing!
What is it? I don't understand it. What is music? What does it do? And why
does it do what it does? They say music exalts the soul. Nonsense, it is not
true! It has an effect, and awful effect -- I am speaking of myself -- but not
of an exalting kind. It has neither an exalting nor a debasing effect but it
produces agitation. How can I put it? Music makes me forget myself, my real
position; it transports me to some other position not my own. Under the
influence of music it seems to me that I feel what I do not really feel, that I
understand what I do not understand, that I can do what I cannot do. I explain
it by the fact that music acts like yawning, like laughter: I am not sleepy,
but I yawn when I see someone yawning; there is nothing for me to laugh at, but
I laugh when I hear people laughing.
"Music carries me immediately and directly into the mental condition in
which the man was who composed it. My soul merges with his and together with
him I pass from one condition into another, but why this happens I don't know.
You see, he who wrote, let us say, the Kreutzer Sonata -- Beethoven -- know of
course why he was in that condition; that condition caused him to do certain
actions and therefore that condition had a meaning for him, but for me -- none
at all. That is why music only agitates and doesn't lead to a conclusion.
Well, when a military march is played the soldiers march to the music and the
music has achieved its object. A dance is played, I dance and the music has
achieved its object. Mass has been sung, I receive Communion, and that music
too has reached a conclusion. Otherwise it is only agitating, and what ought to
be done in that agitation is lacking. That is why music sometimes acts so
dreadfully, so terribly. In China, music is a State affair. And that is as it
should be. How can one allow anyone who pleases to hypnotize another, or many
others, and do what he likes with them? And especially that this hypnotist
should be the first immoral man who turns up?
"It is a terrible instrument in the hands of any chance user! Take that
Kreutzer Sonata, for instance, how can that first presto be played in a drawing-
room among ladies in low-necked dresses? To hear that played, to clap a little,
and then to eat ices and talk of the latest scandal? Such things should only be
played on certain important significant occasions, and then only when certain
actions answering to such music are wanted; play it then and do what the music
has moved you to. Otherwise an awakening of energy and feeling unsuited both to
the time and the place, to which no outlet is given, cannot but act harmfully.
At any rate that piece had a terrible effect on me; it was as if quite new
feelings, new possibilities, of which I had till then been unaware, had been
revealed to me. That's how it is: not at all as I used to think and live, but
that way," something seemed to say within me. What this new thing was that had
been revealed to me I could not explain to myself, but the consciousness of this
new condition was very joyous. All those same people, including my wife and
him, appeared in a new light.
"After that allegro they played the beautiful, but common and unoriginal,
andante with trite variations, and the very weak finale. then, at the request
of the visitors, they played Ernst's Elegy and a few small pieces. They were
all good, but they did not produce on me a one-hundredth part of the impression
the first piece had. The effect of the first piece formed the background for
them all.
"I felt light-hearted and cheerful the whole evening. I had never seen my
wife as she was that evening. Those shining eyes, that severe, significant
expression while she played, and her melting languor and feeble, pathetic, and
blissful smile after they had finished. I saw all that but did not attribute
any meaning to it except that she was feeling what I felt, and that to her as to
me new feelings, never before experienced, were revealed or, as it were,
recalled. The evening ended satisfactorily and the visitors departed.
"Knowing that I had to go away to attend the Zemstvo Meetings two later,
Trukhachevski on leaving said he hoped to repeat the pleasure of that evening
when he next came to Moscow. From this I concluded that he did not consider it
possible to come to my house during my absence, and this pleased me.
"It turned out that as I should not be back before he left town, we should
not see one another again.
"For the first time I pressed his hand with real pleasure, and thanked him
for the enjoyment he had given us. In the same way he bade a final farewell to
my wife. Their leave-taking seemed to be most natural and proper. Everything
was splendid. My wife and I were both very well satisfied with our evening
party.
CHAPTER XXIV
"Two days later I left for the Meetings, parting from my wife in the best
and most tranquil of moods.
"In the district there was always an enormous amount to do and a quite
special life, a special little world of its own. I spent two ten-hour days at
the Council. A letter from my wife was brought me on the second day and I read
it there and then.
"She wrote about the children, about uncle, about the nurse, about
shopping, and among other things she mentioned, as a most natural occurrence,
that Trukhachevski had called, brought some music he had promised, and had
offered to play again, but that she had refused.
"I did not remember his having promised any music, but thought he had taken
leave for good, and I was therefore unpleasantly struck by this. I was however
so busy that I had not time to think of it, and it was only in the evening when
I had returned to my lodgings that I re-read her letter.
"Besides the fact that Trukhachevski had called at my house during my
absence, the whole tone of the letter seemed to me unnatural. The mad beast of
jealousy began to growl in its kennel and wanted to leap out, but I was afraid
of that beast and quickly fastened him in. "What an abominable feeling this
jealousy is!" I said to myself. "What could be more natural than what she
writes?"
"I went to bed and began thinking about the affairs awaiting me next day.
During those Meetings, sleeping in a new place, I usually slept badly, but now I
fell asleep very quickly. And as sometimes happens, you know, you feel a kind
of electric shock and wake up. So I awoke thinking of her, of my physical love
for her, and of Trukhachevski, and of everything being accomplished between
them. Horror and rage compressed my heart. But I began to reason with myself.
"What nonsense!" said I to myself. "There are no grounds to go on, there is
nothing and there has been nothing. How can I so degrade her and myself as to
imagine such horrors? He is a sort of hired violinist, known as a worthless
fellow, and suddenly an honourable woman, the respected mother of a family,
*my* wife....What absurdity!" So it seemed to me on the one hand. "How could
it help being so?" it seemed on the other. "How could that simplest and most
intelligible thing help happening -- that for the sake of which I married her,
for the sake of which I have been living with her, what alone I wanted of her,
and which others including this musician must therefore also want? He is an
unmarried man, healthy (I remember how he crunched the gristle of a cutlet and
how greedily his red lips clung to the glass of wine), well-fed, plump, and not
merely unprincipled but evidently making it a principle to accept the pleasures
that present themselves. And they have music, that most exquisite
voluptuousness of the senses, as a link between them. What then could make him
refrain? She? But who is she? She was, and still is, a mystery. I don't know
her. I only know her as an animal. And nothing can or should restrain an
animal."
"Only then did I remember their faces that evening when, after the Kreutzer
Sonata, they played some impassioned little piece, I don't remember by whom,
impassioned to the point of obscenity. "How dared I go away?" I asked myself,
remembering their faces. Was it not clear that everything had happened between
them that evening? Was it not evident already then that there was not only no
barrier between them, but that they both, and she chiefly, felt a certain
measure of shame after what had happened? I remember her weak, piteous, and
beatific smile as she wiped the perspiration from her flushed face when I came
up to the piano. Already then they avoided looking at one another, and only at
supper when she was pouring out some water for her, they glanced at each other
with the vestige of a smile. I now recalled with horror the glance and scarcely
perceptible smile I had then caught. "Yes, it is all over," said one voice, and
immediately the other voice said something entirely different. "Something has
come over you, it can't be that it is so," said the other voice. It felt
uncanny lying in the dark and I struck a light, and felt a kind of terror in
that little room with its yellow wall-paper. I lit a cigarette and, as always
happens when one's thought go round and round in a circle of insoluble
contradictions, I smoked, taking one cigarette after another in order to befog
myself so as not to see those contradictions.
"I did not sleep all night, and at five in the morning, having decided that
I could not continue in such a state of tension, I rose, woke the caretaker who
attended me and sent him to get horses. I sent a note to the Council saying
that I had been recalled to Moscow on urgent business and asking that one of the
members should take my place. At eight o'clock I got into my trap and started."
CHAPTER XXV
The conductor entered and seeing that our candle had burnt down put it out,
without supplying a fresh one. The day was dawning. Pozdnyshev was silent, but
sighed deeply all the time the conductor was in the carriage. He continued his
story only after the conductor had gone out, and in the semi-darkness of the
carriage only the rattle of the windows of the moving carriage and the rhythmic
snoring of the clerk could be heard. In the half-light of dawn I could not see
Posdnyshev's face at all, but only heard his voice becoming ever more and more
excited and full of suffering.
"I had to travel twenty-four miles by road and eight hours by rail. It was
splendid driving. It was frosty autumn weather, bright and sunny. The roads
were in that condition when the tyres leave their dark imprint on them, you
know. They were smooth, the light brilliant and the air invigorating. It was
pleasant driving in the tarantas. When it grew lighter and I had started I felt
easier. Looking at the houses, the fields, and the passers-by, I forgot where I
was going. Sometimes I felt that I was simply taking a drive, and that nothing
of what was calling me back had taken place. This oblivion was peculiarly
enjoyable. When I remembered where I was going to, I said to myself, "We shall
see when the time comes; I must not think about it." When we were halfway and
incident occurred which detained me and still further distracted my thoughts.
The tarantas broke down and had to be repaired. That break-down had a very
important effect, for it caused me to arrive in Moscow at midnight, instead of
at seven o'clock as I had expected, and to reach home between twelve and one, as
I missed the express and had to travel by an ordinary train. Going to fetch a
cart, having the tarantas mended, settling up, tea at the inn, a talk with the
innkeeper -- all this still further diverted my attention. It was twilight
before all was ready and I started again. By night it was even pleasanter
driving than during the day. There was a new moon, a slight frost, still good
roads, good horses, and a jolly driver, and as I went on I enjoyed it, hardly
thinking at all of what lay before me; or perhaps I enjoyed it just because I
knew what awaited me and was saying good-bye to the joys of life. But that
tranquil mood, that ability to suppress my feelings, ended with my drive. As
soon as I entered the train something entirely different began. That eight-hour
journey in a railway carriage was something dreadful, which I shall never forget
all my life. Whether it was that having taken my seat in the carriage I vividly
imagined myself as having already arrived, or that railway travelling has such
an exciting effect on people, at any rate from the moment I sat down in the
train I could no longer control my imagination, and with extraordinary vividness
which inflamed my jealousy it painted incessantly, one after another, pictures
of what had gone on in my absence, of how she had been false to me. I burnt
with indignation, anger, and a peculiar feeling of intoxication with my own
humiliation, as I gazed at those pictures, and I could not tear myself away from
them; I could not help looking at them, could not face them, and could not help
evoking them.
"That was not all. The more I gazed at those imaginary pictures the
stronger grew my belief in their reality. The vividness with which they
presented themselves to me seemed to serve as proof that what I imagined was
real. It was as if some devil against my will invented and suggested to me the
most terrible reflections. An old conversation I had had with Trukhachevski's
brother came to my mind, and in a kind of ecstasy I rent my heart with that
conversation, making it refer to Trukhachevski and my wife.
"That had occurred long before, but I recalled it. Turkhachevski's
brother, I remember, in reply to a question whether he frequented houses of ill-
fame, had said that a decent man would not go to placed where there was danger
of infection and it was dirty and nasty, since he could always find a decent
woman. And now his brother had found my wife! "True, she is not in her first
youth, has lost a side-tooth, and there is a slight puffiness about her; but it
can't be helped, one has to take advantage of what one can get," I imagined him
to be thinking. "Yes, it is condescending of him to take her for his mistress!"
I said to myself. "And she is safe...." "No, it is impossible!" I thought
horror-struck. "There is nothing of the kind, nothing! There are not even any
grounds for suspecting such things. Didn't she tell me that the very thought
that I could be jealous of him was degrading to her? Yes, but she is lying, she
is always lying!" I exclaimed and everything began anew.... There were only two
other people in the carriage; an old woman and her husband, both very taciturn,
and even they got out at one of the stations and I was quite alone. I was like
a caged animal: now I jumped up and went to the window, now I began to walk up
and down trying to speed the carriage up; but the carriage with all its seats
and windows went jolting on in the same way, just as ours does...."
Pozdnyshev jumped up, took a few steps, and sat down again. "Oh, I am
afraid, afraid of railway carriages, I am seized with horror. Yes, it is
awful!" he continued. "I said to myself, "I will think of something else.
Suppose I think of the innkeeper where I had tea," and there in my mind's eye
appears the innkeeper with his long beard and his grandson, a boy of the age of
my Vasya! He will see how the musician kisses his mother. What will happen in
his poor soul? But what does she care? She loves ..." and again the same thing
rose up in me. "No, no ... I will think about the inspection of the District
Hospital. Oh, yes, about the patient who complained of the doctor yesterday.
The doctor has a moustache like Trukhachevski's. and how impudent he is...they
both deceived me when he said he was leaving Moscow," and it began afresh.
Everything I thought of had some connection with them. I suffered dreadfully.
The chief cause of the suffering was my ignorance, my doubt, and the
contradictions within me: my not knowing whether I ought to love or hate her.
My suffering was of a strange kind. I felt a hateful consciousness of my
humiliation and of his victory, but a terrible hatred for her. "It will not do
to put an end to myself and leave her; she must at least suffer to some extent,
and at least understand that I have suffered," I said to myself. I got out at
every station to divert my mind. At one station I saw some people drinking, and
I immediately drank some vodka. Beside me stood a Jew who was also drinking.
He began to talk, and to avoid being alone in my carriage I went with him into
his dirty third-class carriage reeking with smoke and bespattered with shells of
sunflower seeds. There I sat down beside him and he chattered a great deal and
told anecdotes. I listened to him, but could not take in what he was saying
because I continued to think about my own affairs. He noticed this and demanded
my attention. Then I rose and went back to my carriage. "I must think it
over," I said to myself. "Is what I suspect true, and is there any reason for
me to suffer?" I sat down, wishing to think it over calmly, but immediately,
instead of calm reflection, the same thing began again: Instead of reflection,
pictures and fancies. "How often I have suffered like this," I said to myself
(recalling former similar attacks of jealousy), "and afterwards it all ended in
nothing. So it will be now perhaps, yes certainly it will. I shall find her
calmly asleep, she will wake up, be pleased to see me, and by her words and
looks I shall know that there has been nothing and that this is all nonsense.
Oh, how good that would be! But no, that has happened too often and won't
happen again now," some voice seemed to say; and it began again. Yes, that was
where the punishment lay! I wouldn't take a young man to a lock-hospital to
knock the hankering after women out of him, but into my soul, to see the devils
that were rending it! What was terrible, you know, was that I considered myself
to have a complete right to her body as if it were my own, and yet at the same
time I felt I could not control that body, that it was not mine and she could
dispose of it as she pleased, and that she wanted to dispose of it not as I
wished her to. And I could do nothing either to her or to him. He, like Vanka
the Steward, could sing a song before the gallows of how he kissed the sugared
lips and so forth. And he would triumph. If she has not yet done it but wishes
to -- and I know that she does wish to -- it is still worse; it would be better
if she had done it and I knew it, so that there would be an end to this
uncertainty. I could not have said what it was I wanted. I wanted her not to
desire that which she was bound to desire. It was utter insanity."
CHPATER XXVI
"At the last station but one, when the conductor had been to collect the
tickets, I gathered my things together and went out onto the brake-platform, and
the consciousness that the crisis was at hand still further increased my
agitation. I felt cold, and my jaw trembled so that my teeth chattered. I
automatically left the terminus with the crowd, took a cab, got in, and drove
off. I rode looking at the few passers-by, the night-watchmen, and the shadows
of my trap thrown by the street lamps, now in front and now behind me, and did
not think of anything. When we had gone about half a mile my feet felt cold,
and I remembered that I had taken off my woolen stockings in the train and put
them in my satchel. "Where is the satchel? Is it here? Yes." And my wicker
trunk? I remembered that I had entirely forgotten about my luggage, but finding
that I had the luggage-ticket I decided that it was not worth while going back
for it, and so continued my way.
"Try now as I will, I cannot recall my state of mind at the time. What did
I think? What did I want? I don't know at all. All I remember is a
consciousness that something dreadful and very important in my life was
imminent. Whether that important event occurred because I thought it would, or
whether I had a presentiment of what was to happen, I don't know. It may even
be that after what has happened all the foregoing moments have acquired a
certain gloom in my mind. I drove up to the front porch. It was past midnight.
Some cabmen were waiting in front of the porch expecting, from the fact that
there were lights in the windows, to get fares. (The lights were in our flat,
in the dancing-room and drawing-room.) Without considering why it was still
light in our windows so late, I went upstairs in the same state of expectation
of something dreadful, and rang. Egor, a kind, willing, but very stupid
footman, opened the door. The first thing my eyes fell on in the hall was a
man's cloak hanging on the stand with other outdoor coats. I ought to have been
surprised but was not, for I had expected it. "That's it!" I said to myself.
When I asked Egor who the visitor was and he named Trukhachevski, I inquired
whether there was anyone else. He replied, "Nobody, sir." I remember that he
replied in a tone as if he wanted to cheer me and dissipate my doubts of there
being anybody else there. "So it is, so it is," I seemed to be saying to
myself. "And the children?" "All well, heaven be praised. In bed, long ago."
"I could not breathe, and could not check the trembling of my jaw. "Yes,
so it is not as I thought: I used to expect a misfortune but things used to turn
out all right and in the usual way. Now it is not as usual, but is all as I
pictured to myself. I thought it was only fancy, but here it is, all real.
Here it is...!" "I almost began to sob, but the devil immediately suggested
to me: "Cry, be sentimental, and they will get away quietly. You will have no
proof and will continue to suffer and doubt all your life." And my self-pity
immediately vanished, and a strange sense of joy arose in me, that my torture
would now be over, that now I could punish her, could get rid of her, and could
vent my anger. And I gave vent to it -- I became a beast, a cruel and cunning
beast.
"Don't!" I said to Egor, who was about to go to the drawing-room. "Here is
my luggage-ticket, take a cab as quick as you can and go and get my luggage.
Go!" He went down the passage to fetch his overcoat. Afraid that he might
alarm them, I went as far as his little room and waited while he put on his
overcoat. From the drawing-room, beyond another room, one could hear voices and
the clatter of knives and plates. They were eating and had not heard the bell.
"If only they don't come out now," thought I. Egor put on his overcoat, which
had an astrakhan collar, and went out. I locked the door after him and felt
creepy when I knew I was alone and must act at once. How, I did not yet know.
I only knew that all was now over, that there could be no doubt as to her guilt,
and that I should punish her immediately and end my relations with her.
"Previously I had doubted and had thought: "Perhaps after all it's not
true, perhaps I am mistaken." But now it was so no longer. It was all
irrevocably decided. "Without my knowledge she is alone with him at night!
That is a complete disregard of everything! Or worse still: It is intentional
boldness and impudence in crime, that the boldness may serve as a sign of
innocence. All is clear. There is no doubt." I only feared one thing -- their
parting hastily, inventing some fresh lie, and thus depriving me of clear
evidence and of the possibility of proving the fact. So as to catch them more
quickly I went on tiptoe to the dancing-room where they were, not through the
drawing-room but through the passage and nurseries.
"In the first nursery slept the boys. In the second nursery the nurse
moved and was about to wake, and I imagined to myself what she would think when
she knew all; and such pity for myself seized me at that thought that I could
not restrain my tears, and not to wake the children I ran on tiptoe into the
passage and on into my study, where I fell sobbing on the sofa.
"I, an honest man, I, the son of my parent, I, who have all my life dreamt
of the happiness of married life; I, a man who was never unfaithful to
her....And now! Five children, and she is embracing a musician because he has
red lips!
"No, she is not a human being. She is a bitch, an abominable bitch! In
the next room to her children whom she has all her life pretended to love. And
writing to me as she did! Throwing herself so barefacedly on his neck! But
what do I know? Perhaps she long ago carried on with the footmen, and so got
the children who are considered mine!
"Tomorrow I should have come back and she would have met me with her fine
coiffure, with her elegant waist and he indolent, graceful movements" (I saw all
her attractive, hateful face), "and that beast of jealousy would for ever have
sat in my heart lacerating it. What will the nurse think? ... And Egor? And
poor little Lisa! She already understands something. Ah, that imprudence,
those lies! And that animal sensuality which I know so well," I said to myself.
"I tried to get up but could not. My heart was beating so that I could not
stand on my feet. "Yes, I shall die of a stroke. She will kill me. That is
just what she wants. What is killing to her? But no, that would be too
advantageous for her and I will not give her that pleasure. Yes, here I sit
while they eat and laugh and ... Yes, though she was no longer in her first
freshness he did not disdain her. For in spite of that she is not bad looking,
and above all she is at any rate not dangerous to his precious health. And why
did I not throttle her then?" I said to myself, recalling the moment when, the
week before, I drove her out of my study and hurled things about. I vividly
recalled the state I had then been in; I not only recalled it, but again felt
the need to strike and destroy that I had felt then. I remember how I wished to
act, and how all considerations except those necessary for action went out of my
head. I entered into that condition when an animal or a man, under the
influence of physical excitement at a time of danger, acts with precision and
deliberation but without losing a moment and always with a single definite aim
in view.
"The first thing I did was to take off my boots and, in my socks, approach
the sofa, on the wall above which guns and daggers were hung. I took down a
curved Damascus dagger that had never been used and was very sharp. I drew it
out of its scabbard. I remember the scabbard fell behind the sofa, and I
remember thinking "I must find it afterwards or it will get lost." Then I took
off my overcoat which was still wearing, and stepping softly in my socks I went
there.
CHAPTER XXVII
"Having crept up stealthily to the door, I suddenly opened it." I remember
the expression of their faces. I remember that expression because it gave me a
painful pleasure -- it was an expression of terror. That was just what I
wanted. I shall never forget the look of desperate terror that appeared on both
their faces the first instant they saw me. He I think was sitting at the table,
but on seeing or hearing me he jumped to his feet and stood with his back to the
cupboard. His face expressed nothing but quite unmistakable terror. Her face
too expressed terror but there was something else besides. If it had expressed
only terror, perhaps what happened might not have happened; but on her fact
there was, or at any rate so it seemed to me at the first moment, also an
expression of regret and annoyance that love's raptures and her happiness with
him had been disturbed. It was as if she wanted nothing but that her present
happiness should not be interfered with. These expressions remained on their
faces but an instant. The look of terror on his changed immediately to one of
inquiry; might he, or might he not, begin lying? If he might, he must begin at
once; if not, something else would happen. But what? ... He looked inquiringly
at her face. On her face the look of vexation and regret changed as she looked
at him (so it seemed to me) to one of solicitude for him. "For an instant I
stood in the doorway holding the dagger behind my back.
"At that moment he smiled, and in a ridiculously indifferent tone remarked:
"And we have been having some music."
"What a surprise!" she began, falling into his tone. But neither of them
finished; the same fury I had experienced the week before overcame me. Again I
felt that need of destruction, violence, and a transport of rage, and yielded to
it. Neither finished what they were saying. That something else began which he
had feared and which immediately destroyed all they were saying. I rushed
towards her, still hiding the dagger that he might not prevent my striking her
in the side under her breast. I selected that spot from the first. Just as I
rushed at her he saw it, and -- a thing I never expected of him -- seized me by
the arm and shouted: "Think what you are doing!... Help, someone!..."
"I snatched my arm away and rushed at him in silence. His eyes met mine
and he suddenly grew as pale as a sheet to his very lips. His eyes flashed in a
peculiar way, and -- what again I had not expected -- he darted under the piano
and out at the door. I was going to rush after him, but a weight hung on my
left arm. It was she. I tried to free myself, but she hung on yet more heavily
and would not let me go. This unexpected hindrance, the weight, and her touch
which was loathsome to me, inflamed me still more. I felt that I was quite mad
and that I must look frightful, and this delighted me. I swung my left arm with
all my might, and my elbow hit her straight in the face. She cried out and let
go my arm. I wanted to run after him, but remembered that it is ridiculous to
run after one's wife's lover in one's socks; and I did not wish to be ridiculous
but terrible. In spite of the fearful frenzy I was in, I was all the time aware
of the impression I might produce on others, and was even partly guided by that
impression. I turned towards her. She fell on the couch, and holding her hand
to her bruised eyes, looked at me. Her face showed fear and hatred of me, the
enemy, as a rat's does when one lifts the trap in which it has been caught. At
any rate I saw nothing in her expression but this fear and hatred of me. It was
just the fear and hatred of me which would be evoked by love for another. But
still I might perhaps have restrained myself and not done what I did had she
remained silent. But she suddenly began to speak and to catch hold of the hand
in which I held the dagger.
"Come to yourself! What are you doing? What is the matter? There has been
nothing, nothing, nothing.... I swear it!"
"I might still have hesitated, but those last words of hers, from which I
concluded just the opposite -- that everything had happened -- called forth a
reply. And the reply had to correspond to the temper to which I had brought
myself, which continued to increase and had to go on increasing. Fury, too, has
its laws.
"Don't lie, you wretch!" I howled, and seized her arm with my left hand,
but she wrenched herself away. Then, still without letting go of the dagger, I
seized her by the throat with my left hand, threw her backwards, and began
throttling her. What a firm neck it was...! She seized my hand with both hers
trying to pull it away from her throat, and as if I I had only waited for that,
I struck her with all my might with the dagger in the side below the ribs.
"When people say they don't remember what they do in a fit of fury, it is
rubbish, falsehood. I remembered everything and did not for a moment lose
consciousness of what I was doing. The more frenzied I became the more brightly
the light of consciousness burnt in me, so that I could not help knowing
everything I did. I knew what I was doing every second. I cannot say that I
knew beforehand what I was going to do; but I knew what I was doing when I did
it, and even I think a little before, as if to make repentance possible and to
be able to tell myself that I could stop. I knew I was hitting below the ribs
and that the dagger would enter. At the moment I did it I knew I was doing an
awful thing such as I had never done before, which would have terrible
consequences. But that consciousness passed like a flash of lightning and the
deed immediately followed the consciousness. I realized the action with the
extraordinary clearness. I felt, and remember, the momentary resistance of her
corset and of something else, and then the plunging of the dagger into something
soft. She seized the dagger with her hands, and cut them, but could not hold it
back.
"For a long time afterwards, in prison when the moral change had taken
place in me, I thought of that moment, recalled what I could of it, and
considered it. I remembered that for an instant, only an instant, before the
action I had a terrible consciousness that I was killing, had killed, a
defenseless woman, my wife! I remember the horror of that consciousness and
conclude from that, and even dimly remember, that having plunged the dagger in I
pulled it out immediately, trying to remedy what had been done and to stop it.
I stood for a second motionless waiting to see what would happen, and whether it
could be remedied.
"She jumped to her feet and screamed: "Nurse! He has killed me."
"Having heard the noise the nurse was standing by the door. I continued to
stand waiting, and not believing the truth. But the blood rushed from under her
corset. Only then did I understand that it could not be remedied, and I
immediately decided that it was not necessary it should be, that I had done what
I wanted and had to do. I waited till she fell down, and the nurse, crying
"good God!" ran to her, and only then did I throw away the dagger and leave the
room.
"I must not be excited; I must know what I am doing," I said to myself
without looking at her and at the nurse. The nurse was screaming -- calling for
the maid. I went down the passage, sent the maid, and went into my study.
"What am I to do now?" I asked myself, and immediately realized what it must be.
On entering the study I went straight to the wall, took down a revolver and
examined it -- it was loaded -- I put it on the table. Then I picked up the
scabbard from behind the sofa and sat down there.
"I sat thus for a long time. I did not think of anything or call anything
to mind. I heard the sounds of bustling outside. I heard someone drive up,
then someone else. Then I heard and saw Egor bring into the room my wicker
trunk he had fetched. As if anyone wanted that!
"Have you heard what has happened?" I asked. "Tell the yard-porter to
inform the police." He did not reply, and went away. I rose, locked the door,
got out my cigarettes and matches and began to smoke. I had not finished the
cigarette before sleep overpowered me. I must have slept for a couple of hours.
I remember dreaming that she and I were friendly together, that we had
quarreled but were making it up, there was something rather in the way, but we
were friends. I was awakened by someone knocking at the door. "That is the
police!" I thought, waking up. "I have committed murder, I think. But perhaps
it is *she*, and nothing has happened." There was again a knock at the door.
I did not answer, but was trying to solve the question whether it had happened
or not. Yet, it had! I remembered the resistance of the corset and the
plunging in of the dagger, and a cold shiver ran down my back. "Yes, it has.
Yes, and now I must do away with myself too," I thought. But I thought this
knowing that I should *not* kill myself. Still I got up and took the revolver
in my hand. But it is strange: I remember how I had many times been near
suicide, how even that day on the railway it had seemed easy, only just because
I thought how it would stagger her -- now I was not only unable to kill myself
but even to think of it. "Why should I do it?" I asked myself, and there was no
reply. There was more knocking at the door. "first I must find out who is
knocking. There will still be time for this." I put down the revolver and
covered it with a newspaper. I went to the door and unlatched it. It was my
wife's sister, a kindly, stupid widow. "Vasya, what is this?" and her ever
ready tears began to flow.
"What do you want?" I asked rudely. I knew I ought not to be rude to her
and had no reason to be, but I could think of no other tone to adopt.
"Vasya, she is dying! Ivan Zakharych says so." Ivan Zakharych was her
doctor and adviser.
"Is he here?" I asked, and all my animosity against surged up again.
"Well, what of it?"
"Vasya, go to her. Oh, how terrible it is!" said she. "Shall I go
to her?" I asked myself, and immediately decided that I must go to her.
Probably it is always done, when a husband has killed his wife, as I had -- he
must certainly go to her. "If that is what is done, then I must go," I said to
myself. "If necessary I shall always have time," I reflected, referring to the
shooting of myself, and I went to her. "Now we shall have phrases, grimaces,
but I will not yield to them," I thought. "Wait," I said to her sister, "it is
silly without boots, let me at least put on slippers."
CHAPTER XXVIII
"Wonderful to say, when I left my study and went through the familiar
rooms, the hope that nothing had happened again awoke in me; but the smell of
that doctor's nastiness -- iodoform and carbolic -- took me aback. "No, it had
happened." Going down the passage past the nursery I saw little Lisa. She
looked at me with frightened eyes. It even seemed to me that all the five
children were there and all looked at me. I approached the door, and the maid
opened it from inside for me and passed out. The first thing that caught my eye
was her light-grey dress thrown on a chair and all stained black with blood.
She was lying on one of the twin beds (on mine because it was easier to get at),
with her knees raised. She say in a very sloping position supported by pillows,
with her dressing jacket unfastened. Something had been put on the wound.
There was a heavy smell of iodoform in the room. What struck me first and most
of all was her swollen and bruised face, blue on part of the nose and under the
eyes. This was the result of the blow with my elbow when she had tried to hold
me back. There was nothing beautiful about her, but something repulsive as it
seemed to me. I stopped on the threshold. "Go up to her, do," said her sister.
"Yes, no doubt she wants to confess," I thought. "Shall I forgive her? Yes,
she is dying and may be forgiven," I thought, trying to be magnanimous. I went
up close to her. She raised her eyes to me with difficulty, one of them was
black, and with an effort said falteringly:
"You've got your way, killed..." and through the look of suffering and even
the nearness of death her face had the old expression of cold animal hatred that
I knew so well. "I shan't ... let you have ... the children, all the same....
She (her sister will take..."
"Of what to me was the most important matter, her guilt, her faithlessness,
she seemed to consider it beneath her to speak.
"Yes, look and admire what you have done," she said looking towards the
door, and she sobbed. In the doorway stood her sister with the children. "Yes,
see what you have done."
"I looked at the children and at her bruised and disfigured face, and for
the first I forgot myself, my rights, my pride, and for the first time saw a
human being in her. And so insignificant did all that had offended me, all my
jealousy, appear, and so important what I had done, that I wished to fall with
my face to her hand, and say: "Forgive me," but dared not do so.
"She lay silent with her eyes closed, evidently too weak to say more. Then
her disfigured face trembled and puckered. She pushed me feebly away.
"Why did it all happen? Why?"
"Forgive me," I said.
"Forgive! That's all rubbish! ... only not to die! ..." she cried, raising
herself, and her glittering eyes were bent on me. "Yes, you have had your way!
... I hate you! Ah! Ah!" she cried, evidently already in delirium and
frightened at something. "Shoot! I'm not afraid! ... Only kill everyone ...!
He has gone ...! Gone...!"
"After that the delirium continued all the time. She did not recognize
anyone. She died towards noon that same day. Before that they had taken me to
the police-station and from there to prison. There, during the eleven months I
remained awaiting trial, I examined myself and my past, and understood it. I
began to understand it on the third day: on the third day they took me
*there*..."
He was going on but, unable to repress his sobs, he stopped. When he
recovered himself he continued:
"I only began to understand when I saw her in her coffin..."
He gave a sob, but immediately continued hurriedly:
"Only when I saw her dead face did I understand all that I had done. I
realized that I, I, had killed her; that it was my doing that she, living,
moving, warm, had now become motionless, waxen, and cold, and that this could
never, anywhere, or by any means, be remedied. He who has not lived through it
cannot understand.... Ugh! Ugh! Ugh!..." he cried several times and then was
silent.
We sat in silence a long while. He kept sobbing and trembling as he sat
opposite me without speaking. His face had grown narrow and elongated and his
mouth seemed to stretch right across it.
"Yes," he suddenly said. "Had I then known what I know now, everything
would have been different. Nothing would have induced me to marry her.... I
should not have married at all."
Again we remained silent for a long time.
"Well, forgive me...." He turned away from me and lay down on the seat,
covering himself up with his plaid. At the station where I had to get out (it
was at eight o'clock in the morning) I went up to him to say good-by. Whether
he was asleep or only pretended to be, at any rate he did not move. I touched
him with my hand. He uncovered his face, and I could see he had not been
asleep.
"Good-bye," I said, holding out my hand. He gave me his and smiled
slightly, but so piteously that I felt ready to weep.
"Yes, forgive me..." he said, repeating the same words with which he had
concluded his story.
THE END OF THE KREUTZER SONATA
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