Short Stories
was the object of that ring, why was it there, what did it mean? He
questioned the old lady several times about it, but apparently did not say
what he meant; and she evidently did not understand it, however much he
struggled to explain. At last by morning the symptoms had ceased and he
fell into a sleep, a sound sleep without dreams. He slept about an hour,
and when he woke he was almost completely conscious, with an insufferable
headache, and a disgusting taste in his mouth and on his tongue, which
seemed turned into a piece of cloth. He sat up in the bed, looked about
him, and pondered. The pale light of morning peeping through the cracks of
the shutters in a narrow streak, quivered on the wall. It was about seven
o'clock in the morning. But when Ivan Ilyitch suddenly grasped the position
and recalled all that had happened to him since the evening; when he
remembered all his adventures at supper, the failure of his magnanimous
action, his speech at table; when he realised all at once with horrifying
clearness all that might come of this now, all that people would say and
think of him; when he looked round and saw to what a mournful and hideous
condition he had reduced the peaceful bridal couch of his clerk--oh, then
such deadly shame, such agony overwhelmed him, that he uttered a shriek,
hid his face in his hands and fell back on the pillow in despair. A minute
later he jumped out of bed, saw his clothes carefully folded and brushed on
a chair beside him, and seizing them, and as quickly as he could, in
desperate haste began putting them on, looking round and seeming terribly
frightened at something. On another chair close by lay his greatcoat and
fur cap, and his yellow gloves were in his cap. He meant to steal away
secretly. But suddenly the door opened and the elder Madame Pseldonimov
walked in with an earthenware jug and basin. A towel was hanging over her
shoulder. She set down the jug, and without further conversation told him
that he must wash.
"Come, my good sir, wash; you can't go without washing...."
And at that instant Ivan Ilyitch recognised that if there was one being in
the whole world whom he need not fear, and before whom he need not feel
ashamed, it was that old lady. He washed. And long afterwards, at painful
moments of his life, he recalled among other pangs of remorse all the
circumstances of that waking, and that earthenware basin, and the china jug
filled with cold water in which there were still floating icicles, and the
oval cake of soap at fifteen kopecks, in pink paper with letters embossed
on it, evidently bought for the bridal pair though it fell to Ivan Ilyitch
to use it, and the old lady with the linen towel over her left shoulder.
The cold water refreshed him, he dried his face, and without even thanking
his sister of mercy, he snatched up his hat, flung over his shoulders the
coat handed to him by Pseldonimov, and crossing the passage and the
kitchen where the cat was already mewing, and the cook sitting up in her
bed staring after him with greedy curiosity, ran out into the yard, into
the street, and threw himself into the first sledge he came across. It was
a frosty morning. A chilly yellow fog still hid the house and everything.
Ivan Ilyitch turned up his collar. He thought that every one was looking at
him, that they were all recognising him, all....
* * * * *
For eight days he did not leave the house or show himself at the office. He
was ill, wretchedly ill, but more morally than physically. He lived through
a perfect hell in those days, and they must have been reckoned to his
account in the other world. There were moments when he thought of becoming
a monk and entering a monastery. There really were. His imagination,
indeed, took special excursions during that period. He pictured subdued
subterranean singing, an open coffin, living in a solitary cell, forests
and caves; but when he came to himself he recognised almost at once that
all this was dreadful nonsense and exaggeration, and was ashamed of this
nonsense. Then began attacks of moral agony on the theme of his _existence
manquée_. Then shame flamed up again in his soul, took complete possession
of him at once, consumed him like fire and re-opened his wounds. He
shuddered as pictures of all sorts rose before his mind. What would people
say about him, what would they think when he walked into his office? What a
whisper would dog his steps for a whole year, ten years, his whole life!
His story would go down to posterity. He sometimes fell into such dejection
that he was ready to go straight off to Semyon Ivanovitch and ask for his
forgiveness and friendship. He did not even justify himself, there was no
limit to his blame of himself. He could find no extenuating circumstances,
and was ashamed of trying to.
He had thoughts, too, of resigning his post at once and devoting himself to
human happiness as a simple citizen, in solitude. In any case he would have
completely to change his whole circle of acquaintances, and so thoroughly
as to eradicate all memory of himself. Then the thought occurred to him
that this, too, was nonsense, and that if he adopted greater severity with
his subordinates it might all be set right. Then he began to feel hope and
courage again. At last, at the expiration of eight days of hesitation and
agonies, he felt that he could not endure to be in uncertainty any longer,
and _un beau matin_ he made up his mind to go to the office.
He had pictured a thousand times over his return to the office as he sat at
home in misery. With horror and conviction he told himself that he would
certainly hear behind him an ambiguous whisper, would see ambiguous faces,
would intercept ominous smiles. What was his surprise when nothing of the
sort happened. He was greeted with respect; he was met with bows; every one
was grave; every one was busy. His heart was filled with joy as he made his
way to his own room.
He set to work at once with the utmost gravity, he listened to some reports
and explanations, settled doubtful points. He felt as though he had never
explained knotty points and given his decisions so intelligently, so
judiciously as that morning. He saw that they were satisfied with him, that
they respected him, that he was treated with respect. The most thin-skinned
sensitiveness could not have discovered anything.
At last Akim Petrovitch made his appearance with some document. The sight
of him sent a stab to Ivan Ilyitch's heart, but only for an instant. He
went into the business with Akim Petrovitch, talked with dignity, explained
things, and showed him what was to be done. The only thing he noticed was
that he avoided looking at Akim Petrovitch for any length of time, or
rather Akim Petrovitch seemed afraid of catching his eye, but at last Akim
Petrovitch had finished and began to collect his papers.
"And there is one other matter," he began as dryly as he could, "the clerk
Pseldonimov's petition to be transferred to another department. His
Excellency Semyon Ivanovitch Shipulenko has promised him a post. He begs
your gracious assent, your Excellency."
"Oh, so he is being transferred," said Ivan Ilyitch, and he felt as though
a heavy weight had rolled off his heart. He glanced at Akim Petrovitch, and
at that instant their eyes met. "Certainly, I for my part ... I will use,"
answered Ivan Ilyitch; "I am ready."
Akim Petrovitch evidently wanted to slip away as quickly as he could. But
in a rush of generous feeling Ivan Ilyitch determined to speak out.
Apparently some inspiration had come to him again.
"Tell him," he began, bending a candid glance full of profound meaning upon
Akim Petrovitch, "tell Pseldonimov that I feel no ill-will, no, I do
not!... That on the contrary I am ready to forget all that is past, to
forget it all...."
But all at once Ivan Ilyitch broke off, looking with wonder at the strange
behaviour of Akim Petrovitch, who suddenly seemed transformed from a
sensible person into a fearful fool. Instead of listening and hearing Ivan
Ilyitch to the end, he suddenly flushed crimson in the silliest way, began
with positively unseemly haste making strange little bows, and at the same
time edging towards the door. His whole appearance betrayed a desire to
sink through the floor, or more accurately, to get back to his table as
quickly as possible. Ivan Ilyitch, left alone, got up from his chair in
confusion; he looked in the looking-glass without noticing his face.
"No, severity, severity and nothing but severity," he whispered almost
unconsciously, and suddenly a vivid flush over-spread his face. He felt
suddenly more ashamed, more weighed down than he had been in the most
insufferable moments of his eight days of tribulation. "I did break down!"
he said to himself, and sank helplessly into his chair.
ANOTHER MAN'S WIFE
OR
THE HUSBAND UNDER THE BED
AN EXTRAORDINARY ADVENTURE
I
"Be so kind, sir ... allow me to ask you...."
The gentleman so addressed started and looked with some alarm at the
gentleman in raccoon furs who had accosted him so abruptly at eight o'clock
in the evening in the street. We all know that if a Petersburg gentleman
suddenly in the street speaks to another gentleman with whom he is
unacquainted, the second gentleman is invariably alarmed.
And so the gentleman addressed started and was somewhat alarmed.
"Excuse me for troubling you," said the gentleman in raccoon, "but I ... I
really don't know ... you will pardon me, no doubt; you see, I am a little
upset...."
Only then the young man in the wadded overcoat observed that this gentleman
in the raccoon furs certainly was upset. His wrinkled face was rather pale,
his voice was trembling. He was evidently in some confusion of mind, his
words did not flow easily from his tongue, and it could be seen that it
cost him a terrible effort to present a very humble request to a personage
possibly his inferior in rank or condition, in spite of the urgent
necessity of addressing his request to somebody. And indeed the request was
in any case unseemly, undignified, strange, coming from a man who had such
a dignified fur coat, such a respectable jacket of a superb dark green
colour, and such distinguished decorations adorning that jacket. It was
evident that the gentleman in raccoon was himself confused by all this, so
that at last he could not stand it, but made up his mind to suppress his
emotion and politely to put an end to the unpleasant position he had
himself brought about.
"Excuse me, I am not myself: but it is true you don't know me ... forgive
me for disturbing you; I have changed my mind."
Here, from politeness, he raised his hat and hurried off.
"But allow me...."
The little gentleman had, however, vanished into the darkness, leaving the
gentleman in the wadded overcoat in a state of stupefaction.
"What a queer fellow!" thought the gentleman in the wadded overcoat. After
wondering, as was only natural, and recovering at last from his
stupefaction, he bethought him of his own affairs, and began walking to and
fro, staring intently at the gates of a house with an endless number of
storeys. A fog was beginning to come on, and the young man was somewhat
relieved at it, for his walking up and down was less noticeable in the fog,
though indeed no one could have noticed him but some cabman who had been
waiting all day without a fare.
"Excuse me!"
The young man started again; again the gentleman in raccoon was standing
before him.
"Excuse me again ..." he began, "but you ... you are no doubt an honourable
man! Take no notice of my social position ... but I am getting muddled ...
look at it as man to man ... you see before you, sir, a man craving a
humble favour...."
"If I can.... What do you want?"