The Kreutzer Sonata and Other Stories
at this moment make out why I was in such a hurry. I know only that I
was conscious that a serious and menacing event was approaching in my
life. It was a case of real auto-suggestion. Was it so serious because
I thought it so? Or had I a presentiment? I do not know. Perhaps, too,
after what has happened, all previous events have taken on a lugubrious
tint in my memory.
“I arrived at the steps. It was an hour past midnight. A few
_isvotchiks_ were before the door, awaiting customers, attracted by the
lighted windows (the lighted windows were those of our parlor and
reception room). Without trying to account for this late illumination,
I went up the steps, always with the same expectation of something
terrible, and I rang. The servant, a good, industrious, and very stupid
being, named Gregor, opened the door. The first thing that leaped to my
eyes in the hall, on the hat-stand, among other garments, was an
overcoat. I ought to have been astonished, but I was not astonished. I
expected it. ‘That’s it!’ I said to myself.
“When I had asked Gregor who was there, and he had named
Troukhatchevsky, I inquired whether there were other visitors. He
answered: ‘Nobody.’ I remember the air with which he said that, with a
tone that was intended to give me pleasure, and dissipate my doubts.
‘That’s it! that’s it!’ I had the air of saying to myself. ‘And the
children?’
“‘Thank God, they are very well. They went to sleep long ago.’
“I scarcely breathed, and I could not keep my jaw from trembling.
“Then it was not as I thought. I had often before returned home with
the thought that a misfortune had awaited me, but had been mistaken,
and everything was going on as usual. But now things were not going on
as usual. All that I had imagined, all that I believed to be chimeras,
all really existed. Here was the truth.
“I was on the point of sobbing, but straightway the demon whispered in
my ear: ‘Weep and be sentimental, and they will separate quietly, and
there will be no proofs, and all your life you will doubt and suffer.’
And pity for myself vanished, and there remained only the bestial need
of some adroit, cunning, and energetic action. I became a beast, an
intelligent beast.
“‘No, no,’ said I to Gregor, who was about to announce my arrival. ‘Do
this, take a carriage, and go at once for my baggage. Here is the
check. Start.’
“He went along the hall to get his overcoat. Fearing lest he might
frighten them, I accompanied him to his little room, and waited for him
to put on his things. In the dining-room could be heard the sound of
conversation and the rattling of knives and plates. They were eating.
They had not heard the ring. ‘Now if they only do not go out,’ I
thought.
“Gregor put on his fur-collared coat and went out. I closed the door
after him. I felt anxious when I was alone, thinking that directly I
should have to act. How? I did not yet know. I knew only that all was
ended, that there could be no doubt of _his_ innocence, and that in an
instant my relations with her were going to be terminated. Before, I
had still doubts. I said to myself: ‘Perhaps this is not true. Perhaps
I am mistaken.’ Now all doubt had disappeared. All was decided
irrevocably. Secretly, all alone with him, at night! It is a violation
of all duties! Or, worse yet, she may make a show of that audacity, of
that insolence in crime, which, by its excess, tends to prove
innocence. All is clear. No doubt. I feared but one thing,—that they
might run in different directions, that they might invent some new lie,
and thus deprive me of material proof, and of the sorrowful joy of
punishing, yes, of executing them.
“And to surprise them more quickly, I started on tiptoe for the
dining-room, not through the parlor, but through the hall and the
children’s rooms. In the first room slept the little boy. In the
second, the old nurse moved in her bed, and seemed on the point of
waking, and I wondered what she would think when she knew all. And pity
for myself gave me such a pang that I could not keep the tears back.
Not to wake the children, I ran lightly through the hall into my study.
I dropped upon the sofa, and sobbed. ‘I, an honest man, I, the son of
my parents, who all my life long have dreamed of family happiness, I
who have never betrayed! . . . And here my five children, and she
embracing a musician because he has red lips! No, she is not a woman!
She is a bitch, a dirty bitch! Beside the chamber of the children, whom
she had pretended to love all her life! And then to think of what she
wrote me! And how do I know? Perhaps it has always been thus. Perhaps
all these children, supposed to be mine, are the children of my
servants. And if I had arrived to-morrow, she would have come to meet
me with her _coiffure_, with her _corsage_, her indolent and graceful
movements (and I see her attractive and ignoble features), and this
jealous animal would have remained forever in my heart, tearing it.
What will the old nurse say? And Gregor? And the poor little Lise? She
already understands things. And this impudence, this falsehood, this
bestial sensuality, that I know so well,’ I said to myself.
“I tried to rise. I could not. My heart was beating so violently that I
could not hold myself upon my legs. ‘Yes, I shall die of a rush of
blood. She will kill me. That is what she wants. What is it to her to
kill? But that would be too agreeable to him, and I will not allow him
to have this pleasure.
“Yes, here I am, and there they are. They are laughing, they. . . .
Yes, in spite of the fact that she is no longer in her early youth, he
has not disdained her. At any rate, she is by no means ugly, and above
all, not dangerous to his dear health, to him. Why did I not stifle her
then?’ said I to myself, as I remembered that other scene of the
previous week, when I drove her from my study, and broke the furniture.
“And I recalled the state in which I was then. Not only did I recall
it, but I again entered into the same bestial state. And suddenly there
came to me a desire to act, and all reasoning, except such as was
necessary to action, vanished from my brain, and I was in the condition
of a beast, and of a man under the influence of physical excitement
pending a danger, who acts imperturbably, without haste, and yet
without losing a minute, pursuing a definite object.
“The first thing that I did was to take off my boots, and now, having
only stockings on, I advanced toward the wall, over the sofa, where
firearms and daggers were hanging, and I took down a curved Damascus
blade, which I had never used, and which was very sharp. I took it from
its sheath. I remember that the sheath fell upon the sofa, and that I
said to myself: ‘I must look for it later; it must not be lost.’
“Then I took off my overcoat, which I had kept on all the time, and
with wolf-like tread started for _the room_. I do not remember how I
proceeded, whether I ran or went slowly, through what chambers I
passed, how I approached the dining-room, how I opened the door, how I
entered. I remember nothing about it.”
CHAPTER XXVII.
“I remember only the expression of their faces when I opened the door.
I remember that, because it awakened in me a feeling of sorrowful joy.
It was an expression of terror, such as I desired. Never shall I forget
that desperate and sudden fright that appeared on their faces when they
saw me. He, I believe, was at the table, and, when he saw or heard me,
he started, jumped to his feet, and retreated to the sideboard. Fear
was the only sentiment that could be read with certainty in his face.
In hers, too, fear was to be read, but accompanied by other
impressions. And yet, if her face had expressed only fear, perhaps that
which happened would not have happened. But in the expression of her
face there was at the first moment—at least, I thought I saw it—a
feeling of _ennui_, of discontent, at this disturbance of her love and
happiness. One would have said that her sole desire was not to be
disturbed _in the moment of her happiness_. But these expressions
appeared upon their faces only for a moment. Terror almost immediately
gave place to interrogation. Would they lie or not? If yes, they must
begin. If not, something else was going to happen. But what?
“He gave her a questioning glance. On her face the expression of
anguish and _ennui_ changed, it seemed to me, when she looked at him,
into an expression of anxiety for _him_. For a moment I stood in the
doorway, holding the dagger hidden behind my back. Suddenly he smiled,
and in a voice that was indifferent almost to the point of ridicule, he
said:
“‘We were having some music.’
“‘I did not expect—,’ she began at the same time, chiming in with the
tone of the other.
“But neither he nor she finished their remarks. The same rage that I
had felt the previous week took possession of me. I felt the need of
giving free course to my violence and ‘the joy of wrath.’
“No, they did not finish. That other thing was going to begin, of which
he was afraid, and was going to annihilate what they wanted to say. I
threw myself upon her, still hiding the dagger, that he might not
prevent me from striking where I desired, in her bosom, under the
breast. At that moment he saw . . . and, what I did not expect on his
part, he quickly seized my hand, and cried:
“‘Come to your senses! What are you doing? Help! Help!’
“I tore my hands from his grasp, and leaped upon him. I must have been
very terrible, for he turned as white as a sheet, to his lips. His eyes
scintillated singularly, and—again what I did not expect of him—he
scrambled under the piano, toward the other room. I tried to follow
him, but a very heavy weight fell upon my left arm. It was she.
“I made an effort to clear myself. She clung more heavily than ever,
refusing to let go. This unexpected obstacle, this burden, and this
repugnant touch only irritated me the more. I perceived that I was
completely mad, that I must be frightful, and I was glad of it. With a
sudden impulse, and with all my strength, I dealt her, with my left
elbow, a blow squarely in the face.
“She uttered a cry and let go my arm. I wanted to follow the other, but
I felt that it would be ridiculous to pursue in my stockings the lover
of my wife, and I did not wish to be grotesque, I wished to be
terrible. In spite of my extreme rage, I was all the time conscious of
the impression that I was making upon others, and even this impression
partially guided me.
“I turned toward her. She had fallen on the long easy chair, and,
covering her face at the spot where I had struck her, she looked at me.
Her features exhibited fear and hatred toward me, her enemy, such as
the rat exhibits when one lifts the rat-trap. At least, I saw nothing
in her but that fear and hatred, the fear and hatred which love for
another had provoked. Perhaps I still should have restrained myself,
and should not have gone to the last extremity, if she had maintained
silence. But suddenly she began to speak; she grasped my hand that held
the dagger.
“‘Come to your senses! What are you doing? What is the matter with you?
Nothing has happened, nothing, nothing! I swear it to you!’
“I might have delayed longer, but these last words, from which I
inferred the contrary of what they affirmed,—that is, that _everything_
had happened,—these words called for a reply. And the reply must
correspond to the condition into which I had lashed myself, and which
was increasing and must continue to increase. Rage has its laws.
“‘Do not lie, wretch. Do not lie!’ I roared.
“With my left hand I seized her hands. She disengaged herself. Then,
without dropping my dagger, I seized her by the throat, forced her to
the floor, and began to strangle her. With her two hands she clutched