The Kreutzer Sonata and Other Stories

mine, tearing them from her throat, stifling. Then I struck her a blow with the dagger, in the left side, between the lower ribs. “When people say that they do not remember what they do in a fit of fury, they talk nonsense. It is false. I remember everything. “I did not lose my consciousness for a single moment. The more I lashed myself to fury, the clearer my mind became, and I could not help seeing what I did. I cannot say that I knew in advance what I would do, but at the moment when I acted, and it seems to me even a little before, I knew what I was doing, as if to make it possible to repent, and to be able to say later that I could have stopped. “I knew that I struck the blow between the ribs, and that the dagger entered. “At the second when I did it, I knew that I was performing a horrible act, such as I had never performed,—an act that would have frightful consequences. My thought was as quick as lightning, and the deed followed immediately. The act, to my inner sense, had an extraordinary clearness. I perceived the resistance of the corset and then something else, and then the sinking of the knife into a soft substance. She clutched at the dagger with her hands, and cut herself with it, but could not restrain the blow. “Long afterward, in prison when the moral revolution had been effected within me, I thought of that minute, I remembered it as far as I could, and I co-ordinated all the sudden changes. I remembered the terrible consciousness which I felt,—that I was killing a wife, _my_ wife. “I well remember the horror of that consciousness and I know vaguely that, having plunged in the dagger, I drew it out again immediately, wishing to repair and arrest my action. She straightened up and cried: “‘Nurse, he has killed me!’ “The old nurse, who had heard the noise, was standing in the doorway. I was still erect, waiting, and not believing myself in what had happened. But at that moment, from under her corset, the blood gushed forth. Then only did I understand that all reparation was impossible, and promptly I decided that it was not even necessary, that all had happened in accordance with my wish, and that I had fulfilled my desire. I waited until she fell, and until the nurse, exclaiming, ‘Oh, my God!’ ran to her; then only I threw away the dagger and went out of the room. “‘I must not be agitated. I must be conscious of what I am doing,’ I said to myself, looking neither at her nor at the old nurse. The latter cried and called the maid. I passed through the hall, and, after having sent the maid, started for my study. “‘What shall I do now?’ I asked myself. “And immediately I understood what I should do. Directly after entering the study, I went straight to the wall, took down the revolver, and examined it attentively. It was loaded. Then I placed it on the table. Next I picked up the sheath of the dagger, which had dropped down behind the sofa, and then I sat down. I remained thus for a long time. I thought of nothing, I did not try to remember anything. I heard a stifled noise of steps, a movement of objects and of tapestries, then the arrival of a person, and then the arrival of another person. Then I saw Gregor bring into my room the baggage from the railway; as if any one needed it! “‘Have you heard what has happened?’ I asked him. ‘Have you told the _dvornik_ to inform the police?’ “He made no answer, and went out. I rose, closed the door, took the cigarettes and the matches, and began to smoke. I had not finished one cigarette, when a drowsy feeling came over me and sent me into a deep sleep. I surely slept two hours. I remember having dreamed that I was on good terms with her, that after a quarrel we were in the act of making up, that something prevented us, but that we were friends all the same. “A knock at the door awoke me. “‘It is the police,’ thought I, as I opened my eyes. ‘I have killed, I believe. But perhaps it is _she;_ perhaps nothing has happened.’ “Another knock. I did not answer. I was solving the question: ‘Has it happened or not? Yes, it has happened.’ “I remembered the resistance of the corset, and then. . . . ‘Yes, it has happened. Yes, it has happened. Yes, now I must execute myself,’ said I to myself. “I said it, but I knew well that I should not kill myself. Nevertheless, I rose and took the revolver, but, strange thing, I remembered that formerly I had very often had suicidal ideas, that that very night, on the cars, it had seemed to me easy, especially easy because I thought how it would stupefy her. Now I not only could not kill myself, but I could not even think of it. “‘Why do it?’ I asked myself, without answering. “Another knock at the door. “‘Yes, but I must first know who is knocking. I have time enough.’ “I put the revolver back on the table, and hid it under my newspaper. I went to the door and drew back the bolt. “It was my wife’s sister,—a good and stupid widow. “‘Basile, what does this mean?’ said she, and her tears, always ready, began to flow. “‘What do you want?’ I asked roughly. “I saw clearly that there was no necessity of being rough with her, but I could not speak in any other tone. “‘Basile, she is dying. Ivan Fedorowitch says so.’ “Ivan Fedorowitch was the doctor, _her_ doctor, her counsellor. “‘Is he here?’ I inquired. “And all my hatred of her arose anew. “Well, what? “‘Basile, go to her! Ah! how terrible it is!’ said she. “‘Go to her?’ I asked myself; and immediately I made answer to myself that I ought to go, that probably that was the thing that is usually done when a husband like myself kills his wife, that it was absolutely necessary that I should go and see her. “‘If that is the proper thing, I must go,’ I repeated to myself. ‘Yes, if it is necessary, I shall still have time,’ said I to myself, thinking of my intention of blowing my brains out. “And I followed my sister-in-law. ‘Now there are going to be phrases and grimaces, but I will not yield,’ I declared to myself. “‘Wait,’ said I to my sister-in-law, ‘it is stupid to be without boots. Let me at least put on my slippers.’” CHAPTER XXVIII. “Strange thing! Again, when I had left my study, and was passing through the familiar rooms, again the hope came to me that nothing had happened. But the odor of the drugs, iodoform and phenic acid, brought me back to a sense of reality. “‘No, everything has happened.’ “In passing through the hall, beside the children’s chamber, I saw little Lise. She was looking at me, with eyes that were full of fear. I even thought that all the children were looking at me. As I approached the door of our sleeping-room, a servant opened it from within, and came out. The first thing that I noticed was _her_ light gray dress upon a chair, all dark with blood. On our common bed she was stretched, with knees drawn up. “She lay very high, upon pillows, with her chemise half open. Linen had been placed upon the wound. A heavy smell of iodoform filled the room. Before, and more than anything else, I was astonished at her face, which was swollen and bruised under the eyes and over a part of the nose. This was the result of the blow that I had struck her with my elbow, when she had tried to hold me back. Of beauty there was no trace left. I saw something hideous in her. I stopped upon the threshold. “‘Approach, approach her,’ said her sister. “‘Yes, probably she repents,’ thought I; ‘shall I forgive her? Yes, she is dying, I must forgive her,’ I added, trying to be generous. “I approached the bedside. With difficulty she raised her eyes, one of which was swollen, and uttered these words haltingly: “‘You have accomplished what you desired. You have killed me.’ “And in her face, through the physical sufferings, in spite of the approach of death, was expressed the same old hatred, so familiar to me. “‘The children . . . I will not give them to you . . . all the same. . . . She (her sister) shall take them.’ . . . “But of that which I considered essential, of her fault, of her treason, one would have said that she did not think it necessary to say even a word. “‘Yes, revel in what you have done.’ “And she sobbed. “At the door stood her sister with the children. “‘Yes, see what you have done!’ “I cast a glance at the children, and then at her bruised and swollen face, and for the first time I forgot myself (my rights, my pride), and for the first time I saw in her a human being, a sister. “And all that which a moment before had been so offensive to me now seemed to me so petty,—all this jealousy,—and, on the contrary, what I had done seemed to me so important that I felt like bending over, approaching my face to her hand, and saying: “‘Forgive me!’ “But I did not dare. She was silent, with eyelids lowered, evidently having no strength to speak further. Then her deformed face began to tremble and shrivel, and she feebly pushed me back. “‘Why has all this happened? Why?’ “‘Forgive me,’ said I. “‘Yes, if you had not killed me,’ she cried suddenly, and her eyes shone feverishly. ‘Forgiveness—that is nothing. . . . If I only do not die! Ah, you have accomplished what you desired! I hate you!’ “Then she grew delirious. She was frightened, and cried: “‘Fire, I do not fear . . . but strike them all . . . He has gone. . . . He has gone.’ . . . “The delirium continued. She no longer recognized the children, not even little Lise, who had approached. Toward noon she died. As for me, I was arrested before her death, at eight o’clock in the morning. They took me to the police station, and then to prison, and there, during eleven months, awaiting the verdict, I reflected upon myself, and upon my past, and I understood it. Yes, I began to understand from the third day. The third day they took me to the house.” . . . Posdnicheff seemed to wish to add something, but, no longer having the strength to repress his sobs, he stopped. After a few minutes, having recovered his calmness, he resumed: “I began to understand only when I saw her in the coffin.” . . . He uttered a sob, and then immediately continued, with haste: “Then only, when I saw her dead face, did I understand all that I had done. I understood that it was I, I, who had killed her. I understood that I was the cause of the fact that she, who had been a moving, living, palpitating being, had now become motionless and cold, and that there was no way of repairing this thing. He who has not lived through that cannot understand it.” We remained silent a long time. Posdnicheff sobbed and trembled before me. His face had become delicate and long, and his mouth had grown larger. “Yes,” said he suddenly, “if I had known what I now know, I should never have married her, never, not for anything.” Again we remained silent for a long time. “Yes, that is what I have done, that is my experience, We must understand the real meaning of the words of the Gospel,—Matthew, v. 28,—‘that whosoever looketh on a woman to lust after her hath committed adultery’; and these words relate to the wife, to the sister, and not only to the wife of another, but especially to one’s own wife.” THE END. LESSON OF “THE KREUTZER SONATA.” I have received, and still continue to receive, numbers of letters from persons who are perfect strangers to me, asking me to state in plain and simple language my own views on the subject handled in the story entitled “The Kreutzer Sonata.” With this request I shall now endeavor to comply. My views on the question may be succinctly stated as follows: Without entering into details, it will be generally admitted that I am accurate in saying that many people condone in young men a course of conduct