The Death of Ivan Ilyich

and The Devil

Leo Tolstoy
Translated by Hugh Aplin

ONEWORLD CLASSICS

oneworld classics ltd London House 243-253 Lower Mortlake Road Richmond Surrey TW9 2LL United Kingdom www.oneworldclassics.com The Death of Ivan Ilyich first published in Russian as Smert Ivana Ilicha in 1886 The Devil first published in Russian as Diavol in 1911 This translation first published by Hesperus Press Ltd in 2005 This revised translation first published by Oneworld Classics in 2011 Translation and notes Hugh Aplin, 2005, 2011 Background material Oneworld Classics Ltd Cover image Getty Images Printed in Great Britain by CPI Antony Rowe isbn: 978-1-84749-191-6 All the pictures in this volume are reprinted with permission or presumed to be in the public domain. Every effort has been made to ascertain and acknowledge their copyright status, but should there have been any unwitting oversight on our part, we would be happy to rectify the error in subsequent printings. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not be resold, lent, hired out or otherwise circulated without the express prior consent of the publisher.

Contents
Introduction The Death of Ivan Ilyich The Devil Notes Extra Material Leo Tolstoys Life Leo Tolstoys Works Select Bibliography Appendix xi 1 71 129 131 133 148 161 163

Introduction
Leo Tolstoy was in his early forties just a little younger than the eponymous Ivan Ilyich at the time of his death when he set off from his home at Yasnaya Polyana for the distant province of Penza, where he hoped to negotiate the advantageous purchase of an estate he had seen advertised for sale in the press. He was in good health, enjoying life in the bosom of a growing family, and, with War and Peace recently completed, was firmly ensconced in his professional sphere as one of Russias greatest writers. Nonetheless, as Ivan Ilyich discovers in the work of fiction, in the midst of life we are in death, and as Tolstoy approached the town of Arzamas, he began himself to experience unexpected intimations of mortality in an uncomfortably vivid way. He gave some indication of what had happened to him in a letter sent to his wife from Saransk on 4th September 1869. For two days now, he wrote, Ive been tormented with anxiety. The day before yesterday I spent the night at Arzamas, and something extraordinary happened to me. It was two oclock in the morning, I was terribly tired, I wanted to go to sleep and I felt perfectly well. But suddenly I was overcome by despair, fear and terror, the like of which I have never experienced before. Ill tell you the details of this feeling later: but Ive never experienced such an agonizing feeling before and may God preserve anyone else from experiencing it. (Tolstoys Letters, selected, edited and translated by R.F. Christian, Athlone Press, London 1978.) The concern Tolstoy expresses here for others is undoubtedly praiseworthy, yet in a sense completely misplaced, for what he had suffered was the abrupt realization of his own inevitable demise, something which has been identified as the very xi

the death of ivan ilyich the devil

phenomenon that above all sets mankind apart from other animals. Thus his experience, albeit for him on this occasion unusually acute and painful, was in fact an inescapable, universally human one. And it was this universality that he expressed so strikingly in The Death of Ivan Ilyich, one of his greatest shorter works, composed at a period of his life when the theme of death was central to his writing. It can come as no surprise, then, that at about the same time in the mid-1880s he returned to the night in Arzamas through the medium of another story, never completed and consequently published only after the authors death, entitled The Notes of a Madman. We do not know what details of his traumatic feeling Tolstoy eventually gave to his wife, but the following extracts from the tale show how he intended to present the event to readers of his fiction. We begin with the narrator and his servant already approaching Arzamas in a post-chaise: Night came on, we kept driving. We started to doze. I dozed off, but suddenly woke up. Id become afraid for some reason. And, as is often the case, I woke up frightened, excited, like when it doesnt seem youll ever get to sleep. Why am I on this journey? Where am I going? suddenly came into my head. It wasnt that I disliked the idea of buying an estate cheaply, but it suddenly presented itself to me that there was no reason why I needed to travel all this distance and that I was going to die here in a strange place. And I began to feel dreadful. They stop for the night at the post station in Arzamas where the narrators mood is not lifted by anything in his surroundings, least of all by the room he is given small, square and whitewashed. He manages, nonetheless, to doze off once more, but only to wake up in the middle of the night:

xii

introduction

I was again just as aroused as in the carriage. I sensed there was no possibility whatsoever of getting to sleep. Why have I broken my journey here? Where am I taking myself? What am I running away from and where am I running to? Im running away from something terrible and I cant escape. Im always with myself, and its I that am a torment to myself. Here he is, me, Im here, all of me. Neither the estate in Penza nor any other will add anything to me or take anything away. And its I, I that am hateful to myself, unbearable, a torment to myself. I want to fall asleep, into oblivion, and I cant. I cant get away from myself. I went out into the corridor, [] thinking to get away from what was tormenting me. But it followed me out and cast a shadow on everything. I was just as terrified, even more so. What is all this nonsense, I said to myself. Why am I in anguish, what am I afraid of? Me, the voice of death inaudibly replied. Im here. It made my esh creep. Yes, death. It was going to come, here it was, but it ought not to have been. If my death really had been imminent, I could not have experienced what I was experiencing, then I would have been afraid. But now I was not afraid, rather I could see, feel, that death was approaching, and at the same time I felt that it ought not to be. My whole being felt the need for, the right to, life, and at the same time death taking place. And this internal rift was horrible. I tried to shake off this horror. I found a brass candlestick with a burnt-down candle and lit it. The red light of the candle and its size, a little smaller than the candlestick, all said the same thing. There is nothing in life, but there is death, yet it ought not to be. I tried to think about what interested me: the purchase, my wife not only was there nothing cheerful, it all became nothing. Everything was overshadowed by horror for my life that was perishing. Attempts to alleviate the situation through prayer are to no avail, and the narrator is obliged to wake everyone and continue xiii

the death of ivan ilyich the devil

the journey at once. But I felt, he concludes, that something new had settled on my soul and poisoned the whole of my former life. Of course this is a fictionalized account of a biographical fact, but the great significance for Tolstoy of impressions of the kind described here is clear: his writings of the 1880s are in large part a response to the problems of life and death posed by this dramatic moment so many years before. In The Notes of a Madman the narrator subsequently has another terrifying experience in a coffin-like hotel room in Moscow that leads him to question God about the meaning of life, and then, when no reply is forthcoming, to reject Him entirely. Yet neither Tolstoy, nor his fictional characters were twentieth-century existentialists, no matter how many features they might seem to have in common with them, and the problem of making sense of life and death finds a recognizably nineteenth-century resolution in Tolstoys hands. Knowledge of death, perhaps following long periods of doubt and struggle, can eventually lead for Tolstoy to the attainment of an advanced level of humanity that is characterized by the discovery of a capacity for unselfish love. Ivan Ilyich is drawn to the servant Gerasim thanks precisely to the latters readiness to treat his sick master with respect, honesty and sincere, self-denying pity. This attitude is sharply contrasted with the hypocrisy, insincerity and selfishness of Ivan Ilyichs family, friends and associates and of Ivan Ilyich himself. Finally, however, in part through his son another innocent, if only for the time being the dying man comes to sense the pain he has caused and to feel, instead of self-pity, seless pity for his family. Unselfish love of this kind can, of course, be set in stark contrast to the utterly selfish lust that Tolstoy came to see in human sexuality, and which comprised the other major theme of his fiction of the 1880s, represented here by The Devil. In this story the main character, Irtenyev, another very ordinary xiv

The Death of Ivan Ilyich

n the large building of the Courts of Law during a break in the hearing of the Melvinskys case the members of the court and the Public Prosecutor gathered in Ivan Yegorovich Shebeks office and the conversation turned to the famous Krasovsky case. Fyodor Vasilyevich grew heated in arguing its inadmissibility for trial, Ivan Yegorovich stood his ground, while Pyotr Ivanovich, who had not entered into the argument to begin with, took no part in it and was looking through the local Gazette which had just been delivered. Gentlemen! he said, Ivan Ilyich has died. Really? Here, read it, he said to Fyodor Vasilyevich, and handed him the fresh issue, still smelling of the press. Inside a black border it said: It is with deep regret that Praskovya Fyodorovna Golovina informs relatives and friends of the passing of her beloved spouse, Member of the Chamber of Justice Ivan Ilyich Golovin, which occurred on the fourth of February of this year of 1882. The funeral is on Friday at 1 p.m. Ivan Ilyich had been a colleague of the assembled gentlemen and everyone had liked him. He had been ill for several weeks; his illness had been said to be incurable. His post had been kept open for him, but there had been speculation that in the event of his death Alexeyev might be appointed to his post, and to Alexeyevs post either Vinnikov or Shtabel. So on hearing of Ivan Ilyichs death, the first thought of each of the gentlemen assembled in the office was about what significance this death might have for the transfer or promotion of the members of the court themselves or their acquaintances. Ill probably get Shtabels or Vinnikovs job now, thought Fyodor Vasilyevich. Its been promised me for a long time, 3

the death of ivan ilyich

and the promotion will mean a pay increase of eight hundred roubles for me, plus office expenses. Ill have to request a transfer from Kaluga for my brother-inlaw now, thought Pyotr Ivanovich. The wife will be delighted. And now she wont be able to say Ive never done anything for her relatives. I didnt think hed ever get back on his feet, said Pyotr Ivanovich out loud. Its a shame. And what exactly was it he had? The doctors couldnt make a diagnosis. That is, they made diagnoses, but differing ones. When I saw him last, I thought hed get better. Well I never did go round to see him, not after the holidays. I kept meaning to. And was he well off? I think his wife has a very little. Something quite insignificant though. Yes, well have to go. They lived a terribly long way away. A long way from you, that is. Everythings a long way from you. He just cant forgive me for living over the river, said Pyotr Ivanovich, smiling at Shebek. And they began talking about the great distances involved in the town, and went off to the hearing. Apart from the speculation this death prompted in each of them about transfers and the possible changes at work which might ensue from the death, the very fact of the death of a close acquaintance prompted in all who had learnt of it a feeling, as always, of joy that it was he who had died, not I. What about that, hes dead; but Im not, each of them thought or felt. And the close acquaintances, the so-called friends of Ivan Ilyich, at the same time involuntarily also thought about how they would now have to fulfil the very dull obligations of propriety and go to a requiem and pay the widow a visit of condolence. 4

chapter 1

Closest of all were Fyodor Vasilyevich and Pyotr Ivanovich. Pyotr Ivanovich had been a fellow student at the law school and considered himself indebted to Ivan Ilyich. After giving his wife the news of the death of Ivan Ilyich and his ideas about the possible transfer of his brother-in-law to their district over lunch, Pyotr Ivanovich, without having a lie-down, put on his tailcoat and went to Ivan Ilyichs. By the entrance to Ivan Ilyichs apartment stood a carriage and two cabs. Downstairs in the entrance hall, leaning against the wall by the coat stand was a coffin lid covered with silk brocade, with tassels and gold braid cleaned with powder. Two ladies in black were taking off their fur coats. One, Ivan Ilyichs sister, was familiar, the other was an unfamiliar lady. A colleague of Pyotr Ivanovichs, Shvarts, was coming downstairs and, catching sight from the top step of the man coming in, he stopped and gave him a wink, as if to say: Ivan Ilyich made a mess of his arrangements; not like you and me. Shvartss face with its English sideburns and the whole of his thin figure in a tailcoat had, as always, an elegant solemnity, and this solemnity, which always contradicted the character of Shvartss playfulness, had a particular piquancy here. So thought Pyotr Ivanovich. Pyotr Ivanovich let the ladies go on ahead of him and set off slowly up the stairs behind them. Shvarts did not descend, but stopped at the top. Pyotr Ivanovich realized why: he evidently wanted to arrange where they would be having a game of vint* that day. The ladies went up the stairs to the widows rooms, but Shvarts, with lips firm and compressed in a serious way, directed Pyotr Ivanovich with a playful glance and a movement of his eyebrows to the right, into the dead mans room. As is always the way, Pyotr Ivanovich went in uncertain about what he would have to do there. One thing he knew, that crossing yourself in these instances never does any harm. As to whether there was any need to bow as well while doing so he was not entirely sure, and for that reason he chose a middle 5

the death of ivan ilyich

course: upon entering the room he began crossing himself and kind of bowing a little. So far as the movements of his arms and head permitted him, he at the same time surveyed the room. Two youngsters, one a schoolboy, seemingly nephews, were leaving the room, crossing themselves. An old woman stood motionless. And a lady with strangely raised eyebrows was saying something to her in a whisper. A sacristan in a frock coat, brisk and decisive, was reading something in a loud voice with an expression that ruled out any contradiction; the peasant who waited at table, Gerasim, walked by in front of Pyotr Ivanovich with a light step and sprinkled something on the oor. Immediately upon seeing this, Pyotr Ivanovich sensed the faint smell of the decomposing corpse. On his last visit to Ivan Ilyich, Pyotr Ivanovich had seen this peasant in the study; he had carried out the duties of a sick-nurse, and Ivan Ilyich had been particularly fond of him. Pyotr Ivanovich kept on crossing himself and bowing slightly towards a point midway between the coffin, the sacristan and the icons on the table in the corner. Then, when this crossing motion with his hand seemed to him already too protracted, he paused and began examining the dead man. The dead man lay, as dead men always do, particularly heavily, sinking his cold limbs into the lining of the coffin in the manner of a dead man, with his now for ever bowed head on a pillow, and, as dead men always do, he was thrusting out his yellow waxen forehead with the bald patches above the sunken temples and his jutting nose, which seemed to be pressed down onto the upper lip. He had changed greatly, had grown still thinner since Pyotr Ivanovich had last seen him, but, as with all dead men, his face was more handsome and, most importantly, more significant than it had been on the living man. On his face was the expression of the fact that what had needed to be done had been done, and done correctly. Besides that, in this expression there was also a reproach or a reminder to the living. This reminder seemed to Pyotr Ivanovich inappropriate, or at least 6

chapter 1

of no relevance to him. He began to have an unpleasant sort of feeling, and for that reason Pyotr Ivanovich hurriedly crossed himself once more and, too hurriedly as it seemed to him, not in accordance with the proprieties, he turned and went towards the door. Shvarts was waiting for him in the connecting room with his legs set wide apart and with both hands playing with his top hat behind his back. One glance at Shvartss playful, hygienic and elegant figure refreshed Pyotr Ivanovich. Pyotr Ivanovich understood that he, Shvarts, stood above all this and was not yielding to dispiriting impressions. His appearance alone said: the incident of Ivan Ilyichs requiem can in no way serve as sufficient grounds for considering the agenda disrupted, that is to say, nothing can prevent this very evening the snapping, during its unsealing, of a pack of cards, at the same time as a manservant is setting out four fresh candles; there is no basis at all for assuming that this incident might prevent us from spending even this evening pleasantly. And he actually said so in a whisper to Pyotr Ivanovich as he passed, proposing meeting for a game at Fyodor Vasilyevichs. But Pyotr Ivanovich was clearly not destined to have a game of vint that evening. Praskovya Fyodorovna, a short, fat woman who, despite all her efforts to arrange things to the contrary, nonetheless grew broader from the shoulders down, all in black, with lace covering her head and with the same strangely raised eyebrows as the lady standing opposite the coffin had had, emerged from her rooms with the other ladies and, seeing them into the dead mans door, said: The requiem will be in a moment; go through. Shvarts bowed indeterminately and stopped, evidently neither accepting nor declining this proposal. Praskovya Fyodorovna, recognizing Pyotr Ivanovich, sighed, went right up close to him, took him by the hand and said: I know you were a true friend of Ivan Ilyichs and looked at him, awaiting from him actions in keeping with these words. Pyotr Ivanovich knew that, just as he had had to cross himself there, so here he had to squeeze her hand, sigh and say: 7

the death of ivan ilyich

Believe me! And that was what he did. And having done so, he felt that the desired result had been achieved: that he was touched and so was she. Come with me, before it begins in there; I need to have a talk with you, said the widow. Give me your arm. Pyotr Ivanovich gave her his arm and they set off in the direction of the inner rooms, past Shvarts, who gave Pyotr Ivanovich a mournful wink. There goes your vint! Please dont be hard on us if we find another partner. We could make it a fivesome when you get away, said his playful look. Pyotr Ivanovich heaved a sigh even more deep and mournful, and Praskovya Fyodorovna squeezed his arm gratefully. On entering her sitting room, decorated in pink cretonne and with its dim lamp, they sat down by the table: she on a sofa, and Pyotr Ivanovich on a low pouf with damaged springs which sank awkwardly under his weight. Praskovya Fyodorovna wanted to warn him to sit on another chair, but she thought this warning out of keeping with her situation and changed her mind. Sitting down on this pouf, Pyotr Ivanovich remembered Ivan Ilyich decorating this sitting room and asking his advice about this very pink cretonne with its green leaves. Sitting down on the sofa and passing by the table (the entire sitting room was absolutely full of knick-knacks and furniture), the widow had caught the black lace of her black mantilla on the tables decorative carving. Pyotr Ivanovich half-rose to unhook it, and the liberated pouf began undulating beneath him and nudging him. The widow began unhooking her lace for herself and Pyotr Ivanovich sat down again, suppressing the rebelling pouf beneath him. But the widow failed to unhook it completely, and Pyotr Ivanovich rose again, and again the pouf started to rebel, and even made a cracking noise. When all this was finished, she took out a clean cambric handkerchief and began to cry. But Pyotr Ivanovich had been cooled by the episode with the lace and the battle with the pouf and he sat there scowling. This awkward situation was interrupted 8

chapter 1

by Sokolov, Ivan Ilyichs butler, reporting that the plot at the cemetery, the one that Praskovya Fyodorovna had designated, would cost two hundred roubles. She stopped crying and, glancing at Pyotr Ivanovich with the look of a victim, said in French that things were very hard for her. Pyotr Ivanovich made a silent gesture that expressed indubitable certainty that it could not be otherwise. Please, do smoke, she said in a magnanimous and at the same time wretched voice, and took up the question of the price of the plot with Sokolov. As he lit a cigarette, Pyotr Ivanovich heard her enquire most thoroughly about the various prices of land and determine the one that should be bought. In addition, after finishing with the plot, she gave instructions about the choristers too. Sokolov left. Im doing everything myself, she said to Pyotr Ivanovich, moving to one side the albums that lay on the table, and noticing that ash was threatening the table, she promptly moved an ashtray towards Pyotr Ivanovich and pronounced: I think it an affectation to declare that I cant deal with practical matters because of my grief. On the contrary, if anything can not comfort, but distract me, then its doing things for him. She took out the handkerchief again as if meaning to cry, then suddenly, as if regaining control of herself, she shook herself out of it and began to speak calmly: Anyway, theres a matter I want to discuss with you. Pyotr Ivanovich bowed, not allowing the springs of the pouf to uncoil as they immediately started stirring beneath him. He suffered dreadfully in the final days. He suffered a lot? asked Pyotr Ivanovich. Oh, dreadfully! Not for the final minutes, but hours, he was screaming continually. For three days in a row he screamed without a break. It was unbearable. I cant understand how I bore it; it could be heard three rooms away. Oh, the things Ive had to bear! But surely he wasnt conscious? asked Pyotr Ivanovich. 9

the death of ivan ilyich

He was, she whispered, until the last moment. He said goodbye to us a quarter of an hour before he died and asked that Volodya be taken away as well. The thought of the suffering of a man he had known so well, first as a cheerful lad, as a schoolboy, then as an adult partner, irrespective of the unpleasant consciousness of his own pretence and that of this woman, suddenly horrified Pyotr Ivanovich. Once again he saw that forehead, the nose pressing down on the lip, and he became afraid for himself. Three days of dreadful suffering and death. And it might begin right now, at any minute, for me too, he thought, and for a moment he became afraid. But immediately, how he did not know himself, the usual thought came to his aid that it had happened to Ivan Ilyich, and not to him, and that it should not and could not happen to him; that in thinking that way he was succumbing to a gloomy mood, something he ought not to do, as was evident from Shvartss face. And having finished this line of reasoning, Pyotr Ivanovich relaxed and began enquiring with interest about the details of Ivan Ilyichs passing, as though death were a venture of a sort characteristic only of Ivan Ilyich, but not at all characteristic of him. After various passages of conversation about the details of the truly dreadful physical suffering endured by Ivan Ilyich (Pyotr Ivanovich learnt of these details only according to the extent that Ivan Ilyichs torment had got on Praskovya Fyodorovnas nerves), the widow evidently thought it necessary to get down to business. Oh, Pyotr Ivanovich, how hard it is, how dreadfully hard, how dreadfully hard. And she again began to cry. Pyotr Ivanovich sighed and waited for her to blow her nose. When she had blown her nose he said: Believe me and again she began to talk freely, and came out with what was evidently the main matter she had wanted to discuss with him; that matter consisted of questions about how, on the occasion of her husbands death, she might get 10

chapter 1

some money from the public purse. She pretended she was asking Pyotr Ivanovichs advice about a pension, but he could see that she already knew down to the tiniest details even things that he did not know everything that could be extracted from the public purse on the occasion of this death but what she wanted to find out was whether it was not possible somehow to extract even more money. Pyotr Ivanovich tried to think up such a way, but having given it some thought and having, for the sake of decency, berated our government for its stinginess, he said that it did not seem possible to get any more. At that point she sighed and evidently began thinking of a way to get rid of her visitor. He realized this, stubbed out his cigarette, rose, squeezed her hand and set off for the entrance hall. In the dining room with the clock that Ivan Ilyich had been so pleased to have bought in an antique shop Pyotr Ivanovich met the priest and several more acquaintances who had come for the requiem, and he saw a pretty young lady he knew, Ivan Ilyichs daughter. She was all in black. Her waist, very slim, seemed even slimmer. She had a gloomy, resolute, almost angry look. She bowed to Pyotr Ivanovich as if he were to blame for something. Behind the daughter, with the same offended look, stood a rich young man Pyotr Ivanovich knew, an examining magistrate, her fianc, so he had heard. He bowed to them dolefully and meant to go through into the dead mans room, when from under the stairs there appeared the small figure of the schoolboy son, dreadfully like Ivan Ilyich. This was the little Ivan Ilyich as Pyotr Ivanovich remembered him at the law school. His eyes were both tear-stained and like those that impure boys of thirteen or fourteen sometimes have. On seeing Pyotr Ivanovich, the boy began knitting his brow sternly and shamefacedly. Pyotr Ivanovich nodded his head to him and went into the dead mans room. The requiem started candles, groans, incense, tears, sobbing. Pyotr Ivanovich stood frowning, gazing at his feet in front of him. Not once did he glance at the dead man, and to the end he refused to succumb 11

the death of ivan ilyich

to relaxing inuences, and was one of the first to leave. There was nobody in the entrance hall. Gerasim, the peasant who waited at table, darted out of the deceaseds room, rummaged with his strong arms through all the fur coats to find Pyotr Ivanovichs and held it up for him. Well, Gerasim, old fellow? said Pyotr Ivanovich, just so as to say something. Isnt it a shame? Its Gods will. Itll be the same for all of us, said Gerasim, baring his white, unbroken, peasants teeth, and, like a man in the swing of intensive work, he vigorously opened the door, called a driver, helped Pyotr Ivanovich into the cab and jumped back towards the porch as if trying to think up something else he could do. Pyotr Ivanovich found it particularly pleasant to get a breath of pure air after the smell of incense, the corpse and carbolic acid. Where to? asked the driver. Its not too late. I can still call in on Fyodor Vasilyevich. And Pyotr Ivanovich drove off. And indeed, he came upon them playing the end of the first rubber, so it was convenient for him to join in as a fifth player.

he past history of Ivan Ilyichs life was the most simple and ordinary and the most dreadful. Ivan Ilyich died at the age of forty-five as a member of the Chamber of Justice. He was the son of a civil servant who had made the sort of career in various ministries and departments in St Petersburg that gets people to a position in which, even though it proves clear they are unfit to do any real job, they nonetheless, due to their lengthy past service and their rank, cannot be dismissed, and so are given fabricated, fictitious 12

chapter 2

posts and non-fictitious thousands from six to ten with which they duly live to a ripe old age. Such was the unnecessary member of various unnecessary institutions, Privy Councillor Ilya Yefimovich Golovin. He had three sons. Ivan Ilyich was the second son. The eldest was making just such a career as his father had, only in a different ministry, and was already coming close to the service age at which that salary inertia is achieved. The third son was a failure. In various posts he had everywhere spoilt things for himself, and now he was working in the railways: not only did both his father and his brothers, and especially their wives, dislike meeting with him, but except in extreme necessity they did not even remember his existence. His sister was married to Baron Gref, just such a St Petersburg civil servant as his father-in-law. Ivan Ilyich was le phnix de la famille,* as they said. He was not so cold and precise as the eldest, and not so reckless as the youngest. He was the happy medium between them an intelligent, lively, pleasant and decent man. He had been educated along with the youngest brother in the law school. The youngest had failed to graduate, having been expelled from the fifth class, but Ivan Ilyich had completed the course successfully. At the law school he had already been what he subsequently was for the whole of his life: a capable person, cheerfully good-natured and gregarious, but strict in his fulfilment of what he considered his duty, and what he considered his duty was everything that was considered such by people in the highest places. He was not ingratiating either as a boy or later as a grown man, but from a very early age he had the feature that, like a y to the light, he was drawn to people in the highest places in society, assimilated for himself their ways, their outlooks on life, and established friendly relations with them. All the enthusiasms of childhood and youth passed for him without leaving any great traces; he had given himself up to sensuality and vanity, and towards the end, in the senior years to liberalism, but 13

the death of ivan ilyich

all within certain limits, which were reliably indicated to him by his instinct. Acts were committed by him at the law school which had previously seemed to him utterly disgusting and which instilled in him revulsion towards himself at the time he was committing them, but subsequently, seeing that those acts were being committed by people in high places too, and were not considered bad by them, he did not go so far as acknowledging them to be good, but he did completely forget about them and was not at all distressed by memories of them. Leaving the law school as a tenth-grade civil servant, and receiving from his father the money to be fitted out with a uniform, Ivan Ilyich ordered himself clothes from Scharmer,* hung his medal with the inscription respice nem* on a watch chain, said goodbye to the Prince and his tutor, dined with his schoolfellows at Donons,* and with valise, linen, clothing, shaving and toilet accessories and a travelling rug, all new and fashionable, ordered and purchased in the very best shops, he left for the provinces and a post provided for him by his father as an officer for special commissions with a provincial governor. In the provinces Ivan Ilyich immediately organized for himself a situation just as easy and pleasant as his situation in the law school had been. He worked, forged a career and at the same time had fun in a pleasant and respectable way; he would occasionally travel out to rural districts on the orders of his superiors, where he conducted himself with dignity with both high and low, and with a precision and incorruptible honesty of which he could not help but be proud, and carried out the commissions entrusted to him, predominantly on matters concerning schismatics.* In official matters he was, despite his youth and his penchant for mild fun, extremely restrained, formal and even severe; but in social matters he was often playful and witty and always good-natured, decorous and bon enfant,* as the 14

chapter 2

governor and his wife, with whom he was like one of the family, said of him. In the provinces there was also a liaison with one of the ladies who threw herself at the rather stylish lawyer; there was also a milliner; there were also drinking bouts with visiting aidesde-camp and trips after dinner to a distant street; there was also obsequiousness to the governor and even to the governors wife, but it all bore such an elevated tone of respectability that bad words could not have been used to describe it all; it all fitted only the rubric of the French saying: il faut que jeunesse se passe.* Everything took place with clean hands, in clean shirts, with French words and, most importantly, in the very highest society, and therefore with the approval of people in high places. Ivan Ilyich served thus for five years, and then there came a change at work. New judicial institutions appeared; new men were needed. And Ivan Ilyich became that new man. Ivan Ilyich was offered a post as an examining magistrate, and Ivan Ilyich accepted it, despite the fact that the post was in a different province and he had to give up established relationships and establish new ones. Ivan Ilyich was given a send-off by his friends, they had a group photograph taken, presented him with a silver cigarette case, and he left for his new post. Ivan Ilyich was just as comme il faut* and decent an examining magistrate, adept at dividing his official duties from his private life and inspiring universal respect, as he had been an officer for special commissions. And in itself the work of a magistrate was of much greater interest and attractiveness for Ivan Ilyich than his former work. In his former work it had been pleasant to stroll in a free and easy way in his uniform jacket from Scharmers past trembling petitioners awaiting an audience and envious functionaries, straight into the governors office, and to sit down with him for tea and a cigarette; but the people directly dependent on his authority 15

the death of ivan ilyich

were few. Such people were only rural police chiefs and schismatics when he was sent with a commission, and he liked to treat such people who were dependent on him courteously, almost in a comradely way, he liked to let them feel that here was he, capable of crushing them, treating them amicably and simply. Such people then had been few. But now, as an examining magistrate, Ivan Ilyich felt that all, all without exception, the most pompous, self-satisfied people all were in his hands, and that he only had to write certain words on a piece of headed paper, and that pompous, self-satisfied man would be brought to him in the capacity of the accused or a witness, who would, if he did not want to let him sit down, stand before him and answer his questions. Ivan Ilyich never abused this power of his; on the contrary, he tried to emolliate its manifestations; but the consciousness of this power and the opportunity of emolliating it comprised for him the main interest and attraction of his new work. In the work itself, specifically in investigations, Ivan Ilyich very quickly assimilated the technique of dismissing from his mind all circumstances unrelated to work and of dressing any case, even the most complex, in such a way that only the outward appearance of the case was reected on paper, and such that his personal view was completely excluded and, most importantly, all the required formality was observed. This was something new. And he was one of the first men to work out in practice the application of the Code of 1864.* On moving to a new town to the post of examining magistrate, Ivan Ilyich made new acquaintances and liaisons, set himself up in a new way and adopted a rather different tone. He set himself up at a certain dignified distance from the provincial authorities and chose the best circle of magistrates and wealthy gentlefolk living in the town, and adopted a tone of mild discontent with the government, of moderate liberalism and urbane civic-mindedness. At the same time, without in the least altering the elegance of his dress, Ivan Ilyich in his 16

chapter 2

new position stopped shaving his chin and allowed his beard the freedom to grow where it liked. Ivan Ilyichs life turned out very pleasantly in the new town too: society opposed to the governor was friendly and good; his salary was higher, and no small pleasure in life was added at this time by whist, which Ivan Ilyich began to play, showing a capacity to play cards cheerfully, weighing things up quickly and very subtly, so that on the whole he always won. After two years working in the new town Ivan Ilyich met his future wife. Praskovya Fyodorovna Mikhel was the most attractive, intelligent and brilliant girl of the circle in which Ivan Ilyich moved. Among the other amusements and ways of relaxing from the labours of a magistrate Ivan Ilyich established a playful, easy relationship with Praskovya Fyodorovna. When he had been an officer for special commissions, Ivan Ilyich had generally danced, but as an examining magistrate he now danced as an exception. He now danced in the sense that I may indeed be in the new institutions and in the fifth grade, but if its a matter of dancing, I can prove that in that respect I can do better than others. Thus at the end of an evening he would occasionally dance with Praskovya Fyodorovna, and it was primarily in the course of these dances that he made his conquest of Praskovya Fyodorovna. She fell in love with him. Ivan Ilyich had no clear, definite intention to marry, but when the girl fell in love with him he asked himself this question. Indeed, why on earth not get married? he said to himself. The unmarried Praskovya Fyodorovna was of good gentle birth and not bad-looking; there was a little money. Ivan Ilyich might have reckoned on a more brilliant match, but this was a good match too. Ivan Ilyich had his salary, she, he hoped, would have just as much. Good family connections; she was nice, pretty and a perfectly respectable woman. To say that Ivan Ilyich got married because he came to love his fiance and found in her sympathy with his outlook on life would be just as incorrect as to say that he got married because people of his 17

the death of ivan ilyich

social group gave this match their approval. Ivan Ilyich married for both reasons: he was doing something pleasant for himself in acquiring such a wife, and at the same time was doing what people in the highest places considered right. And Ivan Ilyich got married. The process of getting married itself and the first period of married life, with conjugal caresses, new furniture, new crockery, new linen, passed very well up until his wifes pregnancy, so that Ivan Ilyich was already starting to think that not only would marriage not disrupt the nature of a life that was easy, pleasant, cheerful and always seemly and approved by society, the nature Ivan Ilyich considered characteristic of life as a whole, but would further intensify it. Yet at that point, from the first months of his wifes pregnancy, there appeared a certain something that was new, unexpected, unpleasant, trying and unseemly, which could not have been expected and of which it was quite impossible to be free. His wife, without, as it seemed to Ivan Ilyich, any grounds, de gat de cur,* as he said to himself, began to disrupt the pleasantness and decorum of life: without any reason she was jealous of him, she demanded that he be attentive towards her, she found fault with everything and made unpleasant and vulgar scenes. At first Ivan Ilyich hoped to rid himself of the unpleasantness of this situation with that same easy and decent attitude to life which had come to his aid before he tried ignoring his wifes frame of mind, continued to live easily and pleasantly just as before: he invited friends round to make up a hand of cards, tried going out himself to the club or to see acquaintances. But on one occasion his wife began abusing him in vulgar terms with such energy and then continued so persistently to abuse him every time he failed to carry out her demands, evidently firmly resolved not to stop until he submitted, that is, until he stayed at home and was just as miserable as her, that Ivan Ilyich was horrified. He realized that married life at least with his 18