LEOTOLSTOY

TheDeathofIvanIlyich

AND

Confession

TRANSLATEDBYPETERCARSON

LIVERIGHTPUBLISHINGCORPORATION

ADivisionofW.W.Norton&CompanyNewYork •London

DEDICATION

TomydaughterCharlotte

CONTENTS

Cover

Title

Dedication

TolstoyandHisTranslatorbyMaryBeard

TheDeathofIvanIlyich

Confession

ANoteontheTranslationsbyRosamundBartlett

Acknowledgments

AbouttheTranslator

OtherWorks

PraiseforPeterCarson'stranslationofTheDeathofIvanIlyichandConfession

Copyright

TOLSTOYANDHISTRANSLATOR

byMaryBeard

LeoTolstoydiedfrompneumonia,agedeighty-two,attherailwaystationofAstapovo,aremoteRussianvillage,onNovember7,1910.Hehad lefthis familyhomeonOctober28, in themiddleof thenight,walkingoutonhiswifeofforty-eightyears—thelong-sufferingandincreasinglyparanoidSonya.“Iamdoingwhatoldmenofmyageusuallydo:leavingworldlylifetospendthelastdaysofmylifeinsolitudeandquiet,”hewroteintheuncomfortablychillyletterofexplanationheleftforher.

Infact,thereweretobeveryfewofthose“lastdays.”ForwhateverTolstoy’splansforthefuturehadbeen(andwecannowonlyguessatthem),theyweresooninterruptedwhenhewastakenillonboardatrainandforcedtogetoutatAstapovo,wherethestationmastergavehimtheuseofhishouse.Andtherewascertainlyverylittlesolitudeorquiet.Hisdeathbecameoneofthefirstinternationalmedia“events.”Itattractedtothelittlestationnotonlyhundredsofhisadmirers(andsomewatchfulgovernmentspies)butalsoaPathéNewscamerateam,eagertocatchthegreatman’sfinalmomentsonfilm,andreportersfromallover theworldwhowiredoftenunreliablestoriesback to theireditors.“Tolstoy isBetter . . .TheCountIsVeryWeak,buttheDoctorsSayThereIsNoImmediateDanger,”blazedaheadlineintheNewYorkTimesjustacoupledaysbeforehisdeath,whenhewasalreadydriftinginandoutofconsciousness.OneofthemosthauntingimagescaughtoncameraisofSonyaherself,peeringinthroughthewindowoftheroominwhichhersickhusbandlay.ShehadtraveledtoAstapovoassoonassheheardofhisillness,butthefriendscaringforhimdidnotallowherinuntilTolstoywasontheverypointofdeath.

ThisdramaattherailwaystationunfoldedmorethanthirtyyearsafterTolstoyhadwrittenthenovelsforwhichheisnowbestknown:WarandPeace,completedin1869,andAnnaKarenina,completedin1877.Hispopularcelebrityin1910owedmoretohispoliticalandethicalcampaigningandhisstatusasavisionary,reformer,moralist,andphilosophicalguruthantohistalentsasawriteroffiction.Vegetarian,pacifist,andenemyofprivateproperty,hewas,overthelastdecadesofhislonglife,apersistentcriticoftheRussianimperialregime(hencethegovernmentspiesinfiltratingthecrowdsatAstapovo)andoftheRussianOrthodoxChurch.He came to favor a primitive version of Christianity based entirely on theteachingsofJesus,rejectingthedogmaofOrthodoxy(hencehisexcommunicationbychurchauthoritiesin1901). And he was a vigorous supporter of the Russian poor. He had launched welfare programs,including soup kitchens and funded schools. In a gesture of solidarity with the underprivileged, herenouncedhisaristocratictitle(“Count”LeoTolstoy)andtooktowearingthecharacteristicdressofthepeasants—though neither contemporary photographs nor the comments of eyewitnesses suggest that heeverreallylookedthepartofanauthenticlaborer.

Itwasperhapsfittingthathisfinaldaysbecamesocelebratedacrosstheworldbecause,throughouthis life but particularly from the late 1870s on, death was another of Tolstoy’s obsessions. He hadfirsthandexperienceofdeathandthedyingthatwasunusualevenforamanofhisera.Asanactive-dutysoldierin1854–55hehadwitnessedtheslaughteroftheCrimeanWar,andhevividlyrecalledboththeagonizingdeathofhisbrotherDmitryfromtuberculosisin1856andtheappallingsight—andsound—ofamanbeingguillotinedinParisin1857(itwaspartlythisexperiencethatmadehimastaunchopponentofthedeathpenalty).OfhisthirteenchildrenwithSonya,nofewerthanfivehaddiedbeforetheywereten.Butinhiswritinghewentbeyondthehorrorsofdeathtoreflectonthebigquestionsthattheinevitabilityofdeathposesforourunderstandingoflifeitself:ifwemustdie,whatisthepointofliving?Someofhis

mostmemorablereflectionsonthis themearefoundin thenovellaTheDeathof IvanIlyichand in theautobiographicalmemoirConfession.BothwerewrittenafterTolstoyhadcompletedAnnaKarenina:thenovellawasbegunin1882andfinishedin1886;thememoirwascompletedin1882,butfellafouloftheRussian censorship efforts andwas circulated only unofficially until it was published (in Russian) inGenevain1884.TheyarebothpowerfulremindersofjusthowimpressiveTolstoy’swritingwas,evenwhenhehadturnedhisbackonthosegrandRussiannovelsthathavebecomehismainclaimtofame.Andturnhisbackhemostcertainlyhad:“anabominationthatnolongerexistsforme”washisdescriptionofAnnaKareninaintheearly1880s.

TheDeathofIvanIlyich,asitstitleplainlysuggests,tellsthestoryofthefinalmonthsofoneman:anordinary,reasonablyprosperousandsuccessfulmiddle-agedRussianjudge.Anapparentlytrivialinjury(hehurtshissideinafallfromachairwhilehangingcurtainsinhisnewapartment)quicklydevelopsintosomethingworse.Doctorsofferallkindsofdiagnoses,medicines,andguardedreassurance,butwithinweeks,IvanIlyichcanseethatheisadyingman,confrontedwiththeagony,indignity,loneliness,and(inTolstoy’s uncompromising description) foul stench of his own demise. For most of his family andcolleagues, his death is an inconvenience and an embarrassment; theywere, as the living usually are,relievednottobedyingthemselvesbutsimultaneouslyaggrievedbythereminderoftheirownmortalitythat Ivan Ilyich’s death gave them. It is only a young servant, Gerasim, with all of Tolstoy’s favoritepeasantvirtues,whocanlooktheprocessesofdyingintheeyeandcareforhismasterwithtruehumanity;hedealsunashamedlywithexcrementandallowsthedyingmantolieintheonepositioninwhichhecanfindsomecomfort—withhislegsraised,restingonGerasim’sshoulders.

Confession is inaverydifferentstyleandgenreofwriting:it isafirst-personaccountofTolstoy’sown spiritual journey, from his rejection of religion as a young man, through his rediscovery of theOrthodoxchurchinmiddleage,tohisfinalrejectionofthemythsandfalsehoodsoftheestablishedchurch(from theTrinity to theEucharist)whileembracing the simplestmoral teachingsof Jesushimself. It isoftentakenastestimonytoTolstoy’sspiritual“crisis”afterhehadcompletedAnnaKarenina,andasacrucial point in his turn from fiction to politics and philosophy.But it also confronts the fear and theinevitability of death. It is inConfession thatTolstoy tells of his experiencewatching an execution inParisanddiscusseshisowndilemmasaboutsuicide.AndhebroachessomeofthemajorquestionsoftherelationshipbetweenlifeanddeaththatunderliethestoryofIvanIlyich:ashesumsitupatonepointinthememoir,“Isthereanymeaninginmylifethatwouldn’tbedestroyedbythedeaththatinevitablyawaitsme?”

It is important to remember that when Tolstoy wrote The Death of Ivan Ilyich and Confession,preoccupiedwithdyingasboth thoseworksare,hewasstillonly inhisfifties;hewas to liveanothertwenty-fiveyears.Humanmortalitywasforhim,inlargepart,aphilosophicaldilemma.Healso(asweseeinTheDeathofIvanIlyich)relishedthewriter’schallengeofintimatelyexploringtheprocessesofdying—whenitwassomethinghecouldonlyhaveobservedfromtheperspectiveoftheliving.Itwasachallengethatsointriguedhimthatheislatersupposedtohaveaskedhisfriendsandfollowerstoquizhim about the experience of his own death as hewas going through it. “Did human perception of lifechange as one approached the end?” he wanted them to inquire. “Did one feel a progression towardsomethingdifferent?”Cannily foreseeing that, onhisdeathbed,hemightbeunable tovoice a coherentresponse, hehad evendevised a codeof eyemovements to expresshis answers.But in their distress,thosegatheredaroundhiminhisfinalhoursatAstapovoapparentlyforgottoposethequestions.

ItisapoignantironythatTolstoy’stranslator,PeterCarson,wasmuchclosertodeathanddyingwhenhewasworkingonTheDeathofIvanIlyichandConfessionthanTolstoyhimselfwasatthetimehewasfirstwritingthem.

CARSONWASONEofthefinesttranslatorstherehaseverbeenofnineteenth-centuryRussianliterature:“I

amnotanexpert.Imerelyhaveagoodfeelforit,”heonceobservedwithtypicalmodesty.That“feel”camepartlyfromhisfamilybackgroundinasocialandculturalworldthatwasinsomerespectsnotsodifferent fromTolstoy’s own.HismotherwasRussian, Tatiana Petrovna Staheyeff, the daughter of anextremelywealthycommercialfamily.ShewasnotofthegrandorderofnobilityfromwhichTolstoy,titleorno title,originated,buther family toohad turnedagooddealof itssubstantial riches to thekindofphilanthropy(foundingschools,forexample)thatwassuchamajorpartofTolstoy’slife’sproject.Whenshewaslittlemorethanagirl,shefledtheRevolutionin1917,first toChina,whereshemetherpart-French, part-Anglo-Irish husband, and later to England. There, soon widowed, she brought up herchildren—PeterStaheyeffCarson,whowas born inLondon in 1938, andhis sister, anotherTatiana—almostsinglehandedlyinapolyglothouseholdwhereRussian,French,andEnglishwerespokenmoreorlessinterchangeably.Infact,theuseofFrenchside-by-sidewithRussian,socharacteristicoftheidiomoftheRussianeliteandnoticeableintheseworksofTolstoy(commeilfaut,établissement,andsoon),wasveryclosetotheidiomofCarson’searlyhomelife.

That “feel” came also, however, from a precise attention to language that was encouraged by hisclassicaltraining.AsaboyCarsonwonascholarshiptoEton,wherehespecializedinLatinandGreek,andhelatermajoredinclassicsatTrinityCollege,Cambridge.Itwasanacademicbackgroundthatmadehimparticularlyalerttotheformsandtechnicalitiesoflanguageandexpression.Heinsisted,forexample,thatintranslatingthis“lateTolstoy,”oneshouldnotmakethemistakeofimposingonitaliterary,stylishrhetoric,assomanytranslatorshavedone.TheDeathofIvanIlyichandConfessionwerebothwrittenmore simply, even awkwardly, than War and Peace or Anna Karenina, with even more frequentrepetitions of the same or very similar words (in the novella, for example, the words “decorum,”“decorous,” and “indecorous” recur again and again). Carson aimed to capture that particular side ofTolstoy’swriting,retainingtherepetitions(eventhoughtheworksmighthavereadmorefluentlyif,asheputit,hehadtaken“evasiveaction”and“smoothedthingsover”),andsofaraspossiblehealsoretainedTolstoy’s sometimes surprising sentence structure alongwith his original paragraphing.Hewanted thereaderinEnglishtobeabletoseewhatTolstoyhadbeendoingintheRussian.

Carson’s main professional career, from the 1960s to 2012, was in British publishing at PenguinBooks,wherehe endedup as editor in chief, and later atProfileBooks.Hehad an almost unrivalledsenseofwhatmadeadistinguishedandsellablebook.Itwashe,forexample,whospottedthequalityofZadie Smith’sWhite Teeth, and he brought the work ofmany other authors, myself included, into theworld.Hisownstylewasoneofextraordinarilyelegantunderstatement:ifhetappedhisfingerstogetherandsaid“Idon’t think so,”youknewyour latestschemewasacompleteno-hoper; ifhe twinkledandgiggledalittleandsaidofamanuscript,“It’sreallyrathergood,”youwouldknowyouhadsomethingclose toabestselleronyourhands.Andhis talentwasbasedonanequallyextraordinarycapacity forquick and careful reading: three novels in an evening plus six newbookmanuscripts over aweekendwerehisnormalregime.Isuspect thathis lifeinreadingandeditinggavehimasneakingsympathyforSonyaTolstoy,whooften spent her evenings copying, recopying, and tidying upTolstoy’smanuscriptsuntiltheearlyhours,inadditiontoactingasanagentwithhispublishers.

Carson’s translationswere largely theworkofhisspare time.Heagreed to translateTheDeathofIvanIlyichandConfessionin2009,whenhecouldnotpossiblyhaveknownhowuncomfortablyrelevanttheirthemeswouldbecometohisownlife—anddeath.Foronlyhalfwaythroughthetranslationitbecameclear,inearly2012,thathislongstandingillnesswouldnotbecurable—andthat,mostlikely,hehadonlymonths to live. He nevertheless pushed onwith the task, determined to complete what he had begun,working whenever he could, sometimes from bed as he became frailer. The final manuscript wasdeliveredtothepublisherbyhiswifeonthedaybeforehediedinJanuary2013.Wecanhardlybegintoimaginewhat itmust havebeen like to translate thegrim taleof Ivan Ilyich asone’sown life slippedaway, but almost certainly the unsettling energy of Carson’s version has something to do with the

circumstancesinwhichitwaswritten.CarsonhimselfwasverycommittedtotheunusualpairingwithinthesamevolumeofTheDeathof

IvanIlyichandConfession.ThenovellahaslongbeenafavoriteamongthelaterworksofTolstoyandhasattractedawiderangeofinterpretationsandexplanationsalmostfromthemomentofitspublication.Theaggressiveandunforgettable“realism”ofthedescriptionofIvanIlyich’sfinalillnesshaspromptedsomecriticstohuntforafactualsourceforthestory,andindeeditdoesseemfairlycertainthatTolstoywaspartly inspiredby thedeathofa judgecalled Ivan IlyichMechnichovwhoworked in the townofTula,neartheTolstoycountryestate,andwhosesufferingshadbeendescribedtoTolstoybythejudge’sbrother.Otherreaders—undeterredbythefact that,whateverreal-lifemodels theremayhavebeen, thestoryisessentiallyfiction—haveattemptedtodiagnosetheillnessfromwhichIvanIlyichwassuffering,eventhoughtheelusiveuncertaintyaboutthenatureofhisconditionispartofthepointofthetale.Wasitcancerofthegallbladder?Orwasitcancerofthepancreas?Questionslikethese,aswellasthelessonstheymight(ormightnot)holdforthepalliativecareofthedying,haveensuredTheDeathofIvanIlyich,aloneofallTolstoy’sworks,anunlikelyfootholdinmodernmedicaljournalsandlibraries.

Muchmore significant have been themany discussions of the philosophical and ethical issues thestory raises, in particular what in the end—after all the agony and the terror—allows Ivan Ilyich toapproachdeathwithsomedegreeofequanimity?Or,toputitintermsofTolstoy’sownvividimageoftheprocessofdying,whatenabledhimtostruggle through thatblacksack intowhichhefelthewasbeingpushedandmakehiswaythroughtothelightontheotherside?

Tolstoy seems to offer two reasons. First, Ivan Ilyich finally came to recognize the failings of hisapparentlysuccessfulformerlife:amongotherthings,itstawdrybourgeoisaspirations,itsvanity(itwas,afterall,afallwhilehangingsomecurtainsthatledtohisdeath),andtheemptinessofhismarriage.

“Yes,everythingwaswrong,”hesaidtohimself,“butitdoesn’tmatter.Ican,Icandowhatisright.Butwhatisright?”heaskedhimself,andatoncefellsilent.

This recognition of his errors is signaled in the narrative by two rare signs of genuine humaninteractionbetweenIvanIlyichandhisfamily:hiswifeathisbedsideiscaughtweeping;andhisyoungson,accidentallyhitbyoneofIvanIlyich’sflailingarms,takeshisfather’shandinhisownandpressesittohislips,alsointears.

Second, at the very end of the story, Tolstoy insists that instead of attempting to avoid his ownmortality,IvanIlyichatlastmanagedtolookdeathintheeye,andthatdirectconfrontationdestroyedtheterriblefearwhichhaduntilthensotormentedhim.

Hesearchedforhisoldhabitualfearofdeathanddidn’tfindit.Wherewasdeath?Whatdeath?Therewasnofear,becausetherewasnodeath.

Insteadofdeaththerewaslight.“Sothat’sit!”hesuddenlysaidaloud.“Suchjoy!”

UnlikeTheDeathofIvanIlyich,Confessionhashadan insecureandfluctuatingreputationsince itwascompleted in1882. Inaddition to theproblemswithRussiancensorsbecauseof itsattackson theOrthodoxchurch,Tolstoyhimselfchangedhismindabouttheroleandstatusofthememoir.Itwasfirstintended to act as an introduction to another of his religious essays, An Investigation of DogmaticTheology,andoriginallycarriedthetitleAnIntroductiontoanUnpublishedWork.Itwasonlywhenthefirst regular edition was published outside Russia in 1884 that it was entitledConfession. And it issimplyConfession, not “TheConfession” or “AConfession”; as Carson was keen to emphasize, thisessayisnotsomeadmissionofwrongdoing(“confession”intheusualmodernsense),butanaccountofa

spiritualjourneyinthetraditionoftheConfessionsofAugustineorJean-JacquesRousseau.Assuch,inthelatenineteenthcentury,itattractedconsiderableattention;infact,itwasoneofthefirstofTolstoy’sworkstobetranslatedintoEnglish(beforeWarandPeaceorAnnaKarenina).But ithasoftenseemedless appealing to modern readers. It can seem self-indulgent in its introspection (the usual fault ofspiritual autobiographies, however self-critical they set out to be); it includes some fairly austerediscussionofphilosophersfromSocratestoSchopenhauer;andtheidealizationofthereligiousfaith(andapproachtodeath)oftheRussianpeasant,whiletouching,seemsalsonaivelyromantic.

ConfessioncomestolifeagainifwereaditalongsideTheDeathofIvanIlyichratherthanalongsidethe religious essays with which it is usually grouped. The similarities and overlaps between the twoinstantly catch the eye: from the discussion of the inevitability of death to the nature of human self-deceptionandtheadmiration(romanticornot)ofthehonorableapproachtolifeandmortalityshownbyRussianpeasants(incontrasttothepeople,asTolstoyputsit,“inourworld”;thatis,amongtheelite).Inshort, the pairing encourages us to see The Death of Ivan Ilyich as a fictional exploration of thetheoretical problemsof religion,morality, andmortality explored autobiographically inConfession. Inotherwords,thatquestiondirectlyposedinConfession—“Isthereanymeaninginmylifethatwouldn’tbedestroyedbythedeaththatinevitablyawaitsme?”—isansweredbythenovella.

YetifConfessionhelpstoexposethetheoreticalaspectsofTheDeathofIvanIlyich,thenthereverseisalsotrue:TheDeathofIvanIlyichhelpstoexposethefictionalaspectsofConfession.CriticshaveoftentakenConfessionasamoreorlesstransparentaccountofTolstoy’sspiritualdevelopmentfromhisyouth, andespeciallyof the religious“crisis”hewent throughafter finishingAnnaKarenina—a crisismarkedfirstbyhisturntotheOrthodoxchurch,thenbyhisemphaticrejectionofthedogmaandliesofestablishedreligion.TherearecertainlymanyoverlapsbetweenTolstoy’sclaimsinConfessionandwhatweknowofhislife,andofhisintellectualandreligiousdilemmas,fromotheraccounts.HissonLeo,forexample,inhisownmemoirofTolstoy’slife,TheTruthaboutMyFather(written,itistrue,explicitlytodefendSonyafromtheattacksonheraftertheoldman’sdeath),claimstorecalltheverymomentwhenhisfatherrejectedtheOrthodoxrulesonfasting:duringwhatshouldhavebeenafastforastrictobserverofsuchthings,sittingatthedinnertablewiththerestofthefamily,whowereenjoyingaheartymeal,Tolstoypushedawayhis“asceticfare,”turnedtooneofthechildren,anddemandedwhattheywereeating.“Ilia,myboy,”hesaid,“passmethecutlets!”Hisdaysofformalreligiousobservancewereover.

It should gowithout saying, however, that autobiography is never quite transparent, and that first-personspiritualmemoirsarealwayspartlyconstructions—retrospectiveandsimplifyingfictionsimposedontheconfusingstreamofmemoriesandonintellectualdoubtsanddilemmas.InConfessionTolstoyhintsattheveryfictionalityofhisownautobiographythroughaseriesofechoeswithhisnovels.Atonepoint,forexample,hedescribeshisownfantasiesofsuicidealmostexactlyashedescribedthoseofLevininAnnaKarenina; this is notonly ahint that theremightbe somethingof the realTolstoy in the fictonalLevinbutalsothattheremightbesomethingofthefictionalLevinintheautobiographicalTolstoy.AndwefindmanyotherclosedoublesbetweenConfessionandTheDeathofIvanIlyich—fromthedescriptionof a dyingman’s attitude toward his own at first insignificant symptoms of illness to the image of thereturntochildhoodthatissopowerfulinbothworks.ItisasifConfessionremindsusoftheconstructednatureofitsautobiographicalsubjectbyanticipatingmanyofthefictionaltropesofthenovella.Tolstoywasamanwhodefinedhimselfinandbywriting,inaninextricableamalgamoffictionandfact.

TheDeath of Ivan Ilyich andConfession demand that readers reflect onwhat the inevitability ofdeathmeanstous,andonhowweshallfaceourownend.AtPeterCarson’sfuneral,theverylastlinesofIvanIlyichwerereadout.

“Itisfinished!”someonesaidabovehim.He heard these words and repeated them in his heart. “Death is finished,” he said to

himself.“Itisnomore.”Hebreathedin,stoppedhalfway,stretchedhimself,anddied.

Carsonhimselfmightnothaveentirelyapprovedofparadingthisalignmentofliteratureandlifewhich,inhisowndying,hewasconcernedtodownplay.Indeed,justthreedaysbeforehedied,hewrote:

ItisstrangethatIwassmittenbymyillnesswhentranslatingIvanIlyichandConfession,buttobehonestIdonotthinkithasaffectedanythingandIhavenothoughtsonthematter.

InCarsonwehadamanwhohadnointerestinpublicityandwouldhavehatedthecelebratory—almostnarcissistic—displayofdying thatunfoldedatAstrapovostation (Carson in factdiedathomewithhiswife).Buthappily,inasense,his“thoughtsonthematter”arepreservedforus,andwillliveon,inthisfinetranslation.

TheDeathofIvanIlyich

I

DURINGABREAKINTHEHEARINGOFTHEMELVINSKYcase,themembersofthecourtandtheprosecutormetin IvanYegorovich Shebek’s room in the big law courts building and began talking about the famousKrasovsky case. Fyodor Vasilyevich became heated, contending that it didn’t come under theirjurisdiction;IvanYegorovichheldhisground;whilePyotrIvanovich,nothavingjoinedintheargumentatthebeginning,tooknopartinitandwaslookingthroughtheGazette,whichhadjustbeendelivered.

“Gentlemen!”hesaid.“IvanIlyichhasdied.”“Hehasn’t!”“Look,readthis,”hesaidtoFyodorVasilyevich,handinghimafreshcopywhichstillsmelledofink.Within a black border was printed: “Praskovya Fyodorovna Golovina with deep sorrow informs

family and friends of the passing of her beloved spouse Ivan IlyichGolovin,member of theCourt ofJustice,which tookplaceon the4thofFebruaryof thisyear1882.The funeralwillbeonFridayat1p.m.”

IvanIlyichwasacolleagueofthegentlemenmeetingthereandtheyalllikedhim.Hehadbeenillforseveralweeks; peoplewere saying his illnesswas incurable.His position had been kept for him, buttherehadbeenconjecturesthat,intheeventofhisdeath,Alekseyevmightbeappointedtohisposition,andeitherVinnikovorShtabel toAlekseyev’s.Soonhearingof Ivan Ilyich’sdeath the first thoughtofeachofthegentlemenmeetingintheroomwasofthesignificancethedeathmighthaveforthetransferorpromotionofthemembersthemselvesortheirfriends.

Now I will probably get Shtabel’s or Vinnikov’s position, thought Fyodor Vasilyevich. It waspromised tome long ago and this promotionmeans a raise of eight hundred rubles, plus a privateoffice.

NowImustaskaboutthetransferofmybrother-in-lawfromKaluga,thoughtPyotrIvanovich.Mywifewillbeverypleased.Nowshewon’tbeabletosaythatI’veneverdoneanythingforherfamily.

“Ithoughthewouldn’tleavehisbed,”PyotrIvanovichsaidaloud.“Suchapity.”“Whatwasactuallywrongwithhim?”“Thedoctorscouldn’tmakeadiagnosis.Thatis,theydid,butdifferentones.WhenIsawhimthelast

time,Ithoughthewouldrecover.”“AndIdidn’tgoandseehimaftertheholidays.Ikeptmeaningto.”“Didhehaveanymoney?”“Ithinkhiswifehadaverysmallincome.Butnexttonothing.”“Yes,we’llhavetogoandseeher.Theylivedaterriblylongwayoff.”“Thatis,alongwayfromyou.Everything’salongwayfromyou.”“Hejustcan’tforgivemefor livingontheothersideof theriver,”saidPyotrIvanovich,smilingat

Shebek.Andtheystartedtalkingaboutdistancesinthecity,1andwentbackintothecourtroom.Apartfromthethoughtsthedeathbroughteachofthemaboutthepossiblemovesandchangesatwork

that might follow, the actual fact of the death of a close acquaintance evoked, as always, in all wholearnedofitacomplacentfeelingthatitwas“hewhohaddied,notI.”

So—he’sdead;buthereIamstill,eachthoughtorfelt.Atthispointhiscloseracquaintances,theso-called friends of Ivan Ilyich, involuntarily thought that they now needed to carry out the very tedious

requirementsofetiquetteandgototherequiemservice2andpayavisitofcondolencetothewidow.ClosestofallwereFyodorVasilyevichandPyotrIvanovich.Pyotr Ivanovichwas a friend from law school and considered himself under an obligation to Ivan

Ilyich.Having given his wife over dinner the news of Ivan Ilyich’s death and his thoughts about the

possibilityofhisbrother-in-law’stransfertotheirdistrict,PyotrIvanovichdidn’tliedowntohavearestbutputonaformaltailcoatanddrovetoIvanIlyich’s.

AttheentrancetoIvanIlyich’sapartmentstoodacarriageandtwocabs.Downstairsinthehallbythecoatrack,leaningagainstthewall,wasthebrocade-coveredlidofthecoffinwithtasselsandagoldbraidthathadbeencleanedwithpowder.Twoladiesinblackweretakingofftheirfurcoats.Oneofthem,IvanIlyich’ssister,heknew;theotherwasanunknownlady.PyotrIvanovich’scolleagueSchwarzwascomingdownstairsand,seeingfromthetopstepwhohadcomein,hewinkedathimasiftosay,“IvanIlyichhasmadeasillymessofthings;youandIhavedonethingsdifferently.”

Schwarz’sfacewithhisEnglishside-whiskersandhiswholethinfigureinatailcoatasusualhadanelegantsolemnity,andthissolemnity,whichwasalwaysatoddswithSchwarz’splayfulcharacter,wasespeciallypiquanthere.SoPyotrIvanovichthought.

Pyotr Ivanovich let the ladies go in front of him and slowly followed themup the stairs. Schwarzdidn’tcomedownbutstayedatthetop.PyotrIvanovichunderstoodwhy:heobviouslywantedtoarrangewhere they should play vint3 today. The ladies went up the stairs to the widow but Schwarz, with aserioussettohisstronglipsandaplayfullook,indicatedbyatwitchofhiseyebrowsthatPyotrIvanovichshouldgototheright,intotheroomwherethecorpselay.

PyotrIvanovichwentin,feeling,asisalwaysthecase,atalossastowhatheshoulddothere.Onethinghedidknowwas that in thesecircumstances it neverdoes anyharm tocrossoneself.Hewasn’taltogether surewhether one should also bow and so he chose amiddle course: entering the room, hestartedtocrosshimselfandmadeakindofslightbow.Insofarasthemovementsofhisheadandhandswouldallow,helookedroundtheroomatthesametime.Twoyoungmen,probablynephews,oneofthemagymnasiumpupil,werecrossingthemselvesastheylefttheroom.Anoldwomanstoodmotionless,andaladywithoddlyarchedeyebrowswassayingsomethingtoherinawhisper.Achurchlectorinafrockcoatwithavigorousanddecisivewaytohimwasreadingsomethingoutloudlywithanexpressionthatpermittednocontradiction;thepeasantmanservantGerasim,steppinglightlyinfrontofPyotrIvanovich,scattered something on the ground. Seeing that, Pyotr Ivanovich at once sensed the faint smell of adecomposingbody.OnhislastvisittoIvanIlyichhehadseenthispeasantinthestudy;hecarriedoutthedutiesofasick-nurse,andIvanIlyichwasespeciallyfondofhim.PyotrIvanovichkeptcrossinghimselfandbowingslightlyinanintermediatedirectionbetweenthecoffin,thelector,andtheiconsonatableinthecorner.Then,whenhe thought themovementofcrossinghimselfwithhishandhadgoneon for toolong,hestoppedandstartedtoexaminethedeadman.

Thedeadmanlay,asdeadmenalwaysdo,especiallyheavily,hisstiffenedlimbssunkinthepaddedlining of the coffinwith his head bent back forever on the pillow, and, as alwayswith deadmen, hisyellowwaxenforeheadstickingout,showingbaldpatchesonhishollowtemples,hisnoseprotrudingasifitpressedonhisupperlip.Hehadgreatlychanged,hadbecomeeventhinnersincePyotrIvanovichhadseenhim, but like all deadmen, his facewashandsomer, above allmore imposing thanwhenhewasalive.Onhis facewasanexpression thatsaidwhathad tobedonehadbeendone,anddoneproperly.This expression also held a reproach or reminder to the living. Pyotr Ivanovich found this reminderinappropriate—or at the least one not applying to himself. This gave Pyotr Ivanovich an unpleasantfeeling,andsohehurriedlycrossedhimselfoncemoreand turned, toohurriedlyhe thought,andnot inaccordancewithpropriety,andwenttothedoor.Schwarzwaswaitingforhiminthenextroom,hislegswideapartandbothhandsplayingbehindhisbackwithhistophat.OnelookatSchwarz’splayful,neat,

andelegantfigurerefreshedPyotrIvanovich.PyotrIvanovichfeltthatSchwarzstoodaboveallthisanddidn’tallowhimselftogiveintodepressingthoughts.Theverywayhelookedstatedthefollowing:thefact of Ivan Ilyich’s requiem cannot serve as a sufficient reason to consider the order of the courtsdisrupted;inotherwords,nothingcanstopusunsealingandshufflingapackofcardsthiseveningwhilethemanservantputsoutfourfreshcandles;ingeneraltherearenogroundsforassumingthatthisfactcanpreventusfromspendingapleasantevening,eventoday.HesaidthisinawhispertoPyotrIvanovichashecamein,proposingtheymeetforagameatFyodorVasilyevich’s.ButapparentlyPyotrIvanovichwasnotfatedtoplayvintthisevening.PraskovyaFyodorovna,ashort,plumpwomanwhobroadenedfromtheshouldersdowninspiteofallhereffortstoachievetheopposite,wasdressedallinblackwithherheadcoveredinlaceandwithoddlyarchedeyebrowsliketheladystandingbythecoffin.Shecameoutofherroomswiththeotherladies,andtakingthemtothedoorwherethedeadmanlay,said:

“Nowthere’llbetherequiem;dogoin.”Schwarz stopped, making a vague bow—clearly neither accepting nor rejecting this proposal.

PraskovyaFyodorovna,recognizingPyotrIvanovich,sighed,wentrightuptohim,tookhimbythehand,andsaid:

“IknowthatyouwereatruefriendofIvanIlyich...”andlookedathim,waitingforanactiononhispartthatcorrespondedtothesewords.

PyotrIvanovichknewthatjustasinthatroomonehadhadtocrossoneself,sohereonemustpressthehand, sigh, and say, “Believeme!”And that’swhathedid.Andhavingdone it he felt that thedesiredresulthadbeenobtained:hewasmovedandshewasmoved.

“Comewhile they haven’t started in there; I need to talk to you,” said thewidow. “Giveme yourhand.”

PyotrIvanovichgavehishandandtheywentoffintotheinnerrooms,pastSchwarzwhowinkedsadlyatPyotrIvanovich.“There’syourvintgone!Don’ttakeitoutonus;we’llfindanotherpartner.Maybeyoucancutinonceyou’vegottenfree,”saidhisplayfullook.

PyotrIvanovichsighedevenmoredeeplyandsadly,andPraskovyaFyodorovnagratefullypressedhishand.Theywentintoherdimlylitdrawingroomhungwithpinkcretonneandsatdownbyatable,sheona sofa andPyotr Ivanovich on a low pouf built on springs that awkwardly gaveway as he sat down.(Praskovya Fyodorovna was going to warn him to sit on another chair but found such a warninginappropriate for the situation and changed her mind.) As he sat down on the pouf, Pyotr Ivanovichremembered how Ivan Ilyich had arranged this drawing room and consulted him about this very pinkcretonne with green leaves. On her way to sit down on the sofa, as she passed the table (the wholedrawingroomwasfulloffurnitureandknickknacks),thewidowcaughtthelaceofherblackmantillaonthecarvingofthetable.PyotrIvanovichgotuptounhookher,andthesprungpoufnowreleasedbelowbegan to swayandpushathim.Thewidowstarted tounhook the laceherself andPyotr Ivanovich satdownagain,quellingtherebelliouspoufunderneathhim.Butthewidowhadn’tunhookeditall,andPyotrIvanovichagaingotupandthepoufagainrebelledandevenmadeanoise.Whenall thiswasovershetookoutacleancambrichandkerchiefandbegantocry.PyotrIvanovichfeltchilledbytheepisodeofthelaceandthebattlewiththepoufandsatfrowning.ThisawkwardsituationwasinterruptedbySokolov,IvanIlyich’sbutler, reporting that theplace in thecemeteryPraskovyaFyodorovnahadselectedwouldcosttwohundredrubles.Shestoppedcryingand,lookingatPyotrIvanovichwiththeairofavictim,saidinFrenchthatshewassufferinggreatly.PyotrIvanovichmadeasilentsignexpressingafirmconvictionthatitcouldn’tbeotherwise.

“Dosmoke,please,”shesaidinagraciousand,atthesametime,brokenvoiceandtalkedtoSokolovaboutthematterofthepriceoftheplaceinthecemetery.PyotrIvanovichsmokedandheardheraskingverydetailedquestionsaboutthedifferentpricesofplotsanddecidingontheonethatshouldbebought.Whenthatwasdone,shewentontogiveinstructionsaboutthesingers.Sokolovwentout.

“Idoeverythingmyself,”shesaidtoPyotrIvanovich,movingsomealbumslyingonthetabletooneside.Noticingthathisashwasposingathreattothetable,shespeedilypushedanashtraytowardsPyotrIvanovichandsaid,“IfinditapretencetostatethatbecauseofgriefIcan’tdealwithpracticalmatters.Onthecontrary,ifthereissomethingthatcan...notconsole...butdistractme,thenit’sbotheringabouthim.”Sheagaintookoutherhandkerchiefasifsheweregoingtocry,andsuddenly,asifpullingherselftogether,sheshookherselfandbegantospeakquietly:

“However,Ihavetotalktoyouaboutsomething.”Pyotr Ivanovichbowed, not letting thepouf release its springs,whichhad at once started tomove

underneathhim.“Hesufferedterriblyinthelastdays.”“Didhesufferverymuch?”PyotrIvanovichasked.“Oh.Terribly!At the endhenever stopped screaming, not forminutes, for hours.For threewhole

dayshescreamedwithoutdrawingbreath.Itwasunbearable.Ican’tunderstandhowIboreit;onecouldhearitfromthreedoorsaway.Oh,whatI’vebeenthrough!”

“Andwashereallyconscious?”PyotrIvanovichasked.“Yes,”shewhispered,“till thefinalmoment.Hesaidgoodbye tousaquarterofanhourbeforehe

diedandaskedaswellforVolodyatobetakenout.”Thethoughtofthesufferingsofamanhehadknownsowell,firstasacheerfullad,aschoolboy,then

asanadultcolleague,suddenlyhorrifiedPyotrIvanovichinspiteofhisunpleasantconsciousnessofhisownandthiswoman’spretense.Hesawagainthatforehead,thenosepressingonthelip,andhebecamefearfulforhimself.

Threedaysofterriblesufferinganddeath.Thatcanhappentometoo,now,anyminute,hethought,andforamomenthebecamefrightened.But rightaway,hedidn’tknowhow, therecametohisaid theordinary thought that this hadhappened to Ivan Ilyich andnot tohim, and thisoughtnot and couldnothappentohim;thatinthinkinglikethishewasgivingintogloomythoughts,whichoneshouldn’t,ashadbeenclearfromSchwarz’sface.Andhavingreachedthisconclusion,PyotrIvanovichwasreassuredandstartedtoaskwithinterestaboutthedetailsofIvanIlyich’send,asifdeathwereanadventurepeculiartoIvanIlyichbutabsolutelynottohimself.

After some talk about the details of the truly terrible physical sufferings which Ivan Ilyich hadundergone(details thatPyotr Ivanovich learnedonlybywayof theeffect that IvanIlyich’s tormenthadhadonPraskovyaFyodorovna’snerves),thewidowapparentlyfounditnecessarytomoveontobusiness.

“Ah,PyotrIvanovich,it’ssohard,soterriblyhard.”Andsheagainstartedtocry.PyotrIvanovichsighedandwaitedfortohertoblowhernose.Whenshehadblownhernose,hesaid:“Believeme . . .”andagainshe talkedawayandunburdenedherselfofwhatwasclearlyhermain

businesswith him—how on her husband’s death she could getmoney from the treasury. She gave theappearance of askingPyotr Ivanovich for advice about the pension, but he saw that she already knewdowntothesmallestdetailsevenwhathedidn’tknow—everythingthatonecouldextractfromthepublicpurseonthisdeath—butthatshewantedtolearnifonecouldn’tsomehowextractabitmoremoney.PyotrIvanovichtriedtothinkofaway,but,havingthoughtalittleandoutofpolitenessabusingthegovernmentforitsmeanness,hesaidthathethoughtonecouldn’tgetmore.Thenshesighedandclearlybegantothinkofawaytogetridofhervisitor.Heunderstoodthis,putouthiscigarette,gotup,shookherhand,andwentintothehall.

In thedining roomwith theclock that Ivan Ilyichhadbeensopleased tobuy ina junkshop,PyotrIvanovich met the priest and also a few acquaintances who had come to the requiem, and he saw abeautifulyoung ladyheknew,IvanIlyich’sdaughter.Shewasall inblack.Thatmadeherveryslenderwaist seem evenmore so. She had a somber, decisive, almost angry expression. She bowed to PyotrIvanovichasifhehaddonesomethingwrong.Behindthedaughter,withasimilarlyoffendedexpression,

stooda richyoungmanwhomPyotr Ivanovichknew,anexaminingmagistratewhohe’dheardwasherfiancé.Heglumlybowedtothemandwasabouttogoonintotheroomwherethedeadmanlaywhenfromunderthestairsthereappearedthefigureoftheson,agymnasiumstudent,wholookedterriblylikeIvanIlyich.HewasalittleIvanIlyichjustasPyotrIvanovichrememberedhimatlawschool.Hiseyesweretearstained and had the look that the eyes of boyswith impure thoughts have at the age of thirteen orfourteen.WhenherecognizedPyotrIvanovichtheboybegantoscowlsullenlyandshamefacedly.PyotrIvanovich nodded to him and went into the dead man’s room. The requiem began—candles, groans,incense, tears,sobs.PyotrIvanovichstoodfrowning, lookingat thefeet infrontofhim.Hedidn’t lookonceatthedeadmanandrightuntiltheenddidn’tgiveintoanydepressinginfluences.Hewasoneofthefirsttoleave.Therewasnooneinthehall.Gerasim,thepeasantmanservant,dartedoutofthedeadman’sstudy, rummagedwithhisstronghandsamongall thefurcoats tofindPyotr Ivanovich’s,andgave it tohim.

“So,Gerasimmyfriend,”saidPyotrIvanovichinordertosaysomething.“It’ssad,isn’tit?”“It’sGod’swill.We’llallbe there,”saidGerasim,showinghiswhite, regular,peasant’s teeth,and

likeamaninthefullswingofintensivework,brisklyopenedthedoor,calledthecoachman,helpedPyotrIvanovichin,andjumpedbacktothestepsasiftryingtothinkwhatelsehemightdo.

ItwasparticularlypleasantforPyotrIvanovichtobreathethefreshairafterthesmellsofincense,thedeadbody,andthecarbolicacid.

“Whereto,sir?”askedthecoachman.“It’snotlate.SoI’llstilldropinatFyodorVasilyevich’s.”AndoffPyotrIvanovichwent.Andindeedhefoundhisfriendsfinishingthefirstrubber;itwaseasy

forhimtocutinasafifth.

II

IVANILYICH’SPASTLIFEHADBEENVERYSIMPLEANDordinaryandveryawful.IvanIlyichhaddiedattheageofforty-five,amemberoftheCourtofJustice.HewasthesonofaSt.

Petersburg civil servantwho had in variousministries and departments the kind of career that bringspeople to a position in which, although it is quite clear that they are incapable of performing anymeaningfuljob,theystillbyreasonoftheirlongpastserviceandsenioritycannotbedismissed;sotheyreceive invented, fictitious positions and thousands of rubles, from six to ten thousand,which are notfictitious,withwhichtheyliveontoaripeoldage.

SuchwasPrivyCouncillor4IlyaYefimovichGolovin,thesuperfluousmemberofvarioussuperfluousinstitutions.

Hehadthreesons,IvanIlyichbeingthesecond.Theeldesthadthesamekindofcareerashisfather,only in a differentministry, and hewas already approaching the age atwhich salary starts increasingautomatically.Thethirdsonwasafailure.Whereverhehadbeeninvariouspositionshehadmadeamessofthingsandhewasnowworkingintherailways.Bothhisfatherandhisbrothers,andespeciallytheirwives,notonlydidn’tliketoseehimbutdidn’tevenmentionhisexistenceunlessabsolutelycompelledtodo so.Their sisterwasmarried toBaronGref, the samekindofSt.Petersburg civil servant as hisfather-in-law.IvanIlyichwaslephénixdelafamille,5astheysaid.Hewasn’tascoldandpreciseastheeldestorashopelessastheyoungest.Hewassomewherebetweenthem—aclever,lively,pleasant,anddecentman.Hehadbeeneducatedwithhisyoungerbrother in the lawschool.Theyoungeronedidn’tfinishandwasexpelled fromthe fifthclass. IvanIlyichcompleted thecoursewithgoodmarks. In lawschoolhewasalreadywhathewouldlaterbeduringhisentire life:acapable,cheerful,good-natured,andsociableman,butonewhostrictlydidwhatheconsideredhisduty,andheconsideredhisdutytobeeverythingthatitwasconsideredtobebyhissuperiors.Neitherasaboynorafterwardasagrownmandidheseektoingratiatehimself,buttherewasinhimfromayoungagethecharacteristicofbeingdrawntopeopleofhighstationlikeafly towardthe light;headoptedtheirhabitsandtheirviewsonlifeandestablishedfriendlyrelationswiththem.Allthepassionsofchildhoodandyouthwentbywithoutleavingmuchofa trace inhim;hegave inboth to sensualityand tovanity,and—toward theend, in theseniorclasses—toliberalism,butalwayswithinthedefinedlimitsthathissenseaccuratelyindicatedtohimascorrect.

Atlawschoolhehaddonethingsthatpreviouslyhadseemedtohimquitevileandhadfilledhimwithself-disgustwhilehedidthem;but later,seeingthesethingsweredonebypeopleinhighpositionsandwerenotthoughtbythemtobebad,hedidn’tquitethinkofthemasgoodbutcompletelyforgotthemandwasn’tatalltroubledbymemoriesofthem.

Havingleft lawschool in the tenthclassandreceivedmoneyfromhisfatherforfittinghimselfout,Ivan Ilyich ordered clothes at Sharmer’s,6 hung on his watch chain a medallion with the inscriptionrespice finem,7 took his leave of the princely patron of the school and his tutor, dined with hisschoolmates atDonon’s,8 and, equippedwith a new and fashionable trunk, linen, clothes, shaving andtoiletthings,andtravelingrugorderedandboughtfromtheverybestshops,hewentofftoaprovincialcitytothepostofassistanttothegovernorforspecialprojects,whichhisfatherhadprocuredforhim.

IntheprovincialcityIvanIlyichatonceestablishedforhimselfthekindofeasyandpleasantposition

hehadhadatlawschool.Heworked,madehiscareer,andatthesametimeamusedhimselfinapleasantand seemlyway; from time to timehewent around the district townson amission fromhis chief.Hebehavedtobothsuperiorsandinferiorswithdignityandhecarriedouttheresponsibilitieshehadbeengiven,mainlyfortheaffairsofreligiousdissenters,withanexactnessandincorruptiblehonestyofwhichhecouldnotbutbeproud.

In hiswork, despite his youth and liking for frivolous amusement, hewas exceptionally reserved,formal,andevensevere;butinsocietyhewasoftenplayfulandwittyandalwaysgood-humored,well-behavedandbonenfant,9ashischiefandhischief’swife,withwhomhewasoneofthefamily,usedtosayofhim.

Therewasalsointheprovincialcityanaffairwithoneoftheladieswhoattachedherselftothesmartlawyer;therewasalittledressmaker;thereweredrinkingsessionswithvisitingaides-de-campandtripstoaremotestreetaftersupper;therewasalsosomefawningdeferencetohischiefandeventohischief’swife,butallthisworesuchahightoneofprobitythatitcouldn’tbedescribedinbadwords;allthiscouldonlygoundertherubricoftheFrenchexpressionilfautquejeunessesepasse.10Everythingtookplacewith clean hands, in clean shirts, with French words, and, most importantly, in the highest society,consequentlywiththeapprovalofpeopleinhighposition.

IvanIlyichworkedinthiswayforfiveyears,andthentherecamechangesinhisofficial life.Newlegalbodieswerefounded;newmenwereneeded.

AndIvanIlyichwasthisnewman.IvanIlyichwasofferedthepositionofexaminingmagistrateandheacceptedit,despitethefactthat

this positionwas in another province and he had to abandon the relationships he had established andestablishnewones.HisfriendssawIvanIlyichoff:theytookagroupphotograph,theypresentedhimwithasilvercigarettecase,andoffhewenttohisnewposition.

As an examining magistrate Ivan Ilyich was just as comme il faut,11 well-behaved, capable ofseparatinghisofficialduties fromhisprivate lifeandof inspiringgeneral respectashehadbeenasaspecialprojectsofficer.Theactualworkofamagistratehadmuchmore interestandattraction forhimthan his previouswork. In his previous position it had been pleasant towalkwith a light step in hisSharmer uniform past trembling petitioners and envious officials waiting to be seen, straight into hischief’s room to sitdownwithhimovera cupof teawitha cigarette.But therewere fewpeoplewhodependeddirectlyonhissay-so—onlydistrictpoliceofficersandreligiousschismaticswhenhewassentonmissions—andhelikedtotreatsuchpeopledependentonhimpolitely,almostascomrades;helikedtoletthemfeelthatherehewas,someonewhocouldcrushthem,treatingtheminasimpleandfriendlyway.Therewereonlyafewsuchpeoplethen.Now,asanexaminingmagistrate,IvanIlyichfeltthatallofthem,allwithoutexception,eventhemostimportant,self-satisfiedpeople,wereinhishands,andthatheonlyhad to write certain words on headed paper and this or that important, self-satisfied man would bebrought to himas a defendant or awitness, and if hewouldn’t let him sit down,would have to standbeforehimandanswerhisquestions.IvanIlyichneverabusedthispowerofhis—onthecontraryhetriedtouseitlightly—buttheconsciousnessofthispowerandthepossibilityofusingitlightlyconstitutedforhimthechief interestandattractionofhisnewjob. In thework itself, in theactual investigations, IvanIlyichveryquicklymasteredawayofsettingasideallcircumstancesthatdidn’trelatetotheinvestigationandexpressingthemostcomplicatedcaseinaterminologyinwhichthecaseonlyappearedonpaperinitsexternalsandhispersonalviewwascompletelyexcluded,andmostimportantlyallrequisiteformalitywasobserved.Thisworkwassomethingnew.Andhewasoneof thefirstpeoplewhoworkedout thepracticalapplicationofthestatutesof1864.12

Moving toanewcity to thepostofexaminingmagistrate, Ivan Ilyichmadenewacquaintancesandconnections,positionedhimselfafresh,andadoptedaslightlydifferenttone.Hepositionedhimselfata

certainrespectabledistancefromthegoverningauthorities,butchosethebestcircleofthelawyersandnobles who lived in the city and adopted a tone of slight dissatisfaction with government, moderateliberalism,andenlightenedcivic-mindedness.Moreover,withoutchanging theeleganceofhisdress, inhisnewjobIvanIlyichstoppedshavinghischinandlethisbeardgrowfreely.

Ivan Ilyich’s life turnedoutverypleasantly in thenewcity aswell: the society that tooka criticalviewofthegovernorwasgoodandfriendly;hissalarywaslarger;andanotinconsiderablepleasurewasadded to his life byvint,which Ivan Ilyich started to play, having an ability to play cards cheerfully,quick-wittedly,andveryshrewdlysothatgenerallyhewon.

After two years working in the new city Ivan Ilyich met his future wife. Praskovya FyodorovnaMikhelwas themost attractive, cleverest,most brilliant girl of thegroup inwhich Ivan Ilyichmoved.Among the other amusements and relaxations from the labors of amagistrate Ivan Ilyich developed aplayful,easyrelationshipwithPraskovyaFyodorovna.

WhilehehadbeenaspecialassignmentsofficialIvanIlyichusedtodanceasamatterofcourse;asanexaminingmagistratehenowdancedonlyonspecialoccasions.Hedancednowinthesensethatalthoughhewasapartofthenewinstitutionsandinthefifthgrade,13whenitcametodancing,thenhecouldshowthatinthisfieldhecoulddothingsbetterthanothers.SofromtimetotimeattheendofaneveningheusedtodancewithPraskovyaFyodorovna,anditwasduringthesedancesinparticularthatheconqueredher.Shefellinlovewithhim.IvanIlyichdidn’thaveaclear,definedintentionofmarrying,butwhenthegirlfellinlovewithhim,heaskedhimselfaquestion.“Actually,whynotgetmarried?”hesaidtohimself.

MissPraskovyaFyodorovnawas fromagoodnoble family,wasnotbad-looking, andhadabitofmoney.IvanIlyichcouldaspiretoamorebrilliantmatch,butthistoowasagoodmatch.IvanIlyichhadhissalary;she,hehoped,wouldhaveasmuchagain.Thefamilyconnectionwasgood;shewasasweet,pretty,andabsolutelydecentwoman.TosaythatIvanIlyichmarriedbecausehefellinlovewithhisbrideand found in her sympathy for his views on lifewould have been as unjust as to say that hemarriedbecause people in his social circle approved of the match. Ivan Ilyich married because of bothconsiderations:hewasdoing somethingpleasant forhimself in acquiring suchawife, andat the sametimehewasdoingsomethinghissuperiorsthoughtarightthingtodo.

AndsoIvanIlyichmarried.Theactualprocessofmarriageand thefirstperiodofmarried life,with itsconjugalcaresses,new

furniture,newchina,andnew linen,wentverywelluntilhiswife’spregnancy, so that Ivan Ilyichwasbeginning to think thatmarriagenotonlywouldnotdestroy thecharacterofaneasy,pleasant, cheerfullife,onewhollydecorousandapprovedofbysociety,whichIvanIlyichthoughtthetruequalityoflife,but would enhance it further. But then from the first months of his wife’s pregnancy something newappeared, something unexpected, unpleasant, oppressive, and indecorous that one couldn’t expect andfromwhichonecouldn’tescape.

Hiswifefornoreason,soIvanIlyichthought,ashesaidtohimself,begandegaietédecoeur14 todestroy the pleasant tenor and decorum of life. Shewas jealous of himwithout any cause, demandedattentionstoherselffromhim,foundfaultwitheverything,andmadecrudeandunpleasantscenes.

AtfirstIvanIlyichhadhopedtobefreedfromtheunpleasantnessofthissituationbythesameeasyanddecorousattitudetolifewhichhadrescuedhimbefore—hetriedtoignorehiswife’sstateofmindandcontinuedtolivepleasantlyanddecorouslyasbefore:heinvitedfriendshomeforagameofcards;hetriedtogoouttohiscluborseehisfriends.Butononeoccasionhiswifestartedtoabusehimrudelywithsuchenergyandcontinuedtoabusehimsopersistentlyeverytimehedidn’tfulfillherdemands,clearlyhavingmadeafirmdecisionnottostopuntilhewouldsubmit—thatis,sitathomeandbemiserablelikeher—thatIvanIlyichwashorrified.Heunderstoodthatmarriedlife—atanyratewithhiswife—doesnotalwaysmakeforthepleasuresanddecorumoflifebutonthecontraryoftendestroysthem,andthereforeitwasessentialtoprotecthimselffromthisdestruction.AndIvanIlyichbegantoseekthemeansforthis.

His official work was one thing that impressed Praskovya Fyodorovna, and Ivan Ilyich through hisofficialwork and the duties that arose out of it began to fight hiswife, securing his own independentworld.

Achildwasborn.Therewereattemptsatfeedingandvariousfailuresinthis,alongwiththerealandimaginaryillnessesofchildandmother.SympathyforallthiswasdemandedfromIvanIlyichbuthecouldunderstandnothingofit.SotherequirementofIvanIlyichtofenceinaworldforhimselfoutsideofthefamilybecameallthemorepressing.

Ashiswifebecamemoreirritableanddemanding,soIvanIlyichmovedthecenterofgravityofhislifemoreandmore intohisofficialwork.Hecame to likehisworkmoreandbecamemoreambitiousthanhehadbeenbefore.

Verysoon,notmorethanayearaftertheirmarriage,IvanIlyichunderstoodthatmarriedlife,whichofferscertainconveniences,inrealityisaverycomplicatedanddifficultbusinesswithwhich,inordertodo one’s duty—that is, to lead a decorous life that is approved of by society—one has to develop adefinedrelationshipasonedoeswithone’swork.

AndIvanIlyichdiddevelopforhimselfsucharelationshipwithmarriedlife.Herequiredoffamilylifeonlythoseconveniencesitcouldgivehim,ofdinnerathome,amistressofthehouse,abed,andmostimportantly,thatdecorumofexternalappearanceswhichweredefinedbypublicopinion.Fortheresthelooked for cheerfulness and pleasure, and if he found themwas very grateful; if hemet rejection andquerulousness, he at oncewent off into the separateworld of official work that he had fenced in forhimselfandfoundpleasurethere.

IvanIlyichwasvaluedasagoodofficialand in threeyearshewasmadeassistantprosecutor.Hisnew responsibilities, their importance, the ability to bring anyone to trial and send him to prison, thepublicnatureofhis speeches, thesuccess Ivan Ilyichhad in thiswork—allof this tiedhimevenmorecloselytohisofficialwork.

Morechildrencame.Hiswifebecamemoreandmorequerulousandangry,buttherelationshipIvanIlyichhaddevelopedwithdomesticlifehadmadehimalmostimpervioustoherquerulousness.

AftersevenyearsofworkinginonecityIvanIlyichwaspromotedtothepositionofprosecutorinadifferentprovince.Theymoved;theynowhadlittlemoneyandhiswifedidn’tliketheplacetowhichtheyhadmoved.Thoughhissalarywasmorethanithadbeen,lifecostmore;alsotwochildrendied,andsofamilylifebecameevenmoreunpleasantforIvanIlyich.

PraskovyaFyodorovnablamedherhusbandforallthemisfortunesthatbefellthemintheirnewhome.Mostsubjectsofconversationbetweenhusbandandwife,particularlytheeducationofthechildren,ledtoquestions that recalled past disputes, and quarrels were ready to break out at every minute. Thereremainedonly rare periods of tenderness that came to themarried couple but did not last long.Thesewereislandsonwhichtheylandedforawhilebutthenagainsailedoffintotheseaofhiddenanimositywhich expressed itself in their alienation from each other. This alienationmight have distressed IvanIlyich if he had thought that it should not be like this, but he now recognized this situation not just asnormalbutastheactualgoalofhisfamilylife.Hisobjectwastofreehimselfmoreandmorefromtheseunpleasantthingsandtogivethemacharacterofinnocuousdecorum;heachieveditbyspendinglessandlesstimewithhisfamilyandwhenhewasforcedtodoit,hetriedtoprotecthissituationbythepresenceofoutsiders.TheimportantthingwasthatIvanIlyichhadhisofficialwork.Forhimalltheinterestoflifewasconcentratedinthatofficialworld,andthisinterestabsorbedhim.Theconsciousnessofhispower,ofhisability tobringdownanyonehechose to,his importance,even inexternalswhenheentered thecourtandatmeetingswithsubordinates,hismasteryofconductingthework—allthismadehimfeelglad,andtogetherwithtalkingtohisfriends,withdinnersandvint,itfilleduphislife.SooverallIvanIlyich’slifecontinuedtogoonashethoughtthatitshould:pleasantlyandwithdecorum.

Sohelivedforanothersevenyears.Hiselderdaughterwasnowsixteen,anotherchildhaddied,and

thereonlyremainedaboyatthegymnasium,asubjectofdissension.IvanIlyichhadwantedtosendhimtolawschoolbuttospitehimPraskovyaFyodorovnahadsenttheboytothegymnasium.Thedaughterwastaughtathomeandhadgrownintoagood-lookinggirl;theboytoowasn’tbadathisstudies.

III

THATWAS IVAN ILYICH’SLIFEFORSEVENTEENYEARSafterhismarriage.Hewasnowaseniorprosecutor,havingrefusedvariouspromotionsintheexpectationofamoredesirableposition,whensomethingveryunpleasanthappenedwhichcompletelydestroyedthetranquilityofhislife.IvanIlyichwasexpectingthepositionofpresidentofthetribunalinauniversitytown,butsomehowHoppeovertookhimandgottheplace. Ivan Ilyich was angry, started to make accusations, and quarreled with him and his closestsuperiors;theycooledtowardshimandpassedhimoverforthenextappointment.

That was in 1880. That year was the hardest in Ivan Ilyich’s life. In that year his salary wasn’tsufficient for living; everyone forgot him, and what appeared to him to be the greatest, the cruelestinjusticetowardhimwasfoundbyotherstobesomethingcompletelyordinary.Evenhisfatherdidn’tseeitashisdutytohelphim.Hefelteveryonehadabandonedhim,consideringhissituationona3,500-rublesalaryquitenormalandevenfortunate.Healoneknewthatwithhisconsciousnessoftheinjusticesdonetohim,hiswife’sconstantnagging,andthedebtshewasbeginningtorun, livingabovehismeans—healoneknewthathissituationwasfarfromnormal.

Inthesummerofthatyear,toeasehisfinanceshetooksomeleaveandwentwithhiswifetospendthesummeratPraskovyaFyodorovna’sbrother’shome.

In the country,without hiswork, Ivan Ilyich for the first time felt not just boredombut unbearabledepression,feltthathecouldnotlivelikethatandthatheabsolutelyhadtotakesomedecisiveaction.

Havingspentasleeplessnightpacingtheterrace,IvanIlyichdecidedtogotoPetersburgtomakeapetitionand,inordertopunishthem,thosewhocouldnotappreciatehim,totransfertoanotherministry.

Thenextday,inspiteofalltheattemptsofhiswifeandbrother-in-lawtodissuadehim,hetraveledtoPetersburg.

Hewentforonething:toobtainafive-thousand-rublesalary.Hewasnolongerholdingoutforanyparticularministryordirectionor typeofwork.He justneededaposition,apositiononfive thousandrubles,ingovernment,inbanking,intherailways,intheEmpressMaria’sFoundations,15evenincustoms,butheabsolutelyhadtohavefivethousandrublesandheabsolutelyhadtoleavetheministrywheretheycouldn’tappreciatehim.

AndnowthistripofIvanIlyich’swascrownedwithamazing,unexpectedsuccess.InKurskhewasjoined in a first-class carriage by F. S. Ilyin, someone he knew, who told him about a telegram thegovernorofKurskhadjustreceivedthatannouncedareorganizationtotakeplaceintheministry:PyotrIvanovich’spositionwasgoingtobetakenbyIvanSemyonovich.

Theplannedupheaval,apart from its significance forRussia,hadaparticular significance for IvanIlyich: by promoting a new face, Pyotr Petrovich, and of course Zakhar Ivanovich, his classmate andfriend,itwashighlypropitiousforhim.

InMoscow the news was confirmed. And when he reached Petersburg, Ivan Ilyich found ZakharIvanovichandgotthepromiseofasureplaceinhisoldministryofjustice.

After aweek he telegraphed hiswife:Zakhar hasMiller’s place stop I receive position at nextreport.

ThankstothischangeofpersonnelIvanIlyichgotthispositioninhisoldministry,whichplacedhimtworanksabovehisoldcolleaguesaswellasasalaryof5,000rublesand3,500forremovalexpenses.

All his anger against his former enemies and the entire ministry was forgotten, and Ivan Ilyich wasaltogetherhappy.

Ivan Ilyich returned to the country more cheerful and content than he had ever been. PraskovyaFyodorovna cheered up too and a truce was established between them. Ivan Ilyich told her how inPetersburgeveryonehad fetedhim,howallhisoldenemieshadbeenshamedandwerenowcrawlingbeforehim,howhewasenviedforhisposition,andespeciallyhowhighlyhewasregardedbyeveryoneinPetersburg.

PraskovyaFyodorovnalistenedtoallthisandappearedtobelieveit,andshedidn’tcontradicthiminanythingbut justmadeplans for theirnew life in thecity towhich theyweremoving.And Ivan Ilyichjoyfully saw that these planswere his plans, that the planswere tallying, and that his lifewhich hadfalteredwasagaintakingonitstrueandnaturalcharacterofcheerfulpleasantnessanddecorum.

Ivan Ilyich had come just for a short time. On September 10 he had to take up the new job andfurthermoreheneededtimetosettleintheirnewhome,tomoveeverythingfromtheprovincialcity,andtobuyandordermanymore things; inaword, tosettleashadbeendecided inhisownmindandalmostexactlyashadbeendecidedinthatofPraskovyaFyodorovna.

Andnow,wheneverythinghadworkedoutsowellandheandhiswifewereagreedabouttheirgoals(andfurthermoreweren’t livingmuch together), theygotonharmoniouslyas theyhadn’tdonesince thefirst years ofmarried life. Ivan Ilyich thought of taking his family awaywith him immediately but theinsistenceofhisbrother-in-lawandhiswife,whohadsuddenlybecomeparticularlyfriendlyandfamilialtowardsIvanIlyichandhisfamily,resultedinIvanIlyichgoingawayalone.

IvanIlyichleft,andthecheerfulstateofmindbroughtaboutbyhissuccessandtheharmonywithhiswife, one reinforcing theother, stayedwithhim thewhole time.Adelightful apartmentwas found, thevery one husband and wife had been dreaming of. High, spacious, old-fashioned reception rooms; acomfortable,imposingstudy;roomsforhiswifeanddaughter;aschoolroomforhisson—everythingasifdevisedpurposelyforthem.IvanIlyichsetaboutarrangingithimself:hechosewallpaper,heboughtmorefurniture (antiques in particular whose style he found particularly comme il faut), he had thingsupholstered,anditallgrewandgrewandapproachedtheidealhehadcomposedforhimself.Evenwhenhehadhalfarrangedthings,hisarrangementsexceededhisexpectation.Heunderstoodthecommeilfautlook,elegantwithoutvulgarity,whicheverythingwouldtakeononceitwasready.Ashewenttosleepheimaginedtohimselfhowthereceptionroomwouldbe.Lookingat thedrawingroom,whichwasn’tyetfinished,hecouldalreadyseethefireplace,thescreen,thewhatnotandthelittlechairsdisposedabouttheroom,theplatesandsaucersonthewalls,andthebronzesallstandingintheirplaces.HewaspleasedbythethoughtthathewouldsurprisePashaandLizanka,hiswifeanddaughter,whoalsohadatasteforthis.Theywerecertainlynotexpecting this.Hewasparticularlysuccessful in findingold thingsandbuyingthemcheaply;theygaveeverythingaparticularlyaristocraticair.Inhislettershedeliberatelydescribedeverything in lessattractive terms than the reality tosurprise them.All thisabsorbedhimsomuch thatevenhisnewjobabsorbedhimlessthanhehadexpected—thoughhelovedhiswork.Duringsittingsofthe court he had moments of absentmindedness; he started thinking about whether the curtain pelmetsshouldbestraightorcurved.Hewassoabsorbedbythisthatheoftendidthingshimself;heevenmovedthe furniture about and rehung thecurtainshimself.Oncehegotupona ladder to showa slow-witteddecoratorhowhewantedthedrapeshung;hemissedhisfootingandfell,butbeingastrongandagilemanheheldhisbalanceandonlyknockedhissideonthehandleofthewindowframe.Thebruisewaspainfulbutsoondisappeared.DuringallthistimeIvanIlyichfeltparticularlywellandcheerful.Hewrote,“IfeelI’mfifteenyearsyounger.”HethoughttheworkwouldbefinishedinSeptemberbutitdraggedontillmid-October.Buttheapartmentwasdelightful—itwasn’tjusthewhosaidthisbuteveryonewhosawitsaidsotohim.

Inactualfactitwasthesameasthehousesofallpeoplewhoarenotsorichbutwanttobelikethe

richandsoareonlylikeoneanother:brocade,ebony,flowers,carpets,andbronzes,everythingdarkandshiny—everythingthatallpeopleofacertaintypedotobelikeallpeopleofacertaintype.Andwhathehadwassolikethatthatonecouldn’tevennoticeit,buttohimitalllookedsomehowspecial.Whenhemet his family at the railway station and took them to his apartment, all finished and lit up, and amanservant inawhite tieopened thedoor into the flower-deckedhall, and theywent into thedrawingroomand study,hewasveryhappy,he took themeverywhere, drank in their praise, andbeamedwithpleasure.Thatevening,whenoverteaPraskovyaFyodorovnaaskedhimamongotherthingshowhehadfallen,helaughedandinfrontofthemshowedhowhehadgoneflyingandfrightenedthedecorator.

“It’sluckyIamagymnast.SomeoneelsemighthavebeenkilledbutIonlyknockedmyselfabithere;whenyoutouchit—ithurts,butit’llpass;it’sjustabruise.”

Andtheystartedtoliveinthenewhomewhich,asalways,oncetheyhadsettledinproperly,turnedouttohaveoneroomtoofew,withthenewincomewhich,asalways,turnedouttobetoolittle(onlynotbyverymuch—fivehundredrubles).Andlifewasverygood.Especiallygoodatfirstwhenallwasnotyet done andmore still had tobedone: things tobebought, ordered,moved, adjusted.Although thereweresomedisagreementsbetweenhusbandandwife,theywerebothsopleasedandtherewassomuchtodothateverythingwasfinishedwithoutseriousquarrels.Whentherewasnothinglefttodo,itbecameabitmoreboringandsomethingseemedlacking,butnowfriendshipsweremadeandhabitsestablishedandlifefilledup.

AfterspendingthemorningincourtIvanIlyichreturnedfordinner,andatfirsthismoodwasgood,althoughitsufferedalittle,specificallybecauseoftheirhome.(Everystainonatableclothorbrocadeorbrokencurtaincordirritatedhim;hehadputsomuchworkintothearrangementthateverydisruptionofitwaspainfultohim.)ButingeneralIvanIlyich’slifewentonjustasinhisviewlifeshouldflow:easily,pleasantly, and decorously. He rose at nine, drank his coffee, read the newspapers, then put on hisuniform16anddrovetothecourt.Theretheharnessinwhichheworkedwasalreadymoldedforhimandhe slipped into it right away: petitioners, chancery inquiries, the chancery itself, public and executivesittingsofthecourt.Inalloftheseonehadtoknowhowtoexcludeanythingrawandvital,whichalwaysdestroystheevenflowofofficialwork:onecouldn’tadmitanyhumanrelationshipsexceptofficialones;theoccasionforarelationshiphadtobesolelyofficialandsohadtherelationshipitself.Forexample,amanwouldcomeinandwanttofindoutsomething.OutsidehisofficialroleIvanIlyichcouldnothaveanyrelationshipwithhim;butifthismanhadarelationshipwithhimasamemberofthecourt—onethatcouldbeexpressedonheadedpaper—thenwithin theboundsof this relationship IvanIlyichwoulddoeverything, absolutely everything he could, and in doing thiswould observe the semblance of friendlyrelations,thatis,courtesy.Assoonastheofficialrelationshipwasended,sowasanyother.ThisabilitytoseparateouttheofficialsidewithoutcombiningitwithhisreallifeIvanIlyichpossessedinthehighestdegree,andbyhistalentsandlongpracticehehaddevelopedittosuchapointthatheevensometimes,likeavirtuoso,wouldallowhimselfasifinjesttocombinepersonalandofficialrelationships.Hewouldallow himself this because he always felt in himself the power to split off the official again whennecessaryandtorejectthepersonal.IvanIlyichhandledthisworkofhisnotjusteasily,agreeably,anddecorouslybutevenwiththemasteryofavirtuoso.Betweencaseshewouldsmoke,drinktea,chatabitaboutpolitics,abitaboutgeneralities,abitaboutcards,andmostofallaboutofficialappointments.Andhewouldreturnhometiredbutwiththefeelingofavirtuosowhohadgivenalucidperformanceofhispart,oneofthefirstviolinsintheorchestra.Athomemotheranddaughterwouldgooutsomewhereorsomeonecametoseethem;hissonwasatthegymnasium,preparinghislessonswithtutorsanddiligentlystudyingthethingstheyteachinagymnasium.Everythingwasgood.Afterdinner,iftherewerenoguests,IvanIlyichwouldsometimesreadabookaboutwhichpeopleweretalkingalot,andintheeveningshewould sit down tohiswork, that is, readhis papers, consult the law, examine testimony, and check itagainstthelaw.Allthishefoundneitherboringnoramusing.Itwasboringifhecouldbeplayingvint;but

if therewas no vint—then all the same this was better than sitting by himself or with his wife. IvanIlyich’spleasureswerelittledinnerstowhichhewouldinviteladiesandgentlemenwhowereimportantintermsofworldlypositionandspendinghistimewiththem:thatwasjustliketheusualwaysuchpeoplespendtheirtime,justashisdrawingroomwaslikealldrawingrooms.

Oncetheyevenhadaneveningparty,withdancing.AndIvanIlyichfeltcheerfulandeverythingwasgood,excepthehadabigquarrelwithhiswifeoverthecakesandsweets:PraskovyaFyodorovnahadherownplan,butIvanIlyichinsistedongettingeverythingfromanexpensiveconfectionerandthequarrelwasbecausetherewerecakesleftoverandtheconfectioner’sbillcametoforty-fiverubles.Thequarrelwas a big and unpleasant one to such a point that Praskovya Fyodorovna called him “an idiot and amisery,”andhetookhisheadinhishandsandinafitof tempersaidsomethingaboutdivorce.But theactual party was enjoyable. The very best society was there and Ivan Ilyich danced with PrincessTrufonova, sister of the famous founder of the Goodbye Sorrow Society. His official pleasures werepleasuresofpride;hissocialpleasureswerepleasuresofvanity;butIvanIlyich’srealpleasureswerethepleasuresofplayingvint.Headmittedthatafterallthevariousunhappyeventsinhislifethepleasurethatburntlikeacandleaboveallotherswastositdownatvintwithgoodplayersandpartnerswhodidn’tshout,definitelyinafour(whenyou’refiveit’sreallyannoyingtohavetostandout,althoughyoupretendyouverymuch like it), and tohavean intelligent, seriousgame(when thecardsare right), and then tohavesupperanddrinkaglassofwine.Aftervint,especiallyafteralittlewin(abigwinwasunpleasant),IvanIlyichwenttobedinanespeciallygoodmood.

That’showtheylived.Theyformedaroundthemagroupofthebestsociety,importantpeoplewenttothemandyoungpeople,too.

Husband,wife,anddaughterwereagreedintheirviewsoftheircircleofacquaintances,andwithoutanyformalunderstandingtheydroppedandwereridofallsortsofshabbylittlefriendsandrelativeswhousedtodropintoseethem,spoutingendearmentsintothedrawingroomwithJapaneseplateshangingonthewall.Soon theseshabby little friendsstoppeddropping inand theGolovinswere leftwith just theverybestsociety.YoungmenpaidcourttoLizankaandPetrishchev,anexaminingmagistrate,thesonofDmitryIvanovichPetrishchev17andsoleheirtohisproperty,begantopaysomuchattentiontoherthatIvanIlyicheventalkedaboutittoPraskovyaFyodorovna.Shouldn’ttheybringthemtogetherinatroikarideororganizesometheatricals?That’showtheylived.Andeverythingwentonlikethat,withoutanychange,andeverythingwasverygood.

IV

THEYWEREALLINGOODHEALTH.ONECOULDN’TCALLpoorhealththefactthatIvanIlyichsometimessaidhehadanoddtasteinhismouthandsomethingfeltuncomfortableontheleftsideofhisstomach.

But it happened that this discomfort started to grow and to become not quite pain but theconsciousnessofaconstantheavinessinhissideaccompaniedbyabadmood.Thisbadmood,whichgotworse and worse, began to spoil the pleasant course of the easy and decorous life that had beenestablishedintheGolovinhouse.Husbandandwifebegantoquarrelmoreandmoreoften,andsoontheease and pleasantness disappeared and only decorum was preserved, with difficulty. Again scenesbecamemorefrequent.Againthereremainedjustsomeislandsofcalm,andonlyafewofthose,onwhichhusbandandwifecouldmeetwithoutanoutburst.

AndPraskovyaFyodorovnanowsaid,notwithoutcause, thatherhusbandhadadifficultcharacter.Withhernaturalhabitofexaggerationshesaidhehadalwayshad thisdreadfulcharacter,and thatoneneededhergoodnaturetostanditfortwentyyears.Itwastruethatthequarrelsnowstartedwithhim.Hisfault-findingalwaysbegan justbeforedinnerandoftenwhenhewas starting toeat,over the soup.Hewouldremarkthatoneofthedisheswasdamaged,orthefoodwasn’tright,orhissonhadhiselbowonthetable,oritwashisdaughter’shairstyle.AndheblamedPraskovyaFyodorovnaforeverything.AtfirstPraskovyaFyodorovna answered back andwas rude to him, but a couple of times at the beginning ofdinnerheflewintosucharagethatsheunderstoodthiswasamorbidconditionbroughtonbytheintakeoffood,soshecontrolledherselfanddidn’tanswerbackbutateherdinnerquickly.PraskovyaFyodorovnaregardedherself-controlasgreatly toherowncredit.Havingdecided thatherhusbandhadadreadfulcharacterandthathehadcreatedtheunhappinessofherlife,shestartedtofeelsorryforherself.Andthemoreshefeltsorryforherself,themoreshehatedherhusband.Shebegantowishthathewoulddie,butshecouldn’twishforthatbecausethentherewouldbenosalary.Andthatirritatedherevenmore.Sheconsideredherselfterriblyunhappypreciselybecauseevenhisdeathcouldnotrescueherandshebecameirritated;sheconcealeditandherconcealedirritationincreasedhisownirritation.

Afteronescene,inwhichIvanIlyichwasparticularlyunfair,andafterwhichinexplaininghimselfhesaidhewasindeedpronetoirritabilitybutthatitcamefromhisillness,shesaidtohimthatifhewasillthenhemustgettreatment,anddemandedfromhimthatheseeafamousdoctor.

Hewent.Everythingwasashehadexpected;everythinghappenedasitalwaysdoes.Thewaitingandthedoctor’sassumedpompousness,somethingfamiliartohimthatheknewfromhimselfincourt,andthetappingandtheauscultationandthequestionsrequiringpredeterminedandclearlyunnecessaryanswers,andthemeaningfulairsuggestingthatyoujustsubmittous,we’llfixeverything—weknow,wehavenodoubts about how to fix everything, in the very same way for any man you choose. Everything waspreciselyasincourt.Justasheincourtputonanairtowardstheaccused,soinpreciselythesamewaythefamousdoctorputonanairtowardshim.

Thedoctorsaid:suchandsuchshowsthatyouhavesuchandsuchinside;butifthatisn’tconfirmedbyexaminingsuchandsuch,thenonemustassumeyouhavesuchandsuch.Ifonedoesassumesuchandsuch,then...andsoforth.OnlyonequestionwasimportanttoIvanIlyich:washisconditiondangerousornot?But the doctor ignored this inappropriate question. From the doctor’s point of view the questionwaspointlessandwasn’ttheoneunderdiscussion;itwasonlyaquestionofassessingvariouspossibilities—afloatingkidney,chroniccatarrh,oraninfectionoftheappendix.Itwasn’taquestionofIvanIlyich’slife

but an argument between a floating kidney and the appendix.Andbefore Ivan Ilyich’s eyes the doctorresolvedtheargumentbrilliantlyinfavorofthefloatingkidney,withthereservationthatanexaminationofhisurinecouldprovidenewevidenceandthenthecasewouldbelookedatagain.Allthiswasveryprecisely what Ivan Ilyich himself had done a thousand times with defendants and as brilliantly. Thedoctordidhissumming-upjustasbrilliantly,triumphantly,evencheerfully,lookingatthedefendantoverhisglasses.Fromthedoctor’ssumming-upIvanIlyichdrewtheconclusionthat thingswerebad, that itdidn’tmattermuchtothedoctororprobablytoanyoneelse,butthatforhimthingswerebad.AndIvanIlyichwaspainfullystruckbythisconclusionthatarousedinhimafeelingofgreatself-pityandofgreatangertowardthisdoctorwhowasindifferenttosuchanimportantquestion.

Buthedidn’tsayanythingandgotup,putthemoneyonthedesk,andsaidwithasigh:“Probablywepatientsoftenputinappropriatequestionstoyou.Ingeneralterms,isthisadangerous

illnessornot?”Thedoctor gavehimone stern look throughhis glasses as if to say:Accused, if youwill not stay

withintheboundariesofthequestionsthatareputtoyou,thenIwillbecompelledtogiveinstructionsforyourremovalfromthecourtroom.

“IhavealreadytoldyouwhatIconsidernecessaryandproper,”saidthedoctor.“Anexaminationwillshowtherest.”Andthedoctorbowed.

IvanIlyichslowlywentout,despondentlygotintothesleigh,andwenthome.Forthewholejourneyheceaselesslywentovereverythingthedoctorhadsaid,tryingtoturnthoseconfused,unclear,scientificwordsintosimplelanguageandtoreadinthemananswertothequestion:AmIinabadway,oraverybadway,oraren’tthingsyetsobad?Andhethoughtthatthesenseofeverythingthedoctorhadsaidwasthathewasinaverybadway.EverythinginthestreetslookedsadtoIvanIlyich.Thecabdriversweresad,thehousesweresad,thepassersby,theshops.Thispain,thisdullnaggingpainthatdidn’tstopforasingle second, combined with the doctor’s unclear pronouncements acquired another more seriousmeaning.IvanIlyichlistenedtohispainwithanewheavyfeeling.

Hearrivedhomeandstarted to tellhiswife.Hiswife listenedbut in themiddleofhisaccounthisdaughtercameinwearingahat:sheandhermotherweregoingout.Shesatdownforamomenttolistentothisboringstuffbutshecouldn’tstanditforlong,andhermotherdidn’tlistentotheend.

“Now I’m very pleased,” his wife said. “Somind you take yourmedicine properly. Giveme theprescription,I’llsendGerasimtothechemist’s.”Andshewenttodress.

Whileshewasintheroomhewasbarelyabletobreatheandhesighedheavilywhenshewentout.“Wellthen,”hesaid.“Perhapsit’snotsobad.”Hebegantotakethemedicinesandtofollowthedoctor’sdirections,whichchangedaftertheurine

examination.Butitwasthecasenowthattherehadbeensomekindofconfusionintheexaminationandinwhatfollowedfromit.Itwasimpossibletogetthroughtothedoctorhimself,butitturnedoutthatwhatwashappeningwasnotwhat thedoctorhad toldhim.Eitherhehad forgottenorhehad liedorhehadconcealedsomethingfromIvanIlyich.

But Ivan Ilyich still started to follow the directions precisely and in doing so at first found somecomfort.

FromthetimehevisitedthedoctorIvanIlyich’schiefoccupationsbecametheprecisefollowingofthe doctor’s directions about hygiene and themonitoring of his pain and all his bodily functions. IvanIlyich’schiefinterestsbecamehumanillnessandhumanhealth.Whenotherstalkedinfrontofhimaboutpeoplewhowereillorhaddiedorhadgottenbetter,andinparticularaboutanyillnessthatresembledhisown,hewouldlisten, tryingtoconcealhisagitation,askquestions,andapplywhatwassaidtohisownillness.

Thepaingotno lessbut Ivan Ilyichmadeaneffort to forcehimself to thinkhewasbetter.Andhecoulddeceivehimselfas longasnothingdisturbedhim.Butassoonas therewassomeunpleasantness

withhiswifeorsomethingwentwrongatworkorhehadbadcardsatvint,heatoncefeltthefullforceofhisillness.InthepasthehadenduredthingsgoingwrongintheexpectationthatI’llsoonputthingsright,I’llovercome,I’llbesuccessful,I’llgetagrandslam.Nowanythingthatwentwrongbroughthimdownandcasthimintodespair.Hewouldsaytohimself,“Iwasjuststartingtogetbetterandthemedicinewasalreadybeginning towork, and along comes this cursed accident or unpleasantness. . . .”Andhewasangrywiththeaccidentorwiththepeoplewhowerecausinghimunpleasantnessesandkillinghim,andhefeltthatthisangerwaskillinghimbuthecouldn’trestrainhimself.Onemighthavethoughtitwouldhavebeen clear to him that this anger against circumstances and people made his illness worse, and thatthereforeheshouldn’tpayanyattentiontounpleasantincidents,buthisreasoningwasquitethereverse:He said he needed calm; hewatched out for anything thatmight breach that calm and at the smallestbreach he got angry. His conditionwasmadeworse by the fact that he consultedmedical books anddoctors.Hisdeteriorationprogressedsoevenly thatcomparingonedaywithanotherhecoulddeceivehimself—therewaslittledifference.Butwhenheconsulteddoctors,hethoughthewasgettingworseandthatveryquickly.Andinspiteofthatheconstantlyconsulteddoctors.

Thatmonthhewentseeanothercelebritydoctor;thisothercelebritydoctorsaidalmostthesameasthefirstbutputthequestionsdifferently.AndconsultingthiscelebritydoctoronlydeepenedIvanIlyich’sdoubtandterror.Afriendofafriend—averygooddoctor—diagnosedhisillnessquitedifferently,andinspiteofpromisingrecovery,hisquestionsandassumptionsconfusedIvanIlyichevenmoreandincreasedhisdoubts.Ahomeopathdiagnosedhisillnessagainquitedifferentlyandgavehimsomemedicine,andIvanIlyichtookitinsecretfromeveryoneforaboutaweek.Butafteraweek,feelingnoreliefandhavinglost confidence both in the previous treatments and in this one, he fell into greater despair. On oneoccasionaladyheknewwastalkingaboutthehealingpowersoficons.IvanIlyichfoundhimselflisteningcarefullyandbelievingtherealityofthis.Thisincidentfrightenedhim.“HaveIreallybecomesofeeble-minded?” he said to himself. “What rubbish! It’s all nonsense. I mustn’t give in to hypochondria, buthavingchosenonedoctorImustfirmlysticktohistreatment.That’swhatI’lldo.Nowit’ssettled.I’mnotgoingtothinkandI’mgoingtofollowthetreatmentstrictlytillthesummer.Thenthere’llbesomethingtoshow.Let’snowhaveanendtoall thiswavering!”Itwaseasytosaythatbut impossible toput it intoaction.Thepaininhissideworehimdown;itseemedtokeepgettingworse;itbecameconstant;thetasteinhismouthbecamestronger;hethoughtadisgustingsmellwascomingfromhismouth;andhisappetiteand strength were going. He couldn’t deceive himself: something terrible, new, and important washappeninginhim,somethingmoreimportantthananythingthathadhappenedtoIvanIlyichinhislife.Andonlyheknewaboutthis;all thosearoundhimeitherdidn’tunderstandordidn’twanttounderstandandthoughtthateverythingintheworldwasgoingonasbefore.ThatwaswhattormentedIvanIlyichmostofall.Hecouldseethathishousehold—chieflyhiswifeanddaughterwhowereinthefullswingofvisitsandparties—understoodnothing, and theywerevexed that hewas sogloomyanddemanding, as if hewereguiltyinthat.Althoughtheytriedtoconcealit,hesawthathewasaburdentothem,butthathiswifehadevolvedaparticularattitudetohisillnessandadheredtothatirrespectiveofwhathesaidanddid.Herattitudewaslikethis:

“Youknow,” shewould say to friends, “Ivan Ilyichcan’t strictly followaprescribed treatment, asmostgoodpeoplecan.Todayhe’lltakehisdropsandeatwhathe’sbeentoldtoandgotobedingoodtime,buttomorrowifIdon’tlookproperly,he’llsuddenlyforgettotakethemandeatoysters(whichareforbiddenhim)andsitdowntovinttilloneinthemorning.”

“WhendidIdothat?”IvanIlyichwouldsaycrossly.“OnceatPyotrIvanovich’s.”“YesterdaywithShebek.”“Ijustcouldn’tsleepfromthepain...”“Well,whateveritwasfrom,likethatyouwon’tgetbetterandyoumakeusmiserable.”PraskovyaFyodorovna’spublicattitudetoherhusband’sillness,whichsheexpressedtoothersandto

him,wasthatthisillnesswasIvanIlyich’sownfaultandthatthewholeillnesswasanewunpleasantnesshewasbringingdownonhiswife.IvanIlyichfeltthatthiscameoutinherinvoluntarily,butthatdidn’tmakeitanyeasierforhim.

IncourtIvanIlyichnoticedorthoughthenoticedthesamestrangeattitudetohim:nowhewouldthinkthatpeoplewerescrutinizinghimlikeamanwhosepositionwassoongoingtobevacant;nowallofasuddenhis friendswouldstart to joke inanamicablewayabouthishypochondria,as if this thing, thisawful, terrible, unheard-of thing that had grown in him and was ceaselessly gnawing at him andirrepressibly dragging him somewhere, were themost pleasant subject for a joke. Hewas especiallyirritatedbySchwarzwithhisplayfulnessandenergyandcommeilfautways,allofwhichremindedIvanIlyichofhimselftenyearsback.

Friendscametomakeupagame;theysatdown.Theydealt,bendingthenewcards;heputdiamondsnext to diamonds, seven of them.His partner bid no trumps—and held two diamonds.What could bebetter? Things were cheerful and bright—they had a grand slam. And suddenly Ivan Ilyich felt thatgnawingpain,thattasteinthemouth,andthereseemedtohimtobesomethingabsurdinthefactthathecouldrejoiceinagrandslam.

HelookedatMikhailMikhaylovich,hispartner,rappinghispowerfulhandonthetableandpolitelyandcondescendingly refrainingfromscoopingup the tricksbutpushing thecards toward IvanIlyich togivehimthepleasureofpickingthemupwithoutstraininghimselfandstretchingouthisarm.“DoeshethinkI’msoweakIcan’tstretchoutmyarm?”IvanIlyichthought.Heforgotabouttrumpsandtrumpedhispartner,losingthegrandslambythreetricks—andwhatwasreallydreadfulwasthathesawhowMikhailMikhaylovichwassuffering,buthedidn’tcare.Anditwasdreadfultothinkjustwhyhedidn’tcare.

Theyallsawhewasfeelingbadandsaidtohim,“Wecanstopifyouaretired.Youmustrest.”Rest?No,hewasn’ttiredatall,andtheyfinishedtherubber.Theywereallgloomyandsilent.IvanIlyichfelthehadbroughtdownthisgloomuponthemandhecouldn’tdispelit.Theyhadsupperandwenttheirways,and Ivan Ilyichwas left alonewith theknowledge that his lifehadbeenpoisoned forhim, that itwaspoisoningthelivesofothers,andthatthispoisonwasn’tlosingitspowerbutwaspenetratinghiswholebeingmoreandmore.

Andwiththisknowledge,withthephysicalpain,andwiththeterror,hehadtogetintobedandoftenbeunabletosleepfromthepainthegreaterpartofthenight.Andthenextmorninghehadtogetupagain,dress,go tocourt, talk,write,or ifhedidn’tgo tocourthehad tostayathomewith those twenty-fourhoursoftheday,eachoneofwhichwasatorment.Andhehadtolivelikethatonthebrinkoftheabyss,allalone,withoutasinglepersonwhocouldunderstandandtakepityonhim.

V

AMONTHWENTBYLIKETHATANDTHENANOTHER.Beforethenewyearhisbrother-in-lawcametothecityandstayedwiththem.IvanIlyichwasincourt.PraskovyaFyodorovnahadgoneoutshopping.WhenIvanIlyich went into his study he found his brother-in-law, a healthy, full-blooded fellow, unpacking hissuitcasehimself.HeraisedhisheadwhenheheardIvanIlyich’sfootstepsandlookedathimforasecondinsilence.ThatlookrevealedeverythingtoIvanIlyich.Hisbrother-in-lawopenedhismouthtosay“oh”andstoppedhimself.Thatmovementconfirmedeverything.

“So,I’vechanged,haven’tI?”“Yes...thereisachange.”And however much afterwards Ivan Ilyich turned the conversation with his brother-in-law to his

appearance,hisbrother-in-lawsaidnothing.PraskovyaFyodorovnaarrived,hisbrother-in-lawwentouttoher.IvanIlyichlockedhisdoorandstartedtoexaminehimself in themirror—face-on, thenfromtheside.Hetookupaphotographofhimselfwithhiswifeandcomparedtheimagewiththeonehesawinthemirror. The changewas huge. Then he bared his arms to the elbow, looked, rolled his sleeves downagain,andsatonanottoman,andhismoodbecamedarkerthannight.

“Youmustn’t,youmustn’t,”hesaidtohimself;hejumpedup,wenttothedesk,openedacasefile,andbegantoreadit,buthecouldn’t.Heunlockedthedoorandwentintothesalon.Thedrawing-roomdoorwasshut.Hetiptoedtoitandbegantolisten.

“No,you’reexaggerating,”saidPraskovyaFyodorovna.“Exaggerating?Youdon’tsee—he’sadeadman,lookathiseyes.There’snolightinthem.What’sthe

matterwithhim?”“Nobody knows. Nikolayev [that was the second doctor] said something, but I don’t know what.

Leshchetitsky[thatwasthecelebrateddoctor]saidtheopposite...”IvanIlyichmovedaway,wenttohisroom,laydown,andstartedtothink:Akidney,afloatingkidney.

Herememberedeverythingthedoctorhadtoldhim—howithadbecomedetachedandwasfloating.Andwithaneffortoftheimaginationhetriedtounderstandhiskidneyandtohaltitandstrengthenit;solittlewasneededfor that,hethought.No, I’llgoagain toPyotr Ivanovich. (Thatwas thefriendwhohadafriendwhowasadoctor.)Herang,gaveordersforthehorsetobeharnessed,andgotreadytoleave.

“Whereareyouoffto,Jean?”18hiswifesaid,usingaparticularlysadandunusuallykindexpression.Thisunusualkindnessangeredhim.Helookedathermorosely.“IhavetogotoPyotrIvanovich.”Hewent to his friendwho had a friendwhowas a doctor.He found him at home and had a long

conversationwithhim.Whenheconsideredboth theanatomicalandphysiologicaldetailsofwhat, in thedoctor’sopinion,

hadbeenhappeninginsidehim,heunderstoodeverything.Therewas something, a little something in the appendix.All thatmight be put right. Stimulate the

activityofoneorgan,weaken theactivityofanother; the somethingwouldbeabsorbedandeverythingwouldbeputright.Hegotbackalittlelatefordinner,talkedcheerfullyforabit,butforalongtimehecouldn’tgotohisroomtowork.Finallyhewentintohisstudyandatoncesatdowntowork.Hereadhiscases and worked, but the consciousness that he had set something aside—an important and intimate

matterwhichhewould takeuponcehisworkwasover—didnot leavehim.Whenhehadfinishedhiscases,herememberedthatthisintimatematterwashisthinkingabouthisappendix.Buthedidn’tindulgeit; he went to the drawing room for tea. There were guests, including the examining magistrate, hisdaughter’s intended; they talked and played the piano and sang. Ivan Ilyich spent the evening, asPraskovya Fyodorovna noticed,more cheerfully than he had spent others, but he didn’t forget for oneminute that he had set aside some important thinking about his appendix. At eleven o’clock he saidgoodnightandwent tohisroom.Sincehehadbecomeillheslept ina littleroomnext tohisstudy.Hewentin,undressed,andpickedupanovelofZola’s,whichhedidn’tread.Hebeganthinkinginstead.Thedesiredcureof theappendix tookplace inhis imagination.Matterwasabsorbed,matterwasexpelled,andnormalactivitywasrestored.“Yes,that’showitallis,”hesaidtohimself.“Onlynatureneedsalittlehelp.”Herememberedhismedicine,satup, took it,watchingfor thebeneficialeffectsof themedicineand the removalof thepain. “Just take it regularly andavoidunhealthy influences; I already feel abitbetter,muchbetter.”Hestartedtofeelhisside—itwasn’tpainfultothetouch.“Yes,Ican’tfeelit;I’mreallymuchbetternow.”Heputoutthecandleandlayonhisside.“Theappendixisgettingbetter;thingsare being absorbed.” Suddenly he felt the familiar old dull nagging pain, the persistent, quiet, seriouspain.Thefamiliarnastinessinhismouth.Hisheartbegantopump,hisheadturned.“MyGod,myGod!”hesaid.“It’shereagain, it’shereagainand it’snevergoing tostop.”Andsuddenlyhiscasepresenteditselftohimfromadifferentperspective.“Appendix!Kidney!”hesaidtohimself.“It’snotacaseoftheappendixorofthekidney,butoflife. . .anddeath.Yes,Ihadlifeandnowit’spassing,passing,andIcan’tholditback.That’sit.Whydeceiveoneself?Isn’titobvioustoeveryonebutmyselfthatIamdying,and it’s only a question of the number ofweeks, days—maybe now.Therewas light and now there’sdarkness.IwasherebutnowI’mgoingthere!Where?”Achillcameoverhim,hisbreathingstopped.Hecouldonlyhearthebeatingofhisheart.

“Iwon’texist,sowhatwillexist?Nothingwillexist.SowherewillIbewhenIdon’texist?Isthisreallydeath?No,Idon’twantit.”Hegotupquickly,triedtolightacandle,gropedwithshakinghands,droppedthecandleandcandlestickonthefloor,andslumpedbackagainontothepillow.“Why?Nothingmatters,”hesaidtohimself, lookingintothedarknesswithopeneyes.“Death.Yes,death.Andnoneofthemknowsand theydon’twant toknowand theyhavenopity forme.They’reenjoying themselves.”Outsidethedoorhecouldhearthedistantnoiseofmusicandsinging.“Theydon’tcarebuttheytoowilldie.Fools.It’llcometomefirst, tothemlater; theytoowillhavethesame.Butthey’rehavingfun, thebeasts!”Angerchokedhim.Andhefeltpainful,unbearablemisery.“Itcannotbethatwe’realldoomedtothisterriblefear.”Heraisedhimself.

“Something’snotright;Imustcalmdown,Imustthinkovereverythingfromtheoutset.”Andhebegantothink.“Yes,thestartofmyillness.Iknockedmyside,andIstayedjustthesamethatdayandthenext;itachedabit, thenmore, then thedoctors, thendepression,despair, thedoctors again; and Ikeptgettingnearerandnearertotheabyss.Lessstrength.Nearerandnearer.AndnowI’vewastedaway,there’snolightinmyeyes.Anddeath,andIthinkaboutmyappendix.Ithinkofhowtomendmyappendix,butthisisdeath. Is it really death?” Again horror came over him; he bent down, tried to find thematches, andbangedhiselbowonthenighttable.Itgotinhiswayandhurthim;hegotangrywithit;inhisirritationhebangedhiselbowharderandknocked thenighttableover.And inhisdespairhe fellback,gasping forbreath,expectingdeathtocomenow.

Nowtheguestswereleaving.PraskovyaFyodorovnawasseeingthemout.Sheheardsomethingfallandcamein.

“What’sthematterwithyou?”“Nothing.Iknockeditoverbymistake.”Shewentoutandbroughtbackacandle.Helaybreathingheavilyandveryfast,likeamanwhohas

runamile,lookingatherwithmotionlesseyes.

“What’sthematterwithyou,Jean?”“Nothing.I...knocked...it...over.”(WhatshouldIsay?Shewon’tunderstand,hethought.)Indeedshedidn’t.Shepickedthetableup,litacandleforhim,andquicklywentout;shehadtoseea

guestout.Whenshereturned,hewaslyinginthesameposition,onhisback,lookingup.“Howareyoufeeling?Isitworse?”“Yes,itis.”Sheshookherheadandsatdown.“Youknow,Jean,Iamwonderingwhetherweshouldn’taskLeshchetitskytothehouse.”Thatmeantasking thecelebrateddoctor regardlessofcost.Hesmiledvenomouslyandsaid,“No.”

Shesatforawhile,thenwentovertohimandkissedhimontheforehead.Whenshekissedhimhehatedherwithallhismightandmadeaneffortnottopushheraway.“Goodnight.WithGod’shelpyou’llgotosleep.”“Yes.”

VI

IVANILYICHSAWTHATHEWASDYINGANDWASINCONstantdespair.Ivan Ilyich knew in the very depths of his soul that he was dying but not only could he not get

accustomedtothis,hesimplydidn’tunderstandit;hejustcouldn’tunderstandit.AllhislifetheexampleofasyllogismhehadstudiedinKiesewetter’s19logic—“Caiusisaman,men

aremortal,thereforeCaiusismortal”—hadseemedtohimtobetrueonlyinrelationtoCaiusbutinnowaytohimself.TherewasCaiustheman,maningeneral,anditwasquitejustified,buthewasn’tCaiusandhewasn’tmaningeneral,andhehadalwaysbeensomethingquite,quitespecialapartfromallotherbeings;hewasVanya,20withMama,withPapa,withMityaandVolodya,withhistoysandthecoachman,withNyanya,thenwithKatenka,withallthejoys,sorrows,passionsofchildhood,boyhood,youth.DidCaiusknowthesmellofthestripedleatherballVanyalovedsomuch?DidCaiuskisshismother’shandlikethatanddidthesilkenfoldsofCaius’smother’sdressrustlelikethatforhim?WasCaiusinlovelikethat?CouldCaiuschairasessionlikethat?

AndCaiusisindeedmortalandit’srightthatheshoulddie,butforme,Vanya,IvanIlyich,withallmyfeelingsandthoughts—formeit’squitedifferent.AnditcannotbethatIshoulddie.Itwouldbetoohorrible.

That’swhathefelt.“IfIhadtodielikeCaius,thenIwouldknowit,aninnervoicewouldbetellingme,butnothinglike

thathappenedinme,andIandallmyfriends—weunderstoodthatthingsweren’tatalllikewithCaius.Butnowthere’sthis!”hesaidtohimself.“Itcan’tbe.Itcan’tbe,butitis.Howhasthishappened?Howcanoneunderstandit?”

And he couldn’t understand it and tried to banish this thought as false, inaccurate,morbid, and toreplaceitwithother trueandhealthythoughts.But this thought,andnot just the thoughtbutrealityas itwerecameandstoppedinfrontofhim.

Andintheplaceofthisthoughthecalledupothersinturninthehopeoffindingsupportinthem.Hetriedtoreturntohispreviouswaysofthought,whichhadconcealedthethoughtofdeathfromhim.But—strangely—everythingwhichpreviouslyhadconcealedandcoveredupandobliteratedtheawarenessofdeathnowcouldnolongerproducethisresult.IvanIlyichnowspentmostofhistimeattemptingtorestorehispreviouswaysoffeelingthathadconcealeddeath.Nowhewouldsaytohimself,“I’lltakeupsomework,that’swhatIliveby.”Andhewenttocourt,banishingallhisdoubts;hetalkedtofriendsandsatdown,absentmindedlylookingoverthecrowdofpeoplewithapensivelookasheusedtoandsupportingbothwastedhandsonthearmsofhisoakchair;leaningovertowardafriendasusual,movingthepapersof a case, whispering together, and then suddenly raising his eyes and sitting up straight, he wouldpronouncetheparticularwordsandopenthecase.Butsuddenlyinthemiddleofit,thepaininhisside,ignoringthestagesofthecase’sdevelopment,beganitsowngnawingwork.IvanIlyichlistenedandtriednot to think about it, but it kept on. It came and stood right in front of him and looked at him, and hebecamepetrified;thefireinhiseyesdieddown,andheagainbegantoaskhimself,“Isitalonethetruth?”Andhisfriendsandstaffsawwithsurpriseanddismaythathe,suchabrilliant,subtlejudge,wasgettingconfusedandmakingmistakes.Hewouldgivehimself a shake,makeaneffort to recoverhimself, andsomehoworotherbringthesessiontoanend,andhewouldreturnhomewiththedepressingawareness

thathisworkasajudgecouldn’thidefromhimasitusedtowhathewantedittohide;thatwithhisworkasajudgehecouldn’tberidofIt.AndwhatwasworstofallwasthatItwasdistractinghimnottomakehimdoanythingbutonlyforhimtolookatIt,rightintheeye,lookatitandwithoutdoinganythingendureinexpressiblesufferings.

Andtorescuehimselffromthiscondition,IvanIlyichlookedforrelief—fornewscreens—andnewscreensappearedandforashorttimeseemedtoofferhimsalvation,butverysoontheyagainnotsomuchcollapsedasletthelightthrough,asifItpenetratedeverythingandnothingcouldhideit.

Latterlyhewouldgointothedrawingroomhehadarranged—thedrawingroomwherehehadfallen—howvenomouslycomicitwastothinkofit—forthearrangementofwhichhehadsacrificedhislife,forheknewthathisillnesshadstartedwiththatinjury;hewouldgoinandseethatsomethinghadmadeascratchonapolishedtable.Hewouldlookforthecauseandfinditinthebronzeornamentofanalbumthat had become bent at the edge. He would pick up the album, an expensive one he had lovinglycompiled, and be cross at the carelessness of his daughter and her friends—thingswere torn and thephotographsbent.Hewouldcarefullysetthingstorightsandbendthedecorationbackagain.

He thenwouldhave the thoughtofmoving thiswholeéstablissement21ofalbumsover intoanothercornerbytheflowers.Hewouldcallthemanservant;eitherhisdaughterorhiswifewouldcometohishelp; theywoulddisagree,contradicthim;hewouldargue,getangry,buteverythingwouldbeall rightbecausehedidn’trememberIt,couldn’tseeIt.

Andthenhiswifewouldsaywhenhehimselfwasmovingsomething,“Lettheservantsdoit,you’llhurt yourself again,” and suddenly Itwould flash through the screens; hewould see It flash just for amoment,andhestillwouldhopeItwoulddisappear,butwithoutwantingtohewouldpayattentiontohisside—thesamethingwouldstillbesittingthere,stillaching,andhecouldn’tforget it,andItwouldbelookingathimquietopenlyfrombehindtheflowers.Why?

It’s true, itwashereon these curtains that I lostmy life as if in anassault.Did I really?Howterribleandhowstupid!Itcan’tbeso!Itcan’tbe,butitis.

Hewouldgointohisstudy,liedown,andbeleftalonewithIt.Face-to-facewithIt,butnothingtobedonewithIt.JustlookatItandturncold.

VII

HOWITHAPPENEDINTHETHIRDMONTHOFIVANILYich’sillnessisimpossibletosaybecauseithappenedstepbystep,imperceptibly,butitdidhappenthathiswifeandhisdaughterandhissonandtheservantsandhis friends and the doctors and, above all, he himself knew that all interest others had in him laysolelyinwhetherhewouldsoon,atlast,vacatehisplace,freethelivingfromtheconstraintbroughtaboutbyhispresence,andbeliberatedhimselffromhissufferings.

Hesleptlessandless;theygavehimopiumandstartedtoinjectmorphine.Butthatgavehimnorelief.Thedullpangshefeltinhishalf-somnolentstateatfirstgavehimreliefasbeingsomethingnew,butthentheybecameasagonizingasoutrightpainorevenmoreso.

They prepared special food to the doctors’ prescriptions, but this food he found more and moretasteless,moreandmoredisgusting.

Special contrivances had to bemade for excretion, and every time thiswas a torment for him.Atorment because of the uncleanliness, the loss of decorum, and the odor, from the consciousness thatanotherpersonhadtotakepartinthis.

ButsomecomfortforIvanIlyichdidcomeoutofthisunpleasantbusiness.Gerasim,themanservant,alwayscametotakethingsoutforhim.

Gerasimwasaclean,freshyoungpeasantwhohadfilledoutoncityfood.Hewasalwayscheerfuland sunny. At first Ivan Ilyich was embarrassed by seeing this man, always dressed in his clean,traditionalclothes,havingtodothisrepulsivejob.

Oncegettingupfromthepanandlackingthestrengthtopulluphistrousers,hecollapsedintoaneasychairandlookedwithhorrorathisfeeblebarethighswiththeirsharplydefinedmuscles.

Gerasimcameinwithfirm,lightstepsinhisheavyboots,givingoffapleasantsmelloftarfromthebootsandoffreshwinterair;hehadonacleanhessianapronandacleancottonshirt,thesleevesrolledup over his strong, young, bare arms;without looking at Ivan Ilyich, hewent to the vessel, obviouslymaskingthejoyinlivingshiningoutfromhisfacesoasnottohurtthesickman.

“Gerasim,”IvanIlyichsaidweakly.Gerasim started, obviously scared he hadmade somemistake, andwith a quickmovement turned

towardthesickmanhisfresh,kind,simple,youngface,whichwasjustbeginningtogrowabeard.“Doyouneedsomething,sir?”“Ithinkthismustbeunpleasantforyou.Youmustforgiveme.Ican’tmanage.”“No,sir.”Gerasim’seyeswereshiningandheshowedhisyoungwhiteteeth.“What’salittletrouble?

You’vegotanillness.”Andwith strong, dexterous hands he did his usual job andwent out, treading lightly. And in five

minutes,treadingjustaslightly,hecameback.IvanIlyichwasstillsittingtherelikethatinthearmchair.“Gerasim,”hesaidwhenGerasimhadputdowntheclean,rinsedvessel,“please,comehereandhelp

me.”Gerasimcame.“Liftmeup.It’sdifficultbymyselfandI’vesentDmitryaway.”Gerasimcameovertohim;heputhisstrongarmsaroundhimand,gentlyanddeftly,thesamewayhe

walked,liftedandsupportedhim;hepulleduphistrouserswithonehandandwasgoingtosithimdown.ButIvanIlyichaskedGerasimtotakehimtothesofa.Effortlesslyandwithnexttonopressure,Gerasimledhim,almostcarryinghim,tothesofaandsathimdown.

“Thankyou.Howeasily,howwell...youdoeverything.”Gerasimagainsmiledandwasabouttogoout.ButIvanIlyichfeltsogoodwithhimaroundthathe

didn’twanttolethimgo.“Now.Pleasemovethischairovertome.No,thatone,underneathmylegs.Ifeelbetterwhenmylegs

arehigher.”Gerasimbrought thechair,placed itwithoutmakinganynoise, lowering it inonemovement to the

floor,and lifted Ivan Ilyich’s legsonto thechair; Ivan Ilyich thoughthe feltbetter themomentGerasimraiseduphislegs.

“Ifeelbetterwhenmylegsarehigher,”IvanIlyichsaid.“Putthatcushionunderme.”Gerasimdidthat.Againheliftedhislegsupandputthecushionintoposition.AgainIvanIlyichfelt

betterwhenGerasimheldhislegsup.Whenheloweredthem,hethoughthefeltworse.“Gerasim,”hesaidtohim,“areyoubusynow?”“Nosir,notatall,”saidGerasim,whohadlearnedfromthetownsfolkhowtotalktothegentry.“Whatdoyoustillhavetodo?”“Whatistheretodo?I’vedoneeverything;I’vejustgottochopthewoodfortomorrow.”“Soholdmylegsupabithigher,canyoudothat?”“Of course I can.” Gerasim lifted up his legs and Ivan Ilyich thought that in this position he felt

absolutelynopain.“Butwhataboutthewood?”“Don’tworry,sir.We’llmanage.”IvanIlyichtoldGerasimtositdownandholduphislegs,andhetalkedtohim.And—strangetosay—

hethoughthefeltbetterwhileGerasimhelduphislegs.FromthatdayIvanIlyichstartedsometimestocallGerasimintohimandmadehimholduphislegs

on his shoulders, and he liked to talk to him. Gerasim did this easily, willingly, simply, and with agoodnessofheartthattouchedIvanIlyich.InallotherpeopleIvanIlyichwasoffendedbyhealth,strength,highspirits;onlyGerasim’sstrengthandhighspiritsdidn’tdepressbutcalmedIvanIlyich.

IvanIlyich’schieftormentwasthelie—thatlie,forsomereasonrecognizedbyeveryone,thathewasonlyillbutnotdying,andthatheonlyneededrestandtreatmentandthentherewouldbesomeverygoodoutcome. But he knew that whatever they did, there would be no outcome except even more painfulsuffering and death. And he was tormented by this lie; he was tormented by their unwillingness toacknowledgewhateveryoneknewandheknew,bytheirwantingtolietohimabouthisterriblesituation,by theirwantinghimtoandmakinghimtakepart in that liehimself.The lie, this liebeingperpetratedabovehimon theeveofhisdeath, the liewhichcouldonlybringdown this terrible solemnactofhisdeathtothelevelofalltheirvisitsandcurtainsandsturgeonfordinner...washorriblypainfulforIvanIlyich.And, strangely,many timeswhen theywereperforming their tricks abovehim,hewaswithin ahair’sbreadthofcryingouttothem,“Stoplying;youknowandIknowthatIamdying;soat leaststoplying.”Butheneverhad the strength todo it.The terrible, horrific act ofhisdying,he saw,hadbeenbrought down by all those surrounding him to the level of a casual unpleasantness, some breach ofdecorum(asone treatsamanwho,enteringadrawingroom,emitsabadsmell);broughtdownby thatvery“decorum”hehadservedhiswholelife,hesawthatnoonehadpityforhimbecausenooneevenwantedtounderstandhissituation.OnlyGerasimunderstoodhissituationandfeltpityforhim.AndsoIvan Ilyich only felt comfortable with Gerasim. He felt comfortable when Gerasim held up his legs,sometimesforwholenightswithoutabreak,andwouldn’tgoofftobed,saying,“Please,sir,don’tworry,Ivan Ilyich, I’ll still get plenty of sleep”; orwhen hewould suddenly add, going over to the familiar“thou,” “You’re sick, sowhy shouldn’t I do something foryou?”Gerasimwas theonlyonenot to lie;everythingshowedhewastheonlyonewhounderstoodwhatthematterwasanddidn’tthinkitnecessarytohideit,andsimplyfeltpityforhiswasted,feeblemaster.HeevenoncesaiddirectlywhenIvanIlyich

wasdismissinghim:“We’llalldie.Sowhynottakealittletrouble?”Hesaidthis,conveyingbyitthathewasn’tbothered

bytheworkpreciselybecausehewasdoingitforadyingmanandhopedthatinhistimesomeonewoulddothisworkforhim.

Apartfromthislie,orasaconsequenceofit,whatwasmostpainfulforIvanIlyichwasthatnoonehadpityonhimashewantedthemtohavepity;atsomemomentsafterprolongedsufferingsIvanIlyichwantedmostofall,howevermuchhefeltashamedtoadmitit,forsomeonetohavepityonhimlikeasickchild.Hewantedthemtocaresshim,tokisshim,tocryoverhimasonecaressesandcomfortschildren.He knew he was an important legal official, that he had a graying beard and that therefore this wasimpossible,buthestillwantedit.AndinhisrelationswithGerasimtherewassomethingcloseto that,andthereforehisrelationswithGerasimcomfortedhim.IvanIlyichwouldwanttocry,wouldwantthemtocaresshimandcryoverhim;theninwouldcomehisfriend,thelawyerShebek,andinsteadofcryingandcaressesIvanIlyichwouldassumeaserious,stern,pensiveexpressionandoutofinertiawouldgivehis opinion on themeaning of a verdict of the court of appeal and stubbornly insist on it.This lie allaroundhimandinsidehimmorethananythingpoisonedthelastdaysofIvanIlyich’slife.

VIII

ITWASMORNING.ITWASMORNINGONLYBECAUSEGERasimhadgoneoutandPyotrthemanservantcamein,putoutthecandles,openedonecurtain,andstartedquietlytotidyup.Whetheritwasmorningorevening,FridayorSunday,was immaterial, itwasalloneandthesame: thegnawing,agonizingpain thatdidn’tabateforamoment;theconsciousnessoflifedepartingwithouthopebutstillnotyetdeparted;thesameterrible, hateful death advancing,whichwas theonly reality, and always the same lie.Whatdiddays,weeks,andtimesofdaymatterhere?

“Wouldyoulikesometea?”Hehastohaveorder;mastersshoulddrinkteainthemornings,hethoughtandonlysaid:“No.”“Wouldyouliketomovetothesofa?”Hehastotidythechamber,andI’mintheway;Iamdirt,disorder,hethoughtandonlysaid:“No,leavemebe.”Themanservantdidsomemorethings.IvanIlyichstretchedouthishand.Pyotrcameuptoserve.“Whatdoyouwant?”“Mywatch.”Pyotrgotthewatch,whichwaslyingrightthere,andhandedittohim.“Halfpasteight.Havetheygotup?”“No, sir. Vasily Ivanovich”—that was his son—“has gone to the gymnasium, but Praskovya

Fyodorovnagaveorderstowakeherifyouaskedforher.ShallI?”“No,don’t.”ShallItrysometea?hethought.“Yes,tea...bringit.”Pyotrwenttothedoor.IvanIlyichfeltterrifiedofbeingleftalone.HowcanIdetainhim?Yes,my

medicine.“Pyotr,givememymedicine.”Whynot,maybethemedicinewillstillhelp.Hetookthespoonanddrank.No,itwon’thelp.It’sallnonsenseandasham,hedecidedassoonashesensedthefamiliarsickly,hopelesstaste.No,Ican’tbelieveinitanymore.Butthepain,whythepain,ifitwouldjustgodownevenforaminute.Andhegroaned.Pyotrturnedroundagain.“No,goaway.Bringmesometea.”

Pyotrwentout.Leftalone,IvanIlyichgroanednotsomuchfromthepain,howeverfrightfulitwas,asfromanguish. “Always the same, always theseendlessdaysandnights. Ifonly it couldbe soon.Whatcouldbesoon?Death,darkness.No,no.Anythingisbetterthandeath!”

WhenPyotrcameinwiththeteaonatray,IvanIlyichlookeddistractedlyathimforalongtime,nottakinginwhoandwhathewas.Pyotrwasembarrassedbythisstare.AndwhenPyotrwasembarrassed,IvanIlyichcametohimself.

“Yes,”hesaid,“tea...good,putitdown.Onlyhelpmewashandgivemeacleanshirt.”And Ivan Ilyich began towash. Stopping to rest, hewashed his hands, his face, cleaned his teeth,

begantobrushhishair,andlookedinthemirror.Hefeltfrightened,especiallyfrightenedbythewayhishairstuckflattohisforehead.

Whenhisshirtwasbeingchanged,heknewthathewouldbeevenmorefrightenedifhelookedathisbody, and sohedidn’t look at himself.But now itwas all done.Heput on adressinggown, coveredhimselfwithablanket,andsatinanarmchairtohavehistea.Foroneminutehefeltrefreshed,butassoonashebegantodrinkthetea,againthesametaste,thesamepain.Withanefforthefinishedtheteaandlaydown,stretchingouthislegs.HelaydownandsentPyotraway.

Alwaysthesame.There’dbeasmallflashofhope, thenaseaofdespairwouldsurge,andalwayspain, always pain, always despair, and always the same. It was horribly depressing being alone; hewantedtoaskforsomeonebutheknewinadvancethatwithothersthereitwouldbeevenworse.“IfonlyIcouldhavemorphineagain—andloseconsciousness.I’lltellhim,thedoctor,tothinkofsomethingelse.Likethisit’simpossible,impossible.”

Anhour,acoupleofhourswouldgobylikethat.Butnowthere’sabell in thehall.Maybeit’s thedoctor.Itis;it’sthedoctor,fresh,bright,plump,cheerful,hisexpressionsaying,“You’vegottenfrightenedof something there but now we’ll fix all that for you.” The doctor knows that this expression isn’tappropriatehere,buthehasassumeditonceandforallandhecan’ttakeitoff,likeamanwhohasputonatailcoatinthemorningandispayingvisits.

Thedoctorrubshishandsbrisklyandreassuringly.“I’mcold.There’sacrackingfrost.Letmewarmmyselfup,”hesays,hisexpressionbeingasifone

justhadtowaitalittleforhimtowarmhimself,andwhenhehad,thenhewouldseteverythingtorights.“So,howarewe?”IvanIlyichfeelsthedoctorwantstosay,“Howarethings?”butfeelsonecan’ttalklikethat,andhe

says,“Howdidyouspendthenight?”Ivan Ilyich looksat thedoctor,hisexpressionasking,“Willyou reallyneverbeashamedof telling

lies?”Butthedoctordoesn’twanttounderstandthequestion.AndIvanIlyichsays:“Justasdreadfully.Thepainisn’tgoing,itisn’tgoingaway.IfIcouldjusthavesomething!”“Yes, you patients are always like that.Well, sir, now I’ve warmed up, even our very particular

Praskovya Fyodorovnawouldn’t have anything to say againstmy temperature. So, sir, goodmorning.”Andthedoctorshakeshishand.

And, dropping all his earlier playfulness, the doctor begins to examine the patient with a seriousexpression,takespulseandtemperature,andthenbeginthetappingsandauscultations.

IvanIlyichknowsfirmlyandwithoutanydoubtthatallthisisnonsense,anemptyfraud,butwhenthedoctoronhiskneesstretchesoverhim,applyinghisearfirsthigher,thenlower,andperformsoverhimvariousgymnasticexercises,IvanIlyichsuccumbstoallthisasheusedtosuccumbtolawyers’speecheswhenheknewverywellthattheywerelyingandwhytheywerelying.

Thedoctor,kneelingonthesofa,wasstilltappingsomethingwhentherewasarustlingatthedoorofPraskovyaFyodorovna’ssilkdress,andtheycouldhearherscoldingPyotrfornot informingherof thedoctor’sarrival.

Shecomesin,kissesherhusband,andatoncestartstomakeitclearthatshehasgotuplongagoandthatit’sbecauseofamisunderstandingthatshewasn’ttherewhenthedoctorcame.

IvanIlyichlooksather,examinesherclosely,andholdsagainstherthewhitenessandplumpnessandcleanlinessofherarmsandneck,theglossofherhairandtheshineofhereyesthataresofulloflife.Hehatesherwithhiswholesoul.Andhertouchmakeshimsufferfromasurgeofhatredtowardsher.

Herattitudetohimandtohisillnessisalwaysthesame.Justasthedoctorhasdevelopedforhimselfan attitude towardhis patientswhichhehasn’t been able to put aside, sohas shedeveloped a simpleattitude towardshim—he isn’tdoing somethinghe shouldbedoing, and it’shis fault, and she lovinglyscoldshimforthis—andshehasn’tyetmanagedtoputthisattitudetowardhimaside.

“He justdoesn’t listen.Hedoesn’t takehismedicinewhenheshould.Andaboveall—he lies inapositionthathastobebadforhim—withhislegsup.”

ShedescribedhowhemakesGerasimholdhislegs.Thedoctorsmiledasmileofamiablescorn,asifsaying,“Whatcanonedo?Sometimesthesepatients

dreamupsuchsillythings;butonecanforgivethem.”When the examination was over the doctor looked at his watch, and then Praskovya Fyodorovna

announcedtoIvanIlyichthatwhateverhemightwant,todayshehadaskedinafamousdoctorandheandMikhailDanilovich(thatwastheusualdoctor’sname)wouldexaminehimtogetheranddiscussthecase.

“Sopleasedon’tgoagainstthis.I’mdoingthisformyself,”shesaidironically,lettinghimunderstandthatshedideverythingforhimand justbyhersaying thishewasgivennoright to refuseher.Hesaidnothingandfrowned.Hefeltthattheliessurroundinghimhadbecomesotangledthatitwasdifficultnowtoseeanythingclearly.

Everythingshedidforhimshedidonlyforherself,andshetoldhimso,asifthatwassomethingsounlikelythathehadtounderstanditintheoppositesense.

Indeed the famous doctor did arrive at half past eleven. Again there started the auscultations andseriousconversations,bothinfrontofIvanIlyichandinanotherroom,abouthiskidneyandappendix,andquestionsandanswersdeliveredwithsuchaseriousairthatagain,insteadoftherealquestionaboutlifeanddeathwhichnowwastheonlyonethatconfrontedhim,therecameaquestionabouthiskidneyandappendix,whichweredoingsomethingnotquiteastheyshouldbeandwhichMikhailDanilovichandthecelebritydoctorwouldgettogripswithrightawayandmakethemcorrectthemselves.

Thefamousdoctorsaidhisgoodbyeswithaseriousexpression,butone thathadn’tgivenuphope.And to the timidquestionIvanIlyichput tohim, raisingeyes thatwereshiningwith fearandhope—isthere any possibility of recovery?—he answered that though one couldn’t guarantee it, there was apossibility.ThelookofhopewithwhichIvanIlyichsaidgoodbyetothedoctorwassopitifulthat,whenshesawit,PraskovyaFyodorovnaburstintotearsasshewentthroughthestudydoorstogivethefamousdoctorhisfee.

Theriseinhisspiritsbroughtaboutbythedoctor’sencouragementdidn’tlastlong.Againitwasthesameroom,thesamepictures,curtains,wallpaper,medicinebottles,andhissamehurting,sufferingbody.AndIvanIlyichstartedtogroan;theygavehimaninjectionandhelostconsciousness.

Whenhecameto, itwasbeginningtogetdark; theybrought inhisdinner.Withsomeefforthetooksomebroth;andagainallthosesamethingsandagainnightwascomingon.

Afterdinneratseveno’clockPraskovyaFyodorovnacameintohisroomdressedforaneveningout,herbreastslargeandliftedandtracesofpowderonherface.Thatmorningshehadremindedhimthattheywere going to the theater. Sarah Bernhardt22 was visiting and they had a box which Ivan Ilyich hadinsistedtheytake.Nowhehadforgottenthat,andherclothesoutragedhim.Butheconcealedhisoutragewhenherememberedthathehimselfhadinsistedtheygetaboxandgobecauseitwasaculturaltreatfortheirchildren.

PraskovyaFyodorovnacame inpleasedwithherselfbut alsowith akindofguilty feeling.She satdown,askedabouthishealth—ashecouldsee,justforthesakeofaskingratherthantolearn,knowingthattherewasnothingtolearn—andbegantosaywhatsheneededto:thatshewouldn’thavegoneoutforanythingbuttheboxwastakenandHélènewasgoingandtheirdaughterandPetrishchev(theexaminingmagistrate,theirdaughter’sfiancé),anditwasimpossibletoletthemgoalone.Butitwouldbesomuchmoreagreeableforhertositwithhim.Hemustjustdowhatthedoctorhadorderedwithouther.

“Yes,andFyodorPetrovich23—thefiancé—wantedtocomein.Canhe?Liza,too.”“Letthemcomein.”Hisdaughtercameinalldressedupwithheryoungbodybared,thatbodywhichmadehimsufferso.

Butshewasflauntingit.Strong,healthy,clearlyinloveandangryattheillness,suffering,anddeaththatstoodinthewayofherhappiness.

FyodorPetrovichcametoo,inatailcoat,hishaircurledàlaCapoul,24hislongsinewyneckencasedin a white collar, with a huge white shirtfront and with powerful thighs squeezed into narrow blacktrousers,withonewhiteglovepulledontohishandandanoperahat.

After him the schoolboy crept in inconspicuously in a new school uniform, poor fellow, wearing

whiteglovesandwithterribledarkpatchesunderhiseyes,themeaningofwhichIvanIlyichknew.Hissonalwaysmadehimfeelsorryforhim.Andthelookhegavehimwasterrible,fullofsympathy

andfear.ApartfromGerasim,onlyVasyaunderstoodhimandfeltpityforhim,soIvanIlyichthought.Theyallsatdown,askedagainabouthishealth.Asilencefell.Lizaaskedhermotherabouttheopera

glasses.Thereensuedanargumentbetweenmotheranddaughteraboutwhohadput themwhere. It feltunpleasant.

Fyodor Petrovich asked Ivan Ilyich if he had seen Sarah Bernhardt. At first Ivan Ilyich didn’tunderstandwhathewasbeingaskedandthensaid:

“No,buthaveyou?”“Yes,inAdrienneLecouvreur.”25Praskovya Fyodorovna said that she was particularly good in something or other. Their daughter

disagreed.Therebeganaconversationabout theeleganceand realismofheracting—thatconversationwhichisalwaysexactlythesame.

In themiddleof theconversationFyodorPetrovich lookedat IvanIlyichandfellsilent.Theotherslookedandfellsilent.IvanIlyichlookedstraightaheadwithshiningeyes,clearlybecomingangrywiththem.Thishadtobeputright,butitwasquiteimpossibletoputright.Somehowthissilencehadtobebroken.Noone had the resolve, and they all became frightened that somehow the decorous liewouldcollapseandthetruestateofthingswouldbecomeobvioustoall.Lizawasthefirsttotaketheresolve.Shebrokethesilence.Shewantedtohidewhattheywereallfeeling,butshesaiditwrong.

“So,ifwearegoingtogo,it’stime,”shesaid,lookingatherwatch,apresentfromherfather,andshegaveabarelyperceptiblesmiletotheyoungman,whichmeantsomethingknowntothemalone,andgotup,herdressrustling.

Theyallgotup,saidgoodbye,andwentoff.Whentheyhadgoneout,IvanIlyichthoughthefeltbetter:theliewasn’tthere—ithadgoneoutwith

them—butthepainremained.Thesameconstantpain,thesameconstantfearmadenothingmoredifficult,nothingeasier.Everythingwasworse.

Againminutefollowedminute,hourfollowedhour;itwasalwaysthesameandtherewasstillnoendandtheinevitableendbecamemoreterrifying.

“Yes,sendmeGerasim,”hesaidinreplytoaquestionPyotrasked.

IX

HISWIFECAMEBACKLATEATNIGHT.SHEWALKEDONtiptoebutheheardher;heopenedhiseyesandquicklyshutthemagain.ShewantedtosendGerasimawayandsitwithhimherself.Heopenedhiseyesandsaid:

“No.Goaway.”“Areyouinalotofpain?”“Itdoesn’tmatter.”“Takesomeopium.”Heagreedanddrank.Shewentout.Tillthreeo’clockhewasinatormentedstupor.Hethoughtthatinsomewaytheywerepushinghim

andhispainintoanarrow,deep,blacksack;theykeptpushingfurtherbuttheycouldn’tpushthemrightin.Andthisterriblebusinessforhimwascrownedbyhissuffering.Andhewasbothstrugglingandwantingtodroprightdown,bothfightingagainstitandassisting.Andsuddenlyhewasfreeandfellandcameto.ThesameGerasimwasstillsittingonthebedathisfeet,dozingquietly,patiently.AndIvanIlyichwaslyingthere,havingliftedhisemaciatedlegsintheirsocksontoGerasim’sshoulders;therewasthesamecandlewithitsshadeandthesameunceasingpain.

“Go,Gerasim,”hewhispered.“Itdoesn’tmatter,sir,I’llsitabitlonger.”“No,go.”Heremovedhislegsandlayonhissideontopofhisarm,andhebegantofeelsorryforhimself.He

waitedforGerasimtogooutintothenextroomandhecouldn’tcontrolhimselfanymore,andheburstintotearslikeachild.Heweptforhishelplessness,forhishorribleloneliness,forpeople’scruelty,forGod’scruelty,forGod’sabsence.

“Why have you done all this?Why have you brought me here?Why, why do you torment me sohorribly?”

Hedidn’texpectananswer,buthealsoweptbecausetherewasn’tandcouldn’tbeananswer.Thepainincreasedagainbuthedidn’tmoveorcallanyone.Hesaidtohimself,“More,goon,beatme!Butwhy?WhathaveIdonetoyou,why?”

Thenhecalmeddown;henotonlystoppedweeping,hestoppedbreathingandbecameallattention,asifhewerelisteningnottoavoicespeakinginsoundsbuttothevoiceofhissoul,tothetrainofthoughtsrisingwithinhim.

“What do youwant?”was the first clear idea capable of being expressed inwords that he heard.“What do youwant?What do youwant?” he repeated to himself. “What?Not to suffer. To live,” heanswered.

Andagainhebecameabsorbedwithsuchintenseattentionthateventhepaindidnotdistracthim.“Tolive?Tolivehow?”askedthevoiceofhissoul.“Yes,tolive,asIlivedbefore:wellandpleasantly.”“Asyoulivedbefore,well,pleasantly?”askedthevoice.Andhebegantogooverinhisimagination

thebestmomentsofhispleasant life.But—strange to relate—all thesebestmomentsofapleasant lifenowseemedquitedifferentfromwhattheyhadseemedthen.Allofthem—exceptforhisfirstmemoriesofchildhood.Thereinchildhoodwassomethingsotrulypleasantwithwhichhecouldlive, if itreturned.But the personwho had experienced those pleasant things no longer existed: itwas like amemory of

somethingelse.AssoonastheprocessbeganwhichhadresultedinIvanIlyich,themanoftoday,allthethingswhich

hadseemedjoysmeltedawaybeforehiseyesandwerechangedintosomethingworthlessandoftenvile.Andthefurtherfromchildhood, thenearer to thepresent, themoreworthlessanddubiouswere the

joys.Thatbeganwithlawschool.Therewasstillsomethingtheretrulygood:therewasgaiety,therewasfriendship, therewerehopes.But in theseniorclasses thesegoodmomentswerealreadylessfrequent.Afterthat,atthetimeofhisfirstperiodofservicewiththegovernor,againgoodmomentsappeared:therewerememoriesofloveforawoman.Afterthatallthisbecameconfusedandtherewasevenlessofwhatwasgood.Furtherontherewasstilllessgood,andthefurtherhewentthelesstherewas.

Marriage...socasuallyentered,anddisillusionment,andthesmellthatcamefromhiswife’smouth,andsensuality,hypocrisy!Andthatdeadlyworkofhisandthoseworriesaboutmoney,andonforayear,andtwo,andten,andtwenty—andalwaysthesame.Andthefurtherhewent,themoredeadlyitbecame.“AsifIwerewalkingdownhillataregularpace,imaginingIwaswalkinguphill.That’showitwas.IntheeyesoftheworldIwaswalkinguphill,andtojustthatextentlifewasslippingawayfromunderme...Andnowit’stime,todie!

“Sowhat is this?Why? It can’tbe. It can’tbe that lifewas someaninglessandvile.But if itwasindeedsomeaninglessandvile,thenwhydieanddiesuffering?Somethingiswrong.

“Maybe Ihave livednotas I shouldhave”—the thought suddenlycame intohishead.“ButhowsowhenIdideverythingintheproperway?”hesaidtohimself,andimmediatelyrejectedthissolutionofthewholeriddleoflifeassomethingwhollyimpossible.

“Whatdoyouwantnow?Tolive?Tolivehow?Toliveasyoulivedincourtwhenthecourtofficerpronounces, ‘The court is opening!’ The court is opening, opening, the court,” he repeated to himself.“Here’s the court!But I’m not guilty!” he shouted angrily. “Forwhat?”And he stoppedweeping and,turninghisfacetothewall,hebegantothinkofjusttheonething:whyallthishorror,forwhat?

Buthowevermuchhethought,hefoundnoanswer.Andwhentherecametohimthethought,asitoftendid,thatallthiswashappeningbecausehehadlivedwrongly,heatoncerememberedallthecorrectnessofhislifeandrejectedthisstrangethought.

X

TWOMOREWEEKSWENTBY.IVANILYICHDIDN’TGETupfromthesofaanymore.Hedidn’twanttolieinbedand instead layon the sofa.And, lyingalmostall the timewithhis face to thewall,he suffered inhislonelinessall thosesameinsolublesufferingsand inhis loneliness thought thesameinsoluble thoughts.Whatisthis?Isitreallytruethatthisisdeath?Andavoicewithinanswered:Yes,it’strue.Whythesetorments?Andthevoiceanswered:That’sthewayitis;thereisnowhy.Apartfromthattherewasnothingmore.

Fromtheverystartofhisillness,whenIvanIlyichwenttothedoctorforthefirsttime,hislifewasdividedintotwodiametricallyopposedmoods,whichalternatedwitheachother:ontheonehanddespairand the expectation of an incomprehensible and horrible death, on the other hope and the absorbedobservationoftheactivityofhisbody.Nowhehadbeforehiseyesjustakidneyorappendixwhichforatimehaddeviatedfromtheperformanceofitsduties;nowtherewasjustincomprehensible,horribledeathfromwhichitwasimpossibletoescapeinanyway.

Fromtheverybeginningofhisillnessthesetwomoodsalternatedwitheachother;butthemoretheillnessprogressed, themore fantastic andquestionablebecame thoughtsabouthiskidneyand themorerealtheconsciousnessofapproachingdeath.

He only had to remember what he had been three months previously and what he was now—torememberhowhehadbeenwalkingdownhillataregularpace—forallpossibilityofhopetocrumble.

In the recent loneliness in which he found himself, lying with his face to the back of the sofa,loneliness in themidst of a crowded city and his numerous acquaintances and family—loneliness thatcouldnotbemoreabsoluteanywhere,eitheratthebottomoftheseaorunderneaththeearth—inhisrecentterriblelonelinessIvanIlyichlivedonlybyhisimaginationinthepast.Oneafteranotherpicturesofhispast presented themselves to him. It always beganwith the closest in time andwent back to themostremote,tohischildhood,andrestedthere.IfIvanIlyichthoughtofthestewedpruneshewasofferedtoeatnow,he remembered themoist,wrinkledFrenchprunesofhis childhood, their particular taste and theflowofsalivawhenhegottothestone,andalongsidethismemoryoftastetherearoseawholerowofmemoriesofthattime:hisnyanya,hisbrother,histoys.“Youmustn’tthinkofthat....It’stoopainful,”IvanIlyichsaidtohimself,andwasagaintransportedintothepresent.Abuttononthebackofthesofaandthecreasesinitsmoroccoleather.“Moroccoisexpensiveandwearsbadly;therewasaquarrelbecauseof it.But itwasdifferent leather andadifferent rowwhenwe rippedour father’sbriefcaseandwerepunished, butMama brought us some pies.” And again he stopped in his childhood and again it waspainfulforIvanIlyich,andhetriedtopushitawayandthinkofsomethingelse.

Andhereagain,togetherwiththistrainofmemories,anothertrainofmemorieswentthroughhismind—ofhowhisillnesshadintensifiedandgrown.Itwasthesame;thefurtherbackhewent,themorelifetherewas. Therewasmore good in life andmore of life itself. And the twomerged together.Asmytormentskeptgettingworseandworse,sothewholeoflifebecameworseandworse,hethought.Onebright spot, there, at the start of his life, and after that everything blacker and blacker, and everythingquickerandquicker.Ininverseratiotothesquareofthedistancefromdeath,thoughtIvanIlyich.Andanimageofastoneflyingdownwardwithincreasingspeedbecamefixedinhismind.Life,asequenceofincreasingsufferings,fliesquickerandquickertotheend,tothemostterriblesufferingofall.Iamflying...Heshivered,moved,triedtoresist,buthenowknewthatresistancewasimpossible,andagain,with

eyesthatweretiredoflookingbutwhichcouldn’thelplookingatwhatwasinfrontofhim,hegazedatthebackofthesofaandwaited—waitedforthatterriblefall,thecrash,andannihilation.“Ican’tresist,”hesaidtohimself.“ButifIcouldjustunderstandwhy.ThattooIcan’t.ImightbeabletoexplainitifIsaidIhadlivednotasIshouldhave.Butit’simpossibletoadmitthat,”hesaidtohimself,rememberingallthelawfulness, thecorrectness,andthedecorumofhis life.“It’s impossible toadmit thatnow,”hesaid tohimself,grimacingwithhislips,asifanyonecouldseethissmileofhisandbedeceivedbyit.“There’snoexplanation!Torment,death....Why?”

XI

TWOWEEKSWENTBYLIKETHAT.INTHOSEWEEKSANeventtookplacethathadbeendesiredbyIvanIlyichandhiswife:Petrishchevmadeaformalproposal. Ithappened in theevening.ThenextdayPraskovyaFyodorovnawentintoherhusband,wonderinghowtoannounceFyodorPetrovich’sproposaltohim,butthatverynightIvanIlyichhadtakenaturnfortheworse.PraskovyaFyodorovnafoundhimonthesamesofa,butinanewposition.Hewaslyingonhisback,groaningandlookingaheadwithafixedgaze.

Shestartedtalkingaboutmedicines.Heturnedhiseyestoher.Shedidn’tfinishwhatshehadbeguntosay;therewassomuchangerexpressedinthoseeyes,aimeddirectlyather.

“ForChrist’ssake,letmedieinpeace,”hesaid.Shewasabouttogo,butatthatmomenthisdaughtercameinandwentuptosaygoodmorning.He

lookedathisdaughterashehadathiswifeandtoherquestionsabouthishealthhedrilysaidtoherthathewouldsoonliberatethemallfromhimself.Theybothsaidnothing,satbriefly,andwentout.

“Whatcanwebeblamedfor?”Lizasaidtohermother.“Asifwe’ddonethis!I’msorryforPapa,butwhymusthetormentus?”

Thedoctorcameattheusualtime.IvanIlyichansweredhim“yes,no,”nottakinghisangryeyesfromhim,andfinallysaid:

“Youknowthatyouwon’tbeofanyhelp,soleaveme.”“Wecanrelievethesuffering,”thedoctorsaid.“Youcan’tdothateither;leaveme.”ThedoctorwentoutintothedrawingroomandinformedPraskovyaFyodorovnathatthingswerevery

badandthattherewasonlyoneresource—opium,torelievethesuffering,whichmustbeterrible.ThedoctorsaidthatIvanIlyich’sphysicalsufferingswereterrible,andthatwastrue;butevenmore

terriblethanhisphysicalsufferingswerehismentalsufferings,andtherewashischieftorment.Hismental sufferings lay in the fact that thatnight, ashe lookedatGerasim’s sleepy,good-natured

facewithitshighcheekbones,theresuddenlyhadenteredhisheadthethought:Butwhatifinactualfactallmylife,myconsciouslife,hasbeen“wrong”?

Itoccurredtohimthatthenotionthathadpreviouslyseemedtohimacompleteimpossibility—thathehad not lived his life as he should have done—could be the truth. It occurred to him that his barelynoticeableattemptsatstrugglingagainstwhatwasconsideredgoodbythoseinhighpositionsabovehim,those barely noticeable attemptswhich he had immediately rejected, could be genuine, and everythingelsewrong.Hisworkandthestructureofhislifeandhisfamilyandhissocialandprofessionalinterests—allthatcouldbewrong.Hetriedtodefendallthattohimself.Andsuddenlyhefeltthefragilityofwhathewasdefending.Andtherewasnothingtodefend.

“But if this is so,” he said to himself, “and I am leaving lifewith the realization that I have losteverythingIwasgivenandthatit’simpossibletoputright,thenwhat?”Helayonhisbackandstartedtogo over his whole life afresh. When in the morning he saw the manservant, then his wife, then hisdaughter,thenthedoctor—everyoneoftheirmovements,everyoneoftheirwordsconfirmedforhimtheterribletruththathadbeendisclosedtohiminthenight.Hesawinthemhimself,everythingbywhichhehadlived,andsawclearlythatallthiswaswrong,allthiswasaterrible,hugefraudconcealingbothlifeanddeath.This realization increased, increased tenfoldhisphysical sufferings.Hegroanedand tossedaboutandpulledattheclothesonhim.Hefeltsuffocatedandcrushed.Andhehatedthemforthat.

Theygavehimabigdoseofopium;helostconsciousness,butatdinnertimethesamebeganagain.Hedrovethemallawayfromhimandtossedaboutfromsidetoside.

Hiswifecametohimandsaid:“Jean,mydear,dothisforme.Itcan’tdoanyharm,butitoftenhelps.So,it’snothing.Andpeoplein

goodhealthoften...”Heopenedhiseyeswide.“What?Takecommunion?Why?There’snoneedto!Butthen...”Shestartedcrying.“Yes,mydear?I’llcallforourman,he’ssosweet.”“Fine,verywell,”hesaid.Whenthepriestcameandtookhisconfession,hewascalmed;hefeltakindofrelieffromhisdoubts

and,asaconsequenceofthat,fromhissufferings,andamomentofhopecametohim.Heagainbegantothinkofhisappendixandthepossibilityofcuringit.Hereceivedcommunionwithtearsinhiseyes.

When, after communion, he was put to bed, for a moment he felt comfortable and hope for lifeappearedagain.Hebegantothinkoftheoperationbeingsuggestedtohim.“Tolive,Iwanttolive,”hesaid tohimself.Hiswifecametocongratulatehimon takingcommunion;shesaid theusualwordsandadded:

“Youfeelbetter,don’tyou?”Withoutlookingatherhesaid,“Yes.”Herclothes,herbody,theexpressionofherface,thesoundofhervoice—everythingsaidtohimone

thing:“Wrong.Everythingbywhichyouhave livedandare living isa lie,a fraud,concealing lifeanddeathfromyou.”Andassoonashethoughtthat,hatredroseupinhim,andtogetherwithhatredagonizingphysicalsuffering,andwiththosesufferingsanawarenessoftheend,nearbyandunavoidable.Somethingnewhappened:hisbreathstartedtostrainandcomeinspurtsandbesqueezedout.

Hisexpressionwhenhesaid“yes”wasterrible.Havingsaidthatyes,helookedherstraightintheeyeandwithunusualstrengthforhisweaknessturnedhimselffacedownandcried:

“Goaway,goaway,leaveme!”

XII

FROMTHATMINUTEBEGANTHREEDAYSOFUNCEASINGscreamsthatweresohorribleonecouldn’thearthemfromtwodoorsawaywithoutfeelinghorror.Theminuteheansweredhiswife,heunderstoodthathewaslost,thattherewasnoreturn,thattheendhadcome,theveryend,butthedoubtstillwasn’tresolved;itstillremaineddoubt.

“Oh!Oh!Oh!”hecriedoutinvarioustones.Hebegantocryout,“Idon’twantto,no!”andwentonlikethatcryingouttheletterO.26

Forthewholethreedays,duringwhichtimedidnotexistforhim,hetossedaboutintheblacksackintowhichhewasbeingpushedbyaninvisible,insurmountableforce.Hestruggledasamancondemnedtodeathstrugglesinthearmsoftheexecutioner,knowinghecannotsavehimself;andwitheveryminutehefeltthatforallhiseffortsatstrugglinghewascomingnearerandnearertowhatfilledhimwithhorror.Hefeltthathisagonylaybothinbeingpushedintothatblackholeandevenmoreinbeingunabletogetinto it. He was prevented from climbing in by his declaration that his life had been good. Thisjustificationofhislifecaughtonsomethingandstoppedhimfromgoingforward,andthatdistressedhimmostofall.

Suddenlysomekindofforcestruckhiminthechestandontheside;hisbreathwasconstrictedevenmore; he collapsed into the hole and there at the bottom of the hole some light was showing. Therehappenedtohimwhatheusedtoexperienceinarailwaycarriagewhenyouthinkyouaregoingforwardbutaregoingbackwardandsuddenlyrealizeyourtruedirection.

“Yes,everythingwaswrong,”hesaidtohimself,“butitdoesn’tmatter.Ican,Icandowhatisright.Butwhatisright?”heaskedhimself,andatoncefellsilent.

Itwastheendofthethirdday,anhourbeforehisdeath.Atthatverymomentthegymnasiumschoolboyquietly slipped into his father’s room and approached his bed. The dying man was still crying outdespairinglyandwavinghisarmsabout.Oneofhishandshittheschoolboy’shead.Theschoolboytookit,pressedittohislips,andwept.

AtthatverymomentIvanIlyichfellthroughandsawalight,anditwasrevealedtohimthathislifehadbeenwrongbutthatitwasstillpossibletomendthings.Heaskedhimself,“Whatisright?”andfellsilent,listening.Nowhefeltsomeonewaskissinghishand.Heopenedhiseyesandlookedathisson.Hefeltsorryforhim.Hiswifecametohim.Helookedather.Shelookedathim,mouthopenandtearsonhernoseandcheeksthatshehadn’twipedaway.Hefeltsorryforher.

“Yes,Imakethemunhappy,”he thought.“Theyaresorryforme,but it’llbebetterfor themwhenIdie.”Hewantedtosaythatbutdidn’thavethestrengthtoutterit.“However,whysaythings?Onemustact,”hethought.Withalooktohiswifehepointedtohissonandsaid:

“Takehimaway...sorryforhim...andforyou...”Hewantedtoadd“forgive”butsaid“give,”andnothavingthestrengthtocorrecthimself,wavedhishand,knowingthatHewhoneededtounderstandwouldunderstand.

Andsuddenlyitbecamecleartohimthatwhathadbeenoppressinghimandnotcomingtoanend—noweverythingwascomingtoanendatonce,ontwosides,ontensides,oneveryside.Hewassorryforthem,hemustmakeitsotheyhadnopain.Freethemandfreehimselffromthesesufferings.“Sogoodandsosimple,”hethought.“Andthepain?”heaskedhimself.“Where’sitgone?Well,whereareyou,pain?”

Hebegantolisten.“Thereitis.So—letthepainbe.Anddeath?Whereisit?”Hesearchedforhisoldhabitualfearofdeathanddidn’tfindit.Wherewasdeath?Whatdeath?There

wasnofear,becausetherewasnodeath.Insteadofdeaththerewaslight.“Sothat’sit!”hesuddenlysaidaloud.“Suchjoy!”Forhimallthistookplaceinamoment,andthesignificanceofthismomentdidn’tchange.Forthose

there his death agony lasted two hours more. Something bubbled in his chest; his emaciated bodyshivered.Thenthegurglingandwheezingbecamelessandlessfrequent.

“Itisfinished!”someonesaidabovehim.Heheardthesewordsandrepeatedtheminhisheart.“Deathisfinished,”hesaidtohimself.“Itisno

more.”Hebreathedin,stoppedhalfway,stretchedhimself,anddied.

NOTES

1 thecity:inearlierdraftsthecitywasidentifiedasMoscow.

2 requiemservice:panikhida inRussian.Thefull requirementsof theRussianOrthodoxChurchareforapanikhida tobeheldon thedayofdeathand thenon the third,ninth,and fortiethdaysafterdeath.Thisonewaspresumablyonthethirdday.

3 vint:aRussiancardgamesimilartowhistandbridge.

4 PrivyCouncillor:taynysovetnik,thethirdintheciviliansectionoftheTableofRanksthatgovernedRussianofficiallife.

5 lephénixdelafamille:“thestar(phoenix)ofthefamily”(French).

6 Sharmer’s:afashionableSt.Petersburgtailor.

7 respicefinem:“looktowardthegoal”(Latin).

8 Donon’s:Donon,oneofSt.Peterburg’sbetterrestaurants,ontheMoykaCanal,stillintheBaedekerin1914.

9 bonenfant:“aniceboy,oneofthelads”(French).

10 ilfautquejeunessesepasse:“youthmusthaveitsfling”(French).

11 commeilfaut:“proper,gentlemanly”(French).

12 thestatutesof1864:thejudicialreformAlexanderIIinstitutedin1864introducedacompletelynewcourtsystemandaneworderoflegalproceedings.

13 fifthgrade:governmentservicesectoroftheTableofRanks.AsanexaminingmagistrateIvanIlyichwouldhavehadthetitleofstatecouncillor.

14 degaietédecoeur:“outofsheercaprice”(French).

15 Empress Maria’s Foundations: the charitable institutions founded by the Empress MariaAlexandrovna(1824–80),wifeofTsarAlexanderII.

16 uniform:likeallotherstateservantsinimperialRussia,judgesworeuniforms.

17 Petrishchev: the son would therefore be Dmitriyevich. Tolstoy slips up; he later becomesFyodorovich;seen.23.

18 Jean:theFrenchequivalentofIvanorJohnasusedbythecommeilfaut.

19 Kiesewetter: Johann Kiesewetter (1766–1819), German philosopher. His textbook on logic,GrundrissEinerReinenAllgemeinenEinerLogick,waspublishedin1791.

20 Vanya:adiminutiveofIvanbywhichhewouldhavebeenknownasachildandtohisfamily.

21 établissement:“arrangement”(French).

22 SarahBernhardt:(1844–1923),world-famousFrenchstage(andearlyscreen)actressandcelebritywhotouredallofEuropeandtheAmericas.ShevisitedRussiain1881.

23 FyodorPetrovich:seen.17.

24 àlaCapoul:inthestyleofVictorCapoul,aFrenchoperatictenorknownforhislooksaswellashisvoice.

25 Adrienne Lecouvreur: a French tragic drama (1849) by Eugàne Scribe (1791–1861) and ErnestLegouvé(1807–1903).Itisbasedonthelifeoftheeighteenth-centuryFrenchactressofthatname.

26 O:infact,inRussian,U,thefinalletterof“Nekhochu”—“Idon’twantto.”

Confession

(IntroductiontoanUnpublishedWork)

I

I WAS CHRISTENED AND BROUGHT UP IN THE ORTHODOX Christian faith. I was instructed in it from mychildhoodandduringthewholetimeofmyboyhoodandyouth.Butwhen,attheageofeighteen,Ileftthesecondyear’scourseofuniversity,1InolongerbelievedanythingthatIhadbeentaught.

Judgingbysomeofmymemories,Ineverseriouslybelievedbutjust trustedwhatIhadbeentaughtandwhatadultsprofessedinfrontofme;butthistrustwasveryshaky.

IrememberthatwhenIwaseleven,aboynowlongdead,VolodinkaM.,apupilat thegymnasium,who came to our house on a Sunday, revealed to us as the very latest thing a discoverymade at thegymnasium.ThediscoverywasthatthereisnoGodandthateverythingwehadbeentaughtwasjustlies(thiswasin1838).Iremembermyelderbrothers2wereinterestedinthispieceofnewsandincludedmein thediscussion. I remember thatweall got very excited and saw this information as somethingveryinterestingandcompletelypossible.

IalsorememberthatwhenhewasattheuniversitymyelderbrotherDmitrysuddenlytookupthefaithwith thepassioncharacteristicofhisnatureandstarted togo toall thechurchservicesand to fastandlead a pure andmoral life, then all of us, even our elders, kept laughing at him and for some reasonnicknamedhimNoah.IrememberMusin-Pushkin,3whowasthenwardenofKazanUniversity,invitingusto go and dance at his house; he laughingly persuadedmy reluctant brother by saying that evenDaviddancedbeforetheark.IsharedthenthejokingattitudeofoureldersandfromitIreachedtheconclusionthatoneshouldlearnthecatechismandgotochurch,butnottakeanyofthattooseriously.IremembertoothatIreadVoltaire4ataveryyoungageandthathiswitticismsnotonlydidn’tshockmebutamusedmegreatly.

My lossof faithhappened inmeas ithappened thenanddoesnowamongpeoplewithourkindofupbringing.In themajorityofcasesI think ithappens like this:people liveasallotherpeopledo,andtheyallliveonthebasisofprincipleswhichnotonlyhavenothingincommonwithChristianteachingbutalso for themostpartare inopposition to it;Christian teachingplaysnopart in life;onenevercomesacrossitinone’srelationswithothersandoneneverhastodealwithitinone’sownlife;thisChristianteachingisprofessedsomewhereout there, farfromlifeandindependentlyof it. Ifyoucomeacross it,thenitissomeexternalphenomenonthathasnoconnectionwithlife.

Then as now there was no way of learning from a man’s life, from his work, whether he was abelieverornot.IfthereisadifferencebetweenthosewhoopenlyprofessOrthodoxyandthosewhodenyit,itdoesn’tfavortheformer.ThenasnowtheopendeclarationandprofessionofOrthodoxywerefoundforthemostpartinstupid,cruel,andimmoralpeoplewhothinkthemselvesveryimportant.Intelligence,honesty, uprightness, goodnessofheart, andmoralitywere found for themostpart inpeopledeclaringthemselvestobeunbelievers.

Inschoolstheyteachthecatechismandsendpupilstochurch;civilservantsarerequiredtoprovideproofoftakingcommunion.Butevennowamanfromoursocialcirclewhohascompletedhiseducationand isn’t in government service could live for decades, and in theolddays even longer,without onceremembering that he lives among Christians and that he himself is considered to be amember of theChristianOrthodoxfaith.

Sonow,justasthen,Christianteaching,takenontrustandmaintainedbyoutsidepressures,gradually

dissolvesundertheinfluenceofknowledgeandlifeexperiencethatareinoppositiontoit,andamanveryoftenlivesforalongtimeimaginingthattheChristianteachinggiventohimasachildisintactwithinhimwhenitislonggonewithoutatrace.

Iwas told by S., an intelligent and truthfulman, how he stopped believing.Hewas already agedtwenty-sixandonce,stayingsomewhereforthenightwhileouthunting,hebegantosayhisprayersoutofoldchildhoodhabit.Hiselderbrother,whowashuntingwithhim,layonthehayandwatchedhim.WhenS.hadfinishedandstartedtogotobed,hisbrothersaidtohim,“Areyoustilldoingthat?”Andtheysaidnothingmoretoeachother.AndfromthatdayonS.stoppedsayinghisprayersandgoingtochurch.Andit’snowbeenthirtyyearsthathehasn’tprayedortakencommunionorgonetochurch.Andnotbecauseheknewhisbrother’sconvictionsandbegantosharethem,notbecausehehadreachedsomedecisioninhisheart,butonlybecausethosewordsspokenbyhisbrotherwerelikethetapofafingeronawallreadytofallunderitsownweight;thosewordswereanindicatorthatwherehethoughtfaithexistedtherehadlongbeenavoid,andthatthereforethewordshespokeandthesignsofthecrossandthebowshemadewhenhestoodinprayerwereallcompletelymeaninglessactions.Havingrecognizedtheirmeaninglessnesshecouldnotcontinuethem.

Thatwasthecaseandstillis,Ithink,withthegreatmajorityofpeople.Iamtalkingaboutpeoplewithourkindofeducation;Iamtalkingaboutpeoplewhoaretruthfulwiththemselves,butnotaboutthosewhomake the very fact of faith a means of attaining some ephemeral goals. (These people are the mostfundamentalunbelievers,becauseiffaithforthemisameansofattainingsomeworldlygoals,thenthatiscertainlynotfaith.)Peoplewithourkindofeducationareinapositionwherethelightofknowledgeandlifehavedissolvedartificialknowledge,andeithertheyhavenoticedthisandemptiedthatspaceortheyhaven’tyetnoticedit.

The Christian teaching given to me in childhood disappeared in me as in others, only with thedifference that as I began to read agreat deal and to thinkvery earlyon, somy rejectionofChristianteachingbecameaconsciousoneveryearlyon.FromtheageofsixteenIstoppedsayingmyprayersandofmyownvolitionstoppedgoingtochurchandfasting.Istoppedbelievinginallthathadbeengiventomesincechildhood,butIdidbelieveinsomething.WhatIdidbelieveinIcouldn’tpossiblyhavesaid.IdidbelieveinGodorratherdidnotdenyGod,butIcouldn’thavesaidwhatkindofgod;Ididn’tdenyChristandhisteaching,butIalsocouldn’thavesaidwherehisteachinglay.

Now, remembering that time, I see clearly thatmy faith—the thing that guidedmy life, apart fromanimalinstincts—myonlyrealfaithatthattimewasafaithinself-perfection.ButIcouldn’thavesaidinwhat that self-perfection lay and what its goal was. I tried to improve myself mentally—I studiedeverything I could and everything life thrust in front ofme; I perfectedmyself physically, developingstrengthandagilitybyallkindsofexerciseandtrainingmyselfbyallkindsofdeprivationsinenduranceandstayingpower.And I thoughtofall thatas self-perfection.Thebeginningofall thisofcoursewasmoralself-perfection,but thatwassoonreplacedbyself-perfection ingeneral, that is, thedesire tobebetternotinmyowneyesortheeyesofGodbutthedesiretobebetterintheeyesofotherpeople.Andvery soon this urge to be better in the eyes of other people was replaced by the desire to be morepowerfulthanotherpeople,thatis,morefamous,moreimportant,richerthanothers.

II

ONEDAYI’LLTELLTHESTORYOFMYLIFE—BOTHAtouchingandaninstructiveoneforthosetenyearsofmyyouth.Ithinkthatmany,manypeoplehaveexperiencedthesame.Iwantedtobegoodwithallmysoul,butIwasyoung,Ihadpassions,andIwasalone,completelyalone,whenIwasseekinggood.EverytimeItriedtoshowwhatmadeupmyinnermostdesires,toshowthatIwantedtobemorallygood,Imetwithscornandmockery;butassoonasIabandonedmyself tovilepassions,Iwaspraisedandencouraged.Ambition,loveofpower,avarice,lust,pride,anger,revenge—allthesehadrespect.Givingmyselfovertothesepassions,IbecamelikeagrownmanandIfeltthatpeoplewerepleasedwithme.Mykindaunt,thepurestofbeings,withwhomIlived,alwaysusedtotellmethattherewasnothingshewishedformemorethanthatIshouldhavealiaisonwithamarriedwoman:“Rienneformeunjeunehommecommeuneliaisonavecunefemmecommeilfaut”;5therewasanotherhappinessshewantedforme—tobeanaide-de-camp,andbestofalltotheemperor;andthesupremehappiness,thatIshouldmarryaveryrichgirlandastheresultofthismarriagehaveasmanyserfsaspossible.

Icannotremembertheseyearswithouthorror,revulsion,andpaininmyheart.Ikilledpeopleinwar,Ichallenged people to duels in order to kill them, I lost at cards, I consumed the labor of peasants, Ipunishedthem,Ifornicated,Ideceived.Lies,theft,adulteryofeverykind,drunkenness,violence,murder....TherewasnocrimeIdidnotcommit,andforallthismycontemporariespraisedmeandthoughtmearelativelymoralman,astheystilldo.

Ilivedlikethatforabouttenyears.AtthistimeIbegantowrite,outofvanity,greed,andpride.InmywritingIdidthesameasinlife.To

havethefameandthemoneyforwhichIwaswritingIhadtoconcealthegoodanddisplaythebad.SoIdid.Howmany times under the pretense of indifference and even of slightmockery did I contrive toconcealmyaspirationstogood,whichconstitutedthemeaningofmylife?AndIachievedmyaim:Iwaspraised.

IcametoPetersburgattheageoftwenty-sixafterthewar6andmetwriters.Theyacceptedmelikeone of their own and flattered me, and before I had time to look around I had adopted the writer’sprofessionalviewsonlifeheldbythosewhomImet,andthesecompletelydestroyedinmeallmyformerattempts tobecomebetter.Facedwith thedissolutenessofmy life, theseviewsprovideda theory thatjustifiedit.

Theviewoflifeheldbythesepeople,mycomradesinwriting,consistedofthis:lifeingeneralmovesonbydevelopment,andthemainpartinthisdevelopmentisplayedbyus,peoplewhothink,andthemaininfluenceamongpeoplewhothinkisheldbyus—artists,poets.Ourvocationistoteachpeople.Toavoidthenaturalquestionbeingputtoone—whatdoIknowandwhatcanI teach?—thetheorymadeitclearthatonedidn’thavetoknowanythingexceptthattheartistandpoetteachunconsciously.Iwasthoughttobeamarvelousartistandpoet,andsoitwasverynaturalformetoadoptthistheory.Asanartist,apoet,Iwrote,Itaughtmyselfwithoutknowingwhat.Iwaspaidmoneyforthat;Ihadfinefood,ahouse,women,society;Ihadfame.SoithadtobethatwhatItaughtwasverygood.

Thisbeliefinthemeaningofpoetryandthedevelopmentoflifewasareligiousfaith,andIwasoneofitspriests.Tobe itspriestwasveryprofitableandagreeable.Andforquitea longtimeI lived in thisfaithwithoutdoubtingitstruth.ButinthesecondandespeciallythethirdyearofthislifeIbegantohave

doubtsintheinfallibilityofthisfaithandbegantoinvestigateit.ThefirstoccasionfordoubtwaswhenIstartedtonoticethatthepriestsofthisfaithdidn’talwaysagreeamongthemselves.Somesaid,“Wearethebestandmostusefulteachers;weteachwhatisnecessary,butothersteachwrongly.”Butotherssaid,“No, we are the true teachers but you are teaching wrongly.” And they argued, quarreled, cursed,deceived, cheated one another. Furthermore, thereweremany people among uswho didn’t care aboutwhowasrightandwhowasnotrightbutweresimplyafterattainingtheirmercenaryaimswiththehelpofouractivity.Allthismademedoubtthetruthofourfaith.

Furthermore, having had doubts about the truth of the actualwriters’ faith, I started to observe itspriestsmoreattentivelyandcametotheconclusionthatalmostallofthepriestsofthisfaith,thewriters,were immoral and mostly bad people, worthless in character—much lower than the people I hadencounteredinmypreviousdebauchedandmilitarylife—butself-confidentandpleasedwiththemselvesas only truly saintly people can be, or else those who do not know what sanctity is. These peopledisgustedme;IdisgustedmyselfandIunderstoodthatthisfaithwasafraud.

Butit’sstrangethatalthoughIsoonunderstoodthefalsehoodofthisfaithandrenouncedit,Ididnotrenounce the position these people had given me—the position of an artist, poet, teacher. I naivelyimaginedthatIwasapoetandartist,andthatIcouldteacheveryonewithoutknowingmyselfwhatIwasteaching.ThatiswhatIdid.

Frommyassociationwith thesepeople I tookawayanewvice—amorbidlydevelopedpride andcrazycertaintythatIwascalledtoteachpeoplewithoutmyselfknowingwhatIwasteaching.

NowwhenIrememberthattimeandmystateofmindthenandthestateofmindofsuchpeople(ofwhomtherearebythewaymanythousands),Ifeel it’spitifulandfrighteningandabsurd—therecomesjustthefeelingyougetinamadhouse.

Wewereallconvincedthenthatwehadtotalkandtalk,write,andpublish—asquicklyaspossible,as much as possible, that all this was necessary for the good of mankind. And thousands of us,contradicting and abusing eachother, kept publishing andwritingwhilewe taught others.Andwithoutnoticingthatweknewnothing,thatwedidn’tknowhowtoanswerthesimplestquestionsoflife—whatisgood;whatisbad?—weallwithoutlisteningtoeachotherspokeatonce,sometimesindulgingeachotherandpraisingeachother,sothatItoowasindulgedandpraised;sometimesgettingangryandshoutingeachotherdown,justlikeinamadhouse.

Thousandsofworkmenworkedtothelimitsoftheirstrengthdayandnight,settingtypeandprintingmillionsofwords,andthemailtookthemalloverRussia,andwekeptteaching,teaching,teachingmoreandmoreandneverwereabletofinishteachingeverythingandkeptgettingangrythatweweren’tlistenedtoverymuch.

Allhorriblystrange,butnowIunderstandit.Ourrealheartfeltreasoningwasthatwewantedtogetasmuchmoneyandpraiseaswecould.Toachievethataimwecoulddonothingelsebutwritebooksandnewspapers.Sowedidthat.Butinorderforustodosuchuselessworkandhavethecertaintythatwewereveryimportantpeople,weneededanotherpieceofreasoningthatwouldjustifyouractivity.Andsowe thought up the following: everything that exists is reasonable. Everything that exists goes ondeveloping. It goes on developing through education. Education is measured by the dissemination ofbooksandnewspapers.Andwearepaidmoneyandrespectedbecausewewritebooksandnewspapers,and soweareveryuseful andgoodpeople.This reasoningwouldhavebeenverygood ifwehadallagreed; but since for every thought pronounced by one there always appeared a thought, diametricallyopposite,pronouncedbyanother,thatshouldhavemadeusthinkagain.Butwedidn’tnoticethat.Wewerepaidmoney,andpeopleofourpersuasionpraisedus—sowe,eachoneofus,thoughtourselvesright.

Itisnowcleartomethatthiswasnodifferentthanamadhouse;Ionlydimlysuspectedthisthenandsimply,likeallmadmen,calledeveryonemadbutmyself.

III

ILIVEDLIKETHIS,GIVENOVERTOTHISMADNESS,FORsixyearsmoreuntilmymarriage.DuringthistimeItraveledabroad.LifeinEuropeandmeetingEurope’sprominentpeopleandscholarsconfirmedmeevenmoreinthatbeliefingeneralself-perfectionbywhichIlived,becauseIfoundthatsamebeliefinthemtoo.Thisbelieftookinmetheusualformithasinthemajorityofeducatedpeopleofourtime.Thisbeliefwasexpressedbytheword“progress.”Ithoughtthenthatthisworddidexpresssomething.Ididn’tyetunderstandthat,tormentedlikeeverylivingmanbyquestionsof“HowcanIlivebetter?,”inanswering,“Liveinconformitywithprogress,”Iwassayingexactlywhataman,carriedalonginaboatbythewavesandthewind,willsaytothecaptainwhentheonlyquestionfacinghimis“WhereshouldIsteerfor?”ifhesayswithoutansweringthequestion,“Wearebeingcarriedalongsomewhere.”

I didn’t see that then. Only from time to time notmy reason butmy feelings revolted against thisgenerallyprevalentsuperstitionwithwhichpeopleconcealtheirlackofunderstandingoflifeinourtime.Thus during my stay in Paris the sight of an execution disclosed to me the shaky foundations of mysuperstitious belief in progress.When I saw the head parted from the body and both head and bodyseparatelyfallingnoisilyintothebin,thenIunderstood—notwithmymindbutwithmywholebeing—thatnotheoriesoftherationalityofexistenceandprogresscouldjustifythisact,andifallthepeopleoftheworld,fromtheworld’screation,accordingtowhatevertheories,weretofindthatthisisnecessary—I knew that it was not necessary, that it was bad, and that therefore the judge of what is good andnecessaryisnotwhatpeoplesayanddo,butImyselfandmyheart.Anotheroccasionoftheinadequacyofthesuperstitionofprogresswas thedeathofmybrother.7Aclever,kind,seriousman,hefell illwhilestillyoung,sufferedformorethanayear,anddiedinagony,withoutunderstandingwhyhehadlivedandunderstandingstilllesswhyhewasdying.Notheoriescouldgiveanyanswertothesequestionseitherformeorforhimduringthetimeofhisslowandagonizingdying.

But thesewereonly infrequentoccasionsofdoubt; inrealityIcontinuedto liveonlyprofessingmybelief in progress. “Everything is evolving and I am evolving, and why I am evolving together witheveryoneelsewillbemadeclear.”ThatwashowIthenhadtoformulatemyfaith.

Returning from abroad, I settled in the country and became occupied with peasant schools.8 Thisoccupationwasparticularlytomylikingbecauseitcontainednoneofthoseliesnowobvioustomethathad already so struckme in the business of literary education. Here too I was acting in the name ofprogress,butbynowIwas treatingprogress itselfcritically. I toldmyself thatprogress in someof itsmanifestationswascarriedoutwronglyand thathere Ihad to treatprimitivepeople,peasant children,quitefreely,offeringthemachoiceofthepathofprogressthattheywanted.

InrealityIkeptcirclingaroundoneinsolubleproblem—toteachwithoutknowingwhat.InthehigherspheresofliteraryactivityitwascleartomethatIshouldnotteachwithoutknowingwhat,becauseIsawthatallof themtaughtdifferentthingsandonlyconcealedtheir ignorancefromoneanotherbydisputes;here,withthepeasantchildren,IthoughtthatIcouldgetaroundthisdifficultybylettingthechildrenstudywhat theywanted.Now I find it ridiculous remembering how I prevaricated in trying to carry outmywhimofteaching,althoughIknewverywellinthedepthsofmyheartthatIcouldteachnothingofwhatshould be taught, because I myself did not knowwhat should be taught. After a year spent in schoolactivities,IwentabroadasecondtimetolearntherehowIcouldmanagetobeabletoteachotherswhile

knowingnothingmyself.AndIthoughtIhadlearnedthisabroadand,armedwiththisgreatwisdom,IreturnedtoRussiainthe

year of the emancipation of the peasants9 and, taking up the post of arbitrator,10 I started teaching theuneducatedfolkinschoolsandtheeducatedinajournalIbegantopublish.Thebusinessseemedtogowell,butIfeltthatIwasn’taltogetherhealthymentallyandthatthiscouldn’tgoonforalongtime.AndthenperhapsIwouldhavecometothatdespairIcametoattheageoffiftyifIhadn’thadanothersideoflifethatIhadn’tyetexperiencedandwhichpromisedmesalvation:thatwasfamilylife.

For the course of a year I workedwith arbitration, the schools, and the journal and I became soexhausted,inparticularfrommyconfusion,andsoburdensomedidIfindthestruggleoverarbitration,somuddledseemedmyschoolactivity,sohatefulmyprevaricationsinthejournal,whichalwayscamefromoneandthesamething—mydesiretoteacheveryoneandconcealthefactthatIdidn’tknowwhattoteach—that Ibecame ill,more inmind thatbody, abandonedeverything, andwentoff into the steppe to theBashkirstobreatheair,drinkkoumiss11andleadasimplelife.

Returningfromthere,Imarried.Thenewconditionsofahappyfamilylifenowcompletelydivertedmefrommysearchforthegeneralmeaningoflife.Duringthistimemylifewasfocusedonthefamily,onmywife, onmychildren, and soon trying to increasemy livelihood.Mypersonal aspiration for self-perfection,whichhadalreadybeen replacedbyanaspiration toperfectiongenerally, toprogress,wasnowdirectlyreplacedbyanaspirationtothebestpossiblelifeformyselfandmyfamily.

Sofifteenmoreyearswentby.InspiteofthefactthatduringthosefifteenyearsIconsideredwritingtobenonsense,Istillwenton

writing. I had already tasted the temptation of writing, the temptation of huge monetary reward andapplause forworthlesswork,and Igavemyselfup to it asameans tobettermymaterialpositionandsuppressinmysoulallquestionsaboutthemeaningofmyownlifeandoflifeingeneral.

Iwrote,teachingwhatformewastheonlytruth:thatoneshouldlivesothatlifeforoneselfandone’sfamilywasthebestpossible.

SoIlived,butfiveyearsagosomethingverystrangestartedtohappentome:therestartedtocomeovermemomentsatfirstofbewilderment,oflifestoppingasifIdidn’tknowhowtoliveorwhattodo,and I became lost and fell into despair. But this passed and I went on living as before. Then thesemomentsofbewildermentbegantoberepeatedmoreandmorefrequentlyandalwaysinthesameform.Thesemomentsoflifecomingtoahaltwerealwaysexpressedintheverysamequestions:Why?Well,andthenwhat?

AtfirstIthoughtthatthesewerejustpointless,irrelevantquestions.IthoughtallthiswasknownandthatifandwhenIwantedtotakeupfindingtheanswers,itwouldn’tbemuchworkforme—itwasonlythatnowIdidn’thavethetimetodothat,butwhenIturnedmymindtoit,Iwouldfindtheanswers.Butthequestionsbegan tobe repeatedmoreandmore frequently;answersweredemandedmoreandmoreinsistently; and like spots of ink that keep falling into one place, all these questions without answersmergedintoasingleblackstain.

Therehappenedwhathappenstoeveryonewhofallsillwithamortalinternaldisease.Atfirstthereappearsomeinsignificantsymptomsofindispositiontowhichthesickmanpaysnoattention,thenthesesymptomsrecurmoreandmoreoftenandmergeintoonecontinuoussuffering.Thesufferinggrowsandbeforethesickmanhastimetolookaround,herecognizesthatwhathetookforexhaustionisthethingthatisforhimmoreimportantthananythingintheworld—thatit’sdeath.

That happened to me too. I understood that this was no casual exhaustion but something veryimportant,andthatifthesesamequestionskeptonbeingrepeated,thenonemustanswerthem.AndItriedtoanswer.Thequestionsseemedsuchstupid,simple,childishquestions.ButassoonasI tackled themand tried to find the answers, I at once became certain first that these were not childish and stupidquestionsbutthemostimportantandprofoundquestionsinlife,andsecondthatIcouldnot,justcouldnot

answer them, howevermuch I thought about it.Before occupyingmyselfwith the Samara estate,12 theeducationofmyson,thewritingofabook,IhadtoknowwhyIwouldbedoingthat.AslongasIdidn’tknowwhy,Icouldn’tdoanything.AsIthoughtaboutestatemanagement,whichengagedmealotatthattime, therewould suddenly come intomy head the question: “Verywell, you’ll have sixteen thousandacresintheprovinceofSamara,andthreehundredhorses,andthenwhat?”Iwascompletelythrownanddidn’tknowwhatmoretothink.OrstartingtothinkabouthowIwaseducatingmychildren,Iwouldsaytomyself,“Why?”Orconsideringhowthewelfareofthepeoplemightbeachieved,Isuddenlywouldsaytomyself,“Butwhat’sittodowithme?”Orthinkingaboutthefamemyworkswouldbringme,Iwouldsaytomyself,“Verywell,you’llbemorefamousthanGogol,Pushkin,Shakespeare,Molière,thanallthewritersintheworld—sowhat?”

AndIcouldn’tansweranything,anythingatall.

IV

MYLIFECAMETOAHALT.ICOULDBREATHE,EAT,drink,sleep,andIcouldn’tnotbreathe,eat,drink,sleep;butIhadnolifebecauseIhadnodesiresinthefulfillmentofwhichImightfindanymeaning.IfIdesiredsomething,thenIknewinadvancethatwhetherIfulfilledmydesireornot,nothingwouldcomeofit.

Ifanenchantresshadcomeandofferedtofulfillmydesiresforme,Iwouldn’thaveknownwhattosay. If in drunkenmoments I did have not somuch desires as the habits of old desires, then in sobermomentsIknewthatitwasdelusion,thattherewasnothingtodesire.IcouldnotevendesiretolearnthetruthbecauseIguessedwhereinitlay.Thetruthwasthatlifeisnonsense.

I sort of lived a life andwent along and approached the precipice and clearly saw that therewasnothingaheadbutdoom.AndIcouldn’tstopandIcouldn’tgobackandIcouldn’tclosemyeyessoasnottoseethattherewasnothingaheadbutthedelusionoflifeandhappinessandrealsufferingandrealdeath—completeannihilation.

Lifebecamehatefultome—aninsuperableforcepulledmetowardsomehowriddingmyselfofit.IcannotsaythatIwantedtokillmyself.Theforcethatpulledmeawayfromlifewasstronger,moreample,more generalized than wishing. It was a force like the earlier urge toward life, only in the oppositedirection.Iwalkedawayfromlifewithallmymight.Thethoughtofsuicidecametomeasnaturallyasoncetherehadcomethoughtsoftheperfectionoflife.ThisthoughtwassotemptingthatIhadtousetricksagainstmyselfinordernottocarryitouttoohastily.Ididn’twanttohurryonlybecauseIwantedtomakeeveryefforttosortthingsout.Isaidtomyself,ifIdon’tsortthingsoutnowI’llalwayshavetime.AndsothenI,ahappyman,removedacordfrommyroomwhereIwasaloneeveryeveningasIundressedinordernottohangmyselffromthebeambetweenthecupboards;andIstoppedgoingouthuntingwithmygunsoasnot tobe too temptedbyaneasywayof riddingmyselfof life. Ididn’tknowmyselfwhat Iwanted:Iwasafraidoflife;IrushedawayfromitandatthesametimeIstillhopedforsomethingfromit.

And this happened to me at a time when on every side I had what is considered to be perfecthappiness:itwaswhenIwasn’tyetfifty.Ihadakind,loving,andlovedwife;goodchildren;andalargeestatewhichwithout laboronmypartgrewandincreased.Iwasrespectedbyfamilyandfriends,waspraisedmorethaneverbeforebytheworldatlarge,andwithoutespecialself-deceptioncouldconsidermyselftohavefame.Moreover,Inotonlywasn’tsicklyphysicallyorspirituallybutonthecontraryhadboth spiritual and physical strength such as I seldom encountered in my contemporaries: physically Icouldmowthehayandkeepupwiththepeasants;mentallyIcouldworkforeightortenhoursatastretchwithoutfeelinganyconsequencesfromtheeffort.AndinthissituationIcametosuchastatethatIcouldn’tlive,andbeingfrightenedofdeath,Ihadtobecunningwithmyselfsoasnottotakemylife.

Thismentalstateexpresseditselfformeasfollows:Mylifewassomekindofstupidandwickedjokeplayedonme.InspiteofthefactthatIdidnotacknowledgeany“somebody”whocreatedme,thisideathatsomebodyhadwickedlyandstupidlyplayedatrickonmebybringingmeintotheworldwastomethemostnaturalidea.

Involuntarily I imagined that somewhere out there was somebody who, looking at me now, waslaughingathowIhadlivedforawholethirtyorfortyyears,studying,developing,growinginbodyandspirit,andhownow,havingreachedthepeakoflife,fromwhichitalllayopen,Istoodonthatpeaklikeacompletefool,clearlyunderstandingthattherewasnothingatallinlife,thattherehasn’tbeenandtherewon’tbe.“Andhefindsitfunny...”

Butwhether there is or isn’t this somebodywhowas laughing atmegavemeno relief. I couldn’tattributeanyintelligentmeaningtoasingleactortothewholeofmylife.IwassurprisedthatIcouldn’tunderstandthatattheverybeginning.Allthishadbeenknowntoeveryoneforsolong.Onedaysicknessanddeathwillcome(andhavecome)tomylovedones,tomyself,andnothingwillremainbutstinkandworms.Myworks,ofwhateverkind,willallbeforgottensoonerorlater,andItoowillnotexist.Sowhyworry?Howcanamanseethisandgoonliving—thatiswhat’sastonishing.Youcanonlyliveaslongasyou’redrunkwithlife;butwhenyousoberup,youcan’thelpbutseethatall this is justafraud,andastupidfraud.Preciselythat:there’snothingevenamusingorwittyaboutit;it’ssimplycruelandstupid.

Longagotherewastoldanorientalfableaboutatravelercaughtinthesteppebyaragingwildbeast.Toescapefromthebeastthetravelerjumpsintoanemptywell,butat thebottomofthewellheseesadragonopeningitsjawswidetodevourhim.Andthewretchedman,notdaringtoclimboutsoasnottobekilledbytheragingbeast,notdaringeithertojumptothebottomofthewellsoasnottobedevouredbythedragon,graspsthebranchesofawildshrubgrowinginthecrevicesofthewellandholdsontoit.Hisarmsgrowweakandhefeelsthathewillsoonhavetogiveintothedoomthatawaitshimonbothsides;buthekeepshangingon,andwhilehehangson,helooksaroundandseestwomice,oneblack,theotherwhite,regularlygoingaroundthetrunkoftheshrubfromwhichheishangingandgnawingit.Anymoment the shrubwill snapof itsownaccordand tear itself freeandhewill fall into the jawsof thedragon. The traveler sees this and knows that he will inevitably perish, but while he is hanging hesearchesaroundhimandfindsdropsofhoneyon the leavesof theshrub;he reaches for themwithhistongue and licks them. So do I hang on to the branches of life, knowing that the dragon of death isineluctablywaiting,readytotearmetopieces,andIcannotunderstandwhyIenteredthistorment.AndItrytosuckthehoneywhichonceusedtocomfortme;butthishoneynolongergladdensme,andthewhiteandblackmice—dayandnight—gnawawayatthebranchontowhichIamholding.Icanseethedragonclearlyandthehoneyisnolongersweetforme.Icanonlyseetwothings—theinescapabledragonandthemice—andIcan’tturnmyeyesfromthem.Andthisisnotafablebutthehonest,undisputabletruththatallcanunderstand.

Theformerillusionofthejoysoflife,whichusedtosuppressthehorrorofthedragon,deceivesmenomore.Onlydonottellme,“Youcan’tunderstandthemeaningoflife;don’tthink,live”—Ican’tdothatbecauseIdiditfortoolongbefore.NowIcan’thelpseeingdayandnightrunningalongandleadingmetodeath.Iseeonlythisbecauseonlythisisthetruth.Alltherestislies.

Thosetwodropsofhoneywhichusedtotakemyeyesawayfromthecrueltruthlongerthantheothers—myloveforthefamilyandforwritingwhichIcalledart—aresweetformenomore.

“Thefamily...,”Isaidtomyself,butthefamilyismywifeandchildren;theytooarepeople.TheyareintheverysameconditionsasIam;theymusteitherliveinalieorseetheterribletruth.Whyshouldthey live?Why should I love them, guard them, nurture and watch over them? For them to reach thedespairthatisinme,orfortheirmindstobenumbed!LovingthemIcan’tconcealthetruthfromthem—eachstepforwardinknowledgeleadsthemtothattruth.Andthetruthisdeath.

Art,poetry?Foralongtime,influencedbythesuccessofpopularadulation,IconvincedmyselfthatthiswasworkIcoulddo,inspiteofthefactthatdeathwouldcome,whichwoulddestroyeverything—meandmyworksandthememoryofthem;butIsoonsawthattheytoowereanillusion.Itwascleartomethatartwasadecorationoflife,anenticementtolife.Butlifehaslostitsenticementforme;howcanIenticeothers?WhileIwaslivingalifethatwasnotmyownbutanalienlifewasbearingmealongonitswaves,whileIbelievedthatlifehadameaningalthoughIcouldn’texpressit,allkindsofreflectionsoflife,inpoetryandart,gavemejoy;Iwashappylookingatlifeinart’slittlemirror,butwhenIbegantolookfor themeaningof life,whenI felt thenecessityof livingmyself, that littlemirrorbecameformeunnecessary,superfluous,andridiculous,orpainful.IcouldnolongercomfortmyselfwiththefactthatIsawin themirror thatmysituationwasstupidanddesperate. Itwasallverywell forme toenjoy that

whenIbelievedinthedepthofmysoulthatmylifehasameaning.Thentheplayoflightandshade—ofthe comic, tragic, moving, beautiful, terrible in life—entertained me. But when I knew that life ismeaninglessandterrible,thegameinthemirrorcouldnolongeramuseme.NosweetnessofhoneycouldbesweetformewhenIsawthedragonandthemicegnawingawayatmysupport.

Butthat’snotall.IfIhadsimplyunderstoodthatlifehasnomeaning,Imighthaveknownthatcalmly,couldhaveknownthatthiswasmyfate.ButIcouldn’tbecontentwiththat.IfIhadbeenlikeamaninaforestfromwhichheknowsthereisnowayout,Icouldhavelived;butIwaslikeamanlostinaforestwhohasbeenovercomebyterrorthroughbeinglost,andherushestoandfrotryingtofindtheroad;heknowsthateverystepmakeshimmorelost,andhecan’tstoprushingabout.

Nowthiswashorrible.AndinordertoescapethishorrorIwantedtokillmyself.Ifelthorrorbeforewhatawaitedme—Iknewthatthishorrorwasmorehorriblethanmysituationitself,butIcouldn’tbanishitandIcouldn’tpatientlywaitfortheend.Howeverconvincingtherealizationthatinevitablyavesselintheheartwouldburstorsomethingwouldcrackandallwouldbeover,Icouldnotpatientlywaitfortheend.ThehorrorofthedarknesswastoogreatandIwantedtobefreedofit,quickly,quickly,byanooseorabullet.Anditwasthisfeelingmorestronglythananythingelsethatledmetowardsuicide.

V

“BUT MAYBE I HAVE OVERLOOKED SOMETHING, HAVEN’T understood something,” I said tomyself severaltimes.“Itcannotbethatthisstateofdespairisnaturaltohumanbeings.”AndIsearchedforexplanationsofmyquestionsinallthebranchesofknowledgethathumanbeingshaveacquired.AndIsearchedlongand agonizingly and not just out of idle curiosity; I didn’t search limply but I searched agonizingly,persistently,dayandnight;Isearchedasadyingmansearchesforsalvation,andIfoundnothing.

IsearchedinallthesciencesandnotonlydidIfindnothingbutIbecameconvincedthatallthosewhohadsearchedinknowledgeasIhadlikewisehadfoundnothing.Andnotonlyhadtheyfoundnothingbuttheyplainlyadmittedthattheverythingwhichbroughtmetodespair,themeaninglessnessoflife,istheonlyunquestionableknowledgeopentoman.

I searched everywhere, and thanks to a life spent in study—but also to the fact that, through myconnectionswiththeworldoflearning,Ihadaccesstotheactualscholarsinallthevariousbranchesofknowledgewhowere ready to disclose tome all they knew not just in books but in talking tome—Ilearnedallthatknowledgeoffersinanswertothequestionoflife.

ForalongtimeIcouldnotbelievethatknowledgegivesnoanswertothequestionsoflifeapartfromtheoneitdoesgive.ForalongtimeasI lookedat theportentousnessandserioustoneofscienceasitasserts its arguments,whichhavenothing in commonwith thequestionsofhuman life, I thought Iwasfailingtounderstandsomething.ForalongtimeIfeltintimidatedinfrontofknowledgeandIthoughtthatthe incompatibility of its answers to my questions came through no fault of knowledge but from myignorance;butthisformewasnojoke,nogame,butthematterofmywholelife,andwilly-nillyIwasdrawntotheconclusionthatmyquestionsweretheonlylegitimatequestionsservingasthebasisforanykindofknowledge,andthatitwasn’tIwhowasatfaultwithmyquestionsbutscienceifitmakesclaimstoanswerthesequestions.

Myquestion,whichattheageoffiftybroughtmetothepointofsuicide,wastheverysimplequestionthat lies in the soul of every humanbeing, from a silly child to thewisest sage—the questionwithoutwhichlifeisimpossible,asIexperiencedinactualfact.Thequestionisthis:WhatwillcomefromwhatIdoandfromwhatIwilldotomorrow—whatwillcomefrommywholelife?

Expresseddifferently,thequestionwouldbethis:WhyshouldIlive,whyshouldIwishforanything,whyshouldIdoanything?Onecanputthequestiondifferentlyagain:Isthereanymeaninginmylifethatwouldn’tbedestroyedbythedeaththatinevitablyawaitsme?

Ilookedforananswertothisquestioninhumanknowledge,aquestionexpressedindifferentwaysbutremainingoneandthesame.AndIfoundintheirattitudetothisquestionallhumansciencesdivided,asitwere,intotwooppositehemispheresattheoppositeendsofwhicharetwopoles,onenegative,theotherpositive,butatneitherpoleanyanswerstothequestionsoflife.

Onerangeofsciencesseemsnottorecognizethequestion,thoughitclearlyandpreciselyanswersitsown independently put questions: that is the range of experimental sciences,withmathematics at theirextremepoint.Theotherrangeofsciencesrecognizesthequestionbutdoesn’tanswerit:thisistherangeofspeculativesciences,withmetaphysicsattheirextremepoint.

From my earliest youth I was interested in speculative science but later I was attracted by themathematicalandnaturalsciences,anduntil Ihadclearlyputmyquestion tomyself,until thisquestionhadgrownwithinme,insistentlydemandingananswer,Iwassatisfiedbythoseimitationsofanswersto

thequestionthatknowledgegives.SometimesintheexperimentalsphereIsaidtomyself,“Everythingdevelops,isdifferentiated,moves

towardcomplexityandperfection,and thereare laws thatgovern thismovement.Youareapartof thewhole.Havinglearnedthewhole,insofarasthatispossible,andhavinglearnedthelawofdevelopment,youwilllearnbothyourplaceinthatwholeandyourownself.”I’mashamedtoadmitit,buttherewasatimewhen Iwasapparently satisfiedby this. Itwas thatvery timewhen Imyselfwasdevelopingandbecomingmorecomplex.Mymusclesgrewandstrengthened,mymemorywasenriched,mycapacityforthoughtandunderstandingbecamegreater,Igrewanddeveloped,andasIfeltthatgrowthinmyselfitwasnaturalformetothinkthat thiswasindeedthelawofthewholeworld, inwhichIwouldalsofindtheanswer to thequestionofmy life.But therecamea timewhengrowthstopped inme—Ifelt Iwasnotdevelopingbutdryingup,mymusclesbecomingweaker,myteethfallingout—andIsawthatnotonlydidthis lawexplainnothingtomebut thatsucha lawhadneverexistedandcouldnotexist,andthatI justtookforalawwhatIfoundinmyownselfataparticulartimeofmylife.I tookastricterviewofthedefinitionofthislaw,anditbecamecleartomethattherecouldnotbelawsofinfinitedevelopment;itbecameclear that to say,“In infinite spaceand timeeverythingdevelops,becomesmoreperfect,morecomplex, is differentiated”means to say nothing.All of these arewordswithoutmeaning, because ininfinitythereisneithercomplexnorsimple,neitherfrontnorback,neitherbetternorworse.

The main thing was that my personal question—what exactly am I with my desires—remainedcompletelywithout an answer.And I understood that all of these scienceswere very interesting, veryattractive,butthattheyarepreciseandclearininverseproportiontotheirapplicationtothequestionsoflife;thelesstheyareapplicabletothequestionsoflife,themorepreciseandcleartheyare;themoretheyattempttogivesolutionstothequestionsoflife,themoreunclearandunattractivetheybecome.Ifyouturntoabranchofthosesciencesthattrytogiveasolutiontothequestionsoflife—tophysiology,psychology,biology, sociology—there youwill find an astounding poverty of thought, a very great lack of clarity,completely unjustified claims to answer questions that lie outside their subject and neverendingcontradictions between one thinker and others, and evenwithin himself. If you turn to a branch of thesciences that is not concerned with solving the questions of life but answers its own scientific,specializedquestions,thenyouarecaptivatedbythepowerofhumanintellectbutyouknowinadvancethattherearenoanswerstothequestionsoflife.Thesesciencesdirectlyignorethequestionsoflife.Theysay,“Wehavenoanswersto‘Whatareyou?’and‘Whydoyoulive?’andarenotconcernedwiththis;butifyouneedtoknowthelawsoflight,ofchemicalcompounds,thelawsofthedevelopmentoforganisms,ifyouneedtoknowthelawsofbodiesandtheirformsandtherelationofnumbersandquantities,ifyouneedtoknowthelawsofyourownmind,toallthatwehaveclear,precise,andunquestionableanswers.”

In general the relation of the experimental sciences to the question of life can be expressed thus.Question:WhydoIlive?Answer:Ininfinitespace,ininfinitetime,infinitelysmallparticleschangeininfinitecomplexity,andwhenyouunderstandthelawsofthesechanges,thenyouwillunderstandwhyyoulive.

TheninthespeculativesphereIsaidtomyself,“Allofmankindlivesanddevelopsonthebasisofthespiritual principles, the ideals, that guide it. These ideals are expressed in religions, in sciences, art,formsofgovernment.These idealsbecomehigherandhigher, andmankind isgoing toward thehighestgood.Iamapartofmankind,andthereforemyvocationistofurthertheawarenessandthefulfillmentofmankind’s ideals.”And at the timeofmy feeblemindedness Iwas satisfiedby this, but as soon as thequestionoflifeputitselfclearlywithinme,thiswholetheorycollapsedatonce.Withoutmentioningtheunscrupulousimprecisionwithwhichthesciencesofthiskindpresentconclusionsdrawnfromstudyingasmallpartofmankindasgeneralconclusions,withoutmentioningthemutualcontradictionsamongvariousadvocatesofthistheoryofthenatureofmankind’sideals,thestrangeness,nottosaythestupidity,ofthistheory lies in the fact that in order to answer the questions confronting everyman—“What am I?” or

“WhatshouldIdo?”—amanmustfirstofallanswerthequestion,“Whatisthelifeofallofmankindthatisunknowntome,ofwhichIknowonlyaminutepartoveraminuteperiodoftime?”Tounderstandwhathe is,amanmust firstofallunderstand thewholeofmysterioushumanitymadeupofpeople just likehimselfwhodon’tunderstandthemselves.

ImustadmitthattherewasatimewhenIdidbelievethis.ThatwasthetimewhenIhadmyfavoriteideals that justifiedmyrandomdesires,and I tried todevelopa theorybywhich Icould lookat thoserandomdesiresasalawofmankind.Butassoonasthequestionoflifeputitselfwithinmyspiritinallitsclarity, this answer at once dissolved in dust. And I understood that just as among the experimentalsciencestherearetruesciencesandsemi-sciencesthatattempttogiveanswerstoquestionsoutsidetheirconcern,soIunderstoodthatinthisspheretoothereisawholerangeofthemostwidespreadbranchesofknowledge trying to answer questions outside their concern. The semi-sciences in this sphere—jurisprudence,thesocialandhistoricalsciences—attempttoanswerman’squestionsbyeachfalselyandinitsownwayansweringthequestionoflifeofallmankind.

Butjustasinthesphereoftheexperimentalsciencesamansincerelyasking,“HowshouldIlive?”cannot be satisfied with the answer, “Study the infinite changes of infinite particles in infinite space,changes infinite in time and in complexity, and then youwill understand your life,” so a sinceremancannotbesatisfiedbytheanswer,“Studythelifeofallmankindofwhichweknowneitherbeginningnorend,andofwhichwedon’tknowevenasmallpart,andthenyouwillunderstandyourlife.”Andinjustthe same way as in the experimental semi-sciences, these semi-sciences too fill up with obscurities,imprecisions, stupidities,andcontradictions the further theydeviate from their subjects.Thesubjectofexperimental science is the causal sequence ofmaterial phenomena. Experimental science has only tointroduce thequestionofa finalcauseand theresult isnonsense.Thesubjectofspeculativescience isawarenessoftheessenceoflifethathasnocause.Introducethestudyofcausalphenomena—likesocialandhistoricalphenomena—andtheresultisnonsense.

Experimentalscienceonlyproducespositiveknowledgeanddisplaysthegreatnessofthehumanmindwhenitdoesn’tintroduceafinalcauseintoitsstudies.Andspeculativescienceonthecontraryisonlyascience anddisplays the greatness of the humanmindwhen it completely sets aside questions about asequenceofcausalphenomenaandconsidersmanonlyinrelationtoafinalcause.Suchinthisareaisthesciencethatconstitutesthepoleofthishemisphere—metaphysics,orspeculativephilosophy.Thisscienceclearlyasksthequestions,“WhatamIandwhatisthewholeworld?AndwhydoIexistandwhydoesthewholeworldexist?”Andeversinceithasexistedithasgivenanidenticalanswer.Whetheraphilosophercallstheessenceoflife,whichisinmeandineverythingthatexists,ideasorsubstanceorspiritorwill,thephilosophersaysonesingle thing: that thisessenceexistsand that Iamthisessence,buthedoesn’tknowwhyitexists,andifheisaprecisethinkerhegivesnoanswer.Iask,“Whyshouldthisessenceoflife exist?What will come of its existence now and in the future?” And philosophy not only doesn’tanswerbutall itdoes isask thatquestion.And if it is truephilosophy, thenall itswork lies solely inaskingthisquestionclearly.Andifitkeepsfirmlytoitssubject,thentothequestion,“WhatamIandwhatisthewholeworld?”itcangivenootheranswerbut“Everythingandnothing”;andtothequestion,“WhydoestheworldexistandwhydoIexist?”justtheanswer“Idon’tknow.”

So however I may examine philosophy’s speculative replies, in no way will I receive anythingresemblingananswer—andnotbecause,as in theclearareaofexperimental science, theanswer isn’trelatedtomyquestion,butbecausehere,althoughallthetheoreticalworkisdirectedpreciselytowardmyquestion, there is no answer, and instead of an answer one gets the same question, only in a morecomplicatedform.

VI

INMYSEARCHFORANSWERSTOTHEQUESTIONOFLIFEIhadexactlythesamefeelingasamanwhohaslosthiswayinaforest.

Hehascomeoutintoaclearing,climbedatree,andhasaclearviewoflimitlessspace,butheseesthatthereisnohousethereandthattherecannotbeone;hegoesintothetrees,intothedarkness,andseesdarkness,andtheretoothereisnohouse.

In the same way I wandered in this forest of human knowledge between the rays of light of themathematicalandexperimentalsciences,whichopenedupclearhorizonstomebutinadirectionwherethere could be no house, and into the darkness of the speculative sciences,where Iwas plunged intogreaterdarknessthefurtherImovedon,andfinallyIwasconvincedthattherewasnotandcouldnotbeanywayout.

AsIgavemyselfuptothebrightersideofthesciences,IunderstoodthatIwasonlytakingmyeyesoffthequestion.Howeverenticingandclearthehorizonsopeninguponbeforeme,howeverenticingitwastoplungemyselfintotheinfinityofthesesciences,Ialreadyunderstoodthattheclearerthesescienceswere,thelesstheyservedme,thelesstheyansweredmyquestion.

“Well,Iknow,”Isaidtomyself,“everythingthatsciencesoinsistentlywantstoknow,butonthispaththereisnoanswertothequestionofthemeaningofmylife.”InthespeculativesphereIunderstoodthatalthough,orpreciselybecause, science’saimwasdirectedstraightat theanswer tomyquestion, therewasnootheranswer than theoneIwasgivingmyself:“What is themeaningofmylife?”“None.”Or:“Whatwillcomeoutofmylife?”“Nothing.”Or:“Whydoeseverythingexist thatexists,andwhydoIexist?”“Becauseitexists.”

Askingquestionsononesideofhumanscience,IreceivedacountlessquantityofpreciseanswerstoquestionsIwasn’tasking:aboutthechemicalcompositionofthestars;themovementofthesuntowardtheconstellationHercules;theoriginofspeciesandofman;theformsofinfinitelysmallatoms;thevibrationofinfinitelysmall,weightlessparticlesofether—buttherewasonlyoneanswerinthisareaofsciencetomyquestion,“Inwhatisthemeaningofmylife?”:“Youarewhatyoucallyourlife;youareanephemeral,casual connectionofparticles.The interaction, thechangeof theseparticlesproduces inyouwhatyoucallyourlife.Thisconnectionwilllastsometime;thentheinteractionoftheseparticleswillstop—andwhatyoucallyourlifewillstopandallyourquestionswillstoptoo.Youarealumpofsomethingstucktogetherbychance.Thelumpdecays.Thelumpcallsthisdecayitslife.Thelumpwilldisintegrateandthedecayandallitsquestionswillcometoanend.”Thatistheanswergivenbythebrightsideofscience,anditcannotgiveanyotherifitjuststrictlyfollowsitsprinciples.

With such an answer it turns out that the answer doesn’t answer the question. I need to know themeaningofmylife,but itsbeingaparticleof the infinitenotonlygives itnomeaningbutdestroysanypossiblemeaning.

The vague compromises that this side of precise experimental science makes with speculativescience,inwhichitisstatedthatthemeaningoflifeliesindevelopmentandfurtheringthatdevelopment,bytheirimprecisionandvaguenesscannotbeclassedasanswers.

Theothersideofscience,thespeculative,whenitstrictlyadherestoitsprinciplesinansweringthequestion directly, gives and has given the same answer everywhere and in all ages: “The world issomethinginfiniteandunintelligible.Humanlife isanincomprehensiblepieceof this incomprehensible

‘whole.’” Again I exclude all the compromises between speculative and experimental science thatconstitute thewholeballastof thesemi-sciences, theso-called jurisprudential,political,andhistorical.Intothesesciencesagainonefindswronglyintroducedthenotionsofdevelopment,ofperfection,withthedifferenceonly that there itwas thedevelopmentof thewholewhereashere it isof the lifeofpeople.Whatiswrongisthesame:developmentandperfectionintheinfinitecanhaveneitheraimnordirectionandinrelationtomyquestiongivenoanswer.

Wherespeculative science isexact,namely in truephilosophy—not inwhatSchopenhauer13 called“professorialphilosophy”whichonly serves todistributeall existingphenomena inneatphilosophicaltablesandgivethemnewnames—therewhereaphilosopherdoesn’tlosesightoftheessentialquestion,theanswer,alwaysoneandthesame,istheanswergivenbySocrates,14Solomon,Buddha.

“Wewillcomeneartruthonlyinasmuchaswedepartfromlife,”saidSocrates,preparingfordeath.“Whatdowewholovetruthstriveforinlife?Tobefreedofthebodyandofalltheevilthatcomesfromthelifeofthebody.Ifthatisso,thenhowshouldwenotrejoicewhendeathcomestous?

“Awisemanseeksdeathhiswholelifeandthereforedeathholdsnofearforhim.”Schopenhauer says: “We have recognized the inmost nature of the world as will, and all its

phenomenaasonly theobjectivityofwill;andwehavefollowed thisobjectivity fromtheunconsciousworkingofobscureforcesofNatureuptothecompletelyconsciousactionofman.Thereforeweshallbynomeansevadetheconsequence,thatwiththefreedenial,thesurrenderofthewill,allthosephenomenaare also abolished; that constant strain and effort without end and without rest at all the grades ofobjectivity,inwhichandthroughwhichtheworldconsists;themultifariousformssucceedingeachotherin gradation; the whole manifestation of the will; and, finally, also the universal forms of thismanifestation, timeandspace,andalso its lastfundamentalform,subjectandobject;allareabolished.Nowill;noidea;noworld.

“Before us there is certainly only nothingness.But thatwhich resists this passing into nothing, ournature,isindeedjustthewilltolive(WillezumLeben),whichweourselvesareasitisourworld.Thatweabhorannihilationsogreatlyissimplyanotherexpressionofthefactthatwesostrenuouslywilllife,andarenothingbutthiswill,andknownothingbesidesit....Whatremainsaftertheentireabolitionofwillisforallthosewhoarestillfullofwillcertainlynothing;but,conversely,tothoseinwhomthewillhasturnedandhasdenieditself,thisourworld,whichissoreal,withallitssunsandMilkyWays—isnothing.”15

“Vanityofvanities,”saysSolomon,“vanityofvanities;allisvanity.Whatprofithathamanofallhislaborwhichhetakethunderthesun?Onegenerationpassethaway,andanothergenerationcometh:buttheearthabidethforever....Thethingthathathbeen,itisthatthatshallbe;andthatwhichisdoneisthatwhichshallbedone:andthereisnonewthingunderthesun.Is thereanythingwhereofitmaybesaid,See, this is new? It hath been alreadyof old time,whichwas before us.There is no remembrance offormerthings;neithershalltherebeanyremembranceofthingsthataretocomewiththosethatshallcomeafter. IEcclesiasteswaskingover Israel in Jerusalem.And Igavemyheart to seekandsearchoutbywisdomconcerningallthingsthataredoneunderheaven:thissoretravailhathGodgiventothesonsofmantobeexercised therewith. Ihaveseenall theworks thataredoneunder thesun;andbeholdall isvanityandvexationofspirit....Icommunedwithmineownheartsaying,Lo,Iamcometogreatestate,andhavegottenmorewisdomthanalltheythathavebeenbeforemeinJerusalem:yea,myhearthadgreatexperienceofwisdomandknowledge.AndIgavemyhearttoknowwisdom,andtoknowmadnessandfolly: I perceived that this also is vexation of spirit. For inmuchwisdom ismuch grief: and he thatincreasethknowledgeincreasethsorrow.

“Isaidinmineheart,Gotonow,Iwillprovetheewithmirthandwillrejoiceingooddeeds:and,behold,thisalsoisvanity.Isaidoflaughter,Itismad:andofmirth,Whatdoethit?Isoughtinmineheart

togivemyselfuntowine,yetacquaintingmineheartwithwisdom;andtolayholdonfolly,tillImightseewhatwasthatgoodforthesonsofmen,whichtheyshoulddoundertheheavenallthedaysoftheirlife.Imademegreatworks;Ibuildedmehouses;Iplantedmevineyards:Imademegardensandorchards,andIplantedtreesinthemofallkindoffruits:Imademepoolsofwater,towatertherewiththewoodthatbringethforthtrees:Igotmeservantsandmaidens,andhadservantsborninmyhouse;alsoIhadgreatpossessions of great and small cattle above all thatwere in Jerusalem beforeme: I gatheredme alsosilverandgold,andthejewelsofkingsandtheprovinces:Igotmemensingersandwomensingers,andthedelightsofthesonsofmen—musicalinstrumentsofallsorts.SoIwasgreat,andincreasedmorethanall thatwere beforeme in Jerusalem: alsomywisdom remainedwithme.Andwhatsoevermine eyesdesiredIkeptnotfromthem,Iwithheldnotmyheartfromanyjoy....ThenIlookedonalltheworksthatmyhandshadwrought,andonthelaborthatIhadlaboredtodo:and,behold,allwasvanityandvexationofspirit,andtherewasnoprofitunderthesun.AndIturnedmyselftobeholdwisdom,andmadness,andfolly.ButIperceivedthatoneeventhappenethtothemall.ThensaidIinmyheart,Asithappenethtothefool,soithappenetheventome;andwhywasIthenmorewise?ThenIsaidinmyheart,thatthisalsoisvanity.Forthereisnoremembranceofthewisemorethanofthefoolforever;seeingthatwhichnowisinthedaystocomeshallallbeforgotten.Andhowdieththewiseman?Asthefool.ThereforeIhatedlife;becausetheworkthatiswroughtunderthesunisgrievousuntome:forallisvanityandvexationofspirit.Yea,IhatedallmylaborwhichIhadtakenunderthesun:becauseIshouldleaveituntothemanthatshallbe afterme. . . . Forwhathathmanof all his labor, andof thevexationofhis heart,whereinhehathlaboredunderthesun?Forallhisdaysaresorrows,andhistravailgrief;yea,hishearttakethnotrestinthenight.Thisisalsovanity.Itisnotgiventoamantohavetheblessingthatheshouldeatanddrink,andthatheshouldmakehissoulenjoygoodinhislabor....

“Allthingscomealiketoall:thereisoneeventtotherighteous,andtothewicked;tothegoodandtotheclean,andtotheunclean;tohimthatsacrificeth,andtohimthatsacrificethnot:asisthegood,soisthesinner;andhethatsweareth,ashethatfearethanoath.Thisisanevilamongallthingsthataredoneunder thesun, that there isoneeventuntoall:yea,alsotheheartof thesonsofmanisfullofevil,andmadnessisintheirheartwhiletheylive,andafterthattheygotothedead.Fortohimthatisjoinedtoallthelivingthereishope:foralivingdogisbetterthanadeadlion.Forthelivingknowthattheyshalldie:butthedeadknownotanything,neitherhavetheyanymoreareward;forthememoryofthemisforgotten.Alsotheir love,andtheirhatred,andtheirenvy, isnowperished;neitherhavetheyanymoreaportionforeverinanythingthatisdoneunderthesun.”16

ThatiswhatSolomonorwhoeverwrotethesewordssays.AndthisiswhatIndianwisdomsays:Shakyamuni,17ayoungandhappyprincefromwhomdiseaseandoldageanddeathhadbeenhidden,

goesoutdrivingandseesafrighteningoldman,toothlessanddribbling.Theprince,fromwhomoldagehadhithertobeenhidden,isastonishedandaskshisdriverwhatisthisandwhyhasthismancometosuchapitiful,repellent,shockingpass.Andwhenhelearnsthatthisisthegeneralfateofallmen,andthatthesameunavoidablyawaitsayoungprince,hecannolongergodrivingandordersthemtoreturnsohecanponder upon this.And he shuts himself up alone and thinks about it.And probably he thinks of somecomfortforhimselfbecausehegoesoutdrivingagain,cheerfulandhappy.Butthistimehemeetsasickman.Heseesanemaciated, livid, tremblingmanwithdulledeyes.Theprincefromwhomdiseasehadbeenhidden stops andaskswhat is this.Andwhenhe learns that this isdisease towhichallmenaresubject,andthathehimself,ahealthyandhappyprince,tomorrowcouldfallill,againhehasn’tthehearttoamusehimself,ordersthemtoreturn,andagainseekscomfortandprobablyfindsit,becausehegoesoutdrivingathirdtime;butonthisthirdtimeheseesanothernewsight;heseesthemcarryingsomething.

“Whatisthis?”“Adeadman.”

“Whatdoesdeadmean?”askstheprinceTheytellhimthattobecomedeadmeanstobecomewhatthismanhasbecome.Theprincegoesupto

thedeadman,uncovershim,andlooksathim.“Whatwillhappentohimnext?”theprinceasks.Theytellhimthattheywillburyhimintheground.“Why?”“Becausehesurelywillneverbealiveagainandonlystinkandwormswillcomefromhim.”“Andisthisthelotofallmen?Andwillthesamehappentome?Willtheyburyme,andwillIstink

andbeeatenbyworms?”“Yes.”“Turnback!Iwon’tgooutdriving;I’llnevergoagain.”AndShakyamunicouldfindnocomfortinlife,andhedecidedthatlifeisthegreatestevilandheused

allthepowersofhisspirittofreehimselffromitandtofreeothers—tofreethemsothatafterdeathlifewouldnotsomehowberenewed,todestroylifecompletely,attheroot.ThatiswhatallIndianwisdomsays.

Sothosearethedirectanswershumanwisdomgiveswhenitanswersthequestionoflife.“The life of the body is evil and a lie. And therefore the destruction of this life of the body is

somethinggood,andwemustdesireit,”saysSocrates.“Lifeisthatwhichoughtnottobe—anevil—andthegoingintonothingnessisthesolegoodoflife,”

saysSchopenhauer.“Everythingintheworld—follyandwisdomandrichesandpovertyandhappinessandgrief—allis

vanityandnonsense.Manwilldieandnothingwillremain.Andthatisfoolish,”saysSolomon.“Onemustnotlivewiththeawarenessoftheinevitabilityofsuffering,weakness,oldage,anddeath

—onemustfreeoneselffromlife,fromallpossibilityoflife,”saysBuddha.Andwhat these powerful intellects saidwas said and thought and felt bymillions andmillions of

peoplelikethem.AndItoothoughtandfeltthat.Sothatmywanderingsinsciencenotonlydidnottakemeoutofmydespairbutonlyincreasedit.One

sciencedidnotanswerthequestionsoflife;anothersciencedidanswer,directlyconfirmingmydespairandshowingthattheviewIhadreachedwasn’ttheresultofmydelusion,ofthemorbidstateofmymind—on the contrary, it confirmed for me what I truly thought and agreed with the conclusions of thepowerfulintellectsofmankind.

It’snogooddeceivingoneself.Allisvanity.Happyishewhowasnotborn;deathisbetterthanlife;oneneedstoberidoflife.

VII

FINDINGNOEXPLANATIONINSCIENCE,IBEGANTOLOOKforthisexplanationinlife,hopingtofinditinthepeoplesurroundingme,andIbegantoobservepeoplelikemyselfandhowtheylivedaroundmeandtodealwiththequestionthathadledmetodespair.

AndthisiswhatIfoundinpeopleofthesameeducationandwayoflifeasmyself.Ifoundthatforpeopleinmyworldtherearefourwaysoutoftheterriblepositioninwhichweall

findourselves.Thefirstwayoutisthewayofignorance.Itisthis:nottoknow,nottounderstandthatlifeiseviland

meaningless. People of this type—mostly women, or very young or very stupid people—haven’t yetunderstoodthequestionoflifethatshoweditselftoSchopenhauer,Solomon,andBuddha.Theydon’tseeeitherthedragonwaitingforthemorthemicegnawingthebushestheyareclingingto,andtheylickthedropsofhoney.Buttheylickthesedropsofhoneyonlyforawhile;somethingwilldrawtheirattentiontothedragonandthemice,andthat’stheendoftheirlicking.Therewasnothingformetolearnfromthem;youshouldnotstopknowingwhatyouknow.

ThesecondwayoutisthewayofEpicureanism.Itisthis:knowingthehopelessnessoflife,enjoyingthosegood things that do exist, not looking at either dragonormice, and licking the honey in the bestpossibleway,especiallyifalothasgatheredonthebush.Solomondescribesthiswaythus:

“ThenIcommendedmirth,becauseamanhathnobetterthingunderthesun,thantoeat,andtodrink,andtobemerry:forthatshallabidewithhimofhislaborthedaysofhislife,whichGodgivethhimunderthesun....

“Gothyway,eatthybreadwithjoy,anddrinkthywinewithamerryheart....Livejoyfullywiththewifewhomthoulovestallthedaysofthelifeofthyvanity,whichhehathgiventheeunderthesun,allthedaysof thyvanity: for that is thyportion in this life, and in thy laborwhich thou takestunder the sun.Whatsoeverthyhandfindethtodo,doitwiththymight;forthereisnowork,nordevice,norknowledge,norwisdom,inthegrave,whitherthougoest.”18

Mostpeopleinourworldtakethiswayout.Theconditionsinwhichtheyfindthemselvesmeanthattheyhavemoregoodthingsthanbad,andmoralobtusenessmakesitpossibleforthemtoforgetthatnoteveryone can have a thousandwomen and palaces like Solomon, that for everymanwith a thousandwives there are a thousand men without wives, and that for every palace there are a thousand menbuilding it with the sweat of their brows, and that the chance which today has made me SolomontomorrowcanmakemeSolomon’sslave.Theobtusenessofthesepeople’simaginationmakesitpossibleforthemtoforgetwhatgaveBuddhanocomfort—theinevitabilityofillness,oldage,anddeaththatanydaynowwilldestroyallthesepleasures.Thefactthatsomeofthesepeopleaffirmthattheobtusenessoftheir thoughtandimaginationisaphilosophythat theycallpositivedoesnot inmyviewset themapartfromtheranksofthosewholickthehoneywithoutseeingthequestion.AndIcouldnotcopythesepeople;lackingtheirobtusenessofimaginationIcouldnotartificiallyproduceitinme.Icouldnottakemyeyesfromthemiceandthedragon,likeanylivingmanoncehehasseenthem.

The thirdway out is theway of strength and energy. It is this: having understood life is evil andmeaningless,todestroyit.Afewstrongandlogicalpeopledothis.Havingunderstoodthewholestupidityofthejokeplayedonusandhavingunderstoodthattheblessingsofthedeadaremorethantheblessings

ofthelivingandthatitisbestofallnottobe,theyactandputanendatoncetothisstupidjoke,seeingthatthemeansarethere:anoosearoundtheneck,water,aknifetopiercetheheart,trainsontherailways.Andtherearemoreandmorepeoplefromourworldactinglike this.Andfor themostpartpeoplearetakingthisactionattheverybestperiodoftheirlife,whenthepowersofthespiritareintheirprimeandfewofthehabitsthatdegrademan’smindhavebeenacquired.Isawthiswayoutasthemostworthwhileandwantedtotakethataction.

Thefourthwayoutisthewayofweakness.Itisthis:understandingtheevilandmeaninglessnessoflife,tocontinuetodragitout,knowinginadvancethatnothingwillcomeofit.Peopleofthistypeknowthatdeathisbetterthanlife,butnothavingthestrengthtoactintelligently—toendthefraudquicklyandkillthemselves—theyseemtobewaitingforsomething.Thisisthewayofweakness,forifIknowwhatisbestanditisinmypower,whynottakethebest?...Iwasinthiscategory.

Sopeoplelikemearesavedfromaterribledilemmabyfourwaysout.HowevermuchIstrainedmymental concentration, I could not see any other way out apart from these four. The first way: not tounderstandthatlifeismeaningless,vanity,andevilandthatit’sbetternottolive.Icouldn’thelpknowingthat,andonceIknewit Icouldn’tshutmyeyes to it.Thesecondway: tomakeuseof lifeas it is,notthinkingofthefuture.ThattooIcouldn’tdo.LikeShakyamuniIcouldn’tgohuntingwhenIknewthatthereexisted old age, suffering, death.My imaginationwas too lively. Furthermore I couldn’t rejoice in thefleetingchancethatforamomentthrewpleasuretomylot.Thethirdway:havingunderstoodthatlifeisevilandfolly,toputanendtoit,tokilloneself.ThatIunderstood,butforsomereasonIdidn’tkillmyselfyet. The fourth way: to live taking the position of Solomon and Schopenhauer; to know that life is afoolishjokeplayedonusandstilltolive,wash,dress,dine,talk,andevenwritelittlebooks.Formethatwasrepugnant,painful,butthatwasthepositionItook.

NowIseethatifIdidn’tkillmyself,thereasonforthatwasadimawarenessofthewrongnessofmythoughts.Howeverconvincingandunquestionablemyownwayofthinkingandthatofthewisemenwhohadbroughtustorecognizethemeaninglessnessoflifemightseemtome,thereremainedinmeavaguedoubtofthetruthatthestartingpointofmyreasoning.

Itwasthis:I,myreason,recognizedthatlifeiscontrarytoreason.Ifthereisnohigherreason(andthereisn’tandnoonecanproveit),thenformereasonisthecreatoroflife.Iftherewerenoreason,therewouldbenolifeforme.Howcanthisreasondenylifebutbethecreatoroflife?Or,lookedatanotherway,iftherewerenolife,myreasontoowouldn’texist—thereforereasonmustbethechildoflife.Lifeiseverything.Reason is thefruitof life,andnowthis reason isdenying life itself. I felt that therewassomethingwronghere.

“Lifeisameaninglessevil,thatisunquestionable,”Isaidtomyself.“ButIhavelived,Istilllive,andallmankindislivingandhaslived.Howcanthatbe?Whydoesmankindlivewhenitisablenottolive?AreIandSchopenhaueralonesocleverthatwehaveunderstoodthemeaninglessnessandeviloflife?

“Thedebateaboutthevanityoflifeisnotsosubtle,andithasbeengoingonalongtimeandbythesimplestpeople,buttheyhavelivedandareliving.Soaretheystilllivingwithouteverhavingthoughtofdoubtingtherationalityoflife?”

Myknowledge,confirmedbythewisdomofwisemen,revealedtomethateverythingintheworld—organic and inorganic—everythinghadbeen setupwith exceptional intelligence,butmyown situationwasstupid.Butthesefools—thehugemassesofsimplepeople—knewnothingofhoweverythingorganicandinorganichadbeensetupintheworld,buttheylivedandtheythoughtthattheirownlifehadbeensetupveryintelligently!

Andtherecameintomyheadthis:“ButwhatifthereissomethingelseIdon’tknow?”Nowignoranceacts just like that. Ignorance always says this very thing.When it doesn’t know something, it says thatwhatitdoesn’tknowisstupid.Inactualfacttheresultisthathereexiststhewholeofmankindthathaseverlivedandisliving,apparentlyunderstandingthemeaningoflife,forwithoutunderstandingititcould

notlive,butIamsayingthatalllifeismeaninglessandthatIcannotlive.NoonepreventsusfromdenyinglifewithSchopenhauer.Butthenkillyourself—andyouwon’thave

tothink.Ifyoudon’t likelife,killyourself.Ifyou’realivebutyoucan’tunderstandthemeaningof lifethenputanendtoit,butdon’thangaboutinthislife, tellingandwritingthatyoudon’tunderstandlife.You’vecomeintomerrycompany;everyonefeelsgood,everyoneknowswhatheorsheisdoing,butyouareboredanddisgusted,sogo.

Soinactualfactarewe,convincedoftheneedforsuicidewithouttakingthedecisiontocommitit,buttheweakest,mostillogical,andinsimpletermsthemoststupidofmen,makingagreatsonganddanceaboutourownstupidity?

Allofourwisdom,howeverunquestionablycertain,hasnotgivenusknowledgeofthemeaningofourlife.Butallofmankindthatconstituteslife,initsmillions,doesnotdoubtthemeaningoflife.

Infacteversincethosetimeslong,longago,sincelifehasexisted,ofwhichIknowanything,peoplehavelivedknowingthedebateaboutthevanityoflifethatshowedmeitsmeaninglessness,buttheystillwent on living, giving life some kind ofmeaning. Ever since some kind of human life began, peoplealreadyhadthatmeaningforlifeandtheyledthatlife,andithascomedowntome.Everythingthatisinmeandaroundme,allofthatisthefruitoftheirknowledgeoflife.ThoseverytoolsofthoughtwithwhichI discuss this life and judge it, all those have beenmade not byme but by them. Imyself was born,educated,grewup,thankstothem.Theyminediron;taughtustofelltrees;tamedcattle,horses;taughtustolivetogether,broughtordertoourlife;theytaughtmetothink,tospeak.AndI,theircreation,fedbythem;nursed,taughtbythem;thinkingtheirthoughtsandtheirwords,haveprovedtothemthatthesehavenomeaning! “Something iswronghere,” I said tomyself. “Somewhere I havemade amistake.”But Icouldnotfindoutwherethemistakelay.

VIII

ALL THESEDOUBTS,WHICH I AMNOWCAPABLEOF expressingmoreor lesscoherently, I couldn’t expressthen.ThenIonlyfeltthathoweverlogicallyinevitablemyconclusionsaboutthevanityoflife,confirmedbythegreatestthinkers,therewassomethingwronginthem.Whetherintheactualargumentorinputtingthequestion,Ididn’tknow;Ionlyfelt that theforceof thereasoningwascompletebut that thatwasn’tenough. All these conclusions couldn’t convince me to the point that I did what followed from myreasoning—thatIkilledmyself.AndIwouldbetellingalieifIsaidthatitwasreasonthatbroughtmetotheconclusionI reachedand that Ididn’tkillmyself.Myreasonwasworking,butsomethingelsewasalsoworkingwhichIcanonlycallconsciousnessoflife.Therewasalsoaforceworkingthatmademepayattentiontoonethingratherthananother,andthatforcealsotookmeoutofmydesperateconditionandsetmyreasonontoaquitedifferentcourse.This forcemademepayattention to thefact that Iandhundredsofpeoplelikemewerenotthewholeofmankind,thatIdidn’tyetknowthelifeofmankind.

Lookingaroundtheclosecircleofmycontemporaries,Ionlysawpeoplewhodidn’tunderstandthequestion; people who did understand it and drowned it in the intoxication of life; people who didunderstandandputanend to their lives; andpeoplewhodidunderstandandoutofweaknesswentonlivingadesperate life.AndIsawnoothers. I thought that thisnarrowcircleofeducated,wealthy,andidlepeopletowhichIbelongedconstitutedthewholeofmankind,andthatthemillionsofthosewhohavelivedandarelivingarejustthose:somekindofcattle,notpeople.

Howeverstrange,howeverincredibleandincomprehensibleitnowseemstomethatinthinkingaboutlifeIcouldignorethelifeofmankindaroundmeonallsides;thatIcouldsoludicrouslylosemywayastothinkthatmylife,thelifeoftheSolomonsandSchopenhauers,wasthereal,normallife;thatthelifeofmillionswassomethingnotworthattention;howeverstrangethatistomenow,Iseethatitwasso.Intheerrorofmymind’spride,IthoughtitbeyondquestionthatIandSolomonandSchopenhauerhadputthequestion so surely and truly that there could be no other; it seemed so beyond question that all thosemillionsbelongedtothosewhohadn’tyetgotasfarasunderstandingthewholedepthofthequestion,thatIsearchedforthemeaningofmyownlifeandneverthoughtonce,“Butwhatmeaningdidallthemillionswhohavelivedandarelivinggivetotheirlives?”

ForalongtimeIlivedinthismadness,oneespeciallypeculiar,notinwordsbutinfacttous,themostliberalandeducatedpeople.But thanksmaybe tomykindofstrangephysical loveof therealworkingpeople thatmademeunderstand themand see that they are not as stupid aswe think, or thanks to thesincerityofmyconvictionthatIcouldknownothing,thatthebestIcoulddowastohangmyself,Isensedthat if Iwanted to liveandunderstand themeaningof life, thenImust lookfor thatmeaningof lifenotamongthosewhohavelost themeaningoflifeandwanttokill themselvesbutamongthosemillionsofpeopledeadandalivewhomakelifeandsupporttheirownlivesandours.

AndIlookedaroundatthehugemassesofpeople,deadandalive,simple,uneducated,notwealthypeople,andIsawsomethingquitedifferent.Isawthatallthesemillionsofthosewhohavelivedandareliving,allwithfewexceptionsdidnotfitmyclassification,thatIcouldn’tseethemasnotunderstandingthe question because they themselves were asking it and answering it with exceptional clarity. I alsocouldn’tseethemasEpicureansbecausetheirlivesweremadeupmoreofprivationsandsufferingsthanofpleasures;stilllesscouldIseethemasfoolishlylivingoutameaninglesslifesinceeveryactoftheirlivesanddeathsthemselveswereexplainedbythem.Theyregardedkillingoneselfasthegreatestevil.It

provedtobethecasethatthewholeofmankindhadknowledgeofthemeaningoflife,unrecognizedandscornedbyme.Itturnedoutthatrationalknowledgedoesnotgivethemeaningoflife,itexcludeslife;themeaninggiventolifebymillionsofpeople,thewholeofmankind,isfoundedonsomekindofdespisedfalseknowledge.

Rationalknowledgeinthepersonofscholarsandwisemendeniesthemeaningoflifebutthegreatmass of people, the whole of mankind, recognizes that meaning in irrational knowledge. And thatirrationalknowledgeisfaith,theverythingIhadtoreject.ThatisGodoneandthree,thatiscreationinsixdays,devilsandangelsandeverythingIcouldn’tacceptaslongasIdidn’tgomad.

Mysituationwasterrible.IknewthatIwouldfindnothingonthepathofrationalknowledgebutthedenialoflife,butthere,infaith,nothingbutthedenialofreason,whichwasevenmoreimpossiblethanthedenialoflife.Accordingtorationalknowledgeitturnedoutthatlifeisevilandpeopleknowthis,thatnot to live issomethingthatdependsonthem,but theyhavelivedanddolive,andImyselfwaslivingalthoughIhadknownlongbeforethatlifeismeaninglessandevil.Accordingtofaithitturnedoutthatinorder to understand themeaning of life I had to renounce reason, the very thing forwhichmeaning isneeded.

IX

THERE AROSE A CONTRADICTION FROM WHICH THERE were two ways out: either what I called rationalwasn’tasrationalasI thought;orwhatseemedtomeirrationalwasn’tasirrationalasI thought.AndIstartedtotestthelineofreasoningofmyrationalknowledge.

Testingthelineofreasoningofrationalknowledge,Ifounditquitecorrect.Theconclusionthatlifeisnothingwasunavoidable,butIsawanerror.Theerrorlayinthefactthatmythinkingdidn’tcorrespondtothequestionIhadasked.Thequestionwasthis:whydoIlive,thatis,whatisrealandlastingthatwillcomeoutofmyillusoryandimpermanentlife,whatmeaningdoesmyfiniteexistencehaveinthisinfiniteworld?AndtoanswerthisquestionIstudiedlife.

The answering of all possible questions about life obviously could not satisfy me because myquestion,howeversimpleitmightappearatthebeginning,includedarequirementfortheexplanationofthefinitebytheinfiniteandthereverse.

Iwasasking,“Whatisthemeaningofmylifeoutsidetime,outsidecause,outsidespace?”ButIwasaskingthequestion,“Whatis themeaningofmylifewithintime,withincause,andwithinspace?”Theresultwasthatafteralonglaborofthought,Ianswered,“None.”

Inmy reasoning I constantly equated—I couldn’t do otherwise—finitewith finite and infinitewithinfinite,andsotheresultIgotwaswhatithadtobe:aforceisaforce,asubstanceisasubstance,williswill,infinityisinfinity,nothingisnothing,andtherecouldbenofurtherresult.

Somethinglikethishappensinmathematicswhen,thinkingyouaresolvinganequation,youproduceasolutionofidentity.Thelineofreasoningiscorrectbutintheresultyougettheanswera=aorx=xor0=0.Thesamehappenedwithmyreasoningabout thequestionof themeaningofmy life.Theanswersgivenbythewholeofsciencetothequestiononlyproducedidentities.

And indeed strictly rational science, which begins like Descartes19 with completely doubtingeverything,rejectsalltheknowledgerecognizedbyfaithandconstructseverythinganewonthelawsofreasonandexperience,andcannotgiveanyotheranswertothequestionoflifebuttheveryoneIreceived—anindeterminateanswer.Itwasonlyatthestartthatscienceseemedtometogiveapositiveanswer—theanswerofSchopenhauer:lifehasnomeaning;itisevil.ButhavinglookedintothematterIunderstoodthattheanswerisn’tpositive,butwasjustmyfeelingexpressingitassuch.Astrictlyexpressedanswer,as articulatedby theBrahmins andSolomon andSchopenhauer, is only an indeterminate answer or anidentity,0=0;lifeappearingtomeasnothingisnothing.Sophilosophicalsciencedeniesnothingbutonlyanswersthatitcannotsolvethisquestion,thatforitthesolutionremainsindeterminate.

Havingansweredthis, Iunderstoodthat itwas impossible to lookfor theanswer tomyquestioninrationalscience,andthattheanswergivenbyrationalscienceisonlyanindicationthattheanswercanonlybegivenwiththequestionbeingputdifferently,onlywhenthereisintroducedintothereasoningthequestion of the relationship of the finite to the infinite. I also understood that however irrational anddistorted theanswersgivenby faith, theyhave theadvantage that intoeveryanswer they introduce therelationshipofthefinitetotheinfinite,withoutwhichtherecannotbeananswer.HoweverImightputthequestion,“HowshouldI live?” theanswer is“ByGod’s law.”“What that is realwillcomeoutofmylife?”“Eternalsufferingoreternalbliss.”“Whatmeaningoflifeistherethatisnotdestroyedbydeath?”“UnionwiththeinfinityofGod,paradise.”

Soapartfromrationalscience,whichpreviouslyseemedtometheonlyone,Iwasinescapablyledtorecognize that the whole of living mankind has another irrational science—faith, which gives thepossibilityofliving.AlltheirrationalityoffaithremainedthesameformeasbeforebutIcouldn’tfailtorecognizethatitalonegivesmankindanswerstothequestionsoflifeandconsequentlythepossibilityofliving.

Rational sciencehad ledme to recognize that life ismeaningless;my life stoppedand Iwanted todestroymyself.Lookingaroundatpeople,atthewholeofmankind,Isawthatpeopledoliveandaffirmthattheyknowthemeaningoflife.Ilookedatmyself:IdidliveaslongasIknewthemeaningoflife.LikeothersItoowasgiventhemeaningoflifeandthepossibilityoflifebyfaith.

Lookingfurtheratpeoplefromothercountries,atmycontemporaries,andatthosewholivedbeforeus, I saw one and the same thing.Where there is life, ever sincemankind has existed faith gives thepossibilityofliving,andthemainfeaturesoffaithareeverywhereandalwaysoneandthesame.

Whateverthefaithandwhatevertheanswersandtowhomeveritmightgivethem,everyanswerfromfaith gives the finite existence of man a meaning of the infinite—a meaning that is not destroyed bysuffering,privationsanddeath.Thatmeansinfaithalonecanonefindthemeaningandpotentialoflife.AndIunderstoodthatfaithinitsmostessentialmeaningisnotjust“theunveilingofunseenthings”andsoforth,itisn’trevelation(thatisonlyadescriptionofoneofthesignsoffaith),it’snotjusttherelationshipofman toGod (one needs to define faith and thenGod, but not to define faith throughGod), it’s notagreement with what one has been told by someone (as faith is most often understood)—faith is theknowledgeofthemeaningofman’slife,asaresultofwhichmandoesnotdestroyhimselfbutlives.Faithisthelifeforce.Ifamanlives,thenhebelievesinsomething.Ifhedidn’tbelievethatonemustliveforsomething,thenhewouldn’tlive.Ifhedoesn’tseeanddoesn’tunderstandtheillusorinessofthefinite,hebelieves in thefinite; ifhedoesunderstand the illusorinessof thefinite,hemustbelieve in the infinitewithoutwhichonecannotlive.

AndIrememberedthewholecourseofmymentallaborsandIwashorrified.Itwasnowcleartomethatforamantobeabletoliveheeitherhadnottoseetheinfiniteorhaveanexplanationofthemeaningoflifeinwhichthefinitewasequatedwiththeinfinite.IhadsuchanexplanationbutIhadnoneedforitwhile Ibelieved in the finite,and Ibegan to test itby reason.Andwith the lightof reason I found thewholeofmypreviousexplanationtodissolveindust.ButtherecameatimewhenIstoppedbelievinginthefinite.AndthenIbegantoconstructoutofwhatIknew,onrationalfoundations,anexplanationthatwouldgivethemeaningoflife;butnothinggotconstructed.Togetherwithmankind’sbestmindsIcameto0=0andwasverysurprisedtogetsuchasolutionwhennothingelsecouldcomeofit.

WhatwasIdoingwhenIlookedforananswerintheexperimentalsciences?IwantedtolearnwhyIlivedandforthatIstudiedeverythingoutsidemyself.ClearlyIwasabletolearnagreatdeal,butnothingofwhatIneeded.

WhatwasIdoingwhenIlookedforananswerinthephilosophicalsciences?Istudiedthethoughtsofthosepeoplewhowere in thesamepositionasmyself,whohadnoanswer to thequestion,“WhydoIlive?”ClearlyIcouldlearnnothingotherthanwhatImyselfknew:thatonecanknownothing.

“WhatamI?”“Partof theinfinite.”Nowinthosefewwordsliesthewholeproblem.Canmankindhaveaskedthisquestionofitselfonlyyesterday?Andreallydidnooneaskhimselfthisquestionbeforeme—suchasimplequestioncomingtothetipofthetongueofanycleverchild?

Thisquestionhasbeenaskedeversincemanhasexisted;andeversincemanhasexisted,ithasbeenunderstoodthatforthequestiontobeansweredithasbeenjustasinadequatetoequatefinitetofiniteandinfinitetoinfinite,andeversincemanhasexisted,therelationshipoffinitetoinfinitehasbeenlookedforandexpressed.

Alltheseconcepts,inwhichthefiniteisequatedtotheinfiniteandtheresultisthemeaningoflife,conceptsofGod,freedom,good,wesubmittologicalanalysis.Andtheseconceptsdonotstanduptothe

criticismofreason.Ifitweren’tsoterrible,itwouldbefunnytoseetheprideandcomplacencywithwhichlikechildren

wetaketopiecesawatch,removethespring,makeatoyofit,andthenaresurprisedthatthewatchstopsworking.

Thesolutionofthecontradictionbetweenfiniteandinfiniteisnecessaryandvaluable,providingananswer to the question whereby life is made possible. And this is the only solution, one we findeverywhere,alwaysandamongallpeoples—asolutioncomingdownoutoftimeinwhichthelifeofmanhasbeenlosttous,asolutionsodifficultthatwecouldmakenothinglikeit—thissolutionwecarelesslydestroyinordertoaskagainthatquestioninherentineveryonetowhichthereisnoanswer.

Theconceptsof infiniteGod,of thedivinityof thesoul,of the linkbetween theaffairsofmanandGod,theconceptsofmoralgoodandevil,areconceptsevolvedinthedistanthistoryofman’slifethatishiddenfromoureyes,arethoseconceptswithoutwhichlifeandImyselfwouldnotbe,andrejectingallthislaborofallmankind,Iwanttodoeverythingbymyself,alone,anew,andinmyownway.

Ididn’tthinksothen,butthegermsofthosethoughtswerealreadyinme.IunderstoodfirstlythatforallourwisdommypositionalongsideSchopenhauerandSolomonwasastupidone:weunderstandthatlifeisevilandstillwelive.Thisisclearlystupidbecauseiflifeisstupid—andIdosoloveallthatisrational—then I should clearly destroy life, and no one would be able to challenge this. Secondly Iunderstoodthatallourreasoningwasgoingaroundinaviciouscircle,likeawheelthathascomeoffitsgear.Howevermuch, howeverwellwe reason,we cannot give an answer to thequestion, and itwillalwaysbe0=0,andsoourpath is likely tobe thewrongone.Thirdly, Ibegan tounderstand that theanswersgiventofaithenshrinethemostprofoundwisdomofmankind,andthatIdidn’thavetherighttodenythemonthegroundsofreason,andthat,mostimportantly,theseanswersdoanswerthequestionoflife.

X

IUNDERSTOODTHISBUTIHADNORELIEFFROMIT.Iwasnowreadytoacceptmyfaithprovideditdidn’trequireofmeadirectdenialofreason,which

wouldhavebeenafalsehood.AndIstudiedbothBuddhismandIslaminbooksandaboveallChristianitybothinbooksandinthelivingpeoplearoundme.

Naturally I turned first of all to believers frommy ownworld, to scholars,Orthodox theologians,monastic elders, Orthodox theologians of the new tendency and even so-called New Christians whopreachedsalvationbyfaithinredemption.AndIseizedonthesebelieversandquestionedthemaboutthenatureoftheirbeliefandinwhattheysawthemeaningoflife.

In spiteofmaking everypossible concession, avoiding all disputes, I couldnot accept the faithofthese people—I saw that what they projected as faith wasn’t an explanation but an obscuring of themeaningoflife,andtheythemselvesaffirmedtheirfaithnotinordertoanswerthatquestionoflifethathadledmetofaithbutforsomedifferentaimsalientome.

I remember thepainful feelingofhorroron returning tomy formerdespair afterhope,which I feltmany,many times inmy dealingswith these people. Themore they explained their teaching, inmoredetail,themoreclearlyIsawtheirerrorandlostmyhopeoffindingintheirfaiththeexplanationofthemeaningoflife.

It wasn’t that in their exposition of their teaching they mixed with the Christian truths which hadalwaysbeenclosetomemanymoresuperfluousandirrationalthings—itwasn’tthatwhichrepelledme;Iwasrepelledbythefactthatthelifeofthesepeoplewasthesameasmine,onlywiththedifferencethatitwasn’t in accordancewith theveryprinciples they expounded in their teaching. I felt clearly that theyweredeceivingthemselves,andthattheylikemyselfhadnoothermeaningoflifethantolivewhilelifeisthereandtotakeallthatahandcangrasp.Isawthisbecauseiftheyhadhadthatmeaningoflifeinwhichthefearofprivation,suffering,anddeathisdestroyed,thentheywouldn’tbefrightenedofthem.Butthesebelievers from our world, just like myself, lived in plenty; tried to increase or preserve it; werefrightenedofprivation,suffering,death;andlivedlikemyselfandallofusunbelievers,livedsatisfyingtheirlusts,livedasbadly,ifnotworse,thanunbelievers.

Noreasoningcouldconvincemeofthetruthoftheirfaith.Onlyactsthatwouldshowthattheyhadameaningof life bywhich the poverty, sickness, death that terrifiedmedid not terrify themcouldhaveconvincedme.ButIdidnotseesuchactsamongthevariedbelieversfromourworld.OnthecontraryIsaw such acts among the most extreme unbelievers from our world but never among the so-calledbelieversfromourworld.

AndIunderstoodthatthefaithofthesepeoplewasnotthefaithIwasseeking,thattheirfaithwasnotfaithbutonlyoneoftheEpicureanconsolationsinlife.Iunderstoodthatthisfaithmightserveperhapsifnot for consolation then for some distraction for the repentant Solomon on his deathbed, but it cannotservethehugemajorityofmankind,whichiscallednottoamuseitselfmakinguseofthelaborofothersbuttocreatelife.Forthewholeofmankindtobeabletolive,forittocontinuelife,givingitmeaning,thesepeople,thesemillionsmusthaveanother,arealknowledgeoffaith.Ihadn’tbeenconvincedoftheexistenceoffaithbymyownandbySolomon’sandSchopenhauer’sfailure tokillourselvesbutbythefact that thesemillionshavelivedandarelivingandbearusalongwiththeSolomonsonthewavesoftheirlives.

AndIbegantocomeclosetobelieversfromamongpoor,simplepeople,wanderingpilgrims,monks,dissenters, peasants.The teaching of these ordinary peoplewas alsoChristian like the teaching of thefalsebelieversfromourworld.AgreatmanysuperstitionstooweremixedinwithChristiantruths,butthedifferencelayinthatforthemthesuperstitionsofbelieversfromourworldwerequitesuperfluous,didn’tconnectwiththeirlives,wereonlyakindofEpicureanamusement;whereasthesuperstitionsofbelieversfromtheworkingpeoplewereconnectedtotheirlivestosuchanextentthatitwasimpossibletoimaginetheir liveswithout these superstitions—theywere an essential conditionof this life.Thewhole lifeofbelieversfromourworldwasacontradictionoftheirfaith,butthewholelifeofthelaboringbelieverswasaconfirmationofthemeaningoflifegivenbytheknowledgeoffaith.AndIbegantolookintothelifeandbeliefsofthesepeopleandthemoreIlookedthemoreIwasconvincedthattheyhadtruefaith,thattheirfaithwasessentialtothemandalonegavethemthemeaningandthepossibilityoflife.Bycontrastwith what I saw in our world, where it is possible to live without faith and where barely one in athousand professes himself a believer, among these people there is barely a single unbeliever amongthousands.BycontrastwithwhatIsawinourworld,whereallof lifepasses in idleness,amusements,anddiscontentwithlife,Isawthatthewholelifeofthesepeoplepassedinheavylabor,andtheywerelessdiscontentedwithlifethanthewealthy.Bycontrastwithpeopleofourworld,whoresistedandwereindignant at fate for privation and suffering, these people accepted illness and sorrows without anybewilderment or resistance but with a calm and firm conviction that all this must be and cannot beotherwise, that this is good.By contrastwith us,who the clevererwe are the lesswe understand themeaningoflifeandseesomewickedjokeinthefactthatwesufferanddie,thesepeoplelive,suffer,andapproachdeathwithcalm,mostoftenwithjoy.Bycontrastwithourworld,whereacalmdeath,adeathwithoutterroranddespair,isaveryrareexception,adeathwithoutcalm,withouthumility,withoutjoyisa very rare exception among ordinary people. And such people, deprived of everything which forSolomonandourselvesisthesolegoodoflife,arethegreatmultitude.Ilookedmorewidelyaroundme.Ilookedintothelivesofthegreatmassesofpeoplepastandpresent.AndIsawthatthosewhounderstoodthemeaningoflife,whoknewhowtoliveanddiewerenottwoorthreeortenbuthundreds,thousands,millions.Andallofthem,endlesslyvariousincharacter,intellect,education,position,allidenticallyandincontrasttomyownignorance,knewthemeaningoflifeanddeath,calmlylabored,enduredprivationandsuffering,livedanddied,seeinginthatnot“vanity”butgood.

AndIcametolovethesepeople.ThemoreIenteredintotheirlivesandthelivesofdeadpeoplelikethemofwhomIhadreadandheard,themoreIlovedthemandtheeasieritbecameformemyselftolive.Ilivedlikethatfortwoyearsandatransformationhappenedtomethathadbeencomingforalongtimeand theseedsofwhichhadalwaysbeen inme.Whathappened tome is that the lifeofourworld—ofwealthy, educated people—not only became loathsome to me but lost all meaning. All our actions,reasoning,science,art—all thatseemedtomejust indulgence. Iunderstood thatonecouldnot lookformeaninginthat.Theactivitiesoftheworkingpeople,creatinglife,seemedtometheonlytruework.AndIunderstoodthatthemeaninggiventothatlifeisthetruthandIacceptedit.

XI

ANDREMEMBERINGTHATTHESEVERYBELIEFSHAD repelledmeandseemedtomemeaninglesswhentheywereprofessedbypeoplewhoselivescontradictedthesebeliefs,andhowtheseverybeliefsattractedmeand seemed tome tomake sensewhen I saw that people lived by them, I understoodwhy I then hadrejectedthesebeliefsandwhyIhadfoundthemmeaninglessbutnowacceptedthemandfoundthemfullofmeaning. I understood that I had erred and how I had erred. I erred not somuch because I thoughtwronglyasbecauseIlivedbadly.IunderstoodthatthetruthwashiddenfrommenotsomuchbytheerrorofmythinkingasbymylifeitselfintheexclusiveconditionsofEpicureanismandofsatisfyingmylustsinwhichIspentit.Iunderstoodthatmyquestionofwhatismylifeandtheanswer,evil,werequiteright.Whatwaswrongwas just that the answer thatonly applied tome I applied to life ingeneral: I askedmyselfwhatismylifeandgottheanswer,evilandmeaningless.Andindeedmylife—alifeofpanderingtolust—wasmeaninglessandevil,andthereforetheanswer“lifeisevilandmeaningless”appliedonlytomylifeandnottohumanlifeasawhole.IunderstoodthattruthIlaterfoundintheGospels,thatpeopleloveddarknessratherthanthelightbecausetheiractionswereevil.Foreveryonewhoseactionsareevilhates the light and does not go toward it so that his actions are not revealed. I understood that tounderstand themeaning of life, first lifemust not bemeaningless and evil, then one can use reason tounderstandit.IunderstoodwhyIhadspentsolonggoingaboutnearsuchanobvioustruth,andthatifoneistothinkandspeakaboutthelifeofmankind,thenonemustspeakandthinkaboutthelifeofmankindbutnotaboutthelifeofafewparasitesonlife.Thistruthisalwaysatruth,justas2×2=4,butIdidnotrecognizeit,becauseinrecognizingthat2×2=4,IwouldhavehadtorecognizethatIamnotgood.Andtofeelmyselfgoodwasmoreimportantandcompellingthan2×2=4.Icametolovegoodpeople,hatedmyself,andIrecognizedthetruth.Noweverythingbecamecleartome.

What if an executioner who spent his life in torture and decapitation, or a hopeless drunk, or amadmanshutupinadarkroomforhisentirelife,lookingaroundhisroomandimaginingthathewouldperish ifhe left it—what if theyasked themselves,“What is life?”Obviously to thequestion“What islife?”theycouldnotgetanyotheranswerbutonestatingthatlifeisthegreatestevil;andthemadman’sanswerwouldbecompletelycorrect,butonlyforhim.WhatifIamamadmanlikehim?Whatifweall,wealthy,educatedpeople,aremadmenlikehim?

AndIunderstoodthatweareindeedmadmenlikehim.Isurelywasamadmanlikehim.Andinfactabirdexistssothatitmustfly,gatherfood,buildnests,andwhenIseeabirddoingthis,Irejoiceinitsjoy.Agoat,ahare,awolfexistsothattheymustfeed,multiply,feedtheirfamilies,andwhentheydothisIamfirmly aware that they are happy and their livesmake sense.Whatmust aman do?Hemustmake hislivingjustliketheanimals,butonlywiththedifferencethathewillperishmakingitonhisown—hemustmakeitnotforhimselfbutforall.Andwhenhedoesthis,Iamfirmlyawarethatheishappyandhislifemakessense.WhathadIdoneduringmythirtyyearsofconsciouslife?Inotonlydidnotmakealivingforall,Ididn’tevenmakeitformyself.Ilivedasaparasiteandhavingaskedmyself,“WhydoIlive?”Igottheanswer,“Tonopurpose.”Ifthemeaningofman’slifeliesinmakingthatliving,thenhowcouldI,whohadspentthirtyyearsnotmakingalivingbutdestroyingitformyselfandothers,getanyotheranswerbutthatmylifeismeaninglessandevil?Anditwasmeaninglessandevil.

The life of theworld happens in accordancewith someone’swill—someone achieves his purposewiththislifeofthewholeworldandwithourlives.Tohaveahopeofunderstandingthemeaningofthat

will,onemustfirstfulfillit—dowhatiswantedofus.ButifIwon’tdowhatiswantedofme,thenIwillnever understand eitherwhat iswantedofmeor even lesswhat iswantedof us all andof thewholeworld.

If a naked, hungrybeggar is brought froma crossroads to a coveredplace in a fine establishment,givenfoodanddrink,andmadetomoveastickupanddown,thenobviously,beforefindingoutwhyhehasbeen taken,whyhe ismoving thestick,whether theorganizationof thewholeestablishmentmakessense, thebeggarmust first of allmove the stick. If hemoves the stick, thenhewill see that the stickmovesapump,thatthepumppumpsupwater,thatthewatergoesoverthegardenbeds;thenhe’llbetakenfromthecoveredwellandputontodifferentwork,andhewillgatherthefruitsandenterintohismaster’sjoy,andashemovesfromlowerworktohigher,havinganeverdeeperunderstandingoftheorganizationofthewholeestablishmentandtakingpartinit,hewillneverthinkofaskingwhyheishere,norwillhestartblamingthemaster.

Inthesamewaythesimple,uneducatedworkingpeoplewhodothemaster’swill,whomwethinkofas cattle, do not blame him; but herewe are, thewisemen, eating away ourmaster’s food but doingnothingofwhatthemasterwantsfromus,andinsteadofdoingit,wesitdowninacircleandargue,“Whymovethestick?It’sstupid.”Whataconclusion.Andwe’veconcludedthatthemasterisstupidorthathedoesn’texist,whileweareintelligent,onlywefeelthatwearequiteuselessandwemustsomehowberidofourselves.

XII

MYAWARENESSOFTHEERROROFRATIONALKNOWLedgefreedmefromthetemptationofidletheorizing.Myconvictionthatonecanonlyfindknowledgeofthetruthinlifemademedoubttherightnessofmyownlife;but Iwasonlysavedbypullingmyself in timeoutofmyexclusivenessandseeing the true lifeofsimpleworkingpeopleandunderstanding thatonly thiswas the true life. Iunderstood that if Iwant tounderstandlifeanditsmeaning,Imustlivenotthelifeofaparasitebutthetruelife,andhavingacceptedthemeaninggivenitbytruemankindandhavingmergedmyselfwiththislife,totestit.

Atthattimethefollowinghappenedtome.DuringallthatyearwhenIwasaskingmyselfeveryminutewhetherIshouldenditbyanooseorabullet—duringallthattime,alongsidethosewaysofthoughtandobservationofwhichIwasspeaking,myheartwassufferingfromafeelingoftorment.ThisfeelingIcanonlycallthesearchforGod.

Isaythat thissearchwasnotaprocessofrational thoughtbutafeelingbecausethissearchdidnotcomeoutofmywayofthinking—itwasevendirectlyopposedtoit—butitcameoutofmyheart.Itwasafeelingof terror,ofbeingorphaned,ofbeingaloneamongeverythingalien,andofhopeforsomeone’shelp.

AlthoughIwascompletelyconvincedoftheimpossibilityofprovingtheexistenceofagod(Kant20hadproved tome that one cannot prove this, and I fullyunderstoodhim) I still soughtGod; I hoped IwouldfindhimandbyoldhabitIturnedwithprayertowhatIsoughtanddidnotfind.SometimesIwouldtestinmymindtheargumentsofKantandSchopenhauerabouttheimpossibilityofprovingtheexistenceofagod,andsometimesIstartedtorefutethem.Cause,Isaidtomyself,isn’tthesamecategoryofthoughtasspaceandtime.IfIexist,thenforthatthereisacause,andforcausesthereisacause.AndthiscauseofeverythingiswhattheycallGod;andIstoppedatthatthoughtandtriedwithallmybeingtobecomeawareofthepresenceofthiscause.AndassoonasIbecameawarethattherewasapowerholdingme,Iatoncefeltthepossibilityoflife.ButIaskedmyself,“Whatisthiscause,thispower?HowshouldIthinkofit,howshouldIrelatetowhatIcallGod?”Andonlythefamiliaranswerscameintomymind:“Heisthecreator,theall-provident.”Theseanswersdidn’tsatisfyme,andIfeltthatwhatIneededforlifewasdisappearingwithinme.IbecameterrifiedandbegantopraytohimwhomIsoughtforhimtohelpme.AndthemoreIprayed,thecleareritwastomethathewasn’thearingmeandthattherewasnoonetowhomIcouldturn.AndwiththisdespairinmyheartthatthereisnoGod,none,Isaid,“Lord,havemercy,saveme!Lord,teachme,mygod!”ButnoonehadmercyonmeandIfeltthatmylifewasending.

But again and again fromdifferent sides I came to recognize that I couldnot have appeared in theworldwithoutanyreason,cause,andmeaning,thatIcouldnotbesuchafledglingfallenfromthenestasIfeltmyselftobe.Yes,afledglingfallenfromthenest,Ilieonmybackandcheepinthelonggrass,butIcheep because I know thatmymother carriedme in her, hatchedme,warmedme, fedme, lovedme.Whereisshe,thatmotherofmine?Ihavebeenabandoned;whoabandonedme?Icannothidefrommyselfthefactthatsomeonegavebirthtomeinlove.Whoisthissomeone?Again,God.

“He knows and sees my searching, despair, struggle. He is,” I said to myself. And I only had torecognizethisforamomentforlifeatoncetoriseupwithinme,andIfeltboththepossibilityandthejoyofexistence.ButagainfromrecognizingtheexistenceofGodImovedontosearchingforhowIshouldrelatetohim,andagainIimaginedthatGod,ourcreatorinthreepersons,whosenthisson,theredeemer.

Andagainthisgod,agodseparatefromtheworld,fromme,meltedlikeablockofice,meltedbeforemyeyes,andagainnothingremained,andagainthesourceoflifedriedup;Iwentintodespairandfeltthattherewasnothingformetodobutkillmyself.And,worstofall,IfeltthatIcouldn’tevendothat.

Nottwice,notthreetimes,buttensandhundredsoftimesIcameintothesemoods—nowofjoyandanimation,thenagainofdespairandanawarenessoftheimpossibilityoflife.

I remember it was early spring; I was alone in the forest, listening to the sounds of the forest. Ilistenedandkeptthinkingofonething,justasIhadthoughtconstantlyofoneandthesamethingduringtheselastthreeyears.IagainsoughtGod.

“Verywell,thereisnoGod,”Isaidtomyself.“Thereisnonewhowouldnotbemyimaginedcreationbut reality, likemywhole life; there isnone.Andnothing,nomiracles canprove suchagod,becausemiracleswillbemyimaginedcreation,andirrationalaswell.”

“ButwhataboutmyideaofGod,theonewhomIseek?”Iaskedmyself.“Wheredidthisideacomefrom?”Andagainatthisthoughtjoyouswavesoflifesurgedupwithinme.Everythingaroundmetookonlife,acquiredmeaning.Butmyjoydidnotlastlong.Mymindcontinueditswork.“TheideaofGodisnotGod,”Isaidtomyself.“Theideaiswhattakesplacewithinme,theideaofGodiswhatIcanrouseornotrousewithinme.ItisnotwhatIamseeking.Iamseekingthatwithoutwhichtherecanbenolife.”Andagaineverythingstartedtodiearoundmeandwithinme,andagainIwantedtokillmyself.

ButhereIlookedatmyself,atwhatwashappeningwithinme,andIrememberedallthosehundredsoftimesIhaddiedandcometolifeagain.IrememberedthatIlivedonlywhenIbelievedinGod.Asitwasbefore,soitisnow,Isaidtomyself:IonlyhavetoknowofGodandIlive;IonlyhavetoforgethimandIdie.Whatisthisdyingandcomingtolifeagain?ClearlyIdonotlivewhenIlosemyfaithintheexistenceofGod,clearlyIwouldhavekilledmyselflongagoifIdidn’thaveadimhopeoffindinghim.ClearlyIdolive,trulylive,onlywhenIfeelhimandseekhim.“SowhatmoredoIseek?”avoicecriedinme.Sothereheis.Heisthatwithoutwhichonecannotlive.ToknowGodandtoliveareoneandthesame.Godislife.

“Live seeking God, and then there will be no life without God.” And more strongly than evereverythingwaslitupwithinmeandaroundme,andthislightnowdidnotleaveme.

AndIwassavedfromsuicide.WhenandhowthischangetookplaceinmeIcouldnotsay.JustasslowlyandimperceptiblyasthelifeforcehadbeendestroyedinmeandIhadcometotheimpossibilityof living, to the stoppingof life, to theneed for suicide, sograduallyand imperceptibly this life forcecamebacktome.Andit’sstrangethatthelifeforcethatcamebacktomewasn’tanewonebuttheoldest—theveryonethathadsustainedmeintheearliesttimesofmylife.IneverythingIreturnedtowhatIhadknownbefore,inchildhoodandinyouth.Ireturnedtobeliefinthewillthathadproducedmeandwantedsomethingofme;Iturnedtomakingthechiefgoalofmylifetodobetter,tolivemoreinaccordancewiththiswill;Ireturnedtobeingabletofindtheexpressionofthiswillinwhatallofmankindhadevolvedforitsguidanceintheplacesthathadbeenhiddenfromme;IreturnedtobeliefinGod,inmoralperfection,andintraditionthathandeddownthemeaningoflife.OnlytherewasthedifferencethatthenallthathadbeenacceptedunconsciouslywhereasnowIknewthatwithoutthisIcouldnotlive.

Therehappenedtomesomethinglikethis:Iwasputintoaboat—Idon’trememberwhen—pushedofffromsomeshoreIdidn’tknow,givenadirectiontotheotherbank,givenoarsintomyuntrainedhands,andleftalone.ItoiledasbestIcouldandrowedwiththeoars,butthefurtherIrowedoutintothemiddle,thefasterbecamethecurrenttakingmeawayfrommygoalandthemoreoftenIcameacrossrowerslikemyself carried away by the current. Therewere single oarsmen carrying on rowing; therewere otherrowerswhohadthrownawaytheiroars;therewerebigboats,greatshipsfullofpeople;somefoughtthecurrent,otherssurrenderedtoit.AndthemoreIrowed,themoreIlookeddownstreamatthestreamingmassofall therowers,IforgotthedirectionsIhadbeengiven.Intheverymiddleofthestream,inthethrongofboatsandshipsbeingcarrieddownstream,Icompletelylostmywayandthrewawaymyoars.

Oneverysidearoundmeamidcheerandexultationtheywentondownstreambyoarandsail,assuringmeandeachotherthattherecouldbenootherway.AndIbelievedthemandwentwiththemontheflow.AndIwascarriedfar,sofarthatIheardthenoiseoftherapidsinwhichIwouldbewrecked,andIsawboatsthathadbeenwreckedinthem.AndIrecoveredmysenses.ForalongtimeIcouldnotunderstandwhathadhappenedtome.AheadofmeIsawonlythedoomtowardwhichIwasspeedingandofwhichIwasfrightened.IsawnosalvationanywhereandIdidn’tknowwhattodo.ButlookingbackIsawcountlessboatsfightingagainstthecurrentwithoutstopping,Irememberedtheshore,theoars,andthedirections,andIstartedtorowbackupstreamandtowardtheshore.

TheshorewasGod,thedirectionsweretradition,theoarswerethefreedomgivenmetorowawaytoward theshore, tobeunitedwithGod.Andso the life forcewasrenewed inmeandIbegan to liveagain.

XIII

IRENOUNCEDTHELIFEOFOURWORLD,HAVINGCOMEtorecognizethatthisisnotlifebutonlyasimulationoflife;thattheconditionsofexcessinwhichwelivedepriveusofthepossibilityofunderstandinglife;andthatinordertounderstandlifeImustunderstandnotalifeofexceptions,notthelifeofus,parasitesonlife,butthelifeofthesimpleworkingpeople,thosewholivelifeandthemeaningtheygiveit.ThesimpleworkingpeoplearoundmeweretheRussianpeople,andIturnedtothemandtothemeaningtheygavelife.Thismeaning,ifonecanputitintowords,wasthefollowing:EverymanhascomeintotheworldbyGod’swill.AndGodhassocreatedmanthateverymancandestroyhissoulorsaveit.Man’staskinlifeistosavethesoul;tosavehissoulhemustliveGod’sway,andtoliveGod’swayhemustrenounceallthepleasuresoflife,labor,submit,endure,andbemerciful.ThismeaningthepeopledrawfromalltheChristianteachinghandeddowntotheminthepastandnow,bypastorsandbythetraditionlivinginthepeopleandexpressedinlegends,proverbs,andstories.Butindissolublyboundupwiththismeaningofthe popular faith, the nondissenting folk amongwhom I lived hadmuch that repelledme and seemedimpossible to explain: sacraments, church services, fasts, the bowing down to relics and icons. Thepeoplecannotseparateonefromtheother,norcouldI.HoweverstrangeIfoundmuchofwhatwentintothepeople’sfaith,Iacceptedeverything,wenttotheservices,saidprayersmorningandevening,fasted,preparedforcommunion,andatfirstmyreasondidn’tresistanything.Whathadpreviouslyseemedtomeimpossiblenowarousednooppositioninme.

Myattitudetofaithnowandmyattitudethenwerequitedifferent.Previouslylifeitselfhadseemedtome full of meaning and faith, as the arbitrary affirmation of some irrational propositions, seemedabsolutelysuperfluousasfarasIwasconcernedandwithnoconnectiontolife.Iaskedmyselfthenwhatmeaning these propositions had and, convinced that they didn’t have any, rejected them. Now, on thecontrary,Ifirmlyknewthatmylifehadnomeaningandcannothaveany,andthepropositionsoffaithnotonlydidnotappearsuperfluousbut Iwas ledbyunquestionableexperience to theconviction thatonlythese propositions of faith givemeaning to life. Previously I regarded them as completely superfluoushieroglyphics;nowifIdidn’tunderstandthemIstillknewthatinthemwasmeaningandsaidtomyselfthatImustlearntounderstandthem.

I reasoned as follows. I said tomyself:The knowledge of faith rises, like all ofmankindwith itsreason,fromamysteriousbeginning.ThebeginningisGod,thebeginningofman’sbodyandmind.JustasmybodyhasdescendedtomefromGod,sohavemyreasonandmycomprehensionoflifedescendedtome, and therefore all the stagesofdevelopmentof this comprehensioncannotbe false.Everything thatpeopletrulybelievemustbethetruth;thetruthcanbeexpressedinvariouswaysbutitcannotbealie,andthereforeifitappearstomeasalie,thatonlymeansthatIdon’tunderstandit.Furthermore,Isaidtomyself,theessenceofmyfaithliesinitsgivinglifeameaningthatisnotdestroyedwithdeath.Ofcourse,forfaithtobeabletoanswerthequestionsofatsardyinginluxury,ofanoldslavewornoutbytoil,ofasimplechild,awiseelder,acrazyoldwoman,ahappyyoungwoman,ayouth tornbypassions,ofallpeoplewith themost diverse conditions of life and education—of course, if there is a single answeransweringtheeternalsolequestionoflife,“WhatdoIlivefor,whatwillcomeofmylife?”—thatanswer,thoughsingleinitsessence,mustbeendlesslydiverseinitsmanifestations;andthemoresingle,themoretrue, thedeeper this answer, of course the stranger and themoredistorted itmust appear as it tries toexpressitselfaccordingtotheeducationandsocialconditionsofeachman.Butthesearguments,which

justified forme the ritual sideof faith,were stillnotenough to letmeperformactsaboutwhich Ihaddoubts in themost importantmatterofmy life, in faith. Iwished tomergewith thepeoplewithall thepowerofmyspirit,performingtheritualsideoftheirfaith,butIcouldnotdothat.IfeltthatIwouldbelying inmy own eyes,would bemockingwhat I held sacred, if I did that.But here our newRussiantheologicalwritingcametomyaid.

According to the explanation of these theologians the fundamental dogma of faith is the infalliblechurch.Fromtheacceptanceofthisdogmatherecomesasanecessaryconsequencethetruthofallthatthechurch professes. The church, as an assembly of believers united by love and therefore having trueknowledge,becamethefoundationofmyfaith.IsaidtomyselfthatGod’struthcannotbeavailablejusttooneman;itdisclosesitselfonlytothewholetotalityofpeopleunitedbylove.Tocomprehendthetruthonemustnotstandapart,andinordernottostandapartonemustloveandacceptwhatonemaynotagreewith.Truthdisclosesitselftoloveandsoifyoudon’tsubmittotheritualsofthechurch,youdestroylove;andindestroyingloveyoudepriveyourselfofthepossibilityofknowingthetruth.Ididn’tseethenthesophistryexpressedinthisargument.Ididn’tseethenthatbeingunitedinlovecangiveverygreatlovebutsurelynotthedivinetruthexpressedintheprecisewordsoftheNiceneCreed;Ididnotseethatlovecannotmakeaparticularexpressionofthetruthanessentialconditionofunity.Ididnotseethentheerrorofthisargument,andthankstoitIfounditpossibletoacceptandperformalltheritualsoftheOrthodoxChurchwithout understandingmost of them. I tried thenwith all the powers ofmy spirit to avoid anyarguments and contradictions, and tried to explain rationally insofar as it was possible the church’spropositionswithwhichIcameintoconflict.

InperformingtheritualsofthechurchIrestrainedmyreasonandsubmittedtothetraditionheldbyallmankind. I was united with my ancestors, with my loved ones—father, mother, grandfathers,grandmothers.Theyandthosewhohadgonebeforebelievedandlived,andproducedme.IwasunitedtoowithallthemillionsfromtheordinarypeoplewhomIrespected.Besides,theseactionsinthemselveshadnothingwrongaboutthem(Iconsideredindulgenceinlustsaswrong).Gettingupearlyforachurchservice,IknewthatIwasdoinggoodjustbecauseinordertohumblemyprideofmind,todrawclosertomyancestorsandcontemporaries,Iwassacrificingbodilycomfortforthesakeoffindingthemeaningoflife.Thatwasthecasewithpreparingforcommunion,withsayingthedailyprayersandperformingtheritualprostrations,withobservingall thefasts.Howeverslightthesesacrifices, theyweresacrificesinthenameofgood.Ipreparedforcommunion,fasted,saidtheprayersattheappointedtimesathomeandinchurch.ListeningtothechurchservicesIutteredeverywordandgavethemmeaningwhenIcould.IntheMassthemostimportantwordsformewere:“Letusloveoneanotherofonemind...”Thefollowingwords,“WebelieveintheFather,theSonandtheHolySpirit,”IomittedbecauseIcouldnotunderstandthem.

XIV

I HAD SUCH A NEED THEN TO BELIEVE IN ORDER TO live, but I unconsciously concealed frommyself thecontradictionsandobscuritiesofChristianteaching.Butthisgivingofmeaningtotheritualshadlimits.Ifthemainwordsof theLitanybecameclearer and clearer tome, if I somehowexplained tomyself thewords,“RememberingourmostHolyLadytheMotherofGodandallthesaints,letusgiveourselvesandoneanotherandourwholelifetoChristtheLord,”ifIexplainedthefrequentrepetitionsofprayersforthetsar and his family by their beingmore open to temptation than others and thereforemore in need ofprayers,ifIexplainedtheprayersabouttramplingourfoeandadversarybeneathourfeet,ifIexplainedthembythefactofevilbeingthatenemy—thoseotherprayers,likethecherubimandthewholesacramentofoblationand“thechosenwarriors”andthelike,whichmakeuptwo-thirdsofallservices,eitherhadno explanation or else I felt as I brought explanation to them that I was lying and by that completelydestroyingmyrelationshiptoGod,completelylosinganypossibilityoffaith.

Ifelt thesameincelebratingthemajorchurchfeasts.ToremembertheSabbath, that is, todevoteaday to turning to God, I found understandable. But the chief feast day was a remembrance of theresurrection,therealityofwhichIcouldnotimagineandunderstand.Andthisnameofresurrectionwasalsogiventothedaycelebratedeveryweek.21AndonthosedaystheretookplacethesacramentoftheEucharist, which was completely incomprehensible to me. The other twelve feast days apart fromChristmascommemoratedmiracles,somethingIwastryingnottothinkaboutsoasnottodenythem—theAscension,Pentecost, theEpiphany, the feast of the Intercessionof theHolyVirgin, etc. In celebratingthese feasts, feeling that importancewas being given towhatwas forme the opposite of important, IeitherinventedpalliativeexplanationsorIshutmyeyessoasnottoseewhatwastemptingme.

Thishappenedtomemoststronglywhentakingpartinthemostusualsacraments,thoseconsideredtobe the most important, baptism and taking communion. Here I came up against actions that weren’tincomprehensiblebutwhollycomprehensible;theseactionsIfoundtemptingandIwasputintoadilemma—eithertolieortorejectthem.

IwillneverforgetthefeelingoftormentIunderwentwhenItookcommunionforthefirsttimeinmanyyears.Theservices,confession,theritualprayers—allthatIcouldunderstandandbroughtaboutwithinmethejoyousrecognitionofthemeaningoflifeopeninguptome.TakingcommunionitselfIexplainedtomyselfasanactioncommemoratingChristandsignifyingcleansingfromsinandafullunderstandingofChrist’s teaching. If this explanationwas artificial I didn’t notice its artificiality. Iwas so full of joy,submittingandhumblingmyselfbeforetheconfessor,asimple,timidpriest,andexposingallthefilthofmysoul;Iwassofullofjoyatmythoughtsmergingwiththeaspirationsofthefatherswhowrotetheritualprayers; I was so full of joy to be one with all believers, past and present, that I did not feel theartificialityofmyexplanation.ButwhenIwentuptothe“Tsar’sGates”22thepriestmademerepeatwhatIbelieve,thatwhatIswallowistruefleshandblood,andIfeltcuttotheheart;itwasn’tjustafalsenotestruck,itwasabrutalrequirementofsomeonewhoclearlyhadneverknownwhatfaithis.

But now I let myself say it was a brutal requirement; then I didn’t even think that, it was justinexpressiblypainfulforme.IwasnolongerinthesituationIhadbeeninmyyoungerdays,thinkingthateverything in life was clear; I had come to faith because apart from faith I had found nothing, reallynothingbutannihilation,soIcouldn’trejectthisfaithandIsubmitted.AndIfoundafeelinginmysoulthat

helpedmetobearit.Thiswasafeelingofself-abasementandhumility.Ihumbledmyself;Iswallowedthisfleshandbloodwithoutanyfeelingofblasphemy,withthedesiretobelieve,buttheblowhadbeenstruck.Andknowinginadvancewhatwaswaitingforme,Icouldnolongergoasecondtime.

IcontinuedinthesamewaytoperformtheritualsofthechurchpreciselyandstillbelievedthatintheChristianteachingIfollowedlaythetruth,andsomethinghappenedtomethatnowIfindclearbutthenseemedstrange.

I was listening to an illiterate peasant pilgrim talking about God, about faith, about life, aboutsalvation,andknowledgeofthetruthwasrevealedtome.IbecameclosetothepeopleasIlistenedtohisviews on life and faith, andmore andmore I came to understand the truth.The samehappened tomeduring a reading of Chetyi-Minei and the Prologues;23 this became my favorite reading. Apart frommiracles,whichIregardedasfablestoexpressthoughts,thisreadingrevealedtomethemeaningoflife.TherewerethelivesofMacariustheGreat,ofPrinceJoseph(thestoryofBuddha),therewerethewordsof JohnChrysostom; therewere thestoriesof the traveler in thewell,of themonkwho foundgold,ofPeterthepublican;therewasthestoryofthemartyrswhoalldeclaredthesamething,thatdeathdoesnotexcludelife;therewerestoriesofthesalvationofmenwhowereilliterateandfoolishandknewnothingoftheteachingsofthechurch.

ButIonlyhadtomeeteducatedbelieversortakeuptheirbookstofindsomedoubtsinmyselfriseupinmewithdissatisfactionandandanangrydesireforargument,andIfeltthatthedeeperIenteredintotheirwords,thefurtherIwentfromthetruthandwalkedtowardtheabyss.

XV

HOWOFTEN I ENVIED THE PEASANTS FOR THEIR ILLITeracyand lackofeducation.The statementsof faith,which forme produced nonsense, for them produced nothing false; they could accept them and couldbelieveinthetruth,thattruthinwhichItoobelieved.OnlyformeinmymiseryitwasclearthatthetruthwasinterwovenbythethinnestofthreadswithliesandthatIcouldnotacceptitinthatform.

Ilivedlikethatforthreeyears,24andatthebeginning—whenasacatechumen25Ionlygraduallycametoknowthetruth, justgoingguidedbyinstinct towhereI thoughttherewasmorelight—theseconflictsstruckmeless.WhenIdidn’tunderstandsomethingIsaidtomyself,“I’matfault,Iamwrong.”ButthemoreIbegantobeimbuedwiththesetruthsIwasstudyingandthemoretheybecamethefoundationofmylife, themoreburdensomeandpainful theseconflictsbecameand thesharperbecame thedividing linebetweenwhatIdidn’tunderstandandwhatcouldn’tbeunderstoodexceptbylyingtomyself.

InspiteofthesedoubtsandsufferingIstilladheredtoOrthodoxy.Butquestionsoflifearosethathadtobeanswered,andheretheanswertothesequestionsbythechurch—onethatwastheoppositeofthefoundations of faith by which I lived—finally made me renounce the possibility of communion withOrthodoxy. These questions were firstly the attitude of the Orthodox church to other churches—toCatholicismandtheso-calledschismatics.AtthattimeasaconsequenceofmyinterestinfaithIbecameclose tobelieversofvariousdenominations: toCatholics,Protestants,OldBelievers,Molokans,26 etc.AndamongthemImetmanypeopleofhighmoralitywhoweretrulybelievers.Iwantedtobeabrothertothesepeople.Andwhathappened?The teaching thathadpromisedme touniteall inasingle faithandlove, this very teaching in the person of its best representatives told me that these were all peopledwellinginfalsehood,thatwhatgavethemlifewasatemptationofthedevilandthatwealonewereinpossessionoftheonepossibletruth.AndIsawthattheOrthodoxconsiderallthosewhodonotprofessafaith identical to theirs tobeheretics,exactlyas theCatholicsandtheothersconsiderOrthodoxytobeheresy;IsawthatOrthodoxy,althoughittriestoconcealit,hasahostileattitudetoallwhodonotprofesstheirfaithbyexternalsymbolsandwordslikeOrthodoxy,andthatis,asithastobe,firstlybecausetheaffirmationthatyoudwellinfalsehoodwhereasIdwellintruthrequirestheharshestwordsthatmancansay to another, and secondly because amanwho loves his children and brothersmust have a hostileattitudetothosewhowouldturnhischildrenandbrotherstoafalsefaith.Andthishostilityincreaseswitha greater knowledge of Christian teaching. And I, who supposed truth lay in the unity of love, wasinvoluntarily struck by the fact that this very Christian teaching was destroying what it should beproducing.

Thistemptationissoobvious,soobvioustous,educatedpeoplelivingincountrieswheredifferentfaiths are professed,who see the scornful, arrogant, unshakeable rejectionwithwhichCatholicsmeetOrthodoxandProtestants,withwhichOrthodoxmeetCatholicsandProtestantsandProtestantsmeetboth,andtheverysimilarattitudeofOldBelievers,Pashkovites27andShakers,thattheveryobviousnessofthetemptationisatfirstpuzzling.Yousaytoyourself,“Itcan’tbethatitissosimpleandthatstillpeopledonotseethatiftwoaffirmationscontradicteachother,thenneitheronenortheothercanholdtheunifiedtruththatfaithmustbe.Thereissomethinghere.Thereissomeexplanation.”AndIthoughtthattherewasandlookedforthisexplanationandreadallIcouldonthissubjectandconsultedallthoseIcould.AndIgotnoexplanationotherthantheveryonebywhichtheSumskyHussarsthinktheSumskyHussarsthebest

regimentintheworldbut theYellowUhlansthinkthebestregimentintheworldis theYellowUhlans.Theclergyofallthevariousdenominations,theirbestrepresentatives,onlytoldmethattheybelievedthattheydwelt in truthand theothers in error, and that all theycoulddowaspray for them. Iwent to seearchimandrites,archpriests,elders,andhermits,28andnoonemadeanyattempttoexplainthistemptationtome.JustoneofthemdidexplainitalltomebutexplaineditinsuchawaythatIdidn’taskanyoneelse.

Isaidthatforeveryunbelieverwhoturnstothefaith(andallouryounggenerationisliabletodothis)the question that puts itself first is:Why is truth held not by Lutheranism, not by Catholicism, but byOrthodoxy?Hehasbeentaughtinthegymnasiumandhecannothelpbutknowwhatthepeasantdoesn’tknow,thatProtestantsandCatholicsjustasfirmlyaffirmthesoletruthoftheirfaith.Historicalevidence,twistedbyeverydenomination to itsown interest, isnot enough.Mightonenot, I said,understand theteachingatahigherplanesothatatthatplanealldifferencesintheteachingdisappear,astheydisappearforthetruebeliever?CanwenotgofurtheralongthepathwearetakingwiththeOldBelievers?Theyaffirmedthattheyhaveadifferentcrossandhallelujahsandwayofprocessingaroundthealtar.Wesaid:“YoubelieveintheNiceneCreedandthesevensacraments,andwebelieveinthem.Letusabidebythatbutfortherestdowhatyouwant.”Wehaveunitedwiththembyputtingtheessentialsinfaithabovetheinessentials. Nowwith the Catholics, can’t we say: “You believe in this and that, themost importantthings, but as for the filioque29 and the pope do what you want?” Cannot we say the same to theProtestants,beingunitedwiththemonthemainpoints?ThepriestIwastalkingtoagreedwithmywayofthinkingbutsaidtomethatsuchconcessionswouldbringaboutcensureonthereligiousauthoritiesforrenouncing the faithofour ancestors andwouldbringabout a schism, and themissionof the religiousauthoritiesistoguardinallitspuritytheGreco-RussianOrthodoxfaiththathasbeenhandeddownbyourancestors.

AndIunderstooditall.Iamseekingfaith,thelifeforce,buttheyareseekingthebestwayoffulfillingcertainhumanobligationstoothermen.Andinfulfillingthesehumanmatterstheyfulfilltheminahumanway.Howevermuchtheytalkedoftheirfeelingfortheirlostbrethren,oftheirprayersforthemraisedtothethroneoftheAlmighty,forthefulfillmentofhumanmattersoneneedsforce,andithasalwaysbeenapplied, isbeingapplied,andwillbeapplied. If twodenominations think themselves todwell in truthandtheotherinerror,thenwantingtobringbrethrentothetruth,theywillpreachtheirteachings.Butiffalseteachingsarepreachedbythesimplesonsofthechurch,whichdwellsintruth,thenthischurchmustburn books and expel themanwho leads her sons into temptation.What should one dowith aman, asectarianburningwiththefireofafaiththatisfalseintheeyesofOrthodoxy,whointhemostimportantmatteroflife,infaith,isleadingthesonsofthechurchintotemptation?Whatshouldonedowithhimbutcutoffhisheadorimprisonhim?InthereignofAlexisMikhailovich30theyburnedmenatthestake,thatis, they used the severest punishment of the law at the time; in our time they also use our severestpunishment—solitaryconfinement.AndIpaidattention towhatwasbeingdone in thenameofreligionandIwasappalled,andalreadythenIalmostrenouncedOrthodoxy.ThesecondattitudeoftheChurchtothequestionsoflifewasitsattitudetowarandcapitalpunishment.

At that timeRussiawas fighting awar.31AndRussians began to kill their brethren in the nameofChristianlove.Itwasimpossiblenottothinkaboutthat.Itwasalsoimpossiblenottoseethatkillingisanevil, is against the very first foundations of every faith. And furthermore they offered prayers in thechurchesforthesuccessofourarms,andtheteachersofthefaithacknowledgedthiskillingassomethingcomingoutoffaith.Anditwasn’tjustthesekillingsinwarbutduringthedisturbancesfollowingthewarthatIsawmembersofthechurch,itsteachers,monks,hermits,welcomingthekillingoflostandhelplessyoungmen.32AndIpaidattentiontoeverythingthatwasbeingdonebypeopleprofessingChristianityandIwasappalled.

XVI

ANDISTOPPEDHAVINGDOUBTSANDIWASCOMPLETELYcertainthatintheteachingofthechurchtowhichIbelongednoteverythingwastruth.OnceIwouldhavesaidthatallreligiousteachingisfalse;butnowitwasimpossibletosaythat.Withoutanydoubt,allordinarypeoplehadknowledgeofthetruth,otherwisetheycouldn’thavelived.Furthermorethisknowledgeofthetruthwasalreadyopentome;Iwasalreadylivingbyitandfeltitsfullforce,butthisknowledgeheldfalsehoodtoo.AndaboutthatIcouldhavenodoubts.Andeverythingthathadpreviouslyrepelledmenowstoodvividlybeforeme.AlthoughIsawthatin all ordinary people there was less of the mixture of falsehood that had repelled me than in therepresentativesofthechurch,Inonethelesssawthatinthepeople’sfaithfalsehoodwasmixedwithtruth.

Butwheredidthefalsehoodcomefrom,andwheredidthetruthcomefrom?Bothfalsehoodandtruthhadbeenhandeddownbywhatiscalledthechurch.Bothfalsehoodandtrutharecontainedintradition,intheso-calledsacredtraditionandholywrit.

Andwilly-nillyIwasdrawntothestudyandanalysisofthesewritingsandtradition—theanalysisofwhichhadhithertososcaredme.

AndIturnedtothestudyofthatverytheologyIhadoncesoscornfullyrejectedassuperfluous.Thenithad seemed to me a series of superfluous nonsense, then I had been surrounded on all sides bymanifestationsoflifethatIfoundclearandfullofmeaning;nowIwouldhavebeengladtorejectanythingthat didn’t fit into a healthymind, but I couldn’t find away formyself. The unified knowledge of themeaning of life that had been revealed to me was based on this Christian teaching, or at any rateindissolubly tied to it.However strange itmight seem tomy dull oldmind thiswas the only hope ofsalvation.Ihadtoexamineitcarefully,attentively,inordertounderstandit,andnoteventounderstanditas Iunderstoodapropositionof science. Iwasnot looking for that, andcouldnotbe looking for that,knowing the special nature of knowledge of faith. I was not going to look for the explanation ofeverything. I knew that the explanation of everything, like the origin of everything,must be hidden ininfinity.ButIwantedtounderstandinsuchawayastobeledtowhathastobeinevitablyinexplicable,Iwantedeverything inexplicable tobesonotbecause thedemandsofmyintellectwerewrong(theyarerightandIcannotunderstandanythingwithout them)butbecauseIsawthelimitationsofmyintellect. Iwanted to understand so that every inexplicable proposition appeared to me as the necessaryconsequencesofreasonbutnotasadutyoffaith.

Ihavenodoubtthatreligiousteachingholdstruthbutalsonodoubtthatitholdsfalsehood,andImustfind truth and falsehood and separate one from the other. And so I have set myself to that task. ThefalsehoodIhavefoundintheteaching,thetruthIhavefound,andtheconclusionsIhavereachedfromthefollowingparts of thiswork,which if it isworth it and someoneneeds itwill probablybepublishedsometime,somewhere.

THATWASWRITTENbymethreeyearsago.Nowtheotherday,asIwasreadingovertheseprintedpagesandreturningtothiswayofthinkingand

thefeelingsIhadwithinmeasIwaslivingthroughthis,Ihadadream.Thisdreamexpressedformeincompressed form everything I had experienced and described, and so I think for those too who haveunderstoodmeadescriptionofthisdreamwillilluminate,clarify,andbringtogethereverythingthathasbeen told at length in these pages. Here is the dream: I see that I am lying on a bed. I feel neither

comfortablenoruncomfortable; Iamlyingonmyback.But Istartwondering if Iamcomfortable lyingthere;andIthinkthatsomethingisuncomfortableunderneathmylegs—whetherit’stooshortoruneven,somethingisuncomfortable;ImovemylegsaboutandatthesametimeIstartthinkingabouthowandonwhatIamlying,whichhadn’tcomeintomyheadbefore.AndlookingatmybedIseeIamlyingoncordsofplaitedropefastenedtothesidesofthebed.Myfeetarelyingononesuchcord,thecalvesofmylegsonanother;mylegsareuncomfortable.ForsomereasonIknowthatonecanshiftthesecords.AndwithamovementofmylegsIpushawaythelastcordunderthem.Ithinkitwillbemorecomfortablelikethat.ButIhavepushedittoofar;Itrytocatchitwithmylegs,butwiththatmovementanothercordslipsoutfromunderneathmyshinsandmylegsarehangingdown.Imakeamovementwithmywholebodytorightmyself,quiteconfidentthatI’llmanagethatrightaway,butwiththismovementothercordsslipoutandchangetheirpositionunderneathme,andIseethatthingsaregoingquitewrong;thewholelowerpartofmybodyismovingdownandhangingandmylegsaren’treachingtheground.Iamholdingonherejustbytheupperpartofmyback,andIambeginningtofeelnotjustuncomfortablebutfrightenedofsomething.It’sonlyatthispointthatIaskmyselfsomethingthatpreviouslyhadn’tcomeintomyhead.Iaskmyself,whereamIandonwhatamIlying?IbegintolookaroundandfirstofallIlookdown,inthedirectioninwhichmybodyishangingandwhereIfeelImustfallanymoment.IlookdownandIcan’tbelievemyeyes.It’snotjustthatIamataheightlikethatofthehighestpinnacle,butIamatsuchaheightasIcouldneverhaveimagined.

Ican’tevenmakeoutanythingtheredownbelow,inthatbottomlesschasmabovewhichIamhangingandintowhichIambeingpulled.MyheartcontractsandIfeelterror.It’sterrifyingtolookthere.IfIlookthereIfeelthatI’llatonceslipoffthelastcordsandperish.Idon’tlook,butnottolookisevenworsebecauseIamthinkingofwhatwillhappentomenowwhenIcomeoffthelastcords.AndIfeelthatIamlosingmylaststrengthfromterrorandslowlyslippinglowerandloweronmyback.AnotherminuteandI’llcomeoff.Andthenathoughtcomestome:Thiscannotbetrue.Thisisadream.Wakeup.ItrytowakeupandIcan’t.WhatamItodo,whatamItodo,Iaskmyselfandwakeup.Abovemetoothereisinfinitespace.Ilookintothisinfinitespaceoftheheavensandtrytoforgetabouttheabyssbelow,andindeedIdo forget. The infinite space below repels and terrifies me; the infinite space above attracts andstrengthensme. I am still hanging above the chasmon the last cords that haven’t yet slipped out fromunderme; Iknowthat Iamhangingbut Ionly lookupandmyterrorpasses.Ashappens inadream,avoiceissaying,“Watchthis,thisisit!”andIkeeplookingmoreandmoredeeplyintotheinfinitespaceaboveandIfeel thatIamcalmed;IremembereverythingthathashappenedandIrememberhowitallhappened:howImovedmylegs,howIhungthere,howIwasterrified,andhowIwassavedfromtheterrorbystartingtolookup.AndIaskmyself,“Well,andwhatnext?Iamstillhanging.”AndIdon’tsomuchlookaroundasfeelwithmywholebodythepointofsupportonwhichIambeingheld.AndIseethatI’mnolongerhangingorfallingbutambeingheldfirmly.IaskmyselfhowI’mbeingheld;Ifeel,Ilook,andIseethatunderme,underthemiddleofmybody,thereisasinglecord,andthatlookingupIamlyingonitinthemoststableequilibrium,andthatitalonewasholdingmebefore.Andhere,ashappensindreams, the mechanism by which I am being held appears to me very natural, understandable, andunquestionablealthoughifI’mawakethismechanismmakesnosense.InthedreamIamevensurprisedthat I didn’t understand it before. It turns out that at the head ofmy bed there stands a pillar, and thestrengthofthispillargoeswithoutquestionalthoughthereisnothingforthisthinpillartostandon.Thenfrom this pillar a loop of rope has somehow been let down very cleverly and at the same time verysimply,andifyoulieonthisloopwiththemiddleofyourbodyandlookup,thentherecan’tevenbeaquestionoffalling.Allthiswascleartome,andIwasgladandcalm.Andsomeoneseemstobesayingtome,“Watch,remember.”AndIwakeup.

NOTES

1 university:TolstoyonlycompletedthefirsttwoyearsofthelawcourseofKazanUniversityandleftwithouttakingadegreein1847.

2 brothers:Nikolay(1823–60),Sergey(1826–1904),andDmitry(1827–56).

3 Musin-Pushkin:M.N.Musin-Pushkin,amemberofaprominentnoble family,hadbeenappointedwardenoftheUniversityofKazanin1827.

4 Voltaire: Prince Nikolayevich Sergeyevich Volkonsky from whom Tolstoy inherited the YasnayaPolyanaestatewasaVoltairean,likemanyofhisclass,andbequeathedafineEnlightenmentLibrarythere.

5 rien...faut:“nothingdevelopsayoungmanlikeanaffairwithalady”(French).

6 war:theCrimeanWar(1853–56)betweenRussiaandanallianceofBritain,France,Sardinia,andtheOttomanEmpire.

7 thedeathofmybrother:ofDmitryin1856,oftuberculosis.

8 peasant schools: in the late 1850s Tolstoy became much concerned with popular education andestablishedaschoolforthepeasantsonhisestateatYasnayaPolyana.

9 emancipationofthepeasants:thistookplacein1861.

10 arbitrator:inthesettlementofboundariesordisputeswiththepeasants.

11 koumiss:adrinkoffermentedmare’smilk,oftenprescribedforhealth.

12 Samaraestate: in1871,Tolstoyboughta remoteestate inBashkir countrywhere the familycouldleadthe“simplelife,”drinkkoumiss,etc.

13 Schopenhauer: Arthur Schopenhauer (1788–1860), German philosopher. Tolstoy veneratedSchopenhauer forhis ideas about the futilityofhuman striving.Schopenhauerwasoneof the firstWesternphilosopherstoseriouslystudyIndianphilosophy.

14 Socrates:c.469–399B.C.,Greekphilosopher,oneofthefoundingfathersofWesternphilosophy.

15 nothing:TolstoyisquotingfromthetwolastparagraphsofBookIVofSchopenhauer’sTheWorldasWillandRepresentation[orasIdea],firstpublishedin1819butlaterrevised.IhaveusedherethefirstEnglishtranslationbyR.B.HaldaneandJ.Kemp(London,1883).

16 sun:fromEcclesiastes,chapters1,2,and9.TolstoyisquotingfromtheSynodalRussianBibleof1876. The translation uses the King James Version with a few very small changes to match theRussian.

17 Shakyamuni:“sageoftheShakyas,”anhonorifictitleoftengiventoGautamaBuddha.

18 goest:fromEcclesiastes,chapter9.

19 Descartes:(1596–1650),Frenchphilosopherandmathematicianwhowouldhaveformedpartofan“arts”educationinRussia,essentiallyaphilosophicalone.

20 Kant: (1724–1804),Germanphilosopherof theEnlightenment.Hismajorwork isTheCritiqueofPureReason.

21 resurrection:theRussiannameforSunday—voskreseniye—means“resurrection.”

22 Tsar’sGates:thecentraldooroftheiconostasisinaRussianOrthodoxchurch.

23 Chetyi-MineiandthePrologues:twocompilationsoftheLivesoftheSaints.

24 Threeyears:1878–1880.

25 catechumen:someonereceivinginstructionwithaviewtobaptism.

26 Old Believers, Molokans: the former—schismatics who adhered to the liturgical practices frombefore the reforms of 1652–66; the latter, literally “milk-drinkers”—sectarians who rejected theritualsoftheOrthodoxChurch.

27 Pashkovites:RussianEvangelicals.

28 hermits:inRussianandEasternOrthodoxy,hermits,singlyorincommunities,playasignificantrole.

29 filioque: “from the Son”, a phrase in the Nicene Creed used by most of the Western churches;together with the primacy of the pope, the main source of schism between Eastern andWesternchurches.

30 AlexisMikhailovich:tsar,r.1645–79,atimeofreligiousreforms.

31 awar:theRusso-TurkishWarof1877–78.

32 youngmen:heisreferringtotheexecutionofrevolutionaryterrorists.

ANOTEONTHETRANSLATIONS

byRosamundBartlett

Agoodtranslator is likeagoodmusician:able to interpretaworkinsuchawaythatalloneseemstohearisthemaster’svoice.Inbothcases, thereismorethanjustunderstandingatstake.Translatorsandmusicians have to perform a fine balancing act, steering on one hand between a strict and accuraterenditionofthewordsornotesonthepageandontheothertheartisticallymoretruthfulconveyanceofameaningrelevanttotheirownparticularaudienceandtime.Andthencomestheevengreaterchallengeofgiving an overall shape to one’s interpretation, creating a mood and tone that can only come fromimmersingoneselfintheworkandlisteningkeenlytoitsrhythmsandcadences.Atbest,theresultistheillusion that translators and musicians are vessels, their own presence unnoticeable. Reading PeterCarson’snewtranslationsofTheDeathofIvanIlyichandConfession,onecertainlyhasthesensationofcomingface-to-facewithLevNikolayevichTolstoyinallhisrough-and-readymajesty.

OverthecourseofthetwelveyearsinwhichIknewPeterasmyeditor,webothmadethetransitionfromChekhovtoTolstoyastranslators,andweusedtoswapstoriesaboutsomeofthethornierchallengeswehadtackledaswellastherewardsthatcomefromintensestudyofsomeofthegreatestmasterpiecesofRussianprose(mypositionwasusually thatof therespectfulpupil, Ihasten toadd). Itwasperhapsunusual to have had an acquiring editor who was also engaged in literary translation, but Peterwasunusual.WhenheaskedmetoeditacollectionofChekhov’s lettersforPenguinClassicsbackin2001(brilliantlytimedtocoincidewiththeappearanceofpreviouslycensoredmaterials),healreadyhadinhissights new renderings of Chekhov’s major plays. His peerless translations, which were published in2006, effortlessly convey both the grace and the economy of Chekhov’s writing and stand out in acrowdedmarket.

InbetweenChekhovandTolstoyforPetercameTurgenev,anoftenunjustlyforgottenwriterforwhomhe had a special affinity. Turgenev comes across in his writing as a refined but self-effacingman ofexceptional judgment, and I remember Peter in thisway too. I initially demurredwhen approached towrite the introduction to his new translation of Fathers and Sons, arguing to his editor at PenguinClassicsthatIneededtogetonwiththebiographyofTolstoythatPeterhadcommissionedmetowrite,but hewaspolitely insistent.Hewas an editorwhohelpedhis authors in numerousunexpectedways,becauseofcourse theexperienceofgivinganaccountof thebackgroundofFathersandSonswas theidealpreparation fordealingasabiographerwithTurgenev’s importantbut fractious relationshipwithTolstoy,whichcametoaheadjustafterthenovelwascompleted.ThebadfeelingcreatedbyTolstoy’sfallingasleepwhileTurgenevreadhisnewnoveltohimledtotheiralmostfightingaduel.Tolstoywasimmune—well,actuallydownrighthostile—tothedelicacyandartistryofTurgenev’swriting,butthesearequalitiestowhichPeterisexceptionallysensitiveinhistranslation.Inordertocaptureitsspirit,hetoldmehehadstudiedtheearlyFrenchtranslations,oneofwhichwascompletedbytheauthorhimselfincollaboration with his great friend Pauline Viardot in 1863. Since Russian and French were usedinterchangeablybythenineteenth-centuryRussiangentry,itwasaninspiredthingtodo.Peter’sFathersandSonsisnowwidelyconsideredtobethemostdistinguishedtranslationofthisgreatnovelinprint.

UnlikeTolstoy, themuchyoungerChekhovwasvery receptive to thebeautyofTurgenev’swriting,andtheexperienceoftranslatingtheirfinelychiseled,immaculatelycraftedprosediffersenormouslyfromthatoftacklingTolstoy’smasterpieces.WhilePeterwasengagedintranslatingConfessionandTheDeath

ofIvanIlyich, IwascompletinganewtranslationofAnnaKarenina,andwebothfoundTolstoymuchmore difficult. With Turgenev and Chekhov, who seem to stretch a hand out toward the translator,everythingappearstohaveitsplace,whereaswithTolstoyitoftenfeelsmorelikeabattlewithanauthorwho does not want to give an inch (a sensation I also had while writing his biography).Well mightVladimirNabokovdescribeTolstoy’sstyleasa“marvelouslycomplicated,ponderousinstrument.”Hereis a writer who, in a defiant assertion of freedom, deliberately rebelled against literary convention,spurning traditional rhetorical devices to create almost a new language in his fictionalworks.Tolstoytookprideinexhibitingthefamilytraitofwildness(dikost’),anditwasrather inevitable that this traitshowedupinhiswritingtoo.PeterCarsonshowshimselftobemorethanequaltothetaskoftamingit,however.

Tolstoywasalwaysmuchmorestraightforwardinhisnonfictionalwriting,andhetookcaretoensurethatConfessionwas particularly lucid, as this was his first attempt to attract a wide audience to hisnewfoundChristianideas.Hecametoseehimselfaslivingthelifeofanapostleforthetruthwitheverylimb of his body, so he also needed to be persuasive in Confession. Even this painfully candid,uncomplicatedmemoir,however,cangiverisetoquitedifferinginterpretationsinEnglishtranslation,ascanbeseenbycomparingdifferentversions.Take,forexample,theopeningsentencesofChapterFour:

TranslatedbyVladimirChertkov,1885:

Mylifehadcometoasuddenstop,Iwasabletobreathe,toeat,todrink,tosleep,Icouldnot,indeed,helpdoingso;buttherewasnoreallifeinme;IhadnotasinglewishtostriveforthefulfillmentofwhatIcouldfeeltobereasonable....HadafairyappearedandofferedmeallIdesired, I should not have knownwhat to say. . . . I could not evenwish to know the truth,becauseIguessedwhatthetruthwas.Thetruthlayinthis,thatlifehadnomeaningforme.

TranslatedbyLouiseandAylmerMaude,1921:

Mylifecametoastandstill.Icouldbreathe,eat,drink,andsleep,andIcouldnothelpdoingthese things;but therewasno life, for therewerenowishes the fulfillmentofwhich I couldconsiderreasonable....HadafairycomeandofferedtofulfillmydesiresIshouldnothaveknown what to ask. . . . I could not even wish to know the truth, for I guessed of what itconsisted.Thetruthwasthatlifeismeaningless.

TranslatedbyDavidPatterson,1983:

My life came to a stop. I could breathe, eat, drink, and sleep; indeed, I could not help butbreathe, eat, drink, and sleep. But therewas no life inme because I had no desireswhosesatisfactionIwouldhave foundreasonable. . . . Ifa fairyhadcomeandoffered to fulfillmyeverywish,Iwouldnothaveknownwhattowishfor....IdidnotevenwanttodiscovertruthanymorebecauseIhadguessedwhatitwas.Thetruthwasthatlifeismeaningless.

TranslatedbyJaneKentish,1987:

Mylifecametoastandstill.Icouldbreathe,eat,drinkandsleepandIcouldnothelpbreathing,eating, drinking and sleeping; but there was no life in me because I had no desires whosegratification I would have deemed it reasonable to fulfill. . . . If amagician had come andofferedtograntmywishesIwouldnothaveknownwhattosay....IdidnotevenwishtoknowthetruthbecauseIhadguessedwhatitwas.Thetruthwasthatlifeismeaningless.

TranslatedbyPeterCarson,2013:

Mylifecametoahalt.Icouldbreathe,eat,drink,sleep,andIcouldn’tnotbreathe,eat,drink,sleep;but I hadno lifebecause I hadnodesires in the fulfillmentofwhich Imight find anymeaning. . . . Ifanenchantresshadcomeandoffered to fulfillmydesires forme, Iwouldn’thaveknownwhattosay....IcouldnotevendesiretolearnthetruthbecauseIguessedwhereinitlay.Thetruthwasthatlifeisnonsense.

What isparticularly successfully rendered inEnglishherebyPeterCarson is theabruptnessof thefirst sentence (moya zhizn’ ostanovilas’—literally, “my life stopped”); the felicitous translation ofvolshebnitsa as “enchantress” (the gender is definitely female; “fairy” sounds all wrong); the boldlycolloquial “couldn’t,” emulating Tolstoy’s preference for the living, spoken language; and the use of“nonsense,” accurately reflecting the nuances of the Russian (Tolstoy writes zhizn’ est’ bessmyslitsa,ratherthanzhizn’bessmyslenna).

In thefiction thatTolstoywroteafterAnnaKarenina,heconsciously tried tosimplifyhis famouslyconvoluted writing style. In this he was partially successful. The Death of Ivan Ilyich, certainly, isdevoidofsomeoftheextremestobefoundinAnnaKarenina—ninety-eightwordsentences,clustersofasmanyasfiveadjectivesinarow,andmultiplesubordinateclausespackedwithparticiplesandgerundslikesardinesinatin.Consummateartisttothelastthathewas,however,Tolstoycouldnotrefrainfromdeploying sophisticated narrative strategies in his methods of constructing The Death of Ivan Ilyich,whichrangefromstreamofconsciousnesstothemanipulationofChristianimageryforhisownends.InPeter Carson, Tolstoy has a translator alert to all of his carefully concealed complexities and theidiosyncrasiesofhisstyle,butabovealltothesimplicityonthesurfaceofhiswriting.

Most characteristicofTolstoy’s style throughouthis literary career is his useof repetition.Peter’stranslation faithfully preserves the dozens of instances where we encounter variations of the word“pleasant” (priyatno), forexample (therearesixteen inChapterTwoalone),whichare fundamental toelaboratingon the themeof reversal in the story and communicating its overall ironic tone.Peter alsoproveswonderfully inventivewhen relayingTolstoy’s sardonic senseofhumor.Take, forexample, thefamous scene in Chapter One in which Pyotr Ivanovich visits Ivan Ilyich’s grieving widow. Thelugubrioussolemnityoftheoccasionisimmediatelypuncturedwhenhehastodobattlewitharebelliouspouf (buntovavshiisya pod nim puf), and Tolstoy thus forces the reader to see through the veneer ofhypocrisy.Thepassagehasbeenrenderedinmanydifferentways,andwemightcomparetwomorerecenttranslationsofhowitbeginswithPeter’sneatversion:

TranslatedbyAnnePasternak-Slater,2003:

Theyenteredherdimlylitsittingroom,upholsteredinpinkcretonne,andsatdownbyatable—sheonadivan,PiotrIvanovichonalowottoman,whosebrokenspringsyieldedunpredictablytohisweight.

TranslatedbyRichardPevearandLarissaVolokhonsky,2009:

Havinggoneintoherdrawingroom,upholsteredinpinkcretonneandwithasullenlamp,theysatbythetable,sheonthesofa,PyotrIvanovichonalowpoufwithbadspringsthatgavewayerraticallyunderhisweight.

TranslatedbyPeterCarson,2013:

Theywentintoherdimlylitdrawingroomhungwithpinkcretonneandsatdownbyatable,she

onasofaandPyotrIvanovichonalowpoufbuiltonspringsthatawkwardlygavewayashesatdown.

PeterCarsonisscrupulousandattentivethroughoutTheDeathofIvanIlyich,producinganEnglishversion that respects Tolstoy and all his rough edges, yet is always a pleasure to read. His Tolstoytranslationsaresuretostandthetestoftime.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

IamgratefulforthesupportandencouragementofmyeditorRobertWeilandhisteamatW.W.Norton.AlsotomywifeEleoanddaughterCharlotte.

—PeterCarson

Peterwasnotwellenoughtowritehisownintroduction.However,hewouldhavebeenthrilledandhonoredthat twoauthors towhomhewasclosesteppedinat thefinalstages:MaryBeard,whowrotetheintroduction,andRosamundBartlett,whowroteANoteontheTranslations.

—EleoCarson

ABOUTTHETRANSLATOR

PETERCARSONstudiedRussianwhileonnationalserviceintheBritishNavyattheJointServicesSchool for Linguists in Scotland and London. At home he spoke Russian—his mother TatianaStaheyeffandherfamilyescapedfromRussiaduringtheBolshevikRevolution.Hisworkinglifewas spent on the editorial side of publishingwhere formany years he was editor in chief ofPenguinBooksintheUK.In1998hewasaskedbyAndrewFranklintojoinhimatProfileBooksandheworkedwithhisauthorsuntilhisdeathinJanuary2013.

Aprofessorof classics atCambridgeUniversity,mary beard is the author of the best-sellingTheFiresofVesuvius.Apopular blogger and televisionpresenter, she contributes frequently to theNewYorkReviewofBooks.ShelivesinEngland.

ROSAMUND BARTLETT is a scholar, writer, and translator whose books include acclaimedbiographiesofChekhovandTolstoy,aswellaseditedvolumesonShostakovichandtheFuturistopera Victory over the Sun. Her Chekhov anthology About Love and Other Stories wasshortlistedfortheWeidenfeldTranslationPrize,whileherChekhov:ALifeinLettersisthefirstuncensorededitioninanylanguage.HernewtranslationofAnnaKareninawillbepublishedbyOxfordWorld’sClassicsin2014.

OTHERWORKS

OTHERTRANSLATIONSBYPETERCARSON

FathersandSonsbyIvanTurgenev

PLAYS:

Ivanov;TheSeagull;UncleVanya;ThreeSisters;

TheCherryOrchardbyAntonChekhov

FurtherPraiseforPeterCarson’stranslationofTheDeathofIvanIlyichandConfession:

“ItwasaninspiredideatolinkthedisturbingfictionofIvanIlyichandTolstoy’spersonalConfession.PeterCarson’stranslationisperfect.Newreaderswillbedrawnbythedirectnessandruggednessofhisprose.Thosewhothinkthetextsarefamiliarwillreadthemhereasifforthefirsttime.”

—A.N.Wilson,authorofTolstoy:ABiography

“ReadingPeterCarson’snewtranslationsofConfessionandTheDeathofIvanIlyich,onecertainlyhasthesensationofcomingface-to-face with Lev Nikolaeyevich Tolstoy in all his rough-and-ready majesty. . . . Tolstoy has a translator alert to all of his carefully craftedcomplexitiesandtheidiosyncrasiesofhisstyle,butabovealltothesimplicityonthesurfaceofhiswriting....[Carson’s]translationsaresuretostandthetestoftime.”

—RosamundBartlett,authorofTolstoy:ARussianLife,fromANoteonTranslations

“Upuntilnow,onehashadtoendureratherthanfullyenjoythemanyversionsofthesemasterworksthatexist.Tolstoy’sbluntlatestyle,withits granite surfaces and the sheer weight of syntactical momentum, has never before found proper expression in English. This surprisingcombinationofworks—agreatnovellathatgesturestowardautobiographyandaspiritualmemoirthatprobesthewildboundariesoffeelinginwaysreminiscentoffiction—seemsideallyjuxtaposed.ThisisasgoodasTolstoygets,inEnglish.Readthesesearingworksagain,withawe.”

—JayParini,authorofTheLastStation

“Ifyouhadoneyeartolive,howwouldyouspendit?That’saquestionmostofuswouldn’tknowhowtoanswerbutforoneBritishpublisherandtranslatoritwaseasy:totranslateTolstoy’sgreatstoryaboutadyingman,TheDeathofIvanIlyich.”

—EdwardPlatt,DailyBeast

“Over the past hundred years we have had numerous versions, from serviceable to excellent, of [Tolstoy’s] major works. This volume,however, is arguably the best so far, not just because PeterCarsonmakes nomistakes, but because he has found the perfect balance inEnglish,whichtoleratesrepetitionlessthanTolstoydid,toprovideatextretainingallthehypnoticpoweroftheoriginal.Itisaverysadirony,ofwhichCarsonwasapparentlyunawarewhenhebegantheseversions,thatthetranslatorwas,likeIvanIlyich,todieofanincurableillness.”

—DonaldRayfield,TimesLiterarySupplement

“Putting[theseshortworks]back-to-back,withthefictionfirst—renderedinPeterCarson’sstunning,unvarnishedtranslation—isabrilliantlytimedstroke....Thebleaktaleishaunting.Tolstoy’sowndiscoveryoffaithafterhislongturmoilmaynotbeforeveryone.Butthemaster’sself-scrutinizingexampleis:WhentheauthorofWarandPeacedoubtsthemeaningofhislife,whodarestobecomplacent?”

—AnnHulbert,TheAtlantic

“ThiswonderfulmoderneditionofTolstoy’sTheDeathofIvanIlyichappearssidebysidewiththeautobiographicalConfession inanewtranslationbyPeterCarson—perhapsevenmoreremarkableforhavingbeencompletedasCarson,afamededitorandprevioustranslatorofworks byTurgenev andChekhov,was himself dying. . . .Death has seldom beenmore starkly or plainly rendered. . . .Among the besttreatmentsofdeathandbelief inanyart form. . . .Agenerous remembranceofPeterCarsonbyMaryBeardandanotecomparingpasttranslationscomplementanaccomplishmentinliteraturethatbelongsineverylibrary.”

—PublishersWeekly,starredreview

COPYRIGHT

Copyright©2014bytheEstateofPeterCarson“TolstoyandHisTranslator”copyright©2014byMaryBeard

“ANoteontheTranslations”copyright©2014byW.W.Norton&Company,Inc.

AllrightsreservedFirstpublishedasaLiverightpaperback2015

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TheLibraryofCongresshascatalogedtheprintededitionasfollows:

Tolstoy,Leo,graf,1828–1910.[Works.Selections.English.2014]

ThedeathofIvanIlyichandConfession/LeoTolstoy;translatedbyPeterCarson.

pages;cmIncludesbibliographicalreferences.ISBN978-0-87140-426-8(hardcover)I.Carson,Peter,1938–2013,translator.

II.Tolstoy,Leo,graf,1828–1910.Smert’IvanaIl’icha.English.III.Tolstoy,Leo,graf,1828–1910.Ispoved’.English.

IV.Title.V.Title:Confession.VI.Title:DeathofIvanIlyich.PG3366.A13C372014

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