interrupted by Sokolov, Ivan Ilych's butler, who came to report
that the plot in the cemetery that Praskovya Fedorovna had chosen

would cost tow hundred rubles. She stopped weeping and, looking at
Peter Ivanovich with the air of a victim, remarked in French that

it was very hard for her. Peter Ivanovich made a silent gesture
signifying his full conviction that it must indeed be so.

"Please smoke," she said in a magnanimous yet crushed voice,
and turned to discuss with Sokolov the price of the plot for the

grave.
Peter Ivanovich while lighting his cigarette heard her

inquiring very circumstantially into the prices of different plots
in the cemetery and finally decide which she would take. when that

was done she gave instructions about engaging the choir. Sokolov
then left the room.

"I look after everything myself," she told Peter Ivanovich,
shifting the albums that lay on the table; and noticing that the

table was endangered by his cigarette-ash, she immediately passed
him an ash-tray, saying as she did so: "I consider it an

affectation to say that my grief prevents my attending to practical
affairs. On the contrary, if anything can -- I won't say console

me, but -- distract me, it is seeing to everything concerning him."
She again took out her handkerchief as if preparing to cry, but

suddenly, as if mastering her feeling, she shook herself and began
to speak calmly. "But there is something I want to talk to you

about."
Peter Ivanovich bowed, keeping control of the springs of the

pouffe, which immediately began quivering under him.
"He suffered terribly the last few days."

"Did he?" said Peter Ivanovich.
"Oh, terribly! He screamed unceasingly, not for minutes but

for hours. for the last three days he screamed incessantly. It
was unendurable. I cannot understand how I bore it; you could hear

him three rooms off. Oh, what I have suffered!"
"Is it possible that he was conscious all that time?" asked

Peter Ivanovich.
"Yes," she whispered. "To the last moment. He took leave of

us a quarter of an hour before he died, and asked us to take
Volodya away."

The thought of the suffering of this man he had known so
intimately, first as a merry little boy, then as a schoolmate, and

later as a grown-upcolleague, suddenly struck Peter Ivanovich with
horror, despite an unpleasantconsciousness of his own and this

woman's dissimulation. He again saw that brow, and that nose
pressing down on the lip, and felt afraid for himself.

"Three days of frightfulsuffering and the death! Why, that
might suddenly, at any time, happen to me," he thought, and for a

moment felt terrified. But -- he did not himself know how -- the
customary reflection at once occurred to him that this had happened

to Ivan Ilych and not to him, and that it should not and could not
happen to him, and that to think that it could would be yielding to

depressing which he ought not to do, as Schwartz's expression
plainly showed. After which reflection Peter Ivanovich felt

reassured, and began to ask with interest about the details of Ivan
Ilych's death, as though death was an accident natural to Ivan

Ilych but certainly not to himself.
After many details of the really dreadfulphysicalsufferings

Ivan Ilych had endured (which details he learnt only from the
effect those sufferings had produced on Praskovya Fedorovna's

nerves) the widow apparently found it necessary to get to business.
"Oh, Peter Ivanovich, how hard it is! How terribly, terribly

hard!" and she again began to weep.
Peter Ivanovich sighed and waited for her to finish blowing

her nose. When she had don so he said, "Believe me..." and she
again began talking and brought out what was evidently her chief

concern with him -- namely, to question him as to how she could
obtain a grant of money from the government on the occasion of her

husband's death. She made it appear that she was asking Peter
Ivanovich's advice about her pension, but he soon saw that she

already knew about that to the minutest detail, more even than he
did himself. She knew how much could be got out of the government

in consequence of her husband's death, but wanted to find out
whether she could not possibly extract something more. Peter

Ivanovich tried to think of some means of doing so, but after
reflecting for a while and, out of propriety, condemning the

government for its niggardliness, he said he thought that nothing
more could be got. Then she sighed and evidently began to devise

means of getting rid of her visitor. Noticing this, he put out his
cigarette, rose, pressed her hand, and went out into the anteroom.

In the dining-room where the clock stood that Ivan Ilych had
liked so much and had bought at an antique shop, Peter Ivanovich

met a priest and a few acquaintances who had come to attend the
service, and he recognized Ivan Ilych's daughter, a handsome young

woman. She was in black and her slim figure appeared slimmer than
ever. She had a gloomy, determined, almost angry expression, and

bowed to Peter Ivanovich as though he were in some way to blame.
Behind her, with the same offended look, stood a wealthy young man,

and examining magistrate, whom Peter Ivanovich also knew and who
was her fiance, as he had heard. He bowed mournfully to them and

was about to pass into the death-chamber, when from under the
stairs appeared the figure of Ivan Ilych's schoolboy son, who was

extremely like his father. He seemed a little Ivan Ilych, such as
Peter Ivanovich remembered when they studied law together. His

tear-stained eyes had in them the look that is seen in the eyes of
boys of thirteen or fourteen who are not pure-minded. When he saw

Peter Ivanovich he scowled morosely and shamefacedly. Peter
Ivanovich nodded to him and entered the death-chamber. The service

began: candles, groans, incense, tears, and sobs. Peter Ivanovich
stood looking gloomily down at his feet. He did not look once at

the dead man, did not yield to any depressing influence, and was
one of the first to leave the room. There was no one in the

anteroom, but Gerasim darted out of the dead man's room, rummaged
with his strong hands among the fur coats to find Peter Ivanovich's

and helped him on with it.
"Well, friend Gerasim," said Peter Ivanovich, so as to say

something. "It's a sad affair, isn't it?"
"It's God will. We shall all come to it some day," said

Gerasim, displaying his teeth -- the even white teeth of a healthy
peasant -- and, like a man in the thick of urgent work, he briskly

opened the front door, called the coachman, helped Peter Ivanovich
into the sledge, and sprang back to the porch as if in readiness

for what he had to do next.
Peter Ivanovich found the fresh air particularly pleasant

after the smell of incense, the dead body, and carbolic acid.
"Where to sir?" asked the coachman.

"It's not too late even now....I'll call round on Fedor
Vasilievich."

He accordingly drove there and found them just finishing the
first rubber, so that it was quite convenient for him to cut in.

II
Ivan Ilych's life had been most simple and most ordinary and

therefore most terrible.
He had been a member of the Court of Justice, and died at the

age of forty-five. His father had been an official who after
serving in various ministries and departments in Petersburg had

made the sort of career which brings men to positions from which by
reason of their long service they cannot be dismissed, though they

are obviously unfit to hold any responsible position, and for whom
therefore posts are specially created, which though fictitious

carry salaries of from six to ten thousand rubles that are not
fictitious, and in receipt of which they live on to a great age.

Such was the Privy Councillor and superfluous member of
various superfluous institutions, Ilya Epimovich Golovin.

He had three sons, of whom Ivan Ilych was the second. The