the
weakness of what he was defending. There was nothing to
defend.
"But if that is so," he said to himself, "and i am leaving
this life with the
consciousness that I have lost all that was
given me and it is impossible to rectify it -- what then?"
He lay on his back and began to pass his life in
review in
quite a new way. In the morning when he saw first his footman,
then his wife, then his daughter, and then the doctor, their every
word and
movement confirmed to him the awful truth that had been
revealed to him during the night. In them he saw himself -- all
that for which he had lived -- and saw clearly that it was not real
at all, but a terrible and huge
deception which had
hidden both
life and death. This
consciousness intensified his physical
suffering tenfold. He groaned and tossed about, and pulled at his
clothing which choked and stifled him. And he hated them on that
account.
He was given a large dose of opium and became
unconscious, but
at noon his
sufferings began again. He drove everybody away and
tossed from side to side.
His wife came to him and said:
"Jean, my dear, do this for me. It can't do any harm and
often helps. Healthy people often do it."
He opened his eyes wide.
"What? Take
communion? Why? It's unnecessary! However..."
She began to cry.
"Yes, do, my dear. I'll send for our
priest. He is such a
nice man."
"All right. Very well," he muttered.
When the
priest came and heard his
confession, Ivan Ilych was
softened and seemed to feel a
relief from his doubts and
consequently from his
sufferings, and for a moment there came a ray
of hope. He again began to think of the vermiform
appendix and the
possibility of correcting it. He received the sacrament with tears
in his eyes.
When they laid him down again afterwards he felt a moment's
ease, and the hope that he might live awoke in him again. He began
to think of the operation that had been suggested to him. "To
live! I want to live!" he said to himself.
His wife came in to
congratulate him after his
communion, and
when uttering the usual
conventional words she added:
"You feel better, don't you?"
Without looking at her he said "Yes."
Her dress, her figure, the expression of her face, the tone of
her voice, all revealed the same thing. "This is wrong, it is not
as it should be. All you have lived for and still live for is
falsehood and
deception, hiding life and death from you." And as
soon as he admitted that thought, his
hatred and his agonizing
physical
suffering again
sprang up, and with that
suffering a
consciousness of the unavoidable, approaching end. And to this was
added a new
sensation of grinding shooting pain and a feeling of
suffocation.
The expression of his face when he uttered that "Yes" was
dreadful. Having uttered it, he looked her straight in the eyes,
turned on his face with a
rapidityextraordinary in his weak state
and shouted:
"Go away! Go away and leave me alone!"
XII
From that moment the screaming began that continued for three
days, and was so terrible that one could not hear it through two
closed doors without
horror. At the moment he answered his wife
realized that he was lost, that there was no return, that the end
had come, the very end, and his doubts were still unsolved and
remained doubts.
"Oh! Oh! Oh!" he cried in various intonations. he had begun
by screaming "I won't!" and continued screaming on the letter "O".
For three whole days, during which time did not exist for him,
he struggled in that black sack into which he was being
thrust by
an
invisible, resistless force. He struggled as a man condemned to
death struggles in the hands of the executioner,
knowing that he
cannot save himself. And every moment he felt that
despite all his
efforts he was
drawing nearer and nearer to what terrified him. he
felt that his agony was due to his being
thrust into that black
hole and still more to his not being able to get right into it. He
was hindered from getting into it by his
conviction that his life
had been a good one. That very
justification of his life held him
fast and prevented his moving forward, and it caused him most
torment of all.
Suddenly some force struck him in the chest and side, making
it still harder to
breathe, and he fell through the hole and there
at the bottom was a light. What had happened to him was like the
sensation one sometimes experiences in a railway
carriage when one
thinks one is going
backwards while one is really going forwards
and suddenly becomes aware of the real direction.
"Yes, it was not the right thing," he said to himself, "but
that's no matter. It can be done. But what *is* the right thing?
he asked himself, and suddenly grew quiet.
This occurred at the end of the third day, two hours before
his death. Just then his schoolboy son had crept
softly in and
gone up to the
bedside. The dying man was still screaming
desperately and waving his arms. His hand fell on the boy's head,
and the boy caught it, pressed it to his lips, and began to cry.
At that very moment Ivan Ilych fell through and caught sight
of the light, and it was revealed to him that though his life had
not been what it should have been, this could still be rectified.
He asked himself, "What *is* the right thing?" and grew still,
listening. Then he felt that someone was kissing his hand. He
opened his eyes, looked at his son, and felt sorry for him. His
wife camp up to him and he glanced at her. She was gazing at him
open-mouthed, with undried tears on her nose and cheek and a
despairing look on her face. He felt sorry for her too.
"Yes, I am making them wretched," he thought. "They are
sorry, but it will be better for them when I die." He wished to
say this but had not the strength to utter it. "Besides, why
speak? I must act," he thought. with a look at his wife he
indicated his son and said: "Take him away...sorry for him...sorry
for you too...." He tried to add, "Forgive me," but said "Forego"
and waved his hand,
knowing that He whose understanding mattered
would understand.
And suddenly it grew clear to him that what had been
oppressing him and would not leave his was all dropping away at
once from two sides, from ten sides, and from all sides. He was
sorry for them, he must act so as not to hurt them:
release them
and free himself from these
sufferings. "How good and how simple!"
he thought. "And the pain?" he asked himself. "What has become of
it? Where are you, pain?"
He turned his attention to it.
"Yes, here it is. Well, what of it? Let the pain be."
"And death...where is it?"
He sought his former accustomed fear of death and did not find
it. "Where is it? What death?" There was no fear because there
was no death.
In place of death there was light.
"So that's what it is!" he suddenly exclaimed aloud. "What
joy!"
To him all this happened in a single
instant, and the meaning
of that
instant did not change. For those present his agony
continued for another two hours. Something
rattled in his throat,
his emaciated body twitched, then the gasping and
rattle became
less and less frequent.
"It is finished!" said someone near him.
He heard these words and
repeated them in his soul.
"Death is finished," he said to himself. "It is no more!"
He drew in a
breath, stopped in the midst of a sigh, stretched
out, and died.
End