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THE DEATH OF IVAN ILYCH.TXT-Part6_LEO TOLSTOY (1828-1910)_Translated Works(翻译文学)-第2页

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"Yes, there is a change."

And after that, try as he would to get his brother-in-law to



return to the subject of his looks, the latter would say nothing

about it. Praskovya Fedorovna came home and her brother went out



to her. Ivan Ilych locked to door and began to examine himself in

the glass, first full face, then in profile. He took up a portrait



of himself taken with his wife, and compared it with what he saw in

the glass. The change in him was immense. Then he bared his arms



to the elbow, looked at them, drew the sleeves down again, sat down

on an ottoman, and grew blacker than night.



"No, no, this won't do!" he said to himself, and jumped up,

went to the table, took up some law papers and began to read them,



but could not continue. He unlocked the door and went into the

reception-room. The door leading to the drawing-room was shut. He



approached it on tiptoe and listened.

"No, you are exaggerating!" Praskovya Fedorovna was saying.



"Exaggerating! Don't you see it? Why, he's a dead man! Look

at his eyes -- there's no life in them. But what is it that is



wrong with him?"

"No one knows. Nikolaevich [that was another doctor] said



something, but I don't know what. And Seshchetitsky [this was the

celebrated specialist] said quite the contrary..."



Ivan Ilych walked away, went to his own room, lay down, and

began musing; "The kidney, a floating kidney." He recalled all



the doctors had told him of how it detached itself and swayed

about. And by an effort of imagination he tried to catch that



kidney and arrest it and support it. So little was needed for

this, it seemed to him. "No, I'll go to see Peter Ivanovich



again." [That was the friend whose friend was a doctor.] He rang,

ordered the carriage, and got ready to go.



"Where are you going, Jean?" asked his wife with a specially

sad and exceptionally kind look.



This exceptionally kind look irritated him. He looked

morosely at her.



"I must go to see Peter Ivanovich."

He went to see Peter Ivanovich, and together they went to see



his friend, the doctor. He was in, and Ivan Ilych had a long talk

with him.



Reviewing the anatomical and physiological details of what in

the doctor's opinion was going on inside him, he understood it all.



There was something, a small thing, in the vermiform appendix.

It might all come right. Only stimulate the energy of one organ



and check the activity of another, then absorption would take place

and everything would come right. He got home rather late for



dinner, ate his dinner, and conversed cheerfully, but could not for

a long time bring himself to go back to work in his room. At last,



however, he went to his study and did what was necessary, but the

consciousness that he had put something aside -- an important,



intimate matter which he would revert to when his work was done --

never left him. When he had finished his work he remembered that



this intimate matter was the thought of his vermiform appendix.

But he did not give himself up to it, and went to the drawing-room



for tea. There were callers there, including the examining

magistrate who was a desirable match for his daughter, and they



were conversing, playing the piano, and singing. Ivan Ilych, as

Praskovya Fedorovna remarked, spent that evening more cheerfully



than usual, but he never for a moment forgot that he had postponed

the important matter of the appendix. At eleven o'clock he said



goodnight and went to his bedroom. Since his illness he had slept

alone in a small room next to his study. He undressed and took up



a novel by Zola, but instead of reading it he fell into thought,

and in his imagination that desired improvement in the vermiform



appendix occurred. There was the absorption and evacuation and the

re-establishment of normal activity. "Yes, that's it!" he said to



himself. "One need only assist nature, that's all." He remembered

his medicine, rose, took it, and lay down on his back watching for



the beneficent action of the medicine and for it to lessen the

pain. "I need only take it regularly and avoid all injurious



influences. I am already feeling better, much better." He began

touching his side: it was not painful to the touch. "There, I



really don't feel it. It's much better already." He put out the




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