passed through his mind -- of how his
illness had progressed and
grown worse. There also the further back he looked the more life
there had been. There had been more of what was good in life and
more of life itself. The two merged together. "Just as the pain
went on getting worse and worse, so my life grew worse and worse,"
he thought. "There is one bright spot there at the back, at the
beginning of life, and afterwards all becomes blacker and blacker
and proceeds more and more rapidly -- in inverse
ration to the
square of the distance from death," thought Ivan Ilych. And the
example of a stone falling
downwards with increasing velocity
entered his mind. Life, a
series of increasing sufferings, flies
further and further towards its end -- the most terrible suffering.
"I am flying...." He shuddered, shifted himself, and tried to
resist, but was already aware that
resistance was impossible, and
again with eyes weary of gazing but
unable to cease
seeing what was
before them, he stared at the back of the sofa and waited --
awaiting that
dreadful fall and shock and destruction.
"Resistance is impossible!" he said to himself. "If I could
only understand what it is all for! But that too is impossible.
An
explanation would be possible if it could be said that I have
not lived as I ought to. But it is impossible to say that," and he
remembered all the legality, correctitude, and
propriety of his
life. "That at any rate can certainly not be admitted," he
thought, and his lips smiled ironically as if someone could see
that smile and be taken in by it. "There is no
explanation!
Agony, death....What for?"
XI
Another two weeks went by in this way and during that
fortnight an even occurred that Ivan Ilych and his wife had
desired. Petrishchev
formally proposed. It happened in the
evening. The next day Praskovya Fedorovna came into her husband's
room
considering how best to inform him of it, but that very night
there had been a fresh change for the worse in his condition. She
found him still lying on the sofa but in a different position. He
lay on his back, groaning and staring fixedly straight in front of
him.
She began to
remind him of his medicines, but he turned his
eyes towards her with such a look that she did not finish what she
was
saying; so great an
animosity, to her in particular, did that
look express.
"For Christ's sake let me die in peace!" he said.
She would have gone away, but just then their daughter came in
and went up to say good morning. He looked at her as he had done
at his wife, and in reply to her
inquiry about his health said
dryly that he would soon free them all of himself. They were both
silent and after sitting with him for a while went away.
"Is it our fault?" Lisa said to her mother. "It's as if we
were to blame! I am sorry for papa, but why should we be
tortured?"
The doctor came at his usual time. Ivan Ilych answered "Yes"
and "No," never
taking his angry eyes from him, and at last said:
"You know you can do nothing for me, so leave me alone."
"We can ease your sufferings."
"You can't even do that. Let me be."
The doctor went into the
drawing room and told Praskovya
Fedorovna that the case was very serious and that the only resource
left was opium to allay her husband's sufferings, which must be
terrible.
It was true, as the doctor said, that Ivan Ilych's
physicalsufferings were terrible, but worse than the
physical sufferings
were his
mental sufferings which were his chief torture.
His
mental sufferings were due to the fact that that night, as
he looked at Gerasim's
sleepy,
good-natured face with it prominent
cheek-bones, the question suddenly occurred to him: "What if my
whole life has been wrong?"
It occurred to him that what had appeared
perfectly impossible
before,
namely that he had not spent his life as he should have
done, might after all be true. It occurred to him that his
scarcely
perceptible attempts to struggle against what was
considered good by the most highly placed people, those scarcely
noticeable impulses which he had immediately suppressed, might have
been the real thing, and all the rest false. And his professional
duties and the whole
arrangement of his life and of his family, and
all his social and official interests, might all have been false.
He tried to defend all those things to himself and suddenly felt