University of Virginia Library

27.
CHAPTER XXVII.

"I REMEMBER only the expression of their
faces when I opened the door. I remember
that, because it awakened in me a feeling of
sorrowful joy. It was an expression of terror,
such as I desired. Never shall I forget that

desperate and sudden fright that appeared on
their faces when they saw me. He, I believe,
was at the table, and, when he saw or heard me,
he started, jumped to his feet, and retreated to
the sideboard. Fear was the only sentiment that
could be read with certainty in his face. In
hers, too, fear was to be read, but accompanied
by other impressions. And yet, if her face had
expressed only fear, perhaps that which hap-
pened would not have happened. But in the
expression of her face there was at the first mo-
ment—at least, I thought I saw it—a feeling
of
ennui
, of discontent, at this disturbance of
her love and happiness. One would have said
that her sole desire was not to be disturbed
in
the moment of her happiness
. But these ex-
pressions appeared upon their faces only for a
moment. Terror almost immediately gave place
to interrogation. Would they lie or not? If
yes, they must begin. If not, something else
was going to happen. But what?

"He gave her a questioning glance. On her
face the expression of anguish and
ennui changed, it seemed to me, when she looked at
him, into an expression of anxiety for
him.

For a moment I stood in the doorway, holding
the dagger hidden behind my back. Suddenly
he smiled, and in a voice that was indifferent
almost to the point of ridicule, he said:

"'We were having some music.'

"'I did not expect—,' she began at the same
time, chiming in with the tone of the other.

"But neither he nor she finished their re-
marks. The same rage that I had felt the pre-
vious week took possession of me. I felt the
need of giving free course to my violence and
'the joy of wrath.'

"No, they did not finish. That other thing
was going to begin, of which he was afraid, and
was going to annihilate what they wanted to
say. I threw myself upon her, still hiding the
dagger, that he might not prevent me from
striking where I desired, in her bosom, under
the breast. At that moment he saw . . . and,
what I did not expect on his part, he quickly
seized my hand, and cried:

"'Come to your senses! What are you doing?

Help! Help!'

"I tore my hands from his grasp, and leaped
upon him. I must have been very terrible, for

he turned as white as a sheet, to his lips. His
eyes scintillated singularly, and—again what I
did not expect of him—he scrambled under the
piano, toward the other room. I tried to follow
him, but a very heavy weight fell upon my left
arm. It was she.

"I made an effort to clear myself. She clung
more heavily than ever, refusing to let go. This
unexpected obstacle, this burden, and this re-
pugnant touch only irritated me the more. I
perceived that I was completely mad, that I
must be frightful, and I was glad of it. With
a sudden impulse, and with all my strength, I
dealt her, with my left elbow, a blow squarely
in the face.

"She uttered a cry and let go my arm. I
wanted to follow the other, but I felt that it
would be ridiculous to pursue in my stockings
the lover of my wife, and I did not wish to be
grotesque, I wished to be terrible. In spite of
my extreme rage, I was all the time conscious
of the impression that I was making upon
others, and even this impression partially guided
me.

"I turned toward her. She had fallen on the

long easy chair, and, covering her face at the
spot where I had struck her, she looked at me.

Her features exhibited fear and hatred toward
me, her enemy, such as the rat exhibits when
one lifts the rat-trap. At least, I saw nothing in
her but that fear and hatred, the fear and hatred
which love for another had provoked. Perhaps
I still should have restrained myself, and should
not have gone to the last extremity, if she had
maintained silence. But suddenly she began to
speak; she grasped my hand that held the dag-
ger.

"'Come to your senses! What are you do-
ing? What is the matter with you? Nothing
has happened, nothing, nothing! I swear it to
you!'

"I might have delayed longer, but these last
words, from which I inferred the contrary of
what they affirmed,—that is, that
everything

had happened,—these words called for a reply.

And the reply must correspond to the condition
into which I had lashed myself, and which was
increasing and must continue to increase. Rage
has its laws.

"'Do not lie, wretch. Do not lie!' I roared.

"With my left hand I seized her hands. She
disengaged herself. Then, without dropping
my dagger, I seized her by the throat, forced
her to the floor, and began to strangle her. With
her two hands she clutched mine, tearing them
from her throat, stifling. Then I struck her a
blow with the dagger, in the left side, between
the lower ribs.

"When people say that they do not remember
what they do in a fit of fury, they talk nonsense.

It is false. I remember everything. I did not
lose my consciousness for a single moment. The
more I lashed myself to fury, the clearer my
mind became, and I could not help seeing what
I did. I cannot say that I knew in advance
what I would do, but at the moment when I
acted, and it seems to me even a little before,
I knew what I was doing, as if to make it possi-
ble to repent, and to be able to say later that I
could have stopped.

"I knew that I struck the blow between the
ribs, and that the dagger entered.

"At the second when I did it, I knew that I
was performing a horrible act, such as I had
never performed,—an act that would have

frightful consequences. My thought was as
quick as lightning, and the deed followed imme-
diately. The act, to my inner sense, had an ex-
traordinary clearness. I perceived the resist-
ance of the corset and then something else, and
then the sinking of the knife into a soft sub-
stance. She clutched at the dagger with her
hands, and cut herself with it, but could not re-
strain the blow.

"Long afterward, in prison when the moral
revolution had been effected within me, I
thought of that minute, I remembered it as far
as I could, and I co-ordinated all the sudden
changes. I remembered the terrible conscious-
ness which I felt,—that I was killing a wife,

my
wife.

"I well remember the horror of that con-
sciousness and I know vaguely that, having
plunged in the dagger, I drew it out again im-
mediately, wishing to repair and arrest my
action. She straightened up and cried:

"'Nurse, he has killed me!'

"The old nurse, who had heard the noise, was
standing in the doorway. I was still erect, wait-
ing, and not believing myself in what had hap-

pened. But at that moment, from under her
corset, the blood gushed forth. Then only did
I understand that all reparation was impossible,
and promptly I decided that it was not even
necessary, that all had happened in accordance
with my wish, and that I had fulfilled my desire.

I waited until she fell, and until the nurse, ex-
claiming, 'Oh, my God!' ran to her; then only I
threw away the dagger and went out of the
room.

"'I must not be agitated. I must be conscious
of what I am doing,' I said to myself, looking
neither at her nor at the old nurse. The latter
cried and called the maid. I passed through the
hall, and, after having sent the maid, started for
my study.

"'What shall I do now?' I asked myself.

"And immediately I understood what I should
do. Directly after entering the study, I went
straight to the wall, took down the revolver, and
examined it attentively. It was loaded. Then
I placed it on the table. Next I picked up the
sheath of the dagger, which had dropped down
behind the sofa, and then I sat down. I re-
mained thus for a long time. I thought of

nothing, I did not try to remember anything.

I heard a stifled noise of steps, a movement of
objects and of tapestries, then the arrival of a
person, and then the arrival of another person.

Then I saw Gregor bring into my room the
baggage from the railway; as if any one needed
it!

"'Have you heard what has happened?' I
asked him. 'Have you told the
dvornik to in-
form the police?'

"He made no answer, and went out. I rose,
closed the door, took the cigarettes and the
matches, and began to smoke. I had not fin-
ished one cigarette, when a drowsy feeling came
over me and sent me into a deep sleep. I surely
slept two hours. I remember having dreamed
that I was on good terms with her, that after a
quarrel we were in the act of making up, that
something prevented us, but that we were
friends all the same.

"A knock at the door awoke me.

"'It is the police,' thought I, as I opened my
eyes. 'I have killed, I believe. But perhaps it
is she
; perhaps nothing has happened.'

"Another knock. I did not answer. I was

solving the question: 'Has it happened or not?

Yes, it has happened.'

"I remembered the resistance of the corset,
and then. . . . 'Yes, it has happened. Yes, it
has happened. Yes, now I must execute my-
self,' said I to myself.

"I said it, but I knew well that I should not
kill myself. Nevertheless, I rose and took the
revolver, but, strange thing, I remembered that
formerly I had very often had suicidal ideas,
that that very night, on the cars, it had seemed
to me easy, especially easy because I thought
how it would stupefy her. Now I not only
could not kill myself, but I could not even
think of it.

"'Why do it?' I asked myself, without an-
swering.

"Another knock at the door.

"'Yes, but I must first know who is knock-
ing. I have time enough.'

"I put the revolver back on the table, and hid
it under my newspaper. I went to the door and
drew back the bolt.

"It was my wife's sister,—a good and stupid
widow.

"'Basile, what does this mean?' said she, and
her tears, always ready, began to flow.

"'What do you want?' I asked roughly.

"I saw clearly that there was no necessity of
being rough with her, but I could not speak in
any other tone.

"'Basile, she is dying. Ivan Fedorowitch
says so.'

"Ivan Fedorowitch was the doctor,
her
doc-
tor, her counsellor.

"'Is he here?' I inquired.

"And all my hatred of her arose anew.

"Well, what?

"'Basile, go to her! Ah! how terrible it is!'
said she.

"'Go to her?' I asked myself; and immedi-
ately I made answer to myself that I ought to
go, that probably that was the thing that is
usually done when a husband like myself kills
his wife, that it was absolutely necessary that I
should go and see her.

"'If that is the proper thing, I must go,' I re-
peated to myself. 'Yes, if it is necessary, I shall
still have time,' said I to myself, thinking of my
intention of blowing my brains out.

"And I followed my sister-in-law. 'Now
there are going to be phrases and grimaces, but
I will not yield,' I declared to myself.

"'Wait,' said I to my sister-in-law, 'it is
stupid to be without boots. Let me at least put
on my slippers.'