THE DEATH OF IVAN ILYCH

By Lev Nikolayevich Tolstoy

Translated by Louise and Aylmer Maude

I

During an interval in the Melvinski trial in the large

building of the Law Courts the members and public prosecutor met in

Ivan Egorovich Shebek's private room, where the conversation turned

on the celebrated Krasovski case. Fedor Vasilievich warmly

maintained that it was not subject to their jurisdiction, Ivan

Egorovich maintained the contrary, while Peter Ivanovich, not

having entered into the discussion at the start, took no part in it

but looked through the *Gazette* which had just been handed in.

"Gentlemen," he said, "Ivan Ilych has died!"

"You don't say so!"

"Here, read it yourself," replied Peter Ivanovich, handing

Fedor Vasilievich the paper still damp from the press. Surrounded

by a black border were the words: "Praskovya Fedorovna Golovina,

with profound sorrow, informs relatives and friends of the demise

of her beloved husband Ivan Ilych Golovin, Member of the Court of

Justice, which occurred on February the 4th of this year 1882. the

funeral will take place on Friday at one o'clock in the afternoon."

Ivan Ilych had been a colleague of the gentlemen present and

was liked by them all. He had been ill for some weeks with an

illness said to be incurable. His post had been kept open for him,

but there had been conjectures that in case of his death Alexeev

might receive his appointment, and that either Vinnikov or Shtabel

would succeed Alexeev. So on receiving the news of Ivan Ilych's

death the first thought of each of the gentlemen in that private

room was of the changes and promotions it might occasion among

themselves or their acquaintances.

"I shall be sure to get Shtabel's place or Vinnikov's,"

thought Fedor Vasilievich. "I was promised that long ago, and the

promotion means an extra eight hundred rubles a year for me besides

the allowance."

"Now I must apply for my brother-in-law's transfer from

Kaluga," thought Peter Ivanovich. "My wife will be very glad, and

then she won't be able to say that I never do anything for her

relations."

"I thought he would never leave his bed again," said Peter

Ivanovich aloud. "It's very sad."

"But what really was the matter with him?"

"The doctors couldn't say -- at least they could, but each of

them said something different. When last I saw him I though he was

getting better."

"And I haven't been to see him since the holidays. I always

meant to go."

"Had he any property?"

"I think his wife had a little -- but something quiet

trifling."

"We shall have to go to see her, but they live so terribly far

away."

"Far away from you, you mean. Everything's far away from your

place."

"You see, he never can forgive my living on the other side of

the river," said Peter Ivanovich, smiling at Shebek. Then, still

talking of the distances between different parts of the city, they

returned to the Court.