The Death of Ivan Ilyich and Other Stories by Leo Tolstoy

Author:Leo Tolstoy
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, azw3
Publisher: Penguin Group US

THE DEATH OF IVAN ILYICH

I

In the large law court building, during an adjournment of the Melvinsky trial, the members of the Bench and the public prosecutor had come together in the office of Ivan Yegorovich Shebek, and the conversation touched on the celebrated Krasovsky case. Fyodor Vasilyevich argued vehemently that it was beyond their jurisdiction, Ivan Yegorovich had his own view and was sticking to it, while Pyotr Ivanovich, who had kept out of the discussion at the outset and was still not contributing, was perusing a copy of the Gazette which had just been delivered.

‘Gentlemen!’ he said. ‘Ivan Ilyich is dead.’

‘Is he really?’

‘Here you are. Read it yourself,’ he said to Fyodor Vasilyevich, handing him the paper, fresh off the press and still smelling.

There was an announcement within a black border: ‘It is with profound sorrow that Praskovya Fyodorovna Golovina informs family and friends that her beloved husband, Ivan Ilyich Golovin, Member of the Court of Justice, passed away on the 4th of February this year, 1882. The funeral will take place on Friday at I p.m.’

Ivan Ilyich had been a colleague of the gentlemen assembled there, and they had all liked him. He had been ill for several weeks, and the word was that his illness was incurable. His post had been kept open for him, but there was an understanding that in the event of his death Alexeyev would step into his place, and Alexeyev’s place would be taken by either Vinnikov or Shtabel. So, the first thought that occurred to each of the assembled gentlemen on hearing the news of his death was how this death might affect his own prospects, and those of their acquaintances, for transfer or promotion.

‘I’m sure to get Shtabel’s job now, or Vinnikov’s,’ thought Fyodor Vasilyevich. ‘They promised me ages ago, and a promotion like that would give me another eight hundred roubles a year, plus expenses.’

‘I must apply to have my brother-in-law transferred from Kaluga,’ thought Pyotr Ivanovich. ‘My wife will be delighted. She won’t be able to tell me I never do anything for her people.’

‘I had a feeling he wasn’t going to get better,’ said Pyotr Ivanovich. ‘It’s sad.’

‘What was actually wrong with him?’

‘The doctors couldn’t decide. Well, they could, but they all decided differently. The last time I saw him I thought he was going to come through it.’

‘And I haven’t been to see him since Christmas. I kept meaning to go.’

‘Was he all right financially?’

‘His wife had a bit of money, I think. Nothing very much.’

‘Well, we’ll have to go and see her. They live an awfully long way away.’

‘For you they do. Where you live, everywhere’s a long way away.’

‘Look at that. He can’t forgive me for living across the river,’ said Pyotr Ivanovich, smiling at Shebek. The conversation turned to the long distances between the different parts of the city, and then they walked back into session.

Apart from the speculations aroused in each of them by this death, concerning the transfers and possible changes

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