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<h2> CHAPTER XXII. </h2>
<p>"All that day I did not speak to my wife. I could not. Her proximity
excited such hatred that I feared myself. At the table she asked me, in
presence of the children, when I was to start upon a journey. I was to go
the following week to an assembly of the Zemstvo, in a neighboring
locality. I named the date. She asked me if I would need anything for the
journey. I did not answer. I sat silent at the table, and silently I
retired to my study. In those last days she never entered my study,
especially at that hour. Suddenly I heard her steps, her walk, and then a
terribly base idea entered my head that, like the wife of Uri, she wished
to conceal a fault already committed, and that it was for this reason that
she came to see me at this unseasonable hour. 'Is it possible,' thought I,
'that she is coming to see me?' On hearing her step as it approached: 'If
it is to see me that she is coming, then I am right.'</p>
<p>"An inexpressible hatred invaded my soul. The steps drew nearer, and
nearer, and nearer yet. Would she pass by and go on to the other room? No,
the hinges creaked, and at the door her tall, graceful, languid figure
appeared. In her face, in her eyes, a timidity, an insinuating expression,
which she tried to hide, but which I saw, and of which I understood the
meaning. I came near suffocating, such were my efforts to hold my breath,
and, continuing to look at her, I took my cigarette, and lighted it.</p>
<p>"'What does this mean? One comes to talk with you, and you go to smoking.'</p>
<p>"And she sat down beside me on the sofa, resting against my shoulder. I
recoiled, that I might not touch her.</p>
<p>"'I see that you are displeased with what I wish to play on Sunday,' said
she.</p>
<p>"'I am not at all displeased,' said I.</p>
<p>"'Can I not see?'</p>
<p>"'Well, I congratulate you on your clairvoyance. Only to you every
baseness is agreeable, and I abhor it.'</p>
<p>"'If you are going to swear like a trooper, I am going away.'</p>
<p>"'Then go away. Only know that, if the honor of the family is nothing to
you, to me it is dear. As for you, the devil take you!'</p>
<p>"'What! What is the matter?'</p>
<p>"'Go away, in the name of God.'</p>
<p>"But she did not go away. Was she pretending not to understand, or did she
really not understand what I meant? But she was offended and became angry.</p>
<p>"'You have become absolutely impossible,' she began, or some such phrase
as that regarding my character, trying, as usual, to give me as much pain
as possible. 'After what you have done to my sister (she referred to an
incident with her sister, in which, beside myself, I had uttered
brutalities; she knew that that tortured me, and tried to touch me in that
tender spot) nothing will astonish me.'</p>
<p>"'Yes, offended, humiliated, and dishonored, and after that to hold me
still responsible,' thought I, and suddenly a rage, such a hatred invaded
me as I do not remember to have ever felt before. For the first time I
desired to express this hatred physically. I leaped upon her, but at the
same moment I understood my condition, and I asked myself whether it would
be well for me to abandon myself to my fury. And I answered myself that it
would be well, that it would frighten her, and, instead of resisting, I
lashed and spurred myself on, and was glad to feel my anger boiling more
and more fiercely.</p>
<p>"'Go away, or I will kill you!' I cried, purposely, with a frightful
voice, and I grasped her by the arm. She did not go away. Then I twisted
her arm, and pushed her away violently.</p>
<p>"'What is the matter with you? Come to your senses!' she shrieked.</p>
<p>"'Go away,' roared I, louder than ever, rolling my eyes wildly. 'It takes
you to put me in such a fury. I do not answer for myself! Go away!'</p>
<p>"In abandoning myself to my anger, I became steeped in it, and I wanted to
commit some violent act to show the force of my fury. I felt a terrible
desire to beat her, to kill her, but I realized that that could not be,
and I restrained myself. I drew back from her, rushed to the table,
grasped the paper-weight, and threw it on the floor by her side. I took
care to aim a little to one side, and, before she disappeared (I did it so
that she could see it), I grasped a candlestick, which I also hurled, and
then took down the barometer, continuing to shout:</p>
<p>"'Go away! I do not answer for myself!'</p>
<p>"She disappeared, and I immediately ceased my demonstrations. An hour
later the old servant came to me and said that my wife was in a fit of
hysterics. I went to see her. She sobbed and laughed, incapable of
expressing anything, her whole body in a tremble. She was not shamming,
she was really sick. We sent for the doctor, and all night long I cared
for her. Toward daylight she grew calmer, and we became reconciled under
the influence of that feeling which we called 'love.' The next morning,
when, after the reconciliation, I confessed to her that I was jealous of
Troukhatchevsky, she was not at all embarrassed, and began to laugh in the
most natural way, so strange did the possibility of being led astray by
such a man appear to her.</p>
<p>"'With such a man can an honest woman entertain any feeling beyond the
pleasure of enjoying music with him? But if you like, I am ready to never
see him again, even on Sunday, although everybody has been invited. Write
him that I am indisposed, and that will end the matter. Only one thing
annoys me,—that any one could have thought him dangerous. I am too
proud not to detest such thoughts.'</p>
<p>"And she did not lie. She believed what she said. She hoped by her words
to provoke in herself a contempt for him, and thereby to defend herself.
But she did not succeed. Everything was directed against her, especially
that abominable music. So ended the quarrel, and on Sunday our guests
came, and Troukhatchevsky and my wife again played together."</p>
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