Tolstoi's 'Death of Ivan lliltcli.'

Te Aroha News, Volume VII, Issue 414, 26 October 1889, Page 3

Tolstoi's ' Death of Ivan lliltcli.'

' The Death of Ivan Hutch ' is a masterpiece, equal to anything Tolstoi has yet written. It is a narrative of the death-bed re[jont«nooof« l»»{f Mjr-rotipootahin \ngn\ funoiionnry, a man who had made a good position in tho world by walking diligently and discreetly on the world 'a highway. Ivan Iliitch knows that he must die. Conscience a'wakep. ' How Is this ?' he asks. • I have always done my duty. ' But the inner voice repeats the very words which the crier used in announcing the judge's arrival in the Court. • Judgment comes ! Judgment comes! Yes,' repeated .the voice, 'It comes — this judgment ! Look; for it is already at hand — Judgment I But i am not culpable,' he said angrily ; * how could I be? Then why such horror?' Ivan Iliitch thought over the legality, the perfect propriety of his life. 'It would be explicable had I not lived as I ought, but that it is impossible to admit.' One night he wakes up suddenly, and the thought occurs, * But what will happen if in reality my life has not been what it ought to have been ? Supposing the hypothesis I have so long resisted proves, after all, the truth. Supposing what I have counted tho folly of struggling against everything society holds to be good turns out after all to be the only way that is true and real, and the one I have pursued mere vanity. Supposing all my career, all my arrangements to promote my: social and professional interests prove to/have been founded on nothing. '. He tried to defend his own principles, .but, his arguments appeared weak and futile.' Then said he, ' I quit life conscious of having hopelessly lo t all that has been given,. What is to be done ?' In the morning his wife, irreproachable before the woil'd for which sho lived, arrives at the bedside of tho tiresome in\nlid. She advices 'extreme unction.' Ib is administered, but so far from feeling better he bogins >to groan terribly, and continues to dq so for three days and three nights. At tho end of the third day his little son, whose blue, anxious eyes were the only eyes of the family that seemed to pity him, this little college boy stole into his room and <drew near the • bed. His father was crying and throwing his. arms about. His hand came in contact with the head of his son. The boy caught hold ot it and kissed it>. It was exactly at that moment that Ivan^ Iliitch, dreaming that he was precipitated into a dark hole, saw that something lit up the bottom. Suddenly he comprehended that his life had not been what it ought, but that the possibility of its redemption was nob past, and that it had in fact commonced at the very moment he had cried * What is to be done ?' Arid it \vns just as this thought flew through his mind that he felt tho kiss on his hand. He opened his eyes, and seeing his son he had pity on him. His wife came, tears trickling down her cheeks. He had pity on her. He tried to speak, ; but could not. With, a look he pointed out his son to his wife. 'Amen. I have pity. . . and on thee also.' t He would have added, ' Prosti ! pardon,' but he said, ' Pro posti ! let ib pass,' and having no more strength he dropped his hand, sure that he was comprehended. He was no more afraid of death, for death for him was ended, And in its place thoro was light. ' Ah, look there,' said he, in a loud voice, ' what joy !' All this passed in a moment, but it was the decisive moment. His agony continued for two" hours. Then he heard i;omo' one whimper abo\o his head, 'It is nil over.' !L All over,' he eaid to hiniFeif ; ' there is no moredeath.' He made n movement of aspiration, but did not finish, became rigid,,* and [died, — Kiohard Heath, in the Lemire Hour,