 The Imp of the Perverse by Edgar Allan Poe. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by David Federman. The Imp of the Perverse by Edgar Allan Poe. In the consideration of the faculties and impulses of the primimobilia of the human soul, the phrenologists have failed to make room for a propensity which, although obviously existing as a radical, primitive, irreducible sentiment, has been equally overlooked by all the moralists who have preceded them. In the pure arrogance of the reason we have all overlooked it, we have suffered its existence to escape our senses solely through want of belief, of faith, whether it be faith in revelation or faith in the cabala. The idea of it has never occurred to us simply because of its super-erogation. We saw no need of the impulse for the propensity. We could not perceive its necessity. We could not understand. That is to say, we could not have understood. Had the notion of this primimobile ever obtruded itself, we could not have understood in what manner it might be made to further the objects of humanity, either temporal or eternal. It cannot be denied that phrenology and, in great measure, all metaphysicianism have been concocted a priority. The intellectual or logical man, rather than the understanding or observant man, set himself to imagine designs to dictate purposes to God. Having thus fathomed to his satisfaction the intentions of Jehovah out of these intentions he built his innumerable systems of mind. In the matter of phrenology, for example, we first determined, naturally enough, that it was the design of the deity that man should eat. We then assigned to man an organ of allamentiveness, and this organ is the scourge with which the deity compels man willy-nilly into eating. Secondly, having settled it to be God's will that man should continue his species, we discovered an organ of imattiveness, forthwith, and so with combativeness, with ideality, with causality, with constructiveness, so in short, with every organ, whether representing a propensity, a moral sentiment, or a faculty of the pure intellect. And in these arrangements of the principia of human action, the spursomites, whether right or wrong, in part, or upon the whole, have but followed in principle the footsteps of their predecessors, deducing and establishing everything from the preconceived destiny of man and upon the ground of the objects of his creator. It would have been wiser, it would have been safer to classify, if classify we must, upon the basis of what man usually or occasionally did, and was always occasionally doing, rather than upon the basis of what we took it for granted the deity intended him to do. If we cannot comprehend God in his visible works, how then, in his inconceivable thoughts, that call the works into being? If we cannot understand him in his objective creatures, how then, in his substantive moods and phases of creation? Induction, a posteriori, would have brought phrenology to admit, as an innate and primitive principle of human action, a paradoxical something, which we may call perverseness, for want of a more characteristic term. In the sense I intend, it is in fact a mobile without motive, a motive not a motivert. Through its promptings we act without comprehensible object, or, if this shall be understood as a contradiction in terms, we may so far modify the proposition as to say, that through its promptings we act, for the reason, that we should not. In theory, no reason can be more unreasonable, but in fact, there is none more strong. With certain minds, under certain conditions, it becomes absolutely irresistible. I am not more certain that I breathe, than that the assurance of the wrong or error of any action, is often the one unconquerable force which impels us, and alone impels us to its prosecution. Nor will this overwhelming tendency to do wrong for the wrong's sake, admit of analysis or resolution into ulterior elements. It is a radical, a primitive impulse elementary. It will be said, I am aware, that when we persist in acts, because we feel we should not persist in them, our conduct is but a modification of that which ordinarily springs from the combativeness of phrenology. But a glance will show the fallacy of this idea. The phrenological combativeness has, for its essence, the necessity of self-defense. It is our safeguard against injury. Its principle regards our well-being, and thus the desire to be well is excited simultaneously with its development. It follows that the desire to be well must be excited simultaneously with any principle which shall be merely a modification of combativeness. But in the case of that something which I term perverseness, the desire to be well is not only aroused, but a strongly antagonistical sentiment exists. An appeal to one's own heart is, after all, the best reply to this sophistry just noticed. No one who trustingly consults and thoroughly questions his own soul will be disposed to deny the entire radicalness of the propensity in question. It is not more incomprehensible than distinctive. There lives no man who at some period has not been tormented. For example, by an earnest desire to tantalize the listener by circumlocution. The speaker is aware that he displeases. He has every intention to please. He is usually curt, precise, and clear. The most laconic and luminous language is struggling for utterance upon his tongue. It is only with difficulty that he restrains himself from giving it flow. He dreads and deprecates the anger of him whom he addresses. Yet the thought strikes him that by certain involutions and parentheses this anger may be engendered. That single thought is enough. The impulse increases to a wish, the wish to a desire, the desire to an uncontrollable longing, and the longing to the deep regret and mortification of the speaker and in defiance of all consequences is indulged. We have a task before us which must be speedily performed. We know that it will be ruinous to make delay. The most important crisis of our life called trumpet-tongued for immediate energy in action. We glow. We are consumed with eagerness to commence the work with the anticipation of whose glorious result our whole souls are on fire. It must, it shall be undertaken today, and yet we put it off until tomorrow. And why? There is no answer, except that we feel perverse, using the word with no comprehension of the principle. Tomorrow arrives and with it a more impatient anxiety to do our duty, but with this very increase of anxiety arrives also a nameless, a positively fearful because unfathomable craving for delay. This craving gathers strength as the moments fly. The last hour for action is at hand. We tremble with the violence of the conflict within us, of the definite with the indefinite, of the substance with the shadow. But if the contest have proceeded thus far, it is the shadow which prevails. We struggle in vain. The clock strikes, and it is the knell of our welfare. At the same time, it is the chanticlair, note to the ghost that is so long over odd us. It flies, it disappears, we are free. The old energy returns. We will labor now. Alas, it is too late. We stand upon the brink of a precipice. We peer into the abyss, we grow sick and dizzy. Our first impulse is to shrink from the danger. Unaccountably, we remain. By slow degrees, our sickness and dizziness and horror become merged in a cloud of unnameable feeling. By gradations, still more imperceptible, this cloud assumes shape, as did the vapor from the bottle, out of which arose the genius in the Arabian Nights. But out of this hour cloud, upon the precipice's edge, there grows into palpability a shape far more terrible than any genius or any demon of a tale. And yet, it is but a thought, although a fearful one, and one which chills the very marrow of our bones with the fierceness of the delight of its horror. It is merely the idea of what would be our sensations during the sweeping precipitancy of a fall from such a height. And this fall, this rushing annihilation for the very reason that it involves that one most ghastly and loathsome of all the most ghastly and loathsome images of death and suffering, which have ever presented themselves to our imagination. For this very cause, do we now the most vividly desire it? And because our reason violently deters us from the brink, therefore do we the most impetuously approach it? There is no passion in nature so demoniically impatient as that of him who, shuddering upon the edge of a precipice, thus meditates a plunge. To indulge for a moment in any attempt at thought is to be inevitably lost for reflection but urges us to forbear, and therefore it is, I say, that we cannot. If there be no friendly arm to check us, or if we fail in a sudden effort to prostrate ourselves backward from the abyss, we plunge and are destroyed. Examine these similar actions as we will. We shall find them resulting solely from the spirit of the perverse. We perpetrate them because we feel that we should not. Beyond or behind this there is no intelligible principle. And we might indeed deem this perverseness a direct instigation of the Archfiend, who were not occasionally known to operate in the furtherance of good. I have said thus much that in some measure I may answer your question, that I may explain to you why I am here, that I may assign to you something that shall have at least the faint aspect of a cause for my wearing these fetters, and for my tenetting this cell of the condemned. Had I not been thus Prolex, you might either have misunderstood me altogether or with the rabble have fancied me mad. As it is, you will easily perceive that I am one of the many uncounted victims of the imp of the perverse. It is impossible that any deed could have been wrought with a more thorough deliberation. For weeks, for months, I pondered upon the means of the murder. I rejected a thousand schemes because their accomplishment involved a chance of detection. At length, in reading some French memoirs, I found an account of a nearly fatal illness that occurred to Madame Pillow through the agency of a candle accidentally poisoned. The idea struck my fancy at once. I knew my victim's habit of reading in bed. I knew too that his apartment was narrow and ill-ventilated. But I need not vex you with the impertinent details. I need not describe the easy artifices by which I substituted in his bedroom candle stand a waxed light of my own making for the one which I there found. The next morning, he was discovered dead in his bed, and the coroner's verdict was death by the visitation of God. Having inherited his estate, all went well with me for years. The idea of detection never once entered my brain. Of the remains of the fatal taper, I had myself carefully disposed. I had left no shadow of a clue by which it would be possible to convict or even to suspect me of the crime. It is inconceivable how rich a sentiment of satisfaction arose in my bosom as I reflected upon my absolute security. For a very long period of time, I was accustomed to revel in this sentiment. It afforded me more real delight than all the mere worldly advantages accruing from my sin. But there arrived at length an epic from which the pleasurable feeling grew by scarcely perceptible gradations into a haunting and harassing thought. It harassed because it haunted. I could scarcely get rid of it for an instant. It is quite a common thing to be thus annoyed with the ringing in our ears or rather in our memories of the burden of some ordinary song or some unimpressive snatches from an opera. Nor will we be the less tormented if the song in itself is good or the opera airs meritorious. In this manner at last, I would perpetually catch myself pondering upon my security and repeating in a low undertone the phrase, I am safe. One day, while sauntering along the streets, I arrested myself in the act of murmuring half a loud these customary syllables. In a fit of petulance, I remodeled them thus. I am safe, I am safe, yes, if I not be full enough to make open confession. No sooner had I spoken these words than I felt an icy chill creep to my heart. I had had some experience in these fits of perversity, whose nature I have been at some trouble to explain, and I remembered well that in no instance I had successfully resisted their attacks. And now my own casual self-suggestion that I might possibly be full enough to confess the murder of which I had been guilty confronted me as if the very ghost of him whom I had murdered and beckoned me on to death. At first, I made an effort to shake off this nightmare of the soul. I walked vigorously faster and still faster at length I ran. I felt a maddening desire to shriek out loud. Every succeeding wave of thought overwhelmed me with new terror, for alas, I well too well understood that to think in my situation was to be lost. I still quickened my pace. I bounded like a madman through the crowded throw fares. At length the populace took the alarm and pursued me. I felt then the consummation of my fate. Could I have torn out my tongue I would have done it, but a rough voice resounded in my ears. A rougher grasp seized me by the shoulder. I turned. I gasped for breath. For a moment I experienced all the pangs of suffocation. I became blind and deaf and giddy. And then some invisible fiend, I thought, struck me with his broad palm upon the back. The long, imprisoned secret burst forth from my soul. They say that I spoke with distinct enunciation, but with marked emphasis and passionate hurry, as if in dread of interruption before concluding the brief, but pregnant sentences that can sign me to the hangman and to hell. Having related all that was necessary for the fullest judicial conviction, I fell prostrate in a swoon. But why shall I say more? Today I wear these chains and I'm here. Tomorrow I shall be fetterless. But where? End of the imp of the perverse. The Kiss by Kate Chopin. This is a LibriVax recording. All LibriVax recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVax.org. Recording by Kawancha Atmaca. Izmir, Turkey, 2008. It was still quite light out of doors, but inside, with the curtains drawn and the smoldering fire sending out a dim, uncertain glow, the room was full of deep shadows. Brentane sat in one of these shadows. It had overtaken him and he did not mind. The obscurity lent him courage to keep his eyes facedant as ardently as he liked upon the girl who sat in the firelight. She was very handsome, with a certain fine, rich coloring that belongs to the Halter Bruin type. She was quite composed, as she either stroked a satin coat of the cat that lay curled in her lap, and she occasionally sent a slow glance into the shadow where her companion sat. They were talking low of indifferent things which plainly were not the things that occupied their thoughts. She knew that he loved her, a frank, blustering fellow without guile enough to conceal his feelings, and no desire to do so. For two weeks passed, he had soared her society eagerly and persistently. She was confidently waiting for him to declare himself and she meant to accept him. The rather insignificant and unattractive Brentane was enormously rich and she liked and required the entourage which wealth could give her. During one of the poses between their talk of the last tea and the next reception, the door opened and a young man entered whom Brentane knew quite well. The girl turned her face toward him. A stride or two brought him to her side and bending over her chair before she could suspect his intention for she did not realize that he had not seen her visitor. He pressed an ardent, lingering kiss upon her lips. Brentane slowly arose so that the girl arise but quickly and the newcomer stood between them a little amusement and some defiance struggling with the confusion in his face. I believe, stammered Brentane, I see that I have stayed too long. I had no idea, that is, I must wish you good-bye. He was clutching his head with both hands and probably did not perceive that she was extending her hand to him. Her presence of mind had not completely deserted her but she could not have trusted herself to speak. Hang me if I saw him sitting there, Nathie. I know it's used awkward for you but I hope you'll forgive me this once. This very first break. Why? What's the matter? Don't touch me. Don't come near me. She returned angrily. What do you mean by entering the house without ringing? I came in with your brother as I often do. He answered coldly in self-justification. I came in the side way. He went upstairs and I came in here hoping to find you. The explanation is simple enough and I want to satisfy you that the misadventure was unavoidable. But do say that you forgive me, Nathie. He entreated softening. Forgive you. You don't know what you're talking about. Let me pass. It depends upon a good deal whether I ever forgive you. At that next reception which she and Bain Tain had been talking about she approached the young man with a delicious frankness of manner when she saw him there. Will you let me speak to you in a moment or two, Mr. Bain Tain? She asked with an engaging but perturbed smile. He seemed extremely unhappy but when she took his arm and walked away with him seeking a retired corner a ray of hope mingled with the almost comical misery of his expression. She was apparently very outspoken. Perhaps I should not have sold this interview, Mr. Bain Tain, but oh, I had been very uncomfortable, almost miserable since that little encounter the other afternoon when I told how you might have misinterpreted and believed things. Hope was plainly gaining the ascendancy of her misery in Bain Tain's round, guileless face. Of course, I know it is nothing to you, but for my own sake I do want you to understand that Mr. Harvey is an intimate friend of long standing. Why, we have always been like cousins like brother and sister, I may say. He is my brother's most intimate associate and often fancy that he is entitled to the same privileges as the family. Oh, I know it is absurd, uncalled for, to tell you this, undignified even. She was almost weeping, but it makes so much difference to me what you think of me. Her voice had grown very low and agitated. The misery had all disappeared from Bain Tain's face. Then you do really care what I think, Miss Nathalie. May I call you Miss Nathalie? They turned into a long, dim corridor that was lined on either side with tall, graceful plants. They walked slowly to the very end of it. When they turned to retrace their steps, Bain Tain's face was radiant and hers was triumphant. Harvey was among the guests at the wedding and he sought her out in a rare moment when she stood alone. Your husband, he said, smiling, has sent me over to kiss you. A quick blush suffused her face and round polished throat. I suppose it's natural for a man to feel and act generously on an occasion of this kind. He tells me he doesn't want his marry to interrupt Holly that pleasant intimacy which has existed between you and me. I don't know what you've been telling him. With an insolent smile, but he has sent me here to kiss you. She felt like a chess player who, by the clever handling of his pieces, sees the game taking the course intended. Her eyes were bright and tender with a smile as they glanced up into his and her lips looked hungry for the kiss which they invited. But you know, he went on quietly. I didn't tell him so. It would have seemed ungrateful, but I can tell you, I have stopped kissing women. It's dangerous. Well, she had Brentane and his million left. A person can't have everything in this world and it was a little unreasonable of her to expect it. End of the kiss. The Lady or the Tiger by Frank R. Stockton This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by David Federman. The Lady or the Tiger by Frank R. Stockton In this video, we'll be talking about The Lady or the Tiger by Frank R. Stockton In the very olden time, there lived a semi-barbaric king whose ideas, though somewhat polished and sharpened by the progressiveness of distant Latin neighbors were still large, florid, and untrammeled, as became the half of him which was barbaric. He was a man of exuberant fancy and with all of an authority so irresistible that at his will he turned his varied fancies into facts. He was greatly given to self-community and when he and himself agreed upon anything, the thing was done. When every member of his domestic and political systems moved smoothly in its appointed course, his nature was bland and genial, but whenever there was a little hitch and some of his orbs got out of their orbits, he was blander and more genial still, for nothing pleased him so much the crooked straight and crushed down uneven places. Among the borrowed notions by which his barbarism had become semaphied was that of the public arena in which by exhibitions of manly and beastly valor, the minds of his subjects were refined and cultured. But even here the exuberant and barbaric fancy asserted itself. The arena of the king was built not to give the people an opportunity for the subsidies of dying gladiators, nor to enable them to view the inevitable conclusion of a conflict between religious opinions and hungry jaws, but for purposes far better adapted to widen and develop the mental energies of the people. This vast amphitheater with its encircling galleries, its mysterious vaults, and its unseen passages was an agent of poetic justice in which crime was punished or virtue rewarded by the decrees of an impartial and incorruptible chance. When a subject was accused of a crime of sufficient importance to interest the king, public notice was given that on an appointed day the fate of the accused person would be decided in the king's arena a structure which well deserved its name. For although its form and plan were borrowed from afar, its purpose emanated solely of this man who, every barley-corner king knew no tradition to which he owed more allegiance than pleased his fancy, and who engrafted on every adopted form of human thought and action the rich growth of his barbaric idealism. When all the people had assembled in the galleries and the king surrounded by his court sat high up on his throne of royal state on one side of the arena, he gave a signal. A door beneath him opened and the accused subject stepped out onto the amphitheater. Directly opposite him on either side in the enclosed space were two open doors exactly alike and side by side. It was the duty and the privilege of the person on trial to walk directly to these doors and open one of them. He could open either door he pleased. He was subject to no guidance or influence but that of the aforementioned impartial and incorruptible chance. If he opened the one there came out of it a hungry tiger, the fiercest and most cruel that could be procured which immediately sprang upon him and tore him to pieces as a punishment for his guilt. The moment that the case of the criminal was thus decided, doleful iron bells were clanged, great wells were not from the hired mourners posted on the outer rim of the arena and the vast audience with bowed heads and downcast hearts winded slowly their homeward way. Morning greatly that one so young and fair or so old and respected should have merited so dire a fate. But if the accused person opened the other door there came forth from it a lady the most suitable to his years in station that his majesty could select from among his fair subjects and to this lady he was immediately married as a reward of his innocence. It mattered not he might already possess a wife and family or that his affections might be engaged upon an object of his own selection. The king allowed no such subordinate arrangements to interfere with his great scheme of retribution and reward. The exercises as in the other instance took place immediately and in the arena. Another door opened beneath the king and a priest followed by a band of choristers and dancing maidens following joyous airs on golden horns and treading an epithelamic measure advanced to where the pair stood side by side and the wedding was promptly and cheerly solemnized. When the gay brass bells rang forth their merry peels the people shouted glad hurrahs and the innocent man proceeded by children stripping flowers on his path led his bride to his home. This was the king's semi-barbaric method of destroying justice. Its perfect fairness is obvious the criminal could not know out of which door would come the lady. He opened either as he pleased without having the slightest idea whether in the next instant he was to be devoured or married. On some occasions the tiger came out of one door and on some out of the other. The decisions of this tribunal were not only fair they were positively determinant. The accused person was instantly punished if he found himself guilty and, if innocent, he was rewarded on the spot whether he liked it or not. There was no escape from the judgments of the king's arena. The institution was a very popular one when the people gathered together on one of the great trial days they never knew whether they were to witness a bloody slaughter or a hilarious wedding. This element of uncertainty went an interest to the occasion which it could not of otherwise have attained. Thus the masses were entertained and pleased and the thinking part of the community could bring no charge of unfairness against this plan for did not the accused person have the whole matter in his own hands? This semi-barbaric king had a daughter as blooming as his most floored fancies and with his soul as fervent and imperious as his own. As is usual in such cases she was the apple of his eye and was loved by him above all humanity. Among his courtiers was a young man of that fineness of blood and lowness of station common to the conventional heroes of romance who love royal maidens. This royal maiden was well satisfied with her lover for he was handsome and brave to a degree unsurpassed in all this kingdom and she loved him with an ardor enough of barbarism in it to make it exceedingly warm and strong. This love affair moved on happily for many months until one day the king happened to discover its existence. He did not hesitate nor waver in regard to his duty in the premises. The youth was immediately cast into prison and a day was appointed for his trial in the king's arena. This of course was an especially important occasion and his majesty as well as all the people was greatly interested in the workings and development of this trial. Never before had such a case occurred. Never before had a subject dared to love the daughter of the king. In after a year such things became commonplace enough but then they were in no slight degree novel and startling. The tiger-haters of the kingdom were searched for the most savage and relentless beast from which the fiercest monster might be selected for the arena. And the ranks of maiden youth and beauty throughout the land were carefully surveyed by competent judges in order that the young man might have a fitting bride in case fate did not determine for himself a different destiny. Of course everybody knew that the deed with which the accused was charged had been done. He had loved the princess and neither he, she, nor anyone else thought of denying the fact that the king would not think of telling any fact of this kind to interfere with the workings of the tribunal in which he took such great delight and satisfaction. No matter how the affair turned out the youth would be disposed of and the king would take an aesthetic pleasure in watching the course of events which would determine whether or not the young man had done wrong in allowing himself to love the princess. The appointed day arrived. From far and near the people gathered and thronged the great galleries of the arena and the crowds unable to gain admittance massed themselves against its outside walls. The king and his court were in their places opposite the twin doors. Those fateful portals so terrible in their similarity. All was ready. The signal was given. A door beneath the royal party opened and the lover of the princess walked into the arena. Tall, beautiful fare his appearance was greeted with a low hum of admiration and anxiety. Half the audience had not known so grand a youth had lived among them and no wonder the princess loved him. What a terrible thing for him to be there. As the youth advanced into the arena he turned as the custom was to bow to the king but he did not think at all of that royal personage. His eyes were fixed upon the princess who sat to the right of her father had it not been for the moiety of barbarism in her nature it was probable that the lady would not have been there but her intense and fervid soul would not allow her to be absent on an occasion in which she was so terribly interested. From the moment that the decree had gone forth that her lover should decide his fate in the king's arena she had thought of nothing night or day but this great event and the various subjects connected with it. Possessed of more power influence and force of character than anyone who had ever been interested in such a case what a person had done she had possessed herself of the secret of the doors she knew in which of the two rooms that lay behind those doors stood the cage of the tiger with its open front and in which waited the lady through these thick doors heavily cartoned with skins on the inside it was impossible that any noise or suggestion should come from within to the person who should approach to raise the latch on one of them gold and the power of a woman's will had brought the secret to the princess and not only did she know which rooms stood the lady ready to emerge all blushing and radiant should her door be opened but she knew who the lady was it was one of the fairest and loveliest of the damsels of the court who had been selected as a reward of the accused should he be proven innocent of the crime of aspiring to one so far above him and the princess hated her often had she seen or imagined that she had seen this fair creature throwing glances of admiration upon the person of her lover and sometimes she thought these glances were perceived and even returned now and then she had seen them talking together it was but for a moment or two but much can be said in a brief space and it may have been on most unimportant topics but how could she know that the girl was lovely but she had dared to raise her eyes to the loved one of the princess and with all the intensity of the savage blood transmitted to her through those long lines of holy barbaric ancestors she hated the woman who blushed and trembled behind that silent door when her lover turned and looked at her and his eye met hers and she sat there paler and whiter than anyone in the vast ocean of anxious faces about her he saw by that power of quick perception which is given to those whose souls are one that she knew behind which door crouched the tiger and behind which stood the lady he had expected her to know it he understood her nature and his soul was assured she would never rest until she had made plain to herself this thing hidden to all other lookers on even to the king the only hope for the youth in which there was any element of certainty was based upon the success of the princess in discovering this mystery in the moment he looked upon her he saw she had succeeded as in his soul he knew she would succeed then it was that his quick and anxious glance asked the question which it was as plain to her as if he had shouted it from where he stood there was not an instant to be lost the question was asked in a flash it must be answered in another her right arm lay on the cushioned parapet before her she raised her hand and made a slight quick movement toward the right no one but her lover saw her every eye but his was fixed on the man in the arena he turned and with a firm and rapid step he walked across the empty space every heart stopped beating every breath was held every eye was fixed movably upon that man without the slightest hesitation he went to the door on the right and opened it now the point of the story is this did the tiger come out of that door or did the lady the more we reflect upon this question the harder it is to answer it involves a study of the human heart which leads us through devious meses of passion out of which it is difficult to find our way think of it fair reader not as if the decision of the question depended upon yourself but upon that hot-blooded semi-barbaric princess her soul at a white heat beneath combined fires of despair and jealousy she had lost him but who should have him how often in her waking hours and in her dreams had she started in wild horror and covered her face with her hands as she thought of her lover opening the door on the other side of which waited the cruel fangs of the tiger but how much often had she seen him at the other door how in her grievous reveries had she gnashed her teeth and torn her hair when she saw his start of rapturous delight as he opened the door of the lady how her soul had burned in agony when she had seen him rush to meet that woman with her flushing cheek and sparkling eye of triumph when she had seen him lead her forth his whole frame kindled with the joy of recovered life when she had heard the glad shouts from the multitude and the wild ringing of the happy bells when she had seen the priest and his joyous followers advance to the couple and make the man and wife before her very eyes and when she had seen them walk away together upon their path of flowers followed by the tremendous shouts of the hilarious multitude in which her one despairing shriek was lost and drowned would it not be better for him to die at once and go to wait for her in the blessed regions of semi-barbaric futurity and yet that awful tiger, those shrieks, that blood her decision had been indicated in an instant but it had been made after days and nights of anguished deliberation she had known she would be asked she had decided what she would answer and without the slightest hesitation she had moved her hand to the right the question of her decision is not one to be lightly considered and it is not for me to presume to set myself up as the one person able to answer it and so I leave it with all of you which came out of the open door the lady or the tiger and of the lady or the tiger by David Petterman who had by then been a fortnight at Yalta and so was fairly at home there had begun to take an interest in new arrivals sitting in Verne's pavilion he saw walking on the sea front a fair-haired young lady of medium height wearing a beret a white Pomeranian dog was running behind her and afterwards he met her in the public gardens and in the square several times a day she was walking alone always wearing the same beret and always with the same white dog no one knew who she was and everyone called her simply the lady with the dog if she is here alone without a husband or friends it wouldn't be a miss to make her acquaintance Gurov reflected he was under 40 but he had a daughter already 12 years old and two sons at school he had been married young when he was a student in his second year and by now his wife seemed half as old again as me she was a tall, erect woman with dark eyebrows stayed and dignified and as she said of herself intellectual she read a great deal used phonetic spelling called her husband not Dmitri but Dmitri and he secretly considered her unintelligent narrow, inelegant was afraid of her and did not like to be at home he had begun being unfaithful to her long ago had been unfaithful to her often and probably on that account almost always spoke ill of women and when they were talked about in his presence used to call them the lower race it seemed to him that he had been so schooled by bitter experience that he might call them what he liked and yet he could not get on for two days together without the lower race in the society of men he was bored and not himself with them he was cold and uncommunicative but when he was in the company of women he felt free and knew what to say to them and how to behave and he was at ease with them even when he was silent in his appearance in his character in his whole nature there was something attractive to expose them in his favor he knew that and some force seemed to draw him too to them experience often repeated truly bitter experience had taught him long ago that with decent people especially Moscow people always slow to move in a resolute every intimacy which at first so agreeably diversifies life and appears a light an overwhelming adventure inevitably grows into a regular problem of extreme intricacy and in the long run the situation becomes unbearable but at every fresh meeting with an interesting woman this experience seemed to slip out of his memory and he was eager for life and everything seemed simple and amusing one evening in the gardens and the lady in the beret came up slowly to take the next table her expression her gait her dress and the way she did her hair told him that she was a lady that she was married that she was in Yalta for the first time and alone and that she was dull there the stories told of the immorality of such places as Yalta are to a great extent untrue he despised them and knew that such stories were for the most part made up by persons who would themselves have been glad to see that they had been able but when the lady sat down at the next table three paces from him he remembered these tales of easy conquests of trips to the mountains and the tempting thought of a swift, fleeting love affair a romance with an unknown woman whose name he did not know suddenly took possession of him he beckoned coaxingly to the Pomeranian and when the dog came up to him he shook his finger at it the Pomeranian growled and Gurov shook his finger at it again the lady looked at him and at once dropped her eyes he doesn't bite she said and blushed may I give them a bone he asked and when she nodded he asked courteously have you been long in Yalta five days and I have already dragged out a fortnight here there was a brief silence time goes fast and yet it is so dull here she said looking at him that's only the fashion to say it is dull here a provincial will live in Belia or Zidra and not be dull and when he comes here it's oh the dullness oh the dust one would think he came from Grenada she laughed then both continued eating in silence like strangers but they walked side by side and there sprang up between them the light chesting conversation of people who are free and satisfied to whom it does not matter where they go or what they talk about they walked and talked of the strange light on the sea the water was of a soft lilac hue and there was a golden streak from the moon upon it they talked of how sultry it was after a hot day Gurov told her that he came from Moscow that he had taken his degree in arts but had a post in a bank that he had trained as an opera singer but had given up that he owned two houses in Moscow and from her he learned that she had grown up in Petersburg but had lived in S since her marriage two years before that she was staying another month in Yalta and that her husband who needed a holiday too might perhaps come and fetch her she was not sure whether her husband had a post in a crown department but he had a post in a hotel council and was amused by her own ignorance and Gurov learned too that she was called Anna Sergeyevna afterwards he thought about her in his room at the hotel thought she would certainly meet him next day it would be sure to happen as he got into bed and suddenly she had been a girl at school doing lessons like his own daughter he recalled the diffidence the angularity that was still manifest in her laugh and her manner of talking with a stranger this must have been the first time in her life she had been alone in surroundings in which she was followed looked at and spoken to merely from a secret motive which she could hardly fail to guess he recalled her slender and delicate neck her lovely gray eyes there's something pathetic about her anyway he thought and fell asleep part two a week had passed since they had made acquaintance it was a holiday it was sultry in doors while in the street in the world the dust round and round and blew people's hats off it was a thirsty day and Gurov often went into the pavilion and pressed Anna Sergeyevna to have syrup and water or an ice one did not know what to do with oneself in the evening when the wind had dropped a little they went out on the groin and the steamer come in there were great many people walking about the harbor they had gathered to welcome someone bringing bouquets and two peculiarities of a well dressed Yalta crowd were very conspicuous the elderly ladies were dressed like young ones and they were great numbers of generals owing to the roughness of the sea the steamer arrived late after the sun had set and it was a long time turning about before it reached the groin Anna Sergeyevna looked through her lawn yet at the steamer and the passengers as though looking for acquaintances and when she turned to Gurov her eyes were shining she talked a great deal and asked disconnected questions forgetting next moment what she had asked then she dropped her lawn yet in the crush the festive crowd began to disperse it was too dark to see people's faces the wind had completely dropped but Gurov and Anna Sergeyevna still stood as though waiting to see someone else come from the steamer Anna Sergeyevna was silent now sniffed the flowers without looking at Gurov the weather is better this evening he said where shall we go now shall we drive somewhere she made no answer then he looked at her intently and all at once put his arm around her and kissed her on the lips and breathed in the moisture and the fragrance of the flowers and he immediately looked around him anxiously wondering whether anyone had seen him let us go to your hotel he said softly and both walked quickly the room was close and smelt of the scent she had bought at the Japanese shop Gurov looked at her and thought what different people one needs in the world from the past he preserved memories of careless, good-natured women who loved cheerfully and were grateful to him for the happiness he gave them however brief it might be and of women like his wife who loved without any genuine feeling with superfluous phrases affected me hysterically with an expression that suggested that it was not love nor passion significant and of two or three others very beautiful cold women on whose faces he had caught a glimpse of a rapacious expression an obstinate desire to snatch from life more than it could give and these were capricious unreflecting domineering unintelligent women their first youth and when Gurov grew cold to them their beauty excited his hatred and the lace on their linen seemed to him like scales but in this case there was still the diffidence the angularity of inexperienced youth an awkward feeling and there was a sense of consternation as though someone had really knocked at the door the attitude of Anna Sergeyevna the lady with the doll to what had happened was somehow peculiar very gray as though it were her fall so it seemed and it was strange and inappropriate her face dropped and faded and on both sides of it her long hair hung down worn fully she mused in a dejected attitude like the woman who was a sinner in an old fashioned picture it's wrong she said you will be the first to despise me now there was a watermelon on the table Gurov cut himself a slice and began eating it without haste there followed at least half an hour of silence Anna Sergeyevna was touching that was about her the purity of a good simple woman who had seen little of life the solitary candle burning on the table threw a faint light on her face yet it was clear that she was very unhappy how could I despise you ask Gurov you don't know what you are saying forgive me she said and her eyes filled with tears it's awful you seem to feel you need to be forgiven forgiven? no I am a bad low woman I despise myself and don't attempt to justify myself it's not my husband what myself I have deceived and not only just now I have been deceiving myself for a long time my husband may be a good honest man but he is a flunky I don't know what he does there what his work is but I know he is a flunky I was 20 when I was married to him I have been tormented by curiosity I wanted something better there must be a different sort of life I said to myself I wanted to live to live I was fired by curiosity you don't understand it I could not control myself something happened to me I could not be restrained I told my husband I was ill and came here and here I have been walking about as though I were dazed like a mad creature and now I have become a vulgar contemptible woman whom anyone may despise Gurov fell bored already and came into her he was irritated by the naive tone by this remorse so unexpected and inopportune but for the tears in her eyes he might have thought she was justing or playing a part I don't understand he said softly what is it you want she hid her face on his breast and pressed close to him believe me I beseech you I love a pure honest life and sin is loathsome to me I don't know what I am doing simple people say the evil one has beguiled me and I may say of myself now that the evil one has beguiled me hush hushy mother he looked at her scared eyes kissed her talked softly and affectionately and by degrees she was comforted and her deity returned they both began laughing afterwards when they went out there was not a soul on the sea front the town with its cypresses had quite a death like air but the sea still broke noisily on the shore a single barge was rocking on the waves and a lantern was blinking sleepily on it they found a cab and drove to oryanda I found out your surname in the hall just now it was written on the board von Dideritz is your husband the german no I believe his grandfather was a german but he is an orthodox Russian himself at oryanda they sat on a seat not far from the church looked down at the sea and were silent Yalta was hardly visible through the morning mist white clouds stood motionless on the mountaintops the leaves did not stir on the trees grasshoppers chirrupt and the monotonous hollow sound of the sea rising up from below spoke of the peace of the eternal sleep awaiting us so it must have sounded when there was no Yalta no oryanda here so it sounds now and it will sound as indifferently and monotonously when we are all no more and in this constancy in this complete indifference for the life and death of each of us there lies hid perhaps a pledge of our eternal salvation of the unceasing movement of life upon earth of unceasing progress towards perfection sitting beside a young woman who in the dawn seemed so lovely soothed and spellbound in his magical surroundings the sea mountains clouds the open sky Gurov thought how in reality everything is beautiful in this world when one reflects everything except what we think or do ourselves when we forget our human dignity and higher aims of our existence a man walked up to them probably a keeper looked at them and walked away and this detail seemed mysterious and beautiful too they saw a steamer come from Theodosia with its lights out on the glow of dawn there is dew on the grass Sinanasurgeyevna after a silence yes, it's time to go home they went back to the town then they met every day at 12 o'clock on the sea front lunched and dined together went for walks admired the sea she complained that she slept badly that her heart throbbed violently asked the same questions troubled now by jealousy and now by the fear that he did not respect her sufficiently and often in the square or gardens when there was no one near them he suddenly drew her to him and kissed her passionately complete idleness these kisses in broad daylight while he looked round in dread of someone seeing them the heat the smell of the sea and the continual passing to and fro before him of idle well-dressed, well-fed people made a new man of him he told Anasurgeyevna how beautiful she was how fascinating he was impatiently passionate he would not move a step away from her while she was often pensive and continually urged him to confess that he did not respect her did not love her in the least and thought of her as nothing but a common woman rather late almost every evening they drove somewhere out of town to Orianda or to the waterfall and the expedition was always a success the scenery invariably impressed them as grand and beautiful they were expecting her husband to come but a letter came from him saying that there was something wrong with his eyes and he entreated his wife to come home as quickly as possible Anasurgeyevna made haste to go it's a good thing I am going away as she said to Kurov it's the finger of destiny she went by coach and he went with her they were driving the whole day when she had got into a compartment of the express and when the second bell had rung she said let me look at you once more look at you once again that's right she did not shed tears but was so sad that she seemed ill and her face was quivering I shall remember you think of you she said God be with you be happy don't remember evil against me we are parting forever it must be so for we ought never to have met well God be with you the train moved off rapidly its lights soon vanished from sight and a minute later there was no sound of it as though everything had conspired together to end as quickly as possible that sweet delirium that madness left alone on the platform gazing into the dark distance Gurov listened to the chirrup of the grasshoppers and the hum of the telegraph wires feeling as though he had only just waked up and he thought musing that there had been another episode or adventure in his life and it too was at an end and nothing was left of it but a memory he was moved sad and conscious of a slight remorse this young woman whom he would never meet again had not been happy with him he was genuinely warm and affectionate with her but yet in his manner his tone and his caresses there had been a shade of light irony the coarse condescension of a happy man who was besides almost twice her age all the time she had called him kind exceptional lofty obviously he had seemed to her different from what he really was so he had unintentionally matured here at the station was already a scent of autumn it was a cold evening it's time for me to go north back to Urav as he left the platform high time part three at home in Moscow everything was in its winter routine the stoves were heated and the morning it was still dark when the children were having breakfast and getting ready for school and the nurse would light the lamp for a short time the frost had begun already when the first snow has fallen on the first day of sledge driving it is pleasant to see the white earth the white roofs to draw soft delicious breath and the season brings back the days of one's youth the old limes and birches white with whore frost have a good natured expression they are nearer to one's heart than cypresses and palms and near them one doesn't want to be thinking of the sea and the mountains Gurov was Moscow born he arrived in Moscow on a fine frosty day and when he put on his fur coat and warm gloves and walked along Petrovka and when on Saturday evening he heard the ringing of the bells his recent trip and the places he had seen lost all charm for him little by little he became absorbed in Moscow life greedily read three newspapers a day and declared he did not read the Moscow papers on principle he already felt a longing to go to restaurants clubs dinner parties anniversary celebrations and he felt flattered at entertaining distinguished lawyers and artists and at playing cards with a professor at the doctor's club he could already eat a whole plate full of salt, fish and cabbage in another month he fancied the image of Anna Sergeyevna would be shrouded in a mist in his memory and only from time to time would visit him in his dreams with a touching smile as others did but more than a month passed real winter had come and everything was still clear in his memory as though he had parted with Anna Sergeyevna the day before and his memories glowed more and more vividly when in the evening stillness he heard from his study the voices of his children preparing their lessons or when he listened to a song or the organ at the restaurant or the storm howled in the chimney suddenly everything would rise up in his memory what had happened on the groin and the early morning with the mist on the mountains and the steamer coming from the doja and the kisses he would pace a long time about his room remembering it all and smiling then his memories passed into dreams and in his fancy the past was mingled with what was to come Anna Sergeyevna did not visit him in dreams but followed him about everywhere like a shadow and haunted him when he shut his eyes he saw her as though she were living before him and she seemed to him lovelier, younger tender than she was and he imagined himself finer than he had been in Yalta in the evenings she peeped out at him from the bookcase from the fireplace from the corner he heard her breathing the caressing rustle of her dress in the street he watched the women looking for someone like her he was tormented by an intense desire to confide his memories to someone but in his home he was unable to talk of his love and he had no one outside he could not talk to his tenants nor to anyone at the bank and what had he to talk of had he been in love then had there been anything beautiful poetical or edifying or simply interesting in his relations with Anna Sergeyevna and there was nothing for him but to talk vaguely of love of woman and no one guessed what it meant only his wife twitched her black eyebrows and said the part of a lady killer does not suit you at all Dimitri one evening coming out of the doctor's club with an official with whom he had been playing cards he could not resist saying if only you knew what a fascinating woman I made the acquaintance of in Yalta the official got into his sledge and was driving away but turned suddenly and shouted Dimitri Dimitrić what? you were right this evening the sturgeon was a bit too strong these words so ordinary for some reason moved Gurov to indignation and struck him as degrading and unclean what savage manners what people what senseless knights what uninteresting uneventful days the rage for card playing the gluttony the drunkenness the continual talk always about the same thing useless pursuits and conversations always about the same things absorb the better part of one's time the better part of one's strength and in the end there is left a life groveling and curtailed worthless and trivial and there is no escaping or getting away from it just as though one were in a madhouse or a prison Gurov did not sleep all night and was filled with indignation and he had a heartache all next day and the next night he slept badly he sat up in bed thinking or paced up and down his room he was sick of his children sick of the bank he had no desire to go anywhere or to talk of anything in the holidays in December he prepared for a journey and told his wife he was going to Petersburg to do something in the interests of a young friend and he set off for us he did not very well know himself he wanted to see Anna Sergeyevna to talk with her to arrange a meeting if possible he reached us in the morning and took the best room at the hotel in which the floor was covered with gray army cloth and on the table was an ink stand gray with dust and adorned with a figure on horseback with its hat in its hand and its head broken off the hotel porter gave him the necessary information Vandita Ritz lived in a house of his own in old Gontcharni street it was not far from the hotel he was rich and lived in good style and had his own horses everyone in the town knew him the porter pronounced the name Drida Ritz Gurov went without haste to old Gontcharni street and found the house just opposite the house stretched a long gray fence adorned with nails one would run away from a fence like that thought Gurov went from the fence to the windows of the house and back again he considered today was a holiday and the husband would probably be at home and in any case it would be tackless to go into the house and upset her if he were to send her a note it might fall into her husband's hands and then it might ruin everything the best thing was to trust a chance and he kept walking up and down the street by the fence waiting for the chance he saw a beggar go in at the gate and dogs fly at him then an hour later he heard a piano and the sounds were faint and indistinct probably it was Anna Sergeyevna playing the front door suddenly opened and an old woman came out followed by the familiar white Pomeranian Gurov was on the point of calling to the dog but his heart began beating violently and in his excitement he could not remember the dog's name he walked up and down and loathed the gray fence more and more and by now he thought irritably that Anna Sergeyevna had forgotten him and was perhaps already amusing herself with someone else and that that was very natural in a young woman who had nothing to look at from morning till night but that confounded fence he went back to his hotel room and sat for a long while on the sofa not knowing what to do then he had dinner and a long nap how stupid and worrying it is he thought when he woke and looked at the dark windows it was already evening here I've had a good sleep for some reason what shall I do in the night he sat on the bed which was covered by a cheap gray blanket such as one sees in hospitals and he taunted himself in his vexation so much for the lady with the dog so much for the adventure you're in a nice fix that morning at the station a poster in large letters had caught his eye the geisha was to be performed for the first time he thought of this and went to the theater it's quite possible the performance he thought the theater was full as in all provincial theaters there was a fog above the chandelier the gallery was noisy and restless in the front row the local dandies were standing up before the beginning of the performance with their hands behind them in the governor's box the governor's daughter wearing a boa standing in the front seat while the governor himself lurked modestly behind the curtain with only his hands visible the orchestra was a long time tuning up the stage curtain swayed all the time the audience were coming in and taking their seats gurav looked at them eagerly anasurgeyevna too came in she sat down in the third row looked at her his heart contracted and he understood clearly that for him there was in the whole world no creature so near so precious and so important to him she, this little woman in no way remarkable lost in a provincial crowd with a vulgar lawn yet in her hand filled his whole life now was his sorrow and his joy the one happiness that he now desired for himself and to the sounds of the inferior orchestra of the wretched provincial violins he thought how lovely she was he thought and dreamed a young man with small side whiskers tall and stooping came in with anasurgeyevna and sat down beside her he bent his head at every step and seemed to be continually bowing most likely this was the husband whom at Yalta in a rush of bitter feeling she had called a flunky and there really was in his long figure his side whiskers and the small ball patch on his head something of the flunkies obsequiousness his smile was sugary and in his buttonhole there was some badge of distinction like the number on a waiter during the first interval the husband went away to smoke she remained alone in her stall Gurov who was sitting in the stalls too went up to her and said in a trembling voice with a forced smile good evening she glanced at him and turned pale then glanced again with horror unable to believe her eyes and tightly gripped the fan and the lorn yet in her hands evidently struggling with herself not to faint both were silent she was sitting he was standing frightened by her confusion and not venturing to sit down beside her the violins and the flute began tuning up he felt suddenly frightened it seemed as though all the people in the boxes were looking at them she got up and went quickly to the door he followed her and both walked senselessly along passages and up and downstairs and figures in legal, scholastic and civil service uniforms all wearing badges flitted before their eyes they caught glimpses of ladies of fur coats hanging on pegs the drafts blew on them bringing a smell of stale tobacco and Gurov whose heart was beating violently thought, oh heavens why are these people here at this orchestra and at that instant he recalled how when he had seen Anna Sergeyevna off at the station he thought that everything was over and they would never meet again but how far they were still from the end on the narrow gloomy staircase over which was written to the amphitheater she stopped how you have frightened me she said breathing hard still pale and overwhelmed oh, how you have frightened me I am half dead why have you come, why but do understand and I do understand he said hastily in a low voice I entreat you to understand she looked at him with dread with entreaty with love she looked at him intently to keep his features more distinctly in her memory I am so unhappy she went on not heeding him I have thought of nothing but you all the time I live only in the thought of you and I wanted to forget but why have you come on the landing above them two schoolboys were smoking and looking down but that was nothing to go out he drew Anna Sergeyevna to him and began kissing her face her cheeks and her hands what are you doing she cried in horror pushing him away we are mad go away today, go away at once I beseech you by all that is sacred I implore you there are people coming this way someone was coming up the stairs you must go away Anna Sergeyevna went on in a whisper do you hear Dimitri Dimitrić I will come and see you in Moscow I have never been happy I am miserable now and I never, never shall be happy don't make me suffer still more I swear I'll come to Moscow but now let us part my precious good dear one we must part she pressed his hand and began rapidly going downstairs looking round at him and from her eyes he could see that he really was unhappy Gurov stood for a little while listened then when all sound had died away he found his coat and left the theater part four and Anna Sergeyevna began coming to see him in Moscow once in two or three months she left us telling her husband to consult a doctor about an internal complaint and her husband believed her and did not believe her in Moscow she stayed at the Slavyansky Bazaar hotel and at once sent a man in a red cap to Gurov Gurov went to see her and no one in Moscow knew of it once he was going to see her in this way on a winter morning the messenger had come the evening before when he was out with him walked his daughter whom he wanted to take to school it was on the way snow was falling in big wet flakes it's three degrees above freezing point and yet it is snowing said Gurov to his daughter the thaw is only on the surface of the earth there is quite a different temperature at a greater height than the atmosphere and why are there no thunderstorms in the winter father he explained that too he talked thinking all the while that he was going to see her and no living soul knew of it and probably never would know he had two lives one open seen and known by all who cared to know full of relative truth and of relative falsehood exactly like the lives of his friends and acquaintances and another life running its course in secret and through some strange perhaps accidental conjunction of circumstances everything that was essential of interest and of value to him everything in which he was sincere and did not deceive himself everything that made the kernel of his life was hidden from other people and all that was false in him the sheath in which he hid himself to conceal the truth such for instance as his work in the bank his discussions at the club his lower race his presence with his wife at anniversary festivities all that was open and he judged of others by himself not believing in what he saw and always believing that every man had his real most interesting life under the cover of secrecy and under the cover of night all personal life rested on secrecy and possibly it was partly on that account that civilized man was so nervously anxious that personal privacy should be respected after leaving his daughter at school Gurov went on to the Slaviansky Bazaar he took off his fur coat below went upstairs and softly knocked at the door Anna Sergeyevna wearing his favorite grey dress exhausted by the journey and the suspense had been expecting him the evening before she was pale she looked at him and did not smile and he had hardly come in when she fell on his breast their kiss was slow and prolonged as though they had not met for two years well, how are you getting on there he asked what news wait, I'll tell you directly I can't talk she could not speak she was crying she turned away from him and pressed her handkerchief to her eyes let her have her cry out all sit down and wait, he thought and he sat down in an armchair then he rang and asked for tea to be brought him and while he drank his tea she remained standing at the window with her back to him she was crying from emotion from the miserable consciousness that their life was so hard for them they could only meet in secret hiding themselves from people like thieves was not their life shattered come, do stop, he said it was evident to him that this love of theirs would not soon be over that he could not see the end of it Anna Sergeyevna grew more and more attached to him she adored him and it was unthinkable to say to her that it was bound to have an end some day besides she would not have believed it he went up to her and took her by the shoulders to say something affectionate and cheering and at that moment he saw himself in the looking glass his hair was already beginning to turn gray and it seems strange to him that he had grown so much older so much planer during the last few years the shoulders on which his hands rested were warm and quivering he felt compassion for this life still so warm and lovely but probably not far from beginning to fade and wither like his own why did she love him so much he always seemed to women different from what he was and they loved in him not himself but the man created by their imagination whom they had been eagerly seeking all their lives and afterwards when they noticed their mistake they loved him all the same and not one of them had been happy with him time passed he had made their acquaintance got on with them parted but he had never once loved it was anything you like but not love and only now when his head was gray he had fallen properly really in love for the first time in his life Anna Sergeyevna he loved each other like people very close and akin like husband and wife like tender friends it seemed to them that fate itself had meant them for one another and they could not understand why he had a wife and she a husband and it was as though they were a pair of birds of passage caught and forced to live in different cages they forgave each other for what they were ashamed of in their past they forgave everything in the present and felt that this love of theirs had changed them both in moments of depression in the past he had comforted himself with any arguments that came into his mind but now he no longer carried for arguments he felt profound compassion he wanted to be sincere and tender don't cry my darling he said you have had your cry that's enough let us talk now let us think of some plan then they spent a long while taking counsel together talked about how to avoid the necessity for secrecy for deception for living in different towns and not seeing each other at a time how could they be free from this intolerable bondage how he asked clutching his head how and it seemed as though in a little while the solution would be found and then a new and splendid life would begin and it was clear to both of them that they had still a long road before them and that the most complicated and difficult part of it was only just beginning end with the lady with the dog the legion of honor by guidem or pazin how he got the legion of honor from the time some people begin to talk they seem to have an over mastering desire or vocation ever since he was a child Monsieur Kélerp had only had one idea in his head to wear the ribbon of an order when he was still quite a small boy he used to wear a zinc cross of the legion of honor pinned on his tunic just as other children wear a soldier's cap and he took his mother's hand in the street with a proud air sticking out his little chest with its red ribbon and metal star so that it might show to advantage his studies were not a success and he failed in his examination for bachelor of arts so not knowing what to do he married a pretty girl as he had plenty of money of his own they lived in Paris as many rich middle class people do mixing with their own particular set and proud of knowing a deputy who might perhaps be a minister someday and counting two heads of departments among their friends but Monsieur Kélerp could not get rid of his one absorbing idea and he felt constantly unhappy because he had not the right to wear a little bit of color ribbon in his buttonhole when he met any men who were decorated on the boulevards he looked at them with intense jealousy sometimes when he had nothing to do in the afternoon he would count them and say to himself just let me see how many I shall meet between the Madeleine and the Rue Treurot then he would walk slowly looking at every coat with a practiced eye for the little bit of red ribbon and when he had got to the end of his walk he always repeated the numbers aloud 8 officers and 17 knights as many as that it is stupid to sew the cross broadcast in that fashion I wonder how many I shall meet going back and he returned slowly unhappy when the crowd of passersby interfered with his vision he knew the places where most were to be found they swarmed in the Palais Royal fewer were seen in the Avenue de l'Oprah than in the Rue de la Paix while the right side of the boulevard was more frequented by them than the left they also seemed to prefer certain cafes and theatres when every saw a group of white haired old gentlemen standing together in the middle of the pavement interfering with the traffic he used to say to himself they are officers of the Legion of Honor and he felt inclined to take off his hat to them one remark that the officers had a different bearing to the mere knights they carried their head differently and one felt that they enjoyed a higher official consideration and a more widely extended importance sometimes however the worthy man would be seized with a furious hatred for every one who was decorated and he felt like a socialist toward them then when he got home excited at meeting so many crosses just as a poor hungry rich might be on passing some dainty provision shop he used to ask in a loud voice when shall we get rid of this wretched government and his wife would be surprised and ask what is the matter with you today I am indignant he replied at the injustice I see going on around us oh the commonards were certainly right after dinner he would go out again and look at the shops where the decorations were sold and he examined all the emblems of various shapes and colours he would have liked to possess them all and to have walked gravely at the head of a procession with his crush hat under his arm and his breast covered with decorations radiant as a star amid a buzz of admiring whispers and a hum of respect but alas he had no right to wear any decoration whatever he used to say to himself it is really too difficult for any man to obtain the legion of honour unless he is some public functionary suppose I try to be appointed an officer of the academy but he did not know how to set about it and spoke on the subject to his wife who was stupefied officer of the academy what have you done to deserve it he got angry I know what I am talking about I only want to know how to set about it you are quite stupid at times she smiled you are quite right I don't understand anything about it an idea struck him suppose you were to speak to Monsieur Rosselin the deputy he might be able to advise me you understand I cannot broach the subject to him directly it is rather difficult and delicate but coming from you it might seem quite natural Madame Kellard did what he asked her and Monsieur Rosselin promised to speak to the minister about it and then Kellard began to worry him till the deputy told him he must make a formal application and put forward his claims what were his claims he said he was not even a bachelor of arts however he said to work and produced a pamphlet with the title the people's right to instruction but he could not finish it he had a lot of ideas he sought for easier subjects and began several in succession the first was the instruction of children by means of the eye he wanted gratuitous theatres to be established in every poor quarter of Paris for little children their parents were to take them there when they were quite young by means of a magic lantern the instructions of human knowledge were to be imparted to them there were to be regular courses their sight would educate the mind while the pictures would remain impressed on the brain and thus science would so to say be made visible what could be more simple than to teach universal history natural history geography, botany zoology, anatomy et cetera et cetera in this manner he had his idea printed in pamphlets and sent a copy to each deputy 10 to each minister 50 to the president of the republic 10 to each Parisian and 5 to each provincial newspaper then he wrote on street lending libraries his idea was to have little pushcards full of books drawn about the streets everyone would have a right to 10 volumes a month in his home on payment of one suit the people M. Kerrard said will only disturb itself for the sake of its pleasures and since it will not go to instruction instruction must come to it et cetera et cetera his essays attracted no attention in his application and he got the usual formal official reply he thought himself sure of success but nothing came of it then he made up his mind to apply personally he begged for an interview with the minister of public instruction and he was received by a young subordinate who was very grave and important and kept touching the knobs of electric bells to summon ushers in an official's inferior to himself he declared to M. Kerrard that his matter was going on quite favorably and advise him to continue his remarkable labors and M. Kerrard set at it again M. Rosselin the deputy seemed now to take a great interest in his success and gave him a lot of excellent practical advice he himself was decorated although nobody knew exactly what he had done to deserve such a distinction he told Kerrard what new studies he ought to undertake he introduced him to learned societies which took up particularly obscure points of science in the hope of gaining credit and honors thereby and he even took him under his wing at the ministry when he came to lunch with his friend for several months past he had constantly taken his meals there he said to him in a whisper as he shook hands I have just obtained a great favor for you the committee of historical works is going to entrust you with a commission there are some researchers to be made in various libraries in France Kerrard was so delighted that he could scarcely eat or drink and a week later he set out he went from town to town studying catalogs rummaging in lofts full of dusty volumes and was hated by all the librarians one day happening to be at Rouen he thought he should like to go and visit his wife whom he had not seen for more than a week so he took the nine o'clock train which would land him at home by twelve at night he had his latch key so he went in without making any noise delighted that the idea of the surprise he was going to give her she had locked herself in how tiresome however he cried out through the door Jean it is I she must have been very frightened for he heard her jump out of her bed and speak to herself as if she were in a dream then she went to her dressing room opened and closed the door and went quickly up and down her room barefoot two or three times shaking the furniture till the vases and glasses sounded then at last she asked is it you Alexander yes yes he replied make hasten open the door as soon as she had done so she threw herself into his arms exclaiming oh what a fright what a surprise what a pleasure he began to undress himself methodically as he did everything and took from a chair his overcoat which he was in the habit of hanging up in the hall but suddenly he remained motionless struck dumb with astonishment there was a red ribbon in the buttonhole why he stammered this overcoat has got the ribbon in it in a second his wife threw herself on him and taking it from his hands she said no you have made a mistake give it to me but he still held it by one of the sleeves without letting it go repeating in a half days manner oh why just explain whose overcoat is it it is not mine as it has the legion of honour on it she tried to take it from him terrified and hardly able to say listen listen give it to me I must not tell you it is a secret listen to me but he grew angry and turned pale I want to know how this overcoat comes to be here it does not belong to me then she almost screamed at him yes it does listen swear to me well you are decorated she did not intend to joke at his expense he was so overcome that he let the overcoat fall and dropped into an armchair I am you say I am decorated yes but it is a secret a great secret she had put the glorious garment into a cupboard and came to her husband pale and trembling yes she continued it is a new overcoat that I have made for you but I swore that I would not tell you anything about it as it will not be officially announced for a month or six weeks and you are not to have known from your business journey Monsieur Rosselin managed it for you Rosselin he contrived to utter in his joy he has obtained a decoration for me he oh and he was obliged to drink a glass of water a little piece of white paper fell to the floor out of the pocket of the overcoat Kélar picked it up it was a visiting card and he read out Rosselin deputy you see how it is said his wife he almost cried with joy and a week later it was announced in the journal officiel that Monsieur Kélar had been awarded the Legion of Honor on account of his exceptional services end of the Legion of Honor recording by Jerry Ratif Durban, South Africa