They were all in good health.It could not be called ill health if Ivan Ilych sometimes said that he had a queer taste in his mouth and felt some discomfort in his left side.
But this discomfort increased and, though not exactly painful, grew into a sense of pressure in his side accompanied by ill humour.And his irritability became worse and worse and began to mar the agreeable, easy, and correct life that had established itself in the Golovin family.Quarrels between husband and wife became more and more frequent, and soon the ease and amenity disappeared and even the decorum was barely maintained.Scenes again became frequent, and very few of those islets remained on which husband and wife could meet without an explosion.Praskovya Fedorovna now had good reason to say that her husband's temper was trying.With characteristic exaggeration she said he had always had a dreadful temper, and that it had needed all her good nature to put up with it for twenty years.It was true that now the quarrels were started by him.His bursts of temper always came just before dinner, often just as he began to eat his soup.
Sometimes he noticed that a plate or dish was chipped, or the food was not right, or his son put his elbow on the table, or his daughter's hair was not done as he liked it, and for all this he blamed Praskovya Fedorovna.At first she retorted and said disagreeable things to him, but once or twice he fell into such a rage at the beginning of dinner that she realized it was due to some physical derangement brought on by taking food, and so she restrained herself and did not answer, but only hurried to get the dinner over.She regarded this self-restraint as highly praiseworthy.Having come to the conclusion that her husband had a dreadful temper and made her life miserable, she began to feel sorry for herself, and the more she pitied herself the more she hated her husband.She began to wish he would die; yet she did not want him to die because then his salary would cease.And this irritated her against him still more.She considered herself dreadfully unhappy just because not even his death could save her, and though she concealed her exasperation, that hidden exasperation of hers increased his irritation also.
After one scene in which Ivan Ilych had been particularly unfair and after which he had said in explanation that he certainly was irritable but that it was due to his not being well, she said that he was ill it should be attended to, and insisted on his going to see a celebrated doctor.
He went.Everything took place as he had expected and as it always does.There was the usual waiting and the important air assumed by the doctor, with which he was so familiar (resembling that which he himself assumed in court), and the sounding and listening, and the questions which called for answers that were foregone conclusions and were evidently unnecessary, and the look of importance which implied that "if only you put yourself in our hands we will arrange everything -- we know indubitably how it has to be done, always in the same way for everybody alike." It was all just as it was in the law courts.The doctor put on just the same air towards him as he himself put on towards an accused person.
The doctor said that so-and-so indicated that there was so-and-so inside the patient, but if the investigation of so-and-so did not confirm this, then he must assume that and that.If he assumed that and that, then...and so on.To Ivan Ilych only one question was important: was his case serious or not? But the doctor ignored that inappropriate question.From his point of view it was not the one under consideration, the real question was to decide between a floating kidney, chronic catarrh, or appendicitis.
It was not a question the doctor solved brilliantly, as it seemed to Ivan Ilych, in favour of the appendix, with the reservation that should an examination of the urine give fresh indications the matter would be reconsidered.All this was just what Ivan Ilych had himself brilliantly accomplished a thousand times in dealing with men on trial.The doctor summed up just as brilliantly, looking over his spectacles triumphantly and even gaily at the accused.From the doctor's summing up Ivan Ilych concluded that things were bad, but that for the doctor, and perhaps for everybody else, it was a matter of indifference, though for him it was bad.
And this conclusion struck him painfully, arousing in him a great feeling of pity for himself and of bitterness towards the doctor's indifference to a matter of such importance.
He said nothing of this, but rose, placed the doctor's fee on the table, and remarked with a sigh: "We sick people probably often put inappropriate questions.But tell me, in general, is this complaint dangerous, or not?..."The doctor looked at him sternly over his spectacles with one eye, as if to say: "Prisoner, if you will not keep to the questions put to you, I shall be obliged to have you removed from the court.""I have already told you what I consider necessary and proper.
The analysis may show something more." And the doctor bowed.
Ivan Ilych went out slowly, seated himself disconsolately in his sledge, and drove home.All the way home he was going over what the doctor had said, trying to translate those complicated, obscure, scientific phrases into plain language and find in them an answer to the question: "Is my condition bad? Is it very bad? Or is there as yet nothing much wrong?" And it seemed to him that the meaning of what the doctor had said was that it was very bad.
Everything in the streets seemed depressing.The cabmen, the houses, the passers-by, and the shops, were dismal.His ache, this dull gnawing ache that never ceased for a moment, seemed to have acquired a new and more serious significance from the doctor's dubious remarks.Ivan Ilych now watched it with a new and oppressive feeling.
