Another Man's Wife Page #13

"Another Man's Wife" is a lesser-known short story by Fyodor Dostoevsky, exploring themes of love, infidelity, and the complexities of human relationships. The narrative revolves around a man who becomes infatuated with another man's wife, delving into the emotional turmoil and moral dilemmas that arise from his desires. Dostoevsky's characteristic psychological depth is evident as he examines the conflict between passion and societal norms, ultimately revealing the profound impacts of jealousy and betrayal on the lives of those involved.

• Novel

								

be very glad for her to make your acquaintance. I am glad and happy that it
was all ended so and has turned out for the best."

"And the lapdog! Don't forget it: be sure to bring the lapdog!"

"I will bring it, your Excellency, I will certainly bring it," responded
Ivan Andreyitch, darting back into the room, for he had already made his
bows and withdrawn. "I will certainly bring it. It is such a pretty one. It
is just as though a confectioner had made it of sweet-meats. And it's such
a funny little thing--gets entangled in its own coat and falls over. It
really is a lapdog! I said to my wife: 'How is it, my love, it keeps
tumbling over?' 'It is such a little thing,' she said. As though it were
made of sugar, of sugar, your Excellency! Good-bye, your Excellency, very,
very glad to make your acquaintance, very glad to make your acquaintance!"

Ivan Andreyitch bowed himself out.

"Hey, sir! Stay, come back," cried the old gentleman, after the retreating
Ivan Andreyitch.

The latter turned back for the third time.

"I still can't find the cat, didn't you meet him when you were under the
bed?"

"No, I didn't, your Excellency. Very glad to make his acquaintance, though,
and I shall look upon it as an honour...."

"He has a cold in his head now, and keeps sneezing and sneezing. He must
have a beating."

"Yes, your Excellency, of course; corrective punishment is essential with
domestic animals."

"What?"

"I say that corrective punishment is necessary, your Excellency, to enforce
obedience in the domestic animals."

"Ah!... Well, good-bye, good-bye, that is all I had to say."

Coming out into the street, Ivan Andreyitch stood for a long time in an
attitude that suggested that he was expecting to have a fit in another
minute. He took off his hat, wiped the cold sweat from his brow, screwed up
his eyes, thought a minute, and set off homewards.

What was his amazement when he learned at home that Glafira Petrovna had
come back from the theatre a long, long time before, that she had
toothache, that she had sent for the doctor, that she had sent for leeches,
and that now she was lying in bed and expecting Ivan Andreyitch.

Ivan Andreyitch slapped himself on the forehead, told the servant to help
him wash and to brush his clothes, and at last ventured to go into his
wife's room.

"Where is it you spend your time? Look what a sight you are! What do you
look like? Where have you been lost all this time? Upon my word, sir; your
wife is dying and you have to be hunted for all over the town. Where have
you been? Surely you have not been tracking me, trying to disturb a
rendezvous I am supposed to have made, though I don't know with whom. For
shame, sir, you are a husband! People will soon be pointing at you in the
street."

"My love ..." responded Ivan Andreyitch.

But at this point he was so overcome with confusion that he had to feel in
his pocket for his handkerchief and to break off in the speech he was
beginning, because he had neither words, thoughts or courage.... What was
his amazement, horror and alarm when with his handkerchief fell out of his
pocket the corpse of Amishka. Ivan Andreyitch had not noticed that when he
had been forced to creep out from under the bed, in an access of despair
and unreasoning terror he had stuffed Amishka into his pocket with a
far-away idea of burying the traces, concealing the evidence of his crime,
and so avoiding the punishment he deserved.

"What's this?" cried his spouse; "a nasty dead dog! Goodness! where has it
come from?... What have you been up to?... Where have you been? Tell me at
once where have you been?"

"My love," answered Ivan Andreyitch, almost as dead as Amishka, "my
love...."

But here we will leave our hero--till another time, for a new and quite
different adventure begins here. Some day we will describe all these
calamities and misfortunes, gentlemen. But you will admit that jealousy is
an unpardonable passion, and what is more, it is a positive misfortune.
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