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"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.


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Submitted by davidb on February 02, 2025


								
"It will be here directly." The lady was left alone. "Glafira! Where are your vows?" cried the young man in the wadded overcoat, clutching the lady's arm. "Oh, who is it? It's you, Tvorogov? My goodness! What are you doing here?" "Who is it you have been with here?" "Why, my husband. Go away, go away; he'll be coming out directly ... from ... in there ... from the Polovitsyns'. Go away; for goodness' sake, go away." "It's three weeks since the Polovitsyns moved! I know all about it!" "Aïe!" The lady dashed downstairs. The young man overtook her. "Who told you?" asked the lady. "Your husband, madam, Ivan Andreyitch; he is here before you, madam...." Ivan Andreyitch was indeed standing at the front door. "Aïe, it's you," cried the gentleman in raccoon. "Ah! C'est vous," cried Glafira Petrovna, rushing up to him with unfeigned delight. "Oh, dear, you can't think what has been happening to me. I went to see the Polovitsyns; only fancy ... you know they are living now by Izmailovsky Bridge; I told you, do you remember? I took a sledge from there. The horses took fright and bolted, they broke the sledge, and I was thrown out about a hundred yards from here; the coachman was taken up; I was in despair. Fortunately Monsieur Tvorogov ..." "What!" Monsieur Tvorogov was more like a fossil than like Monsieur Tvorogov. "Monsieur Tvorogov saw me here and undertook to escort me; but now you are here, and I can only express my warm gratitude to you, Ivan Ilyitch...." The lady gave her hand to the stupefied Ivan Ilyitch, and almost pinched instead of pressing it. "Monsieur Tvorogov, an acquaintance of mine; it was at the Skorlupovs' ball we had the pleasure of meeting; I believe I told you; don't you remember, Koko?" "Oh, of course, of course! Ah, I remember," said the gentleman in raccoon addressed as Koko. "Delighted, delighted!" And he warmly pressed the hand of Monsieur Tvorogov. "Who is it? What does it mean? I am waiting...." said a husky voice. Before the group stood a gentleman of extraordinary height; he took out a lorgnette and looked intently at the gentleman in the raccoon coat. "Ah, Monsieur Bobynitsyn!" twittered the lady. "Where have you come from? What a meeting! Only fancy, I have just had an upset in a sledge ... but here is my husband! Jean! Monsieur Bobynitsyn, at the Karpovs' ball...." "Ah, delighted, very much delighted!... But I'll take a carriage at once, my dear." "Yes, do, Jean, do; I still feel frightened; I am all of a tremble, I feel quite giddy.... At the masquerade to-night," she whispered to Tvorogov.... "Good-bye, good-bye, Mr. Bobynitsyn! We shall meet to-morrow at the Karpovs' ball, most likely." "No, excuse me, I shall not be there to-morrow; I don't know about to-morrow, if it is like this now...." Mr. Bobynitsyn muttered something between his teeth, made a scrape with his boot, got into his sledge and drove away. A carriage drove up; the lady got into it. The gentleman in the raccoon coat stopped, seemed incapable of making a movement and gazed blankly at the gentleman in the wadded coat. The gentleman in the wadded coat smiled rather foolishly. "I don't know...." "Excuse me, delighted to make your acquaintance," answered the young man, bowing with curiosity and a little intimidated. "Delighted, delighted!..." "I think you have lost your galosh...." "I--oh, yes, thank you, thank you. I keep meaning to get rubber ones." "The foot gets so hot in rubbers," said the young man, apparently with immense interest. "Jean! Are you coming?" "It does make it hot. Coming directly, darling; we are having an interesting conversation! Precisely so, as you say, it does make the foot hot.... But excuse me, I ..." "Oh, certainly." "Delighted, very much delighted to make your acquaintance!..." The gentleman in raccoon got into the carriage, the carriage set off, the young man remained standing looking after it in astonishment. II The following evening there was a performance of some sort at the Italian opera. Ivan Andreyitch burst into the theatre like a bomb. Such furore, such a passion for music had never been observed in him before. It was known for a positive fact, anyway, that Ivan Andreyitch used to be exceeding fond of a nap for an hour or two at the Italian opera; he even declared on several occasions how sweet and pleasant it was. "Why, the prima donna," he used to say to his friends, "mews a lullaby to you like a little white kitten." But it was a long time ago, last season, that he used to say this; now, alas! even at home Ivan Andreyitch did not sleep at nights. Nevertheless he burst into the crowded opera-house like a bomb. Even the conductor started suspiciously at the sight of him, and glanced out of the corner of his eye at his side-pocket in the full expectation of seeing the hilt of a dagger hidden there in readiness. It must be observed that there were at that time two parties, each supporting the superior claims of its favourite prima donna. They were called the ----sists and the ----nists. Both parties were so devoted to music, that the conductors actually began to be apprehensive of some startling manifestation of the passion for the good and the beautiful embodied in the two prima donnas. This was how it was that, looking at this youthful dash into the parterre of a grey-haired senior (though, indeed, he was not actually grey-haired, but a man about fifty, rather bald, and altogether of respectable appearance), the conductor could not help recalling the lofty judgment of Hamlet Prince of Denmark upon the evil example set by age to youth, and, as we have mentioned above, looking out of the corner of his eye at the gentleman's side-pocket in the expectation of seeing a dagger. But there was a pocket-book and nothing else there. Darting into the theatre, Ivan Andreyitch instantly scanned all the boxes of the second tier, and, oh--horror! His heart stood still, she was here! She was sitting in the box! General Polovitsyn, with his wife and sister-in-law, was there too. The general's adjutant--an extremely alert young man, was there too; there was a civilian too.... Ivan Andreyitch strained his attention and his eyesight, but--oh, horror! The civilian treacherously concealed himself behind the adjutant and remained in the darkness of obscurity. She was here, and yet she had said she would not be here! It was this duplicity for some time displayed in every step Glafira Petrovna took which crushed Ivan Andreyitch. This civilian youth reduced him at last to utter despair. He sank down in his stall utterly overwhelmed. Why? one may ask. It was a very simple matter....
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Fyodor Dostoevsky

Fyodor Mikhailovich Dostoevsky (11 November 1821 – 9 February 1881) was a Russian novelist, short story writer, essayist, journalist and philosopher. more…

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