# The Complete Works of Count Tolstoy/Volume 18/The Kreutzer Sonata/Chapter 27

XXVII.
Having softly approached the door, I suddenly opened it. I remember the expression of their faces. I remember that expression, because it afforded me a painful pleasure, it was the expression of terror. That was what I wanted. I shall never forget that expression of desperate terror which during the first second had appeared on their faces, as they caught sight of me. He, I think, was sitting at the table, but, upon seeing or hearing me, he jumped to his feet and stood up with his back against a safe. On his face was nothing but an unmistakable expression of terror. On her face there was also an expression of terror, but at the same time there was also something else. If there had been nothing but terror, probably that which took place would not have happened; but in the expression of her face there was—at least it so appeared to me during this first moment—annoyance, dissatisfaction at having been disturbed in her infatuation and happiness with him. It looked as though all she needed was that she should not be interfered with in her happiness. Both these expressions hovered but an instant on their faces. The expression of terror on his face soon gave way to a questioning expression: 'May I lie or not? If I may, I must begin. If not, there will happen something else. What will it be?' He cast an interrogative glance at her. Upon her face the expression of vexation and aggravation gave way, as I thought when she looked at him, to anxiety in his behalf.
"I stopped for an instant at the door, holding the dagger behind my back.
​"Just then he smiled and said, in a ridiculously indifferent voice, 'We have been playing together.'
"'I did not expect you!' she at once began, submitting to his tone. But neither the one nor the other finished what they wanted to say: the same fury, of which I had been possessed the week before, overcame me now. I again experienced that necessity of destruction, violence, and transport of rage, and abandoned myself to it. They did not finish their sentences. There began that other thing, of which he was afraid, that which at once put to nought that which they had said. I rushed against her, still concealing the dagger, that he might not interfere with my thrusting it into her side, underneath the breast. I had chosen that spot from the very start. Just as I flew against her he saw it, and, what I had not expected of him, seized my arm and exclaimed: 'Think what you are doing! The people!'
"I tore my arm away from him and silently rushed against him. His eyes met mine; he suddenly grew as pale as a sheet, up to his very lips; his eyes flashed in a peculiar manner, and, what again I had not expected, he flung himself under the piano and out through the door. I rushed after him, but a weight hung upon my left arm. It was she. I tried to jerk myself away, but she clung more firmly to me and did not let me out of her grasp. This sudden impediment, the weight, and her touch, which was loathsome to me, fanned my rage even more. I felt that I was infuriated and that I must be terrible, and I was glad of it. I swung my left arm with all my might, and my elbow struck her face. She cried out and let my arm drop. I wanted to run after him, but recalled that it would be ridiculous to run after my wife's lover in my socks, and I did not want to be ridiculous, I wanted to be terrible. In spite of the terrible fury which I was in, I was all the time conscious of the impression I was producing upon others, and I was ​partly guided by this very impression. I turned to her. She fell down on a sofa and, putting her hand to her blackened eyes, looked at me. In her face there was an expression of terror and hatred for me, the enemy, such as is expressed in a rat when the trap is opened, in which it has been caught. At least, I did not see anything else in her but this expression of terror and hatred for me. It was the same terror and hatred for me which the love for the other man must have provoked. I still might have abstained from doing what I did if she had kept quiet. But she suddenly began to speak and to seize the hand in which I held the dagger.
"'Come to your senses! What are you doing? What is the matter with you? There is nothing, nothing. I swear!'
"I should have hesitated, but these last words, from which I concluded the opposite, that is, that there was everything, demanded an answer. And the answer had to correspond to the mood to which I had brought myself and which was going crescendo, and continued to become more intense. Fury, too, has its laws.
"'Don't lie, you wretch!' I cried, and caught her arm with my left hand, but she tore herself away. Then I, without dropping the dagger, caught her by the throat with my left hand, threw her down on her back, and began to choke her. How rough her neck was! She clasped my hands with both of hers, pulling them away from her throat. I seemed to have waited just for that: with all my might I thrust the dagger into her left side, below the ribs.
"When people say that in a fit of fury they do not remember what they are doing, they are telling an untruth. I remembered everything, nor did I stop remembering for a single second. The more I raised within me the steam of my fury, the more clearly did the light of consciousness burn within me, so that I could not help ​seeing all I was doing. I knew every second what I was doing. I cannot say that I knew in advance what I was going to do, but at any second when I was doing something,—I almost think even a little before it,—I knew what I was doing, as though having a chance of regretting my action, and of saying that I might have stopped it. I knew that I struck her below the ribs, and that the dagger would enter. At the very moment when I was doing it I knew that I was doing something terrible, something which I had never done before, and which would have terrible consequences. But this consciousness flashed like lightning, and the deed followed immediately after the consciousness. The deed was perceived by me with unusual clearness. I heard, and I remember, the momentary resistance of the corset and of something else, and then the sinking of the dagger in something soft. She caught the dagger with her hands and only cut them, without keeping it back.
"I for a long time thought of this moment later, in prison, after the moral transformation had taken place in me; I recalled what I might have done, and I reflected. I remember how for an instant, only for an instant, the deed was preceded by the terrible consciousness that I was killing and already had killed a woman, a helpless woman, my wife! I remember the horror of that consciousness, and so I conclude and even dimly remember that, having pierced her with a dagger, I immediately pulled it out, wishing to mend that which I had done, and to stop it. I stood a moment motionless, waiting to see what would happen and whether it could not be mended.
"She jumped to her feet and cried, 'Nurse, he has killed me!'
"The nurse, who had heard the noise, was standing at the door. I was still standing, waiting, and not believing myself. Just then the blood burst from under her corset. ​Only then did I understand that it could not be mended, and I immediately concluded that it was not necessary to mend it, that it was precisely what I wanted and what I had to do. I waited until she fell down, and the nurse with a cry of 'Help!' ran up to her, and then only threw down the dagger and went out of the room.
"'I must not be agitated; I must know what I am doing,' I said to myself, without looking at her or at the nurse. The nurse was crying and calling the maid. I went through the corridor and, having sent in the maid, went back to my cabinet. 'What must I do now?' I asked myself, and immediately saw what. Upon entering the cabinet, I went directly up to the wall, took down a revolver from it, and examined it: it was loaded,—and I put it down on the table. Then I took the scabbard out from behind the divan and sat down on the divan.
"I sat thus for a long time. I thought of nothing, recalled nothing. I heard them bustling outside. I heard somebody arrive, and then again somebody. Then I heard and saw Egór come in and bring my wicker trunk into the cabinet. As though anybody wanted it!
"'Have you heard what has happened?' I asked him. 'Tell the janitor to inform the police.' He said nothing and went out. I got up, locked the door, took out the cigarettes and matches, and began to smoke.
"I had not finished one cigarette when sleep overpowered me. I must have slept about two hours. I remember I dreamt that we were on good terms, that we had had a quarrel and had made up again, that there was something in the way, but we were friends. I was awakened by a rap at the door. 'This is the police,' I thought, as I awoke. 'I think I killed her. And maybe it is she, and there has been nothing.' There was another rap at the door. I did not answer and I decided the question, 'Has it happened, or not? Yes, it has.' I re​membered the resistance of the corset and the sinking of the dagger, and a chill ran down my back. 'Yes, it has. And now I must do away with myself,' I said to myself. I said this, and I knew that I would not kill myself. Still, I arose and took the revolver into my hands. But, strange to say, although I had often been near committing suicide, although even on that day this had seemed to me an easy thing to do, as I was riding on the railway, easy because I thought I would startle her with it,—now I was not only unable to do so, but even to think of it. 'Why do I want to do it?' I asked myself, and there was no answer. They again knocked at the door. 'Yes, first I must find out who is knocking. I shall have time to do this.' I put down the revolver and covered it with a newspaper. I went up to the door and opened the latch. It was my wife's sister, a kind, stupid widow. 'Vásya, what is this?' she said, and the ever ready tears burst forth.
"'What do you want?' I asked, roughly. I saw that there was no reason whatever for me to be rough with her, but I could not think of any other tone of voice. 'Vásya, she is dying! Iván Zakhárych said so.'
"Iván Zakhárych was her doctor, her adviser. 'Is he here?' I asked, and all my rage against her again rose in me. 'Well what of it?'—'Vásya, go to her. Ah, how terrible it is!' she said. 'Shall I go to her?' I asked myself, and I immediately answered myself that I must, that, no doubt, it is always that way,—that when a man kills his wife he must go to see her. 'If that is the way it is done, I must go,' I said to myself. 'Well, if it is necessary for me to shoot myself, I shall have time to do so,' I thought in regard to my intention of killing myself, and followed her. Now there will be phrases. and grimaces, but I will not submit to them.' 'Wait,' I said to her sister, 'it is foolish to go without my boots. Let me at least put on my slippers.'