Chapter 20

"In order that you may understand me, I must tell you how this happened.
We were living along, and all seemed well. Suddenly we began to talk
of the children's education. I do not remember what words either of us
uttered, but a discussion began, reproaches, leaps from one subject to
another. 'Yes, I know it. It has been so for a long time.' . . . 'You
said that.' . . . 'No, I did not say that.' . . . 'Then I lie?' etc.

"And I felt that the frightful crisis was approaching when I should
desire to kill her or else myself. I knew that it was approaching; I
was afraid of it as of fire; I wanted to restrain myself. But rage
took possession of my whole being. My wife found herself in the same
condition, perhaps worse. She knew that she intentionally distorted each
of my words, and each of her words was saturated with venom. All that
was dear to me she disparaged and profaned. The farther the quarrel
went, the more furious it became. I cried, 'Be silent,' or something
like that.

"She bounded out of the room and ran toward the children. I tried to hold
her back to finish my insults. I grasped her by the arm, and hurt her.
She cried: 'Children, your father is beating me.' I cried: 'Don't lie.'
She continued to utter falsehoods for the simple purpose of irritating
me further. 'Ah, it is not the first time,' or something of that sort.
The children rushed toward her and tried to quiet her. I said: 'Don't
sham.' She said: 'You look upon everything as a sham. You would kill a
person and say he was shamming. Now I understand you. That is what you
want to do.' 'Oh, if you were only dead!' I cried.

"I remember how that terrible phrase frightened me. Never had I thought
that I could utter words so brutal, so frightful, and I was stupefied at
what had just escaped my lips. I fled into my private apartment. I sat
down and began to smoke. I heard her go into the hall and prepare to go
out. I asked her: 'Where are you going? She did not answer. 'Well, may
the devil take you!' said I to myself, going back into my private room,
where I lay down again and began smoking afresh. Thousands of plans of
vengeance, of ways of getting rid of her, and how to arrange this, and
act as if nothing had happened,--all this passed through my head. I
thought of these things, and I smoked, and smoked, and smoked. I thought
of running away, of making my escape, of going to America. I went so far
as to dream how beautiful it would be, after getting rid of her, to love
another woman, entirely different from her. I should be rid of her if
she should die or if I should get a divorce, and I tried to think how
that could be managed. I saw that I was getting confused, but, in order
not to see that I was not thinking rightly, I