How it happened it is impossible to say because it came about step by step, unnoticed, but in the third month of Ivan Ilych's illness, his wife, his daughter, his son, his acquaintances, the doctors, the servants, and above all he himself, were aware that the whole interest he had for other people was whether he would soon vacate his place, and at last release the living from the discomfort caused by his presence and be himself released from his sufferings.
He slept less and less.He was given opium and hypodermic injections of morphine, but this did not relieve him.The dull depression he experienced in a somnolent condition at first gave him a little relief, but only as something new, afterwards it became as distressing as the pain itself or even more so.
Special foods were prepared for him by the doctors' orders, but all those foods became increasingly distasteful and disgusting to him.
For his excretions also special arrangements had to be made, and this was a torment to him every time -- a torment from the uncleanliness, the unseemliness, and the smell, and from knowing that another person had to take part in it.
But just through his most unpleasant matter, Ivan Ilych obtained comfort.Gerasim, the butler's young assistant, always came in to carry the things out.Gerasim was a clean, fresh peasant lad, grown stout on town food and always cheerful and bright.At first the sight of him, in his clean Russian peasant costume, engaged on that disgusting task embarrassed Ivan Ilych.
Once when he got up from the commode to weak to draw up his trousers, he dropped into a soft armchair and looked with horror at his bare, enfeebled thighs with the muscles so sharply marked on them.
Gerasim with a firm light tread, his heavy boots emitting a pleasant smell of tar and fresh winter air, came in wearing a clean Hessian apron, the sleeves of his print shirt tucked up over his strong bare young arms; and refraining from looking at his sick master out of consideration for his feelings, and restraining the joy of life that beamed from his face, he went up to the commode.
"Gerasim!" said Ivan Ilych in a weak voice.
"Gerasim started, evidently afraid he might have committed some blunder, and with a rapid movement turned his fresh, kind, simple young face which just showed the first downy signs of a beard.
"Yes, sir?"
"That must be very unpleasant for you.You must forgive me.
I am helpless."
"Oh, why, sir," and Gerasim's eyes beamed and he showed his glistening white teeth, "what's a little trouble? It's a case of illness with you, sir."And his deft strong hands did their accustomed task, and he went out of the room stepping lightly.five minutes later he as lightly returned.
Ivan Ilych was still sitting in the same position in the armchair.
"Gerasim," he said when the latter had replaced the freshly-washed utensil."Please come here and help me." Gerasim went up to him."Lift me up.It is hard for me to get up, and I have sent Dmitri away."Gerasim went up to him, grasped his master with his strong arms deftly but gently, in the same way that he stepped -- lifted him, supported him with one hand, and with the other drew up his trousers and would have set him down again, but Ivan Ilych asked to be led to the sofa.Gerasim, without an effort and without apparent pressure, led him, almost lifting him, to the sofa and placed him on it.
"That you.How easily and well you do it all!"Gerasim smiled again and turned to leave the room.But Ivan Ilych felt his presence such a comfort that he did not want to let him go.
"One thing more, please move up that chair.No, the other one -- under my feet.It is easier for me when my feet are raised."Gerasim brought the chair, set it down gently in place, and raised Ivan Ilych's legs on it.It seemed to Ivan Ilych that he felt better while Gerasim was holding up his legs.
"It's better when my legs are higher," he said."Place that cushion under them."Gerasim did so.He again lifted the legs and placed them, and again Ivan Ilych felt better while Gerasim held his legs.When he set them down Ivan Ilych fancied he felt worse.
"Gerasim," he said."Are you busy now?"
"Not at all, sir," said Gerasim, who had learnt from the townsfolk how to speak to gentlefolk.
