What do you think?
Rate this book
87 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1886
鈥濻uedezul avea ceva din semnifica葲ia pe care i-o atribuia, tenden葲ios, Tolstoi lui Ivan Ilici, at卯t de minimalizat de autor 卯n povestirea ne卯ndur膬toare 卯n care acesta 卯葯i propune s膬 prezinte 卯n termeni clinici 葯i f膬r膬 nici un pic de compasiune ce 卯nseamn膬 s膬 fii un om obi葯nuit. Ivan Ilici e un 卯nalt func葲ionar de stat care duce 芦o via葲膬 cuviincioas膬, aprobat膬 de societate禄 葯i care pe patul de moarte, 卯n spasmele profunde ale agoniei 葯i spaimei sale ne卯ntrerupte, 卯葯i spune: 芦Poate c膬 n-am dus via葲a pe care ar fi trebuit s-o duc禄. Via葲a lui Ivan Ilici, scrie Tolstoi, rezum卯ndu-葯i chiar de la 卯nceput judecata lui asupra 卯naltului magistrat, ce avea o cas膬 superb膬 卯n Sankt Petersburg, un salariu frumu葯el, de trei mii de ruble pe an, 葯i prieteni cu pozi葲ii sociale bune, fusese c卯t se poate de simpl膬 葯i c卯t se poate de obi葯nuit膬, deci, c卯t se poate de cumplit膬鈥� (Pastorala american膬, traducere de Alexandra Coliban, Ia葯i: Polirom, 2014, p.51).
鈥淟a vida de Iv谩n Ilich no pod铆a haber sido m谩s sencilla, m谩s corriente ni m谩s terrible鈥�.En efecto, Tolstoy nos quiere hablar de la vida. Bien es verdad que la muerte es la excusa y que hay temas secundarios que la tienen como protagonista: el trato a los enfermos terminales por parte de m茅dicos, familiares y amigos, la hipocres铆a social que la rodea o la distancia que consciente o inconscientemente establecemos con la muerte ajena a poco que tengamos ocasi贸n. Pero es el enfrentamiento con nuestra propia muerte lo que supone la excusa para hablarnos de la vida, de c贸mo encararla. Y la respuesta es, como dec铆a, 鈥渟encilla鈥�: el amor y la entrega a los dem谩s.
鈥淭hey had supper and went away, and Ivan Ilych was left alone with the consciousness that his life was poisoned and was poisoning the lives of others, and that this poison did not weaken but penetrated more and more deeply into his whole being.
With this consciousness, and with physical pain besides the terror, he must go to bed, often to lie awake the greater part of the night. Next morning he had to get up again, dress, go to the law courts, speak, and write; or if he did not go out, spend at home those twenty-four hours a day each of which was a torture. And he had to live thus all alone on the brink of an abyss, with no one who understood or pitied him.鈥�
鈥淭here remained only those rare periods of amorousness, which still came to them at times but did not last long. These were islets at which they anchored for a while and then again set out upon that ocean of veiled hostility which showed itself in their aloofness from one another.鈥�