Leo Tolstoy is a Russian novelist born in 1828 and died in 1910. The novel we share today is not one of the most famous, but I recommend it so intense argument in great brevity. Tolstoy describes houses, dresses, cities, and above all characters of people. Today we took a couple of extracts from The Death of Ivan Ilych, first, by describing how a room, a funeral parlor, not to mention architecture, however, speaking of those who compose it and the people who move in it allows us intuit or invent that space. The second extracts talks about how the character displayed decor that will give your new home, what you want for your new home, and what he considers "comme il faut" (appropriate).
"upon entering the room he began crossing himself and kind of bowing a little. So far as the movements of his arms and head permitted him, he at the same time surveyed the room. Two youngsters, one a schoolboy, seemingly nephews, were leaving the room, crossing themselves. An old woman stood motionless. And a lady with strangely raised eyebrows was saying something to her in a whisper. A sacristan in a frock coat, brisk and decisive, was reading something in a loud voice with an expression that ruled out any contradiction; the peasant who waited at table, Gerasim, walked by in front of Pyotr Ivanovich with a light step and sprinkled something on the floor. Immediately upon seeing this, Pyotr Ivanovich sensed the faint smell of the decomposing corpse. On his last visit to Ivan Ilyich, Pyotr Ivanovich had seen this peasant in the study; he had carried out the duties of a sick-nurse, and Ivan Ilyich had been particularly fond of him. Pyotr Ivanovich kept on crossing himself and bowing slightly towards a point midway between the coffin, the sacristan and the icons on the table in the corner. Then, when this crossing motion with his hand seemed to him already too protracted, he paused and began examining the dead man.
The dead man lay, as dead men always do, particularly heavily, sinking his cold limbs into the lining of the coffin in the manner of a dead man, with his now for ever bowed head on a pillow, and, as dead men always do, he was thrusting out his yellow waxen forehead with the bald patches above the sunken temples and his jutting nose, which seemed to be pressed down onto the upper lip. He had changed greatly, had grown still thinner since Pyotr Ivanovich had last seen him, but, as with all dead men, his face was more handsome and, most importantly, more significant than it had been on the living man. On his face was the expression of the fact that what had needed to be done had been done, and done correctly. Besides that, in this expression there was also a reproach or a reminder to the living. This reminder seemed to Pyotr Ivanovich inappropriate, or at least of no relevance to him. He began to have an unpleasant sort of feeling, and for that reason Pyotr Ivanovich hurriedly crossed himself once more and, too hurriedly as it seemed to him, not in accordance with the proprieties, he turned and went towards the door."
.../...
"He found a delightful house, just the thing both he and his wife had dreamt of. Spacious, lofty reception rooms in the old style, a convenient and dignified study, rooms for his wife and daughter, a study for his son—it might have been specially built for them. Ivan Ilych himself superintended the arrangements, chose the wallpapers, supplemented the furniture (preferably with antiques which he considered particularly comme il faut), and supervised the upholstering. Everything progressed and progressed and approached the ideal he had set himself: even when things were only half completed they exceeded his expectations. He saw what a refined and elegant character, free from vulgarity, it would all have when it was ready. On falling asleep he pictured to himself how the reception room would look. Looking at the yet unfinished drawing room he could see the fireplace, the screen, the what-not, the little chairs dotted here and there, the dishes and plates on the walls, and the bronzes, as they would be when everything was in place. He was pleased by the thought of how his wife and daughter, who shared his taste in this matter, would be impressed by it. They were certainly not expecting as much. He had been particularly successful in finding, and buying cheaply, antiques which gave a particularly aristocratic character to the whole place. But in his letters he intentionally understated everything in order to be able to surprise them."
The death of Ivan Ilich. Extract. León Tolstói.
