some delusion of my sick imagination. On the contrary, I am perfectly
clear at this moment, and absolutely calm. Nor must you comfort yourself
with the false hope that these are the unreal, confused feelings of a
despondent spirit, for I feel indeed, I know, since God has deigned to
reveal it to me--that I have now but a very short time to live. Will my
love for you and the children cease with my life? I know that that can
never be. At this moment I am too full of that love to be capable of
believing that such a feeling (which constitutes a part of my very
existence) can ever, perish. My soul can never lack its love for you;
and I know that that love will exist for ever, since such a feeling
could never have been awakened if it were not to be eternal. I shall no
longer be with you, yet I firmly believe that my love will cleave to
you always, and from that thought I glean such comfort that I await the
approach of death calmly and without fear. Yes, I am calm, and God knows
that I have ever looked, and do look now, upon death as no more than the
passage to a better life. Yet why do tears blind my eyes? Why should the
children lose a mother's love? Why must you, my husband, experience such
a heavy and unlooked-for blow? Why must I die when your love was making
life so inexpressibly happy for me?
'But His holy will be done!
'The tears prevent my writing more. It may be that I shall never see you
again. I thank you, my darling beyond all price, for all the felicity
with which you have surrounded me in this life. Soon I shall appear
before God Himself to pray that He may reward you. Farewell, my dearest!
Remember that, if I am no longer here, my love will none the less NEVER
AND NOWHERE fail you. Farewell, Woloda--farewell, my pet! Farewell, my
Benjamin, my little Nicolinka! Surely they will never forget me?'
With this letter had come also a French note from Mimi, in which the
latter said:
'The sad circumstances of which she has written to you are but too
surely confirmed by the words of the doctor. Yesterday evening she
ordered the letter to be posted at once, but, thinking at she did so in
delirium, I waited until this morning, with the intention of sealing and
sending it then. Hardly had I done so when Natalia Nicolaevna asked
me what I had done with the letter and told me to burn it if not yet
despatched. She is forever speaking of it, and saying that it will kill
you. Do not delay your departure for an instant if you wish to see the
angel before she leaves us. Pray excuse this scribble, but I have not
slept now for three nights. You know how much I love her.'
Later I heard from Natalia Savishna (who passed the whole of the night
of the 11th April at Mamma's bedside) that, after writing the first part
of the letter, Mamma laid it down upon the table beside her and went to
sleep for a while.
'I confess,' said Natalia Savishna, 'that I too fell asleep in the
arm-chair, and let my knitting slip from my hands. Suddenly, towards one
o'clock in the morning, I heard her saying something; whereupon I opened
my eyes and looked at her. My darling was sitting up in bed, with her
hands clasped together and streams of tears gushing from her eyes.
''It is all over now,' she said, and hid her face in her hands.
'I sprang to my feet, and asked what the matter was.
''Ah, Natalia Savishna, if you could only know what I have just
seen!' she said; yet, for all my asking, she would say no more,
beyond commanding me to hand her the letter. To that letter she added
something, and then said that it must be sent off directly. From that
moment she grew, rapidly worse.'
XXVI -- WHAT AWAITED US AT THE COUNTRY-HOUSE
On the 18th of April we descended from the carriage at the front door
