again, a loud, piercing scream startled me, and filled me with such
terror that, were I to live a hundred years more, I should never forget
it. Even now the recollection always sends a cold shudder through my
frame. I raised my head. Standing on the chair near the coffin was the
peasant woman, while struggling and fighting in her arms was the
little girl, and it was this same poor child who had screamed with such
dreadful, desperate frenzy as, straining her terrified face away, she
still, continued to gaze with dilated eyes at the face of the corpse.
I too screamed in a voice perhaps more dreadful still, and ran headlong
from the room.
Only now did I understand the source of the strong, oppressive smell
which, mingling with the scent of the incense, filled the chamber, while
the thought that the face which, but a few days ago, had been full of
freshness and beauty--the face which I loved more than anything else in
all the world--was now capable of inspiring horror at length revealed to
me, as though for the first time, the terrible truth, and filled my soul
with despair.
XXVIII -- SAD RECOLLECTIONS
Mamma was no longer with us, but our life went on as usual. We went
to bed and got up at the same times and in the same rooms; breakfast,
luncheon, and supper continued to be at their usual hours; everything
remained standing in its accustomed place; nothing in the house or in
our mode of life was altered: only, she was not there.
Yet it seemed to me as though such a misfortune ought to have changed
everything. Our old mode of life appeared like an insult to her memory.
It recalled too vividly her presence.
The day before the funeral I felt as though I should like to rest a
little after luncheon, and accordingly went to Natalia Savishna's room
with the intention of installing myself comfortably under the warm, soft
down of the quilt on her bed. When I entered I found Natalia herself
lying on the bed and apparently asleep, but, on hearing my footsteps,
she raised herself up, removed the handkerchief which had been
protecting her face from the flies, and, adjusting her cap, sat forward
on the edge of the bed. Since it frequently happened that I came to lie
down in her room, she guessed my errand at once, and said:
'So you have come to rest here a little, have you? Lie down, then, my
dearest.'
'Oh, but what is the matter with you, Natalia Savishna?' I exclaimed
as I forced her back again. 'I did not come for that. No, you are tired
yourself, so you LIE down.'
'I am quite rested now, darling,' she said (though I knew that it was
many a night since she had closed her eyes). 'Yes, I am indeed, and have
no wish to sleep again,' she added with a deep sigh.
I felt as though I wanted to speak to her of our misfortune, since I
knew her sincerity and love, and thought that it would be a consolation
to me to weep with her.
'Natalia Savishna,' I said after a pause, as I seated myself upon the
bed, 'who would ever have thought of this?'
The old woman looked at me with astonishment, for she did not quite
understand my question.
'Yes, who would ever have thought of it?' I repeated.
'Ah, my darling,' she said with a glance of tender compassion, 'it is
not only 'Who would ever have thought of it?' but 'Who, even now, would
ever believe it?' I am old, and my bones should long ago have gone to
rest rather than that I should have lived to see the old master, your
Grandpapa, of blessed memory, and Prince Nicola Michaelovitch, and his
two brothers, and your sister Amenka all buried before me, though all
