ad overcome her, and this slumber, as if purposely sent down in
mercy from above, lasted till the very minute when the last groan rang
on the other side of the door. But in this moment of most cruel agony,
according to the account of Spasskii and Arendt, the dying man's
firmness of soul was shown in all its force: when on the point of
screaming out, he with violent effort merely groaned, fearing, as he
said himself, that his wife might hear it, and that she might be
frightened. At seven o'clock the pain grew milder. It is necessary to
remark, that during all this time, and even to the end of his
sufferings, his thoughts were perfectly rational, and his memory clear.
Even at the beginning of the terrible attack of pain, he had called
Spasskii to his bedside, ordered him to hand him a paper written with
his own hand, and made him burn it. He then called in Danzas, and
dictated to him a statement respecting a few debts which he had
incurred. This task, however, only exhausted him, and afterwards he was
unable to make any other dispositions. When, at the arrival of morning,
his intolerable suffering ceased, he said to Spasskii, "_My wife! call
my wife!_" This farewell moment I dare not attempt to describe to you.
He then asked for his children; they were asleep; but they went for
them, and brought them half asleep as they were. He bent his eyes in
silence upon each of them, laid his hand on their heads, made a sign of
the cross over them, and then, with a gesture of the hand, sent them
away. "_Who is there?_" he enquired of Spasskii and Danzas. They named
me and Viazemskii. "_Call them in!_" said he in a feeble voice. I
entered, took the cold hand which he held out to me, kissed it. I could
not speak; he waved his hand, I retired; but he called me back. "_Tell
the Emperor_," he said, "_that I am sorry to die; I would have been
wholly his. Tell him that I wish him a long, long reign; that I wish him
happiness in his son, happiness in his Russia._" These words he spoke
feebly, interruptedly, but distinctly. He then bade farewell to
Viazemskii. At this moment arrived the Count Vielhorskii, and went into
his room; and he was thus the last person who pressed his hand in life.
It was evident that he was hastening to his last earthly account, and
listening, as it were, for the footstep of approaching death. Feeling
his own pulse, he said to Spasskii, "_Death is coming._" When Turgenieff
went up to him, he looked at him twice very ea