The Complete Works of Count Tolstoy/Childhood/Chapter 25
XXV.
The Letter
On the 16th of April, almost six months after the day which I have just described, father came up-stairs, during classes, and announced to us that we were going home with him that very night. Something pinched me at my heart, when I heard the news, and my thoughts at once reverted to my mother.
Our sudden departure was the result of the following letter:
"I received your kind letter of April 3d just a little while ago, at ten o'clock in the evening, and, as is my custom, I am replying to it immediately. Fédor brought it from town yesterday, but as it was late, he handed it to Mimi this morning. Mimi did not give it to me all day, under the pretext that I was nervous and ill. I had, in reality, a little fever and, to confess, this is the fourth day that I have not been feeling well and have not left the bed.
"Please, do not get frightened, my dear one. I feel quite well, and, if Iván Vasílich will permit, shall get up to-morrow.
"On Friday of last week I went out driving with the children; but at the very entrance upon the highway, near the bridge which always frightens me so, the horses stuck in the mud. It was a fine day, and I thought I should walk as far as the highway, while they extricated the carriage. When I reached the chapel I grew very tired, and sat down to rest; but before the people came to pull out the carriage, almost half an hour passed, and I began to feel cold, particularly in my feet, because I had on thin-soled shoes, and they were wet. After dinner I felt a chill and a fever, but kept on my feet, as is my habit, and after tea sat down to play duets with Lyúbochka. (You will not recognize her, — she has made such progress!) But imagine my surprise when I discovered that I could not count the beats. I started several times to count, but everything got mixed up in my head, and I heard strange sounds in my ears. I counted: one, two, three, and then suddenly: eight, fifteen; and (which is the main thing), I knew I was not doing right, but could not correct myself. Finally Mimi came to my aid, and almost using force, put me to bed. Here you have, my dear one, a detailed account of how I grew ill, and how it is all my fault. The next day I had a pretty high fever, and our good old Iván Vasílich came. He has been staying at our house ever since, and he promised me he would soon let me out in the air again. A splendid old man is this Iván Vasílich! When I was feverish and delirious he stayed at my bed all night long, without closing his eyes; but now, seeing that I am writing, he is staying with the girls in the sofa-room, and I can hear from my chamber how he is telling them German stories and how they, listening to them, are dying with laughter.
"La belle Flamande, as you call her, has been my guest for two weeks, because her mother has gone to make visits, and she proves her sincere attachment by her care of me. She confides all the secrets of her heart to me. With her pretty face, good heart, and youth, she could become a beautiful girl in every respect if she were in good hands; but in the society in which she lives, to judge by her own story, she will be completely ruined. It has occurred to me that if I did not have so many children of my own, I should be doing a good act if I took her into my house.
"Lyúbochka wanted to write to you herself, but she has torn her third sheet, and she says: 'I know what a scoffer papa is; if I make one mistake, he will show it to everybody.' Kátenka is as dear as ever, and Mimi is as good and tiresome.
"Now let us speak of something serious: you are writing me that your affairs are not going well this winter, and that you will be compelled to take some Khabárovka money. It is strange to me that you even ask my consent. Does not that which belongs to me equally belong to you?
"You are so good, my dear one, that for fear of grieving me you are hiding the actual condition of your affairs, but I guess you have lost much at cards, and I am not in the least, I swear it, aggrieved at the fact, so that, if this affair can be straightened out, please don't spend much thought over it, or vainly worry about the matter. I have become accustomed not to count on your winnings for our children, not even, you will forgive me for saying so, on your property. Your winnings give me as little pleasure as your losses grieve me; I am only grieved at your unfortunate passion for gaming, which robs me of a part of your tender attachment for me, and compels you to tell such bitter truths as those you are telling me now, — and God knows how that pains me! I never cease praying to Him that He may deliver us, not from poverty (what is poverty?), but from that terrible condition when the interests of our children, which I shall have to protect, will come in conflict with our own. Thus far God has fulfilled my prayer; you have not crossed the one line, after which we shall have either to sacrifice our property, which no longer belongs to us, but to our children, or — it is terrible to think of it, and yet we are threatened by a terrible misfortune. Yes, it is a heavy cross the Lord has sent us both.
"You are writing me about the children, and return to our old quarrel: you ask my permission to send them to some educational establishment. You know my prejudice against such an education.
"I do not know, my dear one, whether you will agree with me; in any case, I implore you, for the sake of our love, to promise me that as long as I am alive, and after my death, if it shall please God to separate us, this shall not happen.
"You tell me that it will be necessary for you to go to St. Petersburg about our affairs. Christ be with you, my friend! go and come back as soon as possible! We all feel very lonely without you. The spring is remarkably fine; the balcony door has already been put out; the path in the greenhouse was completely dry four days ago; the peaches are in full bloom; only here and there patches of snow are left; the swallows have returned; and to-day Lyúbochka has brought me the first spring flowers. The doctor says that in three or four days I shall be quite well again, and able to breathe the fresh air, and warm myself in the April sun. Good-bye, my dear one! Please, do not worry, neither about my illness nor about your losses; settle your affairs as soon as possible, and come back to us with the children for the whole summer. I am making wonderful plans as to how we are going to pass it, and you only are wanting to materialize them."
The following part of the letter was in French, in a closely written and uneven hand, and upon a different piece of paper. I translate it word for word:
"Don't believe what I am writing you about my illness; nobody suspects to what degree it is serious. I alone know that I shall never rise from bed again. Do not lose a single minute, and come at once, and bring the children with you. Maybe, I shall live long enough to embrace and bless them; that is my one last wish. I know what a blow I am striking you, but you would all the same, sooner or later, receive it from me, or from others. Let us try with fortitude and with hope in the mercy of God to bear this misfortune! Let us submit to His will!
"Do not imagine that what I write is the delirium of a diseased imagination; on the contrary, my thoughts are unusually clear at this moment, and I am perfectly calm. Do not console yourself in vain with the hope that these are false and dim presentiments of a fearsome soul. No, I feel, I know, — and I know because it has pleased God to reveal it to me, — that I am to live only a short time.
"Will my love for you and my children end together with my life? I have come to understand that this is impossible. I feel too strongly this minute, to think that the feeling without which I cannot understand existence should ever be annihilated. My soul cannot exist without love for you; and I know that it will exist for ever, for this reason alone, if for no other, that such a feeling as my love could not have originated, if it were ever to come to an end.
"I shall not be with you; but I am firmly convinced that my love will never leave you, and this thought is so comforting to my soul that I await my approaching death in peace and without fear.
"I am calm, and God knows that I have always looked at death as a transition to a better life; but why do tears choke me? Wherefore are the children to lose their beloved mother? Why should such a blow be struck you? Why must I die, when your love has made me boundlessly happy?
"His holy will be done!
"I cannot write any more for tears. Maybe I shall not see you again. So I thank you, my truest friend, for all the happiness with which you have surrounded me in this life; and there, I will ask God that He may reward you. Good-bye, my dear one! Remember that I shall be no more, but my love will never and in no place leave you. Good-bye, Volódya, good-bye, my angel! Good-bye, my Benjamin, my Nikólenka!
"Will they ever forget me?"
In this letter was enclosed a French note from Mimi, of the following contents:
"The sad presentiments, of which she tells you, have been only too well confirmed by the doctor. Last night she ordered this letter to be taken to the post. Thinking that she said that in her delirium, I waited until this morning, and decided to break the seal. No sooner had I opened it, than Natálya Nikoláevna asked me what I had done with the letter, and ordered me to burn it, if it had not yet been sent. She speaks of it continually, and assures us that it will kill you. Do not delay your journey, if you wish to see this angel before she has left you. Pardon this scrawl. I have not slept these three nights. You know how I love her!"
Natálya Sávishna, who had passed the whole night of the 11th of April in mother's chamber, told me that having written the first part of her letter, mamma put it near her on the table, and fell asleep.
"I myself," said Natálya Sávishna, "I must confess, dozed off in the chair, and the stocking fell out of my hands. Then in my sleep, about one o'clock, I heard her talk. I opened my eyes: there she, my little dove, was sitting in her bed, folding her arms just like this, and her tears were pouring down in three streams. 'So all is ended?' was all she said, and covered her face with her hands.
"I jumped up, and began to ask her what the matter was with her.
"'Ah, Natálya Sávishna, if you only knew whom I saw just now!'
"No matter how much I asked her, she would not answer me. She only ordered me to put the small table near her, then wrote something more in the letter, told me to seal it in her presence, and to send it away at once. After that everything went worse and worse."