go; hurry off to
Pushkin's: he is dying." Thunderstruck with this news, I rushed
down-stairs. I galloped off to Pushkin's. In his antechamber, before the
door of his study, I found Drs Arendt and Spasskii, Prince Viazemskii
and Prince Mestcherskii. To the question, "_How is he?_"--Arendt
answered me, "He is very bad; he will infallibly die." The following was
the account they gave me of what had happened: At six o'clock, after
dinner, Pushkin had been brought home in the same desperate condition by
Lieutenant-Colonel Danzas, his schoolfellow at the Lyceum. A footman had
taken him out of the carriage, and carried him in his arms up-stairs.
"_Does it hurt you to carry me?_" asked Pushkin of the man. They carried
him into his study; he himself told them to give him clean linen; he
changed his dress, and lay down on a sofa. At the moment when they were
helping him to lie down, his wife, who knew nothing of what had
happened, was about to come into the room; but he cried out in a loud
tone--"_N'entrez pas; il y a du monde chez moi._" He was afraid of
frightening her. His wife, however, had already entered by the time that
he was laid down completely dressed. They sent for the doctors. Arendt
was not at home, but Scholtz and Zadler came. Pushkin ordered everybody
to leave the room, (at this moment Danzas and Pletnieff were with him.)
"_I am very bad_," he said, as he shook hands with Scholtz. They
examined his wound, and Zadler went away to fetch the needful
instruments. Left alone with Scholtz, Pushkin enquired, "_What do you
think of my state--speak plainly?_" "I cannot conceal from you the fact,
that you are in danger." "_Say rather, I am dying._" "I hold it my duty
not to conceal from you that such is the case. But we will hear the
opinion of Arendt and Salomon, who are sent for." "_Je vous remercie,
vous avez agi en honnete homme envers moi_," said Pushkin. Then, after a
moment's silence, he rubbed his forehead with his hand, and added, "_Il
faut que j'arrange ma maison._" "Would you not like to see any of your
relations?" asked Scholtz. "_Farewell, my friends!_" cried Pushkin,
turning his eyes towards his library. To whom he bade adieu in these
words, whether it was to his living or his dead friends, I know not.
After waiting a few moments, he asked, "_Then do you think that I shall
not live through the hour?_" "Oh no! I merely supposed that it might be
agreeable to you to see some of your friends--M. Pletnieff is here."