One day in the spring of 1883, the last time I had the honor of seeing Ivan Sergievitch, we spoke of Skobelef. He said: “I shall soon follow him.”
It was too true. He was suffering terribly from the mortal illness of which he died soon after—a cancer in the spinal marrow. His eyes rested upon a landscape of Rousseau, his favorite painter, which represented an ancient oak, torn by the storms of many winters, now shedding its last crimson leaves in a December gale. There was an affinity between the noble old man and this picture which he enjoyed looking upon, a secret and mutual understanding of the decrees of Nature.
He published three tales after being attacked with this fatal disease. It is an example of the irony of fate that the last of these was entitled “Despair.” This was his last analysis of the Russian character, which he had made his study for so many years, and reproduced in all his works.
A few days before his death he took up his pen to write a touching epistle to his friend, Leo Tolstoï. In this farewell the dying author bequeathed the care and honor of Russian literature to his friend and rival. I give the closing words of this letter:—
“My very dear Leo Nikolaievitch, I have not written to you for a long time, for I have long been upon my death-bed. There is no chance for recovery; it is not to be thought of. I write expressly to tell you how very happy I am to have been a contemporary of yours; and to express a last, urgent request.
“My friend, return to your literary labors. This gift has come to you from whence come all our gifts. Oh! how happy I should be could I feel that you will grant this request!…
“My dear friend, great author of our beloved Russia, let me entreat you to grant me this request! Reply if this reaches you. I press you and yours to my heart for the last time. I can write no more…. I am weary!…”
We can only hope that this exhortation will be obeyed by the only author worthy to take up the pen dropped by those valiant hands.
Turgenef has left behind a rich legacy; for every page he ever wrote, with but very few exceptions, breathes a noble spirit; and his works will continue to elevate and warm the hearts of thousands.