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April 1.

  • It is over…. Life is over. I shall certainly die to-day. It's hot outside …
  • almost suffocating … or is it that my lungs are already refusing to breathe?
  • My little comedy is played out. The curtain is falling.
  • Sinking into nothing, I cease to be superfluous …
  • Ah, how brilliant that sun is! Those mighty beams breathe of eternity …
  • Farewell, Terentyevna!… This morning as she sat at the window she was crying …
  • perhaps over me … and perhaps because she too will soon have to die. I have
  • made her promise not to kill Tresór.
  • It's hard for me to write…. I will put down the pen…. It's high time; death is
  • already approaching with ever-increasing rumble, like a carriage at night over
  • the pavement; it is here, it is flitting about me, like the light breath which
  • made the prophet's hair stand up on end.
  • I am dying…. Live, you who are living,
  • 'And about the grave
  • May youthful life rejoice,
  • And nature heedless
  • Glow with eternal beauty.
  • _Note by the Editor_.—Under this last line was a head in profile with a big
  • streak of hair and moustaches, with eyes  _en face_ , and eyelashes like rays;
  • and under the head some one had written the following words:
  • 'This manuscript was read
  • And the Contents of it Not Approved
  • By Peter Zudotyeshin
  • My My My
  • My dear Sir,
  • Peter Zudotyeshin,
  • Dear Sir.'
  • But as the handwriting of these lines was not in the least like the
  • handwriting in which the other part of the manuscript was written, the editor
  • considers that he is justified in concluding that the above lines were added
  • subsequently by another person, especially since it has come to his (the
  • editor's) knowledge that Mr. Tchulkaturin actually did die on the night
  • between the 1st and 2nd of April in the year 18—, at his native place, Sheep's
  • Springs.