bazarov
08-16-2007, 05:28 AM
I'm currently reading Les Miserables and I have noticed something really interesting. This is from one chapter:
He paused, and then said:--
"I shall die three hours hence."
Then he continued:--
"I am something of a doctor; I know in what fashion the last hour draws on. Yesterday, only my feet were cold; to-day, the chill has ascended to my knees; now I feel it mounting to my waist; when it reaches the heart, I shall stop. The sun is beautiful, is it not? I had myself wheeled out here to take a last look at things. You can talk to me; it does not fatigue me. You have done well to come and look at a man who is on the point of death. It is well that there should be witnesses at that moment. One has one's caprices; I should have liked to last until the dawn, but I know that I shall hardly live three hours. It will be night then. What does it matter, after all? Dying is a simple affair. One has no need of the light for that. So be it. I shall die by starlight."
This reminds me on some Dostoevskian death. I thought it stayed in my mind from last month Karamazov's rereading and death of Zosima or Ilyusha but it's not. Then I thought it might be Lebedev? Or it is maybe someone else's death? Probably I'm crazy, but maybe somebody can help me? Except shrinks, of course...
He paused, and then said:--
"I shall die three hours hence."
Then he continued:--
"I am something of a doctor; I know in what fashion the last hour draws on. Yesterday, only my feet were cold; to-day, the chill has ascended to my knees; now I feel it mounting to my waist; when it reaches the heart, I shall stop. The sun is beautiful, is it not? I had myself wheeled out here to take a last look at things. You can talk to me; it does not fatigue me. You have done well to come and look at a man who is on the point of death. It is well that there should be witnesses at that moment. One has one's caprices; I should have liked to last until the dawn, but I know that I shall hardly live three hours. It will be night then. What does it matter, after all? Dying is a simple affair. One has no need of the light for that. So be it. I shall die by starlight."
This reminds me on some Dostoevskian death. I thought it stayed in my mind from last month Karamazov's rereading and death of Zosima or Ilyusha but it's not. Then I thought it might be Lebedev? Or it is maybe someone else's death? Probably I'm crazy, but maybe somebody can help me? Except shrinks, of course...