Death of the Bishop:
The bishop did not sleep all night. And in the
morning, around eight o’clock, he began to have intestinal bleeding.
The cell attendant became frightened and ran first to the
archimandrite, then for the monastery doctor, Ivan Andreich, who
lived in town. The doctor, a stout old man with a long gray beard,
examined the bishop for a long time, and kept shaking his head and
scowling, then said:
"You know, Your Grace, you’ve got typhoid fever."
Within an hour the bishop became very thin from the
bleeding, pale, pinched, his face shrank, his eyes were now very
big, he looked older, smaller, and it seemed to him that he was
thinner, weaker, more insignificant than anyone, that all that had
once been had gone somewhere very far away and would no longer
repeat itself, would not be continued.
"How good!" he thought, "How good!"
old mother came. Seeing his shrunken face and big eyes, she became
frightened, fell on her knees by the bed, and started kissing his
face, shoulders, hands. And to her, too, it seemed that he was
thinner, weaker, and more insignificant than anyone, and she no
longer remembered that he was a bishop, and she kissed him like a
child very near and dear to her.
"Pavlusha, my darling," she said, "my dear one! . .
. My little son! . . .What makes you like this? Pavlusha, answer
Katya, pale and stern, stood nearby and did not
understand what was the matter with her uncle, why there was such
suffering on her grandmother’s face, why she was saying such
touching, sad words. And he could no longer say a word, he
understood nothing, and imagined that he was now a simple, ordinary
man, walking briskly, merrily across the fields, tapping his stick,
and over him was the broad sky, flooded with sunlight, and he was
free as a bird and could go wherever he liked!
"My little son, Pavlusha, answer me!" said the old
woman. "What’s the matter with you? My dear one!"
"Don’t trouble His Grace," Sisoy said crossly,
passing through the room, "Let him sleep . . . there’s no point . .
. forget it! . . ."
Three doctors came, held a consultation, then left.
The day was long, unbelievably long, then night came and lasted a
very, very long time, and towards morning on Saturday the cell
attendant went up to the old woman, who was lying on the sofa in the
drawing room, and asked her to go to the bedroom:
The bishop had bid the world farewell.