It took a full half hour before Dostoevsky's lips moved weakly twice.
Anna leaned close, pressing her ear next to his mouth; after a moment, she turned and glanced at Lionel.
She then began whispering a few words to her husband.
Although Lionel could not understand the language, he knew she was likely introducing him.
Dostoevsky slowly opened his eyes and looked at Lionel, who was sitting by the bedside:
"Forgive me... Mr. Sorel... for letting you see me in this state... I very much wanted to talk with you—I have read your novels... but my time is short now... Death... I can already see him sitting in this room..."
This vivid metaphor startled Lionel, who quickly stood up.
He leaned close, speaking sincerely:
"Mr. Dostoevsky, please do not speak like that. If there is anything at all I can do to help, any small matter, please do not hesitate to command me."
The writer shook his head slightly, seemingly losing strength even to speak.
He closed his eyes again, rested for a while, and then turned to his wife, beginning to give final instructions intermittently.
Lionel stood quietly to the side, unable to understand Russian, and could only record everything with his eyes.
He watched this literary giant, whom he had studied and analyzed countless times in textbooks and papers in his previous life, now displaying the final vulnerability of life without reservation.
Around 6:00 PM, Dostoevsky's spirit seemed to improve slightly.
He called his children over—his son Fedya and his daughter Lyuba.
He stroked their hair with a trembling hand and faintly blessed the children while barely clinging to life.
Then, he asked Anna to fetch a copy of the Gospel and open it.
Anna, suppressing her grief, began reading the contents aloud to him.
After listening, Dostoevsky solemnly gave the Gospel to his son, Fedya.
However, this brief calm seemed like a false prelude to a storm; shortly after, he began coughing up blood again, more violently than before.
Following this, he lost consciousness.
Around 8:00 PM, a priest was called to administer the last rites to Dostoevsky.
At 8:30 PM, death arrived—Fyodor Mikhailovich Dostoevsky ceased breathing.
The room was filled with the suppressed sobs of Anna and the children.
Lionel bowed his head silently, his heart filled with an inexpressible sense of shock and sorrow.
He had witnessed the passing of an era once again, the departure of a great soul.
He had been mentally prepared for Flaubert's death because there had been a "preview," but Dostoevsky's death was completely outside of the "plan."
Lionel certainly knew Dostoevsky's birth and death years, but who keeps such numbers in mind unless necessary?
His emotions were complicated, and he wasn't sure if he should regret this visit.
It wasn't until 10:00 PM that Lionel helped Anna deal with some of the initial chaos and comforted the frightened children...
Only when relatives arrived after hearing the news did he leave the house, enveloped in immense grief, with a heavy heart.
That night, Lionel did not sleep at all...
The next day, the news of Dostoevsky's passing spread like wildfire throughout Saint Petersburg, and through telegraphs, quickly reached Paris and all of Europe.
The European literary world was shaken, and condolence telegrams flew into Saint Petersburg like snowflakes.
Not long after, the stream of friends and relatives coming to pay respects began at the house at Kuznetsky Lane, 5-2.
The writer's body was placed on a catafalque in the center of the study, surrounded by vigil lamps and large candles.
On January 30, 1881, the famous painter Ivan Kramskoi arrived and sketched a pencil portrait of the deceased, capturing his long-suffering final appearance.
On the same day, the photographer Konstantin Shapiro also took photographs of the deceased lying in the coffin.
For three full days, the stream of mourners was endless.
A dense flow of people entered through the main door, while another stream poured into the various rooms through the back door, pausing at the study.
Sometimes, the air there was so thick and the oxygen so scarce that the vigil lamps and large candles around the coffin went out.
Lionel also visited Dostoevsky's home again, joining the ranks of the mourners.
He saw an official sent by the Crown Prince Alexander, announcing that the government would cover the funeral expenses and the children's education.
However, Anna Grigoryevna refused the funeral subsidy; she insisted on burying her husband with the money he had earned and using it to raise their children.
Because Lionel was the only well-known French writer present in Saint Petersburg at that time, he quickly received telegrams from Paris.
These came separately from Ivan Turgenev and the French Writers' Association, and the content was unanimous: they entrusted him, as a representative of Turgenev personally and of the French literary community, to give the eulogy at Dostoevsky's funeral.
It was a heavy honor; he had to express the mourning of his French colleagues for the great master he had admired for so long but only met once.
January 31, 1881, was a Saturday with mild sunshine.
The funeral procession departed from Dostoevsky's home at 11:00 AM, heading towards the Tikhvin Cemetery at the Alexander Nevsky Lavra.
Lionel arrived at the site very early; he knew this would be a funeral to "canonize" the deceased.
From then on, holding grand funerals for famous writers became a Russian tradition.
He saw that at the alley entrance and along the entire route, thousands of citizens had already gathered.
Students held wreaths tied with black ribbons, and various crosses and flags swayed among the crowd.
The people waited quietly, their faces showing genuine grief and reluctance—such a magnificent and moving scene had never been witnessed before in Saint Petersburg.
When the coffin was carried out, the crowd stirred; many people tried to step forward to touch the coffin or scatter flowers they held onto it.
The procession moved slowly along Vladimirskaya Street towards Nevsky Prospect.
Lionel walked near the front of the procession; he could hear the suppressed weeping around him and see people leaning out of windows along the buildings.
Lionel saw people from all walks of life: intellectuals, students, workers, petty bourgeoisie, nobles...
This silence, so different from the pretentious praise in the salons, was the best evaluation of the writer's entire life.
The sunlight reflecting off the snow created a dazzling white light, forming a sharp contrast with the black funeral procession.
After moving slowly for two hours, the procession finally reached the Tikhvin Cemetery at the Alexander Nevsky Lavra.
Even more people had gathered near the grave, including almost all the cultural elite of Saint Petersburg, with some even traveling from Moscow.
The funeral ceremony was solemn and formal.
Eulogies from friends followed one after another, until it was finally Lionel's turn.
Lionel took a deep breath and walked to the front of the crowd.
Dressed in a black formal suit, his figure stood out somewhat among the numerous Russian faces.
Countless eyes focused on him—some curious, some expectant, and some scrutinizing.
He surveyed the sorrowful crowd around him, then fixed his gaze on the simple coffin, and began his address.
(End of Chapter)