Sanine

When Semenoff saw the blood, and felt the awful void around him and

within him; when they lifted him up, carried him away, laid him down,

and did all for him that throughout his life he had been in the habit

of doing, then he knew that he was going to die, and wondered why he

felt not the least fear of death.

Dubova had spoken of his terror because she herself was terrified,

assuming that, if the healthy dreaded death, the dying must dread it

far more. His pallor and his wild look, the result of loss of blood and

weakness, she took to be an expression of fear. But, in reality this

was not so. At all times, and especially since he knew that he had got

consumption, Semenoff had dreaded death. At the outset of his malady,

he was in a state of abject terror, much as that of a condemned man for

whom hope of a reprieve there was none. It almost seemed to him as if

from that moment the world no longer existed; all in it that formerly

he found fair, and pleasant, and gay had vanished. All around him was

dying, dying, and every moment, every second, might bring about

something fearful, unendurable, hideous as a black, yawning abyss. It

was as an abyss, huge, fathomless, and sombre as night, that Semenoff

imagined death. Wherever he went, whatever he did, this black gulf was

ever before him; in its impenetrable gloom all sounds, all colours, all

emotions were lost. Such a state of mind was appalling, yet it did not

last long; and, as the days went by, as Semenoff approached death, the

more remote and vague and incomprehensible did it seem to him.

Everything around him, sounds, colours, and emotions, now once more

regained their former value for him. The sun shone as brightly as ever;

folk went about their business as usual, and Semenoff himself had

important things, as also trivial ones, to do. Just as before, he rose

in the morning, washed with scrupulous care, and ate his midday meal,

finding food pleasant or unpleasant to his taste. As before, the sun

and the moon were a joy to him, and rain or damp an annoyance; as

before, he played billiards in the evening with Novikoff and others; as

before, he read books, some being interesting, and some both foolish

and dull. That all things remained unchanged was irritating, even

painful to him at first. Nature, his environment, and he himself, all

were the same; and he strove to alter this by compelling people to be

interested in him and in his death, to comprehend his appalling

position, to realize that all was at an end. When, however, he told his

acquaintances of this, he perceived that he ought not to have done so.

They appeared astonished at first, and then sceptical, professing to

doubt the accuracy of the doctor's diagnosis. Finally, they endeavoured

to banish the unpleasant impression by abruptly changing the subject,

and Semenoff found himself talking with them about all sorts of things,

but never about death.