View RSS Feed


Anton: Chapter 25, Part III (Denouement)

Rate this Entry
Two weeks later, Anton Stepanovich was dead. He embraced one of his books while he died, weeping with his last breaths they say. The book was flipped to this poem:

A Wish
The days drag on, each moment multiplies
Within my wounded heart the pain and sadness
Of an unhappy love and, dark, gives rise.
To sleepless dreams, the haunting dreams of madness
But I do not complain - instead, I weep;
Tears bring me solace, comforted they leave me.
My spirit, captive held by grief, a deep.
And bitter rapture finds in them, believe me.
Pass, life! Come, empty phantom, onward fly.
And in the silent void of darkness vanish.
Dear it to me my love's unending anguish;
If as I die I love, pray let me die!!!

- Alexander Pushkin

Anton had underlined that line. It was his last thought.
So ended the life of the most tragic man to have ever lived.

This account has been compiled by a number of sources, notably those who were closest to him who told me after when I was doing my search for answers. But what truly was going on in his mind, nobody was able to determine, and were only fantasized by this author.

At Anton's funeral, Sergei Vasilievich held in his hands Anton's 2 large tomes of Pushkin literature, one of poems, the other of stories. They were very old, perhaps as old as Anton was, and very worn out. Sergei Vasilievich had collected these things from Anton as a keepsake, and found how used they were.
In reality, what many didn't know was how possessed by the poetry of Pushkin Anton really was. He read it like it was his bible, hence his ability to recite any poem from memory. He recited Pushkin's poem the Dream to himself every night so that he would continue to dream of Katerina.
Katerina and Ivan had come to the funeral too, and she wept more than anyone else. But Ivan assured her that although she was partially responsible for his demise, it was by no means fully, and so she learned to finally let go of her guilt.
As Anton's coffin was put into the ground, Sergei Vasilievich still clung to the 2 books. But he knew what to do.
As each person from the crowd sprinkled dust into the grave, Sergei Vasilievich took the books and flung them into the grave, to lay forever with their unfortunate owner.
I was there to see this, which forever sparked my curiosity for this strange man I never personally knew.
I was the child Katerina held next to her while she wept.

To dream is to imagine living, and to live is to realize a dream. One cannot both live and dream simultaneously. And yet, they are inseparably bound. He who perpetually lives and fails to dream is for their life to realize nothing, and so their whole life passes like a dream that one never remembers upon waking. But he who perpetually dreams thus never lives, and so their whole life becomes an unresolving dream from which they will never wake...

Now my story has come to an end. And it was through this process I realized just how far one man could go for the sake of getting what he wanted. I hope my reader will take heed to realize that this denial of reality is far worse than it seems: it is a denial of the righteous will of God and rejection of the grace He may have given us if we took it. Life does not always happen they way we want it to, but the most loving thing one can do for oneself in those situations is this: