[Footnote: THE LAST WILL
Alone with thee, brother,
I would wish to be;
On earth, so they tell me,
I have not long to stay,
Soon you will go home:
See that ... But nay! for my fate
To speak the truth, no one
Is very greatly troubled.
But if any one asks ...
Well, whoever may ask,
Tell them that through the breast
I was shot by a bullet;
That I died honourably for the Tsar,
That our doctors are not much good,
And that to my native land
I send a humble greeting.
My father and mother, hardly
Will you find living....
I'll own I should be sorry
That they should grieve for me.]
'Splendid thing!' said Pasinkov, directly I had finished the last
verse. 'Splendid thing!
But, it's queer,' he added, after a brief pause, 'it's queer you should
have chanced just on that.... Queer.'
I began to read another poem, but Pasinkov was not listening to me; he
looked away, and twice he repeated again: 'Queer!'