Reminiscences of Anton Chekhov Part 8

Then he added gravely:

"Yes, I shall only be read for another seven years; and I shall live for less--perhaps for six. But don't go and tell that to the newspaper reporters."

He was wrong there: he did not live for six years....

He died peacefully without suffering in the stillness and beauty of a summer's dawn which he had always loved. When he was dead a look of happiness came upon his face, and it looked like the face of a very young man. There came to my mind the words of Leconte de Lisle:

Moi, je l'envie, au fond du tombeau calme et noir D'etre affranchi de vivre et de ne plus savoir La honte de penser et l'horreur d'etre un homme!