- end_line
- 12666
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:48:52.924Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 12620
- text
- II.
He had been engaged some weeks upon his book--in pursuance of his
settled plan avoiding all contact with any of his city-connections or
friends, even as in his social downfall they sedulously avoided seeking
him out--nor ever once going or sending to the post-office, though it
was but a little round the corner from where he was, since having
dispatched no letters himself, he expected none; thus isolated from the
world, and intent upon his literary enterprise, Pierre had passed some
weeks, when verbal tidings came to him, of three most momentous events.
First: his mother was dead.
Second: all Saddle Meadows was become Glen Stanly's.
Third: Glen Stanly was believed to be the suitor of Lucy; who,
convalescent from an almost mortal illness, was now dwelling at her
mother's house in town.
It was chiefly the first-mentioned of these events which darted a sharp
natural anguish into Pierre. No letter had come to him; no smallest ring
or memorial been sent him; no slightest mention made of him in the will;
and yet it was reported that an inconsolable grief had induced his
mother's mortal malady, and driven her at length into insanity, which
suddenly terminated in death; and when he first heard of that event,
she had been cold in the ground for twenty-five days.
How plainly did all this speak of the equally immense pride and grief of
his once magnificent mother; and how agonizedly now did it hint of her
mortally-wounded love for her only and best-beloved Pierre! In vain he
reasoned with himself; in vain remonstrated with himself; in vain sought
to parade all his stoic arguments to drive off the onslaught of natural
passion. Nature prevailed; and with tears that like acid burned and
scorched as they flowed, he wept, he raved, at the bitter loss of his
parent; whose eyes had been closed by unrelated hands that were hired;
but whose heart had been broken, and whose very reason been ruined, by
the related hands of her son.
For some interval it almost seemed as if his own heart would snap; his
own reason go down. Unendurable grief of a man, when Death itself gives
the stab, and then snatches all availments to solacement away. For in
the grave is no help, no prayer thither may go, no forgiveness thence
come; so that the penitent whose sad victim lies in the ground, for that
useless penitent his doom is eternal, and though it be Christmas-day
with all Christendom, with him it is Hell-day and an eaten liver
forever.
- title
- Chunk 1