"After terrible sufferings, during which the sick man could neither sit nor remain standing nor lying down, his condition improved. He could work and read free from pain, except when he moved about. That gave him hope that with many precautions, he would live a few years longer. But very soon a fresh access arrived, followed with fresh prostration of spirit. "'When my sufferings are unendurable,' said Turgenev, 'I follow Schopenhauer's advice. I analyse my sensations and my agony departs for a period. For example, if my sufferings are terrible I can easily tell myself of what kind they are. First there is a stinging pain which, in itself, is not insupportable. To this is added a burning feeling, and next a shooting pang; then a difficulty in breathing. Separately each one is endurable and when I analyse them thus, it is easy for me to endure them. One must always do this in life, if you analyse your sufferings you will not suffer so much.' "On another occasion he said to me: "'I do not regret dying. I have had all the pleasures I could wish for. I have done much work. I have had success. I have loved people; and they have, also, loved me. I have reached old age. I have been as happy as one can be. Many have not had that. It is bad to die before the time comes, but for me it is time.' "One need not say that these words were those of a sick man wishing to console himself. Turgenev knew well that he could still create, and he did not wish to die. "In speaking of the condition of Viardot, who was also dying, Turgenev said to me: "'A bad thing this death! One couldn't complain if she killed one at a stroke; then it would be over; but she glides behind you like a robber, takes from man all his soul, his intelligence, his love of the beautiful; she attacks the essence of the human being. The envelope alone remains.' "And he added, after a moment's silence, in a whisper, strangely passionate: "'Yes, death is the lie!' ... "A thing strange and most characteristic was that during his last illness Turgenev never ceased to occupy himself with the affairs of others.... Moreover, he did not wait to be solicited to render people services." [28] _Ossip Lourié_, p. 63. In his last days Turgenev addressed to Tolstoy the famous letter in which he adjured him to return to literature,[29] and bequeathed to others as his creed and example his farewell words, "Live and love others as I have always loved them." After renewed cruel sufferings he sank into a delirium, and died at Bougival on September 3, 1883. Madame Viardot describes his end, thus: