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believer, and each was thoroughly convinced
that he was right.
‘There is a God, there is!’ Dostojevsky
exclaimed at last, beside himself with enthusiasm.
And at that moment the church bells chimed
for morning service. The air vibrated with these
solemn tones. ‘And I felt,’ Dostojevsky
continued, ‘how heaven descended on earth, and
carried me away. “There is a God,” I exclaimed,
and then I lost consciousness.’
‘Healthy persons like yourself,’ he said, ‘have
no idea of the bliss we feel the moment before
the seizure. Mahomet says in his Koran that
he has been in Paradise. The ignorant and undiscerning
call him a liar and an impostor. No! he does
not lie! He had really been in Paradise during an
attack of epilepsy, from which he suffered like
myself.
‘I cannot tell if this bliss lasts for seconds,
hours, or months, but, believe me, I would not
exchange it for all the happiness life can
give!’
Dostojevsky said these last words in a peculiar
whisper. The sisters felt spellbound by the
magnetic power of his words. Suddenly the same
thought struck them: he is going to have a fit
now!
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