Pólozof the millionaire had a doctor who was the very ace of trumps among the Big Wigs, and when Katerina Vasílyevna became dangerously ill, the consultations for a long time were held by the Big Wigs exclusively. Finally the case became so serious that the Big Wigs decided to invite Kirsánof; and really the task was very tough for the Big Wigs. The sick girl had no evident disease, but her strength was rapidly failing. It is necessary to get at the root of the trouble. The attending doctor called it atrophia nervorum—innutrition of the nerves. Whether there is any such disease as that in the world I do not know; but if there is, then even I can understand that it must be incurable. But if, notwithstanding its incurableness, she still must be cured, then let Kirsánof do it, or some of his friends—those impudent little boys!
And so a new consultation with Kirsánof was arranged. They examined the patient; they asked her questions. The patient answered readily, without excitement. But Kirsánof, after the first words, stopped questioning her and merely watched the Big Wigs making the investigation. And after they had exhausted their ingenuity and tormented the girl as much as propriety requires in such cases, they turned to Kirsánof, “What do you think, Aleksandr Matvéitch?”
He replied, “I have not sufficiently examined the patient. I shall stay here. This is an interesting case. If a new consultation should be needed, I shall tell Karl Feodorvitch.” (That was the name of the attendant physician, who shone with glory because he was saved from his atrophia nervorum.)
After they left, Kirsánof sat down by the patient’s bedside. The sick girl smiled satirically.
“I am sorry that we are not better acquainted,” he began. “A doctor must win confidence, and maybe I shall succeed in winning yours. They do not understand your troubles here; some sagacity is needed. To sound your lungs, to give you medicines, is absolutely useless. Only one thing is necessary: to know your general condition, and to think with you whether it is possible to do anything. You will help me in regard to this?”
The sick girl said not a word.
“You do not want to talk with me?”
The sick girl said not a word.
“You probably even want me to leave. I ask of you only ten minutes. If in ten minutes you find, as you think now, that my presence is useless, I shall go. Don’t you know well that you have no other disease than sorrow? Don’t you know that if this state of mind lasts, it will be impossible in three weeks or a fortnight, or even sooner, to save you? and that maybe you will not live two weeks? As yet you are not in consumption at all, but it is very, very near, and at your age under such conditions it develops with unusual rapidity; it may end in a few days.”
The sick girl said not a word.
“You do not reply. But you do not care at all. Therefore my words were not new to you. By the very fact of your silence you say ‘yes.’ Do you know what almost any other man would know in my place? He would go and speak with your bátiushka. Maybe my talk with him would save you; but if you do not want me to, I shall not do it. Why? I make it a rule, nothing should ever be done for a person against his will; liberty is above everything, even life. Therefore if you don’t want me to know the cause of your very dangerous condition, I shall not know it. If you tell me that you want to die, I would only ask you to explain to me the causes of this wish. If they should appear to me groundless, I still have no right to interfere with you; if they appear to me reasonable, I am bound to help you, and I am ready. I am ready to give you poison. Under this condition I ask you to tell me the cause of your illness.”
The sick girl said not a word.
“You do not want to answer me; I have no right to continue these questions. But may I ask you to allow me to tell you something about myself which may serve to increase the confidence between us. Yes? Thank you. Whatever the reason may be, you are suffering. I am too. I passionately love a woman who must never know that I love her. Do you pity me?”
The sick girl said not a word, but she smiled sorrowfully.
“You are silent, but still you could not hide that you noticed these words of mine more than those that I spoke before. That is sufficient of itself. I see that you and I have one cause of suffering. Do you want to die? I understand it very well. But to die of consumption is long, is hard; I am ready to help you to die, if I cannot help you to something better. I say that I am ready to give you poison—a delightful something that kills quick, without causing pain. Will you please let me know on this condition whether your position is so intolerable as it seems to you?”
“Won’t you deceive me?” demanded the sick girl.
“Look me straight in the eye; you see that I will not deceive you.”
The sick girl hesitated for some time. “No; I know you very little.”
“Anyone else in my place might have said that the feeling from which you are suffering is good. I shall not say so. Does your bátiushka know about it? I beg you to remember that I am not going to speak with him without your permission.”
“He does not know.”
“Does he love you?”
“Yes.”
“What do you
