“No; it is of no use,” said the sick girl, despondently.
“Are you sure of it?”
“Yes.”
“Are you ready to die?”
“Yes.”
“Now supposing that I decide to subject you to the risk of death. I told you briefly, in order to gain your confidence, to show you that I am ready for everything that may be for your good; now I speak positively. Supposing that it be necessary to administer poison?”
“I have seen this long time that my death is inevitable; that I have only a few days longer to live.”
“Supposing it were tomorrow morning?”
“So much the better.” She spoke with perfect calmness.
“When there is only one salvation left, and that is your readiness to die, this support will almost always save you. If you say to anyone, ‘Give in, or I shall die,’ you almost always gain what you wish. But you know that one should not play with such a lofty principle; and besides, it is impossible for you to lower your self-respect if they don’t yield. And therefore it is necessary to die.” He explained to her the plan, which was perfectly comprehensible from this conversation.
VI
Of course in other cases of this sort Kirsánof would not have thought of running such a risk; it would be more simple to take the girl from home, and let her marry whomsoever she pleased. But here the affair was complicated by the girl’s ideas, and the peculiarities of the man whom she loved. With her ideas of the inseparability of husband and wife, she would have clung to the wretched man even if she had found that to live with him was a torment. To unite them would be worse than to kill. Therefore there remained one choice, either to kill, or to give her the possibility of coming to reason.
On the next day the consultation was held, composed of some of the practitioners in the high world. There are five doctors, the most renowned; it is impossible not to have the best; how otherwise could they bend Pólozof? It was necessary that the sentence should be without appeal in his eyes. Kirsánof spoke; they listened with great condescension to what he said, and they all confirmed it with an air of great importance. It could not be otherwise, because, you remember, there is in existence a certain Claude Bernard, and he lives in Paris; and besides that, Kirsánof says such things which—but the plague take these boys! You can’t understand them! Then how can you help agreeing with them?
Kirsánof said that he had examined the invalid very carefully, and he entirely agreed with Karl Feodorvitch that the illness is incurable, and the agony of this disease is torture; and, generally speaking, every additional hour that the sick girl shall live is an additional hour of suffering. Therefore he considers that it is the duty of the consulting physicians to decide according to the dictates of humanity to shorten the sick girl’s sufferings by a dose of morphine, from which she would not awaken. The consulting physicians investigated the case, blinking their eyes under the hailstones of incomprehensible explanations on the part of Kirsánof; they came back from the sick girl’s room to the one where they had been sitting; and they decided to shorten the sick girl’s sufferings by a fatal dose of morphine.
After the decision was made, Kirsánof rang for the servant, and asked him to call Pólozof into the parlor, where the consultation was held. Pólozof came in. The most important of the sages, in appropriately gloomily solemn language and in a majestically funereal voice, announced the decision of the consulting physicians.
Pólozof started back as though struck on the forehead by a hammer. To be waiting for death, when death is at hand, but uncertain how soon it may come, or whether it may come at all, and to hear that in half an hour she will not be among the living, are two absolutely different things. Kirsánof looked at Pólozof with an intense gaze; he was absolutely sure of the effect, but still the thing was a strain on his nerves. Two minutes the old man stood silent, horror-stricken.
“No; it must not be! She is dying from my stubbornness. I am ready for anything. Can she get well?”
“Of course,” said Kirsánof.
The famous practitioners would have been greatly stirred to wrath, if they had had time for it; that is, to exchange glances, and to see that “my colleagues also like me understand that I have been a doll in the hands of this young boy.” But Kirsánof allowed them no time to turn their attention to the thought, “how others looked on me.” Kirsánof told the servant to conduct the frightened Pólozof from the room; thanked them for their shrewdness, which they had displayed in fathoming his intentions, for their understanding that the cause of the illness was mental suffering; that it was necessary to frighten the stubborn old man, who would otherwise have lost his daughter. The famous practitioners went each his way, satisfied that his scientific knowledge and shrewdness was recognized by all the others.
But having given them this brief testimony of their skill, Kirsánof went to tell the sick girl that the plan had succeeded. At the first words she seized his hand, and he had hardly time to take it away from her before she would have kissed it. “But I shall not let your father come quite yet, to tell you the same thing,” he said. “I shall first give him a lecture as to the way that he should behave himself towards you.” He told her that he was going to give her father some good advice, and that he should not leave him until he had firmly implanted it.
Shocked by the result of the consultation, the old man became very pliable; and he regarded Kirsánof, not with the same eyes as the day before, but with such as Marya Alekséyevna looked upon Lopukhóf, after dreaming of Lopukhóf as
