IX
But as Europeans among Chinamen are all of one face and one way of acting, only so far as the Chinamen are concerned, but in reality, among the Europeans there are incomparably wider differences than among the Chinese; so in this apparently monotonous type, the variety of individualities is developed into more classes and are more distinguishable from each other than among all the varieties of all the different types that are separate from each other. Here you find all sorts of people—sybarites, ascetic, severe, and tenderhearted, and every other kind. But, as the sternest of Europeans is very kind, the most cowardly is very brave, the most passionate is very moral in comparison with the Chinaman, so it is with these; the most ascetic of them deems it more necessary for all men to be more comfortable than is imagined by the people not of this type; the most passionate are more stern in their moral rules than the greatest moralizers not of this type. But all this they interpret according to their own fashion; and morality, comfort, and sensuality and goodness, they understand in a peculiar way; and they all understand them in the same way, and not only do they all understand them in one way, but this one way is such a way that morality, comfort, goodness, and passion are all regarded as one and the same thing. But all this, again, is only when it comes into comparison with the understanding of the Chinamen; among themselves a great deal of difference is found in understanding these things, according to the differences of their nature. But how now to bring into harmony this conflict of nature and understanding among themselves?
In conversations about their own affairs among themselves, and only among themselves, and not among Chinamen, European natures give expression to their characteristics. Thus, among the people of this type, apparently there is a very great variety of natures when they are among themselves, and only among themselves and not with strangers.
We have had before us two people of this type, Viéra Pavlovna and Lopukhóf, and we have seen how their relations were arranged between them. Now there comes in a third person. Let us see what difference will be shown now that we have the possibility of comparing the other two with this one. Viéra Pavlovna sees before her Lopukhóf and Kirsánof. Hitherto she has had no choice; now she has.
X
But it is necessary to say two or three words about Kirsánof’s outward appearance.
He, as well as Lopukhóf, had regular and handsome features. Some regarded the former, others the latter, as the better looking. Lopukhóf was rather thinner, had dark chestnut hair, gleaming dark eyes, which seemed almost black, an aquiline nose, thick lips, and a rather oval face. Kirsánof had blonde hair, inclining to a brownish shade, dark blue eyes, a straight Grecian nose, a small mouth, an oblong face, and a remarkably light complexion. Both were men of very tall stature, and straight; Lopukhóf somewhat broader across his shoulders, Kirsánof somewhat taller.
Kirsánof’s outward circumstances were very good. He was now a professor. The largest majority at the balloting was at first opposed to him; not only did they want to refuse him his professorship, but they would have taken away his doctor’s degree; but this was impossible. Two or three young men, and one, not a young man, from among his former professors, friends of his, long ago declared to the rest of the faculty that there was in the world a certain Virchow, and he lived in Berlin, and also a certain Claude Bernard, and he lived in Paris, and certain others, whose names you could not remember, who also lived in various towns; and that Virchow, Claude Bernard, and the others were the stars, as it were, of the medical science. All this seemed extremely improbable, because we know all the stars of science—Burghaf, Hufeland; and Harvey was also a very distinguished man, who discovered the circulation of the blood; then Jenner, who taught vaccination. And so we know them; but these Virchows and Claude Bernards we do not know; what kind of stars are they? However, the devil knows them. And here this very Claude Bernard spoke with respect about Kirsánof’s works, when Kirsánof took his degree. And so they could not help it; they had to give Kirsánof the degree of doctor; and a year and a half later they gave him a professorship. The students said that if he came into the faculty, the party of good professors would be increased. He had never practised, and he said that he had given up the practice of medicine. But he used to spend long hours at the hospital; it happened that he dined there on some days, and even slept there many nights. But what has he done there? He said that he was working for science, and not for the sake of the sick. “I do not cure; I only observe, and make experiments.” The students confirmed this, and declared that at the present time only quacks cured, because at this time it is impossible to effect cures. The hospital servants judged the matter in a different way. “Well, this Kirsánof takes folks home into his palace; it must be a bad case,” they used to say among themselves; and then they would say to the patient, “Keep up good heart; it takes a tough sickness to stand up against this surgeon; he is a master, and a real father.”
XI
During the first part of Viéra Pavlovna’s married life, Kirsánof used to be very frequently at the Lopukhófs’, as often as every other day, or, to speak more accurately, almost every day; and soon, almost on the very first day, he became very close friends with Viéra Pavlovna, nearly as much so as with Lopukhóf. It lasted this way for half a year. One time they were sitting
