âThereâs a servant asking for you.â I say, âWhat does he want?â They say, He has brought a noteâit must be from a patient.â âGive me the note,â I say. So it is from a patientâwell and goodâyou understandâitâs our bread and butter... But this is how it was: a lady, a widow, writes to me; she says, âMy daughter is dying. Come, for Godâs sake!â she says, âand the horses have been sent for you.â... Well, thatâs all right. But she was twenty miles from the town, and it was midnight out of doors, and the roads in such a state, my word! And as she was poor herself, one could not expect more than two silver rubles, and even that problematic; and perhaps it might only be a matter of a roll of linen and a sack of oatmeal in
payment. However, duty, you know, before everything: a fellow-creature may be dying. I hand over my cards at once to Kalliopin, the member of the provincial commission, and return home. I look; a wretched little trap was standing at the steps, with peasantâs horses, fatâtoo fatâand their coat as shaggy as felt; and the coachman sitting with his cap off out of respect. Well, I think to myself, âItâs clear, my friend, these patients arenât rolling in riches.â... You smile; but I tell you, a poor man like me has to take everything into consideration... If the coachman sits like a prince, and doesnât touch his cap, and even sneers at you behind his beard, and flicks his whipâthen you may bet on six rubles. But this case, I saw, had a very different air. However, I think thereâs no help for it; duty before everything. I snatch up the most necessary drugs, and set off. Will you believe it? I only just managed to get there at all. The road was infernal: streams, snow, watercourses, and the dyke had suddenly burst thereâthat was the worst of it! However, I arrived at last. It was a little thatched house. There was a light in the windows; that meant they expected me. I was met by an old lady, very venerable, in a cap. âSave her!â she says; âshe is dying.â I say, âPray donât distress yourselfâWhere is the invalid?â âCome this way.â I see a clean little room, a lamp in the corner; on the bed a girl of twenty, unconscious. She was in a burning heat, and breathing heavilyâit was fever. There were two other girls, her sisters, scared and in tears. âYesterday,â they tell me, âshe was perfectly well and had a good appetite; this morning she complained of her head, and this evening, suddenly, you see, like this.â I say again: âPray donât be uneasy.â Itâs a doctorâs duty, you knowâand I went up to her and bled her, told them to put on a mustard-plaster, and prescribed a mixture. Meantime I looked at her; I looked at her, you knowâthere, by God! I had never seen such a face!âshe was a beauty, in a word! I felt quite shaken with pity. Such lovely features; such eyes!... But, thank God! she became easier; she fell into a perspiration, seemed to come to her senses, looked round, smiled, and passed her hand over her face... Her sisters bent over her. They ask, âHow are you?â âAll right,â she says, and turns away. I looked at her; she had fallen asleep. âWell,â I say, ânow the patient should be left alone.â So we all went out on tiptoe; only a maid remained, in case she was wanted. In the parlour there was a samovar standing on the table, and a bottle of rum; in our profession one canât get on without it. They gave me tea; asked me to stop the night... I consented: where could I go, indeed, at that time of night? The old lady kept groaning. âWhat is it?â I say; âshe will live; donât worry yourself; you had better take a little rest yourself; it is about two oâclock.â âBut will you send to wake me if anything happens?â âYes, yes.â The old lady went away, and the girls too went to their own room; they made up a bed for me in the parlour. Well, I went to bedâbut I could not get to sleep, for a wonder! for in reality I was very tired. I could not get my patient out of my head. At last I could not put up with it any longer; I got up suddenly; I think to myself, âI will go and see how the patient is getting on.â Her bedroom was next to the parlour. Well, I got up, and gently opened the doorâhow my heart beat! I looked in: the servant was asleep, her mouth wide open, and even snoring, the wretch! but the patient lay with her face towards me and her arms flung wide apart, poor girl! I went up to her ... when suddenly she opened her eyes and stared at me! âWho is it? who is it?â I was in confusion. âDonât be alarmed, madam,â I say; âI am the doctor; I have come to see how you feel.â âYou the doctor?â âYes, the doctor; your mother sent for me from the town; we have bled you, madam; now pray go to sleep, and in a day or two, please God! we will set you on your feet again.â âAh, yes, yes, doctor, donât let me die... please, please.â âWhy do you talk like that? God bless you!â She is in a fever again, I think to myself; I felt her pulse; yes, she was feverish. She looked at me, and then took me by the hand. âI will tell you why I donât want to die: I will tell you... Now we are alone; and only, please donât you ... not to any one ... Listen...â I bent down; she moved her lips quite to my ear; she touched my cheek with her hairâI confess my head went roundâand began to whisper... I could make out nothing of it... Ah, she was delirious! ... She whispered and whispered, but so quickly, and as if it were not in Russian; at last she finished, and shivering dropped her head on the pillow, and threatened me with her finger: âRemember, doctor, to no one.â I calmed her somehow, gave her something to drink, waked the servant, and went away.â
At this point the doctor again took snuff with exasperated energy, and for a moment seemed stupefied by its effects.
âHowever,â he continued, âthe next day, contrary to my expectations, the patient was no better. I thought and thought, and suddenly decided to remain there, even though my other patients were expecting me... And you know one canât afford to disregard that; oneâs practice suffers if one does. But, in the first place, the patient was really in danger; and secondly, to tell the truth, I felt strongly drawn to her. Besides, I liked the whole family. Though they were really badly off, they were singularly, I may say, cultivated people... Their father had been a learned man, an author; he died, of course, in poverty, but he had managed before he died to give his children an excellent education; he left a lot of books too. Either because I looked after the invalid very carefully, or for some other reason; anyway, I can venture to say all the household loved me as if I were one of the family... Meantime the roads were in a worse state than ever; all communications, so to say, were cut off completely; even medicine could with difficulty be got from the town... The sick girl was not getting better... Day after day, and day after day ... but ... here...â (The doctor made a brief pause.) âI declare I donât know how to tell you.â... (He again took snuff, coughed, and swallowed a little tea.) âI will tell you without beating about the bush. My patient ... how should I say?... Well she had fallen in love with me ... or, no, it was not that she was in love ... however ... really, how should one say?â (The doctor looked down and grew red.) âNo,â he went on quickly, âin love, indeed! A man should not over-estimate himself. She was an educated girl, clever and well-read, and I had even forgotten my Latin, one may say, completely. As to appearanceâ (the doctor looked himself over with a smile) âI am nothing to boast of there either. But God Almighty did not make me a fool; I donât take black for white; I know a thing or two; I could see very clearly, for instance that Aleksandra Andreyevnaâthat was her nameâdid not feel love for me, but had a friendly, so to say, inclinationâa respect or something for me. Though she herself perhaps mistook this sentiment, anyway this was her attitude; you may form your own judgment of it. But,â added the doctor, who had brought out all these disconnected sentences without taking breath, and with obvious embarrassment, âI seem to be wandering ratherâyou wonât understand anything like this ... There, with your leave, I will relate it all in order.â
He drank off a glass of tea, and began in a calmer voice.
âWell, then. My patient kept getting worse and worse. You are not a doctor, my good sir; you cannot understand what passes in a poor fellowâs heart, especially at first, when he begins to suspect that the disease is getting the upper hand of him. What becomes of his belief in himself? You suddenly grow so timid; itâs indescribable. You fancy then that you have forgotten everything you knew, and that the patient has no faith in you, and that other people begin to notice how distracted you are, and tell you the symptoms with reluctance; that they are looking at you suspiciously, whispering... Ah! itâs horrid! There must be a remedy, you think, for this disease, if one could find it. Isnât this it? You tryâno, thatâs not it! You donât allow the medicine the necessary time to do good... You clutch at one thing, then at another. Sometimes you take up a book of medical prescriptionsâhere it is, you think! Sometimes, by Jove, you pick one out by chance, thinking to leave it to fate... But meantime a fellow-creatureâs dying, and another doctor would have saved him. âWe must have a consultation,â you say; âI will not take the responsibility on myself.â And what a fool you look at such times! Well, in time you learn to bear it; itâs nothing to you. A man has diedâbut itâs not your fault; you treated him by the rules. But whatâs still more torture to you is to see blind faith in you, and to feel yourself that you are not able to be of use. Well, it was just this blind faith that the whole of Aleksandra Andreyevnaâs family had in me; they had forgotten to think that their daughter was in danger. I, too, on my side assure them that itâs nothing, but meantime my heart sinks into my boots. To add to our troubles, the roads were in such a state that the coachman was gone for whole days together to get medicine. And I never left the patientâs room; I could not tear myself away; I tell her amusing stories, you know, and play cards with her. I watch by her side at night. The old mother thanks me with tears in her eyes; but I think to myself, âI donât deserve your gratitude.â I frankly confess to youâthere is no object in concealing it nowâI was in love with my patient. And Aleksandra Andreyevna had grown fond of me; she would not sometimes let any one be in her room but me. She began to talk to me, to ask me questions; where I had studied, how I lived, who
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