| Ivan
Turgenev
A Sportsman's Sketches (1855)
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IV THE DISTRICT DOCTOR
One day in autumn on my way back from a remote part of
the country I caught cold and fell ill. Fortunately the fever attacked
me in the district town at the inn; I sent for the doctor. In
half-an-hour the district doctor appeared, a thin, dark-haired man of
middle height. He prescribed me the usual sudorific, ordered a
mustard-plaster to be put on, very deftly slid a five-rouble note up
his sleeve, coughing drily and looking away as he did so, and then was
getting up to go home, but somehow fell into talk and remained. I was
exhausted with feverishness; I foresaw a sleepless night, and was glad
of a little chat with a pleasant companion. Tea was served. My doctor
began to converse freely. He was a sensible fellow, and expressed
himself with vigour and some humour. Queer things happen in the world:
you may live a long while with some people, and be on friendly terms
with them, and never once speak openly with them from your soul; with
others you have scarcely time to get acquainted, and all at once you
are pouring out to him—or he to you—all your secrets, as though you
were at confession. I don’t know how I gained the confidence of my new
friend—any way, with nothing to lead up to it, he told me a rather
curious incident; and here I will report his tale for the information
of the indulgent reader. I will try to tell it in the doctor’s own
words.
‘You don’t happen to know,’ he began in a weak and quavering voice (the
common result of the use of unmixed Berezov snuff); ‘you don’t happen
to know the judge here, Mylov, Pavel Lukitch?... You don’t know him?...
Well, it’s all the same.’ (He cleared his throat and rubbed his eyes.)
‘Well, you see, the thing happened, to tell you exactly without
mistake, in Lent, at the very time of the thaws. I was sitting at his
house—our judge’s, you know—playing preference. Our judge is a good
fellow, and fond of playing preference. Suddenly’ (the doctor made
frequent use of this word, suddenly) ‘they tell me, “There’s a servant
asking for you.” I say, “What does he want?” They say, “He has brought
a note—it must be from a patient.” “Give me the note,” I say. So it is
from a patient—well and good—you understand—it’s our bread and butter.
... But this is
how it was: a lady, a widow, writes to me; she says, “My daughter is
dying. Come, for God’s sake!” she says; “and the horses have been sent
for you.” ... Well, that’s 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 roubles, 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 peasant’s horses,
fat—too fat—and their coat as shaggy as felt; and the coachman sitting
with his cap off out of respect. Well, I think to myself, “It’s clear,
my friend, these patients aren’t rolling in riches.” ... 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 doesn’t touch
his cap, and even sneers at you behind his beard, and flicks his
whip—then you may bet on six roubles. But this case, I saw, had a very
different air. However, I think there’s 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 there—that 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. “Save her!” she says; “she is dying.” I say, “Pray
don’t distress yourself—Where is the invalid?” “Come this way.” 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
heavily—it was fever. There were two other girls, her sisters, scared
and in tears. “Yesterday,” they tell me, “she was perfectly well and
had a good appetite; this morning she complained of her head, and this
evening, suddenly, you see, like this.” I say again: “Pray don’t be
uneasy.” It’s a doctor’s duty, you know—and 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 know—there, by God! I
had never seen such a face!—she 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, “How are you?” “All right,” she says,
and turns away. I looked at her; she had fallen asleep. “Well,” I say,
“now the patient should be left alone.” 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 can’t 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. “What is it?” I say; “she will live;
don’t worry yourself; you had better take a little rest yourself; it is
about two o’clock.” “But will you send to wake me if anything happens?”
“Yes, yes.” 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 bed—but 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, “I will go and see how the patient is
getting on.” Her bedroom was next to the parlour. Well, I got up, and
gently opened the door—how 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! “Who
is it? who is it?” I was in confusion. “Don’t be alarmed, madam,” I
say; “I am the doctor; I have come to see how you feel.” “You the
doctor?” “Yes, 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.” “Ah, yes, yes, doctor, don’t
let me die.... please, please.” “Why do you talk like that? God bless
you!” 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.
“I will tell you why I don’t want to die; I will tell you.... Now we
are alone; and only, please don’t you ... not to anyone ... Listen....”
I bent down; she moved her lips quite to my ear; she touched my cheek
with her hair—I confess my head went round—and 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: “Remember, doctor, to no
one.” I calmed her somehow, gave her something to drink, waked the
servant, and went away.’
At this point the doctor again took snuff with exasperated energy, and
for a moment seemed stupefied by its effects.
‘However,’
he continued, ‘the 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 can’t afford to disregard that; one’s 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; any way, 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....’ (The doctor made a brief pause.) ‘I
declare I don’t know how to tell you.’ ... (He again took snuff,
coughed, and swallowed a little tea.) ‘I 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?’ (The doctor looked down and
grew red.) ‘No,’ he went on quickly, ‘in 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
appearance’ (the doctor looked himself over with a smile) ‘I am nothing
to boast of there either. But God Almighty did not make me a fool; I
don’t take black for white; I know a thing or two; I could see very
clearly, for instance, that Alexandra Andreevna—that was her name—did
not feel love for me, but had a friendly, so to say, inclination—a
respect or something for me. Though she herself perhaps mistook this
sentiment, any way this was her attitude; you may form your own
judgment of it. But,’ added the doctor, who had brought out
all these disconnected sentences without taking breath, and with
obvious embarrassment, ‘I seem to be wandering rather—you won’t
understand anything like this.... There, with your leave, I will relate
it all in order.’
He drank off a glass of tea, and began in a calmer voice.
‘Well, then. My patient kept getting worse and worse. You are not a
doctor, my good sir; you cannot understand what passes in a poor
fellow’s 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; it’s 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! it’s horrid! There must
be a remedy, you think, for this disease, if one could find it. Isn’t
this it? You try—no, that’s not it! You don’t 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 prescriptions—here it is, you
think! Sometimes, by Jove, you pick one out by chance, thinking to
leave it to fate.... But meantime a fellow-creature’s dying, and
another doctor would have saved him. “We must have a consultation,” you
say; “I will not take the responsibility on myself.” And what a fool
you look at such times! Well, in time you learn to bear it; it’s
nothing to you. A man has died—but it’s not your fault; you treated him
by the rules. But what’s 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 Alexandra
Andreevna’s family had in me; they had forgotten to think that their
daughter was in danger. I, too, on my side assure them that it’s
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 patient’s
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, “I
don’t deserve your gratitude.” I frankly confess to you—there is no
object in concealing it now—I was in love with my patient. And
Alexandra Andreevna had grown fond of me; she would not sometimes let
anyone be in her room but me. She began to talk to me, to ask me
questions; where I had studied, how I lived, who are my people, whom I
go to see. I feel that she ought not to talk; but to forbid her to—to
forbid her resolutely, you know—I could not. Sometimes I held my head
in my hands, and asked myself, “What are you doing, villain?” ... And
she would take my hand and hold it, give me a long, long look, and turn
away, sigh, and say, “How good you are!” Her hands were so feverish,
her eyes so large and languid.... “Yes,” she says, “you are a good,
kind man; you are not like our neighbours.... No, you are not like
that. ... Why did I not know you till now!” “Alexandra Andreevna, calm
yourself,” I say.... “I feel, believe me, I don’t know how I have
gained ... but there, calm yourself.... All will be right; you will be
well again.” And meanwhile I must tell you,’ continued the doctor,
bending forward and raising his eyebrows, ‘that they associated very
little with the neighbours, because the smaller people were not on
their level, and pride hindered them from being friendly with the rich.
I tell you, they were an exceptionally cultivated family; so you know
it was gratifying for me. She would only take her medicine from my
hands ... she would lift herself up, poor girl, with my aid, take it,
and gaze at me.... My heart felt as if it were bursting. And meanwhile
she was growing worse and worse, worse and worse, all the time; she
will die, I think to myself; she must die. Believe me, I would sooner
have gone to the grave myself; and here were her mother and sisters
watching me, looking into my eyes ... and their faith in me was wearing
away. “Well? how is she?” “Oh, all right, all right!” All right,
indeed! My mind was failing me. Well,
I was sitting one night alone again by my patient. The maid was sitting
there too, and snoring away in full swing; I can’t find fault with the
poor girl, though; she was worn out too. Alexandra Andreevna had felt
very unwell all the evening; she was very feverish. Until midnight she
kept tossing about; at last she seemed to fall asleep; at least, she
lay still without stirring. The lamp was burning in the corner before
the holy image. I sat there, you know, with my head bent; I even dozed
a little. Suddenly it seemed as though someone touched me in the side;
I turned round.... Good God! Alexandra Andreevna was gazing with intent
eyes at me ... her lips parted, her cheeks seemed burning. “What is
it?” “Doctor, shall I die?” “Merciful Heavens!” “No, doctor, no; please
don’t tell me I shall live ... don’t say so.... If you knew.... Listen!
for God’s sake don’t conceal my real position,” and her breath came so
fast. “If I can know for certain that I must die ... then I will tell
you all—all!” “Alexandra Andreevna, I beg!” “Listen; I have not been
asleep at all ... I have been looking at you a long while.... For God’s
sake! ... I believe in you; you are a good man, an honest man; I
entreat you by all that is sacred in the world—tell me the truth! If
you knew how important it is for me.... Doctor, for God’s sake tell
me.... Am I in danger?” “What can I tell you, Alexandra Andreevna,
pray?” “For God’s sake, I beseech you!” “I can’t disguise from you,” I
say, “Alexandra Andreevna; you are certainly in danger; but God is
merciful.” “I shall die, I shall die.” And it seemed as though she were
pleased; her face grew so bright; I was alarmed. “Don’t be afraid,
don’t be afraid! I am not frightened of death at all.” She suddenly sat
up and leaned on her elbow. “Now ... yes, now I can tell you that I
thank you with my whole heart ... that you are kind and good—that I
love you!” I stare at her, like one possessed; it was terrible for me,
you know. “Do you hear, I love you!” “Alexandra Andreevna, how have I
deserved—” “No, no, you don’t—you don’t understand me.” ... And
suddenly she stretched out her arms, and taking my head in her hands,
she kissed it.... Believe me, I almost screamed aloud.... I threw
myself on my knees, and buried my head in the pillow. She did not
speak; her fingers trembled in my hair; I listen; she is weeping. I
began to soothe her, to assure her.... I really don’t know what I did
say to her. “You will wake up the girl,” I say to her; “Alexandra
Andreevna, I thank you ... believe me ... calm yourself.” “Enough,
enough!” she persisted; “never mind all of them; let them wake, then;
let them come in—it does not matter; I am dying, you see.... And what
do you fear? why are you afraid? Lift up your head.... Or, perhaps, you
don’t love me; perhaps I am wrong.... In that case, forgive me.”
“Alexandra Andreevna, what are you saying!... I love you, Alexandra
Andreevna.” She looked straight into my eyes, and opened her arms wide.
“Then take me in your arms.” I tell you frankly, I don’t
know how it was I did not go mad that night. I feel that my patient is
killing herself; I see that she is not fully herself; I understand,
too, that if she did not consider herself on the point of death, she
would never have thought of me; and, indeed, say what you will, it’s
hard to die at twenty without having known love; this was what was
torturing her; this was why, in despair, she caught at me—do you
understand now? But she held me in her arms, and would not let me go.
“Have pity on me, Alexandra Andreevna, and have pity on yourself,” I
say. “Why,” she says; “what is there to think of? You know I must die.”
... This she repeated incessantly.... “If I knew that I should return
to life, and be a proper young lady again, I should be ashamed ... of
course, ashamed ... but why now?” “But who has said you will die?” “Oh,
no, leave off! you will not deceive me; you don’t know how to lie—look
at your face.” ... “You shall live, Alexandra Andreevna; I will cure
you; we will ask your mother’s blessing ... we will be united—we will
be happy.” “No, no, I have your word; I must die ... you have promised
me ... you have told me.” ... It was cruel for me—cruel for many
reasons. And see what trifling things can do sometimes; it seems
nothing at all, but it’s painful. It
occurred to her to ask me, what is my name; not my surname, but my
first name. I must needs be so unlucky as to be called Trifon. Yes,
indeed; Trifon Ivanitch. Every one in the house called me doctor.
However, there’s no help for it. I say, “Trifon, madam.” She frowned,
shook her head, and muttered something in French—ah, something
unpleasant, of course!—and then she laughed— disagreeably too. Well,
I spent the whole night with her in this way. Before morning I went
away, feeling as though I were mad. When I went again into her room it
was daytime, after morning tea. Good God! I could scarcely recognise
her; people are laid in their grave looking better than that. I swear
to you, on my honour, I don’t understand—I absolutely don’t
understand—now, how I lived through that experience. Three days and
nights my patient still lingered on. And what nights! What things she
said to me! And on the last night—only imagine to yourself—I was
sitting near her, and kept praying to God for one thing only: “Take
her,” I said, “quickly, and me with her.” Suddenly the old
mother comes unexpectedly into the room. I had already the evening
before told her—the mother—there was little hope, and it would be well
to send for a priest. When the sick girl saw her mother she said: “It’s
very well you have come; look at us, we love one another—we have given
each other our word.” “What does she say, doctor? what does she say?” I
turned livid. “She is wandering,” I say; “the fever.” But she: “Hush,
hush; you told me something quite different just now, and have taken my
ring. Why do you pretend? My mother is good—she will forgive —she will
understand—and I am dying.... I have no need to tell lies; give me your
hand.” I jumped up and ran out of the room. The old lady, of course,
guessed how it was.
‘I will not, however, weary you any longer, and to me too, of course,
it’s painful to recall all this. My patient passed away the next day.
God rest her soul!’ the doctor added, speaking quickly and with a sigh.
‘Before her death she asked her family to go out and leave me alone
with her.’
‘“Forgive me,”
she said; “I am perhaps to blame towards you ... my illness ... but
believe me, I have loved no one more than you ... do not forget me ...
keep my ring.”’
The doctor turned away; I took his hand.
‘Ah!’ he said, ‘let us talk of something else, or would you care to
play preference for a small stake? It is not for people like me to give
way to exalted emotions. There’s only one thing for me to think of; how
to keep the children from crying and the wife from scolding. Since
then, you know, I have had time to enter into lawful wed-lock, as they
say.... Oh ... I took a merchant’s daughter—seven thousand for her
dowry. Her name’s Akulina; it goes well with Trifon. She is an ill-
tempered woman, I must tell you, but luckily she’s asleep all day....
Well, shall it be preference?’
We sat down to preference for halfpenny points. Trifon Ivanitch won two
roubles and a half from me, and went home late, well pleased with his
success.
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