After this incident, Andréi Yéfimitch began to notice that he was
surrounded by a strange atmosphere of mystery.... The servants, the
nurses, and the patients whom he met looked questioningly at one
another, and whispered among themselves. When he met little Masha, the
superintendent's daughter, in the hospital garden, and smilingly went
over to her, as usual, to stroke her hair, for some inexplicable reason
she ran away. When the postmaster, Mikhail Averyanitch, sat listening
to him he no longer said: "Entirely true!" but got red in the face and
stammered, "Yes, yes ... yes ..." and sometimes, looking at his friend
thoughtfully and sorrowfully, advised him to give up vodka and beer.
But when doing this, as became a man of delicacy, he did not speak
openly, but dropped gentle hints, telling stories, now of a certain
battalion commander, an excellent man, now of the regimental chaplain,
a first-rate little fellow, who drank a good deal and was taken ill,
yet having given up drink got quite well. Twice or thrice Andréi
Yéfimitch was visited by his colleague Khobótoff, who also asked him to
give up spirits, and, without giving him any reason, advised him to try
bromide of potassium.
In August Andréi Yéfimitch received a letter from the Mayor asking
him to come and see him on very important business. On arriving at
the Town Hall at the appointed time he found awaiting him the head of
the recruiting department, the superintendent of the district school,
a member of the Town Council, Khobótoff, and a stout, fair-haired
man, who was introduced as a doctor. This doctor, who bore an
unpronounceable Polish name, lived on a stud-farm some thirty versts
away, and was passing through the town on his way home.
"Here is a communication about your department," said the Town
Councillor, turning to Andréi Yéfimitch. "You see, Yevgéniï Feódoritch
says that there is no room for the dispensing room in the main
building, and that it must be transferred to one of the wings. That, of
course, is easy, it can be transferred any day, but the chief thing is
that the wing is in want of repair."
"Yes, we can hardly get on without that," answered Andréi Yéfimitch
after a moment's thought. "But if the corner wing is to be fitted up as
a dispensary you will have to spend at least five hundred roubles on
it. It is unproductive expenditure."
For a few minutes all were silent.
"I had the honour to announce to you, ten years ago," continued
Andréi Yéfimitch in a soft voice, "that this hospital, under present
conditions, is a luxury altogether beyond the means of the town. It
was built in the forties, when the means for its support: were greater.
The town wastes too much money on unnecessary buildings and sinecure
offices. I think that with the money we spend we could keep up two
model hospitals; that is, of course, with a different order of things."
"Well, then, let us reform the present order," said the Town Councillor.
"I have already had the honour to advise you to transfer the medical
department to the Zemstvo."
"Yes, and hand over to the Zemstvo funds which it will pocket," laughed
the fair-haired doctor.
"That is just what happens," said the Town Councillor, laughing also.
Andréi Yéfimitch looked feebly at the fair-haired doctor, and said:
"We must be just in our judgments."
Again all were silent. Tea was brought in. The chief of the recruiting
department, apparently in a state of confusion, touched Andréi
Yéfimitch's hand across the table, and said:
"You have quite forgotten us, doctor. But then you were always a monk;
you don't play cards, and you don't care for women. We bore you, I'm
afraid." And all agreed that it was tiresome for any decent man to
live in such a town. Neither theatres, nor concerts, and at the last
dub-dance about twenty women present and only two men. Young men no
longer danced, but crowded round the supper-table or played cards
together. And Andréi Yéfimitch, in a slow and soft voice, without
looking at those around him, began to lament that the citizens wasted
their vital energy, their intellects, and their feelings over cards and
scandal, and neither cared nor knew how to pass the time in interesting
conversation, in reading, or in taking advantage of the pleasures
which intellect alone yields. Intellect is the only interesting and
distinguished thing in the world; all the rest is petty and base.
Khobótoff listened attentively to his colleague, and suddenly asked:
"Andréi Yéfimitch, what is the day of the month?"
Having received an answer, he and the fair-haired doctor, both in the
tone of examiners convinced of their own incapacity, asked Andréi
Yéfimitch a number of other questions: what was the day of the week,
how many days were there in the year, and was it true that in Ward No.
6 there was a remarkable prophet?
In answer to this last question Andréi Yéfimitch got red in the face,
and said:
"Yes, he is insane.... But he is a most interesting young man."
No other questions were asked.
As Andréi Yéfimitch put on his coat, the chief of the recruiting
department put his hand on his shoulder and said, with a sigh:
"For us--old men--it is time to take a rest."
As he left the Town Hall, Andréi Yéfimitch understood that he had been
before a commission appointed to test his mental sanity. He remembered
the questions put to him, reddened, and for the first time in his life
felt pity for the medical art.
"My God!" he thought. "These men have only just been studying
psychiatry and passing examinations! Where does their monstrous
ignorance come from? They have no ideas about psychiatry." For the
first time in his life he felt insulted and angry.
Towards evening Mikhail Averyanitch came to see him. Without a word of
greeting, the postmaster went up to him, took him by both hands, and
said in an agitated voice:
"My dear friend, my dear friend, let me see that you believe in my
sincere affection for you. Regard me as your friend!" And preventing
Andréi Yéfimitch saying a word, he continued in extreme agitation:
"You know that I love you for the culture and nobility of your mind.
Listen to me, like a good man! The rules of their profession compel
the doctors to hide the truth from you, but I, in soldier style, will
tell it to you flatly. You are unwell! Excuse me, old friend, but that
is the plain truth, and it has been noticed by everyone around you.
Only this moment Doctor Yevgéniï Feódoritch said that for the benefit
of your health you needed rest and recreation. It is entirely true! And
things fit in admirably. In a few days I will take my leave, and go oft
for change of air. Trove to me that you are my friend, and come with
me. Come!"
"I feel very well," said Andréi Yéfimitch, after a moment's thought;
"and I cannot go. Allow me to prove my friendship in some other way."
To go away without any good reason, without his books, without
Dáryushka, without beer--suddenly to destroy the order of life observed
for twenty years--when he first thought of it, the project seemed
wild and fantastic. But he remembered the talk in the Town Hall, and
the torments which he had suffered on the w ay home; and the idea of
leaving for a short time a town where stupid men considered him mad,
delighted him.
"But where do you intend to go?" he asked.
"To Moscow, to Petersburg, to Warsaw.... In Warsaw I spent some of the
happiest days of my life. An astonishing city! Come!"