They had to submit, because, though all doctors studied in the same school, from the same books, and knew the same science, and though some said that this famous doctor was a bad doctor, in the princess’s home and in her circle it was for some reason acknowledged that he alone knew something special and he alone could save Kitty. After a careful examination and sounding of the patient, who was bewildered and stunned with shame, the famous doctor, having diligently washed his hands, was standing in the drawing room and talking with the prince. The prince frowned and kept coughing as he listened to the doctor. He, as a man who had seen life and was neither stupid nor sick, did not believe in medicine, and in his soul he was angry at this whole comedy, the more so in that he was almost the only one who fully understood the cause of Kitty’s illness. ‘What a gabbler,’ he thought, mentally applying this barnyard term to the famous doctor and listening to his chatter about the symptoms of his daughter’s illness. The doctor meanwhile found it hard to keep from expressing his contempt for the old gentleman and descending to the low level of his understanding. He understood that there was no point in talking with the old man, and that the head of this house was the mother. It was before her that he intended to strew his pearls. Just then the princess came into the drawing room with the family doctor. The prince stepped aside, trying not to show how ridiculous this whole comedy was to him. The princess was bewildered and did not know what to do. She felt herself guilty before Kitty.
‘Well, doctor, decide our fate,’ she said. ‘Tell me everything.’ (‘Is there any hope?’ she wanted to say, but her lips trembled and she could not get the question out.) ‘Well, what is it, doctor? ...’
‘I will presently confer with my colleague, Princess, and then I will have the honour of reporting my opinion to you.’
‘So we should leave you?’
‘As you please.’
The princess sighed and went out.
When the doctors were left alone, the family physician timidly began to present his opinion, according to which there was the start of a tubercular condition, but ... and so forth. The famous doctor listened to him and in the middle of his speech looked at his large gold watch.
‘Indeed,’ he said. ‘But...’
The family physician fell respectfully silent in the middle of his speech.
‘As you know, we cannot diagnose the start of a tubercular condition. Nothing is definite until cavities appear. But we can suspect. And there are indications: poor appetite, nervous excitation and so on. The question stands thus: given the suspicion of a tubercular condition, what must be done to maintain the appetite?’
‘But, you know, there are always some hidden moral and spiritual causes,’ the family doctor allowed himself to put in with a subtle smile.
‘Yes, that goes without saying,’ the famous doctor replied, glancing at his watch again. ‘Excuse me, has the Yauza bridge been put up, or must one still go round?’ he asked. ‘Ah, put up! Well, then I can make it in twenty minutes. So, as we were saying, the question is put thus: to maintain the appetite and repair the nerves. The one is connected with the other, we must work on both sides of the circle.’
‘And a trip abroad?’ asked the family doctor.
‘I am an enemy of trips abroad. And kindly note: if there is the start of a tubercular condition, which is something we cannot know, then a trip abroad will not help. What’s needed is a remedy that will maintain the appetite without being harmful.’
And the famous doctor presented his plan of treatment by Soden waters, the main aim in the prescription of which evidently being that they could do no harm.
The family doctor listened attentively and respectfully.
‘But in favour of a trip abroad I would point to the change of habits, the removal from conditions evoking memories. Then, too, the mother wants it,’ he said.
‘Ah! Well, in that case let them go; only, those German charlatans will do harm ... They must listen to ... Well, then let them go.’
He glanced at his watch again.
‘Oh! it’s time,’ and he went to the door.
The famous doctor announced to the princess (a sense of propriety prompted it) that he must see the patient again.
‘What! Another examination!’ the mother exclaimed with horror.
‘Oh, no, just a few details, Princess.’
‘If you please.’
And the mother, accompanied by the doctor, went to Kitty in the drawing room. Emaciated and red-cheeked, with a special glitter in her eyes as a result of the shame she had endured, Kitty was standing in the middle of the room. When the doctor entered she blushed and her eyes filled with tears. Her whole illness and treatment seemed to her such a stupid, even ridiculous thing! Her treatment seemed to her as ridiculous as putting together the pieces of a broken vase. Her heart was broken. And what did they want to do, treat her with pills and powders? But she could not insult her mother, especially since her mother considered herself to blame.
‘Kindly sit down, miss,’ said the famous doctor.
He sat down facing her with a smile, felt her pulse, and again began asking tiresome questions. She kept answering him, but suddenly got angry and stood up.
‘Forgive me, doctor, but this really will not lead anywhere. You ask me the same thing three times over.’
The famous doctor was not offended.
‘Morbid irritation,’ he said to the old princess when Kitty had gone. ‘Anyhow, I was finished ...’
And to the princess, as to an exceptionally intelligent woman, the doctor scientifically defined her daughter’s condition and concluded with instructions on how to drink those waters of which there was no need. At the question of going abroad, the doctor lapsed into deep thought, as if solving a difficult problem. The solution was finally presented: go, and do not believe the charlatans, but refer to him in all things.
It was as if something cheerful happened after the doctor’s departure. The mother cheered up as she came back to her daughter, and Kitty pretended to cheer up. She often, almost always, had to pretend now.
‘I’m really well, maman. But if you want to go, let’s go!’ she said, and, trying to show interest in the forthcoming trip, she began talking about the preparations for their departure.
II
After the doctor left, Dolly arrived. She knew there was to be a consultation that day, and though she had only recently got up from a confinement (she had given birth to a girl at the end of winter), though she had many griefs and cares of her own, she left her nursing baby and a daughter who had fallen ill, and called to learn Kitty’s fate, which was being decided just then.
‘Well, so?’ she said, coming into the drawing room and not taking off her hat. ‘You’re all cheerful. Must be good news?’
They tried to tell her what the doctor had told them, but it turned out that though the doctor had spoken very well and at length, it was quite impossible to repeat what he had said. The only interesting thing was that it had been decided to go abroad.
Dolly sighed involuntarily. Her best friend, her sister, was leaving. And there was no cheer in her own life. Her relations with Stepan Arkadyich after the reconciliation had become humiliating. The welding, done by Anna, had not proved strong, and the family accord had broken again at the same place. There was nothing definite, but Stepan Arkadyich was almost never at home, there was also almost never any money in the house, and Dolly was constantly tormented by suspicions of his unfaithfulness, which this time she tried to drive away, fearing the already familiar pain of jealousy. The first outburst of jealousy, once lived through, could not come again, and even the discovery of unfaithfulness could not affect her as it had the first time. Such a discovery would now only deprive her of her family habits, and she allowed herself to be deceived, despising him and most of all herself for this weakness. On top of that, the cares of a large family constantly tormented her: either the nursing of the baby did not go well, or the nanny left, or, as now, one of the children fell ill.