TOWARD the end of the winter a consultation was held at the Shcherbatskys’ which was intended to ascertain the state of Kitty’s health and to decide what should be done to restore her failing strength. She was ill, and with the approach of spring grew worse. Their own doctor prescribed cod-liver oil, then iron, and then nitrate of silver, but as none of them did her any good and as he advised her to go abroad for the spring they sent for a celebrated specialist.

The celebrated specialist, a very handsome man and by no means old, insisted on sounding the invalid.

He, with particular pleasure as it seemed, insisted that a maidenly sense of shame is only a relic of barbarism, and that nothing is more natural than for a man still in his prime to handle a young woman’s naked body. He considered this natural because he did it every day, and did not, it seemed to him, either feel or think anything wrong when he did it. He therefore considered the feeling of shame in a girl to be not only a relic of barbarism but an insult to him.

They had to submit, for although all the doctors studied in the same schools and from the same books and knew the same sciences, and though some said that this celebrated man was a bad doctor, at the Princess Shcherbatskaya’s and in her set it was for some reason assumed that he alone had a quite special knowledge and he alone could save Kitty. After having carefully examined and sounded the agitated invalid, who was stupefied with shame, the celebrity, having carefully washed his hands, stood in the drawing-room talking to the Prince. The Prince frowned and coughed as he listened to the doctor. As a man who had lived in the world and was neither stupid nor ill, the Prince did not believe in medicine, and in his heart was vexed at this farce, especially as he himself was probably the only one who thoroughly understood the cause of Kitty’s illness. ‘What a windbag,’ he thought as he listened to the celebrated doctor’s chatter about Kitty’s symptoms. The doctor meanwhile found it hard not to show his contempt for the old fellow, and with difficulty descended to the level of his comprehension. He saw that it was a waste of time to talk to him, and that the head in this house was the mother. It was before her that he meant to spread his pearls.

Just then the Princess entered the room with the family doctor. The Prince moved away, trying not to show how absurd he thought the whole farce. The Princess was confused and did not know what to do. She felt guilty toward Kitty.

‘Well, doctor, decide our fate,’ she said. ‘Tell me everything… . Is there any hope?’ she meant to ask, but her lips trembled and she could not utter that question, and only added: ‘Well, doctor?’

‘In a moment, Princess. I will just have a talk with my colleague, and then I shall have the honour of giving you my opinion.’

‘Then we had better leave you?’

‘As you please.’

The Princess left the room with a sigh.

When the doctors were alone, the family doctor began timidly to express his opinion, which was that a tuberculous process had begun, but … etc. The celebrity listened, but in the midst of the speech looked at his large gold watch.

‘Yes,’ said he, ‘but …’

The family doctor stopped respectfully in the middle of what he was saying.

‘We cannot, as you know, determine the beginning of a tuberculous process. As long as there are no cavities there is nothing definite to go by. But we may suspect it; and there are indications — a bad appetite, nervous excitability, and so on. The question is this: When a tuberculous process is suspected, what should be done to nourish the patient?’

‘But you know in these cases there is always some hidden moral cause,’ the family doctor allowed himself to remark with a subtle smile.

‘Yes, that goes without saying,’ replied the celebrity, and again looked at his watch. ‘Excuse me, has the bridge over the Yauza been repaired, or has one still to drive round?’ he asked. ‘Oh, it has been repaired! Well then, I can get there in twenty minutes. We were saying that the question is this: How to nourish the patient and strengthen the nerves. The two aims are connected, and we must act on both.’

‘How about a journey abroad?’ asked the family doctor.

‘I am opposed to journeys abroad. You see, if a tuberculous process has begun (which we don’t know), a journey abroad will not help the case. Something is necessary which will nourish the patient and do no harm.’ And the celebrity explained his plan of a treatment with Soden water, the chief reason for prescribing this evidently being that it could do no harm.

The family doctor listened attentively and respectfully to the end.

‘But in favour of a journey abroad I should like to mention the change of habits, and the removal from surroundings which awaken memories. Besides which, the mother wishes it,’ said he.

‘Ah, in that case let them go, only those German quacks will do mischief… . They must obey… . However, let them go.’

He again glanced at his watch. ‘I must be going!’ he said, moving toward the door.

The celebrity informed the Princess (his sense of what was fitting suggested this to him) that he would have to see the patient again.

‘What, another examination?’ exclaimed the mother, horror-struck.

‘Oh no, I must only find out a few details, Princess.’

‘If you please, doctor.’

And the mother, followed by the doctor, entered the room in the middle of which Kitty was standing. Her thin cheeks were flushed and her eyes were burning after the ordeal she had endured. When the doctor entered she blushed all over and her eyes filled with tears. Her whole illness and the treatment appeared to her stupid and even ridiculous. Her treatment seemed to her as absurd as piecing together the bits of a smashed vase. Her heart was broken. Why did they want to dose her with pills and powders? But she did not want to pain her mother, especially as her mother considered herself to blame.

‘Sit down, please, Princess,’ said the celebrity.

He sat down opposite to her, smiling, felt her pulse and again began asking tiresome questions. She answered him, but suddenly grew angry and rose.

‘Excuse me, doctor, but really this won’t lead to anything. You are asking me the same things three times over.’ The celebrity was not offended.

‘It’s only the excitability of an invalid,’ he said to the mother after Kitty had gone out. ‘And I had finished.’

And to the Princess, as to an exceptionally intelligent woman, the doctor diagnosed Kitty’s condition in learned language, and concluded with directions how the unnecessary waters were to be drunk.

In reply to the question whether they should go abroad, the doctor thought deeply, as if solving a difficult problem, and at last he decided that they should go, but should not believe the quacks, and when in doubt should always refer to him.

It was just as if something pleasant had happened when the doctor had gone, and Kitty too pretended to be cheerful. She often now, almost always, had to pretend.

‘Really, Mama! I am quite well. But if you wish to travel, let us go!’ and trying to appear interested in the journey she began to talk about the preparations for it.

Anna Karenina (Maude Translation, Unabridged and Annotated)

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