An Excerpt from "A Doctor's Visit," by Anton Chekhov

A Doctor's Visit, a short story by Anton Chekhov (1860–1904), was first published in 1898. It deals with a problem familiar to every physician: how to tell an ailing patient what is wrong with him or her, especially when the problem has no physiological basis.

Korolyov, a professor's assistant, has been sent to the mansion of Madame Lyalikov to treat her only daughter, the heiress to the family's wealth. Liza suffers from heart palpitations at night, and Korolyov's first impression of her is decidedly negative. It is only later, when he begins to look beyond the young woman's symptoms and tries to understand her illness within the context of her family's wealth, that Korolyov develops a sense of empathy for Liza and her plight.

But like all of Chekhov's short stories, A Doctor's Visit raises more questions than answers.

In the following excerpt, Korolyov finds Liza in her room. It's springtime, but the blinds are shut and Liza is wrapped in a shawl.

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[…]

And he knew what to say to her. It was clear to him that she needed as quickly as possible to give up the five buildings and the million if she had it – to leave that devil that looked out at night; it was clear to him, too, that she thought so herself, and was only waiting for some one she trusted to confirm her.

But he did not know how to say it. How? One is shy of asking men under sentence what they have been sentenced for; and in the same way it is awkward to ask very rich people what they want so much money for, why they make such a poor use of their wealth, why they don't give it up, even when they see in it their unhappiness; and if they begin a conversation about it themselves, it is usually embarrassing, awkward, and long.

"How is one to say it?" Korolyov wondered. "And is it necessary to speak?"

And he said what he meant in a roundabout way:

"You in the position of a factory owner and a wealthy heiress are dissatisfied; you don't believe in your right to it; and here now you can't sleep. That, of course, is better than if you were satisfied, slept soundly, and thought everything was satisfactory. Your sleeplessness does you credit; in any case, it is a good sign. In reality, such a conversation as this between us now would have been unthinkable for our parents. At night they did not talk, but slept sound; we, our generation, sleep badly, are restless, but talk a great deal, and are always trying to settle whether we are right or not. For our children or grandchildren that question – whether they are right or not – will have been settled. Things will be clearer for them than for us. Life will be good in fifty years' time; it's only a pity we shall not last out till then. It would be interesting to have a peep at it."

"What will our children and grandchildren do?" asked Liza.

"I don't know. … I suppose they will throw it all up and go away."

"Go where?"

"Where? … Why, where they like," said Korolyov; and he laughed. "There are lots of places a good, intelligent person can go to."

He glanced at his watch.

"The sun has risen, though," he said. "It is time you were asleep. Undress and sleep soundly. Very glad to have made your acquaintance," he went on, pressing her hand. "You are a good, interesting woman. Good-night!"

He went to his room and went to bed.

In the morning when the carriage was brought round they all came out on to the steps to see him off. Liza, pale and exhausted, was in a white dress as though for a holiday, with a flower in her hair; she looked at him, as yesterday, sorrowfully and intelligently, smiled and talked, and all with an expression as though she wanted to tell him something special, important – him alone. They could hear the larks trilling and the church bells pealing. The windows in the factory buildings were sparkling gaily, and, driving across the yard and afterwards along the road to the station, Korolyov thought neither of the workpeople nor of lake dwellings, nor of the devil, but thought of the time, perhaps close at hand, when life would be as bright and joyous as that still Sunday morning; and he thought how pleasant it was on such a morning in the spring to drive with three horses in a good carriage, and to bask in the sunshine.

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