Nicholas I. All around was pitch darkness, I was surrounded by firemen and a flame was flickering above their heads. There-upon I dragged out my watch through a chink in my fur coat: it was five oâclock. The drive had taken not one hour but two and a half.
âMake sure at once that I have some horses to take me back,â I said.
âVery good,â the driver replied.
Half asleep and feeling as damp under my leather jerkin as though I had been in a hot compress, I went into the hallway. Lamplight struck me from one side, throwing shadows on the varnished floor. A fair-haired young man with a haunted look came running out wearing trousers that had a freshly ironed crease. His white tie with black polka dots was askew, his starched shirt-front had come loose and was bulging out, but his jacket looked fresh from the tailors, brand new, with creases so crisp that they might have been cut out of metal.
The man waved his arms, clutched my fur coat and shook me as he pressed against me, moaning softly:
âOh, doctor â¦Â my dear fellow â¦Â quickly â¦Â sheâs dying. Iâm a murderer.â He glanced aside, opened his eyes in a wild, tragic stare and said to someone: âIâm a murderer, thatâs what I am.â
Then he broke into sobs, clutched at his thin, straggling hair and began pulling at it. I could see from the strands sticking to his fingers that he was literally tearing out his hair.
âStop it,â I said and pushed his arm aside.
He was led away, and some women came running towards me.
My coat was removed, I was led over gleaming floors and into a room with a white bed. A very young doctor rose from a chair to greet me. His expression was agonised and distraught. For a second I caught a look of astonishment in his eyes as he saw that I was as young as he was. We were, in fact, as alike as two portraits of the same person; we were even the same age. Then he was so overcome with delight at seeing me that he even gulped for breath.
âIâm so glad â¦Â my dear colleague â¦Â you see, her pulse is failing. The fact is Iâm a venereologist. Thank God you came.â
Lying on a piece of gauze on the table was a hypodermic syringe and several ampoules of yellow oil. The sound of the clerk weeping could be heard through the door, which then closed as the figure of a woman in white materialised at my shoulder. The bedroom was in semi-darkness, a piece of green material having been draped half over the lamp. A face the colour of paper lay on the pillow amid the greenish gloom. The nose had begun to look pinched and sharp, and the nostrils were plugged with cotton wool that was pink with blood.
âHer pulse â¦â the doctor whispered to me.
I took the lifeless arm, applied my fingers with a now habitual gesture and shuddered. I could feel a thin, rapidflutter which broke off and picked up again as a mere faint thread. I felt the customary stab of cold in the pit of my stomach as I always do when I see death face to face. I hate it. I managed to break off the end of a capsule and draw the yellow oil into the syringe, but the injection was only a mechanical gesture and forcing the liquid under the skin of the girlâs arm was a waste of time.
Her lower jaw began to twitch as though she were choking, slackened and hung down; the body tensed under the blanket as though hunching with cold, then went limp. And the last trickle of her pulse faded away beneath my fingers.
âSheâs dead,â I whispered into the doctorâs ear.
The white figure with grey hair collapsed on to the smooth blanket and fell across the body, shaking convulsively.
âHush, hush,â I said softly to the woman in white. The doctor grimaced uneasily towards the door.
âHe has been tormenting me,â he said in a very low voice.
Between us we arranged to leave the weeping mother in the bedroom, to tell nothing to anyone
âMake sure at once that I have some horses to take me back,â I said.
âVery good,â the driver replied.
Half asleep and feeling as damp under my leather jerkin as though I had been in a hot compress, I went into the hallway. Lamplight struck me from one side, throwing shadows on the varnished floor. A fair-haired young man with a haunted look came running out wearing trousers that had a freshly ironed crease. His white tie with black polka dots was askew, his starched shirt-front had come loose and was bulging out, but his jacket looked fresh from the tailors, brand new, with creases so crisp that they might have been cut out of metal.
The man waved his arms, clutched my fur coat and shook me as he pressed against me, moaning softly:
âOh, doctor â¦Â my dear fellow â¦Â quickly â¦Â sheâs dying. Iâm a murderer.â He glanced aside, opened his eyes in a wild, tragic stare and said to someone: âIâm a murderer, thatâs what I am.â
Then he broke into sobs, clutched at his thin, straggling hair and began pulling at it. I could see from the strands sticking to his fingers that he was literally tearing out his hair.
âStop it,â I said and pushed his arm aside.
He was led away, and some women came running towards me.
My coat was removed, I was led over gleaming floors and into a room with a white bed. A very young doctor rose from a chair to greet me. His expression was agonised and distraught. For a second I caught a look of astonishment in his eyes as he saw that I was as young as he was. We were, in fact, as alike as two portraits of the same person; we were even the same age. Then he was so overcome with delight at seeing me that he even gulped for breath.
âIâm so glad â¦Â my dear colleague â¦Â you see, her pulse is failing. The fact is Iâm a venereologist. Thank God you came.â
Lying on a piece of gauze on the table was a hypodermic syringe and several ampoules of yellow oil. The sound of the clerk weeping could be heard through the door, which then closed as the figure of a woman in white materialised at my shoulder. The bedroom was in semi-darkness, a piece of green material having been draped half over the lamp. A face the colour of paper lay on the pillow amid the greenish gloom. The nose had begun to look pinched and sharp, and the nostrils were plugged with cotton wool that was pink with blood.
âHer pulse â¦â the doctor whispered to me.
I took the lifeless arm, applied my fingers with a now habitual gesture and shuddered. I could feel a thin, rapidflutter which broke off and picked up again as a mere faint thread. I felt the customary stab of cold in the pit of my stomach as I always do when I see death face to face. I hate it. I managed to break off the end of a capsule and draw the yellow oil into the syringe, but the injection was only a mechanical gesture and forcing the liquid under the skin of the girlâs arm was a waste of time.
Her lower jaw began to twitch as though she were choking, slackened and hung down; the body tensed under the blanket as though hunching with cold, then went limp. And the last trickle of her pulse faded away beneath my fingers.
âSheâs dead,â I whispered into the doctorâs ear.
The white figure with grey hair collapsed on to the smooth blanket and fell across the body, shaking convulsively.
âHush, hush,â I said softly to the woman in white. The doctor grimaced uneasily towards the door.
âHe has been tormenting me,â he said in a very low voice.
Between us we arranged to leave the weeping mother in the bedroom, to tell nothing to anyone
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