there is not much serious disease here--not like what I used to see
on the Sheksna. You have been on the Sheksna?"

"Not yet, but I intend going there." The Sheksna is a river which
falls into the Volga, and forms part of the great system of
water-communication connecting the Volga with the Neva.

"When you go there you will see lots of diseases. If there is a hot
summer, and plenty of barges passing, something is sure to break
out--typhus, or black small-pox, or Siberian plague, or something of the
kind. That Siberian plague is a curious thing. Whether it really comes
from Siberia, God only knows. So soon as it breaks out the horses die
by dozens, and sometimes men and women are attacked, though it is not
properly a human disease. They say that flies carry the poison from the
dead horses to the people. The sign of it is a thing like a boil, with
a dark-coloured rim. If this is cut open in time the person may recover,
but if it is not, the person dies. There is cholera, too, sometimes."

"What a delightful country," I said to myself, "for a young doctor who
wishes to make discoveries in the science of disease!"

The catalogue of diseases inhabiting this favoured region was apparently
not yet complete, but it was cut short for the moment by the arrival of
the assistant, with the announcement that his superior was wanted.

This first interview with the feldsher was, on the whole, satisfactory.
He had not rendered me any medical assistance, but he had helped me to
pass an hour pleasantly, and had given me a little information of the
kind I desired. My later interviews with him were equally agreeable. He
was naturally an intelligent, observant man, who had seen a great deal
of the Russian world, and could describe graphically what he had seen.
Unfortunately the horizontal position to which I was condemned prevented
me from noting down at the time the interesting things which he related
to me. His visits, together with those of Karl Karl'itch and of the
priest, who kindly spent a great part of his time with me, helped me to
while away many an hour which would otherwise have been dreary enough.

During the intervals when I was alone I devoted myself to
reading--sometimes Russian history and sometimes works of fiction. The
history was that of Karamzin, who may fairly be called the Russian Livy.
It interested me much by the facts which it contained, but irritated me
not a little by the rhetorical style in which it is writte