The Miracle Doctor (Kuprin)
Short summary
Kiev, approximately the late 19th century. On a bitterly cold Christmas Eve, two brothers returned disappointed from an unsuccessful errand of asking for help. At home, they faced the harsh reality of poverty—hungry and ill siblings, an exhausted mother, and no means to buy medicine.
Their father, Mertsalov, returned home in despair after failing to secure even minimal assistance.
Feeling hopelessness, Mertsalov wandered through the city and entered a silent, snow-covered park, overwhelmed by exhaustion and agony.
Mertsalov slipped his hand under his vest and fingered the thickish rope that served him as a belt. The thought of suicide clearly entered his mind. He did not shrink from it or for a moment shudder before the abyss of the unknown.
At this critical moment, an elderly gentleman, kind and compassionate Professor Pirogov, sat beside him, listened attentively, and immediately offered help.
The doctor came to the family's basement home, treated the sick child, provided money, supplies, and prescriptions, and arranged further medical aid. His unexpected kindness saved the impoverished family. Later, they discovered his identity—Professor Pirogov, a famous doctor whose selfless act changed their fate permanently.
Detailed summary
Division into chapters is editorial.
Author's note about the true story
The author began by stating that the story was true and took place in Kiev approximately thirty years prior. The events were carefully preserved in the memory of the family involved, with only some character names changed for the retelling.
The Mertsalov family's desperate situation
On a bitterly cold Christmas Eve, two young boys stood before a food shop window, momentarily forgetting their hunger and the important errand their mother had sent them on. The older boy finally pulled his brother away from the tantalizing display, and they continued through the increasingly dark and deserted streets until they reached a tumbledown house with a basement dwelling.
Inside the damp basement room, a seven-year-old girl lay feverish on a dirty bed while an infant cried incessantly in a cradle suspended from the ceiling. Their mother anxiously asked the boys about their errand.
Grisha explained that they had delivered the letter to the doorman of their father's former employer, but the man had rudely dismissed them and even struck Volodya on the head. The boys returned the crumpled letter to their mother, who asked no further questions.
Soon, the children's father entered wearing only a summer coat despite the freezing weather. His sunken eyes and drawn face revealed his despair. The family had endured a terrible year of misfortunes: Mertsalov's typhoid illness had depleted their savings, he had lost his position as house steward, and one child had already died of illness.
For some ten minutes no one could say a word. Suddenly Mertsalov got up from the trunk on which he had been sitting and yanked his battered hat lower on his forehead. 'Where are you going?' 'Sitting here won't help.'
Mertsalov's despair and encounter with the doctor
Mertsalov left his home, walking aimlessly through the streets. He had already tried begging twice that day without success. Without noticing how it happened, he found himself near a dense park. Exhausted, he entered and sat on a bench among the snow-covered trees.
The profound silence of the park awakened in Mertsalov a desire for eternal peace. He fingered the rope that served as his belt, contemplating suicide as an escape from his family's suffering. Just as he was about to act on this terrible thought, he heard footsteps approaching along the path.
An elderly gentleman in a warm hat and fur coat appeared, smoking a cigar. He greeted Mertsalov and sat beside him on the bench. After commenting on the beauty of the Russian winter, the stranger mentioned he had been buying gifts for children he knew.
'Gifts! Gifts! Gifts for some children you know! And I... in my home, Sir, my children are dying of starvation. Gifts! My wife has no milk, and the baby hasn't eaten all day. Gifts!'
Instead of leaving after this outburst, the stranger moved closer and asked Mertsalov to tell him everything. There was something so trustworthy in the man's face that Mertsalov poured out his entire story of misfortune.
'Let's go,' cried the stranger, pulling Mertsalov. 'Quick! It's your good fortune that you met a doctor. I cannot promise anything, of course, but... Let's be off!'
The doctor's visit to the family's basement home
Ten minutes later, Mertsalov and the doctor entered the basement. Elizaveta Ivanovna lay motionless beside her sick daughter, while the boys sat crying over their soup pot. The doctor removed his coat, approached the mother, and gently instructed her to show him the sick child.
The doctor's kind voice prompted immediate action. Soon Grisha was making a fire with wood the doctor had sent for, Volodya was starting the samovar, and Elizaveta Ivanovna was wrapping Mashutka in a warm compress.
Meanwhile, Mertsalov returned with food and tea purchased with the three rubles the doctor had given him. The doctor wrote a prescription, placed it under a saucer along with several large banknotes, and gave instructions for the child's care. He also recommended they call Dr. Afrosimov the next day, even if the girl improved.
As the doctor prepared to leave, he encouraged the family never to lose heart. Mertsalov, finally coming to his senses, rushed after the doctor in the dark corridor, asking for his name so that his children could pray for him. The doctor dismissed this as nonsense and told him to return home.
The miracle doctor's identity and the family's fate
That evening, Mertsalov discovered the identity of his benefactor when he read the label on the medicine bottle: "Prescription of Professor Pirogov." This unexpected encounter marked a turning point for the family.
'After that it was as though an angel of mercy had taken charge of our family. Everything changed... That saint of a man worked a miracle. But we saw our miracle doctor only once after that, when his body was being taken to his estate.'
The story was recounted by Grigori Mertsalov, the same Grisha who had once cried over a pot of thin soup. Now a respected bank employee known for his kindness to the poor, he always concluded his story by noting that the spark of greatness and holiness that had burned in the miracle doctor during his lifetime had gone out forever.