Ward No. 6 Page #12

"Ward No. 6" by Anton Pavlovich Chekhov is a poignant and thought-provoking short story that explores the themes of madness, isolation, and the nature of sanity. Set in a mental institution, it follows Dr. Andrei Yefimitch Ivanov, the director of the ward, who becomes emotionally and intellectually entangled with a patient named Gromov. Through their conversations, the story delves into the existential crises faced by both the doctor and the patients, challenging the boundaries between sanity and insanity. Chekhov's exploration of human suffering, societal norms, and the fragility of the human mind invites readers to reflect on the complexities of life and the often arbitrary distinctions we draw regarding mental health.

								

ineptitude, stupidity, and with what delight I always talk with you! You
are an intelligent man, and I enjoyed your company."

Hobotov opened the door an inch and glanced into the ward; Ivan
Dmitritch in his night-cap and the doctor Andrey Yefimitch were sitting
side by side on the bed. The madman was grimacing, twitching, and
convulsively wrapping himself in his gown, while the doctor sat
motionless with bowed head, and his face was red and look helpless and
sorrowful. Hobotov shrugged his shoulders, grinned, and glanced at
Nikita. Nikita shrugged his shoulders too.

Next day Hobotov went to the lodge, accompanied by the assistant. Both
stood in the entry and listened.

"I fancy our old man has gone clean off his chump!" said Hobotov as he
came out of the lodge.

"Lord have mercy upon us sinners!" sighed the decorous Sergey
Sergeyitch, scrupulously avoiding the puddles that he might not muddy
his polished boots. "I must own, honoured Yevgeny Fyodoritch, I have
been expecting it for a long time." XII

After this Andrey Yefimitch began to notice a mysterious air in all
around him. The attendants, the nurses, and the patients looked at him
inquisitively when they met him, and then whispered together. The
superintendent's little daughter Masha, whom he liked to meet in the
hospital garden, for some reason ran away from him now when he went up
with a smile to stroke her on the head. The postmaster no longer said,
"Perfectly true," as he listened to him, but in unaccountable confusion
muttered, "Yes, yes, yes . . ." and looked at him with a grieved and
thoughtful expression; for some reason he took to advising his friend to
give up vodka and beer, but as a man of delicate feeling he did not say
this directly, but hinted it, telling him first about the commanding
officer of his battalion, an excellent man, and then about the priest of
the regiment, a capital fellow, both of whom drank and fell ill, but on
giving up drinking completely regained their health. On two or three
occasions Andrey Yefimitch was visited by his colleague Hobotov, who
also advised him to give up spirituous liquors, and for no apparent
reason recommended him to take bromide.

In August Andrey Yefimitch got a letter from the mayor of the town
asking him to come on very important business. On arriving at the town
hall at the time fixed, Andrey Yefimitch found there the military
commander, the superintendent of the district school, a member of the
town council, Hobotov, and a plump, fair gentleman who was introduced to
him as a doctor. This doctor, with a Polish surname difficult to
pronounce, lived at a pedigree stud-farm twenty miles away, and was now
on a visit to the town.

"There's something that concerns you," said the member of the town
council, addressing Andrey Yefimitch after they had all greeted one
another and sat down to the table. "Here Yevgeny Fyodoritch says that
there is not room for the dispensary in the main building, and that it
ought to be transferred to one of the lodges. That's of no
consequence--of course it can be transferred, but the point is that the
lodge wants doing up."

"Yes, it would have to be done up," said Andrey Yefimitch after a
moment's thought. "If the corner lodge, for instance, were fitted up as
a dispensary, I imagine it would cost at least five hundred roubles. An
unproductive expenditure!"

Everyone was silent for a space.

"I had the honour of submitting to you ten years ago," Andrey Yefimitch
went on in a low voice, "that the hospital in its present form is a
luxury for the town beyond its means. It was built in the forties, but
things were different then. The town spends too much on unnecessary
buildings and superfluous staff. I believe with a different system two
model hospitals might be maintained for the same money."

"Well, let us have a different system, then!" the member of the town
council said briskly.

"I have already had the honour of submitting to you that the medical
department should be transferred to the supervision of the Zemstvo."

"Yes, transfer the money to the Zemstvo and they will steal it," laughed
the fair-haired doctor.

"That's what it always comes to," the member of the council assented,
and he also laughed.

Andrey Yefimitch looked with apathetic, lustreless eyes at the fair-
haired doctor and said: "One should be just."

Again there was silence. Tea was brought in. The military commander, for
some reason much embarrassed, touched Andrey Yefimitch's hand across the
table and said: "You have quite forgotten us, doctor. But of course you
are a hermit: you don't play cards and don't like women. You would be
dull with fellows like us."

They all began saying how boring it was for a decent person to live in
such a town. No theatre, no music, and at the last dance at the club
there had been about twenty ladies and only two gentlemen. The young men
did not dance, but spent all the time crowding round the refreshment bar
or playing cards.

Not looking at anyone and speaking slowly in a low voice, Andrey
Yefimitch began saying what a pity, what a terrible pity it was that the
townspeople should waste their vital energy, their hearts, and their
minds on cards and gossip, and should have neither the power nor the
inclination to spend their time in interesting conversation and reading,
and should refuse to take advantage of the enjoyments of the mind. The
mind alone was interesting and worthy of attention, all the rest was low
and petty. Hobotov listened to his colleague attentively and suddenly
asked:

"Andrey Yefimitch, what day of the month is it?"

Having received an answer, the fair-haired doctor and he, in the tone of
examiners conscious of their lack of skill, began asking Andrey
Yefimitch what was the day of the week, how many days there were in the
year, and whether it was true that there was a remarkable prophet living
in Ward No. 6.

In response to the last question Andrey Yefimitch turned rather red and
said: "Yes, he is mentally deranged, but he is an interesting young
man."

They asked him no other questions.

When he was putting on his overcoat in the entry, the military commander
laid a hand on his shoulder and said with a sigh:

"It's time for us old fellows to rest!"

As he came out of the hall, Andrey Yefimitch understood that it had been
a committee appointed to enquire into his mental condition. He recalled
the questions that had been asked him, flushed crimson, and for some
reason, for the first time in his life, felt bitterly grieved for
medical science.

"My God. . ." he thought, remembering how these doctors had just
examined him; "why, they have only lately been hearing lectures on
mental pathology; they had passed an examination--what's the explanation
of this crass ignorance? They have not a conception of mental
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