Such was my state of mind on being awakened early one morning by peculiar symptoms which I had never before experienced.  Unwilling to admit to myself the possibility of being ill, I got up, and endeavoured to dress as usual, but very soon discovered that I was unable to stand.  There was no denying the fact; not only was I ill, but the malady, whatever it was, surpassed my powers of diagnosis; and when the symptoms increased steadily all that day and the following night, I was constrained to take the humiliating decision of asking for medical advice.  To my inquiries whether there was a doctor in the neighbourhood, the old servant replied, “There is not exactly a doctor, but there is a Feldsher in the village.”

“And what is a Feldsher?”

“A Feldsher is . . . . is a Feldsher.”

“I am quite aware of that, but I would like to know what you mean by the word.  What is this Feldsher?”

“He’s an old soldier who dresses wounds and gives physic.”

The definition did not predispose me in favour of the mysterious personage, but as there was nothing better to be had I ordered him to be sent for, notwithstanding the strenuous opposition of the old servant, who evidently did not believe in feldshers.

In about half an hour a tall, broad-shouldered man entered, and stood bolt upright in the middle of the room in the attitude which is designated in military language by the word “Attention.”  His clean-shaven chin, long moustache, and closely-cropped hair confirmed one part of the old servant’s definition; he was unmistakably an old soldier.

“You are a Feldsher,” I said, making use of the word which I had recently added to my vocabulary.

“Exactly so, your Nobility!” These words, the ordinary form of affirmation used by soldiers to their officers, were pronounced in a loud, metallic, monotonous tone, as if the speaker had been an automaton conversing with a brother automaton at a distance of twenty yards.  As soon as the words were pronounced the mouth of the machine closed spasmodically, and the head, which had been momentarily turned towards me, reverted to its former position with a jerk as if it had received the order “Eyes front!”

“Then please to sit down here, and I’ll tell you about my ailment.”  Upon this the figure took three paces to the front, wheeled to the right-about, and sat down on the edge of the chair, retaining the position of “Attention” as nearly as the sitting posture would allow.  When the symptoms had been carefully described, he knitted his brows, and after some reflection remarked, “I can give you a dose of . . . .”  Here followed a long word which I did not understand.

“I don’t wish you to give me a dose of anything till I know what is the matter with me.  Though a bit of a doctor myself, I have no idea what it is, and, pardon me, I think you are in the same position.”  Noticing a look of ruffled professional dignity on his face, I added, as a sedative, “It is evidently something very peculiar, so that if the first medical practitioner in the country were present he would probably be as much puzzled as ourselves.”