the professor at the breakfast table-第42章

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which　leg　of　the　tripod　is　going　to　break　down　here。　　I　could　tell

you　exactly　what　the　difficulty　is；which　would　be　as　intelligible

and　amusing　as　a　watchmaker's　description　of　a　diseased　timekeeper

to　a　ploughman。　　It　is　enough　to　say；　that　I　found　just　what　I

expected　to；　and　that　I　think　this　attack　is　only　the　prelude　of

more　serious　consequences；which　expression　means　you　very　well

know　what。



And　now　the　secrets　of　this　life　hanging　on　a　thread　must　surely

come　out。　　If　I　have　made　a　mystery　where　there　was　none；　my

suspicions　will　be　shamed；　as　they　have　often　been　before。　　If　there

is　anything　strange；　my　visits　will　clear　it　up。



I　sat　an　hour　or　two　by　the　side　of　the　Little　Gentleman's　bed；

after　giving　him　some　henbane　to　quiet　his　brain；　and　some　foxglove；

which　an　imaginative　French　professor　has　called　the　〃Opium　of　the

Heart。〃　　Under　their　influence　he　gradually　fell　into　an　uneasy；

half…waking　slumber；　the　body　fighting　hard　for　every　breath；　and

the　mind　wandering　off　in　strange　fancies　and　old　recollections；

which　escaped　from　his　lips　in　broken　sentences。



The　last　of　'em；he　said；the　last　of　'em　all；thank　God！　　And

the　grave　he　lies　in　will　look　just　as　well　as　if　he　had　been

straight。　　Dig　it　deep；　old　Martin；　dig　it　deep；and　let　it　be　as

long　as　other　folks'　graves。　　And　mind　you　get　the　sods　flat；　old

man；flat　as　ever　a　straight…backed　young　fellow　was　laid　under。

And　then；　with　a　good　tall　slab　at　the　head；　and　a　foot…stone　six

foot　away　from　it；　it'll　look　just　as　if　there　was　a　man　underneath。



A　man！　　Who　said　he　was　a　man？　　No　more　men　of　that　pattern　to　bear

his　name！　Used　to　be　a　good…looking　set　enough。　Where　's　all　the

manhood　and　womanhood　gone　to　since　his　great…grandfather　was　the

strongest　man　that　sailed　out　of　the　town　of　Boston；　and　poor　Leah

there　the　handsomest　woman　in　Essex；　if　she　was　a　witch？



Give　me　some　light；he　said；more　light。　　I　want　to　see　the

picture。



He　had　started　either　from　a　dream　or　a　wandering　reverie。　　I　was

not　unwilling　to　have　more　light　in　the　apartment；　and　presently　had

lighted　an　astral　lamp　that　stood　on　a　table。　He　pointed　to　a

portrait　hanging　against　the　wall。　Look　at　her；he　said；look　at

her！　　Wasn't　that　a　pretty　neck　to　slip　a　hangman's　noose　over？



The　portrait　was　of　a　young　woman；　something　more　than　twenty　years

old；　perhaps。　　There　were　few　pictures　of　any　merit　painted　in　New

England　before　the　time　of　Smibert；　and　I　am　at　a　loss　to　know　what

artist　could　have　taken　this　half…length；　which　was　evidently　from

life。　　It　was　somewhat　stiff　and　flat；　but　the　grace　of　the　figure

and　the　sweetness　of　the　expression　reminded　me　of　the　angels　of　the

early　Florentine　painters。　　She　must　have　been　of　some

consideration；　for　she　was　dressed　in　paduasoy　and　lace　with　hanging

sleeves；　and　the　old　carved　frame　showed　how　the　picture　had　been

prized　by　its　former　owners。　　A　proud　eye　she　had；　with　all　her

sweetness。　I　think　it　was　that　which　hanged　her；　as　his　strong　arm

hanged　Minister　George　Burroughs；but　it　may　have　been　a　little

mole　on　one　cheek；　which　the　artist　had　just　hinted　as　a　beauty

rather　than　a　deformity。　　You　know；　I　suppose；　that　nursling　imps

addict　themselves；　after　the　fashion　of　young　opossums；　to　these

little　excrescences。　　〃Witch…marks〃　were　good　evidence　that　a　young

woman　was　one　of　the　Devil's　wet…nurses；I　should　like　to　have　seen

you　make　fun　of　them　in　those　days！　Then　she　had　a　brooch　in　her

bodice；　that　might　have　been　taken　for　some　devilish　amulet　or

other；　and　she　wore　a　ring　upon　one　of　her　fingers；　with　a　red　stone

in　it；　that　flamed　as　if　the　painter　had　dipped　his　pencil　in　fire；

who　knows　but　that　it　was　given　her　by　a　midnight　suitor　fresh

from　that　fierce　element；　and　licensed　for　a　season　to　leave　his

couch　of　flame　to　tempt　the　unsanctified　hearts　of　earthly　maidens

and　brand　their　cheeks　with　the　print　of　his　scorching　kisses？



She　and　I；he　said；　as　he　looked　steadfastly　at　the　canvas；she

and　I　are　the　last　of　'em。　She　will　stay；　and　I　shall　go。　　They

never　painted　me；except　when　the　boys　used　to　make　pictures　of　me

with　chalk　on　the　board…fences。　　They　said　the　doctors　would　want　my

skeleton　when　I　was　dead。　You　are　my　friend；　if　you　are　a　doctor；

a'n't　you？



I　just　gave　him　my　hand。　　I　had　not　the　heart　to　speak。



I　want　to　lie　still；he　said；after　I　am　put　to　bed　upon　the　hill

yonder。　　Can't　you　have　a　great　stone　laid　over　me；　as　they　did　over

the　first　settlers　in　the　old　burying…ground　at　Dorchester；　so　as　to

keep　the　wolves　from　digging　them　up？　　I　never　slept　easy　over　the

sod；I　should　like　to　lie　quiet　under　it。　　And　besides；he　said；

in　a　kind　of　scared　whisper；I　don't　want　to　have　my　bones　stared

at；　as　my　body　has　been。　　I　don't　doubt　I　was　a　remarkable　case；

but；　for　God's　sake；　oh；　for　God's　sake；　don't　let　'em　make　a　show

of　the　cage　I　have　been　shut　up　in　and　looked　through　the　bars　of

for　so　many　years。



I　have　heard　it　said　that　the　art　of　healing　makes　men　hard…hearted

and　indifferent　to　human　suffering。　　I　am　willing　to　own　that　there

is　often　a　professional　hardness　in　surgeons；　just　as　there　is　in

theologians；only　much　less　in　degree　than　in　these　last。　　It　does

not　commonly　improve　the　sympathies　of　a　man　to　be　in　the　habit　of

thrusting　knives　into　his　fellow…creatures　and　burning　them　with

red…hot　irons；　any　more　than　it　improves　them　to　hold　the　blinding…

white　cantery　of　Gehenna　by　its　cool　handle　and　score　and　crisp

young　souls　with　it　until　they　are　scorched　into　the　belief　of

Transubstantiation　or　the　Immaculate　Conception。　　And；　to　say　the

plain　truth；　I　think　there　are　a　good　many　coarse　people　in　both

callings。　　A　delicate　nature　will　not　commonly　choose　a　pursuit

which　implies　the　habitual　infliction　of　suffering；　so　readily　as

some　gentler　office。　　Yet；　while　I　am　writing　this　paragraph；　there

passes　by　my　window；　on　his　daily　errand　of　duty；　not　seeing　me；

though　I　catch　a　glimpse　of　his　manly　features　through　the　oval

glass　of　his　chaise；　as　he　drives　by；　a　surgeon　of　skill　and

standing；　so　friendly；　so　modest；　so　tenderhearted　in　all　his　ways；

that；　if　he　had　not　approved　himself　at　once　adroit　and　firm；　one

would　have　said　he　was　of　too　kindly　a　mould　to　be　the　minister　of

pain；　even　if　he　were　saving　pain。



You　may　be　sure　that　some　men；　even　among　those　who　have　chosen　the

task　of　pruning　their　fellow…creatures；　grow　more　and　more

thoughtful　and　truly　compassionate　in　the　midst　of　their　cruel

experience。　　They　become　less　nervous；　but　more　sympathetic。　　They

have　a　truer　sensibility　for　others'　pain；　the　more　they　study　pain

and　disease　in　the　light　of　science。　　I　have　said　this　without

claiming　any　special　growth　in　humanity　for　myself；　though　I　do　hope

I　grow　tenderer　in　my　feelings　as　I　grow　older。　　At　any　rate；　this

was　not　a　time　in　which　professional　habits　could　keep　down　certain

instincts　of　older　date　than　these。



This　poor　little　man's　appeal　to　my　humanity　against　the　supposed

rapacity　of　Science；　which　he　feared　would　have　her　〃specimen；〃　if

his　ghost　should　walk　restlessly　a　thousand　years；　waiting　for　his

bones　to　be　laid　in　the　dust；　touched　my　heart。　　But　I　felt　bound　to

speak　cheerily。



We　won't　die　yet　awhile；　if　we　can　help　it；I　said；and　I　trust

we　can　help　it。　　But　don't　be　afraid；　if　I　live　longest；　I　will　see

that　your　resting　place　is　kept　sacred　till　the　dandelions　and

buttercups　blow　over　you。



He　seemed　to　have　got　his　wits　together　by　this　time；　and　to　have　a

vague　consciousness　that　he　might　have　been　saying　more　than　he

meant　for　anybody's　ears。　I　have　been　talking　a　little　wild；　Sir；

eh？　he　said。　There　is　a　great　buzzing　in　my　head　with　those　drops

of　yours；　and　I　doubt　if　my　tongue　has　not　been　a　little　looser　than

I　would　have　it；　Sir。　　But　I　don't　much　want　to　live；　Sir；　that's

the　truth　of　the　matter；　and　it　does　rather　please　me　to　think　that

fifty　years　from　now　nobody　will　know　that　the　place　where　I　lie

does　n't　hold　as　stout　and　straight　a　man　as　the　best　of　'em　that

stretch　out　as　if　they　were　proud　of　the　room　they　take。　　You　may

get　me　well；　if　you　can；　Sir；　if　you　think　it　worth　while　to　try；

but　I　tell　you　there　has　been　no　time　for　this　many　a　year　when　the

smell　of　fresh　earth　was　not　sweeter　to　me　than　all　the　flowers　that

grow　out　of　it。　　There's　no　anodyne　like　your　good　clean　gravel；

Sir。　　But　if　you　can　keep　me　about　awhile；　and　it　amuses　you　to　try；

you　may　show　your　skill　upon　me；　if　you　like。　　There　is　a　pleasure

or　two　that　I　love　the　daylight　for；　and　I　think　the　night　is　not

far　off；　at　best。　I　believe　I　shall　sleep　now；　you　may　leave　me；

and　come；　if　you　like；　in　the　morning。



Before　I　passed　out；　I　took　one　more　glance　round　the　apartment。

The　beautiful　face　of　the　portrait　looked　at　me；　as　portraits　often

do；　with　a　frightful　kind　of　intelligence　in　its　eyes。　　The　drapery

fluttered　on　the　still　outstretched　arm　of　the　tall　object　near　the

window；a　crack　of　this　was　open；　no　doubt；　and　some　breath　of　wind

stirred　the　hanging　folds。　　In　my　excited　state；　I　seemed　to　see

something　ominous　in　that　arm　pointing　to　the　heavens。　　I　thought　of

the　figures　in　the　Dance　of　Death　at　Basle；　and　that　other　on　the

panels　of　the　covered　Bridge　at　Lucerne；　and　it　seemed　to　me　that

the　grim　mask　who　mingles　with　every　crowd　and　glides　over　every

threshold　was　pointing　the　sick　man　to　his　far　home；　and　would　soon

stretch　out　his　bony　hand　and　lead　him　or　drag　him　on　the　unmeasured

journey　towards　it。



The　fancy　had　possession　of　me；　and　I　shivered　again　as　when　I　first

entered　the　chamber。　　The　picture　and　the　shrouded　shape；　I　saw　only

these　two　objects。　　They　were　enough。　　The　house　was　deadly　still；

and　the　night…wind；　blowing　through　an　open　window；　struck　me　as

from　a　field　of　ice；　at　the　moment　I　passed　into　the　creaking

corridor。　　As　I　turned　into　the　common　passage；　a　white　figure；

holding　a　lamp；　stood　full　before　me。　　I　thought　at　first　it　was　one

of　those　images　made　to　stand　in　niches　and　hold　a　light　in　their

hands。　　But　the　illusion　was　momentary；　and　my　eyes　speedily

recovered　from　the　shock　of　the　bright　flame　and　snowy　drapery　to

see　that　the　figure　was　a　breathing　one。　　It　was　Iris；　in　one　of　her

statue…trances。　　She　had　come　down；　whether　sleeping　or　waking；　I

knew　not　at　first；　led　by　an　instinct　that　told　her　she　was　wanted；…

…or；　possibly；　having　overheard　and　interpreted　the　sound　of　our

movements；or；　it　may　be；　having　learned　from　the　servant　that

there　was　trouble　which　might　ask　for　a　woman's　hand。　　I　sometimes

think　women　have　a　sixth　sense；　which　tells　them　that　others；　whom

they　cannot　see　or　hear；　are　in　suffering。　　How　surely　we　find　them

at　the　bedside　of　the　dying！　　How　strongly　does　Nature　plead　for

them；　that　we　should　draw　our　first　breath　in　their　arms；　as　we　sigh

away