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the professor at the breakfast table-第66部分
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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 our last upon the
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