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The Magic Skin-Part37_Honore de Balzac(1799-1850)_Translated Works(翻译文学)-第2页

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one man is like another. We have each peculiar organs, differently



affected" target="_blank" title="a.做作的；假装的">affected, diversely nourished, adapted to perform different functions,

and to induce a condition necessary to the accomplishment of an order



of things which is unknown to us. The sublime will has so wrought that

a little portion of the great All is set within us to sustain the



phenomena of living; in every man it formulates itself distinctly,

making each, to all appearance, a separate individual, yet in one



point co-existent with the infinite cause. So we ought to make a

separate study of each subject, discover all about it, find out in



what its life consists, and wherein its power lies. From the softness

of a wet sponge to the hardness of pumice-stone there are infinite



fine degrees of difference. Man is just like that. Between the sponge-

like organizations of the lymphatic and the vigorous iron muscles of



such men as are destined for a long life, what a margin for errors for

the single inflexible system of a lowering treatment to commit; a



system that reduces the capacities of the human frame, which you

always conclude have been over-excited. Let us look for the origin of



the disease in the mental and not in the physical viscera. A doctor is

an inspired being, endowed by God with a special gift--the power to



read the secrets of vitality; just as the prophet has received the

eyes that foresee the future, the poet his faculty of evoking nature,



and the musician the power of arranging sounds in an harmonious order

that is possibly a copy of an ideal harmony on high."



"There is his everlastingsystem of medicine, arbitrary, monarchical,

and pious," muttered Brisset.



"Gentlemen," Maugredie broke in hastily, to distract attention from

Brisset's comment, "don't let us lose sight of the patient."



"What is the good of science?" Raphael moaned. "Here is my recovery

halting between a string of beads and a rosary of leeches, between



Dupuytren's bistoury and Prince Hohenlohe's prayer. There is Maugredie

suspending his judgment on the line that divides facts from words,



mind from matter. Man's 'it is,' and 'it is not,' is always on my

track; it is the Carymary Carymara of Rabelais for evermore: my



disorder is spiritual, Carymary, or material, Carymara. Shall I live?

They have no idea. Planchette was more straightforward with me, at any



rate, when he said, 'I do not know.' "

Just then Valentin heard Maugredie's voice.



"The patient suffers from monomania; very good, I am quite of that

opinion," he said, "but he has two hundred thousand a year;



monomaniacs of that kind are very uncommon. As for knowing whether his

epigastric region has affected" target="_blank" title="a.做作的；假装的">affected his brain, or his brain his epigastric



region, we shall find that out, perhaps, whenever he dies. But to

resume. There is no disputing the fact that he is ill; some sort of



treatment he must have. Let us leave theories alone, and put leeches

on him, to counteract the nervous and intestinal irritation, as to the



existence of which we all agree; and let us send him to drink the

waters, in that way we shall act on both systems at once. If there



really is tubercular disease, we can hardly expect to save his life;

so that----"



Raphael abruptly left the passage, and went back to his armchair. The

four doctors very soon came out of the study; Horace was the



spokesman.

"These gentlemen," he told him, "have unanimously agreed that leeches



must be applied to the stomach at once, and that both physical and

moral treatment are imperatively needed. In the first place, a






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