章节正文
The Autobiography of a Quack
S. Weir Mitchell, MD, LLD
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A QUACK
AND
THE CASE OF GEORGE DEDLOW
BY
S. WEIR MITCHELL, M.D.,
LL.D. HARVARD AND EDINBURGH
CONTENTS
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A QUACK
THE CASE OF GEORGE DEDLOW
INTRODUCTION
Both of the tales in this little volume
appeared originally in the ``Atlantic Monthly''
as anonymous contributions. I owe to the
present owners of that journalpermission to
use them. ``The Autobiography of a Quack ''
has been recast with large additions.
``The Case of George Dedlow'' was not
written with any intention that it should
appear in print. I lent the manuscript to the
Rev. Dr. Furness and forgot it. This gentleman
sent it to the Rev. Edward Everett Hale.
He, presuming, I fancy, that every one
desired to appear in the ``Atlantic,'' offered it
to that journal. To my surprise, soon afterwards
I received a proof and a check. The
story was inserted as a leading article without
my name. It was at once accepted by many
as the description of a real case. Money was
collected in several places to assist the
unfortunate man, and benevolent persons went
to the ``Stump Hospital,'' in Philadelphia, to
see the sufferer and to offer him aid. The
spiritual incident at the end of the story was
received with joy by the spiritualists as a
valuable proof of the truth of their beliefs.
S. WEIR MITCHELL
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A QUACK
At this present moment of time
I am what the doctors call an
interesting case, and am to be
found in bed No. 10, Ward
11, Massachusetts General
Hospital. I am told that I have what is called
Addison's disease, and that it is this pleasing
malady which causes me to be covered with
large blotches of a dark mulatto tint. However,
it is a rather grim subject to joke about,
because, if I believed the doctor who comes
around every day, and thumps me, and listens
to my chest with as much pleasure as if I
were music all through--I say, if I really
believed him, I should suppose I was going to
die. The fact is, I don't believe him at all.
Some of these days I shall take a turn and
get about again; but meanwhile it is rather
dull for a stirring, active person like me to
have to lie still and watch myself getting big
brown and yellow spots all over me, like a
map that has taken to growing.
The man on my right has consumption
--smells of cod-liver oil, and coughs all
night. The man on my left is a down-easter
with a liver which has struck work; looks
like a human pumpkin; and how he contrives
to whittle jackstraws all day, and eat as he
does, I can't understand. I have tried reading
and tried whittling, but they don't either of
them satisfy me, so that yesterday I concluded
to ask the doctor if he couldn't suggest some
other amusement.
I waited until he had gone through the
ward, and then seized my chance, and asked
him to stop a moment.
``Well, my man,'' said he, ``what do you
want!''
I thought him rather disrespectful, but I
replied, ``Something to do, doctor.''
He thought a little, and then said: ``I'll
tell you what to do. I think if you were to
write out a plain account of your life it
would be pretty well worth reading. If half
of what you told me last week be true, you
must be about as clever a scamp as there is
to be met with. I suppose you would just
as lief put it on paper as talk it.''
``Pretty nearly,'' said I. ``I think I will
try it, doctor.''
After he left I lay awhile thinking over
the matter. I knew well that I was what the
world calls a scamp, and I knew also that I
had got little good out of the fact. If a man
is what people call virtuous, and fails in life,
he gets credit at least for the virtue; but
when a man is a--is--well, one of liberal
views, and breaks down, somehow or other
people don't credit him with even the
intelligence he has put into the business. This
I call hard. If I did not recall with satisfaction
the energy and skill with which I did
my work, I should be nothing but disgusted
at the melancholyspectacle of my failure.
I suppose that I shall at least find occupation
in reviewing all this, and I think, therefore,
for my own satisfaction, I shall try to
amuse my convalescence by writing a plain,
straightforward account of the life I have
led, and the various devices by which I have
sought to get my share of the money of my
countrymen. It does appear to me that I
have had no end of bad luck.
As no one will ever see these pages, I find it
pleasant to recall for my own satisfaction the
fact that I am really a very remarkable man.
I am, or rather I was, very good-looking, five
feet eleven, with a lot of curly red hair, and
blue eyes. I am left-handed, which is another
unusual thing. My hands have often been
noticed. I get them from my mother, who was
a Fishbourne, and a lady. As for my father,
he was rather common. He was a little man,
red and round like an apple, but very strong,
for a reason I shall come to presently. The
family must have had a pious liking for Bible
names, because he was called Zebulon, my
sister Peninnah, and I Ezra, which is not
a name for a gentleman. At one time I
thought of changing it, but I got over it
by signing myself ``E. Sanderaft.''
Where my father was born I do not know,
except that it was somewhere in New Jersey,
for I remember that he was once angry
because a man called him a Jersey Spaniard.
I am not much concerned to write about my
people, because I soon got above their level;
and as to my mother, she died when I was
an infant. I get my manners, which are
rather remarkable, from her.
My aunt, Rachel Sanderaft, who kept
house for us, was a queer character. She
had a snug little property, about seven
thousand dollars. An old aunt left her the money
because she was stone-deaf. As this defect
came upon her after she grew up, she still
kept her voice. This woman was the cause
of some of my ill luck in life, and I hope she
is uncomfortable, wherever she is. I think
with satisfaction that I helped to make her
life uneasy when I was young, and worse
later on. She gave away to the idle poor
some of her small income, and hid the rest,
like a magpie, in her Bible or rolled in her
stockings, or in even queerer places. The
worst of her was that she could tell what
people said by looking at their lips; this I
hated. But as I grew and became intelligent,
her ways of hiding her money proved useful,
to me at least. As to Peninnah, she was
nothing special until she suddenly bloomed
out into a rather stout, pretty girl, took to
ribbons, and liked what she called ``keeping
company.'' She ran errands for every one,
waited on my aunt, and thought I was a
wonderful person--as indeed I was. I never
could understand her fondness for helping
everybody. A fellow has got himself to
think about, and that is quite enough. I
was told pretty often that I was the most
selfish boy alive. But, then, I am an
unusual person, and there are several names
for things.
My father kept a small shop for the sale
of legal stationery and the like, on Fifth
street north of Chestnut. But his chief
interest in life lay in the bell-ringing of
Christ Church. He was leader, or No. 1, and
the whole business was in the hands of a
kind of guild which is nearly as old as the
church. I used to hear more of it than I
liked, because my father talked of nothing
else. But I do not mean to bore myself
writing of bells. I heard too much about
``back shake,'' ``raising in peal,'' ``scales,''
and ``touches,'' and the Lord knows what.
My earliest remembrance is of sitting on
my father's shoulder when he led off the
ringers. He was very strong, as I said, by
reason of this exercise. With one foot
caught in a loop of leather nailed to the
floor, he would begin to pull No. 1, and by
and by the whole peal would be swinging,
and he going up and down, to my joy; I used
to feel as if it was I that was making the
great noise that rang out all over the town.
My familiar acquaintance with the old church
and its lumber-rooms, where were stored the
dusty arms of William and Mary and George
II., proved of use in my later days.
My father had a strong belief in my
talents, and I do not think he was mistaken.
S. Weir Mitchell, MD, LLD
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A QUACK
AND
THE CASE OF GEORGE DEDLOW
BY
S. WEIR MITCHELL, M.D.,
LL.D. HARVARD AND EDINBURGH
CONTENTS
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A QUACK
THE CASE OF GEORGE DEDLOW
INTRODUCTION
Both of the tales in this little volume
appeared originally in the ``Atlantic Monthly''
as anonymous contributions. I owe to the
present owners of that journalpermission to
use them. ``The Autobiography of a Quack ''
has been recast with large additions.
``The Case of George Dedlow'' was not
written with any intention that it should
appear in print. I lent the manuscript to the
Rev. Dr. Furness and forgot it. This gentleman
sent it to the Rev. Edward Everett Hale.
He, presuming, I fancy, that every one
desired to appear in the ``Atlantic,'' offered it
to that journal. To my surprise, soon afterwards
I received a proof and a check. The
story was inserted as a leading article without
my name. It was at once accepted by many
as the description of a real case. Money was
collected in several places to assist the
unfortunate man, and benevolent persons went
to the ``Stump Hospital,'' in Philadelphia, to
see the sufferer and to offer him aid. The
spiritual incident at the end of the story was
received with joy by the spiritualists as a
valuable proof of the truth of their beliefs.
S. WEIR MITCHELL
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A QUACK
At this present moment of time
I am what the doctors call an
interesting case, and am to be
found in bed No. 10, Ward
11, Massachusetts General
Hospital. I am told that I have what is called
Addison's disease, and that it is this pleasing
malady which causes me to be covered with
large blotches of a dark mulatto tint. However,
it is a rather grim subject to joke about,
because, if I believed the doctor who comes
around every day, and thumps me, and listens
to my chest with as much pleasure as if I
were music all through--I say, if I really
believed him, I should suppose I was going to
die. The fact is, I don't believe him at all.
Some of these days I shall take a turn and
get about again; but meanwhile it is rather
dull for a stirring, active person like me to
have to lie still and watch myself getting big
brown and yellow spots all over me, like a
map that has taken to growing.
The man on my right has consumption
--smells of cod-liver oil, and coughs all
night. The man on my left is a down-easter
with a liver which has struck work; looks
like a human pumpkin; and how he contrives
to whittle jackstraws all day, and eat as he
does, I can't understand. I have tried reading
and tried whittling, but they don't either of
them satisfy me, so that yesterday I concluded
to ask the doctor if he couldn't suggest some
other amusement.
I waited until he had gone through the
ward, and then seized my chance, and asked
him to stop a moment.
``Well, my man,'' said he, ``what do you
want!''
I thought him rather disrespectful, but I
replied, ``Something to do, doctor.''
He thought a little, and then said: ``I'll
tell you what to do. I think if you were to
write out a plain account of your life it
would be pretty well worth reading. If half
of what you told me last week be true, you
must be about as clever a scamp as there is
to be met with. I suppose you would just
as lief put it on paper as talk it.''
``Pretty nearly,'' said I. ``I think I will
try it, doctor.''
After he left I lay awhile thinking over
the matter. I knew well that I was what the
world calls a scamp, and I knew also that I
had got little good out of the fact. If a man
is what people call virtuous, and fails in life,
he gets credit at least for the virtue; but
when a man is a--is--well, one of liberal
views, and breaks down, somehow or other
people don't credit him with even the
intelligence he has put into the business. This
I call hard. If I did not recall with satisfaction
the energy and skill with which I did
my work, I should be nothing but disgusted
at the melancholyspectacle of my failure.
I suppose that I shall at least find occupation
in reviewing all this, and I think, therefore,
for my own satisfaction, I shall try to
amuse my convalescence by writing a plain,
straightforward account of the life I have
led, and the various devices by which I have
sought to get my share of the money of my
countrymen. It does appear to me that I
have had no end of bad luck.
As no one will ever see these pages, I find it
pleasant to recall for my own satisfaction the
fact that I am really a very remarkable man.
I am, or rather I was, very good-looking, five
feet eleven, with a lot of curly red hair, and
blue eyes. I am left-handed, which is another
unusual thing. My hands have often been
noticed. I get them from my mother, who was
a Fishbourne, and a lady. As for my father,
he was rather common. He was a little man,
red and round like an apple, but very strong,
for a reason I shall come to presently. The
family must have had a pious liking for Bible
names, because he was called Zebulon, my
sister Peninnah, and I Ezra, which is not
a name for a gentleman. At one time I
thought of changing it, but I got over it
by signing myself ``E. Sanderaft.''
Where my father was born I do not know,
except that it was somewhere in New Jersey,
for I remember that he was once angry
because a man called him a Jersey Spaniard.
I am not much concerned to write about my
people, because I soon got above their level;
and as to my mother, she died when I was
an infant. I get my manners, which are
rather remarkable, from her.
My aunt, Rachel Sanderaft, who kept
house for us, was a queer character. She
had a snug little property, about seven
thousand dollars. An old aunt left her the money
because she was stone-deaf. As this defect
came upon her after she grew up, she still
kept her voice. This woman was the cause
of some of my ill luck in life, and I hope she
is uncomfortable, wherever she is. I think
with satisfaction that I helped to make her
life uneasy when I was young, and worse
later on. She gave away to the idle poor
some of her small income, and hid the rest,
like a magpie, in her Bible or rolled in her
stockings, or in even queerer places. The
worst of her was that she could tell what
people said by looking at their lips; this I
hated. But as I grew and became intelligent,
her ways of hiding her money proved useful,
to me at least. As to Peninnah, she was
nothing special until she suddenly bloomed
out into a rather stout, pretty girl, took to
ribbons, and liked what she called ``keeping
company.'' She ran errands for every one,
waited on my aunt, and thought I was a
wonderful person--as indeed I was. I never
could understand her fondness for helping
everybody. A fellow has got himself to
think about, and that is quite enough. I
was told pretty often that I was the most
selfish boy alive. But, then, I am an
unusual person, and there are several names
for things.
My father kept a small shop for the sale
of legal stationery and the like, on Fifth
street north of Chestnut. But his chief
interest in life lay in the bell-ringing of
Christ Church. He was leader, or No. 1, and
the whole business was in the hands of a
kind of guild which is nearly as old as the
church. I used to hear more of it than I
liked, because my father talked of nothing
else. But I do not mean to bore myself
writing of bells. I heard too much about
``back shake,'' ``raising in peal,'' ``scales,''
and ``touches,'' and the Lord knows what.
My earliest remembrance is of sitting on
my father's shoulder when he led off the
ringers. He was very strong, as I said, by
reason of this exercise. With one foot
caught in a loop of leather nailed to the
floor, he would begin to pull No. 1, and by
and by the whole peal would be swinging,
and he going up and down, to my joy; I used
to feel as if it was I that was making the
great noise that rang out all over the town.
My familiar acquaintance with the old church
and its lumber-rooms, where were stored the
dusty arms of William and Mary and George
II., proved of use in my later days.
My father had a strong belief in my
talents, and I do not think he was mistaken.
- journal [´dʒə:nəl]
n.日记；日报；杂志 (初中英语单词) - permission [pə´miʃən] n.允许；同意；许可 (初中英语单词)
- intention [in´tenʃən] n.意图；打算；意义 (初中英语单词)
- description [di´skripʃən] n.描写 (初中英语单词)
- assist [ə´sist] v.协助；援助；搀扶 (初中英语单词)
- incident [´insidənt] n.小事件；事变 (初中英语单词)
- meanwhile [´mi:n´wail] n.&ad.其间；同时 (初中英语单词)
- yesterday [´jestədi] n.&ad.昨天；前不久 (初中英语单词)
- account [ə´kaunt] vi.说明 vt.认为 n.帐目 (初中英语单词)
- reading [´ri:diŋ] n.(阅)读；朗读；读物 (初中英语单词)
- awhile [ə´wail] ad.少顷；片刻 (初中英语单词)
- virtue [´və:tʃu:] n.美德；贞操；长处 (初中英语单词)
- energy [´enədʒi] n.活力，精力；能力 (初中英语单词)
- spectacle [´spektəkəl] n.展览；表演；景象 (初中英语单词)
- satisfaction [,sætis´fækʃən] n.满意；满足 (初中英语单词)
- writing [´raitiŋ] n.书写；写作；书法 (初中英语单词)
- remarkable [ri´mɑ:kəbl] a.值得注意的；显著的 (初中英语单词)
- presently [´prezəntli] ad.不久；目前 (初中英语单词)
- jersey [´dʒə:zi] n.毛织运动衫；毛线衫 (初中英语单词)
- infant [´infənt] n.&a.婴(幼)儿 (初中英语单词)
- character [´kæriktə] n.特性；性质；人物；字 (初中英语单词)
- wherever [weər´evə] conj.无论在哪里 (初中英语单词)
- income [´inkʌm] n.收入，所得 (初中英语单词)
- acquaintance [ə´kweintəns] n.相识；熟人，相识的人 (初中英语单词)
- belief [bi´li:f] n.相信；信仰，信条 (初中英语单词)
- harvard [´hɑ:vəd] n.哈佛大学 (高中英语单词)
- originally [ə´ridʒənəli] ad.本来；独创地 (高中英语单词)
- manuscript [´mænjuskript] a.手抄的 n.手稿 (高中英语单词)
- pumpkin [´pʌmpkin] n.南瓜 (高中英语单词)
- melancholy [´melənkəli] n.忧郁 a.忧郁的 (高中英语单词)
- concerned [kən´sə:nd] a.有关的；担心的 (高中英语单词)
- uncomfortable [ʌn´kʌmftəbəl] a.不舒服的，不自在的 (高中英语单词)
- uneasy [ʌn´i:zi] a.不安的；不自在的 (高中英语单词)
- chestnut [´tʃesnʌt] n.栗子；栗树；栗色(马) (高中英语单词)
- remembrance [ri´membrəns] n.记忆(力)；回忆 (高中英语单词)
- mistaken [mis´teikən] mistake的过去分词 (高中英语单词)
- sufferer [´sʌfərə] n.受苦的人；患者 (英语四级单词)
- stirring [´stə:riŋ] a.活跃的；热闹的 (英语四级单词)
- virtuous [´və:tjuəs] a.道德的；善良的 (英语四级单词)
- anonymous [ə´nɔniməs] a.不具名的；匿名的 (英语六级单词)
- benevolent [bi´nevələnt] a.仁慈的；乐善好施的 (英语六级单词)
- good-looking [] a.漂亮的，美貌的 (英语六级单词)
- liking [´laikiŋ] n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 (英语六级单词)
- fondness [´fɔndnis] n.蠢事；溺爱；嗜好 (英语六级单词)
文章标签:名著
章节正文
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