In the Days of My Youth: A NovelEdwards, Amelia B.
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In the Days of My Youth: A Novel
Edwards, Amelia B.
Love stories; Medical students -- Fiction; Paris (France) -- Fiction
"'I turned away without replying, and, having placed the lamp to my
satisfaction, began rapidly sketching in my subject. My instructions
were simple. I was to give the head only; to produce as rapid an effect
with as little labor as possible; to alter nothing; to add nothing; and,
above all, to be ready to leave the house before daybreak. So I set
steadily to work, and my conductor, establishing himself in an
easy-chair by the fire, watched my progress for some time, and then, as
the night advanced, fell profoundly asleep. Thus, hour after hour went
by, and, absorbed in my work, I painted on, unconscious of fatigue--
might almost say with something of a morbid pleasure in the task before
me. The silence within; the raving of the wind and rain without; the
solemn mystery of death, and the still more solemn mystery of crime
which, as I followed out train after train of wild conjectures, grew to
still deeper conviction, had each and all their own gloomy fascination.
Was it not possible, I asked myself, by mere force of will to penetrate
the secret? Was it not possible to study that dead face till the springs
of thought so lately stilled within the stricken brain should vibrate
once more, if only for an instant, as wire vibrates to wire, and sound
to sound! Could I not, by long studying of the passive mouth, compel
some sympathetic revelation of the last word that it uttered, though
that revelation took no outward form, and were communicable to the
apprehension only? Pondering thus, I lost myself in a labyrinth of
fantastic reveries, till the hand and the brain worked independently of
each other--the one swiftly reproducing upon canvas the outer lineaments
of the dead; the other laboring to retrace foregone facts of which no
palpable evidence remained. Thus my work progressed; thus the night
waned; thus the sleeper by the fireside stirred from time to time, or
moaned at intervals in his dreams.
"At length, when many hours had gone by, and I began to be conscious of
the first languor of sleeplessness, I heard, or fancied I heard, a light
sound in the corridor without. I held my breath, and listened. As I
listened, it ceased--was renewed--drew nearer--paused outside the door.
Involuntarily, I rose and looked round for some means of defence, in
case of need. Was I brought here to perpetuate the record of a crime,
and was I, when my task was done, to be silenced in a dungeon, or a
grave? This thought flashed upon me almost before I was conscious of the
horror it involved. At the same moment, I saw the handle of the door
turned slowly and cautiously--then held back--and then, after a brief
pause, the door itself gradually opening."
Here the student paused as if overcome by the recollection of that
moment, and passed his hand nervously across his brow. I took the
liberty of pushing our bottle of Chablis towards him, for which he
thanked me with a nod and a smile, and filled his glass to the brim.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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