Authors -- Fiction; Human-alien encounters -- Fiction; Martians -- Fiction; Paris (France) -- Fiction; Young men -- Fiction
All his old loathing of sport had come back, and he was getting his
old dislike of meat once more, and to sicken at the sight of a
butcher's shop; and the sight of a blind man stirred him to the
depths ... even when he learnt how happy a blind man can be!
These unhappy things that can't be helped preoccupied him as if he
had been twenty, thirty, fifty years older; and the world seemed to
him a shocking place, a gray, bleak, melancholy hell where there was
nothing but sadness, and badness, and madness.
And bit by bit, but very soon, all his old trust in an all-merciful,
all-powerful ruler of the universe fell from him; he shed it like an
old skin; it sloughed itself away; and with it all his old conceit
of himself as a very fine fellow, taller, handsomer, cleverer than
anybody else, "bar two or three"! Such darling beliefs are the best
stays we can have; and he found life hard to face without them.
And he got as careful of his aunt Caroline, and as anxious about her
little fads and fancies and ailments, as if he'd been an old woman
himself.
Imagine how she grew to dote on him!
And he quite lost his old liability to sudden freaks and fits of noisy
fractiousness about trifles--when he would stamp and rave and curse and
swear, and be quite pacified in a moment: "_Soupe-au-lait_," as he was
nicknamed in Troplong's studio!
* * * * *
Besides his seton and his cuppings, dry and wet, and his blisters on
his arms and back, and his mustard poultices on his feet and legs,
and his doses of mercury and alteratives, he had also to deplete
himself of blood three times a week by a dozen or twenty leeches
behind his left ear and on his temple. All this softens and relaxes
the heart towards others, as a good tonic will harden it.
So that he looked a mere shadow of his former self when I went over
to spend my Christmas with him.
And his eye was getting worse instead of better; at night he couldn't
sleep for the fireworks it let off in the dark. By day the trouble
was even worse, as it so interfered with the sight of the other
eye--even if he wore a patch, which he hated. He never knew peace
but when his aunt was reading to him in the dimly lighted room, and
he forgot himself in listening.
Yet he was as lively and droll as ever, with a wan face as eloquent
of grief as any face I ever saw; he had it in his head that the
right eye would go the same way as the left. He could no longer see
the satellites of Jupiter with it: hardly Jupiter itself, except as
a luminous blur; indeed, it was getting quite near-sighted, and full
of spots and specks and little movable clouds--_muscæ volitantes_,
as I believe they are called by the faculty. He was always on the
lookout for new symptoms, and never in vain; and his burden was as
much as he could bear.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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