Wilson's Tales of the Borders and of Scotland, Volume 05
General
Wilson's Tales of the Borders and of Scotland, Volume 05
Scottish Borders (Scotland) -- Fiction
The unhappy man spoke truth: an attack of his disease came on him at
that moment, and he fell back on the couch, screaming, and pressing,
with all his force, his hand against the seat from which the pains
lancinated through the bones and muscles of his face. His cries brought
his wife to his assistance; but it is one of the characteristics of this
disease, that assistants and comforters can only look on and weep, so
utterly does it defy and mock all human efforts. I left him in the
charge of his wife, to whom I gave some directions, rather to revive her
hope and remove from her countenance a painful anxiety that clouded it,
than with any hope of affording relief. As I proceeded through the
planting in which the house was situated, I heard his cries for some
distance; and, while I pitied the victim, called up into my mind his
sentiments, which struck me as being peculiar and mysterious. His
conviction of some connection between an attack of his complaint and his
attempt to get it removed, was clearly a fancy; yet the existence of
such an idea indicated something wrong either in his mind or
conscience--even with the admission that a pain so extraordinary might
itself suggest, to a sober-minded man, some thoughts of Divine
retribution, where there was no crime to be expiated of a deeper die
than the most of mankind are in the habit of committing.
Whatever might be the ground of the delusion under which the patient
laboured, it was necessary, at all events, to remove the notion that an
effort to cure the disease had any supposed mysterious connection with
an attack; the best way of accomplishing which was to hold forth, by
calling and applying remedial processes, the handle of an occasion to
the unseen power to make the attack, which, if not taken advantage of
(and who could suppose it would?) might expose the absurdity of his
suspicion or conviction. I accordingly called again next day, and
observed, as I entered, that the patient's eye scanned me with a look as
eloquent as words, that I had brought with me another attack of his
complaint. I ascertained that he had not had an attack since the one I
witnessed, and then told him, that, as he would not consent to allow the
nerve to be severed, I had brought a lotion which might prove
efficacious, if applied to the diseased parts in the manner I explained
to him. I held out to him the bottle, but he looked at it with fear, and
said, he _could not_, he _dared not_ take it.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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