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Authors: Winston Graham
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Functions. In tin or flint bottles, according to size." What are we coming to, Mr Whitworth, that the surgeons of the town should be expected to suffer such quacks and medical jockeys in their midst?'
'Indeed’ said Ossie, fingering the broadsheet indifferently. 'Indeed.' The corn merchants were about to go.
'It would be a good subject for the pulpit’ said Dr Be henna, brushing a fleck of porter from the front of his brown velvet jacket. 'They should be denounced by the church, and in no uncertain terms. It is become a scandal.'
'Indeed’ said Mr Whitworth again. ‘I think I could do something along that line. Not Whitsunday, when it would be inappropriate, but within a few weeks perhaps’
'That would be very obliging of you, sir, for many of the common people - most of the common people - are gullible to a degree, and few can distinguish between a skilled physician who has devoted all his years to the study of human suffering and an ignorant charlatan who will sell them a bottle of coloured water and call it the elixir of life.’
'It so happens,' Ossie said, as the corn merchants left and no one else entered, 'it so happens that I would welcome the benefit of your advice - on another matter - a matter which I did broach with you once before but to which you returne d no altogether positive answer’
The surgeon sniffed at the top of his gold-banded cane. The end of his last sentence had been talked down by Mr Whitworth beginning his, and Dr Behenna, not accustomed to being overborne in this way, was slow to change tack.
'What subject is that?'
'My wife’ said Ossie.
There was considerable conversation going on in the main taproom, but this room was a little backwater. Indeed there was a quality of liquidity about the light, for the flawed and discoloured panes in the windows cast deceptive colourations on table and bench and chair, on mugs and glasses, on hands and clothes and facial expressions so that they were at once muted and inscrutable.
'She is unwell again?'
‘ I think she is well enough of body, Dr Behenna, but far from well of mind. I have marked a noted deterioration in her general behaviour.'
'How, sir? In what way?’
'She has periods of profound melancholy when she will speak to no one, not even the children. Then she has spasms of savage excitement, when I tremble as to what she may do next. I have noticed a marked decline in her mental pow ers.’
'Indeed? It's less than four weeks since I visited her. I must call again shortly.'
Ossie took a deep draught of porter. 'You know the problems that I face, as a responsible minister of the church. You know how I spoke to you at Christmas. I cannot see how the situation can go on very much longer as it is.' He dabbed his mouth with a large linen handkerchief.
'I know, Mr Whitworth. But you must appreciate what I told you then. Even supposing you were able to get Mrs Whitworth committed to an asylum, the treatment is nil. The inmates are sometimes chained. When they will not eat they are forcibly fed - and then not infrequently choke to death. I do not believe your wife would long survive.'
Ossie contemplated this agreeable thought for a moment. 'It is always considered, it is well understood,' he said, 'that insanity is a visitation of judgment upon the wicked. No good man, no good woman is so visited. You will remember how Christ drove out the evil spirits.'
Dr Behenna coughed. 'But there are degrees of visitation, and one hesitates to think of Mrs Whitworth as being possessed by an evil spirit.'
'I don't know what else. I don't know what else. Since Christmas, however,' said Ossie , ‘I have been giving thought to another course that may be open. A compromise course. There are in fact in Cornwall one or two private madhouses where the less seriously afflicted are taken in. There is one I have been in touch with at St Neot. Such a recourse would not need the sanction of a court; Mrs Whitworth could be conveyed there privately and kept
'Indeed’ said Ossie, fingering the broadsheet indifferently. 'Indeed.' The corn merchants were about to go.
'It would be a good subject for the pulpit’ said Dr Be henna, brushing a fleck of porter from the front of his brown velvet jacket. 'They should be denounced by the church, and in no uncertain terms. It is become a scandal.'
'Indeed’ said Mr Whitworth again. ‘I think I could do something along that line. Not Whitsunday, when it would be inappropriate, but within a few weeks perhaps’
'That would be very obliging of you, sir, for many of the common people - most of the common people - are gullible to a degree, and few can distinguish between a skilled physician who has devoted all his years to the study of human suffering and an ignorant charlatan who will sell them a bottle of coloured water and call it the elixir of life.’
'It so happens,' Ossie said, as the corn merchants left and no one else entered, 'it so happens that I would welcome the benefit of your advice - on another matter - a matter which I did broach with you once before but to which you returne d no altogether positive answer’
The surgeon sniffed at the top of his gold-banded cane. The end of his last sentence had been talked down by Mr Whitworth beginning his, and Dr Behenna, not accustomed to being overborne in this way, was slow to change tack.
'What subject is that?'
'My wife’ said Ossie.
There was considerable conversation going on in the main taproom, but this room was a little backwater. Indeed there was a quality of liquidity about the light, for the flawed and discoloured panes in the windows cast deceptive colourations on table and bench and chair, on mugs and glasses, on hands and clothes and facial expressions so that they were at once muted and inscrutable.
'She is unwell again?'
‘ I think she is well enough of body, Dr Behenna, but far from well of mind. I have marked a noted deterioration in her general behaviour.'
'How, sir? In what way?’
'She has periods of profound melancholy when she will speak to no one, not even the children. Then she has spasms of savage excitement, when I tremble as to what she may do next. I have noticed a marked decline in her mental pow ers.’
'Indeed? It's less than four weeks since I visited her. I must call again shortly.'
Ossie took a deep draught of porter. 'You know the problems that I face, as a responsible minister of the church. You know how I spoke to you at Christmas. I cannot see how the situation can go on very much longer as it is.' He dabbed his mouth with a large linen handkerchief.
'I know, Mr Whitworth. But you must appreciate what I told you then. Even supposing you were able to get Mrs Whitworth committed to an asylum, the treatment is nil. The inmates are sometimes chained. When they will not eat they are forcibly fed - and then not infrequently choke to death. I do not believe your wife would long survive.'
Ossie contemplated this agreeable thought for a moment. 'It is always considered, it is well understood,' he said, 'that insanity is a visitation of judgment upon the wicked. No good man, no good woman is so visited. You will remember how Christ drove out the evil spirits.'
Dr Behenna coughed. 'But there are degrees of visitation, and one hesitates to think of Mrs Whitworth as being possessed by an evil spirit.'
'I don't know what else. I don't know what else. Since Christmas, however,' said Ossie , ‘I have been giving thought to another course that may be open. A compromise course. There are in fact in Cornwall one or two private madhouses where the less seriously afflicted are taken in. There is one I have been in touch with at St Neot. Such a recourse would not need the sanction of a court; Mrs Whitworth could be conveyed there privately and kept
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