THE LEECH AND HIS PATIENT Old Roger Chillingworth, throughout life, had been calm in temperament, kindly, though not of warm affections, but ever, and in all his relations with the world, a pure and upright man. He had begun an investigation, as he imagined, with the severe and equal integrity of a judge, desirous only of truth, even as if the question involved no more than the air-drawn lines and figures of a geometrical problem, instead of human ions, and wrongs inflicted on himself. But, as he proceeded, a terrible fascination, a kind of fierce, though still calm, necessity, seized the old man within its gripe, and never set him free again until he had done all its bidding. He now dug into the poor clergyman's heart, like a miner searching for gold; or, rather, like a sexton delving into a grave, possibly in quest of a jewel that had been buried on the dead man's bosom, but likely to find nothing save mortality and corruption. Alas, for his own soul, if these were what he sought!
Sometimes a light glimmered out of the physician's eyes, burning blue and ominous, like the reflection of a furnace, or, let us say, like one of those gleams of ghastly fire that darted from Bunyan's awful doorway in the hillside, and quivered on the pilgrim's face. The soil where this dark miner was working had perchance shown indications that encouraged him.
"This man," said he, at one such moment, to himself, "pure as they deem him—all spiritual as he seems—hath inherited a strong animal nature from his father or his mother. Let us dig a little further in the direction of this vein!"
Then after long search into the minister's dim interior, and turning over many precious materials, in the shape of high aspirations for the welfare of his race, warm love of souls, pure sentiments, natural piety, strengthened by thought and study, and illuminated by revelation—all of which invaluable gold was perhaps no better than rubbish to the seeker—he would turn back, discouraged, and begin his quest towards another point. He groped along as stealthily, with as cautious a tread, and as wary an outlook, as a thief entering a chamber where a man lies only half asleep—or, it may be, broad awake—with purpose to steal the very treasure which this man guards as the apple of his eye. In spite of his premeditated carefulness, the floor would now and then creak; his garments would rustle; the shadow of his presence, in a forbidden proximity, would be thrown across his victim. In other words, Mr. Dimmesdale, whose sensibility of nerve often produced the effect of spiritual intuition, would become vaguely aware that something inimical to his peace had thrust itself into relation with him. But Old Roger Chillingworth, too, had perceptions that were almost intuitive; and when the minister threw his startled eyes towards him, there the physician sat; his kind, watchful, sympathising, but never intrusive friend.
Yet Mr. Dimmesdale would perhaps have seen this individual's character more perfectly, if a certain morbidness, to which sick hearts are liable, had not rendered him suspicious of all mankind. Trusting no man as his friend, he could not recognize his enemy when the latter actually appeared. He therefore still kept up a familiar intercourse with him, daily receiving the old physician in his study, or visiting the laboratory, and, for recreation's sake, watching the processes by which weeds were converted into drugs of potency.
One day, leaning his forehead on his hand, and his elbow on the sill of the open window, that looked towards the grave-yard, he talked with Roger Chillingworth, while the old man was examining a bundle of unsightly plants.
"Where," asked he, with a look askance at them—for it was the clergyman's peculiarity that he seldom, now-a-days, looked straight forth at any object, whether human or inanimate, "where, my kind doctor, did you gather those herbs, with such a dark, flabby leaf?"
"Even in the graveyard here at hand," answered the physician, continuing his employment. "They are new to me. I found them growing on a grave, which bore no tombstone, no other memorial of the dead man, save these ugly weeds, that have taken upon themselves to keep him in remembrance. They grew out of his heart, and typify, it may be, some hideous secret that was buried with him, and which he had done better to confess during his lifetime."
"Perchance," said Mr. Dimmesdale, "he earnestly desired it, but could not."
"And wherefore?" reed the physician.
"Wherefore not; since all the powers of nature call so earnestly for the confession of sin, that these black weeds have sprung up out of a buried heart, to make manifest, an outspoken crime?"
"That, good sir, is but a phantasy of yours," replied the minister. "There can be, if I forbode aright, no power, short of the Divine mercy, to disclose, whether by uttered words, or by type or emblem, the secrets that may be buried in the human heart. The heart, making itself guilty of such secrets, must perforce hold them, until the day when all hidden things shall be revealed. Nor have I so read or interpreted Holy Writ, as to understand that the disclosure of human thoughts and deeds, then to be made, is intended as a part of the retribution. That, surely, were a shallow view of it. No; these revelations, unless I greatly err, are meant merely to promote the intellectual satisfaction of all intelligent beings, who will stand waiting, on that day, to see the dark problem of this life made plain. A knowledge of men's hearts will be needful to the completest solution of that problem. And, I conceive moreover, that the hearts holding such miserable secrets as you speak of, will yield them up, at that last day, not with reluctance, but with a joy unutterable." |
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EL MDICO Y SU PACIENTE EL anciano mdico haba sido durante toda su vida un hombre de temperamento tranquilo y benvolo, aunque no de afectos muy calurosos, y siempre puro y honrado en todos sus tratos con el mundo. Haba comenzado ahora una investigacin con la severa e imparcial integridad de un juez, como l se imaginaba, deseoso tan slo de hallar la verdad, como si se tratara de un problema geomtrico, y no de las pasiones humanas y de las ofensas de que l era vctima. Pero a medida que proceda en su labor, una especie de terrible fascinacin, una necesidad imperiosa e ineludible se apoder del anciano Roger, y no le dej paz ni reposo mientras no hubo hecho todo lo que crea de su deber. Sondeaba ahora el corazn del pobre ministro como un minero cava la tierra en busca de oro; o un sepulturero una fosa en busca de una joya enterrada con un cadver, para encontrar al fin solamente huesos y corrupcin. Ojala que, para beneficio de su alma, hubiera sido esto lo que Chillingworth buscaba!
veces en los ojos del mdico brillaba un fulgor ominoso a manera del reflejo de una hoguera infernal, como si el terreno en que trabajaba este sombro minero le hubiese dado indicios que le hicieran concebir fundadas esperanzas de hallar algo valioso.
—Este hombre,—se deca en tales momentos all para sus adentros,—este hombre tan puro como lo juzgan, que parece todo espritu, ha heredado una naturaleza animal, muy fuerte, de su padre o de su madre. Ahondemos un poco ms en esta direccin.
Entonces, despus de escudriar minuciosamente el alma del joven clrigo, y de descubrir muchos materiales preciosos en la forma de elevadas aspiraciones por el bienestar de la raza humana, amor ferviente de las almas, sentimientos puros, piedad natural fortalecida por la meditacin y el estudio, e iluminada por la revelacin,—todo lo cual, si bien oro de muchos quilates, no tena valor ninguno para el escudriador mdico,—ste, aunque desalentado, empezaba sus investigaciones en otra direccin. Se deslizaba a hurtadillas, con pisadas tan cautelosas y aspecto tan precavido como un ladrn que penetra en una alcoba donde hay un hombre medio dormido, o quiz completamente despierto, con el objeto de hurtar el tesoro mismo que este hombre guarda como la nia de sus ojos. a pesar de todas sus precauciones y cuidado, el pavimento cruja de vez en cuando; sus vestidos formaban ligero ruido; la sombra de su figura, en una proximidad no permitida, casi envolva a su vctima. El Sr. Dimmesdale, cuya sensibilidad nerviosa era frecuentemente para l una especie de intuicin espiritual, tena a veces una vaga idea de que algo, enemigo de su paz, se haba puesto en medio de su camino. Pero el viejo mdico posea tambin percepciones que eran casi intuitivas; y cuando el ministro le diriga entonces una mirada de asombro, el mdico se sentaba tranquilamente sin decir palabra como su amigo benvolo, vigilante y afectuoso, aunque no importuno.
Sin embargo, el Sr. Dimmesdale acaso se habra dado ms perfecta cuenta del carcter de este individuo, si cierto sentimiento mrbido, a que estn expuestas las almas enfermas, no le hubiera hecho concebir sospechas de todo el gnero humano. No confiando en la amistad de hombre alguno, no pudo reconocer a un enemigo cuando ste realmente se present. Por lo tanto, continuaba manteniendo su trato familiar con el mdico, recibindole diariamente en su estudio, o visitndole en su laboratorio, y, por va de recreo, prestando atencin a los procedimientos por medio de los cuales se convertan las hierbas en drogas poderosas.
Un da, con la frente reclinada en la mano, y el codo en el antepecho de la ventana que daba a un cementerio cerca de la casa, hablaba con el mdico, mientras ste examinaba un manojo de plantas de fea catadura.
—Dnde,—le dijo, contemplando de soslayo las plantas, pues rara vez miraba ahora frente a frente ningn objeto, ya fuera humano o inanimado,—dnde, buen Doctor, habis recogido esas hierbas de hojas tan negras y lacias?
—En el cercano cementerio,—respondi el mdico continuando en su ocupacin. Son nuevas para m. Crecan sobre una fosa sin lpida sepulcral, ni sin ningn otro signo que conserve la memoria del muerto, excepto estas feas hierbas. Parece que brotaban de su corazn, como si simbolizaran algn horrible secreto sepultado con l y que habra hecho mucho mejor en confesar durante su vida.
—Quiz,—replic el Sr. Dimmesdale,—lo dese ardientemente, pero no le fue dado hacerlo.
—Y por qu?—dijo el mdico,—por qu no hacerlo, cuando todas las fuerzas de la naturaleza demandan de tal manera la confesin de la culpa, que hasta estas hierbas negras han salido de un corazn enterrado, para que quede manifiesto un crimen que no se revel?
—Eso, buen seor, no pasa de ser una fantasa vuestra. Si no me equivoco, solo el poder de la Divinidad alcanza a descubrir, ya por medio de palabras proferidas, o por signo, o emblema, los secretos que pudieran estar sepultados en un corazn humano. El corazn que se hace reo de tales secretos, tiene por fuerza que conservarlos, hasta el da en que todas las cosas ocultas se revelarn. Ni he ledo o interpretado las Sagradas Escrituras de modo que me hagan comprender que el descubrimiento de los hechos o pensamientos humanos que entonces ha de verificarse, deba formar parte de la retribucin. Esto sera seguramente una manera muy superficial de ver las cosas. No; estas revelaciones, a no ser que yo me equivoque muy mucho, sirven slo para aumentar la satisfaccin intelectual de todos los seres racionales que en ese da estarn esperando ver la explicacin del sombro problema de la vida. Para que sea completa en todas sus partes la resolucin de ese problema, ser necesario un conocimiento del corazn de los hombres. Y yo creo, adems, que los corazones que encierran esos tristes secretos de que hablis, lo darn a conocer en ese da postrimero, no con repugnancia, sino con alegra inexplicable. |
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