round the red lamp(红灯四周)-第1章
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ROUND THE RED LAMP
ROUND THE RED
LAMP
By SIR ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
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ROUND THE RED LAMP
THE PREFACE。
I quite recognise the force of your objection that an invalid or a
woman in weak health would get no good from stories which attempt to
treat some features of medical life with a certain amount of realism。 If
you deal with this life at all； however； and if you are anxious to make your
doctors something more than marionettes； it is quite essential that you
should paint the darker side； since it is that which is principally presented
to the surgeon or physician。 He sees many beautiful things； it is true；
fortitude and heroism； love and self…sacrifice； but they are all called forth
（as our nobler qualities are always called forth） by bitter sorrow and trial。
One cannot write of medical life and be merry over it。
Then why write of it； you may ask？ If a subject is painful why treat it
at all？ I answer that it is the province of fiction to treat painful things as
well as cheerful ones。 The story which wiles away a weary hour fulfils
an obviously good purpose； but not more so； I hold； than that which helps
to emphasise the graver side of life。 A tale which may startle the reader
out of his usual grooves of thought； and shocks him into seriousness； plays
the part of the alterative and tonic in medicine； bitter to the taste but
bracing in the result。 There are a few stories in this little collection which
might have such an effect； and I have so far shared in your feeling that I
have reserved them from serial publication。 In book…form the reader can
see that they are medical stories； and can； if he or she be so minded； avoid
them。
Yours very truly；
A。 CONAN DOYLE。
P。 S。You ask about the Red Lamp。 It is the usual sign of the
general practitioner in England。
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BEHIND THE TIMES。
My first interview with Dr。 James Winter was under dramatic
circumstances。 It occurred at two in the morning in the bedroom of an
old country house。 I kicked him twice on the white waistcoat and
knocked off his gold spectacles； while he with the aid of a female
accomplice stifled my angry cries in a flannel petticoat and thrust me into
a warm bath。 I am told that one of my parents； who happened to be
present； remarked in a whisper that there was nothing the matter with my
lungs。 I cannot recall how Dr。 Winter looked at the time； for I had other
things to think of； but his description of my own appearance is far from
flattering。 A fluffy head； a body like a trussed goose； very bandy legs；
and feet with the soles turned inwardsthose are the main items which he
can remember。
From this time onwards the epochs of my life were the periodical
assaults which Dr。 Winter made upon me。 He vaccinated me； he cut me
for an abscess； he blistered me for mumps。 It was a world of peace and
he the one dark cloud that threatened。 But at last there came a time of
real illnessa time when I lay for months together inside my wickerwork…
basket bed； and then it was that I learned that that hard face could relax；
that those country…made creaking boots could steal very gently to a
bedside； and that that rough voice could thin into a whisper when it spoke
to a sick child。
And now the child is himself a medical man； and yet Dr。 Winter is the
same as ever。 I can see no change since first I can remember him； save
that perhaps the brindled hair is a trifle whiter； and the huge shoulders a
little more bowed。 He is a very tall man； though he loses a couple of
inches from his stoop。 That big back of his has curved itself over sick
beds until it has set in that shape。 His face is of a walnut brown； and tells
of long winter drives over bleak country roads； with the wind and the rain
in his teeth。 It looks smooth at a little distance； but as you approach him
you see that it is shot with innumerable fine wrinkles like a last year's
apple。 They are hardly to be seen when he is in repose； but when he
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laughs his face breaks like a starred glass； and you realise then that though
he looks old； he must be older than he looks。
How old that is I could never discover。 I have often tried to find out；
and have struck his stream as high up as George IV and even the Regency；
but without ever getting quite to the source。 His mind must have been
open to impressions very early； but it must also have closed early； for the
politics of the day have little interest for him； while he is fiercely excited
about questions which are entirely prehistoric。 He shakes his head when
he speaks of the first Reform Bill and expresses grave doubts as to its
wisdom； and I have heard him； when he was warmed by a glass of wine；
say bitter things about Robert Peel and his abandoning of the Corn Laws。
The death of that statesman brought the history of England to a definite
close； and Dr。 Winter refers to everything which had happened since then
as to an insignificant anticlimax。
But it was only when I had myself become a medical man that I was
able to appreciate how entirely he is a survival of a past generation。 He
had learned his medicine under that obsolete and forgotten system by
which a youth was apprenticed to a surgeon； in the days when the study of
anatomy was often approached through a violated grave。 His views upon
his own profession are even more reactionary than in politics。 Fifty years
have brought him little and deprived him of less。 Vaccination was well
within the teaching of his youth； though I think he has a secret preference
for inoculation。 Bleeding he would practise freely but for public opinion。
Chloroform he regards as a dangerous innovation； and he always clicks
with his tongue when it is mentioned。 He has even been known to say
vain things about Laennec； and to refer to the stethoscope as 〃a new…
fangled French toy。〃 He carries one in his hat out of deference to the
expectations of his patients； but he is very hard of hearing； so that it makes
little difference whether he uses it or not。
He reads； as a duty； his weekly medical paper； so that he has a general
idea as to the advance of modern science。 He always persists in looking
upon it as a huge and rather ludicrous experiment。 The germ theory of
disease set him chuckling for a long time； and his favourite joke in the sick
room was to say； 〃Shut the door or the germs will be getting in。〃 As to
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the Darwinian theory； it struck him as being the crowning joke of the
century。 〃The children in the nursery and the ancestors in the stable；〃 he
would cry； and laugh the tears out of his eyes。
He is so very much behind the day that occasionally； as things move
round in their usual circle； he finds himself； to his bewilderment； in the
front of the fashion。 Dietetic treatment； for example； had been much in
vogue in his youth； and he has more practical knowledge of it than any
one whom I have met。 Massage； too； was familiar to him when it was
new to our generation。 He had been trained also at a time when
instruments were in a rudimentary state； and when men learned to trust
more to their own fingers。 He has a model surgical hand； muscular in the
palm； tapering in the fingers； 〃with an eye at the end of each。〃 I shall not
easily forget how Dr。 Patterson and I cut Sir John Sirwell； the County
Member； and were unable to find the stone。 It was a horrible moment。
Both our careers were at stake。 And then it was that Dr。 Winter； whom
we had asked out of courtesy to be present； introduced into the wound a
finger which seemed to our excited senses to be about nine inches long；
and hooked out the stone at the end of it。 〃It's always well to bring one in
your waistcoat…pocket；〃 said he with a chuckle； 〃but I suppose you
youngsters are above all that。〃
We made him president of our branch of the British Medical
Association； but he resigned after the first meeting。 〃The young men are
too much for me；〃 he said。 〃I don't understand what they are talking
about。〃 Yet his patients do very well。 He has the healing touchthat
magnetic thing which defies explanation or analysis； but which is a very
evident fact none the less。 His mere presence leaves the patient with
more hopefulness and vitality。 The sight of disease affects him as dust
does a careful housewife。 It makes him angry and impatient。 〃Tut； tut；
this will never do！〃 he cries； as he takes over a new case。 He would shoo
Death out of the room as though he were an intrusive hen。 But when the
intruder refuses to be dislodged； when the blood moves more slowly and
the eyes grow dimmer； then it is that Dr。 Winter is of more avail than all
the drugs in his surgery。 Dying folk cling to his hand as if the presence
of his bulk and vigour gives them more courage to face the change； and
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that kindly； windbeaten face has been the last earthly impression which
many a sufferer has carried into the unknown。
When Dr。 Patterson and Iboth of us yo
