Source:http://lang.nagoya-u.ac.jp/~matsuoka/index.html
"The
Beggar's Nurse"
THE BEGGAR'S
NURSE Mrs. Hinton, a lady in happy circumstances, with the obedience of her
husband and the admiration of many friends, received one morning a letter which
greatly shocked her. The tenor of the first line or two prompted her to turn to
the signature, which was simply 'Adeline.' Mrs. Hinton had known but one
Adeline -- a close friend of her girlhood, now lost to sight and inquiry for
some ten years; she it was who wrote, who told of sickness, destitution,
despair, and besought the help that could hardly have been refused to a
stranger.
The same day
they met. As a representative of society, Mrs. Hinton had something to forgive;
as a woman with a heart, she disregarded all but Adeline's necessities. The
sufferer was tended, solaced, and, as her strength allowed or occasion offered,
she made known the course of her obscure life to this sympathetic hearer. The
story ended, as it had begun, with the statement that, for more than a
twelvemonth, she had acted as nurse in a country infirmary.
'I remember,'
said Mrs. Hinton, 'that you often spoke of nursing -- thought you would like
it. Did it prove too much for your strength?'
Adeline
shuddered, looked away, seemed unable to talk of this
experience. But at length she forced herself to do so. In a low, unsteady
voice, she gave answer:
'It not only
ruined my health -- it made me a devil.'
The lady of
delicate sensibilities was startled, and frowned a little.
'Ah, you
don't understand,' pursued the other; 'you can't. Before that, I was never bad.
Believe it or not, I kept the purity of my heart. You used to think me too
sensitive, too compassionate; I was still the same when I began my work in the
infirmary. When I left it, I was base and cruel -- everything that my true self
had always loathed. I think -- I hope -- that bodily weakness was the chief
cause of it. But I know now how women, not originally bad, grow corrupt in
soul. I know what is meant by moral poison.'
Adeline's age
was about five-and-thirty. Her voice had not much changed since Mrs. Hinton
knew it in gardens and drawing-rooms; but her features -- the eyes, the mouth
-- were hard to reconcile with memory.
'Yes, when I
undertook that work I thought it was not only a means of support, but a
privilege -- a way of recovering my self-respect, and more than that. At first
I welcomed every hardship all the things -- how could I describe them? -- that I had to break myself into enduring. I had no
experience of nursing, and no one expected me to have. They doubted whether I
was fit for the post, but only because I didn't seem strong enough, and, as I
afterwards understood, coarse enough. Paupers can be looked after by any one
who will undertake it. No knowledge, no training -- at least, it was so in that
workhouse.
'There were
two of us nurses, only two. Often I have had forty patients to look after, and
for twelve hours at a time. Ah! often for longer. I
have sunk down and fallen asleep by dying people.
'But the toil
wasn't the worst of it. That harmed only my body.'
'I don't
understand you,' remarked the listener. 'Do you mean that you had such dreadful
people to look after?'
'They were
dreadful often; creatures your mind could never form an idea of; much more like
animals than human beings. But I didn't mean that. To begin with, I suffered
most from never having any privacy. I had no sleeping-room to myself; two
servants shared it with me when I slept at night, and when I had my rest in the
daytime the other nurse kept coming in and out for things that were kept there.
Later, she did it just to annoy me, for we hated each other. She was the first I
hated -- a heartless, vile-minded woman. She got jealous of me for all sorts of
reasons, and told horrible lies of me to the matron, and raged because she
couldn't get me turned away. At last, whenever I saw her asleep, I used to wish
to kill her. It was a sort of madness; I used to go about saying to myself that
it would be a good and right thing to kill her.
'She had been
there a long time, and suffered from all sorts of ailments -- the common
ailments of overworked nurses. She was flat-footed, and had dreadful varicose
veins, and -- oh! I can't tell you. The one before her died of consumption --
worked almost to the day of her death.
'I used to
pray for strength against my horrible thoughts and passions. I prayed silently
as I walked about. And I exhausted myself with conscientious nursing, because I
thought it was Christian work and would keep my heart pure. That other woman
took her duties as carelessly as she could. Poor agonising wretches would cry
to her by the hour, and she wouldn't heed them -- either because she hated them
for the trouble they gave, or because it was cold and she wanted to sit by the
fire.
'The worst
was when I found that my own heart was hardening against the patients. At
first, I pitied them, shed tears by the bedside; but that lasted only a short
time. For one thing, to nurse them properly was impossible; no one could have
done it. The doctor knew that well enough, and when I spoke of it to him he
shrugged his shoulders. He used to sing to himself some lines -- I don't know
where they come from -- "Rattle his bones over the stones,
he's only a pauper whom nobody owns." And I got into the way of doing the
same, though I loathed myself for it.'
Mrs. Hinton
interposed.
'Oh! but surely this kind of thing doesn't go on in our
day?'
'Not everywhere, of course not; but in a good many of those
out-of-the-way places. I heard stories of some that were worse than ours. I
am quite sure the workhouse patients are sometimes killed by nurses -- killed
by neglect and ill-usage, if not in more violent ways. And I tell you that I
can understand it.'
Her voice
quivered; a dreadful light gleamed in her eyes.
'You see, I
could never enjoy food; what I swallowed there in the ward, or in some other
hateful place, seemed to poison my blood. I saw everything with diseased
vision. The whole world seemed to me -- you remember that passage of Milton,
about the "lazar-house"? That was one of the words that haunted me --
lazar-house. It was the true word, you know -- the house of Lazarus, the sick
beggar. And all the world seemed no better. I really
forgot what the outside world was like, and my heart grew full of evil
passions. I -- I -- can you believe it? -- I got, at last, so far that I tortured
the patients who gave me most trouble. I purposely neglected their wants, like
the other woman. I took away the cup before they had drunk enough, and had a
dreadful pleasure in their complaining or their abuse. No, I am not worse than
other people. I believe there is not a woman living who wouldn't fall to that
in such a position -- not one -- not one!'
Mrs. Hinton
said musingly:
'I know what
it is to be impatient with sick people.'
'Yes, and one
must be more than human, one must be a saint, to nurse professionally and keep
one's tender heart. I believe it is so under the best circumstances. In such
places as that, it is the school for devils. I will never speak of it
again, and pray to lose the memory of it.'
'Did you
leave of your own accord?'
'Yes, thank
heaven! In a moment when strength was granted me.
Rather death by starvation.'
Mrs. Hinton,
after reflecting, said quietly:
'I know a
girl who is consumed with a sentimental desire for hospital-nursing. I shall speak
to her mother.'
(Provided by Mitsuharu Matsuoka, Nagoya University, Japan,
on 4 November 1997.)