Wives are young men's mistresses, companions for middle age, and old men's nurses.
Wives are young men's mistresses, companions for middle age, and old men's nurses.
Then out spake brave Horatius, The Captain of the Gate: "To every man upon this earth Death cometh soon or late. And how can man die better Than facing fearful odds, For the ashes of his fathers, And the temples of his gods, And for the tender mother Who dandled him to rest, And for the wife who nurses His baby at her breast, And for the holy maidens Who feed the eternal flame, To save them from false Sextus That wrought the deed of shame?"
Superstitions would soon die out if so many old women would not act as nurses to keep them alive.
"Master Alick and Miss Jane," cried one of the nurses to two of the children, "if you go a bouncing up against them bushes you'll fall over into the river and be drownded, and what'll your pa say then?"
"How pretty she is! how pretty she is! She's a Greuze. So you are going to have that all to yourself, you scamp! Ah! my rogue, you are getting off nicely with me, you are happy; if I were not fifteen years too old, we would fight with swords to see which of us should have her. Come now! I am in love with you, mademoiselle. It's perfectly simple. It is your right. You are in the right. Ah! what a sweet, charming little wedding this will make! Our parish is Saint-Denis du Saint Sacrament, but I will get a dispensation so that you can be married at Saint-Paul. The church is better. It was built by the Jesuits. It is more coquettish. It is opposite the fountain of Cardinal de Birague. The masterpiece of Jesuit architecture is at Namur. It is called Saint-Loup. You must go there after you are married. It is worth the journey. Mademoiselle, I am quite of your mind, I think girls ought to marry; that is what they are made for. There is a certain Sainte-Catherine whom I should always like to see uncoiffed.[62] It's a fine thing to remain a spinster, but it is chilly. The Bible says: Multiply. In order to save the people, Jeanne d'Arc is needed; but in order to make people, what is needed is Mother Goose. So, marry, my beauties. I really do not see the use in remaining a spinster! I know that they have their chapel apart in the church, and that they fall back on the Society of the Virgin; but, sapristi, a handsome husband, a fine fellow, and at the expiration of a year, a big, blond brat who nurses lustily, and who has fine rolls of fat on his thighs, and who musses up your breast in handfuls with his little rosy paws, laughing the while like the dawn,--that's better than holding a candle at vespers, and chanting Turris eburnea!"
"You've hit it, ma'am: it's quite certain that it was her, and nobody but her, that set it going. She had a woman to take care of her called Mrs. Poole--an able woman in her line, and very trustworthy, but for one fault--a fault common to a deal of them nurses and matrons--she _kept a private bottle of gin by her_, and now and then took a drop over-much. It is excusable, for she had a hard life of it: but still it was dangerous; for when Mrs. Poole was fast asleep after the gin and water, the mad lady, who was as cunning as a witch, would take the keys out of her pocket, let herself out of her chamber, and go roaming about the house, doing any wild mischief that came into her head. They say she had nearly burnt her husband in his bed once: but I don't know about that. However, on this night, she set fire first to the hangings of the room next her own, and then she got down to a lower storey, and made her way to the chamber that had been the governess's--(she was like as if she knew somehow how matters had gone on, and had a spite at her)--and she kindled the bed there; but there was nobody sleeping in it, fortunately. The governess had run away two months before; and for all Mr. Rochester sought her as if she had been the most precious thing he had in the world, he never could hear a word of her; and he grew savage--quite savage on his disappointment: he never was a wild man, but he got dangerous after he lost her. He would be alone, too. He sent Mrs. Fairfax, the housekeeper, away to her friends at a distance; but he did it handsomely, for he settled an annuity on her for life: and she deserved it--she was a very good woman. Miss Adele, a ward he had, was put to school. He broke off acquaintance with all the gentry, and shut himself up like a hermit at the Hall."
"Now, Pierre nurses them splendidly," said Natasha. "He says his hand is just made for a baby's seat. Just look!"
Prince Andrew spent half his time at Bald Hills with his father and his son, who was still in the care of nurses. The other half he spent in "Bogucharovo Cloister," as his father called Prince Andrew's estate. Despite the indifference to the affairs of the world he had expressed to Pierre, he diligently followed all that went on, received many books, and to his surprise noticed that when he or his father had visitors from Petersburg, the very vortex of life, these people lagged behind himself- -who never left the country--in knowledge of what was happening in home and foreign affairs.
Most noble Champion! who of human kind Art thou, whom in the man-ennobling fight I now encounter first? Past all thy peers I must esteem thee valiant, who hast dared To meet my coming, and my spear defy. Ah! they are sons of miserable sires Who dare my might; but if a God from heaven Thou come, behold! I fight not with the Gods. That war Lycurgus son of Dryas waged, And saw not many years. The nurses he Of brain-disturbing Bacchus down the steep Pursued of sacred Nyssa; they their wands Vine-wreathed cast all away, with an ox-goad Chastised by fell Lycurgus. Bacchus plunged Meantime dismay'd into the deep, where him Trembling, and at the Hero's haughty threats Confounded, Thetis in her bosom hid. Thus by Lycurgus were the blessed powers Of heaven offended, and Saturnian Jove Of sight bereaved him, who not long that loss Survived, for he was curst by all above. I, therefore, wage no contest with the Gods; But if thou be of men, and feed on bread Of earthly growth, draw nigh, that with a stroke Well-aim'd, I may at once cut short thy days.
"That pack of brats! they convene on the Place du Pantheon! by my life! urchins who were with their nurses but yesterday! If one were to squeeze their noses, milk would burst out. And they deliberate to-morrow, at midday. What are we coming to? What are we coming to? It is clear that we are making for the abyss. That is what the descamisados have brought us to! To deliberate on the citizen artillery! To go and jabber in the open air over the jibes of the National Guard! And with whom are they to meet there? Just see whither Jacobinism leads. I will bet anything you like, a million against a counter, that there will be no one there but returned convicts and released galley-slaves. The Republicans and the galley-slaves,--they form but one nose and one handkerchief. Carnot used to say: 'Where would you have me go, traitor?' Fouche replied: 'Wherever you please, imbecile!' That's what the Republicans are like."
When Herbert had been down to Hammersmith and seen his father, he came back to me at our chambers, and devoted the day to attending on me. He was the kindest of nurses, and at stated times took off the bandages, and steeped them in the cooling liquid that was kept ready, and put them on again, with a patient tenderness that I was deeply grateful for.
The daily visits I could make him were shortened now, and he was more strictly kept. Seeing, or fancying, that I was suspected of an intention of carrying poison to him, I asked to be searched before I sat down at his bedside, and told the officer who was always there, that I was willing to do anything that would assure him of the singleness of my designs. Nobody was hard with him or with me. There was duty to be done, and it was done, but not harshly. The officer always gave me the assurance that he was worse, and some other sick prisoners in the room, and some other prisoners who attended on them as sick nurses, (malefactors, but not incapable of kindness, God be thanked!) always joined in the same report.
He followed her with his eyes until she disappeared. Then he started up and walked about the Luxembourg garden like a madman. It is possible that, at times, he laughed to himself and talked aloud. He was so dreamy when he came near the children's nurses, that each one of them thought him in love with her.
Since she had begun looking after him, he had always experienced this physical consciousness of her nearness. She was sitting in an armchair placed sideways, screening the light of the candle from him, and was knitting a stocking. She had learned to knit stockings since Prince Andrew had casually mentioned that no one nursed the sick so well as old nurses who knit stockings, and that there is something soothing in the knitting of stockings. The needles clicked lightly in her slender, rapidly moving hands, and he could clearly see the thoughtful profile of her drooping face. She moved, and the ball rolled off her knees. She started, glanced round at him, and screening the candle with her hand stooped carefully with a supple and exact movement, picked up the ball, and regained her former position.
Nicholas' letter was read over hundreds of times, and those who were considered worthy to hear it had to come to the countess, for she did not let it out of her hands. The tutors came, and the nurses, and Dmitri, and several acquaintances, and the countess reread the letter each time with fresh pleasure and each time discovered in it fresh proofs of Nikolenka's virtues. How strange, how extraordinary, how joyful it seemed, that her son, the scarcely perceptible motion of whose tiny limbs she had felt twenty years ago within her, that son about whom she used to have quarrels with the too indulgent count, that son who had first learned to say "pear" and then "granny," that this son should now be away in a foreign land amid strange surroundings, a manly warrior doing some kind of man's work of his own, without help or guidance. The universal experience of ages, showing that children do grow imperceptibly from the cradle to manhood, did not exist for the countess. Her son's growth toward manhood, at each of its stages, had seemed as extraordinary to her as if there had never existed the millions of human beings who grew up in the same way. As twenty years before, it seemed impossible that the little creature who lived somewhere under her heart would ever cry, suck her breast, and begin to speak, so now she could not believe that that little creature could be this strong, brave man, this model son and officer that, judging by this letter, he now was.
"Down with wisdom! Forget all that I have said. Let us be neither prudes nor prudent men nor prudhommes. I propose a toast to mirth; be merry. Let us complete our course of law by folly and eating! Indigestion and the digest. Let Justinian be the male, and Feasting, the female! Joy in the depths! Live, O creation! The world is a great diamond. I am happy. The birds are astonishing. What a festival everywhere! The nightingale is a gratuitous Elleviou. Summer, I salute thee! O Luxembourg! O Georgics of the Rue Madame, and of the Allee de l'Observatoire! O pensive infantry soldiers! O all those charming nurses who, while they guard the children, amuse themselves! The pampas of America would please me if I had not the arcades of the Odeon. My soul flits away into the virgin forests and to the savannas. All is beautiful. The flies buzz in the sun. The sun has sneezed out the humming bird. Embrace me, Fantine!"
49:23. And kings shall be thy nursing fathers, and queens thy nurses: they shall worship thee with their face toward the earth, and they shall lick up the dust of thy feet. And thou shalt know that I am the Lord, for they shall not be confounded that wait for him.
Flopson, by dint of doubling the baby at the joints like a Dutch doll, then got it safely into Mrs. Pocket's lap, and gave it the nut-crackers to play with; at the same time recommending Mrs. Pocket to take notice that the handles of that instrument were not likely to agree with its eyes, and sharply charging Miss Jane to look after the same. Then, the two nurses left the room, and had a lively scuffle on the staircase with a dissipated page who had waited at dinner, and who had clearly lost half his buttons at the gaming-table.
Soon after the club began to exist, Johnson formed a connexion less important indeed to his fame, but much more important to his happiness, than his connexion with Boswell. Henry Thrale, one of the most opulent brewers in the kingdom, a man of sound and cultivated understanding, rigid principles, and liberal spirit, was married to one of those clever, kind-hearted, engaging, vain, pert young women who are perpetually doing or saying what is not exactly right, but who, do or say what they may, are always agreeable. In 1765 the Thrales became acquainted with Johnson, and the acquaintance ripened fast into friendship. They were astonished and delighted by the brilliancy of his conversation. They were flattered by finding that a man so widely celebrated preferred their house to any other in London. Johnson soon had an apartment at the brewery in Southwark, and a still more pleasant apartment at the villa of his friends on Streatham Common. A large part of every year he passed in those abodes, which must have seemed magnificent and luxurious indeed, when compared with the dens in which he had generally been lodged. But his chief pleasures were derived from what the astronomer of his Abyssinian tale called "the endearing elegance of female friendship." Mrs Thrale rallied him, soothed him, coaxed him, and if she sometimes provoked him by her flippancy, made ample amends by listening to his reproofs with angelic sweetness of temper. When he was diseased in body and in mind, she was the most tender of nurses. No comfort that wealth could purchase, no contrivance that womanly ingenuity, set to work by womanly compassion, could devise, was wanting to his sick room. It would seem that a full half of Johnson's life during about sixteen years was passed under the roof of the Thrales. He accompanied the family sometimes to Bath, and sometimes to Brighton, once to Wales and once to Paris. But he had at the same time a house in one of the narrow and gloomy courts on the north of Fleet Street. In the garrets was his library, a large and miscellaneous collection of books, falling to pieces and begrimed with dust. On a lower floor he sometimes, but very rarely, regaled a friend with a plain dinner--a veal pie, or a leg of lamb and spinach, and a rice pudding. Nor was the dwelling uninhabited during his long absences. It was the home of the most extraordinary assemblage of inmates that ever was brought together. At the head of the establishment Johnson had placed an old lady named Williams, whose chief recommendations were her blindness and her poverty. But, in spite of her murmurs and reproaches, he gave an asylum to another lady who was as poor as herself, Mrs Desmoulins, whose family he had known many years before in Staffordshire. Room was found for the daughter of Mrs Desmoulins, and for another destitute damsel, who was generally addressed as Miss Carmichael, but whom her generous host called Polly. An old quack doctor named Levett, who had a wide practice, but among the very poorest class, poured out Johnson's tea in the morning and completed this strange menagerie. All these poor creatures were at constant war with each other, and with Johnson's negro servant Frank. Sometimes, indeed, they transferred their hostilities from the servant to the master, complained that a better table was not kept for them, and railed or maundered till their benefactor was glad to make his escape to Streatham or to the Mitre Tavern. And yet he, who was generally the haughtiest and most irritable of mankind, who was but too prompt to resent anything which looked like a slight on the part of a purse-proud bookseller, or of a noble and powerful patron, bore patiently from mendicants, who, but for his bounty, must have gone to the workhouse, insults more provoking than those for which he had knocked down Osborne and bidden defiance to Chesterfield. Year after year Mrs Williams and Mrs Desmoulins, Polly and Levett, continued to torment him and to live upon him. Entry: A
Owing to their almost entire immunity from any alien domination except that of the Romans and Goths, the Asturians may perhaps be regarded as the purest representatives of the Iberian race; while their dialect (_linguaje bable_) is sometimes held to be closely akin to the parent speech from which modern Castilian is derived. It is free from Moorish idioms, and, like Galician and Portuguese it often retains the original Latin _f_ which Castilian changes into _h_. In physique, the Asturians are like the Galicians, a people of hardy mountaineers and fishermen, finely built, but rarely handsome, and with none of the grace of the Castilian or Andalusian. Unlike the Galicians, however, they are remarkable for their keen spirit of independence, which has been fostered by centuries of isolation. Despite the harsh land-laws and grinding taxation which prevent them, with all their industry and thrift, from securing the freehold of the patch of ground cultivated by each peasant family, the Asturians regard themselves as the aristocracy of Spain. This pride in their land, race and history they preserve even when, as often happens, they emigrate to other parts of the country or to South America, and earn their living as servants, water-carriers, or, in the case of the women, as nurses. They make admirable soldiers and sailors, but lack the enterprise and commercial aptitude of the Basques and Catalans; while they are differentiated from the inhabitants of central and southern Spain by their superior industry, and perhaps their lower standard of culture. It is, on the whole, true that by the exclusion of the Moors they lost their opportunity of playing any conspicuous part in the literary and artistic development of Spain. One class of the Asturians deserving special mention is that of the nomad cattle-drovers known as Baqueros or Vaqueros, who tend their herds on the mountains of Leitariegos in summer, and along the coast in winter; forming a separate caste, with distinctive customs, and rarely or never intermarrying with their neighbours. Entry: A
(f) _Malignant Disease of the Uterus._--The varieties of malignant disease met with in the uterus are sarcoma, carcinoma and chorion-epithelioma malignum. Sarcomata may occur in the body and in the neck. They occur at an earlier age than carcinomata. Marked enlargement and haemorrhage are the symptoms. The differential diagnosis is microscopic. Extirpation of the uterus is the only chance of prolonging life. The age at which women are most subject to carcinoma (cancer) of the uterus is towards the decline of sexual life. Of 3385 collected cases of cancer of the uterus 1169 occurred between 40 and 50, and 856 between 50 and 60. In contradistinction to fibroid tumours it frequently arises after the menopause. It may be divided into cancer of the body and cancer of the neck (cervix). Cancer of the neck of the uterus is almost exclusively confined to women who have been pregnant (Bland-Sutton). Predisposing causes may be injuries during delivery. The symptoms which induce women to seek medical aid are haemorrhage, foetid discharge, and later pain and cachexia. An unfortunate belief amongst the public that the menopause is associated with irregular bleeding and offensive discharges has prevented many women from seeking medical advice until too late. It cannot be too widely understood that cancer of the cervix is in its early stages a purely local disease, and if removed in this stage usually results in cure. So important is the recognition of this fact in the saving of human life that at the meeting of the British Medical Association in April 1909 the council issued for publication a special appeal to medical practitioners, midwives and nurses, and directed it to be published in British and colonial medical and nursing journals. It will be useful to quote here a part of the appeal directed to midwives and nurses: "Cancer may occur at any age and in a woman who looks quite well, and who may have no pain, no wasting, no foul discharge and no profuse bleeding. To wait for pain, wasting, foul discharge or profuse bleeding is to throw away the chance of successful treatment. The early symptoms of cancer of the womb are:--(1) bleeding which occurs after the change of life, (2) bleeding after sexual intercourse or after a vaginal douche, (3) bleeding, slight or abundant, even in young women, if occurring between the usual monthly periods, and especially when accompanied by a bad-smelling or watery blood-tinged discharge, (4) thin watery discharge occurring at any age." On examination the cervix presents certain characteristic signs, though these may be modified according to the variety of cancer present. Hard nodules or definite loss of substance, extreme friability and bleeding after slight manipulation, are suspicious. Epithelial cancer of the cervix may assume a proliferating ulcerative type, forming the well-known "cauliflower" excrescence. The treatment of cancer of the cervix is free removal at the earliest possible moment. Cancer of the body of the uterus is rare before the 45th year. It is most frequent at or subsequent to the menopause. The majority of the patients are nulliparae (Bland-Sutton). The signs are fitful haemorrhages after the menopause, followed by profuse and offensive discharges. The uterus on examination often feels enlarged. The diagnosis being made, hysterectomy (removal of the uterus) is the only treatment. Cancer of the body of the uterus may complicate fibroids. Chorion-epithelioma malignum (deciduoma) was first described in 1889 by Sänger and Pfeiffer. It is a malignant disease presenting microscopic characters resembling decidual tissue. It occurs in connexion with recent pregnancy, and particularly with the variety of abortion termed hydatid mole. In many cases it destroys life with a rapidity unequalled by any other kind of growth. It quickly ulcerates and infiltrates the uterine tissues, forming metastatic growths in the lung and vagina. Clinically it is recognized by the occurrence after pregnancy of violent haemorrhages, progressive cachexia and fever with rigors. Recent suggestions have been made as to chorion-epithelioma being the result of pathological changes in the lutein tissue of the ovary. The growth is usually primary in the uterus, but may be so in the Fallopian tubes and in the vagina. A few cases have been recorded unconnected with pregnancy. The virulence of chorion-epithelioma varies, but in the present state of our knowledge immediate removal of the primary growth along with the affected organ is the only treatment. Entry: GYNAECOLOGY
The type of the group is the common dolphin (_D. delphis_) of the Mediterranean and Atlantic, which usually measures 6 to 8 ft. in length, and is thickest near the centre, where the back fin rises to a height of 9 or 10 in., and whence the body tapers towards both extremities. The forehead descends abruptly to the base of the slightly flattened beak, which is about 6 in. long, and is separated from the forehead by a transverse depression. The mouth is armed with sharp, slightly curved teeth, of uniform size, varying in number from forty to fifty on each side of both jaws. The aperture of the ear is exceedingly minute; the eyes are of moderate size and the blow-hole is crescent-shaped. The colour of the upper surface is black, becoming lighter on the flanks, and perfectly white below. Dolphins are gregarious, and large herds often follow ships. They exhibit remarkable agility, individuals having been known to leap to such a height out of the water as to fall upon the deck. Their gambols and apparent relish for human society have attracted the attention of mariners in all ages, and have probably given rise to the many fabulous stories told of dolphins. Their appearance at sea was regarded as a good omen, for although it presaged a tempest, yet it enabled the sailors to steer for a place of safety. The dolphin is exceedingly voracious, feeding on fish, cuttlefishes and crustaceans. On the south coast of England it lives chiefly on pilchard and mackerel, and when in pursuit of these is often taken in the nets. The female brings forth a single young one, which she nurses most carefully. Her milk is abundant and rich, and during the operation of suckling, the mother floats in a slightly sidelong position, so as to allow of the necessary respiration in herself and her young. The dolphin was formerly supposed to be a fish, and allowed to be eaten by Roman Catholics when the use of flesh was prohibited, and it seems to have been esteemed as a delicacy by the French. Among the seafaring population of Britain the name "dolphin" is most usually given to the beautifully coloured fish _Coryphaena hippuris_--the dorado of the Portuguese, and it is to the latter the poet is alluding when he speaks of "the dying dolphin's changing hues." Entry: DOLPHIN