Brownsmith's Boy Part 41

"'Poor fellow,' he said; 'he will die.'

"'Yes,' said the young monk, 'unless--'

"'Unless--' said the prior.

"'Yes, unless,' said the young monk; and he horrified the prior by telling him all his ideas, while the other monks shook their heads.

"'It could not be done,' they said. 'It would be too horrible.'

"'There is no horror in performing an act like that to save a man's life,' said the young monk; 'it is a duty.'

"'But it would kill the poor fellow,' they chorused.

"'He will die as it is,' said the young monk. 'You said as much when I came in, and I am sure of it.'

"'Yes,' said the prior sadly, 'he will die.'

"'This might save his life,' said the young monk; but the old men shook their heads.

"'Such a thing has never been done,' they said. 'It is too horrible.'

"'And even if it saved his life he would only have one leg.'

"'Better have no legs at all,' said the young monk, 'than die before his time.'

"'But it would be his time,' said the old monks.

"'It would not be his time if I could save his life,' said the young monk.

"But still the old monks shook their heads, and said that no man had ever yet heard of such a thing. It was too terrible to be thought of, and they frowned very severely upon the young monk till the prior, who had been very thoughtful, exclaimed:--

"'And cutting the limb off the apple-tree made you think that?'

"The young monk said that it was so.

"'But a man is not an apple-tree,' said the oldest monk present; and all the others shook their heads again; but, oddly enough, a few minutes later they nodded their heads, for the prior suddenly exclaimed:--

"'Our brother is quite right, and he shall try.'

"There was a strange thrill ran through the monks, but what the prior said was law in those days, Grant, and in a few minutes it was known all through the priory that Brother Anselm was going to cut off the poor swineherd's leg.

"Then--I say, my boy, I wish you'd go on with your work. I can't talk if you do not," said Old Brownsmith, with a comical look at me, and I went on busily again while he continued his story.

"When Brother Anselm had obtained the prior's leave to try his experiment he felt nervous and shrank from the task. He went down the garden and looked at the trees that he had cut, and he felt more than ever that a man was, as the monks said, not an apple-tree. Then he examined the places which looked healthy and well, and he wondered whether if he performed such an operation on the poor patient he also would be healthy and well at the end of a week, and he shook his head and felt nervous."

"If you please, Mr Brownsmith," I said, "I can't go on till you've done, and I must hear the end."

He chuckled a little, and seating himself on a bushel basket which he turned upside down, a couple of cats sprang in his lap, another got on his shoulder, and he went on talking while I thrust an arm through one of the rounds of the ladder, and leaned back against it as he went on.

"Well, Grant," he said, "Brother Anselm felt sorry now that he had leave to perform his experiment, and he went slowly back to the cell and talked to the poor swineherd, a fine handsome, young man with fair curly brown hair and a skin as white as a woman's where the sun had not tanned him.

"And he talked to him about how he felt; and the poor fellow said he felt much better and much worse--that the pain had all gone, but that he did not think he should ever be well any more.

"This set the brother thinking more and more, but he felt that he could do nothing that day, and he waited till the next, lying awake all night thinking of what he would do and how he would do it, till the cold time about sunrise, when he had given up the idea in despair. But when he saw the light coming in the east, with the glorious gold and orange clouds, and then the bright sunshine of a new day, he began to think of how sad it would be for that young man, cut down as he had been in a moment, to be left to die when perhaps he might be saved. He thought, too, about trees that had been cut years before, and which had been healthy and well ever since, and that morning, feeling stronger in his determination, he went to the cell where the patient lay, to talk to him, and the first thing the poor fellow said was:--

"'Tell me the truth, please. I'm going to die, am I not?'

"The young monk was silent.

"'I know it,' said the swineherd sadly. 'I feel it now.'

"Brother Anselm looked at him sadly for a few minutes and then said to him:--

"'I must not deceive you at such a time--yes; but one thing might save your life.'

"'What is that?' cried the poor fellow eagerly; and he told him as gently as he could of the great operation, expecting to see the patient shudder and turn faint.

"'Well,' he said, when the monk had ended, 'why don't you do it?'

"'But would you rather suffer that--would you run the risk?'

"'Am I not a man?' said the poor fellow calmly. 'Yes: life is very sweet, and I would bear any pain that I might live.'

"That settled the matter, and the monk went out of the cell to shut himself up in his own and pray for the s.p.a.ce of two hours, and the old monks said that it was all talk, and that he had given up his horrible idea; but the prior knew better, and he was not a bit surprised to see Anselm coming out of his cell looking brave, and calm, and cool.

"Then he took a bottle of plant juice that he knew helped to stop bleeding, and he got ready his bandages, and his keenest knives, and his saw, and a bowl of water, and then he thought for a bit, and ended by asking the monks which of them would help him, but they all shrank away and turned pale, all but the prior, who said he would help, and then they went into the poor fellow's cell."

Old Brownsmith stopped here, and kept on stroking one of the cats for such a long time, beginning at the tip of his nose and going right on to the end of his tail, that I grew impatient.

"And did he perform the operation?" I said eagerly.

"Yes, bravely and well, but of course very clumsily for want of experience. He cut off the leg, Grant, right above where the bone was splintered, and all the terrible irritation was going on."

"And the poor fellow died after all?" I said.

"No, he did not, my lad; it left him terribly weak and he was very low for some days, but he began to mend from the very first, and I suppose when he grew well and strong he had to make himself a wooden leg or else to go about with a crutch. About that I know nothing. There was the poor fellow dying, and there was a gardener who knew that if the broken place were cut Nature would heal it up; for Nature likes to be helped sometimes, my boy, and she is waiting for you now."

"Yes, sir, I'll do it directly," I said, glancing at the stump I had sawn off, and thinking about the swineherd's leg, and half-wondering that it did not bleed; "but tell me, please, is all that true?"

"I'm afraid not, Grant," he said smiling; "but it is my idea--my theory about how our great surgeons gained their first knowledge from a gardener; and if it is not true, it might very well be."

"Yes," I said, looking at him wonderingly as he smoothed the fur of his cats and was surrounded by them, rubbing themselves and purring loudly, "but I did not know you could tell stories like that."

"I did not know it myself, Grant, till I began, and one word coaxed out another. Seriously, though, my boy, there is nothing to be ashamed of in being a gardener."

"I'm not ashamed," I said; "I like it."

"Gardeners can propagate and bring into use plants that may prove to be of great service to man; they can improve vegetables and fruits--and when you come to think of what a number of trees and plants are useful, you see what a field there is to work in! Why, even a man who makes a better cabbage or potato grow than we have had before is one who has been of great service to his fellow-creatures. So work away; you may do something yet."