A Diagnosis of Death

by Ambrose Bierce

　　

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'I am not so superstitious as some of your physicians - men of science,as you are pleased to be called,' said Hawver, replying to an accusationthat had not been made. 'Some of you - only a few, I confess - believein the immortality of the soul, and in apparitions which you have notthe honesty to call ghosts. I go no further than a conviction that theliving are sometimes seen where they are not, but have been - where theyhave lived so long, perhaps so intensely, as to have left their impresson everything about them. I know, indeed, that one's environment may beso affected by one's personality as to yield, long afterward, an imageof one's self to the eyes of another. Doubtless the impressingpersonality has to be the right kind of personality as the perceivingeyes have to be the right kind of eyes - mine, for example.''Yes, the right kind of eyes, conveying sensations to the wrongkind of brains,' said Dr. Frayley, smiling.'Thank you; one likes to have an expectation gratified; that isabout the reply that I supposed you would have the civility to make.''Pardon me. But you say that you know. That is a good deal to say,don't you think? Perhaps you will not mind the trouble of saying how youlearned.''You will call it an hallucination,' Hawver said, 'but that doesnot matter.' And he told the story.'Last summer I went, as you know, to pass the hot weather term inthe town of Meridian. The relative at whose house I had intended to staywas ill, so I sought other quarters. After some difficulty I succeededin renting a vacant dwelling that had been occupied by an eccentricdoctor of the name of Mannering, who had gone away years before, no oneknew where, not even his agent. He had built the house himself and hadlived in it with an old servant for about ten years. His practice, neververy extensive, had after a few years been given up entirely. Not onlyso, but he had withdrawn himself almost altogether from social life andbecome a recluse. I was told by the village doctor, about the onlyperson with whom he held any relations, that during his retirement hehad devoted himself to a single line of study, the result of which hehad expounded in a book that did not commend itself to the approval ofhis professional brethren, who, indeed, considered him not entirelysane. I have not seen the book and cannot now recall the title of it,but I am told that it expounded a rather startling theory. He held thatit was possible in the case of many a person in good health to forecasthis death with precision, several months in advance of the event. Thelimit, I think, was eighteen months. There were local tales of hishaving exerted his powers of prognosis, or perhaps you would saydiagnosis; and it was said that in every instance the person whosefriends he had warned had died suddenly at the appointed time, and fromno assignable cause. All this, however, has nothing to do with what Ihave to tell; I thought it might amuse a physician.'The house was furnished, just as he had lived in it. It was arather gloomy dwelling for one who was neither a recluse nor a student,and I think it gave something of its character to me - perhaps some ofits former occupant's character; for always I felt in it a certainmelancholy that was not in my natural disposition, nor, I think, due toloneliness. I had no servants that slept in the house, but I have alwaysbeen, as you know, rather fond of my own society, being much addicted toreading, though little to study. Whatever was the cause, the effect wasdejection and a sense of impending evil; this was especially so in Dr.Mannering's study, although that room was the lightest and most airy inthe house. The doctor's life-size portrait in oil hung in that room, andseemed completely to dominate it. There was nothing unusual in thepicture; the man was evidently rather good looking, about fifty yearsold, with iron-grey hair, a smooth-shaven face and dark, serious eyes.Something in the picture always drew and held my attention. The man'sappearance became familiar to me, and rather "haunted" me.'One evening I was passing through this room to my bedroom, with alamp - there is no gas in Meridian. I stopped as usual before theportrait, which seemed in the lamplight to have a new expression, noteasily named, but distinctly uncanny. It interested but did not disturbme. I moved the lamp from one side to the other and observed the effectsof the altered light. While so engaged I felt an impulse to turn round.As I did so I saw a man moving across the room directly toward me! Assoon as he came near enough for the lamplight to illuminate the face Isaw that it was Dr. Mannering himself; it was as if the portrait werewalking!'"I beg your pardon," I said, somewhat coldly, "but if you knockedI did not hear."'He passed me, within an arm's length, lifted his right forefinger,as in warning, and without a word went on out of the room, though Iobserved his exit no more than I had observed his entrance.'Of course, I need not tell you that this was what you will call ahallucination and I call an apparition. That room had only two doors, ofwhich one was locked; the other led into a bedroom, from which there wasno exit. My feeling on realizing this is not an important part of theincident.'Doubtless this seems to you a very commonplace "ghost story" - oneconstructed on the regular lines laid down by the old masters of theart. If that were so I should not have related it, even if it were true.The man was not dead; I met him to-day in Union Street. He passed me ina crowd.'Hawver had finished his story and both men were silent. Dr. Frayleyabsently drummed on the table with his fingers.'Did he say anything to-day?' he asked - 'anything from which youinferred that he was not dead?'Hawver stared and did not reply.'Perhaps,' continued Frayley,' he made a sign, a gesture - lifted afinger, as in warning. It's a trick he had - a habit when sayingsomething serious - announcing the result of a diagnosis, for example.''Yes, he did - just as his apparition had done. But, good God! didyou ever know him?'Hawver was apparently growing nervous.'I knew him. I have read his book, as will every physician someday. It is one of the most striking and important of the century'scontributions to medical science. Yes, I knew him; I attended him in anillness three years ago. He died.'Hawver sprang from his chair, manifestly disturbed. He strodeforward and back across the room; then approached his friend, and in avoice not altogether steady, said: 'Doctor, have you anything to say tome - as a physician? ''No, Hawver; you are the healthiest man I ever knew. As a friend Iadvise you to go to your room. You play the violin like an angel. Playit; play something light and lively. Get this cursed bad business offyour mind.'The next day Hawver was found dead in his room, the violin at hisneck, the bow upon the string, his music open before him at Chopin'sFuneral March.

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