Litchfield enquirer., 1877-05-10
The Man whose Yoke was not Easy.
BY BRETE HARTE.


 reduced circumstances in the male of the better class are, fancy, first visible in the boots and shirts, the boots extensively sex- 1 hibiting degree of polish inconsistent with their dilapidated condition, and the shirt showing an extent of ostentatlons surface that is invariably fatal to the 1 threadbare waistcoat that it partially cov- l CTS. He was pale man, and l fancied still paler from his black clothes.
 l He banded me @ note.
 1 It was from certain physician; a man of broad culture and boarder experience; a man who had devoted the greater part 1 of his active life to the alleviation of ser- row and suffering; & man who had lived up.to tine noble VOWS of noble profes- 1 sion: man who locked in his honorable breast the secrets of hundred families, whose touch was as gentle in the wards of 1 the Hospitals as 1t was beside the laced curtains of the dying Narcissa; a man who, 1 through long contact with suffering, had a. nnired universal. tenderness and breadth of kindly philosophy; man who day and night, was at the beck and call of l Anguish; a man who never asked the creed belief, moral or worldly standing of the sufferer, or even his ability to pay the few coins that enabled him (the physidan) 1 to exist and practice his calling; ill brief, a man who so nearly lifted up to the ex- ample of the Great Plaster that it seems strange am writing of him as doctor of Medicine and not of Divinity.
 The note was in pencil, characteristical- ly brief, and ran thus: "Here is the man 1 spoke of, He ought to be good mater; ial for you"
 For moment sat, looking from the ote to the man, aud sounding the 'tdim perilous depths" of my memory for the meaning of this mysterious communiea-e tion. The good material" however. soon relieved my embarrassment, by putt ting his hand on his waistcoat, coming to- ward me. and saying. Its just here; you can feel 1t.
 It was not necessary for me 10 do so. In flash remembered that my medical friend had told me of certain poor pa- tient, once soldier wLo, among hiS oth CT trials and uncertainties, was afflicted with an aneurism caused by the buckle of his knapsack pressing upon the arch of the aorta It was liable to burst at sny shock or any moment. The poor fellows yoke had indeed been too heavy.
 In the presence of such Q tremendous possibility I think for an instant I felt anxious only about myself. WhatI should do; how dispose of the body; how explain the circumstances of his taking off; how evade the ubiqui- tous reporter and the coroner's in-1 quest; how a suspicion might arise that had in some way, through negligence, or for some dark purpose, unknown to the jury, precipitated the catastrophe, all flashed before mo. Even the note-with it's darkly suggestive offer of ''good mat erial" for me-looked diabolically signif- cant What migEt not an intelligent law yer make of it i?
 tore it up instantly, and with leverlsh courtesy begged him to be seated.
 "You don't care to feel it ?" he asked, little anxiousiy.
 "No." -4ss -sz4as
 ''Nor see it ?
 sNo."
 He sighed, trihe sadly, as If had re- jected the only favor he could bestow. saw at once that he had been under fre- quent exhibition to the doctors, and that he was. perhaps, trif1e vain of this atten- tion. The perception was corroborated 8 moment later by his producing a copy of & medical magazine, with the remark that on the sixth page would find a full stateJ ment of his case.
 Could help him in any way, asked.
 It appeared that could. If I could help to,any light employment. something that did not require any great physical ex- ertion or mental excitement, he would be thankful. But he wanted me to under stand that he was not, strictly speaking, poor man; that some years before the dis covery of his fatal complaint he had taken out life insurance policy for $50, 1000. and that he had raked and scraped enough together to pay 1t up, and that he would not have his wife and four children desti- ute. ''Yo1 see," he added" if could find some sort of light work to do, and
 He stopped. awkwardly. gsE fs had heard several noted actors thrill their audiences with a single phrase. I think I never was as honestly moved by any spoken word as that ''until' or the pause that followed it. He was evidently quite unconscious of it's effect, for as I took seat beside him on the sofa, and looked more closely in his waxen face, I could see that he was evidently embarrass- ed, and would have explained himself fur ther, if had not stopped him a s@sazs@~ Possibly. it was the dramatic idea, or possibly chance, but a few days afterward, meeting certain kind hearted theatrical manager, asked him if he had any light employment for man who was an invalid. "Can he walk ?" ''Yes" Stand up for fifteen minutes ?' 'Yes" "Then I'll take him. He'll do for the last scene in | the Destruction of Sennacherib'-it's big thing, you know, we'll have 2.0O0 peo- pie On the stage" I was trife alarmed at the title and venturel to suggest 1 (without betraying my poor friends se- l creD that he could not actively engage in the Destruction of Sennaeherib, and that even the spectacle of it might be too much for him. Needn't see it at all, said my managerial friend, "put him in front no- thing to do but to march in and march out and dodge curtain. He was engaged. I admit was at times haunted by grave doubts as to whether should not have informed the manager of his physical condition. and the possibility that he might some evening perpetrate a real tragedy on the mlnic stage, but on l the first performance of The Destruction of Sennacherib,' which conscIentiously attended. I was somewhat reheved had often beenamused with the placid way in which the chorus in the opera invariably received the most astounding information, l and witnessed the most appalling trage- dies by poison or the block, without any thing more than a vocal protest or com mand always delivered to the audience, and never to the actors, but I think my poor friends utter impassiveness to the wild carnage and the terrible exhibitions of lncendiarism that were going on around him. transcended even that. Dressed in a costume that seemed to the very soul of anachrOnism. he stood little outside the proscenium, holding spear, the other hand pressed apparently upon the secret within h1s breast, calmly surveying, with his waxen face. the gay auditorium. I could not help thinking there was 8 cer, tain pride visible even in his placid fea- lures, as of one who conscious that at any
 moment he might change this simulated catastrophe into real terror. l could not
 help saying thls to the Doctor, who was
 with me. Yes, he said, with profession-
 al exactitnde, ''when it happens he Il
 throw his arms up above his head. utte,
 an ejaculation. and fail forward on his