Chapter LIV

by William Somerset Maugham

　　The examination Philip had passed before he was articled to a charteredaccountant was sufficient qualification for him to enter a medical school.He chose St. Luke's because his father had been a student there, andbefore the end of the summer session had gone up to London for a day inorder to see the secretary. He got a list of rooms from him, and tooklodgings in a dingy house which had the advantage of being within twominutes' walk of the hospital."You'll have to arrange about a part to dissect," the secretary told him."You'd better start on a leg; they generally do; they seem to think iteasier."Philip found that his first lecture was in anatomy, at eleven, and abouthalf past ten he limped across the road, and a little nervously made hisway to the Medical School. Just inside the door a number of notices werepinned up, lists of lectures, football fixtures, and the like; and thesehe looked at idly, trying to seem at his ease. Young men and boys dribbledin and looked for letters in the rack, chatted with one another, andpassed downstairs to the basement, in which was the student'sreading-room. Philip saw several fellows with a desultory, timid lookdawdling around, and surmised that, like himself, they were there for thefirst time. When he had exhausted the notices he saw a glass door whichled into what was apparently a museum, and having still twenty minutes tospare he walked in. It was a collection of pathological specimens.Presently a boy of about eighteen came up to him."I say, are you first year?" he said."Yes," answered Philip."Where's the lecture room, d'you know? It's getting on for eleven.""We'd better try to find it."They walked out of the museum into a long, dark corridor, with the wallspainted in two shades of red, and other youths walking along suggested theway to them. They came to a door marked Anatomy Theatre. Philip found thatthere were a good many people already there. The seats were arranged intiers, and just as Philip entered an attendant came in, put a glass ofwater on the table in the well of the lecture-room and then brought in apelvis and two thigh-bones, right and left. More men entered and tooktheir seats and by eleven the theatre was fairly full. There were aboutsixty students. For the most part they were a good deal younger thanPhilip, smooth-faced boys of eighteen, but there were a few who were olderthan he: he noticed one tall man, with a fierce red moustache, who mighthave been thirty; another little fellow with black hair, only a year ortwo younger; and there was one man with spectacles and a beard which wasquite gray.The lecturer came in, Mr. Cameron, a handsome man with white hair andclean-cut features. He called out the long list of names. Then he made alittle speech. He spoke in a pleasant voice, with well-chosen words, andhe seemed to take a discreet pleasure in their careful arrangement. Hesuggested one or two books which they might buy and advised the purchaseof a skeleton. He spoke of anatomy with enthusiasm: it was essential tothe study of surgery; a knowledge of it added to the appreciation of art.Philip pricked up his ears. He heard later that Mr. Cameron lectured alsoto the students at the Royal Academy. He had lived many years in Japan,with a post at the University of Tokyo, and he flattered himself on hisappreciation of the beautiful."You will have to learn many tedious things," he finished, with anindulgent smile, "which you will forget the moment you have passed yourfinal examination, but in anatomy it is better to have learned and lostthan never to have learned at all."He took up the pelvis which was lying on the table and began to describeit. He spoke well and clearly.At the end of the lecture the boy who had spoken to Philip in thepathological museum and sat next to him in the theatre suggested that theyshould go to the dissecting-room. Philip and he walked along the corridoragain, and an attendant told them where it was. As soon as they enteredPhilip understood what the acrid smell was which he had noticed in thepassage. He lit a pipe. The attendant gave a short laugh."You'll soon get used to the smell. I don't notice it myself."He asked Philip's name and looked at a list on the board."You've got a leg--number four."Philip saw that another name was bracketed with his own."What's the meaning of that?" he asked."We're very short of bodies just now. We've had to put two on each part."The dissecting-room was a large apartment painted like the corridors, theupper part a rich salmon and the dado a dark terra-cotta. At regularintervals down the long sides of the room, at right angles with the wall,were iron slabs, grooved like meat-dishes; and on each lay a body. Most ofthem were men. They were very dark from the preservative in which they hadbeen kept, and the skin had almost the look of leather. They wereextremely emaciated. The attendant took Philip up to one of the slabs. Ayouth was standing by it."Is your name Carey?" he asked."Yes.""Oh, then we've got this leg together. It's lucky it's a man, isn't it?""Why?" asked Philip."They generally always like a male better," said the attendant. "Afemale's liable to have a lot of fat about her."Philip looked at the body. The arms and legs were so thin that there wasno shape in them, and the ribs stood out so that the skin over them wastense. A man of about forty-five with a thin, gray beard, and on his skullscanty, colourless hair: the eyes were closed and the lower jaw sunken.Philip could not feel that this had ever been a man, and yet in the row ofthem there was something terrible and ghastly."I thought I'd start at two," said the young man who was dissecting withPhilip."All right, I'll be here then."He had bought the day before the case of instruments which was needful,and now he was given a locker. He looked at the boy who had accompaniedhim into the dissecting-room and saw that he was white."Make you feel rotten?" Philip asked him."I've never seen anyone dead before."They walked along the corridor till they came to the entrance of theschool. Philip remembered Fanny Price. She was the first dead person hehad ever seen, and he remembered how strangely it had affected him. Therewas an immeasurable distance between the quick and the dead: they did notseem to belong to the same species; and it was strange to think that buta little while before they had spoken and moved and eaten and laughed.There was something horrible about the dead, and you could imagine thatthey might cast an evil influence on the living."What d'you say to having something to eat?" said his new friend toPhilip.They went down into the basement, where there was a dark room fitted up asa restaurant, and here the students were able to get the same sort of fareas they might have at an aerated bread shop. While they ate (Philip had ascone and butter and a cup of chocolate), he discovered that his companionwas called Dunsford. He was a fresh-complexioned lad, with pleasant blueeyes and curly, dark hair, large-limbed, slow of speech and movement. Hehad just come from Clifton."Are you taking the Conjoint?" he asked Philip."Yes, I want to get qualified as soon as I can.""I'm taking it too, but I shall take the F. R. C. S. afterwards. I'm goingin for surgery."Most of the students took the curriculum of the Conjoint Board of theCollege of Surgeons and the College of Physicians; but the more ambitiousor the more industrious added to this the longer studies which led to adegree from the University of London. When Philip went to St. Luke'schanges had recently been made in the regulations, and the course tookfive years instead of four as it had done for those who registered beforethe autumn of 1892. Dunsford was well up in his plans and told Philip theusual course of events. The "first conjoint" examination consisted ofbiology, anatomy, and chemistry; but it could be taken in sections, andmost fellows took their biology three months after entering the school.This science had been recently added to the list of subjects upon whichthe student was obliged to inform himself, but the amount of knowledgerequired was very small.When Philip went back to the dissecting-room, he was a few minutes late,since he had forgotten to buy the loose sleeves which they wore to protecttheir shirts, and he found a number of men already working. His partnerhad started on the minute and was busy dissecting out cutaneous nerves.Two others were engaged on the second leg, and more were occupied with thearms."You don't mind my having started?""That's all right, fire away," said Philip.He took the book, open at a diagram of the dissected part, and looked atwhat they had to find."You're rather a dab at this," said Philip."Oh, I've done a good deal of dissecting before, animals, you know, forthe Pre Sci."There was a certain amount of conversation over the dissecting-table,partly about the work, partly about the prospects of the football season,the demonstrators, and the lectures. Philip felt himself a great dealolder than the others. They were raw schoolboys. But age is a matter ofknowledge rather than of years; and Newson, the active young man who wasdissecting with him, was very much at home with his subject. He wasperhaps not sorry to show off, and he explained very fully to Philip whathe was about. Philip, notwithstanding his hidden stores of wisdom,listened meekly. Then Philip took up the scalpel and the tweezers andbegan working while the other looked on."Ripping to have him so thin," said Newson, wiping his hands. "Theblighter can't have had anything to eat for a month.""I wonder what he died of," murmured Philip."Oh, I don't know, any old thing, starvation chiefly, I suppose.... I say,look out, don't cut that artery.""It's all very fine to say, don't cut that artery," remarked one of themen working on the opposite leg. "Silly old fool's got an artery in thewrong place.""Arteries always are in the wrong place," said Newson. "The normal's theone thing you practically never get. That's why it's called the normal.""Don't say things like that," said Philip, "or I shall cut myself.""If you cut yourself," answered Newson, full of information, "wash it atonce with antiseptic. It's the one thing you've got to be careful about.There was a chap here last year who gave himself only a prick, and hedidn't bother about it, and he got septicaemia.""Did he get all right?""Oh, no, he died in a week. I went and had a look at him in the P. M.room."Philip's back ached by the time it was proper to have tea, and hisluncheon had been so light that he was quite ready for it. His hands smeltof that peculiar odour which he had first noticed that morning in thecorridor. He thought his muffin tasted of it too."Oh, you'll get used to that," said Newson. "When you don't have the goodold dissecting-room stink about, you feel quite lonely.""I'm not going to let it spoil my appetite," said Philip, as he followedup the muffin with a piece of cake.