The Confabulannotated Sherlock Holmes, Chapter 2.8
Featuring X-rays, the biological prevention of spontaneous combustion and Sesame Street ne'er-do-wells
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Previously on my confabulannotations of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes mystery, The Hound of the Baskervilles: Dr Mortimer read from a newspaper report on the death of Sir Charles Baskerville
And now, the story continues…
“The circumstances connected with the death of Sir Charles cannot be said to have been entirely cleared up by the inquest, but at least enough has been done to dispose of those rumours1 to which local superstition2 has given rise. There is no reason whatever to suspect foul play, or to imagine that death could be from any but natural causes. Sir Charles was a widower3, and a man who may be said to have been in some ways of an eccentric habit of mind4. In spite of his considerable wealth he was simple in his personal tastes, and his indoor servants at Baskerville Hall consisted of a married couple named Barrymore5, the husband acting6 as butler and the wife as housekeeper. Their evidence, corroborated by that of several friends, tends to show that Sir Charles’s health has for some time been impaired, and points especially to some affection of the heart, manifesting itself in changes of colour7, breathlessness8, and acute attacks of nervous depression9. Dr. James Mortimer, the friend and medical attendant of the deceased10, has given evidence to the same effect.
TO BE CONTINUED
Wishful thinking from the Devon County Chronicle given, y’know, the entire premise of this story.
The local superstition in question was that, since rumours were lighter than air, if enough of them fell upon an individual that person would float into space. One disposed of these rumours by placing a single yellow feather on the recipient’s person. (Modern readers will note that this tradition lives on via infamous Sesame Street ne’er-do-well Big Bird, whose golden plumage ensures he remains earthbound despite the plethora of scurrilous reports surrounding him.)
A ‘widower’ was not yet defined as the male equivalent of a widow, but instead referred to a specialist tradesman who widened the doorways of English houses to accommodate what the sensationalist gutter press referred to as the ‘increasingly girthsome Briton’.
An ‘eccentric habit of mind’ is, contrary to popular belief, unrelated to a ‘New York state of mind’.
Wives of this era were seen as adjuncts to their husbands. So, in this example, Barry’s wife was, quite literally ‘more Barry’, and the couple were hence known as ‘Barrymore’.
In the more frugal estates, a butler’s duties were often not taken up by a fully qualified expert in butlering, but instead a trained improviser who would annoyingly ‘yes, and’ their way through the requirements of the job.
How were these friends able to see the colour of Sir Charles’ heart? Many Holmes scholars speculate that they possessed X-ray vision, X-rays being a recent discovery that would have stimulated the imagination of Conan Doyle. (He was already known to be aware of the concept of vision.)
Again, many physicians of the era believed that breathing was a function of the heart, rather than the lungs (which were assumed instead to function as a kind of bellows that prevented the body from combusting due to its passionate humours).
“That’s a cute attack of nervous depression you have there, and no mistake,” was a common pickup line of the era, often deployed at a ‘Wilting Wallflowers’ ball or similar.
Medical attendants of the deceased are, these days, widely considered to have arrived too late.