VI
BASHFULNESS AND INDECISION
DOCTOR W. BECHTEREW, a distinguished Russian physician, was one day visited by a man of extraordinary appearance. Cheap and shabby clothing fitted the visitor's gaunt frame badly; his gait was shuffling; his whole form and manner testified pathetically to an overwhelming burden of poverty, anxiety, and dread. But what was most remarkable about him was a pair of enormous black spectacles, giving a horribly grotesque aspect to his pallid, bearded face. It was with difficulty that Doctor Bechterew concealed the astonishment he felt and courteously inquired what he could do for his strange visitor.
"I have come," was the hesitating, almost stammering, reply, "in the hope that you can cure me of my bashfulness."
"Your bashfulness?" repeated the physician, with a quizzical, but kindly, smile. "Is that all that troubles you?"
"It is enough," answered the other, vehemently. "Doctor, it has made life a hell for me."
"And for how long have you been bashful?"
"Virtually since childhood. I can positively place its beginnings in my schooldays." His words now flowed swiftly, torrentially. "Long before I left school I noticed that I felt awkward and uneasy when anybody looked directly at me. I found myself blushing, stammering, turning away, unable to look people in the eye.
"After I left school and went to work, matters became much worse. In business I had to meet strangers all the time, and in the presence of strangers I felt absolutely helpless. My bashfulness increased to such an extent that I began to invent excuses to stay away from my work, and to remain at home in a miserable solitude. But this did not do; I had to earn my living. In desperation, I hit on the idea of wearing these black spectacles."
"So that people cannot see your eyes?"