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სასიკვდილო დიაგნოზი
მსოფლიოს რჩეული მოთხრობები ტომი 40
წიგნში შესულია შემდეგი მოთხრობები: "სასიკვდილო დიაგნოზი", "ერთი დოქი ვაჟინი", "მხედარი ზეცაში", "მიცვალებულის მცველნი", "უგზოუკლოდ დაკარგული", "მიცვალებულთა ქალაქი", "ამაო გარჯა", "ცივი სალამი", "ფილოსოფოსი პარკერ ადერსონი", "სინდისის ქენჯნა", "ავაზის თვალები", "დაგმანული ფანჯარა", "სტეილი ფლემინგის ჰალუცინაცია", "დატყვევება", "მაკარჯერის ველის საიდუმლო", "ტყუპისცალი", "წყეული არსება", "ზეციური კავშირი", "ჩარლზ ეშმორის ნაკვალევი", "ჯონ ბარტაინის საათი".
წიგნში შესულია შემდეგი მოთხრობები: "სასიკვდილო დიაგნოზი", "ერთი დოქი ვაჟინი", "მხედარი ზეცაში", "მიცვალებულის მცველნი", "უგზოუკლოდ დაკარგული", "მიცვალებულთა ქალაქი", "ამაო გარჯა", "ცივი სალამი", "ფილოსოფოსი პარკერ ადერსონი", "სინდისის ქენჯნა", "ავაზის თვალები", "დაგმანული ფანჯარა", "სტეილი ფლემინგის ჰალუცინაცია", "დატყვევება", "მაკარჯერის ველის საიდუმლო", "ტყუპისცალი", "წყეული არსება", "ზეციური კავშირი", "ჩარლზ ეშმორის ნაკვალევი", "ჯონ ბარტაინის საათი".
160 pages, Paperback
First published December 8, 1901
3 people are currently reading
44 people want to read
About the author
Ambrose Bierce
2,410 books1,296 followersdied perhaps 1914
Caustic wit and a strong sense of horror mark works, including In the Midst of Life (1891-1892) and The Devil's Dictionary (1906), of American writer Ambrose Gwinett Bierce.
People today best know this editorialist, journalist, and fabulist for his short story, An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge and his lexicon.
The informative sardonic view of human nature alongside his vehemence as a critic with his motto, "nothing matters," earned him the nickname "Bitter Bierce."
People knew Bierce despite his reputation as a searing critic, however, to encourage younger poet George Sterling and fiction author W.C. Morrow.
Bierce employed a distinctive style especially in his stories. This style often embraces an abrupt beginning, dark imagery, vague references to time, limited descriptions, the theme of war, and impossible events.
Bierce disappeared in December 1913 at the age of 71 years. People think that he traveled to Mexico to gain a firsthand perspective on ongoing revolution of that country.
Theories abound on a mystery, ultimate fate of Bierce. He in one of his final letters stated: "Good-bye. If you hear of my being stood up against a Mexican stone wall and shot to rags, please know that I think it is a pretty good way to depart this life. It beats old age, disease, or falling down the cellar stairs. To be a Gringo in Mexico--ah, that is euthanasia!"
Caustic wit and a strong sense of horror mark works, including In the Midst of Life (1891-1892) and The Devil's Dictionary (1906), of American writer Ambrose Gwinett Bierce.
People today best know this editorialist, journalist, and fabulist for his short story, An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge and his lexicon.
The informative sardonic view of human nature alongside his vehemence as a critic with his motto, "nothing matters," earned him the nickname "Bitter Bierce."
People knew Bierce despite his reputation as a searing critic, however, to encourage younger poet George Sterling and fiction author W.C. Morrow.
Bierce employed a distinctive style especially in his stories. This style often embraces an abrupt beginning, dark imagery, vague references to time, limited descriptions, the theme of war, and impossible events.
Bierce disappeared in December 1913 at the age of 71 years. People think that he traveled to Mexico to gain a firsthand perspective on ongoing revolution of that country.
Theories abound on a mystery, ultimate fate of Bierce. He in one of his final letters stated: "Good-bye. If you hear of my being stood up against a Mexican stone wall and shot to rags, please know that I think it is a pretty good way to depart this life. It beats old age, disease, or falling down the cellar stairs. To be a Gringo in Mexico--ah, that is euthanasia!"
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Displaying 1 - 19 of 19 reviews
May 4, 2021
After experiencing a seemingly inexplicable supernatural appearance, Hawver finds himself yielding to the presence of spiritual phenomena. Has he relayed a story so fantastical that it surely must be factual truth? Or is there a more plausible explanation for this apparition?
A clue, early on, leads one to believe that perhaps this is a phantasm of his own making:
"I know, indeed, that one's environment may be so affected by one's personality as to yield, long afterward, an image of one's self to the eyes of another. Doubtless the impressing personality has to be the right kind of personality as the perceiving eyes have to be the right kind of eyes - mine, for example."
Is it true that "We only see what we want to see; we only hear what we want to hear. Our belief system is just like a mirror that only shows us what we believe." (Don Miguel Ruiz) and that "The subconscious mind is ruled by suggestion, it accepts all suggestions – it does not argue with you – it fulfils your wishes.” (Joseph Murphy)
I don't know about you, but I have found no better explanation as to why some of us believe in ghosts and some do not. Read this short and shivery tale and see if you are persuaded as Hawver was, or if you lean more towards this verdict:
"As a person thinks, feels, and believes, so is the condition of his or her mind, body, and circumstances.” (Joseph Murphy)
http://www.eastoftheweb.com/short-stories/UBooks/DiaDea.shtml
A clue, early on, leads one to believe that perhaps this is a phantasm of his own making:
"I know, indeed, that one's environment may be so affected by one's personality as to yield, long afterward, an image of one's self to the eyes of another. Doubtless the impressing personality has to be the right kind of personality as the perceiving eyes have to be the right kind of eyes - mine, for example."
Is it true that "We only see what we want to see; we only hear what we want to hear. Our belief system is just like a mirror that only shows us what we believe." (Don Miguel Ruiz) and that "The subconscious mind is ruled by suggestion, it accepts all suggestions – it does not argue with you – it fulfils your wishes.” (Joseph Murphy)
I don't know about you, but I have found no better explanation as to why some of us believe in ghosts and some do not. Read this short and shivery tale and see if you are persuaded as Hawver was, or if you lean more towards this verdict:
"As a person thinks, feels, and believes, so is the condition of his or her mind, body, and circumstances.” (Joseph Murphy)
http://www.eastoftheweb.com/short-stories/UBooks/DiaDea.shtml
October 13, 2019
A very atmospheric and creepy story. Hawver meets a Dr who can foresee when death is coming. What about his own life? This gothic tale will run shivers down your spine. Really recommended!
July 8, 2022
მე უფრო საკაიფო ტიპი მეგონა ბირსი. განსაკუთრებული არაფერი იყო. მთლიანობაში უფრო ინსპირატორი მოთხრობები ქონდა.
July 19, 2024
Скажу сразу, что сборник не дочитал до конца т.к мне тяжело читать истории мало между собой связанные в таком объеме. Однако, общее впечатление об авторе положительное.
Бирс чем-то напоминает моего друга Анатолия, что удивляется абсолютно обыденным и повседневным вещам так, будто это что-то необычное или даже неописуемо пугающее. Тоже самое и с Бисром, он превращает банальные и повседневные вещи в истории наполненные не то что бы ужасом, а скорее мистикой низкого сорта. К прочтению рекомендую, но дозировано. 2-3 истории перед сном самое то. Так не успеет приесться и получите ощущение сказки перед сном.
Бирс чем-то напоминает моего друга Анатолия, что удивляется абсолютно обыденным и повседневным вещам так, будто это что-то необычное или даже неописуемо пугающее. Тоже самое и с Бисром, он превращает банальные и повседневные вещи в истории наполненные не то что бы ужасом, а скорее мистикой низкого сорта. К прочтению рекомендую, но дозировано. 2-3 истории перед сном самое то. Так не успеет приесться и получите ощущение сказки перед сном.
December 17, 2024
This is such a short short-story that it doesn't have enough time to scare us!
August 8, 2018
"A Diagnosis of Death"
“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 accusation that had not been made. “Some of you - only a few, I confess - believe in the immortality of the soul, and in apparitions which you have not the honesty to call ghosts. I go no further than a conviction that the living are sometimes seen where they are not, but have been - where they have lived so long, perhaps so intensely, as to have left their impress on everything about them. I know, indeed, that one’s environment may be so affected by one’s personality as to yield, long afterward, an image of one’s self to the eyes of another. Doubtless the impressing personality has to be the right kind of personality as the perceiving eyes have to be the right kind of eyes - mine, for example.”
“Yes, the right kind of eyes, conveying sensations to the wrong kind of brain,” said Dr. Frayley, smiling.
“Thank you; one likes to have an expectation gratified; that is about 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 you learned.”
“You will call it an hallucination,” Hawver said, “but that does not matter.” And he told the story.
“Last summer I went, as you know, to pass the hot weather term in the town of Meridian. The relative at whose house I had intended to stay was ill, so I sought other quarters. After some difficulty I succeeded in renting a vacant dwelling that had been occupied by an eccentric doctor of the name of Mannering, who had gone away years before, no one knew where, not even his agent. He had built the house himself and had lived in it with an old servant for about ten years. His practice, never very extensive, had after a few years been given up entirely. Not only so, but he had withdrawn himself almost altogether from social life and become a recluse. I was told by the village doctor, about the only person with whom he held any relations, that during his retirement he had devoted himself to a single line of study, the result of which he had expounded in a book that did not commend itself to the approval of his professional brethren, who, indeed, considered him not entirely sane. 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 that it was possible in the case of many a person in good health to forecast his death with precision, several months in advance of the event. The limit, I think, was eighteen months. There were local tales of his having exerted his powers of prognosis, or perhaps you would say diagnosis; and it was said that in every instance the person whose friends he had warned had died suddenly at the appointed time, and from no assignable cause. All this, however, has nothing to do with what I have to tell; I thought it might amuse a physician.
“The house was furnished, just as he had lived in it. It was a rather 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 of its former occupant’s character; for always I felt in it a certain melancholy that was not in my natural disposition, nor, I think, due to loneliness. I had no servants that slept in the house, but I have always been, as you know, rather fond of my own society, being much addicted to reading, though little to study. Whatever was the cause, the effect was dejection and a sense of impending evil; this was especially so in Dr. Mannering’s study, although that room was the lightest and most airy in the house. The doctor’s life-size portrait in oil hung in that room, and seemed completely to dominate it. There was nothing unusual in the picture; the man was evidently rather good looking, about fifty years old, with iron-gray hair, a smooth-shaven face and dark, serious eyes. Something in the picture always drew and held my attention. The man’s appearance became familiar to me, and rather ‘haunted’ me.
“One evening I was passing through this room to my bedroom, with a lamp - there is no gas in Meridian. I stopped as usual before the portrait, which seemed in the lamplight to have a new expression, not easily named, but distinctly uncanny. It interested but did not disturb me. I moved the lamp from one side to the other and observed the effects of 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! As soon as he came near enough for the lamplight to illuminate the face I saw that it was Dr. Mannering himself; it was as if the portrait were walking!
“‘I beg your pardon,’ I said, somewhat coldly, ‘but if you knocked I 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 I observed his exit no more than I had observed his entrance.
“Of course, I need not tell you that this was what you will call an hallucination and I call an apparition. That room had only two doors, of which one was locked; the other led into a bedroom, from which there was no exit. My feeling on realizing this is not an important part of the incident.
“Doubtless this seems to you a very commonplace ‘ghost story’ - one constructed on the regular lines laid down by the old masters of the art. 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 in a crowd.”
Hawver had finished his story and both men were silent. Dr. Frayley absently drummed on the table with his fingers.
“Did he say anything to-day?” he asked - “anything from which you inferred that he was not dead?”
Hawver stared and did not reply.
“Perhaps,” continued Frayley, “he made a sign, a gesture - lifted a finger, as in warning. It’s a trick he had - a habit when saying something serious - announcing the result of a diagnosis, for example.”
“Yes, he did - just as his apparition had done. But, good God! did you ever know him?”
Hawver was apparently growing nervous.
“I knew him. I have read his book, as will every physician some day. It is one of the most striking and important of the century’s contributions to medical science. Yes, I knew him; I attended him in an illness three years ago. He died.”
Hawver sprang from his chair, manifestly disturbed. He strode forward and back across the room; then approached his friend, and in a voice not altogether steady, said: “Doctor, have you anything to say to me - as a physician?”
“No, Hawver; you are the healthiest man I ever knew. As a friend I advise you to go to your room. You play the violin like an angel. Play it; play something light and lively. Get this cursed bad business off your mind.”
The next day Hawver was found dead in his room, the violin at his neck, the bow upon the strings, his music open before him at Chopin’s funeral march.
A Diagnosis of Death
“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 accusation that had not been made. “Some of you - only a few, I confess - believe in the immortality of the soul, and in apparitions which you have not the honesty to call ghosts. I go no further than a conviction that the living are sometimes seen where they are not, but have been - where they have lived so long, perhaps so intensely, as to have left their impress on everything about them. I know, indeed, that one’s environment may be so affected by one’s personality as to yield, long afterward, an image of one’s self to the eyes of another. Doubtless the impressing personality has to be the right kind of personality as the perceiving eyes have to be the right kind of eyes - mine, for example.”
“Yes, the right kind of eyes, conveying sensations to the wrong kind of brain,” said Dr. Frayley, smiling.
“Thank you; one likes to have an expectation gratified; that is about 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 you learned.”
“You will call it an hallucination,” Hawver said, “but that does not matter.” And he told the story.
“Last summer I went, as you know, to pass the hot weather term in the town of Meridian. The relative at whose house I had intended to stay was ill, so I sought other quarters. After some difficulty I succeeded in renting a vacant dwelling that had been occupied by an eccentric doctor of the name of Mannering, who had gone away years before, no one knew where, not even his agent. He had built the house himself and had lived in it with an old servant for about ten years. His practice, never very extensive, had after a few years been given up entirely. Not only so, but he had withdrawn himself almost altogether from social life and become a recluse. I was told by the village doctor, about the only person with whom he held any relations, that during his retirement he had devoted himself to a single line of study, the result of which he had expounded in a book that did not commend itself to the approval of his professional brethren, who, indeed, considered him not entirely sane. 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 that it was possible in the case of many a person in good health to forecast his death with precision, several months in advance of the event. The limit, I think, was eighteen months. There were local tales of his having exerted his powers of prognosis, or perhaps you would say diagnosis; and it was said that in every instance the person whose friends he had warned had died suddenly at the appointed time, and from no assignable cause. All this, however, has nothing to do with what I have to tell; I thought it might amuse a physician.
“The house was furnished, just as he had lived in it. It was a rather 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 of its former occupant’s character; for always I felt in it a certain melancholy that was not in my natural disposition, nor, I think, due to loneliness. I had no servants that slept in the house, but I have always been, as you know, rather fond of my own society, being much addicted to reading, though little to study. Whatever was the cause, the effect was dejection and a sense of impending evil; this was especially so in Dr. Mannering’s study, although that room was the lightest and most airy in the house. The doctor’s life-size portrait in oil hung in that room, and seemed completely to dominate it. There was nothing unusual in the picture; the man was evidently rather good looking, about fifty years old, with iron-gray hair, a smooth-shaven face and dark, serious eyes. Something in the picture always drew and held my attention. The man’s appearance became familiar to me, and rather ‘haunted’ me.
“One evening I was passing through this room to my bedroom, with a lamp - there is no gas in Meridian. I stopped as usual before the portrait, which seemed in the lamplight to have a new expression, not easily named, but distinctly uncanny. It interested but did not disturb me. I moved the lamp from one side to the other and observed the effects of 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! As soon as he came near enough for the lamplight to illuminate the face I saw that it was Dr. Mannering himself; it was as if the portrait were walking!
“‘I beg your pardon,’ I said, somewhat coldly, ‘but if you knocked I 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 I observed his exit no more than I had observed his entrance.
“Of course, I need not tell you that this was what you will call an hallucination and I call an apparition. That room had only two doors, of which one was locked; the other led into a bedroom, from which there was no exit. My feeling on realizing this is not an important part of the incident.
“Doubtless this seems to you a very commonplace ‘ghost story’ - one constructed on the regular lines laid down by the old masters of the art. 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 in a crowd.”
Hawver had finished his story and both men were silent. Dr. Frayley absently drummed on the table with his fingers.
“Did he say anything to-day?” he asked - “anything from which you inferred that he was not dead?”
Hawver stared and did not reply.
“Perhaps,” continued Frayley, “he made a sign, a gesture - lifted a finger, as in warning. It’s a trick he had - a habit when saying something serious - announcing the result of a diagnosis, for example.”
“Yes, he did - just as his apparition had done. But, good God! did you ever know him?”
Hawver was apparently growing nervous.
“I knew him. I have read his book, as will every physician some day. It is one of the most striking and important of the century’s contributions to medical science. Yes, I knew him; I attended him in an illness three years ago. He died.”
Hawver sprang from his chair, manifestly disturbed. He strode forward and back across the room; then approached his friend, and in a voice not altogether steady, said: “Doctor, have you anything to say to me - as a physician?”
“No, Hawver; you are the healthiest man I ever knew. As a friend I advise you to go to your room. You play the violin like an angel. Play it; play something light and lively. Get this cursed bad business off your mind.”
The next day Hawver was found dead in his room, the violin at his neck, the bow upon the strings, his music open before him at Chopin’s funeral march.
A Diagnosis of Death
September 25, 2025
hm. frustrating. this has a compelling premise and strong atmospheric setup that genuinely sent a shiver through me, but never builds momentum beyond the initial concept. just when the story should accelerate toward its climax, it abruptly stops, leaving you feeling shortchanged. the author creates intrigue but doesn't deliver on it.
July 25, 2020
Dr. Hawver, a doctor visits his relatives for spending a summer. But due to some problems he was not able to stay in his relative's house, rather he stayed at another house where some other Dr. Mannering was living. But no one knew where Dr. Mannering is now.
Dr. Mannering was a brilliant doctor who could forecast death in advance of several months. One night, when Dr. Hawver was passing through the study when he felt something unusual. He saw Dr. Mannering coming towards him from his portrait lifting his right forefinger like a warning and vanished in thin air.
Was Dr. Mannering alive or it was just an apparition? Against what Dr. Mannering was warning Dr. hawver?
Dr. Mannering was a brilliant doctor who could forecast death in advance of several months. One night, when Dr. Hawver was passing through the study when he felt something unusual. He saw Dr. Mannering coming towards him from his portrait lifting his right forefinger like a warning and vanished in thin air.
Was Dr. Mannering alive or it was just an apparition? Against what Dr. Mannering was warning Dr. hawver?
February 25, 2024
Good, but not great, and certainly with a few stylistic hiccups that I did not particularly care for; nonetheless, however- in concept especially- this is a perfectly pleasant little read. It just so happens to not be anything worth writing home about, in my opinion.
May 15, 2024
𝟯.𝟱⭐ 𝗱𝗲 𝟱⭐*
A great short story.
A great short story.
July 5, 2025
5/10
July 19, 2025
2.5/5
December 28, 2025
This was an interesting story about a man who can diagnose with certainty the moment someone will die. It's a brilliant concept, but the story is far too short to make anything worthwhile of it.
January 1, 2012
ძალიან მომეწონა, იმაზე უკეთესი იყო ვიდრე ველოდი :3 თან თვითონ ბირსის იდუმალ გაუჩინარებასთანაც დავაკავშირე რაღაც-რაღაცეები და უფრო საინტერესო გახდა *_*
July 23, 2016
რასაიქმნდი გაუჩინარებულო
July 17, 2018
A medical student comes to believe in ghosts after being haunted by a famous doctor who he once admired as an important figure in the craft. His diagnosis ends in blood.
January 26, 2021
Never disappointed with Ambrose Bierce! His work is amazing!
September 30, 2021
A very short story about predicting death and seeing ghosts. A bit too simple for me. Audible version, narrated by Anthony Heald. This can be found in Can Such Things Be?
Displaying 1 - 19 of 19 reviews