很多很多读者都问过这个问题。当这个故事刚出现时，在1891年的新英格兰杂志中，一位波士顿医生在The Transcript中提出了抗议。他说，这样的故事不应该被写下来;它足以让任何人疯狂阅读它。我认为堪萨斯州的另一位医生写道，这是他所见过的初期精神错乱的最佳描述，并且 – 请求我原谅 – 我去过那里吗？现在故事的故事是这样的：多年来我一直遭受严重和持续的精神崩溃，趋于忧郁症 – 甚至更远。在这个麻烦的第三年左右，我以虔诚的信念和一些微弱的希望，前往一位着名的神经疾病专家，这是该国最着名的疾病。这位聪明的男人让我睡觉并应用其余的治疗方法，一个仍然很好的体质迅速做出反应，他得出的结论是，我没有什么事情，并且带着庄严的建议把我带回家“像家庭一样生活如同生活一样只要我活着，“尽可能”每天只有两个小时的知识分子生活，并且“再也不会用笔，刷子或铅笔”。这是在1887年。我回家并遵守这些指示已有三个月了，并且接近于我可以看到的完全精神毁灭的边界。然后，利用剩下的情报残余，并由一位聪明的朋友帮助，我将着名专家的建议转向风，再次去工作 – 工作，每个人的正常生活;工作，其中是快乐，成长和服务，没有这是一个贫民和寄生虫 – 最终恢复一些权力。通过这种狭窄的逃脱自然而然地感到高兴，我写了黄色壁纸，其装饰和添加，以实现理想（我从来没有幻觉或反对我的壁画装饰）并发送副本给几乎开车的医生我生气了。他从未承认过。这本小书受到外星人的重视，是一种文学的好标本。据我所知，它使一名女性从类似的命运中拯救出来 – 她的家人如此可怕，以至于她让她正常活动，她就康复了。但最好的结果就是这个。许多年后，我被告知这位伟大的专家已经向他的朋友们承认，自从阅读黄色壁纸以来，他已经改变了他对神经衰弱的治疗方法。它并不是为了让人们疯狂，而是为了让人们免于疯狂，而且它有效。
Many and many a reader has asked that. When the story first came out, in the New England Magazine about 1891, a Boston physician made protest in The Transcript. Such a story ought not to be written, he said; it was enough to drive anyone mad to read it. Another physician, in Kansas I think, wrote to say that it was the best description of incipient insanity he had ever seen, and–begging my pardon–had I been there? Now the story of the story is this: For many years I suffered from a severe and continuous nervous breakdown tending to melancholia–and beyond. During about the third year of this trouble I went, in devout faith and some faint stir of hope, to a noted specialist in nervous diseases, the best known in the country. This wise man put me to bed and applied the rest cure, to which a still-good physique responded so promptly that he concluded there was nothing much the matter with me, and sent me home with solemn advice to “live as domestic a life as far as possible,” to “have but two hours’ intellectual life a day,” and “never to touch pen, brush, or pencil again” as long as I lived. This was in 1887. I went home and obeyed those directions for some three months, and came so near the borderline of utter mental ruin that I could see over. Then, using the remnants of intelligence that remained, and helped by a wise friend, I cast the noted specialist’s advice to the winds and went to work again–work, the normal life of every human being; work, in which is joy and growth and service, without which one is a pauper and a parasite–ultimately recovering some measure of power. Being naturally moved to rejoicing by this narrow escape, I wrote The Yellow Wallpaper, with its embellishments and additions, to carry out the ideal (I never had hallucinations or objections to my mural decorations) and sent a copy to the physician who so nearly drove me mad. He never acknowledged it. The little book is valued by alienists and as a good specimen of one kind of literature. It has, to my knowledge, saved one woman from a similar fate–so terrifying her family that they let her out into normal activity and she recovered. But the best result is this. Many years later I was told that the great specialist had admitted to friends of his that he had altered his treatment of neurasthenia since reading The Yellow Wallpaper. It was not intended to drive people crazy, but to save people from being driven crazy, and it worked.