A MIND THAT FOUND ITSELF

_An Autobiography_

ByCLIFFORD WHITTINGHAM BEERS

_First edition, March, 1908Second edition, with additions, June, 1910Reprinted, November, 1912Third edition revised, March, 1913Reprinted, September, 1913Reprinted, July, 1914Fourth edition revised, March, 1917Reprinted, February, 1920Fifth edition revised, October, 1921_

DedicatedTO THE MEMORY OF MY UNCLESAMUEL EDWIN MERWINWHOSE TIMELY GENEROSITY I BELIEVE SAVED MY LIFEAND WHOSE DEATH HAS FOREVER ROBBEDME OF A SATISFYING OPPORTUNITYTO PROVE MY GRATITUDE

A Mind That Found Itself

I

This story is derived from as human a document as ever existed; and, because of its uncommon nature, perhaps no one thing contributes somuch to its value as its authenticity. It is an autobiography, andmore: in part it is a biography; for, in telling the story of my life, I must relate the history of another self--a self which was dominantfrom my twenty-fourth to my twenty-sixth year. During that period I wasunlike what I had been, or what I have been since. The biographicalpart of my autobiography might be called the history of a mental civilwar, which I fought single-handed on a battlefield that lay within thecompass of my skull. An Army of Unreason, composed of the cunning andtreacherous thoughts of an unfair foe, attacked my bewilderedconsciousness with cruel persistency, and would have destroyed me, hadnot a triumphant Reason finally interposed a superior strategy thatsaved me from my unnatural self. 

I am not telling the story of my life just to write a book. I tell itbecause it seems my plain duty to do so. A narrow escape from death anda seemingly miraculous return to health after an apparently fatalillness are enough to make a man ask himself: For what purpose was mylife spared? That question I have asked myself, and this book is, inpart, an answer. 

I was born shortly after sunset about thirty years ago. My ancestors, natives of England, settled in this country not long after the_Mayflower_ first sailed into Plymouth Harbor. And the blood of theseancestors, by time and the happy union of a Northern man and a Southernwoman--my parents--has perforce been blended into blood truly American. 

The first years of my life were, in most ways, not unlike those ofother American boys, except as a tendency to worry made them so. Thoughthe fact is now difficult for me to believe, I was painfully shy. Whenfirst I put on short trousers, I felt that the eyes of the world wereon me; and to escape them I hid behind convenient pieces of furniturewhile in the house and, so I am told, even sidled close to fences whenI walked along the street. With my shyness there was a degree ofself-consciousness which put me at a disadvantage in any family orsocial gathering. I talked little and was ill at ease when others spoketo me. 

Like many other sensitive and somewhat introspective children, I passedthrough a brief period of morbid righteousness. In a game of"one-old-cat, " the side on which I played was defeated. On a piece ofscantling which lay in the lot where the contest took place, Iscratched the score. Afterwards it occurred to me that my inscriptionwas perhaps misleading and would make my side appear to be the winner. I went back and corrected the ambiguity. On finding in an old toolchest at home a coin or medal, on which there appeared the text, "Putaway the works of darkness and put on the armour of light, " my sense ofreligious propriety was offended. It seemed a sacrilege to use in thisway such a high sentiment, so I destroyed the coin. 

I early took upon myself, mentally at least, many of the cares andworries of those about me. Whether in this I was different from otheryoungsters who develop a ludicrous, though pathetic, sense ofresponsibility for the universe, I do not know. But in my case the mostextreme instance occurred during a business depression, when the familyresources were endangered. I began to fear that my father (than whom amore hopeful man never lived) might commit suicide. 

After all, I am not sure that the other side of my nature--the natural, healthy, boyish side--did not develop equally with these timid andmorbid tendencies, which are not so very uncommon in childhood. Certainly the natural, boyish side was more in evidence on the surface. I was as good a sport as any of my playfellows in such games asappealed to me, and I went a-fishing when the chance offered. None ofmy associates thought of me as being shy or morose. But this wasbecause I masked my troubles, though quite unconsciously, under acamouflage of sarcasm and sallies of wit, or, at least, what seemed topass for wit among my immature acquaintances. With grown-ups, I was attimes inclined to be pert, my degree of impudence depending no doubtupon how ill at ease I was and how perfectly at ease I wished toappear. Because of the constant need for appearing happier than Ireally was, I developed a knack for saying things in an amusing, sometimes an epigrammatic, way. I recall one remark made long before Icould possibly have heard of Malthus or have understood his theoryregarding birth rate and food supply. Ours being a large family oflimited means and, among the five boys of the family, unlimitedappetites, we often used the cheaper, though equally nutritious, cutsof meat. On one occasion when the steak was tougher than usual, Iepitomized the Malthusian theory by remarking: "I believe in fewerchildren and better beefsteak!"

One more incident of my boyhood days may assist the reader to make myacquaintance. In my early teens I was, for one year, a member of a boychoir. Barring my voice, I was a good chorister, and, like all goodchoir-boys, I was distinguished by that seraphic passiveness from whicha reaction of some kind is to be expected immediately after a serviceor rehearsal. On one occasion this reaction in me manifested itself ina fist fight with a fellow choir-boy. Though I cannot recall the timewhen I have not relished verbal encounters, physical encounters hadnever been to my taste, and I did not seek this fight. My assailantreally goaded me into it. If the honors were not mine, at least I musthave acquitted myself creditably, for an interested passer-by made aremark which I have never forgotten. "That boy is all right after hegets started, " he said. About twelve years later I did get started, andcould that passer-by have seen me on any one of several occasions, hewould have had the satisfaction of knowing that his was a propheticeye. 

At the usual age, I entered a public grammar school in New Haven, Connecticut, where I graduated in 1891. In the fall of that year Ientered the High School of the same city. My school courses werecompleted with as little trouble as scholastic distinction. I alwaysmanaged to gain promotion, however, when it was due; and, though few ofmy teachers credited me with real ability, they were always able todetect a certain latent capacity, which they evidently believed wouldone day develop sufficiently to prevent me from disgracing them. 

Upon entering the High School I had such ambitions as any schoolboy isapt to have. I wished to secure an election to a given secret society;that gained, I wished to become business manager of a monthly magazinepublished by that society. In these ambitions I succeeded. For one ofmy age I had more than an average love of business. Indeed, Ideliberately set about learning to play the guitar well enough tobecome eligible for membership in the Banjo Club--and this for no moreaesthetic purpose than to place myself in line for the position ofmanager, to which I was later elected. 

In athletics there was but one game, tennis, in which I was activelyinterested. Its quick give-and-take suited my temperament, and so fondwas I of it that during one summer I played not fewer than fourthousand games. As I had an aptitude for tennis and devoted more timeto it than did any of my schoolmates, it was not surprising that Iacquired skill enough to win the school championship during my senioryear. But that success was not due entirely to my superiority as aplayer. It was due in part to what I considered unfair treatment; andthe fact well illustrates a certain trait of character which has oftenstood me in good stead. Among the spectators at the final match of thetournament were several girls. These schoolmates, who lived in myneighborhood, had mistaken for snobbishness a certain boyish diffidencefor which few people gave me credit. When we passed each other, almostdaily, this group of girls and I, our mutual sign of recognition was alook in an opposite direction. Now my opponent was well liked by thesesame girls and was entitled to their support. Accordingly theyapplauded his good plays, which was fair. They did not applaud my goodplays, which was also fair. But what was not fair was that they shouldapplaud my bad plays. Their doing so roiled my blood, and thanks tothose who would have had me lose, I won. 

In June, 1894, I received a high school diploma. Shortly afterwards Itook my examinations for Yale, and the following September entered theSheffield Scientific School, in a non-technical course. 

The last week of June, 1894, was an important one in my life. An eventthen occurred which undoubtedly changed my career completely. It wasthe direct cause of my mental collapse six years later, and of thedistressing and, in some instances, strange and delightful experienceson which this book is based. The event was the illness of an olderbrother, who, late in June, 1894, was stricken with what was thought tobe epilepsy. Few diseases can so disorganize a household and distressits members. My brother had enjoyed perfect health up to the time hewas stricken; and, as there had never been a suggestion of epilepsy, orany like disease, in either branch of the family, the affliction cameas a bolt from a clear sky. Everything possible was done to effect acure, but without avail. On July 4th, 1900, he died, after a six years'illness, two years of which were spent at home, one year in a triparound the world in a sailing vessel, and most of the remainder on afarm near Hartford. The doctors finally decided that a tumor at thebase of the brain had caused his malady and his death. 

As I was in college when my brother was first stricken, I had more timeat my disposal than the other members of the family, and for thatreason spent much of it with him. Though his attacks during the firstyear occurred only at night, the fear that they might occur during theday, in public, affected my nerves from the beginning. 

Now, if a brother who had enjoyed perfect health all his life could bestricken with epilepsy, what was to prevent my being similarlyafflicted? This was the thought that soon got possession of my mind. The more I considered it and him, the more nervous I became; and themore nervous, the more convinced that my own breakdown was only amatter of time. Doomed to what I then considered a living death, Ithought of epilepsy, I dreamed epilepsy, until thousands of timesduring the six years that this disquieting idea persisted, myover-wrought imagination seemed to drag me to the very verge of anattack. Yet at no time during my life have these early fears beenrealized. 

For the fourteen months succeeding the time my brother was firststricken, I was greatly harassed with fear; but not until later did mynerves really conquer me. I remember distinctly when the break came. Ithappened in November, 1895, during a recitation in German. That hour inthe class room was one of the most disagreeable I ever experienced. Itseemed as if my nerves had snapped, like so many minute bands of rubberstretched beyond their elastic limit. Had I had the courage to leavethe room, I should have done so; but I sat as if paralyzed until theclass was dismissed. 

That term I did not again attend recitations. Continuing my studies athome, I passed satisfactory examinations, which enabled me to resume myplace in the class room the following January. During the remainder ofmy college years I seldom entered a recitation room with any otherfeeling than that of dread, though the absolute assurance that I shouldnot be called upon to recite did somewhat relieve my anxiety in someclasses. The professors, whom I had told about my state of health andthe cause of it, invariably treated me with consideration; but, thoughI believe they never doubted the genuineness of my excuse, it was easymatter to keep them convinced for almost two-thirds of my collegecourse. My inability to recite was not due usually to any lack ofpreparation. However well prepared I might be, the moment I was calledupon, a mingling of a thousand disconcerting sensations, and thedistinct thought that at last the dread attack was at hand, wouldsuddenly intervene and deprive me of all but the power to say, "Notprepared. " Weeks would pass without any other record being placedopposite my name than a zero, or a blank indicating that I had not beencalled upon at all. Occasionally, however, a professor, in justice tohimself and to the other students, would insist that I recite, and atsuch times I managed to make enough of a recitation to hold my place inthe class. 

When I entered Yale, I had four definite ambitions: first, to secure anelection to a coveted secret society; second, to become one of theeditors of the _Yale Record_, an illustrated humorous bi-weekly; third(granting that I should succeed in this latter ambition), to convincemy associates that I should have the position of business manager--anoffice which I sought, not for the honor, but because I believed itwould enable me to earn an amount of money at least equal to the costof tuition for my years at Yale; fourth (and this was my chiefambition), to win my diploma within the prescribed time. These fourambitions I fortunately achieved. 

A man's college days, collectively, are usually his happiest. Most ofmine were not happy. Yet I look back upon them with great satisfaction, for I feel that I was fortunate enough to absorb some of thatintangible, but very real, element known as the "Yale spirit. " This hashelped to keep Hope alive within me during my most discouraged moments, and has ever since made the accomplishment of my purposes seem easy andsure. 

II

On the thirtieth day of June, 1897, I graduated at Yale. Had I thenrealized that I was a sick man, I could and would have taken a rest. But, in a way, I had become accustomed to the ups and downs of anervous existence, and, as I could not really afford a rest, six daysafter my graduation I entered upon the duties of a clerk in the officeof the Collector of Taxes in the city of New Haven. I was fortunate insecuring such a position at that time, for the hours were comparativelyshort and the work as congenial as any could have been under thecircumstances. I entered the Tax Office with the intention of stayingonly until such time as I might secure a position in New York. About ayear later I secured the desired position. After remaining in it foreight months I left it, in order to take a position which seemed tooffer a field of endeavor more to my taste. From May, 1899, till themiddle of June, 1900, I was a clerk in one of the smallerlife-insurance companies, whose home office was within a stone's throwof what some men consider the center of the universe. To be in the veryheart of the financial district of New York appealed strongly to myimagination. As a result of the contagious ideals of Wall Street, themaking of money was then a passion with me. I wished to taste thebitter-sweet of power based on wealth. 

For the first eighteen months of my life in New York my health seemedno worse than it had been during the preceding three years. But the olddread still possessed me. I continued to have my more and less nervousdays, weeks, and months. In March, 1900, however, there came a changefor the worse. At that time I had a severe attack of grippe whichincapacitated me for two weeks. As was to be expected in my case, thisillness seriously depleted my vitality, and left me in a frightfullydepressed condition--a depression which continued to grow upon me untilthe final crash came, on June 23rd, 1900. The events of that day, seemingly disastrous as then viewed, but evidently all for the best asthe issue proved, forced me along paths traveled by thousands, butcomprehended by few. 

I had continued to perform my clerical duties until June 15th. On thatday I was compelled to stop, and that at once. I had reached a pointwhere my will had to capitulate to Unreason--that unscrupulous usurper. My previous five years as a neurasthenic had led me to believe that Ihad experienced all the disagreeable sensations an overworked andunstrung nervous system could suffer. But on this day several new andterrifying sensations seized me and rendered me all but helpless. Mycondition, however, was not apparent even to those who worked with meat the same desk. I remember trying to speak and at times findingmyself unable to give utterance to my thoughts. Though I was able toanswer questions, that fact hardly diminished my feeling ofapprehension, for a single failure in an attempt to speak will staggerany man, no matter what his state of health. I tried to copy certainrecords in the day's work, but my hand was too unsteady, and I found itdifficult to read the words and figures presented to my tired vision inblurred confusion. 

That afternoon, conscious that some terrible calamity was impending, but not knowing what would be its nature, I performed a very curiousact. Certain early literary efforts which had failed of publication inthe college paper, but which I had jealously cherished for severalyears, I utterly destroyed. Then, after a hurried arrangement of myaffairs, I took an early afternoon train, and was soon in New Haven. Home life did not make me better, and, except for three or four shortwalks, I did not go out of the house at all until June 23d, when I wentin a most unusual way. To relatives I said little about my state ofhealth, beyond the general statement that I had never felt worse--astatement which, when made by a neurasthenic, means much, but proveslittle. For five years I had had my ups and downs, and both myrelatives and myself had begun to look upon these as things which wouldprobably be corrected in and by time. 

The day after my home-coming I made up my mind, or that part of itwhich was still within my control, that the time had come to quitbusiness entirely and take a rest of months. I even arranged with ayounger brother to set out at once for some quiet place in the WhiteMountains, where I hoped to steady my shattered nerves. At this time Ifelt as though in a tremor from head to foot, and the thought that Iwas about to have an epileptic attack constantly recurred. On more thanone occasion I said to friends that I would rather die than live anepileptic; yet, if I rightly remember, I never declared the actual fearthat I was doomed to bear such an affliction. Though I held the madbelief that I should suffer epilepsy, I held the sane hope, amountingto belief, that I should escape it. This fact may account, in ameasure, for my six years of endurance. 

On the 18th of June I felt so much worse that I went to my bed andstayed there until the 23d. During the night of the 18th my persistentdread became a false belief--a delusion. What I had long expected I nowbecame convinced had at last occurred. I believed myself to be aconfirmed epileptic, and that conviction was stronger than any everheld by a sound intellect. The half-resolve, made before my mind wasactually impaired, namely, that I would kill myself rather than livethe life I dreaded, now divided my attention with the belief that thestroke had fallen. From that time my one thought was to hasten the end, for I felt that I should lose the chance to die should relatives findme in an attack of epilepsy. 

Considering the state of my mind and my inability at that time toappreciate the enormity of such an end as I half contemplated, mysuicidal purpose was not entirely selfish. That I had never seriouslycontemplated suicide is proved by the fact that I had not providedmyself with the means of accomplishing it, despite my habit, has longbeen remarked by my friends, of preparing even for unlikelycontingencies. So far as I had the control of my faculties, it must beadmitted that I deliberated; but, strictly speaking, the rash act whichfollowed cannot correctly be called an attempt at suicide--for how cana man who is not himself kill himself?

Soon my disordered brain was busy with schemes for death. I distinctlyremember one which included a row on Lake Whitney, near New Haven. ThisI intended to take in the most unstable boat obtainable. Such a craftcould be easily upset, and I should so bequeath to relatives andfriends a sufficient number of reasonable doubts to rob my death of theusual stigma. I also remember searching for some deadly drug which Ihoped to find about the house. But the quantity and quality of what Ifound were not such as I dared to trust. I then thought of severing myjugular vein, even going so far as to test against my throat the edgeof a razor which, after the deadly impulse first asserted itself, I hadsecreted in a convenient place. I really wished to die, but souncertain and ghastly a method did not appeal to me. Nevertheless, hadI felt sure that in my tremulous frenzy I could accomplish the act withskilful dispatch, I should at once have ended my troubles. 

My imaginary attacks were now recurring with distracting frequency, andI was in constant fear of discovery. During these three or four days Islept scarcely at all--even the medicine given to induce sleep havinglittle effect. Though inwardly frenzied, I gave no outward sign of mycondition. Most of the time I remained quietly in bed. I spoke butseldom. I had practically, though not entirely, lost the power ofspeech; but my almost unbroken silence aroused no suspicions as to theseriousness of my condition. 

By a process of elimination, all suicidal methods but one had at lastbeen put aside. On that one my mind now centred. My room was on thefourth floor of the house--one of a block of five--in which my parentslived. The house stood several feet back from the street. The sills ofmy windows were a little more than thirty feet above the ground. Underone was a flag pavement, extending from the house to the front gate. Under the other was a rectangular coal-hole covered with an irongrating. This was surrounded by flagging over a foot in width; andconnecting it and the pavement proper was another flag. So that allalong the front of the house, stone or iron filled a space at no pointless than two feet in width. It required little calculation todetermine how slight the chance of surviving a fall from either ofthose windows. 

About dawn I arose. Stealthily I approached a window, pushed open theblinds, and looked out--and down. Then I closed the blinds asnoiselessly as possible and crept back to bed: I had not yet become soirresponsible that I dared to take the leap. Scarcely had I pulled upthe covering when a watchful relative entered my room, drawn thitherperhaps by that protecting prescience which love inspires. I thoughther words revealed a suspicion that she had heard me at the window, butspeechless as I was I had enough speech to deceive her. For of whataccount are Truth and Love when Life itself has ceased to seemdesirable?

The dawn soon hid itself in the brilliancy of a perfect June day. Neverhad I seen a brighter--to look at; never a darker--to live through--ora better to die upon. Its very perfection and the songs of the robins, which at that season were plentiful in the neighborhood, served but toincrease my despair and make me the more willing to die. As the daywore on, my anguish became more intense, but I managed to mislead thoseabout me by uttering a word now and then, and feigning to read anewspaper, which to me, however, appeared an unintelligible jumble oftype. My brain was in a ferment. It felt as if pricked by a millionneedles at white heat. My whole body felt as though it would be tornapart by the terrific nervous strain under which I labored. 

Shortly after noon, dinner having been served, my mother entered theroom and asked me if she should bring me some dessert. I assented. Itwas not that I cared for the dessert; I had no appetite. I wished toget her out of the room, for I believed myself to be on the verge ofanother attack. She left at once. I knew that in two or three minutesshe would return. The crisis seemed at hand. It was now or never forliberation. She had probably descended one of three flights of stairswhen, with the mad desire to dash my brains out on the pavement below, I rushed to that window which was directly over the flag walk. Providence must have guided my movements, for in some otherwiseunaccountable way, on the very point of hurling myself out bodily, Ichose to drop feet foremost instead. With my fingers I clung for amoment to the sill. Then I let go. In falling my body turned so as tobring my right side toward the building. I struck the ground a littlemore than two feet from the foundation of the house, and at least threeto the left of the point from which I started. Missing the stonepavement by not more than three or four inches, I struck oncomparatively soft earth. My position must have been almost upright, for both heels struck the ground squarely. The concussion slightlycrushed one heel bone and broke most of the small bones in the arch ofeach foot, but there was no mutilation of the flesh. As my feet struckthe ground my right hand struck hard against the front of the house, and it is probable that these three points of contact, dividing theforce of the shock, prevented my back from being broken. As it was, itnarrowly escaped a fracture and, for several weeks afterward, it feltas if powdered glass had been substituted for cartilage between thevertebrae. 

I did not lose consciousness even for a second, and the demoniacaldread, which had possessed me from June, 1894, until this fall to earthjust six years later, was dispelled the instant I struck the ground. Atno time since have I experienced one of my imaginary attacks; nor hasmy mind even for a moment entertained such an idea. The little demonwhich had tortured me relentlessly for so many years evidently lackedthe stamina which I must have had to survive the shock of my suddenlyarrested flight through space. That the very delusion which drove me toa death-loving desperation should so suddenly vanish would seem toindicate that many a suicide might be averted if the personcontemplating it could find the proper assistance when such a crisisimpends. 

III

It was squarely in front of the dining-room window that I fell, andthose at dinner were, of course, startled. It took them a second or twoto realize what had happened. Then my younger brother rushed out, andwith others carried me into the house. Naturally that dinner waspermanently interrupted. A mattress was placed on the floor of thedining room and I on that, suffering intensely. I said little, but whatI said was significant. "I thought I had epilepsy!" was my firstremark; and several times I said, "I wish it was over!" For I believedthat my death was only a question of hours. To the doctors, who soonarrived, I said, "My back is broken!"--raising myself slightly, however, as I said so. 

An ambulance was summoned and I was placed in it. Because of the natureof my injuries it had to proceed slowly. The trip of a mile and a halfseemed interminable, but finally I arrived at Grace Hospital and wasplaced in a room which soon became a chamber of torture. It was on thesecond floor; and the first object to engage my attention and stir myimagination was a man who appeared outside my window and placed inposition several heavy iron bars. These were, it seems, thoughtnecessary for my protection, but at that time no such idea occurred tome. My mind was in a delusional state, ready and eager to seize uponany external stimulus as a pretext for its wild inventions, and thatbarred window started a terrible train of delusions which persisted forseven hundred and ninety-eight days. During that period my mindimprisoned both mind and body in a dungeon than which none was evermore secure. 

Knowing that those who attempt suicide are usually placed under arrest, I believed myself under legal restraint. I imagined that at any momentI might be taken to court to face some charge lodged against me by thelocal police. Every act of those about me seemed to be a part of what, in police parlance, is commonly called the "Third Degree. " The hotpoultices placed upon my feet and ankles threw me into a profuseperspiration, and my very active association of mad ideas convinced methat I was being "sweated"--another police term which I had often seenin the newspapers. I inferred that this third-degree sweating processwas being inflicted in order to extort some kind of a confession, though what my captors wished me to confess I could not for my lifeimagine. As I was really in a state of delirium, with high fever, I hadan insatiable thirst. The only liquids given me were hot salinesolutions. Though there was good reason for administering these, Ibelieved they were designed for no other purpose than to increase mysufferings, as part of the same inquisitorial process. But had aconfession been due, I could hardly have made it, for that part of mybrain which controls the power of speech was seriously affected, andwas soon to be further disabled by my ungovernable thoughts. Only anoccasional word did I utter. 

Certain hallucinations of hearing, or "false voices, " added to mytorture. Within my range of hearing, but beyond the reach of myunderstanding, there was a hellish vocal hum. Now and then I wouldrecognize the subdued voice of a friend; now and then I would hear thevoices of some I believed were not friends. All these referred to meand uttered what I could not clearly distinguish, but knew must beimprecations. Ghostly rappings on the walls and ceiling of my roompunctuated unintelligible mumblings of invisible persecutors. 

I remember distinctly my delusion of the following day--Sunday. Iseemed to be no longer in the hospital. In some mysterious way I hadbeen spirited aboard a huge ocean liner. I first discovered this whenthe ship was in mid-ocean. The day was clear, the sea apparently calm, but for all that the ship was slowly sinking. And it was I, of course, who had created the situation which must turn out fatally for all, unless the coast of Europe could be reached before the water in thehold should extinguish the fires. How had this peril overtaken us?Simply enough: During the night I had in some way--a way still unknownto me--opened a porthole below the water-line; and those in charge ofthe vessel seemed powerless to close it. Every now and then I couldhear parts of the ship give way under the strain. I could hear the airhiss and whistle spitefully under the resistless impact of the invadingwaters; I could hear the crashing of timbers as partitions werewrecked; and as the water rushed in at one place I could see, atanother, scores of helpless passengers swept overboard into the sea--myunintended victims. I believed that I, too, might at any moment beswept away. That I was not thrown into the sea by vengefulfellow-passengers was, I thought, due to their desire to keep me aliveuntil, if possible, land should be reached, when a more painful deathcould be inflicted upon me. 

While aboard my phantom ship I managed in some way to establish anelectric railway system; and the trolley cars which passed the hospitalwere soon running along the deck of my ocean liner, carrying passengersfrom the places of peril to what seemed places of comparative safety atthe bow. Every time I heard a car pass the hospital, one of mine wentclanging along the ship's deck. 

My feverish imaginings were no less remarkable than the externalstimuli which excited them. As I have since ascertained, there werejust outside my room an elevator and near it a speaking-tube. Wheneverthe speaking-tube was used from another part of the building, thesummoning whistle conveyed to my mind the idea of the exhaustion of airin a ship-compartment, and the opening and shutting of the elevatordoor completed the illusion of a ship fast going to pieces. But theship my mind was on never reached any shore, nor did she sink. Like amirage she vanished, and again I found myself safe in my bed at thehospital. "Safe, " did I say? Scarcely that--for deliverance from oneimpending disaster simply meant immediate precipitation into another. 

My delirium gradually subsided, and four or five days after the 23d thedoctors were able to set my broken bones. The operation suggested newdelusions. Shortly before the adjustment of the plaster casts, my legs, for obvious reasons, were shaved from shin to calf. This unusualtonsorial operation I read for a sign of degradation--associating itwith what I had heard of the treatment of murderers and with similarcustoms in barbarous countries. It was about this time also that stripsof court-plaster, in the form of a cross, were placed on my forehead, which had been slightly scratched in my fall, and this, of course, Iinterpreted as a brand of infamy. 

Had my health been good, I should at this time have been participatingin the Triennial of my class at Yale. Indeed, I was a member of theTriennial Committee and though, when I left New York on June 15th, Ihad been feeling terribly ill, I had then hoped to take part in thecelebration. The class reunions were held on Tuesday, June 26th--threedays after my collapse. Those familiar with Yale customs know that theHarvard baseball game is one of the chief events of the commencementseason. Headed by brass bands, all the classes whose reunions fall inthe same year march to the Yale Athletic Field to see the game andrenew their youth--using up as much vigor in one delirious day as wouldinsure a ripe old age if less prodigally expended. These classes, withtheir bands and cheering, accompanied by thousands of othervociferating enthusiasts, march through West Chapel Street--the mostdirect route from the Campus to the Field. It is upon this line ofmarch that Grace Hospital is situated, and I knew that on the day ofthe game the Yale thousands would pass the scene of my incarceration. 

I have endured so many days of the most exquisite torture that Ihesitate to distinguish among them by degrees; each deserves its ownunique place, even as a Saint's Day in the calendar of an olden Spanishinquisitor. But, if the palm is to be awarded to any, June 26th, 1900, perhaps has the first claim. 

My state of mind at that time might be pictured thus: The criminalcharge of attempted suicide stood against me on June 23rd. By the 26thmany other and worse charges had accumulated. The public believed methe most despicable member of my race. The papers were filled withaccounts of my misdeeds. The thousands of collegians gathered in thecity, many of whom I knew personally, loathed the very thought that aYale man should so disgrace his Alma Mater. And when they approachedthe hospital on their way to the Athletic Field, I concluded that itwas their intention to take me from my bed, drag me to the lawn, andthere tear me limb from limb. Few incidents during my unhappiest yearsare more vividly or circumstantially impressed upon my memory. Thefear, to be sure, was absurd, but in the lurid lexicon of Unreasonthere is no such word as "absurd. " Believing, as I did, that I haddishonored Yale and forfeited the privilege of being numbered among hersons, it was not surprising that the college cheers which filled theair that afternoon, and in which only a few days earlier I had hoped tojoin, struck terror to my heart. 

IV

NATURALLY I was suspicious of all about me, and became more so eachday. But not until about a month later did I refuse to recognize myrelatives. While I was at Grace Hospital, my father and eldest brothercalled almost every day to see me, and, though I said little, I stillaccepted them in their proper characters. I remember well aconversation one morning with my father. The words I uttered were few, but full of meaning. Shortly before this time my death had beenmomentarily expected. I still believed that I was surely about to dieas a result of my injuries, and I wished in some way to let my fatherknow that, despite my apparently ignominious end, I appreciated allthat he had done for me during my life. Few men, I believe, ever had amore painful time in expressing their feelings than I had on thatoccasion. I had but little control over my mind, and my power of speechwas impaired. My father sat beside my bed. Looking up at him, I said, "You have been a good father to me. "

"I have always tried to be, " was his characteristic reply. 

After the broken bones had been set, and the full effects of the severeshock I had sustained had worn off, I began to gain strength. About thethird week I was able to sit up and was occasionally taken out of doorsBut each day, and especially during the hours of the night, mydelusions increased in force and variety. The world was fast becomingto me a stage on which every human being within the range of my sensesseemed to be playing a part, and that a part which would lead not onlyto my destruction (for which I cared little), but also to the ruin ofall with whom I had ever come in contact. In the month of July severalthunder-storms occurred. To me the thunder was "stage" thunder, thelightning man-made, and the accompanying rain due to some clevercontrivance of my persecutors. There was a chapel connected with thehospital--or at least a room where religious services were held everySunday. To me the hymns were funeral dirges; and the mumbled prayers, faintly audible, were in behalf of every sufferer in the world but one. 

It was my eldest brother who looked after my care and interests duringmy entire illness. Toward the end of July, he informed me that I was tobe taken home again. I must have given him an incredulous look, for hesaid, "Don't you think we can take you home? Well, we can and will. "Believing myself in the hands of the police, I did not see how that waspossible. Nor did I have any desire to return. That a man who haddisgraced his family should again enter his old home and expect hisrelatives to treat him as though nothing were changed, was a thoughtagainst which my soul rebelled; and, when the day came for my return, Ifought my brother and the doctor feebly as they lifted me from the bed. But I soon submitted, was placed in a carriage, and driven to the houseI had left a month earlier. 

For a few hours my mind was calmer than it had been. But my new-foundease was soon dispelled by the appearance of a nurse--one of severalwho had attended me at the hospital. Though at home and surrounded byrelatives, I jumped to the conclusion that I was still under policesurveillance. At my request my brother had promised not to engage anynurse who had been in attendance at the hospital. The difficulty ofprocuring any other led him to disregard my request, which at the timehe held simply as a whim. But he did not disregard it entirely, for thenurse selected had merely acted as a substitute on one occasion, andthen only for about an hour. That was long enough, though, for mymemory to record her image. 

Finding myself still under surveillance, I soon jumped to a secondconclusion, namely, that this was no brother of mine at all. Heinstantly appeared in the light of a sinister double, acting as adetective. After that I refused absolutely to speak to him again, andthis repudiation I extended to all other relatives, friends andacquaintances. If the man I had accepted as my brother was spurious, sowas everybody--that was my deduction. For more than two years I waswithout relatives or friends, in fact, without a world, except that onecreated by my own mind from the chaos that reigned within it. 

While I was at Grace Hospital, it was my sense of hearing which was themost disturbed. But soon after I was placed in my room at home, _all_of my senses became perverted. I still heard the "false voices"--whichwere doubly false, for Truth no longer existed. The tricks played uponme by my senses of taste, touch, smell, and sight were the source ofgreat mental anguish. None of my food had its usual flavor. This soonled to that common delusion that some of it contained poison--notdeadly poison, for I knew that my enemies hated me too much to allow methe boon of death, but poison sufficient to aggravate my discomfort. Atbreakfast I had cantaloupe, liberally sprinkled with salt. The saltseemed to pucker my mouth, and I believed it to be powdered alum. Usually, with my supper, sliced peaches were served. Though there wassugar on the peaches, salt would have done as well. Salt, sugar, andpowdered alum had become the same to me. 

Familiar materials had acquired a different "feel. " In the dark, thebed sheets at times seemed like silk. As I had not been born with agolden spoon in my mouth, or other accessories of a useless luxury, Ibelieved the detectives had provided these silken sheets for somehostile purpose of their own. What that purpose was I could not divine, and my very inability to arrive at a satisfactory conclusion stimulatedmy brain to the assembling of disturbing thoughts in an almost endlesstrain. 

Imaginary breezes struck my face, gentle, but not welcome, most of themfrom parts of the room where currents of air could not possiblyoriginate. They seemed to come from cracks in the walls and ceiling andannoyed me exceedingly. I thought them in some way related to thatancient method of torture by which water is allowed to strike thevictim's forehead, a drop at a time, until death releases him. For awhile my sense of smell added to my troubles. The odor of burning humanflesh and other pestilential fumes seemed to assail me. 

My sense of sight was subjected to many weird and uncanny effects. Phantasmagoric visions made their visitations throughout the night, fora time with such regularity that I used to await their coming with acertain restrained curiosity. I was not entirely unaware that somethingwas ailing with my mind. Yet these illusions of sight I took for thework of detectives, who sat up nights racking their brains in order torack and utterly wreck my own with a cruel and unfair Third Degree. 

Handwriting on the wall has ever struck terror to the hearts of evensane men. I remember as one of my most unpleasant experiences that Ibegan to see handwriting on the sheets of my bed staring me in theface, and not me alone, but also the spurious relatives who often stoodor sat near me. On each fresh sheet placed over me I would soon beginto see words, sentences, and signatures, all in my own handwriting. YetI could not decipher any of the words, and this fact dismayed me, for Ifirmly believed that those who stood about could read them all andfound them to be incriminating evidence. 

I imagined that these visionlike effects, with few exceptions, wereproduced by a magic lantern controlled by some of my myriadpersecutors. The lantern was rather a cinematographic contrivance. Moving pictures, often brilliantly colored, were thrown on the ceilingof my room and sometimes on the sheets of my bed. Human bodies, dismembered and gory, were one of the most common of these. All thismay have been due to the fact that, as a boy, I had fed my imaginationon the sensational news of the day as presented in the public press. Despite the heavy penalty which I now paid for thus loading my mind, Ibelieve this unwise indulgence gave a breadth and variety to mypeculiar psychological experience which it otherwise would have lacked. For with an insane ingenuity I managed to connect myself with almostevery crime of importance of which I had ever read. 

Dismembered human bodies were not alone my bedfellows at this time. Iremember one vision of vivid beauty. Swarms of butterflies and largeand gorgeous moths appeared on the sheets. I wished that the usuallyunkind operator would continue to show these pretty creatures. Anotherpleasing vision appeared about twilight several days in succession. Ican trace it directly to impressions gained in early childhood. Thequaint pictures by Kate Greenaway--little children in attractive dress, playing in old-fashioned gardens--would float through space justoutside my windows. The pictures were always accompanied by the gleefulshouts of real children in the neighborhood, who, before being sent tobed by watchful parents, devoted the last hour of the day to play. Itdoubtless was their shouts that stirred my memories of childhood andbrought forth these pictures. 

In my chamber of intermittent horrors and momentary delights, uncannyoccurrences were frequent. I believed there was some one who at fall ofnight secreted himself under my bed. That in itself was not peculiar, as sane persons at one time or another are troubled by that samenotion. But _my_ bed-fellow--under the bed--was a detective; and hespent most of his time during the night pressing pieces of ice againstmy injured heels, to precipitate, as I thought, my overdue confession. 

The piece of ice in the pitcher of water which usually stood on thetable sometimes clinked against the pitcher's side as its center ofgravity shifted through melting. It was many days before I reasoned outthe cause of this sound; and until I did I supposed it was produced bysome mechanical device resorted to by the detectives for a purpose. Thus the most trifling occurrence assumed for me vast significance. 

V

After remaining at home for about a month, during which time I showedno improvement mentally, though I did gain physically, I was taken to aprivate sanatorium. My destination was frankly disclosed to me. But myhabit of disbelief had now become fixed, and I thought myself on theway to a trial in New York City, for some one of the many crimes withwhich I stood charged. 

My emotions on leaving New Haven were, I imagine, much the same asthose of a condemned but penitent criminal who looks upon the world forthe last time. The day was hot, and, as we drove to the railwaystation, the blinds on most of the houses in the streets through whichwe passed were seen to be closed. The reason for this was not thenapparent to me. I thought I saw an unbroken line of deserted houses, and I imagined that their desertion had been deliberately planned as asign of displeasure on the part of their former occupants. As citizensof New Haven, I supposed them bitterly ashamed of such a despicabletownsman as myself. Because of the early hour, the streets werepractically deserted. This fact, too, I interpreted to my owndisadvantage. As the carriage crossed the main business thoroughfare, Itook what I believed to be my last look at that part of my native city. 

From the carriage I was carried to the train and placed in the smokingcar in the last seat on the right-hand side. The back of the seat nextin front was reversed so that my legs might be placed in a comfortableposition, and one of the boards used by card-playing travelers wasplaced beneath them as a support. With a consistent degree of suspicionI paid particular attention to a blue mark on the face of the railroadticket held by my custodian. I took it to be a means of identificationfor use in court. 

That one's memory may perform its function in the grip of Unreasonitself is proved by the fact that my memory retains an impression, andan accurate one, of virtually everything that befell me, except whenunder the influence of an anaesthetic or in the unconscious hours ofundisturbed sleep. Important events, trifling conversations, and moretrifling thoughts of my own are now recalled with ease and accuracy;whereas, prior to my illness and until a strange experience to berecorded later, mine was an ordinary memory when it was not noticeablypoor. At school and in college I stood lowest in those studies in whichsuccess depended largely upon this faculty. Psychiatrists inform methat it is not unusual for those suffering as I did to retain accurateimpressions of their experiences while ill. To laymen this may seemalmost miraculous, yet it is not so; nor is it even remarkable. Assuming that an insane person's memory is capable of recordingimpressions at all, remembrance for one in the torturing grip ofdelusions of persecution should be doubly easy. This deduction is inaccord with the accepted psychological law that the retention of animpression in the memory depends largely upon the intensity of theimpression itself, and the frequency of its repetition. Fear to speak, lest I should incriminate myself and others, gave to my impressions therequisite intensity, and the daily recurrence of the same general lineof thought served to fix all impressions in my then supersensitivememory. 

Shortly before seven in the morning, on the way to the sanatorium, thetrain passed through a manufacturing center. Many workmen were loungingin front of a factory, most of them reading newspapers. I believedthese papers contained an account of me and my crimes, and I thoughteveryone along the route knew who I was and what I was, and that I wason that train. Few seemed to pay any attention to me, yet this veryfact looked to be a part of some well-laid plan of the detectives. 

The sanatorium to which I was going was in the country. When a certainstation was reached, I was carried from the train to a carriage. Atthat moment I caught sight of a former college acquaintance, whoseappearance I thought was designed to let me know that Yale, which Ibelieved I had disgraced, was one of the powers behind my throne oftorture. 

Soon after I reached my room in the sanatorium, the supervisor entered. Drawing a table close to the bed, he placed upon it a slip of paperwhich he asked me to sign. I looked upon this as a trick of thedetectives to get a specimen of my handwriting. I now know that thesigning of the slip is a legal requirement, with which every patient issupposed to comply upon entering such an institution--private incharacter--unless he has been committed by some court. The exactwording of this "voluntary commitment" I do not now recall; but, itwas, in substance, an agreement to abide by the rules of theinstitution--whatever _they_ were--and to submit to such restraint asmight be deemed necessary. Had I not felt the weight of the world on myshoulders, I believe my sense of humor would have caused me to laughoutright; for the signing of such an agreement by one so situated was, even to my mind, a farce. After much coaxing I was induced to go so faras to take the pen in my hand. There I again hesitated. The supervisorapparently thought I might write with more ease if the paper wereplaced on a book. And so I might, had he selected a book of a differenttitle. One more likely to arouse suspicions in my mind could not havebeen found in a search of the Congressional Library. I had left NewYork on June 15th, and it was in the direction of that city that mypresent trip had taken me. I considered this but the first step of myreturn under the auspices of its Police Department. "Called Back" wasthe title of the book that stared me in the face. After refusing for along time I finally weakened and signed the slip; but I did not placeit on the book. To have done that would, in my mind, have beentantamount to giving consent to extradition; and I was in no mood toassist the detectives in their mean work. At what cost had I signedthat commitment slip? To me it was the act of signing my owndeath-warrant. 

VI

During the entire time that my delusions of persecution, as they arecalled, persisted, I could not but respect the mind that had laid outso comprehensive and devilishly ingenious and, at times, artistic aThird Degree as I was called upon to bear. And an innate modesty (moreor less fugitive since these peculiar experiences) does not forbid mymentioning the fact that I still respect that mind. 

Suffering such as I endured during the month of August in my own homecontinued with gradually diminishing force during the eight months Iremained in this sanatorium. Nevertheless my sufferings during thefirst four of these eight months was intense. All my senses were stillperverted. My sense of sight was the first to right itself--nearlyenough, at least, to rob the detectives of their moving pictures. Butbefore the last fitful film had run through my mind, I beheld one whichI shall now describe. I can trace it directly to an impression made onmy memory about two years earlier, before my breakdown. 

Shortly after going to New York to live, I had explored the Eden Musée. One of the most gruesome of the spectacles which I had seen in itsfamed Chamber of Horrors was a representation of a gorilla, holding inits arms the gory body of a woman. It was that impression which nowrevived in my mind. But by a process strictly in accordance withDarwin's theory, the Eden Musée gorilla had become a man--in appearancenot unlike the beast that had inspired my distorted thought. This manheld a bloody dagger which he repeatedly plunged into the woman'sbreast. The apparition did not terrify me at all. In fact I found itinteresting, for I looked upon it as a contrivance of the detectives. Its purpose I could not divine, but this fact did not trouble me, as Ireasoned that no additional criminal charges could make my situationworse than it already was. 

For a month or two, "false voices" continued to annoy me. And if thereis a hell conducted on the principles of my temporary hell, gossipperswill one day wish they had attended strictly to their own business. This is not a confession. I am no gossipper, though I cannot deny thatI have occasionally gossipped--a little. And this was my punishment:persons in an adjoining room seemed to be repeating the very samethings which I had said of others on these communicative occasions. Isupposed that those whom I had talked about had in some way found meout, and intended now to take their revenge. 

My sense of smell, too, became normal; but my sense of taste was slowin recovering. At each meal, poison was still the _pièce derésistance_, and it was not surprising that I sometimes dallied one, two, or three hours over a meal, and often ended by not eating it atall. 

There was, however, another reason for my frequent refusal to takefood, in my belief that the detectives had resorted to a more subtlemethod of detection. They now intended by each article of food tosuggest a certain idea, and I was expected to recognize the idea thussuggested. Conviction or acquittal depended upon my correctinterpretation of their symbols, and my interpretation was to besignified by my eating, or not eating, the several kinds of food placedbefore me. To have eaten a burnt crust of bread would have been aconfession of arson. Why? Simply because the charred crust suggestedfire; and, as bread is the staff of life, would it not be an inevitablededuction that life had been destroyed--destroyed by fire--and that Iwas the destroyer? On one day to eat a given article of food meantconfession. The next day, or the next meal, a refusal to eat it meantconfession. This complication of logic made it doubly difficult for meto keep from incriminating myself and others. 

It can easily be seen that I was between several devils and the deepsea. To eat or not to eat perplexed me more than the problem conveyedby a few shorter words perplexed a certain prince, who, had he lived afew centuries later (out of a book), might have been forced to enter akingdom where kings and princes are made and unmade on short notice. Indeed, he might have lost his principality entirely--or, at least, hissubjects; for, as I later had occasion to observe, the frequency withwhich a dethroned reason mounts a throne and rules a world is such thatself-crowned royalty receives but scant homage from the less elatedmembers of the court. 

For several weeks I ate but little. Though the desire for food was notwanting, my mind (that dog-in-the-manger) refused to let me satisfy myhunger. Coaxing by the attendants was of little avail; force wasusually of less. But the threat that liquid nourishment would beadministered through my nostrils sometimes prevailed for the attributeof shrewdness was not so utterly lost that I could not choose the lessof two evils. 

What I looked upon as a gastronomic ruse of the detectives sometimesovercame my fear of eating. Every Sunday ice cream was served withdinner. At the beginning of the meal a large pyramid of it would beplaced before me in a saucer several sizes too small. I believed thatit was never to be mine unless I first partook of the more substantialfare. As I dallied over the meal, that delicious pyramid wouldgradually melt, slowly filling the small saucer, which I knew could notlong continue to hold all of its original contents. As the melting ofthe ice cream progressed, I became more indifferent to my eventualfate; and, invariably, before a drop of that precious reward haddripped from the saucer, I had eaten enough of the dinner to prove mytitle to the seductive dessert. Moreover, during its enjoyment, I nolonger cared a whit for charges or convictions of all the crimes in thecalendar. This fact is less trifling than it seems; for it proves thevalue of strategy as opposed to brute and sometimes brutal force, ofwhich I shall presently give some illuminating examples. 

VII

Choice of a sanatorium by people of limited means is, unfortunately, very restricted. Though my relatives believed the one in which I wasplaced was at least fairly well conducted, events proved otherwise. From a modest beginning made not many years previously, it had enjoyeda mushroom growth. About two hundred and fifty patients were harboredin a dozen or more small frame buildings, suggestive of a millsettlement. Outside the limits of a city and in a state where there waslax official supervision, owing in part to faulty laws, the owner ofthis little settlement of woe had erected a nest of veritablefire-traps in which helpless sick people were forced to risk theirlives. This was a necessary procedure if the owner was to grind out anexorbitant income on his investment. 

The same spirit of economy and commercialism pervaded the entireinstitution. Its worst manifestation was in the employment of themeanest type of attendant--men willing to work for the paltry wage ofeighteen dollars a month. Very seldom did competent attendants consentto work there, and then usually because of a scarcity of profitableemployment elsewhere. Providentially for me, such an attendant cameupon the scene. This young man, so long as he remained in the goodgraces of the owner-superintendent, was admittedly one of the bestattendants he had ever had. Yet aside from a five-dollar bill which arelative had sent me at Christmas and which I had refused to acceptbecause of my belief that it, like my relatives, was counterfeit--asidefrom that bill, which was turned over to the attendant by my brother, he received no additional pecuniary rewards. His chief reward lay inhis consciousness of the fact that he was protecting me againstinjustices which surely would have been visited upon me had he quittedhis position and left me to the mercies of the owner and his ignorantassistants. To-day, with deep appreciation, I contrast the treatment Ireceived at his hands with that which I suffered during the three weekspreceding his appearance on the scene. During that period, no fewerthan seven attendants contributed to my misery. Though some of themwere perhaps decent enough fellows outside a sickroom, not one had theright to minister to a patient in my condition. 

The two who were first put in charge of me did not strike me with theirfists or even threaten to do so; but their unconscious lack ofconsideration for my comfort and peace of mind was torture. They weretypical eighteen-dollar-a-month attendants. Another of the same sort, on one occasion, cursed me with a degree of brutality which I prefernot to recall, much less record. And a few days later the climax wasappropriately capped when still another attendant perpetrated anoutrage which a sane man would have resented to the point of homicide. He was a man of the coarsest type. His hands would have done credit toa longshoreman--fingers knotted and nearly twice the normal size. Because I refused to obey a peremptory command, and this at a time whenI habitually refused even on pain of imagined torture to obey or tospeak, this brute not only cursed me with abandon, he deliberately spatupon me. I was a mental incompetent, but like many others in a similarposition I was both by antecedents and by training a gentleman. Vitriolcould not have seared my flesh more deeply than the venom of this humanviper stung my soul! Yet, as I was rendered speechless by delusions, Icould offer not so much as a word of protest. I trust that it is notnow too late, however, to protest in behalf of the thousands ofoutraged patients in private and state hospitals whose mute submissionto such indignities has never been recorded. 

Of the readiness of an unscrupulous owner to employ inferiorattendants, I shall offer a striking illustration. The capableattendant who acted as my protector at this sanatorium has given me anaffidavit embodying certain facts which, of course, I could not haveknown at the time of their occurrence. The gist of this sworn statementis as follows: One day a man--seemingly a tramp--approached the mainbuilding of the sanatorium and inquired for the owner. He soon foundhim, talked with him a few minutes, and an hour or so later he wassitting at the bedside of an old and infirm man. This aged patient hadrecently been committed to the institution by relatives who had laboredunder the common delusion that the payment of a considerable sum ofmoney each week would insure kindly treatment. When thistramp-attendant first appeared, all his visible worldly possessionswere contained in a small bundle which he carried under his arm. Sofilthy were his person and his clothes that he received a compulsorybath and another suit before being assigned to duty. He then began toearn his four dollars and fifty cents a week by sitting several hours aday in the room with the aged man, sick unto death. My informant soonengaged him in conversation. What did he learn? First, that the uncouthstranger had never before so much as crossed the threshold of ahospital. His last job had been as a member of a section-gang on arailroad. From the roadbed of a railway to the bedside of a man aboutto die was indeed a change which might have taxed the adaptability of amore versatile being. But coarse as he was, this unkempt novice did notabuse his charge--except in so far as his inability to interpret oranticipate wants contributed to the sick man's distress. My ownattendant, realizing that the patient was suffering for the want ofskilled attention, spent a part of his time in this unhappy room, whichwas but across the hall from my own. The end soon came. 

My attendant, who had had training as a nurse, detected theunmistakable signs of impending death. He forthwith informed the ownerof the sanatorium that the patient was in a dying condition, and urgedhim (a doctor) to go at once to the bedside. The doctor refused tocomply with the request on the plea that he was at the time "too busy. "When at last he did visit the room, the patient was dead. Then came thesupervisor, who took charge of the body. As it was being carried fromthe room the supervisor, the "handy man" of the owner, said: "Theregoes the best paying patient the institution had; the doctor" (meaningthe owner) "was getting eighty-five dollars a week out of him. " Of thissum not more than twenty dollars at most, at the time this happened, could be considered as "cost of maintenance. " The remaining sixty-fivedollars went into the pocket of the owner. Had the man lived for oneyear, the owner might have pocketed (so far as this one case wasconcerned) the neat but wicked profit of thirty-three hundred andeighty dollars. And what would the patient have received? The sameprivilege of living in neglect and dying neglected. 

VIII

For the first few weeks after my arrival at the sanatorium, I was caredfor by two attendants, one by day and one by night. I was stillhelpless, being unable to put my feet out of bed, much less upon thefloor, and it was necessary that I be continually watched lest animpulse to walk should seize me. After a month or six weeks, however, Igrew stronger, and from that time only one person was assigned to carefor me. He was with me all day, and slept at night in the same room. 

The earliest possible dismissal of one of my two attendants wasexpedient for the family purse; but such are the deficiencies in theprevailing treatment of the insane that relief in one direction oftenoccasions evil in another. No sooner was the expense thus reduced thanI was subjected to a detestable form of restraint which amounted totorture. To guard me at night while the remaining attendant slept, myhands were imprisoned in what is known as a "muff. " A muff, innocentenough to the eyes of those who have never worn one, is in reality arelic of the Inquisition. It is an instrument of restraint which hasbeen in use for centuries and even in many of our public and privateinstitutions is still in use. The muff I wore was made of canvas, anddiffered in construction from a muff designed for the hands of fashiononly in the inner partition, also of canvas, which separated my hands, but allowed them to overlap. At either end was a strap which buckledtightly around the wrist and was locked. 

The assistant physician, when he announced to me that I was to besubjected at night to this restraint, broke the news gently--so gentlythat I did not then know, nor did I guess for several months, why thisthing was done to me. And thus it was that I drew deductions of my ownwhich added not a little to my torture. 

The gas jet in my room was situated at a distance, and stronger lightwas needed to find the keyholes and lock the muff when adjusted. Hence, an attendant was standing by with a lighted candle. Seating himself onthe side of the bed, the physician said: "You won't try again to dowhat you did in New Haven, will you?" Now one may have done many thingsin a city where he has lived for a score of years, and it is notsurprising that I failed to catch the meaning of the doctor's question. It was only after months of secret puzzling that I at last did discoverhis reference to my attempted suicide. But now the burning candle inthe hands of the attendant, and a certain similarity between thedoctor's name and the name of a man whose trial for arson I onceattended out of idle curiosity, led me to imagine that in some way Ihad been connected with that crime. For months I firmly believed Istood charged as an accomplice. 

The putting on of the muff was the most humiliating incident of mylife. The shaving of my legs and the wearing of the court-plaster brandof infamy had been humiliating, but those experiences had notoverwhelmed my very heart as did this bitter ordeal. I resisted weakly, and, after the muff was adjusted and locked, for the first time sincemy mental collapse I wept. And I remember distinctly why I wept. Thekey that locked the muff unlocked in imagination the door of the homein New Haven which I believed I had disgraced--and seemed for a time tounlock my heart. Anguish beat my mind into a momentary sanity, and witha wholly sane emotion I keenly felt my imagined disgrace. My thoughtscentred on my mother. Her (and other members of the family) I couldplainly see at home in a state of dejection and despair over herimprisoned and heartless son. I wore the muff each night for severalweeks, and for the first few nights the unhappy glimpses of a ruinedhome recurred and increased my sufferings. 

It was not always as an instrument of restraint that the muff wasemployed. Frequently it was used as a means of discipline on account ofsupposed stubborn disobedience. Many times was I roughly overpowered bytwo attendants who locked my hands and coerced me to do whatever I hadrefused to do. My arms and hands were my only weapons of defence. Myfeet were still in plaster casts, and my back had been so severelyinjured as to necessitate my lying flat upon it most of the time. Itwas thus that these unequal fights were fought. And I had not even thesatisfaction of tongue-lashing my oppressors, for I was practicallyspeechless. 

My attendants, like most others in such institutions, were incapable ofunderstanding the operations of my mind, and what they could notunderstand they would seldom tolerate. Yet they were not entirely toblame. They were simply carrying out to the letter orders received fromthe doctors. 

To ask a patient in my condition to take a little medicated sugarseemed reasonable. But from my point of view my refusal wasjustifiable. That innocuous sugar disc to me seemed saturated with theblood of loved ones; and so much as to touch it was to shed theirblood--perhaps on the very scaffold on which I was destined to die. Formyself I cared little. I was anxious to die, and eagerly would I havetaken the sugar disc had I had any reason to believe that it was deadlypoison. The sooner I could die and be forgotten, the better for allwith whom I had ever come in contact. To continue to live was simply tobe the treacherous tool of unscrupulous detectives, eager toexterminate my innocent relatives and friends, if so their fame couldbe made secure in the annals of their craft. 

But the thoughts associated with the taking of the medicine were seldomtwice alike. If before taking it something happened to remind me ofmother, father, some other relative, or a friend, I imagined thatcompliance would compromise, if not eventually destroy, that particularperson. Who would not resist when meek acceptance would be a confessionwhich would doom his own mother or father to prison, or ignominy, ordeath? It was for this that I was reviled, for this, subjected to cruelrestraint. 

They thought I was stubborn. In the strict sense of the word there isno such thing as a stubborn insane person. The truly stubborn men andwomen in the world are sane; and the fortunate prevalence of sanity maybe approximately estimated by the preponderance of stubbornness insociety at large. When one possessed of the power of recognizing hisown errors continues to hold an unreasonable belief--that isstubbornness. But for a man bereft of reason to adhere to an idea whichto him seems absolutely correct and true because he has been deprivedof the means of detecting his error--that is not stubbornness. It is asymptom of his disease, and merits the indulgence of forbearance, ifnot genuine sympathy. Certainly the afflicted one deserves nopunishment. As well punish with a blow the cheek that is disfigured bythe mumps. 

The attendant who was with me most of the time while I remained at thesanatorium was the kindly one already mentioned. Him I regarded, however, as a detective, or, rather, as two detectives, one of whomwatched me by day, and the other--a perfect double--by night. He was anenemy, and his professed sympathy--which I now know was genuine--onlymade me hate him the more. As he was ignorant of the methods oftreatment in vogue in hospitals for the insane, it was several weeksbefore he dared put in jeopardy his position by presuming to shield meagainst unwise orders of the doctors. But when at last he awoke to thesituation, he repeatedly intervened in my behalf. More than once thedoctor who was both owner and superintendent threatened to dischargehim for alleged officiousness. But better judgment usually held thedoctor's wrath in check, for he realized that not one attendant in ahundred was so competent. 

Not only did the friendly attendant frequently exhibit more wisdom thanthe superintendent, but he also obeyed the dictates of a betterconscience than that of his nominal superior, the assistant physician. On three occasions this man treated me with a signal lack ofconsideration, and in at least one instance he was vicious. When thislatter incident occurred, I was both physically and mentally helpless. My feet were swollen and still in plaster bandages. I was all but mute, uttering only an occasional expletive when forced to perform actsagainst my will. 

One morning Doctor No-name (he represents a type) entered my room. 

"Good morning! How are you feeling?" he asked. 

No answer. 

"Aren't you feeling well?"

No answer. 

"Why don't you talk?" he asked with irritation. 

Still no answer, except perhaps a contemptuous look such as is so oftenthe essence of eloquence. Suddenly, and without the slightest warning, as a petulant child locked in a room for disobedience might treat apillow, he seized me by an arm and jerked me from the bed. It wasfortunate that the bones of my ankles and feet, not yet thoroughlyknitted, were not again injured. And this was the performance of thevery man who had locked my hands in the muff, that I might not injuremyself!

"Why don't you talk?" he again asked. 

Though rather slow in replying, I will take pleasure in doing so bysending that doctor a copy of this book--my answer--if he will but sendme his address. 

It is not a pleasant duty to brand any physician for cruelty andincompetence, for the worst that ever lived has undoubtedly done manygood deeds. But here is the type of man that has wrought havoc amongthe helpless insane. And the owner represented a type that has too longprofited through the misfortunes of others. "Pay the price or put yourrelative in a public institution!" is the burden of his discordant songbefore commitment. "Pay or get out!" is his jarring refrain whensatisfied that the family's resources are exhausted. I later learnedthat this grasping owner had bragged of making a profit of $98, 000 in asingle year. About twenty years later he left an estate ofapproximately $1, 500, 000. Some of the money, however, wrung frompatients and their relatives in the past may yet benefit similarsufferers in the future, for, under the will of the owner, severalhundred thousand dollars will eventually be available as an endowmentfor the institution. 

IX

It was at the sanatorium that my ankles were finally restored to asemblance of their former utility. They were there subjected to acourse of heroic treatment; but as to-day they permit me to walk, run, dance, and play tennis and golf, as do those who have never beencrippled, my hours of torture endured under my first attempts to walkare almost pleasant to recall. About five months from the date of myinjury I was allowed, or rather compelled, to place my feet on thefloor and attempt to walk. My ankles were still swollen, absolutelywithout action, and acutely sensitive to the slightest pressure. Fromthe time they were hurt until I again began to talk--two years later--Iasked not one question as to the probability of my ever regaining theuse of them. The fact was, I never expected to walk naturally again. The desire of the doctors to have me walk I believed to be inspired bythe detectives, of whom, indeed, I supposed the doctor himself to beone. Had there been any confession to make, I am sure it would havebeen yielded under the stress of this ultimate torture. The millionneedle points which, just prior to my mental collapse, seemed to goadmy brain, now centred their unwelcome attention on the soles of myfeet. Had the floor been studded with minute stilettos my sufferingscould hardly have been more intense. For several weeks assistance wasnecessary with each attempt to walk, and each attempt was an ordeal. Sweat stood in beads on either foot, wrung from my blood by agony. Believing that it would be only a question of time when I should betried, condemned, and executed for some one of my countless felonies, Ithought that the attempt to prevent my continuing a cripple for thebrief remainder of my days was prompted by anything but benevolence. 

The superintendent would have proved himself more humane had he notperemptorily ordered my attendant to discontinue the use of a supportwhich, until the plaster bandages were removed, had enabled me to keepmy legs in a horizontal position when I sat up. His order was that Ishould put my legs down and keep them down, whether it hurt or not. Thepain was of course intense when the blood again began to circulatefreely through tissues long unused to its full pressure, and so evidentwas my distress that the attendant ignored the doctor's command andsecretly favored me. He would remove the forbidden support for only afew minutes at a time, gradually lengthening the intervals until atlast I was able to do without the support entirely. Before long andeach day for several weeks I was forced at first to stagger and finallyto walk across the room and back to the bed. The distance was increasedas the pain diminished, until I was able to walk without morediscomfort than a comparatively pleasant sensation of lameness. For atleast two months after my feet first touched the floor I had to becarried up and downstairs, and for several months longer I wentflat-footed. 

Delusions of persecution--which include "delusions ofself-reference"--though a source of annoyance while I was in aninactive state, annoyed and distressed me even more when I began tomove about and was obliged to associate with other patients. To mymind, not only were the doctors and attendants detectives; each patientwas a detective and the whole institution was a part of the ThirdDegree. Scarcely any remark was made in my presence that I could nottwist into a cleverly veiled reference to myself. In each person Icould see a resemblance to persons I had known, or to the principals orvictims of the crimes with which I imagined myself charged. I refusedto read; for to read veiled charges and fail to assert my innocence wasto incriminate both myself and others. But I looked with longingglances upon all printed matter and, as my curiosity was continuallypiqued, this enforced abstinence grew to be well-nigh intolerable. 

It became again necessary to the family purse that every possiblesaving be made. Accordingly, I was transferred from the main building, where I had a private room and a special attendant, to a ward where Iwas to mingle, under an aggregate sort of supervision, with fifteen ortwenty other patients. Here I had no special attendant by day, thoughone slept in my room at night. 

Of this ward I had heard alarming reports--and these from the lips ofseveral attendants. I was, therefore, greatly disturbed at the proposedchange. But, the transfer once accomplished, after a few days I reallyliked my new quarters better than the old. During the entire time Iremained at the sanatorium I was more alert mentally than I gaveevidence of being. But not until after my removal to this ward, where Iwas left alone for hours every day, did I dare to show my alertness. Here I even went so far on one occasion as to joke with the attendantin charge. He had been trying to persuade me to take a bath. I refused, mainly because I did not like the looks of the bath room, which, withits cement floor and central drain, resembled the room in whichvehicles are washed in a modern stable. After all else had failed, theattendant tried the rôle of sympathizer. 

"Now I know just how you feel, " he said, "I can put myself in yourplace. "

"Well, if you can, do it and take the bath yourself, " was my retort. 

The remark is brilliant by contrast with the dismal source from whichit escaped. "Escaped" is the word; for the fear that I should hasten mytrial by exhibiting too great a gain in health, mental or physical, wasalready upon me; and it controlled much of my conduct during thesucceeding months of depression. 

Having now no special attendant, I spent many hours in my room, alone, but not absolutely alone, for somewhere the eye of a detective wasevermore upon me. Comparative solitude, however, gave me courage; andsoon I began to read, regardless of consequences. During the entireperiod of my depression, every publication seemed to have been writtenand printed for me, and me alone. Books, magazines, and newspapersseemed to be special editions. The fact that I well knew how inordinatewould be the cost of such a procedure in no way shook my belief in it. Indeed, that I was costing my persecutors fabulous amounts of money wasa source of secret satisfaction. My belief in special editions ofnewspapers was strengthened by items which seemed too trivial towarrant publication in any except editions issued for a specialpurpose. I recall a seemingly absurd advertisement, in which thephrase, "Green Bluefish, " appeared. At the time I did not know that"green" was a term used to denote "fresh" or "unsalted. "

During the earliest stages of my illness I had lost count of time, andthe calendar did not right itself until the day when I largely regainedmy reason. Meanwhile, the date on each newspaper was, according to myreckoning, two weeks out of the way. This confirmed my belief in thespecial editions as a part of the Third Degree. 

Most sane people think that no insane person can reason logically. Butthis is not so. Upon unreasonable premises I made most reasonabledeductions, and that at the time when my mind was in its most disturbedcondition. Had the newspapers which I read on the day which I supposedto be February 1st borne a January date, I might not then, for so longa time, have believed in special editions. Probably I should haveinferred that the regular editions had been held back. But thenewspapers I had were dated about two weeks _ahead_. Now if a saneperson on February 1st receives a newspaper dated February 14th, bewill be fully justified in thinking something wrong, either with thepublication or with himself. But the shifted calendar which had planteditself in my mind meant as much to me as the true calendar does to anysane business man. During the seven hundred and ninety-eight days ofdepression I drew countless incorrect deductions. But, such as theywere, they were deductions, and essentially the mental process was notother than that which takes place in a well-ordered mind. 

My gradually increasing vitality, although it increased my fear oftrial, impelled me to take new risks. I began to read not onlynewspapers, but also such books as were placed within my reach. Yet hadthey not been placed there, I should have gone without them, for Iwould never ask even for what I greatly desired and knew I could havefor the asking. 

Whatever love of literature I now have dates from this time, when I wasa mental incompetent and confined in an institution. Lying on a shelfin my room was a book by George Eliot. For several days I cast longingglances at it and finally plucked up the courage to take little nibblesnow and then. These were so good that I grew bold and at last beganopenly to read the book. Its contents at the time made but littleimpression on my mind, but I enjoyed it. I read also some of Addison'sessays; and had I been fortunate enough to have made myself familiarwith these earlier in life, I might have been spared the delusion thatI could detect, in many passages, the altering hand of my persecutors. 

The friendly attendant, from whom I was now separated, tried to sendhis favors after me into my new quarters. At first he came in person tosee me, but the superintendent soon forbade that, and also ordered himnot to communicate with me in any way. It was this disagreement, andothers naturally arising between such a doctor and such an attendant, that soon brought about the discharge of the latter. But "discharge" ishardly the word, for he had become disgusted with the institution, andhad remained so long only because of his interest in me. Upon leaving, he informed the owner that he would soon cause my removal from theinstitution. This he did. I left the sanatorium in March, 1901, andremained for three months in the home of this kindly fellow, who livedwith a grandmother and an aunt in Wallingford, a town not far from NewHaven. 

It is not to be inferred that I entertained any affection for myfriendly keeper. I continued to regard him as an enemy; and my life athis home became a monotonous round of displeasure. I took my threemeals a day. I would sit listlessly for hours at a time in the house. Daily I went out--accompanied, of course--for short walks about thetown. These were not enjoyable. I believed everybody was familiar withmy black record and expected me to be put to death. Indeed, I wonderedwhy passers-by did not revile or even stone me. Once I was sure I hearda little girl call me "Traitor!" That, I believe, was my last "falsevoice, " but it made such an impression that I can even now recallvividly the appearance of that dreadful child. It was not surprisingthat a piece of rope, old and frayed, which someone had carelesslythrown on a hedge by a cemetery that I sometimes passed, had for megreat significance. 

During these three months I again refused to read books, though withinmy reach, but I sometimes read newspapers. Still I would not speak, except under some unusual stress of emotion. The only time I took theinitiative in this regard while living in the home of my attendant wason a bitterly cold and snowy day when I had the temerity to tell himthat the wind had blown the blanket from a horse that had been standingfor a long time in front of the house. The owner had come inside totransact some business with my attendant's relatives. In appearance hereminded me of the uncle to whom this book is dedicated. I imagined themysterious caller was impersonating him and, by one of my curiousmental processes, I deduced that it was incumbent on me to do for thedumb beast outside what I knew my uncle would have done had he beenaware of its plight. My reputation for decency of feeling I believed tobe gone forever; but I could not bear, in this situation, to beunworthy of my uncle, who, among those who knew him, was famous for hiskindliness and humanity. 

My attendant and his relatives were very kind and very patient, for Iwas still intractable. But their efforts to make me comfortable, so faras they had any effect, made keener my desire to kill myself. I shrankfrom death; but I preferred to die by my own hand and take the blamefor it, rather than to be executed and bring lasting disgrace on myfamily, friends, and, I may add with truth, on Yale. For I reasonedthat parents throughout the country would withhold their sons from auniversity which numbered among its graduates such a despicable being. But from any tragic act I was providentially restrained by the verydelusion which gave birth to the desire--in a way which signallyappeared on a later and, to me, a memorable day. 

X

I am in a position not unlike that of a man whose obituary notice hasappeared prematurely. Few have ever had a better opportunity than I totest the affection of their relatives and friends. That mine did theirduty and did it willingly is naturally a constant source ofsatisfaction to me. Indeed, I believe that this unbroken record ofdevotion is one of the factors which eventually made it possible for meto take up again my duties in the social and business world, with acomfortable feeling of continuity. I can, indeed, now view my past inas matter-of-fact a way as do those whose lives have been uniformlyuneventful. 

As I have seen scores of patients neglected by their relatives--aneglect which they resent and often brood upon--my sense of gratitudeis the livelier, and especially so because of the difficulty with whichfriendly intercourse with me was maintained during two of the threeyears I was ill. Relatives and friends frequently called to see me. True, these calls were trying for all concerned. I spoke to none, noteven to my mother and father. For, though they all appeared about asthey used to do, I was able to detect some slight difference in look orgesture or intonation of voice, and this was enough to confirm mybelief that they were impersonators, engaged in a conspiracy, notmerely to entrap me, but to incriminate those whom they impersonated. It is not strange, then, that I refused to say anything to them, or topermit them to come near me. To have kissed the woman who was mymother, but whom I believed to be a federal conspirator, would havebeen an act of betrayal. These interviews were much harder for myrelatives and friends than for me. But even for me they were ordeals;and though I suffered less at these moments than my callers, my sum ofsuffering was greater, for I was constantly anticipating theseunwelcome, but eventually beneficial, visitations. 

Suppose my relatives and friends had held aloof during this apparentlyhopeless period, what to-day would be my feelings toward them? Letothers answer. For over two years I considered all letters forgeries. Yet the day came when I convinced myself of their genuineness and thegenuineness of the love of those who sent them. Perhaps persons whohave relatives among the more than a quarter of a million patients ininstitutions in this country to-day will find some comfort in thisfact. To be on the safe and humane side, let every relative and friendof persons so afflicted remember the Golden Rule, which has never beensuspended with respect to the insane. Go to see them, treat themsanely, write to them, keep them informed about the home circle; letnot your devotion flag, nor accept any repulse. 

The consensus now was that my condition was unlikely ever to improve, and the question of my commitment to some institution where incurablecases could be cared for came up for decision. While it was beingconsidered, my attendant kept assuring me that it would be unnecessaryto commit me to an institution if I would but show some improvement. Sohe repeatedly suggested that I go to New Haven and spend a day at home. At this time, it will be recalled, I was all but mute, so, being unableto beguile me into speech, the attendant one morning laid out for myuse a more fashionable shirt than I usually wore, telling me to put iton if I wished to make the visit. That day it took me an unusually longtime to dress, but in the end I put on the designated garment. Thus didone part of my brain outwit another. 

I simply chose the less of two evils. The greater was to find myselfagain committed to an institution. Nothing else would have induced meto go to New Haven. I did not wish to go. To my best knowledge andbelief, I had no home there, nor did I have any relatives or friendswho would greet me upon my return. How could they, if still free, evenapproach me while I was surrounded by detectives? Then, too, I had alurking suspicion that my attendant's offer was made in the belief thatI would not dare accept it. By taking him at his word, I knew that Ishould at least have an opportunity to test the truth of many of hisstatements regarding my old home. Life had become insupportable; andback of my consent to make this experimental visit was a willingness tobeard the detectives in their own den, regardless of consequences. Withthese and many other reflections I started for the train. The events ofthe journey which followed are of no moment. We soon reached the NewHaven station; and, as I had expected, no relative or friend was thereto greet us. This apparent indifference seemed to support my suspicionthat my attendant had not told me the truth; but I found littlesatisfaction in uncovering his deceit, for the more of a liar I provedhim to be, the worse would be my plight. We walked to the front of thestation and stood there for almost half an hour. The unfortunate, butperfectly natural, wording of a question caused the delay. 

"Well, shall we go home?" my attendant said. 

How could I say, "Yes"? I had no home. I feel sure I should finallyhave said, "No", had he continued to put the question in that form. Consciously or unconsciously, however, he altered it. "Shall we go to30 Trumbull Street?" That was what I had been waiting for. Certainly Iwould go to the house designated by that number. I had come to NewHaven to see that house; and I had just a faint hope that itsappearance and the appearance of its occupants might prove convincing. 

At home my visit came as a complete surprise. I could not believe thatmy relatives--if they were relatives--had not been informed of mypresence in the city, and their words and actions upon my arrivalconfirmed my suspicion and extinguished the faint hope I had brieflycherished. My hosts were simply the same old persecutors with whom Ihad already had too much to do. Soon after my arrival, dinner wasserved. I sat at my old place at the table, and secretly admired theskill with which he who asked the blessing imitated the language andthe well-remembered intonation of my father's voice. But alas for thefamily!--I imagined my relatives banished and languishing in prison, and the old home confiscated by the government!

XI

Though my few hours at home failed to prove that I did not belong in aninstitution, it served one good purpose. Certain relatives who hadobjected to my commitment now agreed that there was no alternative, and, accordingly, my eldest brother caused himself to be appointed myconservator. He had long favored taking such action, but otherrelatives had counseled delay. They had been deterred by that inbreddread of seeing a member of the family branded by law as a mentalincompetent, and, to a degree, stigmatized by the prevailingunwarranted attitude of the public toward mental illness and theinstitutions in which mental cases are treated. The very thought wasrepellent; and a mistaken sense of duty--and perhaps a suggestion ofpride--led them to wish me out of such an institution as long aspossible. 

Though at the time I dreaded commitment, it was the best possible thingthat could befall me. To be, as I was, in the world but not of it, wasexasperating. The constant friction that is inevitable under suchconditions--conditions such as existed for me in the home of myattendant--can only aggravate the mental disturbance. Especially isthis true of those laboring under delusions of persecution. Suchdelusions multiply with the complexity of the life led. It is theeven-going routine of institutional life which affords theindispensable quieting effect--provided that routine is well ordered, and not defeated by annoyances imposed by ignorant or indifferentdoctors and attendants. 

My commitment occurred on June 11th, 1901. The institution to which Iwas committed was a chartered, private institution, but not run forpersonal profit. It was considered one of the best of its kind in thecountry and was pleasantly situated. Though the view was a restrictedone, a vast expanse of lawn, surrounded by groups of trees, likepatches of primeval forest, gave the place an atmosphere which was notwithout its remedial effect. My quarters were comfortable, and after alittle time I adjusted myself to my new environment. 

Breakfast was served about half-past seven, though the hour variedsomewhat according to the season--earlier in summer and later inwinter. In the spring, summer, and autumn, when the weather wasfavorable, those able to go out of doors were taken after breakfast forwalks within the grounds, or were allowed to roam about the lawn andsit under the trees, where they remained for an hour or two at a time. Dinner was usually served shortly after noon, and then the activepatients were again taken out of doors, where they remained an hour ortwo doing much as they pleased, but under watchful eyes. Abouthalf-past three they returned to their respective wards, there toremain until the next day--except those who cared to attend thereligious service which was held almost every afternoon in an endowedchapel. 

In all institutions those confined in different kinds of wards go tobed at different hours. The patients in the best wards retire at nineor ten o'clock. Those in the wards where more troublesome cases aretreated go to bed usually at seven or eight o'clock. I, whileundergoing treatment, have retired at all hours, so that I am in thebetter position to describe the mysteries of what is, in a way, one ofthe greatest secret societies in the world. I soon became accustomed tothe rather agreeable routine, and had I not been burdened with thedelusions which held me a prisoner of the police, and kept me astranger to my old world, I should have been able to enjoy acomparatively happy existence in spite of all. 

This new feeling of comparative contentment had not been brought aboutby any marked improvement in health. It was due directly and entirelyto an environment more nearly in tune with my ill-tuned mind. Whilesurrounded by sane people my mental inferiority had been painfullyapparent to me, as well as to others. Here a feeling of superiorityeasily asserted itself, for many of my associates were, to my mind, vastly inferior to myself. But this stimulus did not affect me at once. For several weeks I believed the institution to be peopled bydetectives, feigning insanity. The government was still operating theThird Degree, only on a grander scale. Nevertheless, I did soon come tothe conclusion that the institution was what it purported to be--stillcherishing the idea, however, that certain patients and attachés weredetectives. 

For a while after my arrival I again abandoned my new-found readinghabit. But as I became accustomed to my surroundings I grew bolder andresumed the reading of newspapers and such books as were at hand. Therewas a bookcase in the ward, filled with old numbers of standard Englishperiodicals; among them: _Westminster Review, Edinburgh Review, LondonQuarterly_, and _Blackwood's_. There were also copies of _Harper's_ and_The Atlantic Monthly_, dated a generation or more before my firstreading days. Indeed, some of the reviews were over fifty years old. But I had to read their heavy contents or go without reading, for Iwould not yet ask even for a thing I ardently desired. In the room ofone of the patients were thirty or forty books belonging to him. Timeand again I walked by his door and cast longing glances at those books, which at first I had not the courage to ask for or to take. But duringthe summer, about the time I was getting desperate, I finally managedto summon enough courage to take them surreptitiously. It was usuallywhile the owner of these books was attending the daily service in thechapel that his library became a circulating one. 

The contents of the books I read made perhaps a deeper impression on mymemory than most books make on the minds of normal readers. To assuremyself of the fact, I have since reread "The Scarlet Letter, " and Irecognize it as an old friend. The first part of the story, however, wherein Hawthorne describes his work as a Custom House official andportrays his literary personality, seems to have made scarcely anyimpression. This I attribute to my utter lack of interest at that timein writers and their methods. I then had no desire to write a book, norany thought of ever doing so. 

Letters I looked upon with suspicion. I never read them at the timethey were received. I would not even open them; but generally, after aweek or sometimes a month, I would secretly open and readthem--forgeries of the detectives. 

I still refused to speak, and exhibited physical activity only when thepatients were taken out of doors. For hours I would sit reading booksor newspapers, or apparently doing nothing. But my mind was in anactive state and very sensitive. As the event proved, almost everythingdone or said within the range of my senses was making indelibleimpressions, though these at the time were frequently of such acharacter that I experienced great difficulty in trying to recallincidents which I thought I might find useful at the time of myappearance in court. 

My ankles had not regained anything like their former strength. It hurtto walk. For months I continued to go flat-footed. I could not sustainmy weight with heels lifted from the floor. In going downstairs I hadto place my insteps on the edge of each step, or go one step at a time, like a child. Believing that the detectives were pampering me intoprime condition, as a butcher fattens a beast for slaughter, Ideliberately made myself out much weaker than I really was; and not alittle of my inactivity was due to a desire to prolong my fairlycomfortable existence, by deferring as long as possible the day oftrial and conspicuous disgrace. 

But each day still had its distressing incidents. Whenever theattendants were wanted at the office, an electric bell was rung. Duringthe fourteen months that I remained in this hospital in a depressedcondition, the bell in my ward rang several hundred times. Never did itfail to send through me a mild shock of terror, for I imagined that atlast the hour had struck for my transportation to the scene of trial. Relatives and friends would be brought to the ward--heralded, ofcourse, by a warning bell--and short interviews would be held in myroom, during which the visitors had to do all the talking. My eldestbrother, whom I shall refer to hereafter as my conservator, calledoften. He seldom failed to use one phrase which worried me. 

"You are looking better and getting stronger, " he would say. "We shallstraighten you out yet. "

To be "straightened out" was an ambiguous phrase which might refer tothe end of the hangman's rope or to a fatal electric shock. 

I preferred to be let alone, and the assistant physician in charge ofmy case, after several ineffectual attempts to engage me inconversation, humored my persistent taciturnity. For more than a yearhis only remarks to me were occasional conventional salutations. Subsequent events have led me to doubt the wisdom of his policy. 

For one year no further attention was paid to me than to see that I hadthree meals a day, the requisite number of baths, and a sufficientamount of exercise. I was, however, occasionally urged by an attendantto write a letter to some relative, but that, of course, I refused todo. As I shall have many hard things to say about attendants ingeneral, I take pleasure in testifying that, so long as I remained in apassive condition, those at this institution were kind, and at timeseven thoughtful. But there came a time when diplomatic relations withdoctors and attendants became so strained that war promptly ensued. 

It was no doubt upon the gradual, but sure improvement in my physicalcondition that the doctors were relying for my eventual return tonormality. They were not without some warrant for this. In a way I hadbecome less suspicious, but my increased confidence was due as much toan increasing indifference to my fate as to an improvement in health. And there were other signs of improved mental vigor. I was stillwatchful, however, for a chance to end my life, and, but for a seriesof fortunate circumstances, I do not doubt that my choice of evilswould have found tragic expression in an overt act. 

Having convinced myself that most of my associates were really insane, and therefore (as I believed) disqualified as competent witnesses in acourt of law, I would occasionally engage in conversation with a fewwhose evident incompetency seemed to make them safe confidants. One, aman who during his life had more than once been committed to aninstitution, took a very evident interest in me and persisted intalking to me, often much against my will. His persistentinquisitiveness seemed to support his own statement that he hadformerly been a successful life-insurance agent. He finally gained myconfidence to such a degree that months before I finally began to talkto others I permitted myself to converse frequently with him--but onlywhen we were so situated as to escape observation. I would talk to himon almost any subject, but would not speak about myself. At length, however, his admirable persistence overcame my reticence. During aconversation held in June, 1902, he abruptly said, "Why you are kepthere I cannot understand. Apparently you are as sane as anyone. Youhave never made any but sensible remarks to me. " Now for weeks I hadbeen waiting for a chance to tell this man my very thoughts. I had cometo believe him a true friend who would not betray me. 

"If I should tell you things which you apparently don't know, you wouldunderstand why I am held here, " I said. 

"Well, tell me, " he urged. 

"Will you promise not to repeat my statements to any one else?"

"I promise not to say a word. "

"Well, " I remarked, "you have seen certain persons who have come here, professing to be relatives of mine. "

"Yes, and they are your relatives, aren't they?"

"They look like my relatives, but they're not, " was my reply. 

My inquisitive friend burst into laughter and said, "Well, if you mean_that_, I shall have to take back what I just said. You are really thecraziest person I have ever met, and I have met several. "

"You will think differently some day, " I replied; for I believed thatwhen my trial should occur, he would appreciate the significance of myremark. I did not tell him that I believed these callers to bedetectives; nor did I hint that I thought myself in the hands of thepolice. 

Meanwhile, during July and August, 1902, I redoubled my activity indevising suicidal schemes; for I now thought my physical conditionsatisfactory to my enemies, and was sure that my trial could not bepostponed beyond the next opening of the courts in September. I evenwent so far as to talk to one of the attendants, a medical student, whoduring the summer worked as an attendant at the hospital. I approachedhim artfully. First I asked him to procure from the library for me "TheScarlet Letter, " "The House of the Seven Gables, " and other books; thenI talked medicine and finally asked him to lend me a textbook onanatomy which I knew he had in his possession. This he did, cautioningme not to let anyone know that he had done so. The book once secured, Ilost no time in examining that part which described the heart, itsfunctions, and especially its exact position in the body. I hadscarcely begun to read when the young man returned and took the bookfrom me, giving as his reason that an attendant had no right to let apatient read a medical work. Maybe his change of heart wasprovidential. 

As is usual in these institutions, all knives, forks, and otherarticles that might be used by a patient for a dangerous purpose werecounted by the attendants after each meal. This I knew, and theknowledge had a deterrent effect. I dared not take one. Though I mightat any time during the night have hanged myself, that method did notappeal to me, and I kept it in mind only as a last resort. To getpossession of some sharp dagger-like instrument which I could plungeinto my heart at a moment's notice--this was my consuming desire. Withsuch a weapon I felt that I could, when the crisis came, rob thedetectives of their victory. During the summer months an employé spenthis entire time mowing the lawn with a large horse-drawn machine. This, when not in use, was often left outdoors. Upon it was a square woodenbox, containing certain necessary tools, among them a sharp, spike-likeinstrument, used to clean the oil-holes when they became clogged. Thisbit of steel was five or six inches long, and was shaped like a pencil. For at least three months, I seldom went out of doors that I did not gowith the intention of purloining that steel spike. I intended then tokeep it in my room against the day of my anticipated transfer to jail. 

It was now that my delusions protected me from the very fate they hadinduced me to court. For had I not believed that the eye of a detectivewas on me every moment, I could have taken that spike a score of times. Often, when it was not in use, I walked to the lawnmower and even laidmy hand upon the tool-box. But I dared not open it. My feelings weremuch like those of Pandora about a certain other box. In my case, however, the box upon which I looked with longing had Hope without, andnot within. Instinctively, perhaps, I realized this, for I did not liftthe lid. 

One day, as the patients were returning to their wards, I saw, lyingdirectly in my path (I could even now point out the spot), the covetedweapon. Never have I seen anything that I wanted more. To have stoopedand picked it up without detection would have been easy; and had Iknown, as I know now, that it had been carelessly dropped there, nothing could have prevented me from doing so and perhaps using it withfatal effect. But I believed it had been placed there deliberately andas a test, by those who had divined my suicidal purpose. The eye of theimagined detective, which, I am inclined to believe, and like tobelieve, was the eye of the real God, was upon me; and though I steppeddirectly over it, I did not pick up that thing of death. 

XII

When I had decided that my chance for securing the little stiletto spikewas very uncertain, I at once busied myself with plans which were designedto bring about my death by drowning. There was in the ward a large bathtub. Access to it could be had at any time, except from the hour ofnine (when the patients were locked in their rooms for the night) untilthe following morning. How to reach it during the night was the problemwhich confronted me. The attendant in charge was supposed to see thateach patient was in his room before his door was locked. As it rarelyhappened that the patients were not in their rooms at the appointedtime, the attendants naturally grew careless, and often locked a doorwithout looking in. "Good night"--a salutation usually devoid ofsentiment--might, or might not, elicit a response, and the absence of aresponse would not tend to arouse suspicion--especially in a case likemine, for I would sometimes say "good night, " but more often not. 

My simple and easy plan was to hide behind a piece of furniture in thecorridor and there remain until the attendant had locked the doors ofthe rooms and gone to bed. I had even advanced so far in my plan as toselect a convenient nook within twenty feet of my own room. Should theattendant, when about to lock the door, discover my absence, I should, of course, immediately reveal my hiding-place by leaving it; and itwould have been an easy matter to convince him that I had done thething as a test of his own vigilance. On the other hand, if I escapeddiscovery, I should then have nine hours at my disposal with littlefear of interruption. True, the night watch passed through the wardonce every hour. But death by drowning requires a time no longer thanthat necessary to boil an egg. I had even calculated how long it wouldtake to fill the tub with water. To make sure of a fatal result, I hadsecreted a piece of wire which I intended so to use that my head, onceunder water, could by no possibility be raised above the surface in theinevitable death struggle. 

I have said that I did not desire death; nor did I. Had the supposeddetectives been able to convince me that they would keep their word, Iwould willingly have signed an agreement stipulating on my side that Imust live the rest of my life in confinement, and on theirs that Ishould never undergo a trial for crime. 

Fortunately, during these dismal preparations, I had not lost interestin other schemes which probably saved my life. In these thefellow-patient who had won my confidence played the role of my ownprivate detective. That he and I could defeat the combined forcesarrayed against me hardly seemed probable, but the seemingimpossibility of so doing only lent zest to the undertaking. My friend, who, of course, did not realize that he was engaged in combat with theSecret Service, was allowed to go where he pleased within the limits ofthe city where the hospital was situated. Accordingly I determined toenlist his services. It was during July that, at my suggestion, hetried to procure copies of certain New Haven newspapers, of the date ofmy attempted suicide and the several dates immediately following. Mypurpose was to learn what motive had been ascribed to my suicidal act. I felt sure that the papers would contain at least hints as to thenature of the criminal charges against me. But my purpose I did notdisclose to my friend. In due time he reported that no copies for thegiven dates were to be had. So _that_ quest proved fruitless, and Iattributed the failure to the superior strategy of the enemy. 

Meanwhile, my friend had not stopped trying to convince me that myapparent relatives were not spurious; so one day I said to him: "If myrelatives still live in New Haven, their addresses must be in thelatest New Haven Directory. Here is a list containing the names andformer addresses of my father, brother, and uncle. These were theiraddresses in 1900. To-morrow, when you go out, please see whether theyappear in the New Haven Directory for 1902. These persons who presentthemselves to me as relatives pretend to live at these addresses. Ifthey speak the truth, the 1902 Directory will corroborate them. I shallthen have hope that a letter sent to any one of these addresses willreach relatives--and surely some attention will be paid to it. "

The next day, my own good detective went to a local publishing housewhere directories of important cities throughout the country could beconsulted. Shortly after he went upon this errand, my conservatorappeared. He found me walking about the lawn. At his suggestion we satdown. Bold in the assurance that I could kill myself before the crisiscame, I talked with him freely, replying to many of his questions andasking several. My conservator, who did not know that I doubted hisidentity, commented with manifest pleasure on my new-found readiness totalk. He would have been less pleased, however, had he been able toread my mind. 

Shortly after my conservator's departure, my fellow-patient returnedand informed me that the latest New Haven Directory contained the namesand addresses I had given him. This information, though it did notprove that my morning caller was no detective, did convince me that myreal brother still lived where he did when I left New Haven, two yearsearlier. Now that my delusions were growing weaker, my returning reasonenabled me to construct the ingenious scheme which, I believe, saved mylife; for, had I not largely regained my reason _when I did_, I aminclined to believe that my distraught mind would have destroyed itselfand me, before it could have been restored by the slow process ofreturning health. 

A few hours after my own private detective had given me the informationI so much desired, I wrote the first letter I had written in twenty-sixmonths. As letters go, it is in a class by itself. I dared not ask forink, so I wrote with a lead pencil. Another fellow-patient in whom Ihad confidence, at my request, addressed the envelope; but he was notin the secret of its contents. This was an added precaution, for Ithought the Secret Service men might have found out that I had adetective of my own and would confiscate any letters addressed by himor me. The next morning, _my_ "detective" mailed the letter. Thatletter I still have, and I treasure it as any innocent man condemned todeath would treasure a pardon. It should convince the reader thatsometimes a mentally disordered person, even one suffering from manydelusions, can think and write clearly. An exact copy of this--the mostimportant letter I ever expect to be called upon to write--is herepresented:

 AUGUST 29, 1902. 

 DEAR GEORGE:

 On last Wednesday morning a person who claimed to be George M. Beers of New Haven, Ct. , clerk in the Director's Office of the Sheffield Scientific School and a brother of mine, called to see me. 

 Perhaps what he said was true, but after the events of the last two years I find myself inclined to doubt the truth of everything that is told me. He said that he would come and see me again sometime next week, and I am sending you this letter in order that you may bring it with you as a passport, provided you are the one who was here on Wednesday. 

 If you did not call as stated please say nothing about this letter to anyone, and when your double arrives, I'll tell him what I think of him. Would send other messages, but while things seem as they do at present it is impossible. Have had someone else address envelope for fear letter might be held up on the way. 

 Yours, CLIFFORD W. B. 

Though I felt reasonably confident that this message would reach mybrother, I was by no means certain. I was sure, however, that, shouldhe receive it, under no circumstances would he turn it over to anyonehostile to myself. When I wrote the words: "Dear George, " my feelingwas much like that of a child who sends a letter to Santa Claus afterhis childish faith has been shaken. Like the skeptical child, I feltthere was nothing to lose, but everything to gain. "Yours" fullyexpressed such affection for relatives as I was then capable of--forthe belief that I had disgraced, perhaps destroyed, my family promptedme to forbear to use the family name in the signature. 

The thought that I might soon get in touch with my old world did notexcite me. I had not much faith anyway that I was to re-establishformer relations with it, and what little faith I had was all butdestroyed on the morning of August 30th, 1902, when a short message, written on a slip of paper, reached me by the hand of an attendant. Itinformed me that my conservator would call that afternoon. I thought ita lie. I felt that any brother of mine would have taken the pains tosend a letter in reply to the first I had written him in over twoyears. The thought that there had not been time for him to do so andthat this message must have arrived by telephone did not then occur tome. What I believed was that my own letter had been confiscated. Iasked one of the doctors to swear on his honor that it really was myown brother who was coming to see me. This he did. But abnormalsuspicion robbed all men in my sight of whatever honor they may havehad, and I was not fully reassured. 

In the afternoon, as usual, the patients were taken out of doors, Iamong them. I wandered about the lawn and cast frequent and expectantglances toward the gate, through which I believed my anticipatedvisitor would soon pass. In less than an hour he appeared. I firstcaught sight of him about three hundred feet away, and, impelled moreby curiosity than hope, I advanced to meet him. "I wonder what the liewill be this time, " was the gist of my thoughts. 

The person approaching me was indeed the counterpart of my brother as Iremembered him. Yet he was no more my brother than he had been at anytime during the preceding two years. He was still a detective. Such hewas when I shook his hand. As soon as that ceremony was over, he drewforth a leather pocketbook. I instantly recognized it as one I myselfhad carried for several years prior to the time I was taken ill in1900. It was from this that he took my recent letter. 

"Here's my passport, " he said. 

"It's a good thing you brought it, " I replied, as I glanced at it andagain shook his hand--this time the hand of my own brother. 

"Don't you want to read it?" he asked. 

"There is no need of that. I am convinced. "

After my long journey of exploration in the jungle of a tangledimagination, a journey which finally ended in my finding the person forwhom I had long searched, my behavior differed very little from that ofa great explorer who, full of doubt after a long and perilous tripthrough real jungles, found the man he sought and, grasping his hand, greeted him with the simple and historic words, "Dr. Livingstone, Ipresume?"

The very instant I caught sight of my letter in the hands of mybrother, all was changed. The thousands of false impressions recordedduring the seven hundred and ninety-eight days of my depression seemedat once to correct themselves. Untruth became Truth. A large part ofwhat was once my old world was again mine. To me, at last my mindseemed to have found itself, for the gigantic web of false beliefs inwhich it had been all but hopelessly enmeshed I now immediatelyrecognized as a snare of delusions. That the Gordian knot of mentaltorture should be cut and swept away by the mere glance of a willingeye is like a miracle. Not a few patients, however, suffering fromcertain forms of mental disorder, regain a high degree of insight intotheir mental condition in what might be termed a flash of divineenlightenment. Though insight regained seemingly in an instant is amost encouraging symptom, power to reason normally on all subjectscannot, of course, be so promptly recovered. My new power to reasoncorrectly on some subjects simply marked the transition fromdepression, one phase of my disorder, to elation, another phase of it. Medically speaking, I was as mentally disordered as before--yet I washappy!

My memory during depression may be likened to a photographic film, seven hundred and ninety-eight days long. Each impression seems to havebeen made in a negative way and then, in a fraction of a second, miraculously developed and made positive. Of hundreds of impressionsmade during that depressed period I had not before been conscious, butfrom the moment my mind, if not my full reason, found itself, theystood out vividly. Not only so, but other impressions registered duringearlier years became clearer. Since that August 30th, which I regard asmy second birthday (my first was on the 30th of another month), my mindhas exhibited qualities which, prior to that time, were so latent as tobe scarcely distinguishable. As a result, I find myself able to dodesirable things I never before dreamed of doing--the writing of thisbook is one of them. 

Yet had I failed to convince myself on August 30th, when my brothercame to see me, that he was no spy, I am almost sure that I should havecompassed my own destruction within the following ten days, for thenext month, I believed, was the fatal one of opening courts. You willrecall that it was death by drowning that impended. I liken mysalvation itself to a prolonged process of drowning. Thousands ofminutes of the seven hundred and ninety-eight days--and there were overone million of them, during which I had been borne down by intolerablyburdensome delusions--were, I imagine, much like the last minutes ofconsciousness experienced by persons who drown. Many who have narrowlyescaped that fate can testify to the vividness with which good and badimpressions of their entire life rush through their confused minds, andhold them in a grip of terror until a kind unconsciousness envelopsthem. Such had been many of my moments. But the only unconsciousnesswhich had deadened my sensibilities during these two despondent yearswas that of sleep itself. Though I slept fairly well most of the time, mine was seldom a dreamless sleep. Many of my dreams were, if anything, harder to bear than my delusions of the day, for what little reason Ihad was absolutely suspended in sleep. Almost every night my brain wasat battledore and shuttlecock with weird thoughts. And if not all mydreams were terrifying, this fact seemed to be only because a pervertedand perverse Reason, in order that its possessor might not lose thecapacity for suffering, knew how to keep Hope alive with visions whichsupplied the contrast necessary for keen appreciation. 

No man can be born again, but I believe I came as near it as ever a mandid. To leave behind what was in reality a hell, and immediately havethis good green earth revealed in more glory than most men ever see it, was one of the compensating privileges which make me feel that mysuffering was worth while. 

I have already described the peculiar sensation which assailed me when, in June, 1900, I lost my reason. At that time my brain felt as thoughpricked by a million needles at white heat. On this August 30th, 1902, shortly after largely regaining my reason, I had another most distinctsensation in the brain. It started under my brow and gradually spreaduntil the entire surface was affected. The throes of a dying Reason hadbeen torture. The sensations felt as my dead Reason was reborn weredelightful. It seemed as though the refreshing breath of some kindGoddess of Wisdom were being gently blown against the surface of mybrain. It was a sensation not unlike that produced by a menthol pencilrubbed ever so gently over a fevered brow. So delicate, so crisp andexhilarating was it that words fail me in my attempt to describe it. Few, if any, experiences can be more delightful. If the exaltationproduced by some drugs is anything like it, I can easily understand howand why certain pernicious habits enslave those who contract them. Forme, however, this experience was liberation, not enslavement. 

XIII

After two years of silence I found it no easy matter to carry on withmy brother a sustained conversation. So weak were my vocal cords fromlack of use that every few minutes I must either rest or whisper. Andupon pursing my lips I found myself unable to whistle, notwithstandingthe popular belief, drawn from vague memories of small-boyhood, thatthis art is instinctive. Those who all their lives have talked at willcannot possibly appreciate the enjoyment I found in using my regainedpower of speech. Reluctantly I returned to the ward; but not until mybrother had left for home, laden with so much of my conversation thatit took most of his leisure for the next two days to tell the familywhat I had said in two hours. 

During the first few hours I seemed virtually normal. I had none of thedelusions which had previously oppressed me; nor had I yet developedany of the expansive ideas, or delusions of grandeur, which soon beganto crowd in upon me. So normal did I appear while talking to my brotherthat he thought I should be able to return home in a few weeks; and, needless to say, I agreed with him. But the pendulum, as it were, hadswung too far. The human brain is too complex a mechanism to admit ofany such complete readjustment in an instant. It is said to be composedof several million cells; and, that fact granted, it seems safe to saythat every day, perhaps every hour, hundreds of thousands of the cellsof my brain were now being brought into a state of renewed activity. Comparatively sane and able to recognize the important truths of life, I was yet insane as to many of its practical details. Judgment beingKing of the Realm of Thought, it was not surprising that my judgmentfailed often to decide correctly the many questions presented to it byits abnormally communicative subjects. At first I seemed to live asecond childhood. I did with delight many things which I had firstlearned to do as a child--the more so as it had been necessary for meto learn again to eat and walk, and now to talk. I had much lost timeto make up; and for a while my sole ambition seemed to be to utter asmany thousand words a day as possible. My fellow-patients who forfourteen months had seen me walk about in silence--a silence soprofound and inexorable that I would seldom heed their friendlysalutations--were naturally surprised to see me in my new mood ofunrestrained loquacity and irrepressible good humor. In short, I hadcome into that abnormal condition which is known to psychiatrists aselation. 

For several weeks I believe I did not sleep more than two or threehours a night. Such was my state of elation, however, that all signs offatigue were entirely absent and the sustained and abnormal mental andphysical activity in which I then indulged has left on my memory noother than a series of very pleasant impressions. Though based onfancy, the delights of some forms of mental disorder are real. Few, ifany, sane persons would care to test the matter at so great a price;but those familiar with the "Letters of Charles Lamb" must know thatLamb, himself, underwent treatment for mental disease. In a letter toColeridge, dated June 10th, 1796, he says: "At some future time I willamuse you with an account, as full as my memory will permit, of thestrange turns my frenzy took. I look back upon it at times with agloomy kind of envy; for, while it lasted, I had many, many hours ofpure happiness. Dream not, Coleridge, of having tasted all the grandeurand wildness of Fancy till you have gone mad! All now seems to mevapid, comparatively so!"

As for me, the very first night vast but vague humanitarian projectsbegan joyously to shape themselves in my mind. My garden of thoughtsseemed filled with flowers which might properly be likened to thequick-blowing night-blooming cereus--that Delusion of Grandeur of allflowering plants that thinks itself prodigal enough if it but unmaskits beauty to the moon! Few of my bold fancies, however, were of sofugitive and chaste a splendor. 

The religious instinct is found in primitive man. It is not strange, therefore, that at this time the religious side of my nature was thefirst to display compelling activity. Whether or not this was due to myrescue from a living death, and my immediate appreciation of God'sgoodness, both to me and to those faithful relatives who had done allthe praying during the preceding two years--this I cannot say. But thefact stands out, that, whereas I had, while depressed, attached asinister significance to everything done or said in my presence, I nowinterpreted the most trifling incidents as messages from God. The dayafter this transition I attended church. It was the first service inover two years which I had not attended against my will. The reading ofa psalm--the 45th--made a lasting impression upon me, and theinterpretation which I placed upon it furnishes the key to my attitudeduring the first weeks of elation. It seemed to me a direct messagefrom Heaven. 

The minister began: "My heart is inditing a good matter: I speak of thethings which I have made touching the king: my tongue is the pen of aready writer. "--Whose heart but mine? And the things indited--what werethey but the humanitarian projects which had blossomed in my garden ofthoughts over night? When, a few days later, I found myself writingvery long letters with unwonted facility, I became convinced that mytongue was to prove itself "the pen of a ready writer. " Indeed, tothese prophetic words I trace the inception of an irresistible desire, of which this book is the first fruit. 

"Thou art fairer than the children of men; grace is poured into thylips:" was the verse next read (by myself and the congregation), towhich the minister responded, "Therefore God hath blessed thee forever. "--"Surely, I have been selected as the instrument wherewith greatreforms shall be effected, " was my thought. (All is grist that comes tothe mill of a mind in elation--then even divine encomiums seem notundeserved. )

"Gird thy sword upon thy thigh, O most mighty, with thy glory and thymajesty"--a command to fight. "And in thy majesty ride prosperouslybecause of truth and meekness and righteousness;" replied the minister. "And thy right hand shall teach thee terrible things, "--was anotherresponse. That I could speak the truth, I knew. "Meekness" I could notassociate with myself, except that during the preceding two years I hadsuffered many indignities without open resentment. That my right handwith a pen should teach me terrible things--how to fight for reform--Ifirmly believed. 

"Thine arrows are sharp in the heart of the King's enemies, whereby thepeople fall under thee, " quoth the minister. Yes, my tongue could be assharp as an arrow, and I should be able to stand up against those whoshould stand in the way of reform. Again: "Thou lovest righteousness, and hatest wickedness. Therefore God, thy God, hath anointed thee withthe oil of gladness above thy fellows. " The first sentence I did notapply to myself; but being then, as I supposed, a man restored tohimself, it was easy to feel that I had been anointed with the oil ofgladness above my fellows. "Oil of gladness" is, in truth, an aptphrase wherewith to describe elation. 

The last two verses of the psalm corroborated the messages found in thepreceding verses: "I will make thy name to be remembered in allgenerations:"--thus the minister. "Therefore shall the people praisethee for ever and ever, " was the response I read. That spelled immortalfame for me, but only on condition that I should carry to a successfulconclusion the mission of reform--an obligation placed upon me by Godwhen He restored my reason. 

When I set out upon a career of reform, I was impelled to do so bymotives in part like those which seem to have possessed Don Quixotewhen he set forth, as Cervantes says, with the intention "of rightingevery kind of wrong, and exposing himself to peril and danger, fromwhich in the issue he would obtain eternal renown and fame. " Inlikening myself to Cervantes' mad hero my purpose is quite other thanto push myself within the charmed circle of the chivalrous. What I wishto do is to make plain that a man abnormally elated may be swayedirresistably by his best instincts, and that while under the spell ofan exaltation, idealistic in degree, he may not only be willing, buteager to assume risks and endure hardships which under normalconditions he would assume reluctantly, if at all. In justice tomyself, however, I may remark that my plans for reform have neverassumed quixotic, and therefore, impracticable proportions. At no timehave I gone a-tilting at windmills. A pen rather than a lance has beenmy weapon of offence and defence; for with its point I have felt surethat I should one day prick the civic conscience into a compassionateactivity, and thus bring into a neglected field earnest men and womenwho should act as champions for those afflicted thousands least able tofight for themselves. 

XIV

After being without relatives and friends for over two years Inaturally lost no time in trying again to get in touch with them;though I did heed my conservator's request that I first give him two orthree days in which to acquaint intimates with the new turn my affairshad taken. 

During the latter part of that first week I wrote many letters, somany, indeed, that I soon exhausted a liberal supply of stationery. This had been placed at my disposal at the suggestion of myconservator, who had wisely arranged that I should have whatever Iwanted, if expedient. It was now at my own suggestion that thesupervisor gave me large sheets of manila wrapping paper. These Iproceeded to cut into strips a foot wide. One such strip, four feetlong, would suffice for a mere _billet-doux_; but a real letter usuallyrequired several such strips pasted together. More than once letterstwenty or thirty feet long were written; and on one occasion theaccumulation of two or three days of excessive productivity, whenspread upon the floor, reached from one end of the corridor to theother--a distance of about one hundred feet. My hourly output wassomething like twelve feet, with an average of one hundred and fiftywords to the foot. Under the pressure of elation one takes pride indoing everything in record time. Despite my speed my letters were notincoherent. They were simply digressive, which was to be expected, aselation befogs one's "goal idea. " Though these epistolary monstrositieswere launched, few reached those to whom they were addressed; for myconservator had wisely ordered that my literary output be sent in bulkto him. His action was exasperating, but later I realized that he haddone me a great favor when he interposed his judgment between myred-hot mentality and the cool minds of the workaday world. Yet thisinterference with what I deemed my rights proved to be the first stepin the general overruling of them by tactless attendants and, inparticular, by a certain assistant physician. 

I had always shown a strong inclination to superintend. In consequence, in my elated condition it was but natural that I should have an excessof executive impulses. In order to decrease this executive pressure Iproceeded to assume entire charge of that portion of the hospital inwhich I happened at the moment to be confined. What I eventually issuedas imperative orders were often presented at first as politesuggestions. But, if my suggestions were not accorded a respectfulhearing, and my demands acted upon at once, I invariably supplementedthem with vituperative ultimatums. These were double-edged, andinvolved me in trouble quite as often as they gained the ends I sought. 

The assistant physician in charge of my case, realizing that he couldnot grant all of my requests, unwisely decided to deny most of them. Had he been tactful, he could have taken the same stand withoutarousing my animosity. As it was, he treated me with a contemptuoussort of indifference which finally developed into spite, and led tomuch trouble for us both. During the two wild months that followed, thesuperintendent and the steward could induce me to do almost anything bysimply requesting it. If two men out of three could control me easilyduring such a period of mental excitement, is it not reasonable tosuppose that the third man, the assistant physician, could likewisehave controlled me had he treated me with consideration? It was hisundisguised superciliousness that gave birth to my contempt for him. Ina letter written during my second week of elation, I expressed theopinion that he and I should get along well together. But that wasbefore I had become troublesome enough to try the man's patience. Nevertheless, it indicates that he could have saved himself hours oftime and subsequent worry, had he met my friendly advances in theproper spirit, for it is the quality of heart quite as much as thequantity of mind that cures or makes happy the insane. 

The literary impulse took such a hold on me that, when I first sat downto compose a letter, I bluntly refused to stop writing and go to bedwhen the attendant ordered me to do so. For over one year this man hadseen me mute and meek, and the sudden and startling change from passiveobedience to uncompromising independence naturally puzzled him. Hethreatened to drag me to my room, but strangely enough decided not todo so. After half an hour's futile coaxing, during which time anunwonted supply of blood was drawn to his brain, that surprised organproved its gratitude by giving birth to a timely and sensible idea. With an unaccustomed resourcefulness, by cutting off the supply oflight at the electric switch, he put the entire ward in darkness. Secretly I admired the stratagem, but my words on that occasionprobably conveyed no idea of the approbation that lurked within me. 

I then went to bed, but not to sleep. The ecstasy of elation made eachconscious hour one of rapturous happiness, and my memory knows no dayof brighter sunlight than those nights. The floodgates of thought wideopen. So jealous of each other were the thoughts that they seemed tostumble over one another in their mad rush to present themselves to myre-enthroned ego. 

I naturally craved companionship, but there were not many patients whomI cared to talk with. I did, however, greatly desire to engage theassistant physician in conversation, as he was a man of some educationand familiar with the history of my case. But this man, who had triedto induce me to speak when delusions had tied my tongue, now, when Iwas at last willing talk, would scarcely condescend to listen; and whatseemed to me his studied and ill-disguised avoidance only served towhet my desire to detain him whenever possible. 

It was about the second week that my reformative turn of mind becameacute. The ward in which I was confined was well furnished and ashomelike as such a place could be, though in justice to my own home Imust observe that the resemblance was not great. About the so-calledviolent ward I had far less favorable ideas. Though I had not beensubjected to physical abuse during the first fourteen months of my stayhere, I had seen unnecessary and often brutal force used by theattendants in managing several so-called violent patients, who, upontheir arrival, had been placed in the ward where I was. I had alsoheard convincing rumors of rough treatment of irresponsible patients inthe violent ward. 

At once I determined to conduct a thorough investigation of theinstitution. In order that I might have proof that my intended actionwas deliberate, my first move was to tell one or two fellow-patientsthat I should soon transgress some rule in such a way as to necessitatemy removal to the violent ward. At first I thought of breaking a fewpanes of glass; but my purpose was accomplished in another way--and, indeed, sooner than I had anticipated. My conservator, in my presence, had told the assistant physician that the doctors could permit me totelephone him whenever they should see fit. It was rather with the wishto test the unfriendly physician than to satisfy any desire to speakwith my conservator that one morning I asked permission to call up thelatter. That very morning I had received a letter from him. This thedoctor knew, for I showed him the letter--but not its contents. It wason the letter that I based my demand, though in it my brother did noteven intimate that he wished to speak to me. The doctor, however, hadno way of knowing that my statement was not true. To deny my requestwas simply one of his ill-advised whims, and his refusal was given withcustomary curtness and contempt. I met his refusal in kind, andpresented him with a trenchant critique of his character. 

He said, "Unless you stop talking in that way I shall have youtransferred to the Fourth Ward. " (This was the violent ward. )

"Put me where you please, " was my reply. "I'll put you in the gutterbefore I get through with you. "

With that the doctor made good his threat, and the attendant escortedme to the violent ward--a willing, in fact, eager prisoner. 

The ward in which I was now placed (September 13th, 1902) was furnishedin the plainest manner. The floors were of hard wood and the walls werebare. Except when at meals or out of doors taking their accustomedexercise, the patients usually lounged about in one large room, inwhich heavy benches were used, it being thought that in the hands ofviolent patients, chairs might become a menace to others. In the diningroom, however, there were chairs of a substantial type, for patientsseldom run amuck at meal time. Nevertheless, one of these dining-roomchairs soon acquired a history. 

As my banishment had come on short notice, I had failed to providemyself with many things I now desired. My first request was that I besupplied with stationery. The attendants, acting no doubt on thedoctor's orders, refused to grant my request; nor would they give me alead pencil--which, luckily, I did not need, for I happened to haveone. Despite their refusal I managed to get some scraps of paper, onwhich I was soon busily engaged in writing notes to those in authority. Some of these (as I learned later) were delivered, but no attention waspaid to them. No doctor came near me until evening, when the one whohad banished me made his regular round of inspection. When he appeared, the interrupted conversation of the morning was resumed--that is, byme--and in a similar vein. I again asked leave to telephone myconservator. The doctor again refused, and, of course, again I told himwhat I thought of him. 

My imprisonment pleased me. I was where I most wished to be, and Ibusied myself investigating conditions and making mental notes. As theassistant physician could grant favors to the attendants, and hadauthority to discharge them, they did his bidding and continued torefuse most of my requests. In spite of their unfriendly attitude, however, I did manage to persuade the supervisor, a kindly man, wellalong in years, to deliver a note to the steward. In it I asked him tocome at once, as I wished to talk with him. The steward, whom I lookedupon as a friend, returned no answer and made no visit. I supposed he, too, had purposely ignored me. As I learned afterwards, both he and thesuperintendent were absent, else perhaps I should have been treated ina less high-handed manner by the assistant physician, who was notabsent. 

The next morning, after a renewal of my request and a repeated refusal, I asked the doctor to send me the "Book of Psalms" which I had left inmy former room. With this request he complied, believing, perhaps, thatsome religion would at least do me no harm. I probably read my favoritepsalm, the 45th; but most of my time I spent writing, on the flyleaves, psalms of my own. And if the value of a psalm is to be measured by theintensity of feeling portrayed, my compositions of that day rightlybelonged beside the writings of David. My psalms were indited to thosein authority at the hospital, and later in the day the supervisor--whoproved himself a friend on many occasions--took the book toheadquarters. 

The assistant physician, who had mistaken my malevolent tongue for aviolent mind, had placed me in an exile which precluded my attendingthe service which was held in the chapel that Sunday afternoon. Timewhich might better have been spent in church I therefore spent inperfecting a somewhat ingenious scheme for getting in touch with thesteward. That evening, when the doctor again appeared, I approached himin a friendly way and politely repeated my request. He again refused togrant it. With an air of resignation I said, "Well, as it seems uselessto argue the point with you and as the notes sent to others have thusfar been ignored, I should like, with your kind permission, to kick ahole in your damned old building and to-morrow present myself to thesteward in his office. "

"Kick away!" he said with a sneer. He then entered an adjoining ward, where he remained for about ten minutes. 

If you will draw in your mind, or on paper, a letter "L, " and let thevertical part represent a room forty feet in length, and the horizontalpart one of twenty, and if you will then picture me as standing in adoorway at the intersection of these two lines--the door to the diningroom--and the doctor behind another door at the top of theperpendicular, forty feet away, you will have represented graphicallythe opposing armies just prior to the first real assault in what provedto be a siege of seven weeks. 

The moment the doctor re-entered the ward, as he had to do to return tothe office, I disappeared through my door--into the dining room. I thenwalked the length of that room and picked up one of the heavy woodenchairs, selected for my purpose while the doctor and his tame chargeswere at church. Using the chair as a battering-ram, without malice--joybeing in my heart--I deliberately thrust two of its legs through anupper and a lower pane of a four-paned plate glass window. The onlymiscalculation I made was in failing to place myself directly in frontof that window, and at a proper distance, so that I might have brokenevery one of the four panes. This was a source of regret to me, for Iwas always loath to leave a well-thought-out piece of work unfinished. 

The crash of shattered and falling glass startled every one but me. Especially did it frighten one patient who happened to be in the diningroom at the time. He fled. The doctor and the attendant who were in theadjoining room could not see me, or know what the trouble was; but theylost no time in finding out. Like the proverbial cold-blooded murdererwho stands over his victim, weapon in hand, calmly awaiting arrest, Istood my ground, and, with a fair degree of composure, awaited theonrush of doctor and attendant. They soon had me in hand. Each takingan arm, they marched me to my room. This took not more than half aminute, but the time was not so short as to prevent my deliveringmyself of one more thumb-nail characterization of the doctor. Myinability to recall that delineation, verbatim, entails no loss onliterature. But one remark made as the doctor seized hold of me wasapt, though not impromptu. "Well, doctor, " I said, "knowing you to be atruthful man, I just took you at your word. "

Senseless as this act appears it was the result of logical thinking. The steward had entire charge of the building and ordered all necessaryrepairs. It was he whom I desired above all others to see, and Ireasoned that the breaking of several dollars' worth of plate glass(for which later, to my surprise, I had to pay) would compel hisattention on grounds of economy, if not those of the friendly interestwhich I now believed he had abandoned. Early the next morning, as I hadhoped, the steward appeared. He approached me in a friendly way (as hadbeen his wont) and I met him in a like manner. "I wish you would leavea little bit of the building, " he said good-naturedly. 

"I will leave it all, and gladly, if you will pay some attention to mymessages, " was my rejoinder. 

"Had I not been out of town, " he replied, "I would have come to see yousooner. " And this honest explanation I accepted. 

I made known to the steward the assistant physician's behavior inbalking my desire to telephone my conservator. He agreed to place thematter before the superintendent, who had that morning returned. Asproof of gratitude, I promised to suspend hostilities until I had had atalk with the superintendent. I made it quite plain, however, thatshould he fail to keep his word, I would further facilitate theventilation of the violent ward. My faith in mankind was not yet whollyrestored. 

XV

A few hours later, without having witnessed anything of particularsignificance, except as it befell myself, I was transferred to my oldward. The superintendent, who had ordered this rehabilitation, soonappeared, and he and I had a satisfactory talk. He gave me tounderstand that he himself would in future look after my case, as herealized that his assistant lacked the requisite tact and judgment tocope with one of my temperament--and with that, my desire to telephonemy conservator vanished. 

Now no physician would like to have his wings clipped by a patient, even indirectly, and without doubt the man's pride was piqued as hisincompetence was thus made plain. Thereafter, when he passed throughthe ward, he and I had frequent tilts. Not only did I lose noopportunity to belittle him in the presence of attendants and patients, but I even created such opportunities; so that before long he tried toavoid me whenever possible. But it seldom was possible. One of my chiefamusements consisted in what were really one-sided interviews with him. Occasionally he was so unwise as to stand his ground for severalminutes, and his arguments on such occasions served only to keep mytemper at a vituperative heat. If there were any epithets which Ifailed to apply to him during the succeeding weeks of my associationwith him, they must have been coined since. The uncanny admixture ofsanity displayed by me, despite my insane condition, was something thisdoctor could not comprehend. Remarks of mine, which he should havediscounted or ignored, rankled as the insults of a sane and free manwould have done. And his blunt and indiscriminate refusal of most of myrequests prolonged my period of mental excitement. 

After my return to my old ward I remained there for a period of threeweeks. At that time I was a very self-centred individual. My large andvaried assortment of delusions of grandeur made everything seempossible. There were few problems I hesitated to attack. Withsufficient provocation I even attacked attendants--problems inthemselves; but such fights as I subsequently engaged in were fightseither for my own rights or the rights of others. Though for a while Igot along fairly well with the attendants and as well as could beexpected with the assistant physician, it soon became evident thatthese men felt that to know me more was to love me less. Owing to theirlack of capacity for the work required of them, I was able to causethem endless annoyance. Many times a day I would tell the attendantswhat to do and what not to do, and tell them what I should do if myrequests, suggestions, or orders were not immediately complied with. For over one year they had seen me in a passive, almost speechlesscondition, and they were, therefore, unable to understand my unwontedaggressions. The threat that I would chastise them for any disobedienceof my orders they looked upon as a huge joke. So it was, until one dayI incontinently cracked that joke against the head of one of them. 

It began in this wise: Early in October there was placed in the ward aman whose abnormality for the most part consisted of an inordinatethirst for liquor. He was over fifty years of age, well educated, traveled, refined and of an artistic temperament. Congenial companionswere scarce where I was, and he and I were soon drawn together infriendship. This man had been trapped into the institution by thesubterfuge of relatives. As is common in such cases, many "white" lieshad been resorted to in order to save trouble for all concerned--thatis, all except the patient. To be taken without notice from one's homeand by a deceitful, though under the circumstances perhaps justifiablestrategy, placed in a ward with fifteen other men, all exhibitinginsanity in varying degrees, is as heartbreaking an ordeal as one canwell imagine. Yet such was this man's experience. A free man one day, he found himself deprived of his liberty the next, and branded withwhat he considered an unbearable disgrace. 

Mr. Blank (as I shall call him) was completely unnerved. As he was astranger in what I well knew was a strange world, I took him under myprotecting and commodious wing. I did all I could to cheer him up, andtried to secure for him that consideration which to me seemedindispensable to his well-being. Patients in his condition had neverbeen forced, when taking their exercise, to walk about the grounds withthe other patients. At no time during the preceding fourteen months hadI seen a newly committed patient forced to exercise against his will. One who objected was invariably left in the ward, or his refusal wasreported to the doctor before further action was taken. No sane personneed stretch his imagination in order to realize how humiliating itwould be for this man to walk with a crowd which greatly resembled a"chain gang. " Two by two, under guard, these hostages of misfortune getthe only long walks their restricted liberty allows them. After the oneor two occasions when this man did walk with the gang, I was impressedwith the not wholly unreasonable thought that the physical exercise inno way compensated for the mental distress which the sense ofhumiliation and disgrace caused him to suffer. It was delightfully easyfor me to interfere in his behalf; and when he came to my room, wroughtup over the prospect of another such humiliation and weeping bitterly, I assured him that he should take his exercise that day when I did. Myfirst move to accomplish the desired result was to approach, in afriendly way, the attendant in charge, and ask him to permit my newfriend to walk about the grounds with me when next I went. He said hewould do nothing of the kind--that he intended to take this man when hetook the others. I said, "For over a year I have been in this ward andso have you, and I have never yet seen a man in Mr. Blank's conditionforced to go out of doors. "

"It makes no difference whether you have or not, " said the attendant, "he's going. "

"Will you ask the doctor whether Mr. Blank can or cannot walk about thegrounds with my special attendant when I go?"

"No, I won't. Furthermore, it's none of your business. "

"If you resort to physical force and attempt to take Mr. Blank with theother patients, you'll wish you hadn't, " I said, as I walked away. 

At this threat the fellow scornfully laughed. To him it meant nothing. He believed I could fight only with my tongue, and I confess that Imyself was in doubt as to my power of fighting otherwise. 

Returning to my room, where Mr. Blank was in waiting, I supported hisdrooping courage and again assured him that he should be spared thedreaded ordeal. I ordered him to go to a certain room at the fartherend of the hall and there await developments--so that, should there bea fight, the line of battle might be a long one. He obeyed. In a minuteor two the attendant was headed for that room. I followed closely athis heels, still threatening to attack him if he dared so much as lay afinger on my friend. Though I was not then aware of it, I was followedby another patient, a man who, though a mental case, had his lucidintervals and always a loyal heart. He seemed to realize that troublewas brewing and that very likely I should need help. Once in the room, the war of words was renewed, my sensitive and unnerved friend standingby and anxiously looking on. 

"I warn you once more, " I said, "if you touch Mr. Blank, I'll punch youso hard you'll wish you hadn't. " The attendant's answer was animmediate attempt to eject Mr. Blank from the room by force. Nothingcould be more automatic than my action at that time; indeed, to thisday I do not remember performing the act itself. What I remember is thedetermination to perform it and the subsequent evidence of its havingbeen performed. At all events I had already made up my mind to do acertain thing if the attendant did a certain thing. He did the one andI did the other. Almost before he had touched Mr. Blank's person, myright fist struck him with great force in, on, or about the left eye. It was then that I became the object of the attendant's attention--butnot his undivided attention--for as he was choking me, my unsuspectedally stepped up and paid the attendant a sincere compliment by likewisechoking him. In the scuffle I was forced to the floor. The attendanthad a grip upon my throat. My wardmate had a double grip upon theattendant's throat. Thus was formed a chain with a weak, if not amissing, link in the middle. Picture, if you will, an insane man beingchoked by a supposedly sane one, and he in turn being choked by atemporarily sane insane friend of the assaulted one, and you will haveNemesis as nearly in a nutshell as any mere rhetorician has yet beenable to put her. 

That I was well choked is proved by the fact that my throat bore thecrescent-shaped mark of my assailant's thumb nail. And I am inclined tobelieve that my rescuer, who was a very powerful man, made a decidedimpression on my assailant's throat. Had not the superintendentopportunely appeared at that moment, the man might soon have lapsedinto unconsciousness, for I am sure my ally would never have releasedhim until he had released me. The moment the attendant with his onegood eye caught sight of the superintendent the scrimmage ended. Thiswas but natural, for it is against the code of honor generallyobtaining among attendants, that one should so far forget himself as toabuse patients in the presence of sane and competent witnesses. 

The choking which I had just received served only to limber my vocalcords. I told the doctor all about the preliminary verbal skirmish andthe needlessness of the fight. The superintendent had graduated at Yaleover fifty years prior to my own graduation, and because of this commoninterest and his consummate tact we got along well together. But hisfriendly interest did not keep him from speaking his mind uponoccasion, as his words at this time proved. "You don't know, " he said, "how it grieves me to see you--a Yale man--act so like a rowdy. "

"If fighting for the rights of a much older man, unable to protect hisown interests, is the act of a rowdy, I'm quite willing to be thoughtone, " was my reply. 

Need I add that the attendant did not take Mr. Blank for a walk thatmorning? Nor, so far as I know, was the latter ever forced again totake his exercise against his will. 

XVI

The superintendent now realized that I was altogether too energetic ahumanitarian to remain in a ward with so many other patients. Myactions had a demoralizing effect upon them; so I was forthwithtransferred to a private room, one of two situated in a small one-storyannex. These new quarters were rather attractive, not unlike a bachelorapartment. 

As there was no one here with whom I could interfere I got alongwithout making any disturbance--that is, so long as I had a certainspecial attendant, a man suited to my temperament. He who was nowplaced over me understood human nature. He never resorted to force ifargument failed to move me; and trifling transgressions, which wouldhave led to a fight had he behaved like a typical attendant, he eitherignored or privately reported to the doctor. For the whole period of myintense excitement there were certain persons who could control me, andcertain others whose presence threw me into a state bordering on rage, and frequently into passions which led to distressing results. 

Unfortunately for me, my good attendant soon left the institution toaccept a more attractive business offer. He left without even agood-bye to me. Nothing proves more conclusively how important to mewould have been his retention than this abrupt leave-taking which thedoctor had evidently ordered, thinking perhaps that the prospect ofsuch a change would excite me. However, I caused no trouble when thesubstitution was made, though I did dislike having placed over me a manwith whom I had previously had misunderstandings. He was about my ownage and it was by no means so easy to take orders from him as it hadbeen to obey his predecessor, who was considerably older than myself. Then, too, this younger attendant disliked me because of the manydisagreeable things I had said to him while we were together in ageneral ward. He weighed about one hundred and ninety pounds to my onehundred and thirty, and had evidently been selected to attend mebecause of his great strength. A choice based on mental rather thanphysical considerations would have been wiser. The superintendent, because of his advanced age and ill health, had been obliged again toplace my case in the hands of the assistant physician, and the lattergave this new attendant certain orders. What I was to be permitted todo, and what not, was carefully specified. These orders, many of themunreasonable, were carried out to the letter. For this I cannot justlyblame the attendant. The doctor had deprived him of the right toexercise what judgment he had. 

At this period I required but little sleep. I usually spent part of thenight drawing; for it was in September, 1902, while I was at the heightof my wave of self-centred confidence, that I decided that I wasdestined to become a writer of books--or at least of one book; and nowI thought I might as well be an artist, too, and illustrate my ownworks. In school I had never cared for drawing; nor at college either. But now my awakened artistic impulse was irresistible. My firstself-imposed lesson was a free-hand copy of an illustration on a coverof _Life_. Considering the circumstances, that first drawing wascreditable, though I cannot now prove the assertion; for inconsiderateattendants destroyed it, with many more of my drawings and manuscripts. From the very moment I completed that first drawing, honors weredivided between my literary and artistic impulses; and a letter which, in due time, I felt impelled to write to the Governor of the State, incorporated art with literature. I wrote and read several hours a dayand I spent as many more in drawing. But the assistant physician, instead of making it easy for me to rid myself of an excess of energyalong literary and artistic lines, balked me at every turn, and seemedto delight in displaying as little interest as possible in my newlyawakened ambitions. When everything should have been done to calm myabnormally active mind, a studied indifference and failure to protectmy interests kept me in a state of exasperation. 

But circumstances now arose which brought about the untimelystifling--I might better say strangulation--of my artistic impulses. The doctors were led--unwisely, I believe--to decide that absoluteseclusion was the only thing that would calm my over-active brain. Inconsequence, all writing and drawing materials and all books were takenfrom me. And from October 18th until the first of the followingJanuary, except for one fortnight, I was confined in one or anothersmall, barred room, hardly better than a cell in a prison and in someinstances far worse. 

A corn cob was the determining factor at this crisis. Seeing in myselfan embryonic Raphael, I had a habit of preserving all kinds of odds andends as souvenirs of my development. These, I believed, sanctified bymy Midas-like touch, would one day be of great value. If the public cantolerate, as it does, thousands of souvenir hunters, surely one with asick mind should be indulged in the whim for collecting such souvenirsas come within his reach. Among the odds and ends that I had gatheredwere several corn cobs. These I intended to gild and some day makeuseful by attaching to them small thermometers. But on the morning ofOctober 18th, the young man in charge of me, finding the corn cobs, forthwith informed me that he would throw them away. I as promptlyinformed him that any such action on his part would lead to a fight. And so it did. 

When this fight began, there were two attendants at hand. I fought themboth to a standstill, and told them I should continue to fight untilthe assistant physician came to the ward. Thereupon, my specialattendant, realizing that I meant what I said, held me while the otherwent for assistance. He soon returned, not with the assistantphysician, but with a third attendant, and the fight was renewed. Theone who had acted as messenger, being of finer fibre than the othertwo, stood at a safe distance. It was, of course, against the rules ofthe institution for an attendant to strike a patient, and, as I wassane enough to report with a fair chance of belief any forbidden blows, each captor had to content himself with holding me by an arm andattempting to choke me into submission. However, I was able to preventthem from getting a good grip on my throat, and for almost ten minutesI continued to fight, telling them all the time that I would not stopuntil a doctor should come. An assistant physician, but not the one incharge of my case, finally appeared. He gave orders that I be placed inthe violent ward, which adjoined the private apartment I was thenoccupying, and no time was lost in locking me in a small room in thatward. 

Friends have said to me: "Well, what is to be done when a patient runsamuck?" The best answer I can make is: "Do nothing to make him runamuck. " Psychiatrists have since told me that had I had an attendantwith the wisdom and ability to humor me and permit me to keep mypriceless corn cobs, the fight in question, and the worse events thatfollowed, would probably not have occurred--not that day, nor ever, hadI at all times been properly treated by those in charge of me. 

So again I found myself in the violent ward--but this time not becauseof any desire to investigate it. Art and literature being now moreengrossing than my plans for reform, I became, in truth, an unwillingoccupant of a room and a ward devoid of even a suggestion of theaesthetic. The room itself was clean, and under other circumstancesmight have been cheerful. It was twelve feet long, seven feet wide, andtwelve high. A cluster of incandescent lights, enclosed in asemi-spherical glass globe, was attached to the ceiling. The walls werebare and plainly wainscotted, and one large window, barred outside, gave light. At one side of the door was an opening a foot square with adoor of its own which could be unlocked only from without, and throughwhich food could be passed to a supposedly dangerous patient. Asidefrom a single bed, the legs of which were screwed to the floor, theroom had no furniture. 

The attendant, before locking me in, searched me and took from meseveral lead pencils; but the stub of one escaped his vigilance. Naturally, to be taken from a handsomely furnished apartment and thrustinto such a bare and unattractive room as this caused my already heatedblood to approach the boiling point. Consequently, my first act was tosend a note to the physician who regularly had charge of my case, requesting him to visit me as soon as he should arrive, and I haveevery reason to believe that the note was delivered. Whether or notthis was so, a report of the morning's fight and my transfer must havereached him by some one of several witnesses. While waiting for ananswer, I busied myself writing, and as I had no stationery I wrote onthe walls. Beginning as high as I could reach, I wrote in columns, eachabout three feet wide. Soon the pencil became dull. But dull pencilsare easily sharpened on the whetstone of wit. Stifling acquired traits, I permitted myself to revert momentarily to a primitive expedient. Ignawed the wood quite from the pencil, leaving only the graphite core. With a bit of graphite a hand guided by the unerring insolence ofelation may artistically damn all men and things. That I am inclined tobelieve I did; and I question whether Raphael or Michael Angelo--uponwhom I then looked as mere predecessors--ever put more feeling persquare foot into their mural masterpieces. Every little while, as if topunctuate my composition, and in an endeavor to get attention, Iviciously kicked the door. 

This first fight of the day occurred about 8 A. M. For the three hoursfollowing I was left to thrash about the room and work myself into afrenzy. I made up my mind to compel attention. A month earlier, shattered glass had enabled me to accomplish a certain sane purpose. Again this day it served me. The opalescent half-globe on the ceilingseemed to be the most vulnerable point for attack. How to reach andsmash it was the next question--and soon answered. Taking off my shoes, I threw one with great force at my glass target and succeeded instriking it a destructive blow. 

The attendants charged upon my room. Their entrance was momentarilydelayed by the door which stuck fast. I was standing near it, and whenit gave way, its edge struck me on the forehead with force enough tohave fractured my skull had it struck a weaker part. Once in the room, the two attendants threw me on the bed and one choked me so severelythat I could feel my eyes starting from their sockets. The attendantsthen put the room in order; removed the glass--that is, all except onesmall and apparently innocent, but as the event proved well-nigh fatal, piece--took my shoes and again locked me in my room--not forgetting, however, to curse me well for making them work for their living. 

When the assistant physician finally appeared, I met him with a blastof invective which, in view of the events which quickly followed, musthave blown out whatever spark of kindly feeling toward me he may everhave had. I demanded that he permit me to send word to my conservatorasking him to come at once and look after my interests, for I was beingunfairly treated. I also demanded that he request the superintendent tovisit me at once, as I intended to have nothing more to do with theassistant physicians or attendants who were neglecting and abusing me. He granted neither demand. 

The bit of glass which the attendants had overlooked was about the sizeof my thumb nail. If I remember rightly, it was not a part of thebroken globe. It was a piece that had probably been hidden by a formeroccupant, in a corner of the square opening at the side of the door. Atall events, if the pen is the tongue of a ready writer, so may a pieceof glass be, under given conditions. As the thought I had in mindseemed an immortal one I decided to etch, rather than write withfugitive graphite. On the topmost panel of the door, which a fewminutes before had dealt me so vicious a blow, I scratched a seven-wordsentiment--sincere, if not classic: "God bless our Home, which isHell. "

The violent exercise of the morning had given me a good appetite and Iate my dinner with relish, though with some difficulty, for the chokinghad lamed my throat. On serving this dinner, the attendants again leftme to my own devices. The early part of the afternoon I spent in vainendeavors to summon them and induce them to take notes to thesuperintendent and his assistant. They continued to ignore me. Bysundown the furious excitement of the morning had given place to whatmight be called a deliberative excitement, which, if anything, was moreeffective. It was but a few days earlier that I had discussed my casewith the assistant physician and told him all about the suicidalimpulse which had been so strong during my entire period of depression. I now reasoned that a seeming attempt at suicide, a "fake" suicide, would frighten the attendants into calling this doctor whose presence Inow desired--and desired the more because of his studied indifference. No man that ever lived, loved life more than I did on that day, and themock tragedy which I successfully staged about dusk was, I believe, asgood a farce as was ever perpetrated. If I had any one ambition it wasto live long enough to regain my freedom and put behind prison barsthis doctor and his burly henchmen. To compel attention that was myobject. 

At that season the sun set by half-past five and supper was usuallyserved about that time. So dark was my room then that objects in itcould scarcely be discerned. About a quarter of an hour before theattendant was due to appear with my evening meal I made mypreparations. That the stage setting might be in keeping with the plot, I tore up such papers as I had with me, and also destroyed otherarticles in the room--as one might in a frenzy; and to complete theillusion of desperation, deliberately broke my watch. I then took offmy suspenders, and tying one end to the head of the bedstead, made anoose of the other. This I adjusted comfortably about my throat. At thecrucial moment I placed my pillow on the floor beside the head of thebed and sat on it--for this was to be an easy death. I then bore justenough weight on the improvised noose to give all a plausible look. Anda last lifelike (or rather deathlike) touch I added by gurgling as ininfancy's happy days. 

No schoolboy ever enjoyed a prank more than I enjoyed this one. Soon Iheard the step of the attendant, bringing my supper. When he opened thedoor, he had no idea that anything unusual was happening within. Comingas he did from a well-lighted room into one that was dark, it took himseveral seconds to grasp the situation--and then he failed really totake it in, for he at once supposed me to be in a semi-unconsciouscondition from strangulation. In a state of great excitement this bruteof the morning called to his brute partner and I was soon released fromwhat was nothing more than an amusing position, though they believed itone of torture or death. The vile curses with which they had addressedme in the morning were now silenced. They spoke kindly and expressedregret that I should have seen fit to resort to such an act. Theirsympathy was as genuine as such men can feel, but a poor kind at best, for it was undoubtedly excited by the thought of what might be theconsequences to them of their own neglect. While this unwonted stressof emotion threatened their peace of mind, I continued to play my part, pretending to be all but unconscious. 

Shortly after my rescue from a very living death, the attendants pickedme up and carried my limp body and laughing soul to an adjoining room, where I was tenderly placed upon a bed. I seemed gradually to revive. 

"What did you do it for?" asked one. 

"What's the use of living in a place like this, to be abused as I'vebeen to-day?" I asked. "You and the doctor ignore me and all myrequests. Even a cup of water between meals is denied me, and otherrequests which you have no right to refuse. Had I killed myself, bothof you would have been discharged. And if my relatives and friends hadever found out how you had abused and neglected me, it is likely youwould have been arrested and prosecuted. "

Word had already been sent to the physician. He hurried to the ward, his almost breathless condition showing how my farce had been mistakenfor a real tragedy. The moment he entered I abandoned the part I hadbeen playing. 

"Now that I have you three brutes where I want you, I'll tell you a fewthings you don't know, " I said. "You probably think I've just tried tokill myself. It was simply a ruse to make you give me some attention. When I make threats and tell you that my one object in life is to livelong enough to regain my freedom and lay bare the abuses which aboundin places like this, you simply laugh at me, don't you? But the factis, that's my ambition, and if you knew anything at all, you'd knowthat abuse won't drive me to suicide. You can continue to abuse me anddeprive me of my rights, and keep me in exile from relatives andfriends, but the time will come when I'll make you sweat for all this. I'll put you in prison where you belong. Or if I fail to do that, I canat least bring about your discharge from this institution. What's more, I will. "

The doctor and attendants took my threats with characteristicnonchalance. Such threats, often enough heard in such places, makelittle or no impression, for they are seldom made good. When I madethese threats, I really wished to put these men in prison. To-day Ihave no such desire, for were they not victims of the same vicioussystem of treatment to which I was subjected? In every institutionwhere the discredited principles of "Restraint" are used or tolerated, the very atmosphere is brutalizing. Place a bludgeon in the hand of anyman, with instructions to use it when necessary, and the gentler andmore humane methods of persuasion will naturally be forgotten ordeliberately abandoned. 

Throughout my period of elation, especially the first months of it whenI was doing the work of several normal men, I required an increasedamount of fuel to generate the abnormal energy my activity demanded. Ihad a voracious appetite, and I insisted that the attendant give me thesupper he was about to serve when he discovered me in the simulatedthroes of death. At first he refused, but finally relented and broughtme a cup of tea and some buttered bread. Because of the severe chokingadministered earlier in the day it was with difficulty that I swallowedany food. I _had_ to eat slowly. The attendant, however, ordered me tohurry, and threatened otherwise to take what little supper I had. Itold him that I thought he would not--that I was entitled to my supperand intended to eat it with as much comfort as possible. This nettledhim, and by a sudden and unexpected move he managed to take from me allbut a crust of bread. Even that he tried to snatch. I resisted and thethird fight of the day was soon on--and that within five minutes of thetime the doctor had left the ward. I was seated on the bed. Theattendant, true to his vicious instincts, grasped my throat and chokedme with the full power of a hand accustomed to that unmanly work. Hispartner, in the meantime, had rendered me helpless by holding me flaton my back while the attacking party choked me into breathlesssubmission. The first fight of the day was caused by a corn cob; thisof the evening by a crust of bread. 

Were I to close the record of events of that October day with anaccount of the assault just described, few, if any, would imagine thatI had failed to mention all the abuse to which I was that daysubjected. The fact is that not the half has been told. As the handlingof me within the twenty-four hours typifies the worst, but, nevertheless, the not unusual treatment of many patients in a likecondition, I feel constrained to describe minutely the torture whichwas my portion that night. 

There are several methods of restraint in use to this day in variousinstitutions, chief among them "mechanical restraint" and so-called"chemical restraint. " The former consists in the use of instruments ofrestraint, namely, strait-jackets or camisoles, muffs, straps, mittens, restraint or strong sheets, etc. --all of them, except on the rarest ofoccasions, instruments of neglect and torture. Chemical restraint(sometimes called medical restraint) consists in the use of temporarilyparalyzing drugs--hyoscine being the popular "dose. " By the use of suchdrugs a troublesome patient may be rendered unconscious and kept so forhours at a time. Indeed, very troublesome patients (especially whenattendants are scarce) are not infrequently kept in a stupefiedcondition for days, or even for weeks--but only in institutions wherethe welfare of the patients is lightly regarded. 

After the supper fight I was left alone in my room for about an hour. Then the assistant physician entered with three attendants, includingthe two who had figured in my farce. One carried a canvas contrivanceknown as a camisole. A camisole is a type of straitjacket; and a veryconvenient type it is for those who resort to such methods ofrestraint, for it enables them to deny the use of strait-jackets atall. A strait-jacket, indeed, is not a camisole, just as electrocutionis not hanging. 

A camisole, or, as I prefer to stigmatize it, a straitjacket, is reallya tight-fitting coat of heavy canvas, reaching from neck to waist, constructed, however, on no ordinary pattern. There is not a button onit. The sleeves are closed at the ends, and the jacket, having noopening in front, is adjusted and tightly laced behind. To the end ofeach blind sleeve is attached a strong cord. The cord on the rightsleeve is carried to the left of the body, and the cord on the leftsleeve is carried to the right of the body. Both are then drawn tightlybehind, thus bringing the arms of the victim into a folded positionacross his chest. These cords are then securely tied. 

When I planned my ruse of the afternoon, I knew perfectly that I shouldsoon find myself in a strait-jacket. The thought rather took my fancy, for I was resolved to know the inner workings of the violent ward. 

The piece of glass with which I had that morning written the mottoalready quoted, I had appropriated for a purpose. Knowing that I shouldsoon be put in the uncomfortable, but not necessarily intolerableembrace of a strait-jacket, my thought was that I might during thenight, in some way or other, use this piece of glass toadvantage--perhaps cut my way to a limited freedom. To make sure that Ishould retain possession of it, I placed it in my mouth and held itsnugly against my cheek. Its presence there did not interfere with myspeech; nor did it invite visual detection. But had I known as muchabout strait-jackets and their adjustment as I learned later, I shouldhave resorted to no such futile expedient. 

After many nights of torture, this jacket, at my urgent and repeatedrequest, was finally adjusted in such manner that, had it been soadjusted at first, I need not have suffered any _torture_ at all. ThisI knew at the time, for I had not failed to discuss the matter with apatient who on several occasions had been restrained in this samejacket. 

On this occasion the element of personal spite entered into theassistant physician's treatment of me. The man's personality wasapparently dual. His "Jekyll" personality was the one most in evidence, but it was the "Hyde" personality that seemed to control his actionswhen a crisis arose. It was "Doctor Jekyll" who approached my room thatnight, accompanied by the attendants. The moment he entered my room hebecame "Mr. Hyde. " He was, indeed, no longer a doctor, or the semblanceof one. His first move was to take the straitjacket in his own handsand order me to stand. Knowing that those in authority really believedI had that day attempted to kill myself, I found no fault with theirwish to put me in restraint; but I did object to having this done byJekyll-Hyde. Though a straitjacket should always be adjusted by thephysician in charge, I knew that as a matter of fact the disagreeableduty was invariably assigned to the attendants. ConsequentlyJekyll-Hyde's eagerness to assume an obligation he usually shirked gaveme the feeling that his motives were spiteful. For that reason Ipreferred to entrust myself to the uncertain mercies of a regularattendant; and I said so, but in vain. "If you will keep your mouthshut, I'll be able to do this job quicker, " said Jekyll-Hyde. 

"I'll shut my mouth as soon as you get out of this room and notbefore, " I remarked. Nor did I. My abusive language was, of course, interlarded with the inevitable epithets. The more I talked, the morevindictive he became. He said nothing, but, unhappily for me, heexpressed his pent-up feelings in something more effectual than words. After he had laced the jacket, and drawn my arms across my chest sosnugly that I could not move them a fraction of an inch, I asked him toloosen the strait-jacket enough to enable me at least to take a fullbreath. I also requested him to give me a chance to adjust my fingers, which had been caught in an unnatural and uncomfortable position. 

"If you will keep still a minute, I will, " said Jekyll-Hyde. I obeyed, and willingly too, for I did not care to suffer more than wasnecessary. Instead of loosening the appliance as agreed, this doctor, now livid with rage, drew the cords in such a way that I found myselfmore securely and cruelly held than before. This breach of faith threwme into a frenzy. Though it was because his continued presence servedto increase my excitement that Jekyll-Hyde at last withdrew, it will beobserved that he did not do so until he had satisfied an unmanly desirewhich an apparently lurking hatred had engendered. The attendants soonwithdrew and locked me up for the night. 

No incidents of my life have ever impressed themselves more indeliblyon my memory than those of my first night in a strait-jacket. Withinone hour of the time I was placed in it I was suffering pain as intenseas any I ever endured, and before the night had passed it had becomealmost unbearable. My right hand was so held that the tip of one of myfingers was all but cut by the nail of another, and soon knifelikepains began to shoot through my right arm as far as the shoulder. Afterfour or five hours the excess of pain rendered me partially insensibleto it. But for fifteen consecutive hours I remained in that instrumentof torture; and not until the twelfth hour, about breakfast time thenext morning, did an attendant so much as loosen a cord. 

During the first seven or eight hours, excruciating pains racked notonly my arms, but half of my body. Though I cried and moaned, in fact, screamed so loudly that the attendants must have heard me, littleattention was paid to me--possibly because of orders from Mr. Hydeafter he had again assumed the role of Doctor Jekyll. I even begged theattendants to loosen the jacket enough to ease me a little. This theyrefused to do, and they even seemed to enjoy being in a position to addtheir considerable mite to my torture. 

Before midnight I really believed that I should be unable to endure thetorture and retain my reason. A peculiar pricking sensation which I nowfelt in my brain, a sensation exactly like that of June, 1900, led meto believe that I might again be thrown out of touch with the world Ihad so lately regained. Realizing the awfulness of that fate, Iredoubled my efforts to effect my rescue. Shortly after midnight I didsucceed in gaining the attention of the night watch. Upon entering myroom he found me flat on the floor. I had fallen from the bed andperforce remained absolutely helpless where I lay. I could not so muchas lift my head. This, however, was not the fault of the straitjacket. It was because I could not control the muscles of my neck which thatday had been so mauled. I could scarcely swallow the water the nightwatch was good enough to give me. He was not a bad sort; yet even herefused to let out the cords of the strait-jacket. As he seemedsympathetic, I can attribute his refusal to nothing but strict ordersissued by the doctor. 

It will be recalled that I placed a piece of glass in my mouth beforethe strait-jacket was adjusted. At midnight the glass was still there. After the refusal of the night watch, I said to him: "Then I want youto go to Doctor Jekyll" (I, of course, called him by his right name;but to do so now would be to prove myself as brutal as Mr. Hydehimself). "Tell him to come here at once and loosen this jacket. Ican't endure the torture much longer. After fighting two years toregain my reason, I believe I'll lose it again. You have always treatedme kindly. For God's sake, get the doctor!"

"I can't leave the main building at this time, " the night watch said. (Jekyll-Hyde lived in a house about one-eighth of a mile distant, butwithin the hospital grounds. )

"Then will you take a message to the assistant physician who stayshere?" (A colleague of Jekyll-Hyde had apartments in the mainbuilding. )

"I'll do that, " he replied. 

"Tell him how I'm suffering. Ask him to please come here at once andease this strait-jacket. If he doesn't, I'll be as crazy by morning asI ever was. Also tell him I'll kill myself unless he comes, and I cando it, too. I have a piece of glass in this room and I know just whatI'll do with it. "

The night watch was as good as his word. He afterwards told me that hehad delivered my message. The doctor ignored it. He did not come nearme that night, nor the next day, nor did Jekyll-Hyde appear until hisusual round of inspection about eleven o'clock the next morning. 

"I understand that you have a piece of glass which you threatened touse for a suicidal purpose last night, " he said, when he appeared. 

"Yes, I have, and it's not your fault or the other doctor's that I amnot dead. Had I gone mad, in my frenzy I might have swallowed thatglass. "

"Where is it?" asked the doctor, incredulously. 

As my strait-jacket rendered me armless, I presented the glass toJekyll-Hyde on the tip of a tongue he had often heard, but never beforeseen. 

XVII

After fifteen interminable hours the strait-jacket was removed. Whereasjust prior to its putting on I had been in a vigorous enough conditionto offer stout resistance when wantonly assaulted, now, on coming outof it, I was helpless. When my arms were released from theirconstricted position, the pain was intense. Every joint had beenracked. I had no control over the fingers of either hand, and could nothave dressed myself had I been promised my freedom for doing so. 

For more than the following week I suffered as already described, though of course with gradually decreasing intensity as my racked bodybecame accustomed to the unnatural positions it was forced to take. This first experience occurred on the night of October 18th, 1902. Iwas subjected to the same unfair, unnecessary, and unscientific ordealfor twenty-one consecutive nights and parts of each of thecorresponding twenty-one days. On more than one occasion, indeed, theattendant placed me in the strait-jacket during the day for refusing toobey some trivial command. This, too, without an explicit order fromthe doctor in charge, though perhaps he acted under a general order. 

During most of this time I was held also in seclusion in a padded cell. A padded cell is a vile hole. The side walls are padded as high as aman can reach, as is also the inside of the door. One of the worstfeatures of such cells is the lack of ventilation, which deficiency ofcourse aggravates their general unsanitary condition. The cell which Iwas forced to occupy was practically without heat, and as winter wascoming on, I suffered intensely from the cold. Frequently it was socold I could see my breath. Though my canvas jacket served to protectpart of that body which it was at the same time racking, I was seldomcomfortably warm; for, once uncovered, my arms being pinioned, I had noway of rearranging the blankets. What little sleep I managed to get Itook lying on a hard mattress placed on the bare floor. The conditionof the mattress I found in the cell was such that I objected to itsfurther use, and the fact that another was supplied, at a time when fewof my requests were being granted, proves its disgusting condition. 

For this period of three weeks--from October 18th until November 8th, 1902, when I left this institution and was transferred to a statehospital--I was continuously either under lock and key (in the paddedcell or some other room) or under the eye of an attendant. Over halfthe time I was in the snug, but cruel embrace of a strait-jacket--aboutthree hundred hours in all. 

While being subjected to this terrific abuse I was held in exile. I wascut off from all direct and all _honest_ indirect communication with mylegally appointed conservator--my own brother--and also with all otherrelatives and friends. I was even cut off from satisfactorycommunication with the superintendent. I saw him but twice, and thenfor so short a time that I was unable to give him any convincing ideaof my plight. These interviews occurred on two Sundays that fell withinmy period of exile, for it was on Sunday that the superintendentusually made his weekly round of inspection. 

What chance had I of successfully pleading my case, while my pulpit wasa padded cell, and the congregation--with the exception of thesuperintendent--the very ones who had been abusing me? At such times mypent-up indignation poured itself forth in such a disconnected way thatmy protests were robbed of their right ring of truth. I was notincoherent in speech. I was simply voluble and digressive--a naturalincident of elation. Such notes as I managed to write on scraps ofpaper were presumably confiscated by Jekyll-Hyde. At all events, it wasnot until some months later that the superintendent was informed of mytreatment, when, at my request (though I was then elsewhere), theGovernor of the State discussed the subject with him. How I broughtabout that discussion while still virtually a prisoner in another placewill be narrated in due time. And not until several days after I hadleft this institution and had been placed in another, when for thefirst time in six weeks I saw my conservator, did _he_ learn of thetreatment to which I had been subjected. From his office in New Havenhe had telephoned several times to the assistant physician and inquiredabout my condition. Though Jekyll-Hyde did tell him that I was highlyexcited and difficult to control, he did not even hint that I was beingsubjected to any unusual restraint. Doctor Jekyll deceived everyone, and--as things turned out--deceived himself; for had he realized thenthat I should one day be able to do what I have since done, hisbrutality would surely have been held in check by his discretion. 

How helpless, how at the mercy of his keepers, a patient may be isfurther illustrated by the conduct of this same man. Once, during thethird week of my nights in a strait-jacket, I refused to take certainmedicine which an attendant offered me. For some time I had beenregularly taking this innocuous concoction without protest; but I nowdecided that, as the attendant refused most of my requests, I should nolonger comply with all of his. He did not argue the point with me. Hesimply reported my refusal to Doctor Jekyll. A few minutes later DoctorJekyll--or rather Mr. Hyde--accompanied by three attendants, enteredthe padded cell. I was robed for the night--in a strait-jacket. Mr. Hyde held in his hand a rubber tube. An attendant stood near with themedicine. For over two years, the common threat had been made that the"tube" would be resorted to if I refused medicine or food. I had begunto look upon it as a myth; but its presence in the hands of anoppressor now convinced me of its reality. I saw that the doctor andhis bravos meant business; and as I had already endured torture enough, I determined to make every concession this time and escape what seemedto be in store for me. 

"What are you going to do with that?" I asked, eyeing the tube. 

"The attendant says you refuse to take your medicine. We are going tomake you take it. "

"I'll take your old medicine, " was my reply. 

"You have had your chance. "

"All right, " I said. "Put that medicine into me any way you think best. But the time will come when you'll wish you hadn't. When that time doescome it won't be easy to prove that you had the right to force apatient to take medicine he had offered to take. I know something aboutthe ethics of your profession. You have no right to do anything to apatient except what's good for him. You know that. All you are tryingto do is to punish me, and I give you fair warning I'm going to camp onyour trail till you are not only discharged from this institution, butexpelled from the State Medical Society as well. You are a disgrace toyour profession, and that society will attend to your case fast enoughwhen certain members of it, who are friends of mine, hear about this. Furthermore, I shall report your conduct to the Governor of the State. He can take some action even if this is _not_ a state institution. Now, damn you, do your worst!"

Coming from one in my condition, this was rather straight talk. Thedoctor was visibly disconcerted. Had he not feared to lose caste withthe attendants who stood by, I think he would have given me anotherchance. But he had too much pride and too little manhood to recede froma false position already taken. I no longer resisted, even verbally, for I no longer wanted the doctor to desist. Though I did notanticipate the operation with pleasure, I was eager to take the man'smeasure. He and the attendants knew that I usually kept a trick or twoeven up the sleeve of a strait-jacket, so they took added precautions. I was flat on my back, with simply a mattress between me and the floor. One attendant held me. Another stood by with the medicine and with afunnel through which, as soon as Mr. Hyde should insert the tube in oneof my nostrils, the dose was to be poured. The third attendant stoodnear as a reserve force. Though the insertion of the tube, whenskilfully done, need not cause suffering, the operation as conducted byMr. Hyde was painful. Try as he would, he was unable to insert the tubeproperly, though in no way did I attempt to balk him. His embarrassmentseemed to rob his hand of whatever cunning it may have possessed. Afterwhat seemed ten minutes of bungling, though it was probably not halfthat, he gave up the attempt, but not until my nose had begun to bleed. He was plainly chagrined when he and his bravos retired. Intuitively Ifelt that they would soon return. That they did, armed with a newimplement of war. This time the doctor inserted between my teeth alarge wooden peg--to keep open a mouth which he usually wanted shut. Hethen forced down my throat a rubber tube, the attendant adjusted thefunnel, and the medicine, or rather liquid--for its medicinalproperties were without effect upon me--was poured in. 

As the scant reports sent to my conservator during these three weeksindicated that I was not improving as he had hoped, he made a specialtrip to the institution, to investigate in person. On his arrival hewas met by none other than Doctor Jekyll, who told him that I was in ahighly excited condition, which, he intimated, would be aggravated by apersonal interview. Now for a man to see his brother in such a plightas mine would be a distressing ordeal, and, though my conservator camewithin a few hundred feet of my prison cell, it naturally took but asuggestion to dissuade him from coming nearer. Doctor Jekyll did tellhim that it had been found necessary to place me in "restraint" and"seclusion" (the professional euphemisms for "strait-jacket, " "paddedcell, " etc. ), but no hint was given that I had been roughly handled. Doctor Jekyll's politic dissuasion was no doubt inspired by theknowledge that if ever I got within speaking distance of myconservator, nothing could prevent my giving him a circumstantialaccount of my sufferings--which account would have been corroborated bythe blackened eye I happened to have at the time. Indeed, in dealingwith my conservator the assistant physician showed a degree of tactwhich, had it been directed toward myself, would have sufficed to keepme tolerably comfortable. 

My conservator, though temporarily stayed, was not convinced. He feltthat I was not improving where I was, and he wisely decided that thebest course would be to have me transferred to a publicinstitution--the State Hospital. A few days later the judge who hadoriginally committed me ordered my transfer. Nothing was said to meabout the proposed change until the moment of departure, and then Icould scarcely believe my ears. In fact I did not believe my informant;for three weeks of abuse, together with my continued inability to getin touch with my conservator, had so shaken my reason that there was apartial recurrence of old delusions. I imagined myself on the way tothe State Prison, a few miles distant; and not until the train hadpassed the prison station did I believe that I was really on my way tothe State Hospital. 

XVIII

The State Hospital in which I now found myself, the third institutionto which I had been committed, though in many respects above theaverage of such institutions, was typical. It commanded a wide view ofa beautiful river and valley. This view I was permitted to enjoy--atfirst. Those in charge of the institution which I had just left did notgive my new custodians any detailed account of my case. Their reticencewas, I believe, occasioned by chagrin rather than charity. Tamers ofwild men have as much pride as tamers of wild animals (butunfortunately less skill) and to admit defeat is a thing not to bethought of. Though private institutions are prone to shift theirtroublesome cases to state institutions, there is too often adeplorable lack of sympathy and co-operation between them, which, inthis instance, however, proved fortunate for me. 

From October 18th until the early afternoon of November 8th, at theprivate institution, I had been classed as a raving maniac. The _name_I had brought upon myself by experimental conduct; the _condition_ hadbeen aggravated and perpetuated by the stupidity of those in authorityover me. And it was the same experimental conduct on my part, andstupidity on the part of my new custodians, which gave rise, two weekslater, to a similar situation. On Friday, November 7th, I was in astrait-jacket. On November 9th and 10th I was apparently as tractableas any of the twenty-three hundred patients in the StateHospital--conventionally clothed, mild mannered, and, seemingly, rightminded. On the 9th, the day after my arrival, I attended a churchservice held at the hospital. My behavior was not other than that ofthe most pious worshipper in the land. The next evening, with mostexemplary deportment, I attended one of the dances which are held everyfortnight during the winter. Had I been a raving maniac, suchactivities would have led to a disturbance; for maniacs, of necessity, disregard the conventions of both pious and polite society. Yet, oneither of these days, had I been in the private institution which I hadrecently left, I should have occupied a cell and worn a strait-jacket. 

The assistant superintendent, who received me upon my arrival, judgedme by my behavior. He assigned me to one of two connecting wards--thebest in the hospital--where about seventy patients led a fairlyagreeable life. Though no official account of my case had accompaniedmy transfer, the attendant who had acted as escort and guard hadalready given an attendant at the State Hospital a brief account of myrecent experiences. Yet when this report finally reached the ears ofthose in authority, they wisely decided not to transfer me to anotherward so long as I caused no trouble where I was. Finding myself at lastamong friends, I lost no time in asking for writing and drawingmaterials, which had so rudely been taken from me three weeks earlier. My request was promptly granted. The doctors and attendants treated mekindly and I again began to enjoy life. My desire to write and draw hadnot abated. However, I did not devote my entire time to those pursuits, for there were plenty of congenial companions about. I found pleasurein talking--more pleasure by far than others did in listening. In factI talked incessantly, and soon made known, in a general way, my schemefor reforming institutions, not only in my native State, but, ofcourse, throughout the world, for my grandiose perspective made theearth look small. The attendants had to bear the brunt of my loquacity, and they soon grew weary. One of them, wishing to induce silence, ventured to remark that I was so "crazy" I could not possibly keep mymouth shut for even one minute. It was a challenge which aroused myfighting spirit. 

"I'll show you that I can stop talking for a whole day, " I said. Helaughed, knowing that of all difficult tasks this which I had imposedupon myself was, for one in my condition, least likely ofaccomplishment. But I was as good as my boast. Until the same hour thenext day I refused to speak to anyone. I did not even reply to civilquestions; and, though my silence was deliberate and good-natured, theassistant physician seemed to consider it of a contumacious variety, for he threatened to transfer me to a less desirable ward unless Ishould again begin to talk. 

That day of self-imposed silence was about the longest I have everlived, for I was under a word pressure sufficient to have filled abook. Any psychiatrist will admit that my performance was remarkable, and he will further agree that it was, at least, an indication of ahigh degree of self-control. Though I have no desire to prove that atthis period I was not in an abnormal condition, I do wish to show thatI had a degree of self-control that probably would have enabled me toremain in the best ward at this institution had I not been intent--abnormally intent, of course, and yet with a high degree ofdeliberation--upon a reformative investigation. The crest of my wave ofelation had been reached early in October. It was now (November) thatthe curve representing my return to normality should have beencontinuous and diminishing. Instead, it was kept violentlyfluctuating--or at least its fluctuations were aggravated--by theimpositions of those in charge of me, induced sometimes, I freelyadmit, by deliberate and purposeful transgressions of my own. Mycondition during my three weeks of exile just ended, had been, ifanything, one of milder excitement than that which had obtainedpreviously during the first seven weeks of my period of elation. And mycondition during the two weeks I now remained in the best ward in theState Hospital was not different from my condition during the precedingthree weeks of torture, or the succeeding three weeks of abuse andprivation, except in so far as a difference was occasioned by thetorture and privation themselves. 

Though I had long intended to effect reforms in existing methods oftreatment, my reckless desire to investigate violent wards did notpossess me until I myself had experienced the torture of continuedconfinement in one such ward before coming to this state institution. It was simple to deduce that if one could suffer such abuses as I hadwhile a patient in a private institution--nay, in two privateinstitutions--brutality must exist in a state hospital also. Thus itwas that I entered the State Hospital with a firm resolve to inspectpersonally every type of ward, good and bad. 

But I was in no hurry to begin. My recent experience had exhausted me, and I wished to regain strength before subjecting myself to anothersuch ordeal. This desire to recuperate controlled my conduct for awhile, but its influence gradually diminished as life became more andmore monotonous. I soon found the good ward entirely too polite. Icraved excitement--action. And I determined to get it regardless ofconsequences; though I am free to confess I should not have had thecourage to proceed with my plan had I known what was in store for me. 

About this time my conservator called to see me. Of course, I told himall about my cruel experiences at the private institution. My accountsurprised and distressed him. I also told him that I knew for a factthat similar conditions existed at the State Hospital, as I had heardconvincing rumors to that effect. He urged me to behave myself andremain in the ward where I was, which ward, as I admitted, was all thatone could desire--provided one had schooled himself to desire that sortof thing. 

The fact that I was under lock and key and behind what were virtuallyprison bars in no way gave me a sense of helplessness. I firmlybelieved that I should find it easy to effect my escape and reach homefor the Thanksgiving Day celebration. And, furthermore, I knew that, should I reach home, I should not be denied my portion of the goodthings to eat before being returned to the hospital. Being under thespell of an intense desire to investigate the violent ward, I concludedthat the time for action had come. I reasoned, too, that it would beeasier and safer to escape from that ward--which was on a level withthe ground--than from a ward three stories above it. The next thing Idid was to inform the attendants (not to mention several of thepatients) that within a day or two I should do something to cause myremoval to it. They of course did not believe that I had any idea ofdeliberately inviting such a transfer. My very frankness disarmed them. 

On the evening of November 21st, I went from room to room collectingall sorts of odds and ends belonging to other patients. These Isecreted in my room. I also collected a small library of books, magazines and newspapers. After securing all the booty I dared, Imingled with the other patients until the time came for going to bed. The attendants soon locked me in my junk shop and I spent the rest ofthe night setting it in disorder. My original plan had been tobarricade the door during the night, and thus hold the doctors andattendants at bay until those in authority had accepted my ultimatum, which was to include a Thanksgiving visit at home. But before morning Ihad slightly altered my plan. My sleepless night of activity had mademe ravenously hungry, and I decided that it would be wiser not only tofill my stomach, but to lay by other supplies of food before submittingto a siege. Accordingly I set things to rights and went about mybusiness the next morning as usual. At breakfast I ate enough for twomen, and put in my pockets bread enough to last for twenty-four hoursat least. Then I returned to my room and at once barricaded the door. My barricade consisted of a wardrobe, several drawers which I hadremoved from the bureau, and a number of books--among them "ParadiseLost" and the Bible. These, with conscious satisfaction, I placed inposition as a keystone. Thus the floor space between the door and theopposite wall of the room was completely filled. My roommate, a youngfellow in the speechless condition in which I had been during my periodof depression, was in the room with me. This was accidental. It was nopart of my plan to hold him as a hostage, though I might finally haveused him as a pawn in the negotiations, had my barricade resisted theimpending attack longer than it did. 

It was not long before the attendants realized that something waswrong. They came to my door and asked me to open it. I refused, andtold them that to argue the point would be a waste of time. They triedto force an entrance. Failing in that, they reported to the assistantphysician, who soon appeared. At first he parleyed with me. Igood-naturedly, but emphatically, told him that I could not be talkedout of the position I had taken; nor could I be taken out of it until Iwas ready to surrender, for my barricade was one that would surelyhold. I also announced that I had carefully planned my line of actionand knew what I was about. I complimented him on his hitherto tactfultreatment of me, and grandiloquently--yet sincerely--thanked him forhis many courtesies. I also expressed entire satisfaction with the pastconduct of the attendants. In fact, on part of the institution I putthe stamp of my approval. "But, " I said, "I know there are wards inthis hospital where helpless patients are brutally treated; and Iintend to put a stop to these abuses at once. Not until the Governor ofthe State, the judge who committed me, and my conservator come to thisdoor will I open it. When they arrive, we'll see whether or notpatients are to be robbed of their rights and abused. "

My speech was made through a screen transom over the door. For a fewminutes the doctor continued his persuasive methods, but that he shouldeven imagine that I would basely recede from my high and mightyposition only irritated me the more. 

"You can stand outside that door all day if you choose, " I said. "Iwon't open it until the three men I have named appear. I have preparedfor a siege; and I have enough food in this room to keep me going for aday anyway. "

Realizing at last that no argument would move me, he set about forcingan entrance. First he tried to remove the transom by striking it with astout stick. I gave blow for blow and the transom remained in place. Acarpenter was then sent for, but before he could go about his work oneof the attendants managed to open the door enough to thrust in his armand shove aside my barricade. I did not realize what was being doneuntil it was too late to interfere. The door once open, in rushed thedoctor and four attendants. Without ceremony I was thrown upon the bed, with two or three of the attacking force on top of me. Again I waschoked, this time by the doctor. The operation was a matter of only amoment. But before it was over I had the good fortune to deal thedoctor a stinging blow on the jaw, for which (as he was about my ownage and the odds were five to one) I have never felt called upon toapologize. 

Once I was subdued, each of the four attendants attached himself to aleg or an arm and, under the direction and leadership of the doctor, Iwas carried bodily through two corridors, down two flights of stairs, and to the violent ward. My dramatic exit startled my fellow-patients, for so much action in so short a time is seldom seen in a quiet ward. And few patients placed in the violent ward are introduced with soimpressive an array of camp-followers as I had that day. 

All this to me was a huge joke, with a good purpose behind it. Thoughexcited I was good-natured and, on the way to my new quarters, I saidto the doctor: "Whether you believe it or not, it's a fact that I'mgoing to reform these institutions before I'm done. I raised thisrumpus to make you transfer me to the violent ward. What I want you todo now is to show me the worst you've got. "

"You needn't worry, " the doctor said. "You'll get it. "

He spoke the truth. 

XIX

Even for a violent ward my entrance was spectacular--if not dramatic. The three attendants regularly in charge naturally jumped to theconclusion that, in me, a troublesome patient had been foisted uponthem. They noted my arrival with an unpleasant curiosity, which in turnaroused _my_ curiosity, for it took but a glance to convince me that myburly keepers were typical attendants of the brute-force type. Actingon the order of the doctor in charge, one of them stripped me of myouter garments; and, clad in nothing but underclothes, I was thrustinto a cell. 

Few, if any, prisons in this country contain worse holes than this cellproved to be. It was one of five, situated in a short corridoradjoining the main ward. It was about six feet wide by ten long and ofa good height. A heavily screened and barred window admitted light anda negligible quantity of air, for the ventilation scarcely deserved thename. The walls and floor were bare, and there was no furniture. Apatient confined here must lie on the floor with no substitute for abed but one or two felt druggets. Sleeping under such conditionsbecomes tolerable after a time, but not until one has become accustomedto lying on a surface nearly as hard as a stone. Here (as well, indeed, as in other parts of the ward) for a period of three weeks I was againforced to breathe and rebreathe air so vitiated that even when Ioccupied a larger room in the same ward, doctors and attendants seldomentered without remarking its quality. 

My first meal increased my distaste for my semi-sociologicalexperiment. For over a month I was kept in a half-starved condition. Ateach meal, to be sure, I was given as much food as was served to otherpatients, but an average portion was not adequate to the needs of apatient as active as I was at this time. 

Worst of all, winter was approaching and these, my first quarters, werewithout heat. As my olfactory nerves soon became uncommunicative, thebreathing of foul air was not a hardship. On the other hand, to befamished the greater part of the time was a very conscious hardship. But to be half-frozen, day in and day out for a long period, wasexquisite torture. Of all the suffering I endured, that occasioned byconfinement in cold cells seems to have made the most lastingimpression. Hunger is a local disturbance, but when one is cold, everynerve in the body registers its call for help. Long before reading acertain passage of De Quincey's I had decided that cold could causegreater suffering than hunger; consequently, it was with greatsatisfaction that I read the following sentences from his"Confessions": "O ancient women, daughters of toil and suffering, amongall the hardships and bitter inheritances of flesh that ye are calledupon to face, not one--not even hunger--seems in my eyes comparable tothat of nightly cold. .. . A more killing curse there does not exist forman or woman than the bitter combat between the weariness that promptssleep and the keen, searching cold that forces you from that firstaccess of sleep to start up horror-stricken, and to seek warmth vainlyin renewed exercise, though long since fainting under fatigue. "

The hardness of the bed and the coldness of the room were not all thatinterfered with sleep. The short corridor in which I was placed wasknown as the "Bull Pen"--a phrase eschewed by the doctors. It wasusually in an uproar, especially during the dark hours of the earlymorning. Patients in a state of excitement may sleep during the firsthours of the night, but seldom all night; and even should one have thecapacity to do so, his companions in durance would wake him with ashout or a song or a curse or the kicking of a door. A noisy andchaotic medley frequently continued without interruption for hours at atime. Noise, unearthly noise, was the poetic license allowed theoccupants of these cells. I spent several days and nights in one oranother of them, and I question whether I averaged more than two orthree hours' sleep a night during that time. Seldom did the regularattendants pay any attention to the noise, though even they must attimes have been disturbed by it. In fact the only person likely toattempt to stop it was the night watch, who, when he did enter a cellfor that purpose, almost invariably kicked or choked the noisy patientinto a state of temporary quiet. I noted this and scented trouble. 

Drawing and writing materials having been again taken from me, I castabout for some new occupation. I found one in the problem of warmth. Though I gave repeated expression to the benumbed messages of mytortured nerves, the doctor refused to return my clothes. For asemblance of warmth I was forced to depend upon ordinary undergarmentsand an extraordinary imagination. The heavy felt druggets were about asplastic as blotting paper and I derived little comfort from them untilI hit upon the idea of rending them into strips. These strips I wouldweave into a crude Rip Van Winkle kind of suit; and so intricate wasthe warp and woof that on several occasions an attendant had to cut meout of these sartorial improvisations. At first, until I acquired thedestructive knack, the tearing of one drugget into strips was a task offour or five hours. But in time I became so proficient that I couldcompletely destroy more than one of these six-by-eight-foot druggets ina single night. During the following weeks of my close confinement Idestroyed at least twenty of them, each worth, as I found out later, about four dollars; and I confess I found a peculiar satisfaction inthe destruction of property belonging to a State which had deprived meof all my effects except underclothes. But my destructiveness was dueto a variety of causes. It was occasioned primarily by a "pressure ofactivity, " for which the tearing of druggets served as a vent. I was ina state of mind aptly described in a letter written during my firstmonth of elation, in which I said, "I'm as busy as a nest of ants. "

Though the habit of tearing druggets was the outgrowth of an abnormalimpulse, the habit itself lasted longer than it could have done had Inot, for so long a time, been deprived of suitable clothes and beenheld a prisoner in cold cells. But another motive soon asserted itself. Being deprived of all the luxuries of life and most of the necessities, my mother wit, always conspiring with a wild imagination for somethingto occupy my tune, led me at last to invade the field of invention. With appropriate contrariety, an unfamiliar and hitherto almostdetested line of investigation now attracted me. Abstruse mathematicalproblems which had defied solution for centuries began to appear easy. To defy the State and its puny representatives had become mere child'splay. So I forthwith decided to overcome no less a force than gravityitself. 

My conquering imagination soon tricked me into believing that I couldlift myself by my boot-straps--or rather that I could do so when mylaboratory should contain footgear that lent itself to the experiment. But what of the strips of felt torn from the druggets? Why, these Iused as the straps of my missing boots; and having no boots to standin, I used my bed as boots. I reasoned that for my scientific purpose aman in bed was as favorably situated as a man in boots. Therefore, attaching a sufficient number of my felt strips to the head and foot ofthe bed (which happened not to be screwed to the floor), and, in turn, attaching the free ends to the transom and the window guard, I foundthe problem very simple. For I next joined these cloth cables in suchmanner that by pulling downward I effected a readjustment of stress andstrain, and my bed, _with me in it_, was soon dangling in space. Mysensations at this momentous instant must have been much like thosewhich thrilled Newton when he solved one of the riddles of theuniverse. Indeed, they must have been more intense, for Newton, knowing, had his doubts; I, not knowing, had no doubts at all. Soepoch-making did this discovery appear to me that I noted the exactposition of the bed so that a wondering posterity might ever afterwardview and revere the exact spot on the earth's surface whence one ofman's greatest thoughts had winged its way to immortality. 

For weeks I believed I had uncovered a mechanical principle which wouldenable man to defy gravity. And I talked freely and confidently aboutit. That is, I proclaimed the impending results. The intermediate stepsin the solution of my problem I ignored, for good reasons. A blind manmay harness a horse. So long as the horse is harnessed, one need notknow the office of each strap and buckle. Gravity was harnessed--thatwas all. Meanwhile I felt sure that another sublime moment ofinspiration would intervene and clear the atmosphere, thus renderingflight of the body as easy as a flight of imagination. 

XX

While my inventive operations were in progress, I was chafing under theunjust and certainly unscientific treatment to which I was beingsubjected. In spite of my close confinement in vile cells, for a periodof over three weeks I was denied a bath. I do not regret thisdeprivation, for the attendants, who at the beginning were unfriendly, might have forced me to bathe in water which had first served forseveral other patients. Though such an unsanitary and disgustingpractice was contrary to rules, it was often indulged in by the lazybrutes who controlled the ward. 

I continued to object to the inadequate portions of food served me. OnThanksgiving Day (for I had not succeeded in escaping and joining inthe celebration at home) an attendant, in the unaccustomed rôle of aministering angel, brought me the usual turkey and cranberry dinnerwhich, on two days a year, is provided by an intermittently generousState. Turkey being the _rara avis_ the imprisoned, it was but naturalthat I should desire to gratify a palate long insulted. I wished notonly to satisfy my appetite, but to impress indelibly a memory whichfor months had not responded to so agreeable a stimulus. Whilelingering over the delights of this experience I forgot all about theministering angel. But not for long. He soon returned. Observing that Ihad scarcely touched my feast, he said, "If you don't eat that dinnerin a hurry, I'll take it from you. "

"I don't see what difference it makes to you whether I eat it in ahurry or take my time about it, " I said. "It's the best I've had inmany a day, and I have a right to get as much pleasure out of it as Ican. "

"We'll see about that, " he replied, and, snatching it away, he stalkedout of the room, leaving me to satisfy my hunger on the memory ofvanished luxuries. Thus did a feast become a fast. 

Under this treatment I soon learned to be more noisy than my neighbors. I was never without a certain humor in contemplating not only mysurroundings, but myself; and the demonstrations in which I began toindulge were partly in fun and partly by way of protest. In theseoutbursts I was assisted, and at times inspired, by a young man in theroom next mine. He was about my own age and was enjoying the same phaseof exuberance as myself. We talked and sang at all hours of the night. At the time we believed that the other patients enjoyed the spice whichwe added to the restricted variety of their lives, but later I learnedthat a majority of them looked upon us as the worst of nuisances. 

We gave the doctors and attendants no rest--at least not intentionally. Whenever the assistant physician appeared, we upbraided him for theneglect which was then our portion. At one time or another we werebanished to the Bull Pen for these indiscretions. And had there been aviler place of confinement still, our performances in the Bull Penundoubtedly would have brought us to it. At last the doctor hit uponthe expedient of transferring me to a room more remote from myinspiring, and, I may say, conspiring, companion. Talking to each otherceased to be the easy pastime it had been; so we gradually lapsed intoa comparative silence which must have proved a boon to our ward-mates. The megaphonic Bull Pen, however, continued with irregularity, butannoying certainty to furnish its quota of noise. 

On several occasions I concocted plans to escape, and not only that, but also to liberate others. That I did not make the attempt was thefault--or merit, perhaps--of a certain night watch, whose timidity, rather than sagacity, impelled him to refuse to unlock my door earlyone morning, although I gave him a plausible reason for the request. This night watch, I learned later, admitted that he feared to encounterme single-handed. And on this particular occasion well might he, for, during the night, I had woven a spider-web net in which I intended toenmesh him. Had I succeeded, there would have been a lively hour forhim in the violent ward--had I failed, there would have been a livelyhour for me. There were several comparatively sane patients (especiallymy elated neighbor) whose willing assistance I could have secured. Thenthe regular attendants could have been held prisoners in their ownroom, if, indeed, we had not in turn overpowered them and transferredthem to the Bull Pen, where the several victims of their abuse mighthave given them a deserved dose of their own medicine. This scheme ofmine was a prank rather than a plot. I had an inordinate desire toprove that one _could_ escape if he had a mind to do so. Later Iboasted to the assistant physician of my unsuccessful attempt. Thisboast he evidently tucked away in his memory. 

My punishment for harmless antics of this sort was prompt in coming. The attendants seemed to think their whole duty to their closelyconfined charges consisted in delivering three meals a day. Betweenmeals he was a rash patient who interfered with their leisure. Now oneof my greatest crosses was their continued refusal to give me a drinkwhen I asked for it. Except at meal time, or on those rare occasionswhen I was permitted to go to the wash room, I had to get along as bestI might with no water to drink, and that too at a time when I was in afever of excitement. My polite requests were ignored; impolite demandswere answered with threats and curses. And this war of requests, demands, threats, and curses continued until the night of the fourthday of my banishment. Then the attendants made good their threats ofassault. That they had been trying to goad me into a fighting mood Iwell knew, and often accused them of their mean purpose. They brazenlyadmitted that they were simply waiting for a chance to "slug" me, andpromised to punish me well as soon as I should give them a slightexcuse for doing so. 

On the night of November 25th, 1902, the head attendant and one of hisassistants passed my door. They were returning from one of the danceswhich, at intervals during the winter, the management provides for thenurses and attendants. While they were within hearing, I asked for adrink of water. It was a carefully worded request. But they were in ahurry to get to bed, and refused me with curses. Then I replied inkind. 

"If I come there I'll kill you, " one of them said. 

"Well, you won't get in if I can help it, " I replied, as I braced myiron bedstead against the door. 

My defiance and defences gave the attendants the excuse for which theyhad said they were waiting; and my success in keeping them out for twoor three minutes only served to enrage them. By the time they hadgained entrance they had become furies. One was a young man oftwenty-seven. Physically he was a fine specimen of manhood; morally hewas deficient--thanks to the dehumanizing effect of several years inthe employ of different institutions whose officials countenancedimproper methods of care and treatment. It was he who now attacked mein the dark of my prison room. The head attendant stood by, holding alantern which shed a dim light. 

The door once open, I offered no further resistance. First I wasknocked down. Then for several minutes I was kicked about theroom--struck, kneed and choked. My assailant even attempted to grindhis heel into my cheek. In this he failed, for I was there protected bya heavy beard which I wore at that time. But my shins, elbows, and backwere cut by his heavy shoes; and had I not instinctively drawn up myknees to my elbows for the protection of my body, I might have beenseriously, perhaps fatally, injured. As it was, I was severely cut andbruised. When my strength was nearly gone, I feigned unconsciousness. This ruse alone saved me from further punishment, for usually apremeditated assault is not ended until the patient is mute andhelpless. When they had accomplished their purpose, they left mehuddled in a corner to wear out the night as best I might--to live ordie for all they cared. 

Strange as it may seem, I slept well. But not at once. Within fiveminutes I was busily engaged writing an account of the assault. Atrained war correspondent could not have pulled himself together inless time. As usual I had recourse to my bit of contraband lead pencil, this time a pencil which had been smuggled to me the very first day ofmy confinement in the Bull Pen by a sympathetic fellow-patient. When hehad pushed under my cell door that little implement of war, it hadloomed as large in my mind as a battering-ram. Paper I had none; but Ihad previously found walls to be a fair substitute. I therefore nowselected and wrote upon a rectangular spot--about three feet bytwo--which marked the reflection of a light in the corridor justoutside my transom. 

The next morning, when the assistant physician appeared, he wasaccompanied as usual by the guilty head attendant who, on the previousnight, had held the lantern. 

"Doctor, " I said, "I have something to tell you, "--and I glancedsignificantly at the attendant. "Last night I had a most unusualexperience. I have had many imaginary experiences during the past twoyears and a half, and it may be that last night's was not real. Perhapsthe whole thing was phantasmagoric--like what I used to see during thefirst months of my illness. Whether it was so or not I shall leave youto judge. It just happens to be my impression that I was brutallyassaulted last night. If it was a dream, it is the first thing of thekind that ever left visible evidence on my body. "

With that I uncovered to the doctor a score of bruises and lacerations. I knew these would be more impressive than any words of mine. Thedoctor put on a knowing look, but said nothing and soon left the room. His guilty subordinate tried to appear unconcerned, and I reallybelieve he thought me not absolutely sure of the events of the previousnight, or at least unaware of his share in them. 

XXI

Neither of the attendants involved in the assault upon me wasdischarged. This fact made me more eager to gain wider knowledge ofconditions. The self-control which had enabled me to suspend speech fora whole day now stood me in good stead. It enabled me to avert muchsuffering that would have been my portion had I been like the majorityof my ward-mates. Time and again I surrendered when an attendant wasabout to chastise me. But at least a score of patients in the ward werenot so well equipped mentally, and these were viciously assaulted againand again by the very men who had so thoroughly initiated me into themysteries of their black art. 

I soon observed that the only patients who were not likely to besubjected to abuse were the very ones least in need of care andtreatment. The violent, noisy, and troublesome patient was abusedbecause he was violent, noisy, and troublesome. The patient too weak, physically or mentally, to attend to his own wants was frequentlyabused because of that very helplessness which made it necessary forthe attendants to wait upon him. 

Usually a restless or troublesome patient placed in the violent wardwas assaulted the very first day. This procedure seemed to be a part ofthe established code of dishonor. The attendants imagined that the bestway to gain control of a patient was to cow him from the first. Infact, these fellows--nearly all of them ignorant and untrained--seemedto believe that "violent cases" could not be handled in any other way. One attendant, on the very day he had been discharged for choking apatient into an insensibility so profound that it had been necessary tocall a physician to restore him, said to me, "They are getting prettydamned strict these days, discharging a man simply for _choking_ apatient. " This illustrates the attitude of many attendants. On theother hand, that the discharged employé soon secured a position in asimilar institution not twenty miles distant illustrates the attitudeof some hospital managements. 

I recall the advent of a new attendant--a young man studying to becomea physician. At first he seemed inclined to treat patients kindly, buthe soon fell into brutal ways. His change of heart was due partly tothe brutalizing environment, but more directly to the attitude of thethree hardened attendants who mistook his consideration for cowardiceand taunted him for it. Just to prove his mettle he began to assaultpatients, and one day knocked me down simply for refusing to stop myprattle at his command. That the environment in some institutions isbrutalizing, was strikingly shown in the testimony of an attendant at apublic investigation in Kentucky, who said, "When I came here, ifanyone had told me I would be guilty of striking patients I would havecalled him crazy himself, but now I take delight in punching hell outof them. "

I found also that an unnecessary and continued lack of out-doorexercise tended to multiply deeds of violence. Patients were supposedto be taken for a walk at least once a day, and twice, when the weatherpermitted. Yet those in the violent ward (and it is they who most needthe exercise) usually got out of doors only when the attendants saw fitto take them. For weeks a ward-mate--a man sane enough to enjoyfreedom, had he had a home to go to--kept a record of the number of ourwalks. It showed that we averaged not more than one or two a week for aperiod of two months. This, too, in the face of many pleasant days, which made the close confinement doubly irksome. The lazy fellows onwhose leisure we waited preferred to remain in the ward, playing cards, smoking, and telling their kind of stories. The attendants neededregular exercise quite as much as the patients and when they failed toemploy their energy in this healthful way, they were likely to use itat the expense of the bodily comfort of their helpless charges. 

If lack of exercise produced a need of discipline, each disciplinarymove, on the other hand, served only to inflame us the more. Some wildanimals can be clubbed into a semblance of obedience, yet it is atreacherous obedience at best, and justly so. And that is the only kindof obedience into which a _man_ can be clubbed. To imagine otherwise ofa human being, sane or insane, is the very essence of insanity itself. A temporary leisure may be won for the aggressor, but in the long runhe will be put to greater inconvenience than he would be by a morehumane method. It was repression and wilful frustration of reasonabledesires which kept me a seeming maniac and made seeming maniacs ofothers. Whenever I was released from lock and key and permitted tomingle with the so-called violent patients, I was surprised to findthat comparatively few were by nature troublesome or noisy. A patient, calm in mind and passive in behavior three hundred and sixty days inthe year, may, on one of the remaining days, commit some slighttransgression, or, more likely, be goaded into one by an attendant orneedlessly led into one by a tactless physician. His indiscretion mayconsist merely in an unmannerly announcement to the doctor of howlightly the latter is regarded by the patient. At once he is banishedto the violent ward, there to remain for weeks, perhaps indefinitely. 

XXII

Like fires and railroad disasters, assaults seemed to come in groups. Days would pass without a single outbreak. Then would come a veritablecarnival of abuse--due almost invariably to the attendants' state ofmind, not to an unwonted aggressiveness on the part of the patients. Ican recall as especially noteworthy several instances of atrociousabuse. Five patients were chronic victims. Three of them, peculiarlyirresponsible, suffered with especial regularity, scarcely a daypassing without bringing to them its quota of punishment. One of these, almost an idiot, and quite too inarticulate to tell a convincing storyeven under the most favorable conditions, became so cowed that, whenever an attendant passed, he would circle his oppressor as awhipped cur circles a cruel master. If this avoidance became toomarked, the attendant would then and there chastise him for theimplied, but unconscious insult. 

There was a young man, occupying a cell next to mine in the Bull Pen, who was so far out of his mind as to be absolutely irresponsible. Hisoffence was that he could not comprehend and obey. Day after day Icould hear the blows and kicks as they fell upon his body, and hisincoherent cries for mercy were as painful to hear as they areimpossible to forget. That he survived is surprising. What wonder thatthis man, who was "violent, " or who was made violent, would not permitthe attendants to dress him! But he had a half-witted friend, award-mate, who could coax him into his clothes when his oppressorsfound him most intractable. 

Of all the patients known to me, the one who was assaulted with thegreatest frequency was an incoherent and irresponsible man of sixtyyears. This patient was restless and forever talking or shouting, asany man might if oppressed by such delusions as his. He was profoundlyconvinced that one of the patients had stolen his stomach--an ideainspired perhaps by the remarkable corpulency of the person he accused. His loss he would woefully voice even while eating. Of course, argumentto the contrary had no effect; and his monotonous recital of hisimaginary troubles made him unpopular with those whose business it wasto care for him. They showed him no mercy. Each day--including thehours of the night, when the night watch took a hand--he was belaboredwith fists, broom handles, and frequently with the heavy bunch of keyswhich attendants usually carry on a long chain. He was also kicked andchoked, and his suffering was aggravated by his almost continuousconfinement in the Bull Pen. An exception to the general rule (for suchcontinued abuse often causes death), this man lived a long time--fiveyears, as I learned later. 

Another victim, forty-five years of age, was one who had formerly beena successful man of affairs. His was a forceful personality, and thetraits of his sane days influenced his conduct when he broke downmentally. He was in the expansive phase of paresis, a phasedistinguished by an exaggerated sense of well-being, and by delusionsof grandeur which are symptoms of this form as well as of several otherforms of mental disease. Paresis, as everyone knows, is consideredincurable and victims of it seldom live more than three or four years. In this instance, instead of trying to make the patient's last dayscomfortable, the attendants subjected him to a course of treatmentsevere enough to have sent even a sound man to an early grave. Iendured privations and severe abuse for one month at the StateHospital. This man suffered in all ways worse treatment for manymonths. 

I became well acquainted with two jovial and witty Irishmen. They werecommon laborers. One was a hodcarrier, and a strapping fellow. When hearrived at the institution, he was at once placed in the violent ward, though his "violence" consisted of nothing more than an annoying sortof irresponsibility. He irritated the attendants by persistently doingcertain trivial things after they had been forbidden. The attendantsmade no allowance for his condition of mind. His repetition of aforbidden act was interpreted as deliberate disobedience. He wasphysically powerful, and they determined to cow him. Of the masterassault by which they attempted to do this I was not an eyewitness. ButI was an ear witness. It was committed behind a closed door; and Iheard the dull thuds of the blows, and I heard the cries for mercyuntil there was no breath left in the man with which he could beg evenfor his life. For days, that wrecked Hercules dragged himself about theward moaning pitifully. He complained of pain in his side and haddifficulty in breathing, which would seem to indicate that some of hisribs had been fractured. This man was often punished, frequently forcomplaining of the torture already inflicted. But later, when he beganto return to the normal, his good-humor and native wit won for him anincreasing degree of good treatment. 

The other patient's arch offence--a symptom of his disease--was that hegabbled incessantly. He could no more stop talking than he could righthis reason on command. Yet his failure to become silent at a word wasthe signal for punishment. On one occasion an attendant ordered him tostop talking and take a seat at the further end of the corridor, aboutforty feet distant. He was doing his best to obey, even running to keepahead of the attendant at his heels. As they passed the spot where Iwas sitting, the attendant felled him with a blow behind the ear; and, in falling, the patient's head barely missed the wall. 

Addressing me, the attendant said, "Did you see that?"

"Yes, " I replied, "and I'll not forget it. "

"Be sure to report it to the doctor, " he said, which remark showed hiscontempt, not only for me, but for those in authority. 

The man who had so terribly beaten me was particularly flagrant inignoring the claims of age. On more than one occasion he viciouslyattacked a man of over fifty, who, however, seemed much older. He was aYankee sailing-master, who in his prime could have thrashed histormentor with ease. But now he was helpless and could only submit. However, he was not utterly abandoned by his old world. His wife calledoften to see him; and, because of his condition, she was permitted tovisit him in his room. Once she arrived a few hours after he had beencruelly beaten. Naturally she asked the attendants how he had come bythe hurts--the blackened eye and bruised head. True to the code, theylied. The good wife, perhaps herself a Yankee, was not thus to befooled; and her growing belief that her husband had been assaulted wasconfirmed by a sight she saw before her visit was ended. Anotherpatient, a foreigner who was a target for abuse, was knocked flat twoor three times as he was roughly forced along the corridor. I saw thislittle affair and I saw that the good wife saw it. The next day shecalled again and took her husband home. The result was that after a few(probably sleepless) nights, she had to return him to the hospital andtrust to God rather than the State to protect him. 

Another victim was a man sixty years of age. He was quite inoffensive, and no patient in the ward seemed to attend more strictly to his ownbusiness. Shortly after my transfer from the violent ward this man wasso viciously attacked that his arm was broken. The attendant (the manwho had so viciously assaulted me) was summarily discharged. Unfortunately, however, the relief afforded the insane was slight andbrief, for this same brute, like another whom I have mentioned, soonsecured a position in another institution--this one, however, athousand miles distant. 

Death by violence in a violent ward is after all not an unnaturaldeath--for a violent ward. The patient of whom I am about to speak wasalso an old man--over sixty. Both physically and mentally he was awreck. On being brought to the institution he was at once placed in acell in the Bull Pen, probably because of his previous history forviolence while at his own home. But his violence (if it ever existed)had already spent itself, and had come to be nothing more than an utterincapacity to obey. His offence was that he was too weak to attend tohis common wants. The day after his arrival, shortly before noon, helay stark naked and helpless upon the bed in his cell. This I know, forI went to investigate immediately after a ward-mate had informed me ofthe vicious way in which the head attendant had assaulted the sick man. My informant was a man whose word regarding an incident of thischaracter I would take as readily as that of any man I know. He came tome, knowing that I had taken upon myself the duty of reporting suchabominations. My informant feared to take the initiative, for, likemany other patients who believe themselves doomed to continuedconfinement, he feared to invite abuse at the hands of vengefulattendants. I therefore promised him that I would report the case assoon as I had an opportunity. 

All day long this victim of an attendant's unmanly passion lay in hiscell in what seemed to be a semi-conscious condition. I took particularpains to observe his condition, for I felt that the assault of themorning might result in death. That night, after the doctor's regulartour of inspection, the patient in question was transferred to a roomnext my own. The mode of transfer impressed itself upon my memory. Twoattendants--one of them being he who had so brutally beaten thepatient--placed the man in a sheet and, each taking an end, carried thehammocklike contrivance, with its inert contents, to what proved to beits last resting-place above ground. The bearers seemed as muchconcerned about their burden as one might be about a dead dog, weightedand ready for the river. 

That night the patient died. Whether he was murdered none can everknow. But it is my honest opinion that he was. Though he might neverhave recovered, it is plain that he would have lived days, perhapsmonths. And had he been humanely, nay, scientifically, treated, who cansay that he might not have been restored to health and home?

The young man who had been my companion in mischief in the violent wardwas also terribly abused. I am sure I do not exaggerate when I say thaton ten occasions, within a period of two months, this man was cruellyassaulted, and I do not know how many times he suffered assaults ofless severity. After one of these chastisements, I asked him why hepersisted in his petty transgressions when he knew that he therebyinvited such body-racking abuse. 

"Oh, " he said, laconically, "I need the exercise. "

To my mind, the man who, with such gracious humor, could refer to whatwas in reality torture deserved to live a century. But an unkind fatedecreed that he should die young. Ten months after his commitment tothe State Hospital he was discharged as improved--but not cured. Thiswas not an unusual procedure; nor was it in his case apparently anunwise one, for he seemed fit for freedom. During the first month ofregained liberty, he hanged himself. He left no message of excuse. Inmy opinion, none was necessary. For aught any man knows, the memoriesof the abuse, torture, and injustice which were so long his portion mayhave proved to be the last straw which overbalanced the desire to live. 

Patients with less stamina than mine often submitted with meekness; andnone so aroused my sympathy as those whose submission was due to theconsciousness that they had no relatives or friends to support them ina fight for their rights. On behalf of these, with my usual piece ofsmuggled lead pencil, I soon began to indite and submit to the officersof the institution, letters in which I described the cruel practiceswhich came under my notice. My reports were perfunctorily accepted andat once forgotten or ignored. Yet these letters, so far as they relatedto overt acts witnessed, were lucid and should have been convincing. Furthermore, my allegations were frequently corroborated by bruises onthe bodies of the patients. My usual custom was to write an account ofeach assault and hand it to the doctor in authority. Frequently I wouldsubmit these reports to the attendants with instructions first to readand then deliver them to the superintendent or the assistant physician. The men whose cruelty I thus laid bare read with evident but pervertedpleasure my accounts of assaults, and laughed and joked about myineffectual attempts to bring them to book. 

XXXIII

I refused to be a martyr. Rebellion was my watchword. The onlydifference between the doctor's opinion of me and mine of him was thathe could refuse utterance to his thoughts. Yes--there was anotherdifference. Mine could be expressed only in words--his in grim acts. 

I repeatedly made demands for those privileges to which I knew I wasentitled. When he saw fit to grant them, I gave him perfunctory thanks. When he refused--as he usually did--I at once poured upon his head thevials of my wrath. One day I would be on the friendliest terms with thedoctor, the next I would upbraid him for some denial of my rights--or, as frequently happened, for not intervening in behalf of the rights ofothers. 

It was after one of these wrangles that I was placed in a cold cell inthe Bull Pen at eleven o'clock one morning. Still without shoes andwith no more covering than underclothes, I was forced to stand, sit, orlie upon a bare floor as hard and cold as the pavement outside. Notuntil sundown was I provided even with a drugget, and this did littlegood, for already I had become thoroughly chilled. In consequence Icontracted a severe cold which added greatly to my discomfort and mighthave led to serious results had I been of less sturdy fibre. 

This day was the thirteenth of December and the twenty-second of myexile in the violent ward. I remember it distinctly for it was theseventy-seventh birthday of my father, to whom I wished to write acongratulatory letter. This had been my custom for years when absentfrom home on that anniversary. And well do I remember when, and underwhat conditions, I asked the doctor for permission. It was night. I wasflat on my drugget-bed. My cell was lighted only by the feeble rays ofa lantern held by an attendant to the doctor on this his regular visit. At first I couched my request in polite language. The doctor merelyrefused to grant it. I then put forth my plea in a way calculated toarouse sympathy. He remained unmoved. I then pointed out that he wasdefying the law of the State which provided that a patient should havestationery--a statute, the spirit of which at least meant that heshould be permitted to communicate with his conservator. It was nowthree weeks since I had been permitted to write or send a letter toanyone. Contrary to my custom, therefore, I made my final demand in theform of a concession. I promised that I would write only a conventionalnote of congratulation, making no mention whatever of my plight. It wasa fair offer; but to accept it would have been an implied admissionthat there was something to conceal, and for this, if for no otherreason, it was refused. 

Thus, day after day, I was repressed in a manner which probably wouldhave driven many a sane man to violence. Yet the doctor wouldfrequently exhort me to play the gentleman. Were good manners and sweetsubmission ever the product of such treatment? Deprived of my clothes, of sufficient food, of warmth, of all sane companionship and of myliberty, I told those in authority that so long as they should continueto treat me as the vilest of criminals, I should do my best to completethe illusion. The burden of proving my sanity was placed upon me. I wastold that so soon as I became polite and meek and lowly I should findmyself in possession of my clothes and of certain privileges. In everyinstance I must earn my reward before being entrusted with it. If thedoctor, instead of demanding of me all the negative virtues in thecatalogue of spineless saints, had given me my clothes on the conditionthat they would be taken from me again if I so much as removed abutton, his course would doubtless have been productive of goodresults. Thus I might have had my clothes three weeks earlier than Idid, and so been spared much suffering from the cold. 

I clamored daily for a lead pencil. This little luxury represents themargin of happiness for hundreds of the patients, just as a plug orpackage of tobacco represents the margin of happiness for thousands ofothers; but for seven weeks no doctor or attendant gave me one. To besure, by reason of my somewhat exceptional persistence and ingenuity, Imanaged to be always in possession of some substitute for a pencil, surreptitiously obtained, a fact which no doubt had something to dowith the doctor's indifference to my request. But my inability tosecure a pencil in a legitimate way was a needless source of annoyanceto me, and many of my verbal indiscretions were directly inspired bythe doctor's continued refusal. 

It was an assistant physician, other than the one regularly in chargeof my case, who at last relented and presented me with a good, wholelead pencil. By so doing he placed himself high on my list ofbenefactors; for that little shaftlike implement, magnified by mylively appreciation, became as the very axis of the earth. 

XXIV

A few days before Christmas my most galling deprivation was at lastremoved. That is, my clothes were restored. These I treated with greatrespect. Not so much as a thread did I destroy. Clothes, as is known, have a sobering and civilizing effect, and from the very moment I wasagain provided with presentable outer garments my conduct rapidlyimproved. The assistant physician with whom I had been on such variableterms of friendship and enmity even took me for a sleigh-ride. Withthis improvement came other privileges or, rather, the granting of myrights. Late in December I was permitted to send letters to myconservator. Though some of my blood-curdling letters were confiscated, a few detailing my experiences were forwarded. The account of mysufferings naturally distressed my conservator, but, as he said when henext visited me: "What could I have done to help you? If the men inthis State whose business it is to run these institutions cannot manageyou, I am at a loss to know what to do. " True, he could have donelittle or nothing, for he did not then know the ins and outs of thebaffling situation into which the ties of blood had drawn him. 

About the middle of January the doctor in charge of my case went for atwo weeks' vacation. During his absence an older member of the stafftook charge of the violent ward. A man of wider experience and moreliberal ideas than his predecessor, he at once granted me several realprivileges. One day he permitted me to pay a brief visit to the bestward--the one from which I had been transferred two months earlier. Ithus was able again to mingle with many seemingly normal men, andthough I enjoyed this privilege upon but one occasion, and then onlyfor a few hours, it gave me intense satisfaction. 

Altogether the last six weeks of the fourteen during which I wasconfined in the violent ward were comfortable and relatively happy. Iwas no longer subjected to physical abuse, though this exemption waslargely due to my own skill in avoiding trouble. I was no longer coldand hungry. I was allowed a fair amount of outdoor exercise which, after my close confinement, proved to be a delightful shock. But, aboveall, I was again given an adequate supply of stationery and drawingmaterials, which became as tinder under the focussed rays of myartistic eagerness. My mechanical investigations were gradually setaside. Art and literature again held sway. Except when out of doorstaking my allotted exercise, I remained in my room reading, writing, ordrawing. This room of mine soon became a Mecca for the mostirrepressible and loquacious characters in the ward. But I soonschooled myself to shut my ears to the incoherent prattle of myunwelcome visitors. Occasionally, some of them would becomeobstreperous--perhaps because of my lordly order to leave the room. Often did they threaten to throttle me; but I ignored the threats, andthey were never carried out. Nor was I afraid that they would be. Invariably I induced them to obey. 

The drawings I produced at this time were crude. For the most part theyconsisted of copies of illustrations which I had cut from magazinesthat had miraculously found their way into the violent ward. The headsof men and women interested me most, for I had decided to take upportraiture. At first I was content to draw in black and white, but Isoon procured some colors and from that time on devoted my attention tomastering pastel. 

In the world of letters I had made little progress. My compositionswere for the most part epistles addressed to relatives and friends andto those in authority at the hospital. Frequently the letters addressedto the doctors were sent in sets of three--this to save time, for I wasvery busy. The first letter of such a series would contain my request, couched in friendly and polite terms. To this I would add a postscript, worded about as follows: "If, after reading this letter, you feelinclined to refuse my request, please read letter number two. " Letternumber two would be severely formal--a business-like repetition of therequest made in letter number one. Again a postscript would advise thereader to consult letter number three, if the reading of number two hadfailed to move him. Letter number three was invariably a briefphilippic in which I would consign the unaccommodating doctor tooblivion. 

In this way I expended part of my prodigious supply of feeling andenergy. But I had also another way of reducing my creative pressure. Occasionally, from sheer excess of emotion, I would burst into verse, of a quality not to be doubted. Of that quality the reader shall judge, for I am going to quote a "creation" written under circumstances which, to say the least, were adverse. Before writing these lines I had neverattempted verse in my life--barring intentionally inane doggerel. And, as I now judge these lines, it is probably true that even yet I havenever written a poem. Nevertheless, my involuntary, almost automaticoutburst is at least suggestive of the fervor that was in me. Thesefourteen lines were written within thirty minutes of the time I firstconceived the idea; and I present them substantially as they first tookform. From a psychological standpoint at least, I am told, they are notwithout interest. 

 LIGHT

 Man's darkest hour is the hour before he's born, Another is the hour just before the Dawn; From Darkness unto Life and Light he leaps, To Life but once, --to Light as oft as God wills he should. 'Tis God's own secret, why Some live long, and others early die; For Life depends on Light, and Light on God, Who hath given to Man the perfect knowledge That Grim Despair and Sorrow end in Light And Life everlasting, in realms Where darkest Darkness becomes Light; But not the Light Man knows, Which only is Light Because God told Man so. 

These verses, which breathe religion, were written in an environmentwhich was anything but religious. With curses of ward-mates ringing inmy ears, some subconscious part of me seemed to force me to write atits dictation. I was far from being in a pious frame of mind myself, and the quality of my thought surprised me then--as it does now. 

XXV

Though I continued to respect my clothes, I did not at once cease totear such material as would serve me in my scientific investigations. Gravity being conquered, it was inevitable that I should devote some ofmy time to the invention of a flying-machine. This was soonperfected--in my mind; and all I needed, that I might test the device, was my liberty. As usual I was unable to explain how I should producethe result which I so confidently foretold. But I believed andproclaimed that I should, erelong, fly to St. Louis and claim andreceive the one-hundred-thousand-dollar reward offered by theCommission of the Louisiana Purchase Exposition for the most efficientairship to be exhibited. The moment the thought winged its way throughmy mind, I had not only a flying-machine, but a fortune in the bank. Being where I could not dissipate my riches, I became a lavish verbalspender. I was in a mood to buy anything, and I whiled away many anhour planning what I should do with my fortune. The St. Louis prize wasa paltry trifle. I reasoned that the man who could harness gravity hadat his beck and call the world and all that therein is. This suddenaccession of wealth made my vast humanitarian projects seem only themore feasible. What could be more delightful, I thought, than thefurnishing and financing of ideas of a magnitude to stagger humanity. My condition was one of ecstatic suspense. Give me my liberty and Iwould show a sleepy old world what could be done to improve conditions, not only among the insane, but along every line of beneficent endeavor. 

The city of my birth was to be made a garden-spot. All defiling, smoke-begriming factories were to be banished to an innocuous distance. Churches were to give way to cathedrals; the city itself was to becomea paradise of mansions. Yale University was to be transformed into themost magnificent--yet efficient--seat of learning in the world. Foronce, college professors were to be paid adequate salaries, andalluring provision for their declining years was to be made. New Havenshould become a very hotbed of culture. Art galleries, libraries, museums and theatres of a dreamlike splendor were to rise whenever andwherever I should will. Why absurd? Was it not I who would defray thecost? The famous buildings of the Old World were to be reproduced, if, indeed, the originals could not be purchased, brought to this countryand reassembled. Not far from New Haven there is a sandy plain, oncethe bed of the Connecticut River, but now a kind of miniature desert. Ioften smile as I pass it on the train; for it was here, for theedification of those who might never be able to visit the Valley of theNile, that I planned to erect a pyramid that should out-Cheops theoriginal. My harnessed gravity, I believed, would not only enable me toovercome existing mechanical difficulties, but it would make thequarrying of immense monoliths as easy as the slicing of bread, and theplacing of them in position as easy as the laying of bricks. 

After all, delusions of grandeur are the most entertaining of toys. Theassortment which my imagination provided was a comprehensive one. I hadtossed aside the blocks of childhood days. Instead of laboriouslypiling small squares of wood one upon another in an endeavor to buildthe tiny semblance of a house, I now, in this second childhood of mine, projected against thin air phantom edifices planned and completed inthe twinkling of an eye. To be sure, such houses of cards almostimmediately superseded one another, but the vanishing of one could notdisturb a mind that had ever another interesting bauble to take itsplace. And therein lies part of the secret of the happiness peculiar tothat stage of elation which is distinguished by delusions ofgrandeur--always provided that he who is possessed by them be notsubjected to privation and abuse. The sane man who can prove that he isrich in material wealth is not nearly so happy as the mentallydisordered man whose delusions trick him into believing himself amodern Croesus. A wealth of Midaslike delusions is no burden. Such afortune, though a misfortune in itself, bathes the world in a goldenglow. No clouds obscure the vision. Optimism reigns supreme. "Failure"and "impossible" are as words from an unknown tongue. And the uniquesatisfaction about a fortune of this fugitive type is that its lossoccasions no regret. One by one the phantom ships of treasure sail awayfor parts unknown; until, when the last ship has become but a speck onthe mental horizon, the observer makes the happy discovery that hispirate fleet has left behind it a priceless wake of Reason!

XXVI

Early in March, 1902, having lived in a violent ward for nearly fourmonths, I was transferred to another--a ward quite as orderly as thebest in the institution, though less attractively furnished than theone in which I had first been placed. Here also I had a room to myself;in this instance, however, the room had not only a bed, but a chair anda wardrobe. With this elaborate equipment I was soon able to convert myroom into a veritable studio. Whereas in the violent ward it had beennecessary for me to hide my writing and drawing materials to keep otherpatients from taking them, in my new abode I was able to conduct myliterary and artistic pursuits without the annoyances which had beeninevitable during the preceding months. 

Soon after my transfer to this ward I was permitted to go out of doorsand walk to the business section of the city, two miles distant. But onthese walks I was always accompanied. To one who has never surrenderedany part of his liberty such surveillance would no doubt seem irksome;yet, to me, after being so closely confined, the ever-present attendantseemed a companion rather than a guard. These excursions into the saneand free world were not only a great pleasure, they were almost atonic. To rub elbows with normal people tended to restore my mentalpoise. That the casual passer-by had no way of knowing that I was apatient, out for a walk about the city, helped me gain thatself-confidence so essential to the success of one about to re-enter aworld from which he had long been cut off. 

My first trips to the city were made primarily for the purpose ofsupplying myself with writing and drawing materials. While enjoyingthese welcome tastes of liberty, on more than one occasion Isurreptitiously mailed certain letters which I did not dare entrust tothe doctor. Under ordinary circumstances such an act on the part of oneenjoying a special privilege would be dishonorable. But thecircumstances that then obtained were not ordinary. I was simplyprotecting myself against what I believed to be unjust and illegalconfiscation of letters. 

I have already described how an assistant physician arbitrarily deniedmy request that I be permitted to send a birthday letter to my father, thereby not merely exceeding his authority and ignoring decency, but, consciously or unconsciously, stifling a sane impulse. That this shouldoccur while I was confined in the Bull Pen was, perhaps, not sosurprising. But about four months later, while I was in one of the bestwards, a similar, though less open, interference occurred. At this timeI was so nearly normal that my discharge was a question of but a veryfew months. Anticipating my return to my old world, I decided to renewformer relationships. Accordingly, my brother, at my suggestion, informed certain friends that I should be pleased to receive lettersfrom them. They soon wrote. In the meantime the doctor had beeninstructed to deliver to me any and all letters that might arrive. Hedid so for a time, and that without censoring. As was to be expected, after nearly three almost letterless years, I found rare delight inreplying to my reawakened correspondents. Yet some of these letters, written for the deliberate purpose of re-establishing myself in thesane world, were destroyed by the doctor in authority. At the time, notone word did he say to me about the matter. I had handed him formailing certain letters, unsealed. He did not mail them, nor did heforward them to my conservator as he should have done, and had earlieragreed to do with all letters which he could not see his way clear toapprove. It was fully a month before I learned that my friends had notreceived my replies to their letters. Then I accused the doctor ofdestroying them, and he, with belated frankness, admitted that he haddone so. He offered no better excuse than the mere statement that hedid not approve of the sentiments I had expressed. Another flagrantinstance was that of a letter addressed to me in reply to one of thosewhich I had posted surreptitiously. The person to whom I wrote, afriend of years' standing, later informed me that he had sent thereply. I never received it. Neither did my conservator. Were it notthat I feel absolutely sure that the letter in question was received atthe hospital and destroyed, I should not now raise this point. But sucha point, if raised at all, must of course be made without that directproof which can come only from the man guilty of an act which in thesane world is regarded as odious and criminal. 

I therefore need not dilate on the reasons which made it necessary forme to smuggle, as it were, to the Governor of the State, a letter ofcomplaint and instruction. This letter was written shortly after mytransfer from the violent ward. The abuses of that ward were stillfresh in my mind, and the memory of distressing scenes was kept vividby reports reaching me from friends who were still confined there. These private sleuths of mine I talked with at the eveningentertainments or at other gatherings. From them I learned thatbrutality had become more rife, if anything, since I had left the ward. Realizing that my crusade against the physical abuse of patients thusfar had proved of no avail, I determined to go over the heads of thedoctors and appeal to the ex-officio head of the institution, theGovernor of the State. 

On March 12th, 1903, I wrote a letter which so disturbed the Governorthat he immediately set about an informal investigation of some of mycharges. Despite its prolixity, its unconventional form and what, underother circumstances, would be characterized as almost diabolicimpudence and familiarity, my letter, as he said months later when Italked with him, "rang true. " The writing of it was an easy matter; infact, so easy, because of the pressure of truth under which I waslaboring at the time, that it embodied a compelling spontaneity. 

The mailing of it was not so easy. I knew that the only sure way ofgetting my thoughts before the Governor was to do my own mailing. Naturally no doctor could be trusted to send an indictment againsthimself and his colleagues to the one man in the State who had thepower to institute such an investigation as might make it necessary forall to seek employment elsewhere. In my frame of mind, to wish to mailmy letter was to know how to accomplish the wish. The letter was inreality a booklet. I had thoughtfully used waterproof India drawing inkin writing it, in order, perhaps, that a remote posterity might not bedeprived of the document. The booklet consisted of thirty-twoeight-by-ten-inch pages of heavy white drawing paper. These I sewedtogether. In planning the form of my letter I had forgotten to considerthe slot of a letter-box of average size. Therefore I had to adopt anunusual method of getting the letter into the mails. My expedient wassimple. There was in the town a certain shop where I traded. At myrequest the doctor gave me permission to go there for supplies. I wasof course accompanied by an attendant, who little suspected what wasunder my vest. To conceal and carry my letter in that place had beeneasy; but to get rid of it after reaching my goal was another matter. Watching my opportunity, I slipped the missive between the leaves of acopy of the _Saturday Evening Post_. This I did, believing that somepurchaser would soon discover the letter and mail it. Then I left theshop. 

On the back of the wrapper I had endorsed the following words:

 "Mr. Postmaster: This package is unsealed. Nevertheless it is first-class matter. Everything I write is necessarily first class. I have affixed two two-cent stamps. If extra postage is needed you will do the Governor a favor if you will put the extra postage on. Or affix 'due' stamps, and let the Governor pay his own bills, as he can well afford to. If you want to know who I am, just ask his Excellency, and oblige, Yours truly, ?"

Flanking this notice, I had arrayed other forceful sentiments, asfollows--taken from statutes which I had framed for the occasion:

 "Any person finding letter or package--duly stamped and addressed--_must_ mail same as said letter or package is really in hands of the Government the moment the stamp is affixed. "

And again:

 "Failure to comply with Federal Statute which forbids any one except addressee to open a letter renders one liable to imprisonment in State Prison. "

My letter reached the Governor. One of the clerks at the shop in whichI left the missive found and mailed it. From him I afterwards learnedthat my unique instructions had piqued his curiosity, as well ascompelled my wished-for action. Assuming that the reader's curiositymay likewise have been piqued, I shall quote certain passages from thisfour-thousand-word epistle of protest. The opening sentence read asfollows: "If you have had the courage to read the above" (referring toan unconventional heading) "I hope you will read on to the end of thisepistle--thereby displaying real Christian fortitude and learning a fewfacts which I think should be brought to your attention. "

I then introduced myself, mentioning a few common friends, by way ofindicating that I was not without influential political connections, and proceeded as follows: "I take pleasure in informing you that I amin the Crazy Business and am holding my job down with ease and a fairdegree of grace. Being in the Crazy Business, I understand certainphases of the business about which you know nothing. You as Governorare at present 'head devil' in this 'hell, ' though I know you areunconsciously acting as 'His Majesty's' 1st Lieutenant. "

I then launched into my arraignment of the treatment of the insane. Themethod, I declared, was "wrong from start to finish. The abusesexisting here exist in every other institution of the kind in thecountry. They are all alike--though some of them are of course worsethan others. Hell is hell the world over, and I might also add thathell is only a great big bunch of disagreeable details anyway. That'sall an Insane Asylum is. If you don't believe it, just go crazy andtake up your abode here. In writing this letter I am laboring under nomental excitement. I am no longer subjected to the abuses about which Icomplain. I am well and happy. In fact I never was so happy as I amnow. Whether I am in perfect mental health or not, I shall leave foryou to decide. If I am insane to-day I hope I may never recover myReason. "

First I assailed the management of the private institution where I hadbeen strait-jacketed and referred to "Jekyll-Hyde" as "Dr. ----, M. D. (Mentally Deranged). " Then followed an account of the strait-jacketexperience; then an account of abuses at the State Hospital. Idescribed in detail the most brutal assault that fell to my lot. Insumming up I said, "The attendants claimed next day that I had calledthem certain names. Maybe I did--though I don't believe I did at all. What of it? This is no young ladies' boarding school. Should a man benearly killed because he swears at attendants who swear like pirates? Ihave seen at least fifteen men, many of them mental and physicalwrecks, assaulted just as brutally as I was, and usually without acause. I know that men's lives have been shortened by these brutalassaults. And that is only a polite way of saying that murder has beencommitted here. " Turning next to the matter of the women's wards, Isaid: "A patient in this ward--a man in his right mind, who leaves hereon Tuesday next--told me that a woman patient told him that she hadseen many a helpless woman dragged along the floor by her hair, and hadalso seen them choked by attendants who used a wet towel as a sort ofgarrote. I have been through the mill and believe every word of theabuse. You will perhaps doubt it, as it seems impossible. Bear in mind, though, that everything bad and disagreeable is possible in an InsaneAsylum. "

It will be observed that I was shrewd enough to qualify a charge Icould not prove. 

When I came to the matter of the Bull Pen, I wasted no words: "The BullPen, " I wrote, "is a pocket edition of the New York Stock Exchangeduring a panic. "

I next pointed out the difficulties a patient must overcome in mailingletters: "It is impossible for any one to send a letter to you _via_the office. The letter would be consigned to the waste-basket--unlessit was a particularly crazy letter--in which case it might reach you, as you would then pay no attention to it. But a sane letter and a_true_ letter, telling about the abuses which exist here would stand noshow of being mailed. The way in which mail is tampered with by themedical staff is contemptible. "

I then described my stratagem in mailing my letter to the Governor. Discovering that I had left a page of my epistolary booklet blank, I drewupon it a copy of Rembrandt's Anatomy Lesson, and under it wrote: "Thispage was skipped by mistake. Had to fight fifty-three days to get writingpaper and I hate to waste any space--hence the masterpiece--drawn infive minutes. Never drew a line till September 26 (last) and never tooklessons in my life. I think you will readily believe my statement. "Continuing in the same half-bantering vein, I said: "I intend toimmortalize all members of medical staff of State Hospital forInsane--when I illustrate my Inferno, which, when written, will makeDante's Divine Comedy look like a French Farce. "

I then outlined my plans for reform: "Whether my suggestions meet withapproval or not, " I wrote, "will not affect the result--thoughopposition on your part would perhaps delay reforms. I have decided todevote the next few years of my life to correcting abuses now inexistence in every asylum in this country. I know how these abuses canbe corrected and I intend--later on, when I understand the subjectbetter--to draw up a Bill of Rights for the Insane. Every State in theUnion will pass it, because it will be founded on the Golden Rule. I amdesirous of having the co-operation of the Governor of Connecticut, butif my plans do not appeal to him I shall deal directly with his onlysuperior, the President of the United States. When Theodore Roosevelthears my story his blood will boil. I would write to him now, but I amafraid he would jump in and correct abuses too quickly. And by doing ittoo quickly too little good would be accomplished. "

Waxing crafty, yet, as I believed, writing truth, I continued: "I needmoney badly, and if I cared to, I could sell my information andservices to the _New York World_ or _New York Journal_ for a largeamount. But I do not intend to advertise Connecticut as a Hell-hole ofIniquity, Insanity, and Injustice. If the facts appeared in the publicpress at this time, Connecticut would lose caste with her sisterStates. And they would profit by Connecticut's disgrace and correct theabuses before they could be put on the rack. As these conditionsprevail throughout the country, there is no reason why Connecticutshould get all the abuse and criticism which would follow any suchrevelation of disgusting abuse; such inhuman treatment of human wrecks. If publicity is necessary to force you to act--and I am sure it willnot be necessary--I shall apply for a writ of habeas corpus, and, inproving my sanity to a jury, I shall incidentally prove your ownincompetence. Permitting such a whirl-wind reformer to dragConnecticut's disgrace into open court would prove your incompetence. "

For several obvious reasons it is well that I did not at that timeattempt to convince a jury that I was mentally sound. The mereoutlining of my ambitious scheme for reform would have caused myimmediate return to the hospital. That scheme, however, was a sound andfeasible one, as later events have proved. But, taking hold of me, asit did, while my imagination was at white heat, I was impelled toattack my problem with compromising energy and, for a time, in a mannerso unconvincing as to obscure the essential sanity of my cherishedpurpose. 

I closed my letter as follows: "No doubt you will consider certainparts of this letter rather 'fresh. ' I apologize for any such passagesnow, but, as I have an Insane License, I do not hesitate to say what Ithink. What's the use when one is caged like a criminal?

"P. S. This letter is a confidential one--and is to be returned to thewriter upon demand. "

The letter was eventually forwarded to my conservator and is now in mypossession. 

As a result of my protest the Governor immediately interrogated thesuperintendent of the institution where "Jekyll-Hyde" had tortured me. Until he laid before the superintendent my charges against hisassistant, the doctor in authority had not even suspected that I hadbeen tortured. This superintendent took pride in his institution. Hewas sensitive to criticism and it was natural that he should strive topalliate the offence of his subordinate. He said that I was a mosttroublesome patient, which was, indeed, the truth; for I had always away of my own for doing the things that worried those in charge of me. In a word, I brought to bear upon the situation what I have previouslyreferred to as "an uncanny admixture of sanity. "

The Governor did not meet the assistant physician who had maltreatedme. The reprimand, if there was to be any, was left to thesuperintendent to administer. 

In my letter to the Governor I had laid more stress upon the abuses towhich I had been subjected at this private institution than I had uponconditions at the State Hospital where I was when I wrote to him. Thismay have had some effect on the action he took, or rather failed totake. At any rate, as to the State Hospital, no action was taken. Noteven a word of warning was sent to the officials, as I later learned;for before leaving the institution I asked them. 

Though my letter did not bring about an investigation, it was notaltogether without results. Naturally, it was with considerablesatisfaction that I informed the doctors that I had outwitted them, andit was with even greater satisfaction that I now saw those in authoritymake a determined, if temporary, effort to protect helpless patientsagainst the cruelties of attendants. The moment the doctors wereconvinced that I had gone over their heads and had sent acharacteristic letter of protest to the Governor of the State, thatmoment they began to protect themselves with an energy born of arealization of their former shortcomings. Whether or not the managementin question ever admitted that their unwonted activity was due to mysuccessful stratagem, the fact remains that the summary discharge ofseveral attendants accused and proved guilty of brutality immediatelyfollowed and for a while put a stop to wanton assaults against whichfor a period of four months I had protested in vain. Patients who stilllived in the violent ward told me that comparative peace reigned aboutthis time. 

XXVII

My failure to force the Governor to investigate conditions at the StateHospital convinced me that I could not hope to prosecute my reformsuntil I should regain my liberty and re-establish myself in my oldworld. I therefore quitted the role of reformer-militant; and, but foran occasional outburst of righteous indignation at some flagrant abusewhich obtruded itself upon my notice, my demeanor was that of one quitecontent with his lot in life. 

I was indeed content--I was happy. Knowing that I should soon regain myfreedom, I found it easy to forgive--taking great pains not toforget--any injustice which had been done me. Liberty is sweet, even toone whose appreciation of it has never been augmented by its temporaryloss. The pleasurable emotions which my impending liberation arousedwithin me served to soften my speech and render me more tractable. Thischange the assistant physician was not slow to note, though he wasrather slow in placing in me the degree of confidence which I felt Ideserved. So justifiable, however, was his suspicion that even at thetime I forgave him for it. I had on so many prior occasions "playedpossum" that the doctor naturally attributed complex and unfathomablemotives to my most innocent acts. For a long time he seemed to thinkthat I was trying to capture his confidence, win the privilege of anunlimited parole, and so effect my escape. Doubtless he had notforgotten the several plans for escape which I had dallied with andbragged about while in the violent ward. 

Though I was granted considerable liberty during the months of April, May, and June, 1903, not until July did I enjoy a so-called unlimitedparole which enabled me to walk about the neighboring city unattended. My privileges were granted so gradually that these first tastes ofregained freedom, though delightful, were not so thrilling as one mightimagine. I took everything as a matter of course, and, except when Ideliberately analyzed my feelings, was scarcely conscious of my formerdeprivations. 

This power to forget the past--or recall it only at will--hascontributed much to my happiness. Some of those who have sufferedexperiences such as mine are prone to brood upon them, and I cannot butattribute my happy immunity from unpleasant memories to the fact that Ihave viewed my own case much as a physician might view that of apatient. My past is a thing apart. I can examine this or that phase ofit in the clarifying and comforting light of reason, under a memoryrendered somewhat microscopic. And I am further compensated by thebelief that I have a distinct mission in life--a chance for usefulnessthat might never have been mine had I enjoyed unbroken health anduninterrupted liberty. 

The last few months of my life in the hospital were much alike, savethat each succeeding one brought with it an increased amount ofliberty. My hours now passed pleasantly. Time did not drag, for I wasengaged upon some enterprise every minute. I would draw, read, write, or talk. If any feeling was dominant, it was my feeling for art; and Iread with avidity books on the technique of that subject. Strange as itmay seem, however, the moment I again found myself in the world ofbusiness my desire to become an artist died almost as suddenly as ithad been born. Though my artistic ambition was clearly an outgrowth ofmy abnormal condition, and languished when normality asserted itself, Iam inclined to believe I should even now take a lively interest in thestudy of art if I were so situated as to be deprived of a free choiceof my activities. The use of words later enthralled me because soeminently suited to my purposes. 

During the summer of 1903, friends and relatives often called to seeme. The talks we had were of great and lasting benefit to me. Though Ihad rid myself of my more extravagant and impossible delusions ofgrandeur--flying-machines and the like--I still discussed with intenseearnestness other schemes, which, though allied to delusions ofgrandeur, were, in truth, still more closely allied to sanity itself. My talk was of that high, but perhaps suspicious type in whichImagination overrules Common Sense. Lingering delusions, as it were, made great projects seem easy. That they were at least feasible undercertain conditions, my mentors admitted. Only I was in an abnormalhurry to produce results. Work that I later realized could not beaccomplished in less than five or ten years, if, indeed, in a lifetime, I then believed could be accomplished in a year or two, and by mesingle-handed. Had I had none but mentally unbalanced people to talkwith, I might have continued to cherish a distorted perspective. It wasthe unanimity of sane opinions that helped me to correct my own views;and I am confident that each talk with relatives and friends hastenedmy return to normality. 

Though I was not discharged from the State Hospital until September10th, 1903, during the preceding month I visited my home several times, once for three days. These trips were not only interesting, butsteadying in effect. I willingly returned to the hospital when myparole expired. Though several friends expressed surprise at thiswillingness to enter again an institution where I had experienced somany hardships, to me my temporary return was not in the least irksome. As I had penetrated and conquered the mysteries of that dark side oflife, it no longer held any terrors for me. Nor does it to this day. Ican contemplate the future with a greater degree of complacency thancan some of those whose lot in life has been uniformly fortunate. Infact, I said at that time that, should my condition ever demand it, Iwould again enter a hospital for the insane, quite as willingly as theaverage person now enters a hospital for the treatment of bodilyailments. 

It was in this complacent and confident mood, and without any sharpline of transition, that I again began life in my old world ofcompanionship and of business. 

XXVIII

For the first month of regained freedom I remained at home. These weekswere interesting. Scarcely a day passed that I did not meet severalformer friends and acquaintances who greeted me as one risen from thedead. And well they might, for my three-year trip among theworlds--rather than around the world--was suggestive of completeseparation from the everyday life of the multitude. One profoundimpression which I received at this time was of the uniform delicacy offeeling exhibited by my well-wishers. In no instance that I can recallwas a direct reference made to the nature of my recent illness, until Ihad first made some remark indicating that I was not averse todiscussing it. There was an evident effort on the part of friends andacquaintances to avoid a subject which they naturally supposed I wishedto forget. Knowing that their studied avoidance of a delicate subjectwas inspired by a thoughtful consideration, rather than a lack ofinterest, I invariably forced the conversation along a line calculatedto satisfy a suppressed, but perfectly proper, curiosity which I seldomfailed to detect. My decision to stand on my past and look the futurein the face has, I believe, contributed much to my own happiness, and, more than anything else, enabled my friends to view my past as I myselfdo. By frankly referring to my illness, I put my friends andacquaintances at ease, and at a stroke rid them of that constraintwhich one must feel in the presence of a person constantly in danger ofbeing hurt by a chance allusion to an unhappy occurrence. 

I have said much about the obligation of the sane in reference toeasing the burdens of those committed to institutions. I might sayalmost as much about the attitude of the public toward those whosurvive such a period of exile, restored, but branded with a suspicionwhich only time can efface. Though a former patient receives personalconsideration, he finds it difficult to obtain employment. Nofair-minded man can find fault with this condition of affairs, for aninherent dread of insanity leads to distrust of one who has had amental breakdown. Nevertheless, the attitude is mistaken. Perhaps onereason for this lack of confidence is to be found in the lack ofconfidence which a former patient often feels in himself. Confidencebegets confidence, and those men and women who survive mental illnessshould attack their problem as though their absence had been occasionedby any one of the many circumstances which may interrupt the career ofa person whose mind has never been other than sound. I can testify tothe efficacy of this course, for it is the one I pursued. And I thinkthat I have thus far met with as great a degree of success as I mighthave reasonably expected had my career never been all but fatallyinterrupted. 

Discharged from the State Hospital in September, 1903, late in Octoberof that same year I went to New York. Primarily my purpose was to studyart. I even went so far as to gather information regarding the severalschools; and had not my artistic ambition taken wing, I might haveworked for recognition in a field where so many strive in vain. But mybusiness instinct, revivified by the commercially surcharged atmosphereof New York, soon gained sway, and within three months I had secured aposition with the same firm for which I had worked when I first went toNew York six years earlier. It was by the merest chance that I madethis most fortunate business connection. By no stretch of my ratherelastic imagination can I even now picture a situation that would, atone and the same time, have so perfectly afforded a means oflivelihood, leisure in which to indulge my longing to write the storyof my experiences, and an opportunity to further my humanitarianproject. 

Though persons discharged from mental hospitals are usually able tosecure, without much difficulty, work as unskilled laborers, orpositions where the responsibility is slight, it is often next toimpossible for them to secure positions of trust. During thenegotiations which led to my employment, I was in no suppliant mood. Ifanything, I was quite the reverse; and as I have since learned, Iimposed terms with an assurance so sublime that any less degree ofaudacity might have put an end to the negotiations then and there. Butthe man with whom I was dealing was not only broad-minded, he wassagacious. He recognized immediately such an ability to take care of myown interests as argued an ability to protect those of his firm. Butthis alone would not have induced the average business man to employ meunder the circumstances. It was the common-sense and rational attitudeof my employer toward mental illness which determined the issue. Thisview, which is, indeed, exceptional to-day, will one day (within a fewgenerations, I believe) be too commonplace to deserve special mention. As this man tersely expressed it: "When an employé is ill, he's ill, and it makes no difference to me whether he goes to a general hospitalor a hospital for the insane. Should you ever find yourself in need oftreatment or rest, I want you to feel that you can take it when andwhere you please, and work for us again when you are able. "

Dealing almost exclusively with bankers, for that was the nature of mywork, I enjoyed almost as much leisure for reading and trying to learnhow to write as I should have enjoyed had I had an assured income thatwould have enabled me to devote my entire time to these pursuits. Andso congenial did my work prove, and so many places of interest did Ivisit, that I might rather have been classed as a "commercial tourist"than as a commercial traveler. To view almost all of the naturalwonders and places of historic interest east of the Mississippi, andmany west of it; to meet and know representative men and women; toenjoy an almost uninterrupted leisure, and at the same time earn alivelihood--these advantages bear me out in the feeling that insecuring the position I did, at the time I did, I enjoyed one of thoserare compensations which Fate sometimes bestows upon those who surviveunusual adversity. 

XXIX

After again becoming a free man, my mind would not abandon themiserable ones whom I had left behind. I thought with horror that myreason had been threatened and baffled at every turn. Without malicetoward those who had had me in charge, I yet looked with abhorrenceupon the system by which I had been treated. But I realized that Icould not successfully advocate reforms in hospital management until Ihad first proved to relatives and friends my ability to earn a living. And I knew that, after securing a position in the business world, Imust first satisfy my employers before I could hope to persuade othersto join me in prosecuting the reforms I had at heart. Consequently, during the first year of my renewed business activity (the year 1904), I held my humanitarian project in abeyance and gave all my executiveenergy to my business duties. During the first half of that year I gavebut little time to reading and writing, and none at all to drawing. Ina tentative way, however, I did occasionally discuss my project withintimate friends; but I spoke of its consummation as a thing of theuncertain future. At that time, though confident of accomplishing myset purpose, I believed I should be fortunate if my projected book werepublished before my fortieth year. That I was able to publish it eightyears earlier was due to one of those unlooked for combinations ofcircumstances which sometimes cause a hurried change of plans. 

Late in the autumn of 1904, a slight illness detained me for two weeksin a city several hundred miles from home. The illness itself amountedto little, and, so far as I know, had no direct bearing on laterresults, except that, in giving me an enforced vacation, it afforded mean opportunity to read several of the world's great books. One of thesewas "Les Misérables. " It made a deep impression on me, and I aminclined to believe it started a train of thought which gradually grewinto a purpose so all-absorbing that I might have been overwhelmed byit, had not my over-active imagination been brought to bay by another'scommon sense. Hugo's plea for suffering Humanity--for the world'smiserable--struck a responsive chord within me. Not only did it revivemy latent desire to help the afflicted; it did more. It aroused aconsuming desire to emulate Hugo himself, by writing a book whichshould arouse sympathy for and interest in that class of unfortunatesin whose behalf I felt it my peculiar right and duty to speak. Iquestion whether any one ever read "Les Misérables" with keenerfeeling. By day I read the story until my head ached; by night Idreamed of it. 

To resolve to write a book is one thing; to write it--fortunately forthe public--is quite another. Though I wrote letters with ease, I soondiscovered that I knew nothing of the vigils or methods of writing abook. Even then I did not attempt to predict just when I should beginto commit my story to paper. But, a month later, a member of the firmin whose employ I was made a remark which acted as a sudden spur. Oneday, while discussing the business situation with me, he informed methat my work had convinced him that he had made no mistake inre-employing me when he did. Naturally I was pleased. I had vindicatedhis judgment sooner than I had hoped. Aside from appreciating andremembering his compliment, at the time I paid no more attention to it. Not until a fortnight later did the force of his remark exert anypeculiar influence on my plans. During that time it apparentlypenetrated to some subconscious part of me--a part which, on prioroccasions, had assumed such authority as to dominate my whole being. But, in this instance, the part that became dominant did not exert anunruly or even unwelcome influence. Full of interest in my businessaffairs one week, the next I not only had no interest in them, but Ihad begun even to dislike them. From a matter-of-fact man of business Iwas transformed into a man whose all-absorbing thought was theamelioration of suffering among the afflicted insane. Travelling onthis high plane of ideal humanitarianism, I could get none but adistorted and dissatisfying view of the life I must lead if I shouldcontinue to devote my time to the comparatively deadening routine ofcommercial affairs. 

Thus it was inevitable that I should focus my attention on myhumanitarian project. During the last week of December I soughtammunition by making a visit to two of the institutions where I hadonce been a patient. I went there to discuss certain phases of thesubject of reform with the doctors in authority. I was politelyreceived and listened to with a degree of deference which was, indeed, gratifying. Though I realized that I was rather intense on the subjectof reform, I did not have that clear insight into my state of mindwhich the doctors had. Indeed, I believe that only those expert in thedetection of symptoms of a slightly disturbed mental condition couldpossibly have observed anything abnormal about me at that time. Onlywhen I discussed my fond project of reform did I betray an abnormalstress of feeling. I could talk as convincingly about business as I hadat any time in my life; for even at the height of this wave ofenthusiasm I dealt at length with a certain banker who finally placedwith my employers a large contract. 

After conferring with the doctors, or rather--as it proved--exhibitingmyself to them, I returned to New Haven and discussed my project withthe President of Yale University. He listened patiently--he couldscarcely do otherwise--and did me the great favor of interposing hisjudgment at a time when I might have made a false move. I told him thatI intended to visit Washington at once, to enlist the aid of PresidentRoosevelt; also that of Mr. Hay, Secretary of State. Mr. Hadleytactfully advised me not to approach them until I had more thoroughlycrystallized my ideas. His wise suggestion I had the wisdom to adopt. 

The next day I went to New York, and on January 1st, 1905, I began towrite. Within two days I had written about fifteen thousand words--forthe most part on the subject of reforms and how to effect them. One ofthe documents prepared at that time contained grandiloquent passagesthat were a portent of coming events--though I was ignorant of thefact. In writing about my project I said, "Whether I am a tool of Godor a toy of the devil, time alone will tell; but there will be nomisunderstanding Time's answer if I succeed in doing one-tenth of thegood things I hope to accomplish. .. . Anything which is feasible in thisphilanthropic age can easily be put into practice. .. . A listener getsthe impression that I hope to do a hundred years' work in a day. Theyare wrong there, for I'm not so in love with work--as such. I wouldlike though to interest so many people in the accomplishment of mypurpose that one hundred years' work might be done in a fraction ofthat time. Hearty co-operation brings quick results, and once you starta wave of enthusiasm in a sea of humanity, and have for the base ofthat wave a humanitarian project of great breadth, it will travel withirresistible and ever-increasing impulse to the ends of theearth--which is far enough. According to Dr. ----, many of my ideasregarding the solution of the problem under consideration are years andyears in advance of the times. I agree with him, but that is no reasonwhy we should not put 'the times' on board the express train ofprogress and give civilization a boost to a higher level, until itfinally lands on a plateau where performance and perfection will besynonymous terms. "

Referring to the betterment of conditions, I said, "And thisimprovement can never be brought about without some centralorganization by means of which the best ideas in the world may becrystallized and passed along to those in charge of this army ofafflicted ones. The methods to be used to bring about these resultsmust be placed on the same high level as the idea itself. No yellowjournalism or other sensational means should be resorted to. Let thething be worked up secretly and confidentially by a small number of menwho know their business. Then when the very best plan has beenformulated for the accomplishment of the desired results, and men ofmoney have been found to support the movement until it can take care ofitself, announce to the world in a dignified and effective manner theorganization and aims of the society, the name of which shall be--, decided later. .. . To start the movement will not require a whole lot ofmoney. It will be started modestly and as financial resources of thesociety increase, the field will be broadened. " . .. "The abuses andcorrection of same is a mere detail in the general scheme. " . .. "It istoo early to try to interest anyone in this scheme of preventingbreakdowns, as there are other things of more importance to be broughtabout first--but it will surely come in time. "

"'Uncle Tom's Cabin, '" I continued, "had a very decided effect on thequestion of slavery of the negro race. Why cannot a book be writtenwhich will free the helpless slaves of all creeds and colors confinedto-day in the asylums and sanitariums throughout the world? That is, free them from unnecessary abuses to which they are now subjected. Sucha book, I believe, can be written and I trust that I may be permittedto live till I am wise enough to write it. Such a book might change theattitude of the public towards those who are unfortunate enough to havethe stigma of mental incompetency put upon them. Of course, an insaneman is an insane man and while insane should be placed in aninstitution for treatment, but when that man comes out he should be asfree from all taint as the man is who recovers from a contagiousdisease and again takes his place in society. " In conclusion, I said, "From a scientific point of view there is a great field forresearch. .. . Cannot some of the causes be discovered and perhaps doneaway with, thereby saving the lives of many--and millions in money? Itmay come about that some day something will be found which will preventa complete and incurable mental breakdown. .. . "

Thus did I, as revealed by these rather crude, unrevised quotations, somewhat prophetically, if extravagantly, box the compass that laterguided the ship of my hopes (not one of my phantom ships) into a safechannel, and later into a safe harbor. 

By way of mental diversion during these creative days at the Yale Club, I wrote personal letters to intimate friends. One of these produced aresult unlooked for. There were about it compromising earmarks whichthe friend to whom it was sent recognized. In it I said that I intendedto approach a certain man of wealth and influence who lived in NewYork, with a view to securing some action that would lead to reform. That was enough. My friend showed the letter to my brother--the one whohad acted as my conservator. He knew at once that I was in an excitedmental condition. But he could not very well judge the degree of theexcitement; for when I had last talked with him a week earlier, I hadnot discussed my larger plans. Business affairs and my hope forbusiness advancement had then alone interested me. 

I talked with President Hadley on Friday; Saturday I went to New York;Sunday and Monday I spent at the Yale Club, writing; Tuesday, thistelltale letter fell under the prescient eye of my brother. On that dayhe at once got in touch with me by telephone. We briefly discussed thesituation. He did not intimate that he believed me to be in elation. Hesimply urged me not to attempt to interest anyone in my project until Ihad first returned to New Haven and talked with him. Now I had alreadygone so far as to invite my employers to dine with me that very nightat the Yale Club for the purpose of informing them of my plans. This Idid, believing it to be only fair that they should know what I intendedto do, so that they might dispense with my services should they feelthat my plans would in any way impair my usefulness as an employé. Ofthis dinner engagement, therefore, I told my brother. But soinsistently did he urge me to defer any such conference as I proposeduntil I had talked with him that, although it was too late to break thedinner engagement, I agreed to avoid, if possible, any reference to myproject. I also agreed to return home the next day. 

That night my guests honored me as agreed. For an hour or two wediscussed business conditions and affairs in general. Then, one of themreferred pointedly to my implied promise to unburden myself on acertain subject, the nature of which he did not at the time know. Iimmediately decided that it would be best to "take the bull by thehorns, " submit my plans, and, if necessary, sever my connection withthe firm, should its members force me to choose (as I put it) betweenthemselves and Humanity. I then proceeded to unfold my scheme; and, though I may have exhibited a decided intensity of feeling during mydiscourse, at no time, I believe, did I overstep the bounds of whatappeared to be sane enthusiasm. My employers agreed that my purpose wascommendable--that no doubt I could and would eventually be able to domuch for those I had left behind in a durance I so well knew to bevile. Their one warning was that I seemed in too great a hurry. Theyexpressed the opinion that I had not been long enough re-established inbusiness to be able to persuade people of wealth and influence to takehold of my project. And one of my guests very aptly observed that Icould not afford to be a philanthropist, which objection I met bysaying that all I intended to do was to supply ideas for those whocould afford to apply them. The conference ended satisfactorily. Myemployers disclaimed any personal objection to my proceeding with myproject, if I would, and yet remaining in their employ. They simplyurged me to "go slow. " "Wait until you're forty, " one of them said. Ithen thought that I might do so. And perhaps I should have waited solong, had not the events of the next two days put me on the right roadto an earlier execution of my cherished plans. 

The next day, January 4th, true to my word, I went home. That night Ihad a long talk with my brother. I did not suspect that a man likemyself, capable of dealing with bankers and talking for severalconsecutive hours with his employers without arousing their suspicionas to his mental condition, was to be suspected by his own relatives. Nor, indeed, with the exception of my brother, who had read mysuspiciously excellent letter, were any of my relatives disturbed; andhe did nothing to disabuse my assurance. After our night conference heleft for his own home, casually mentioning that he would see me againthe next morning. That pleased me, for I was in a talkative mood andcraved an interested listener. 

When my brother returned the next morning, I willingly accepted hisinvitation to go with him to his office, where we could talk withoutfear of interruption. Arrived there, I calmly sat down and prepared toprove my whole case. I had scarcely "opened fire" when in walked astranger--a strapping fellow, to whom my brother immediately introducedme. I instinctively felt that it was by no mere chance that this thirdparty had so suddenly appeared. My eyes at once took in the dark bluetrousers worn by the otherwise conventionally dressed stranger. Thatwas enough. The situation became so clear that the explanations whichfollowed were superfluous. In a word, I was under arrest, or inimminent danger of being arrested. To say that I was not in the leastdisconcerted would scarcely be true, for I had not divined my brother'sclever purpose in luring me to his office. But I can say, with truth, that I was the coolest person in the room. I knew what I should donext, but my brother and the officer of the law could only guess. Thefact is I did nothing. I calmly remained seated, awaiting the verdictwhich I well knew my brother, with characteristic decision, had alreadyprepared. With considerable effort--for the situation, he has sincetold me, was the most trying one of his life--he informed me that onthe preceding day he had talked with the doctors to whom I had soopportunely exhibited myself a week earlier. All agreed that I was in astate of elation which might or might not become more pronounced. Theyhad advised that I be persuaded to submit voluntarily to treatment in ahospital, or that I be, if necessary, forcibly committed. On thisadvice my brother had proceeded to act. And it was well so; for, thoughI appreciated the fact that I was by no means in a normal state ofmind, I had not a clear enough insight into my condition to realizethat treatment and a restricted degree of liberty were what I needed, since continued freedom might further inflame an imagination alreadyoverwrought. 

A few simple statements by my brother convinced me that it was for myown good and the peace of mind of my relatives that I shouldtemporarily surrender my freedom. This I agreed to do. Perhaps thepresence of two hundred pounds of brawn and muscle, representing thelaw, lent persuasiveness to my brother's words. In fact, I did assentthe more readily because I admired the thorough, sane, fair, almostartistic manner in which my brother had brought me to bay. I aminclined to believe that, had I suspected that a recommitment wasimminent, I should have fled to a neighboring State during thepreceding night. Fortunately, however, the right thing was done in theright way at the right time. Though I had been the victim of a cleverstratagem, not for one moment thereafter, in any particular, was Ideceived. I was frankly told that several doctors had pronounced meelated, and that for my own good I _must_ submit to treatment. I wasallowed to choose between a probate court commitment which would have"admitted me" to the State Hospital, or a "voluntary commitment" whichwould enable me to enter the large private hospital where I hadpreviously passed from depression to elation, and had later sufferedtortures. I naturally chose the more desirable of the two disguisedblessings, and agreed to start at once for the private hospital, theone in which I had been when depression gave way to elation. It was notthat I feared again to enter the State Hospital. I simply wished toavoid the publicity which necessarily would have followed, for at thattime the statutes of Connecticut did not provide for voluntarycommitment to the state hospitals. Then, too, there were certainprivileges which I knew I could not enjoy in a public institution. Having re-established myself in society and business I did not wish toforfeit that gain; and as the doctors believed that my period ofelation would be short, it would have been sheer folly to advertise thefact that my mental health had again fallen under suspicion. 

But before starting for the hospital I imposed certain conditions. Onewas that the man with the authoritative trousers should walk behind atsuch a distance that no friend or acquaintance who might see my brotherand myself would suspect that I was under guard; the other was that thedoctors at the institution should agree to grant my every request, nomatter how trivial, so long as doing so could in no way work to my owninjury. My privileges were to include that of reading and writing to myheart's content, and the procuring of such books and supplies as myfancy might dictate. All this was agreed to. In return I agreed tosubmit to the surveillance of an attendant when I went outside thehospital grounds. This I knew would contribute to the peace of mind ofmy relatives, who naturally could not rid themselves of the fear thatone so nearly normal as myself might take it into his head to leave theState and resist further attempts at control. As I felt that I couldeasily elude my keeper, should I care to escape, his presence alsocontributed to _my_ peace of mind, for I argued that the ability tooutwit my guard would atone for the offence itself. 

I then started for the hospital; and I went with a willingnesssurprising even to myself. A cheerful philosophy enabled me to turn anapparently disagreeable situation into one that was positively pleasingto me. I convinced myself that I could extract more real enjoyment fromlife during the ensuing weeks within the walls of a "retreat" than Icould in the world outside. My one desire was to write, write, write. My fingers itched for a pen. My desire to write was, I imagine, asirresistible as is the desire of a drunkard for his dram. And the actof writing resulted in an intoxicating pleasure composed of a minglingof emotions that defies analysis. 

That I should so calmly, almost eagerly, enter where devils might fearto tread may surprise the reader who already has been informed of thecruel treatment I had formerly received there. I feared nothing, for Iknew all. Having seen the worst, I knew how to avoid the pitfalls intowhich, during my first experience at that hospital, I had fallen ordeliberately walked. I was confident that I should suffer no abuse orinjustice so long as the doctors in charge should live up to theiragreement and treat me with unvarying fairness. This they did, and myquick recovery and subsequent discharge may be attributed partly tothis cause. The assistant physicians who had come in contact with meduring my first experience in this hospital were no longer there. Theyhad resigned some months earlier, shortly after the death of the formersuperintendent. Thus it was that I started with a clean record, freefrom those prejudices which so often affect the judgment of a hospitalphysician who has treated a mental patient at his worst. 

XXX

On more than one occasion my chameleonlike temperament has enabled meto adjust myself to new conditions, but never has it served me betterthan it did at the time of which I write. A free man on New Year's Day, enjoying the pleasures of a congenial club life, four days later Ifound myself again under the lock and key of an institution for theinsane. Never had I enjoyed life in New York more than during thosefirst days of that new year. To suffer so rude a change was, indeed, enough to arouse a feeling of discontent, if not despair; yet, asidefrom the momentary initial shock, my contentment was in no degreediminished. I can say with truth that I was as complacent the verymoment I recrossed the threshold of that "retreat" as I had been whencrossing and recrossing at will the threshold of my club. 

Of everything I thought and did during the interesting weeks whichfollowed, I have a complete record. The moment I accepted theinevitable, I determined to spend my time to good advantage. Knowingfrom experience that I must observe my own case, if I was to have anydetailed record of it, I provided myself in advance with notebooks. Inthese I recorded, I might almost say, my every thought and action. Thesane part of me, which fortunately was dominant, subjected itstemporarily unruly part to a sort of scientific scrutiny andsurveillance. From morning till night I dogged the steps of my restlessbody and my more restless imagination. I observed the physical andmental symptoms which I knew were characteristic of elation. Anexquisite light-heartedness, an exalted sense of wellbeing, my pulse, my weight, my appetite--all these I observed and recorded with a carethat would have put to the blush a majority of the doctors in charge ofmental cases in institutions. 

But this record of symptoms, though minute, was vague compared to myreckless analysis of my emotions. With a lack of reserve characteristicof my mood, I described the joy of living, which, for the most part, then consisted in the joy of writing. And even now, when I reread myrecord, I feel that I cannot overstate the pleasure I found insurrendering myself completely to that controlling impulse. Theexcellence of my composition seemed to me beyond criticism. And, as toone in a state of elation, things are pretty much as they seem, I wasable to experience the subtle delights which, I fancy, thrill the soulof a master. During this month of elation I wrote words enough to filla book nearly as large as this one. Having found that each filling ofmy fountain pen was sufficient for the writing of about twenty-eighthundred words, I kept a record of the number of times I filled it. Thisminute calculation I carried to an extreme. If I wrote for fifty-nineminutes, and then read for seventeen, those facts I recorded. Thus, inmy diary and out of it, I wrote and wrote until the tips of my thumband forefinger grew numb. As this numbness increased and generalweariness of the hand set in, there came a gradual flagging of mycreative impulse until a very normal unproductivity supervened. 

The reader may well wonder in what my so-called insanity at this timeconsisted. Had I any of those impracticable delusions which hadcharacterized my former period of elation? No, not one--unless anunreasonable haste to achieve my ambitions may be counted a delusion. My attention simply focussed itself on my project. All otherconsiderations seemed of little moment. My interest in business wanedto the vanishing point. Yet one thing should be noted: I diddeliberately devote many hours to the consideration of businessaffairs. Realizing that one way to overcome an absorbing impulse is todivide the attention, I wrote a brief of the arguments I had often usedwhen talking with bankers. In this way I was able to convince thedoctors that my intense interest in literature and reform would soonspend itself. 

A consuming desire to effect reforms had been the determining factorwhen I calmly weighed the situation with a view to making the bestpossible use of my impulse to write. The events of the immediate pasthad convinced me that I could not hope to interest people of wealth andinfluence in my humanitarian project until I had some definite plan tosubmit for their leisurely consideration. Further, I had discoveredthat an attempt to approach them directly disturbed my relatives andfriends, who had not yet learned to dissociate! present intentions frompast performances. I had, therefore, determined to drill myself in theart of composition to the end that I might write a story of my lifewhich would merit publication. I felt that such a book, once written, would do its own work, regardless of my subsequent fortunes. Otherbooks had spoken even from the grave; why should not my book sospeak--if necessary?

With this thought in mind I began not only to read and write, but totest my impulse in order that I might discover if it were a part of myvery being, an abnormal impulse, or a mere whim. I reasoned that tocompare my own feelings toward literature, and my emotions experiencedin the heat of composition, with the recorded feelings of successfulmen of letters, would give me a clue to the truth on this question. Atthis time I read several books that could have served as a basis for mydeductions, but only one of them did I have time to analyze and note inmy diary. That one was, "Wit and Wisdom of the Earl of Beaconsfield. "The following passages from the pen of Disraeli I transcribed in mydiary with occasional comment. 

"Remember who you are, and also that it is your duty to excel. Providence has given you a great lot. Think ever that you are born toperform great duties. " This I interpreted in much the same spirit thatI had interpreted the 45th Psalm on an earlier occasion. 

"It was that noble ambition, the highest and best, that must be born inthe heart, and organized in the brain, which will not let a man becontent unless his intellectual power is recognized by his race, anddesires that it should contribute to their welfare. "

"Authors--the creators of opinion. "

"What appear to be calamities are often the sources of fortune. "

"Change is inevitable in a progressive country. Change is constant. "("Then why, " was my recorded comment, "cannot the changes I propose tobring about, be brought about?")

"The author is, as we must ever remember, of peculiar organization. Heis a being born with a predisposition which with him is irresistible, the bent of which he cannot in any way avoid, whether it directs him tothe abstruse researches of erudition or induces him to mount into thefervid and turbulent atmosphere of imagination. "

"This, " I wrote (the day after arriving at the hospital) "is a fairdiagnosis of my case as it stands to-day, assuming, of course, that anauthor is one who loves to write, and can write with ease, even thoughwhat he says may have no literary value. My past proves that myorganization is a peculiar one. I have for years (two and a half) had adesire to achieve success along literary lines. I believe that, feelingas I do to-day, nothing can prevent my writing. If I had to make achoice at once between a sure success in the business career ahead ofme and doubtful success in the field of literature, I would willingly, yes confidently, choose the latter. I have read many a time aboutsuccessful writers who learned how to write, and by dint of hard workground out their ideas. If these men could succeed, why should not aman who is in danger of being ground up by an excess of ideas andimagination succeed, when he seems able to put those ideas into fairlyintelligible English? He should and will succeed. "

Therefore, without delay, I began the course of experiment and practicewhich culminated within a few months in the first draft of my story. Wise enough to realize the advantages of a situation free from theannoying interruptions of the workaday world, I enjoyed a degree ofliberty seldom experienced by those in possession of complete legalliberty and its attendant obligations. When I wished to read, write, talk, walk, sleep, or eat, I did the thing I wished. I went to thetheatre when the spirit moved me to do so, accompanied, of course, byan attendant, who on such occasions played the rôle of chum. 

Friends called to see me and, at their suggestion or mine, invited meto dinner outside the walls of my "cloister. " At one of these dinnersan incident occurred which throws a clear light on my condition at thetime. The friend, whose willing prisoner I was, had invited a commonfriend to join the party. The latter had not heard of my recentcommitment. At my suggestion, he who shared my secret had agreed not torefer to it unless I first broached the subject. There was nothingstrange in the fact that we three should meet. Just such impromptucelebrations had before occurred among us. We dined, and, as friendswill, indulged in that exchange of thoughts which bespeaks intimacy. During our talk, I so shaped the conversation that the possibility of arecurrence of my mental illness was discussed. The uninformed friendderided the idea. 

"Then, if I were to tell you, " I remarked, "that I am at this momentsupposedly insane--at least not normal--and that when I leave youto-night I shall go direct to the very hospital where I was formerlyconfined, there to remain until the doctors pronounce me fit forfreedom, what would you say?"

"I should say that you are a choice sort of liar, " he retorted. 

This genial insult I swallowed with gratification. It was, in truth, atimely and encouraging compliment, the force of which its author failedto appreciate until my host had corroborated my statements. 

If I could so favorably impress an intimate friend at a time when I waselated, it is not surprising that I should subsequently hold aninterview with a comparative stranger--the cashier of a localbank--without betraying my state of mind. As business interviews go, this was in a class by itself. While my attendant stood guard at thedoor, I, an enrolled inmate of a hospital for the insane, entered thebanking room and talked with a level-headed banker. And that interviewwas not without effect in subsequent negotiations which led to theclosing of a contract amounting to one hundred and fifty thousanddollars. 

The very day I re-entered the hospital I stopped on the way at a localhotel and procured some of the hostelry's stationery. By using this inthe writing of personal and business letters I managed to conceal mycondition and my whereabouts from all except near relatives and a fewintimate friends who shared the secret. I quite enjoyed leading thislegitimate double life. The situation appealed (not in vain) to mysense of humor. Many a smile did I indulge in when I closed a letterwith such ambiguous phrases as the following: "Matters of importancenecessitate my remaining where I am for an indefinite period. " . .. "Asituation has recently arisen which will delay my intended trip South. As soon as I have closed a certain contract (having in mind my contractto re-establish my sanity) I shall again take to the road. " To this dayfew friends or acquaintances know that I was in semi-exile during themonth of January, 1905. My desire to suppress the fact was not due, asalready intimated, to any sensitiveness regarding the subject ofinsanity. What afterwards justified my course was that on regaining myfreedom I was able, without embarrassment, again to take up my work. Within a month of my voluntary commitment, that is, in February, Istarted on a business trip through the Central West and South, where Iremained until the following July. During those months I felt perfectlywell, and have remained in excellent health ever since. 

This second interruption of my career came at a time and in a manner tofurnish me with strong arguments wherewith to support my contentionthat so-called madmen are too often man-made, and that he who ispotentially mad may keep a saving grip on his own reason if he befortunate enough to receive that kindly and intelligent treatment towhich one on the brink of mental chaos is entitled. Though during thissecond period of elation I was never in a mood so reckless as thatwhich obtained immediately after my recovery from depression in August, 1902, I was at least so excitable that, had those in authorityattempted to impose upon me, I should have thrown discretion to thewinds. To them, indeed, I frankly reiterated a terse dictum which I hadcoined during my first period of elation. "Just press the button ofInjustice, " I said, "and I'll do the rest!" This I meant, for fear ofpunishment does not restrain a man in the dare-devil grip of elation. 

What fostered my self-control was a sense of gratitude. The doctors andattendants treated me as a gentleman. Therefore it was not difficult toprove myself one. My every whim was at least considered with apoliteness which enabled me to accept a denial with a highly saneequanimity. Aside from mild tonics I took no other medicine than thatmost beneficial sort which inheres in kindness. The feeling that, though a prisoner, I could still command obligations from others led meto recognize my own reciprocal obligations, and was a constant sourceof delight. The doctors, by proving their title to that confidencewhich I tentatively gave them upon re-entering the institution, had nodifficulty in convincing me that a temporary curtailment of someprivileges was for my own good. They all evinced a consistent desire totrust me. In return I trusted them. 

XXXI

On leaving the hospital and resuming my travels, I felt sure that anyone of several magazines or newspapers would willingly have had meconduct my campaign under its nervously commercial auspices; but aflash-in-the-pan method did not appeal to me. Those noxious growths, Incompetence, Abuse, and Injustice, had not only to be cut down, butrooted out. Therefore, I clung to my determination to write a book--aninstrument of attack which, if it cuts and sears at all, does so aslong as the need exists. Inasmuch as I knew that I still had to learnhow to write, I approached my task with deliberation. I planned to dotwo things: first, to crystallize my thoughts by discussion--tellingthe story of my life whenever in my travels I should meet any personwho inspired my confidence; second, while the subject matter of my bookwas shaping itself in my mind, to drill myself by carrying on aletter-writing campaign. Both these things I did--as certain indulgentfriends who bore the brunt of my spoken and written discourse cancertify. I feared the less to be dubbed a bore, and I hesitated theless, perhaps, to impose upon good-nature, because of my firmconviction that one in a position to help the many was himself entitledto the help of the few. 

I wrote scores of letters of great length. I cared little if some of myfriends should conclude that I had been born a century too late; for, without them as confidants, I must write with no more inspiring objectin view than the wastebasket. Indeed, I found it difficult to composewithout keeping before me the image of a friend. Having stipulated thatevery letter should be returned upon demand, I wrote withoutreserve--my imagination had free rein. I wrote as I thought, and Ithought as I pleased. The result was that within six months I foundmyself writing with a facility which hitherto had obtained only duringelation. At first I was suspicious of this new-found and apparentlypermanent ease of expression--so suspicious that I set about diagnosingmy symptoms. My self-examination convinced me that I was, in fact, quite normal. I had no irresistible desire to write, nor was there anysuggestion of that exalted, or (technically speaking) euphoric, light-heartedness which characterizes elation. Further, after aprolonged period of composition, I experienced a comforting sense ofexhaustion which I had not known while elated. I thereforeconcluded--and rightly--that my unwonted facility was the product ofpractice. At last I found myself able to conceive an idea andimmediately transfer it to paper effectively. 

In July, 1905, I came to the conclusion that the time for beginning mybook was at hand. Nevertheless, I found it difficult to set a definitedate. About this time I so arranged my itinerary that I was able toenjoy two summer--though stormy--nights and a day at the Summit Houseon Mount Washington. What better, thought I, than to begin my book on aplane so high as to be appropriate to this noble summit? I thereforebegan to compose a dedication. "To Humanity" was as far as I got. Therethe Muse forsook me. 

But, returning to earth and going about my business, I soon again foundmyself in the midst of inspiring natural surroundings--the BerkshireHills. At this juncture Man came to the assistance of Nature, andperhaps with an unconsciousness equal to her own. It was a chanceremark made by an eminent man that aroused my subconscious literarypersonality to irresistible action. I had long wished to discuss myproject with a man of great reputation, and if the reputation wereinternational, so much the better. I desired the unbiased opinion of ajudicial mind. Opportunely, I learned that the Hon. Joseph H. Choatewas then at his summer residence at Stockbridge, Massachusetts. Mr. Choate had never heard of me and I had no letter of introduction. Theexigencies of the occasion, however, demanded that I conjure one up, soI wrote my own letter of introduction and sent it:

 RED LION INN, STOCKBRIDGE, MASS. August 18, 1905. 

 HON. JOSEPH H. CHOATE, Stockbridge, Massachusetts. 

 DEAR SIR:

 Though I might present myself at your door, armed with one of society's unfair skeleton-keys--a letter of introduction--I prefer to approach you as I now do: simply as a young man who honestly feels entitled to at least five minutes of your time, and as many minutes more as you care to grant because of your interest in the subject to be discussed. 

 I look to you at this time for your opinion as to the value of some ideas of mine, and the feasibility of certain schemes based on them. 

 A few months ago I talked with President Hadley of Yale, and briefly outlined my plans. He admitted that many of them seemed feasible and would, if carried out, add much to the sum-total of human happiness. His only criticism was that they were "too comprehensive. "

 Not until I have staggered an imagination of the highest type will I admit that I am trying to do too much. Should you refuse to see me, believe me when I tell you that you will still be, as you are at this moment, the unconscious possessor of my sincere respect. 

 Business engagements necessitate my leaving here early on Monday next. Should you care to communicate with me, word sent in care of this hotel will reach me promptly. 

 Yours very truly, CLIFFORD W. BEERS. 

Within an hour I had received a reply, in which Mr. Choate said that hewould see me at his home at ten o'clock the next morning. 

At the appointed time, the door, whose lock I had picked with a pen, opened before me and I was ushered into the presence of Mr. Choate. Hewas graciousness itself--but pointed significantly at a heap ofunanswered letters lying before him. I took the hint and within tenminutes briefly outlined my plans. After pronouncing my project a"commendable one, " Mr. Choate offered the suggestion that producedresults. "If you will submit your ideas in writing, " he said, "I shallbe glad to read your manuscript and assist you in any way I can. Toconsider fully your scheme would require several hours, and busy mencannot very well give you so much time. What they can do is to readyour manuscript during their leisure moments. "

Thus it was that Mr. Choate, by granting the interview, contributed toan earlier realization of my purposes. One week later I began thecomposition of this book. My action was unpremeditated, as my quittingBoston for less attractive Worcester proves. That very day, findingmyself with a day and a half of leisure before me, I decided to temptthe Muse and compel myself to prove that my pen was, in truth, "thetongue of a ready writer. " A stranger in the city, I went to a schoolof stenography and there secured the services of a young man who, though inexperienced in his art, was more skilled in catching thoughtsas they took wing than I was at that time in the art of setting themfree. Except in the writing of one or two conventional businessletters, never before had I dictated to a stenographer. After I hadstartled him into an attentive mood by briefly outlining my past careerand present purpose, I worked without any definite plan or brief, orreference to data. My narrative was therefore digressive and onlyroughly chronological. But it served to get my material in front of mefor future shaping. At this task I hammered away three or four hours aday for a period of five weeks. 

It so happened that Mr. Choate arrived at the same hotel on the day Itook up my abode there, so that some of the toil he had inspired wenton in his proximity, if not in his presence. I carefully kept out ofhis sight, however, lest he should think me a "crank" on the subject ofreform, bent on persecuting his leisure. 

As the work progressed my facility increased. In fact, I soon called inan additional stenographer to help in the snaring of my thoughts. Thisexcessive productivity caused me to pause and again diagnose mycondition. I could not fail now to recognize in myself symptoms hardlydistinguishable from those which had obtained eight months earlier whenit had been deemed expedient temporarily to restrict my freedom. But Ihad grown wise in adversity. Rather than interrupt my manuscript shortof completion I decided to avail myself of a vacation that was due, andremain outside my native State--this, so that well-meaning but perhapsoverzealous relatives might be spared unnecessary anxiety, and I myselfbe spared possible unwarranted restrictions. I was by no means certainas to the degree of mental excitement that would result from suchcontinuous mental application; nor did I much care, so long as Iaccomplished my task. However, as I knew that "possession is ninepoints of the law, " I decided to maintain my advantage by remaining inmy literary fortress. And my resolve was further strengthened bycertain cherished sentiments expressed by John Stuart Mill in his essay"On Liberty, " which I had read and reread with an interest born ofexperience. 

At last the first draft of the greater part of my story was completed. After a timely remittance (for, in strict accordance with thetraditions of the craft, I had exhausted my financial resources) Istarted for home with a sigh of relief. For months I had been under theburden of a conscious obligation. My memory, stored with informationwhich, if rightly used, could, I believed, brighten and even saveunhappy lives, was to me as a basket of eggs which it was my duty tobalance on a head whose poise was supposed to be none too certain. Oneby one, during the preceding five weeks, I had gently lifted mythoughts from their resting-place, until a large part of my burden hadbeen so shifted as to admit of its being imposed upon the publicconscience. 

After I had lived over again the trials and the tortures of myunhappiest years--which was of course necessary in ploughing andharrowing a memory happily retentive--the completion of this firstdraft left me exhausted. But after a trip to New York, whither I wentto convince my employers that I should be granted a furtherleave-of-absence, I resumed work. The ground for this added favor wasthat my manuscript was too crude to submit to any but intimateacquaintances. Knowing, perhaps, that a business man with a literarybee buzzing in his ear is, for the time, no business man at all, myemployers readily agreed that I should do as I pleased during the monthof October. They also believed me entitled to the favor, recognizingthe force of my belief that I had a high obligation to discharge. 

It was under the family rooftree that I now set up my literary shop. Nine months earlier an unwonted interest in literature and reform hadsent me to an institution. That I should now in my own home be able towork out my destiny without unduly disturbing the peace of mind ofrelatives was a considerable satisfaction. In the very room where, during June, 1900, my reason had set out for an unknown goal, Iredictated my account of that reason's experiences. 

My leave-of-absence ended, I resumed my travels eagerly; for I wishedto cool my brain by daily contact with the more prosaic minds of men ofbusiness. I went South. For a time I banished all thoughts of my bookand project. But after some months of this change of occupation, whichI thoroughly enjoyed, I found leisure in the course of wide travels totake up the work of elaboration and revision. A presentable draft of mystory being finally prepared, I began to submit it to all sorts andconditions of minds (in accordance with Mill's dictum that only in thatway can the truth be obtained). In my quest for criticism and advice, Ifortunately decided to submit my manuscript to Professor William Jamesof Harvard University, the most eminent of American psychologists and amasterful writer, who was then living. He expressed interest in myproject; put my manuscript with others on his desk--but was somewhatreserved when it came to promising to read my story. He said it mightbe months before he could find time to do so. Within a fortnight, however, I received from him a characteristic letter. To me it came asa rescuing sun, after a period of groping about for an authoritativeopinion that should put scoffers to flight. The letter read as follows:

 95 IRVING ST. , CAMBRIDGE, MASS. July 1, 1906. 

 DEAR MR. BEERS:

 Having at last "got round" to your MS. , I have read it with very great interest and admiration for both its style and its temper. I hope you will finish it and publish it. It is the best written out "case" that I have seen; and you no doubt have put your finger on the weak spots of our treatment of the insane, and suggested the right line of remedy. I have long thought that if I were a millionaire, with money to leave for public purposes, I should endow "Insanity" exclusively. 

 You were doubtless a pretty intolerable character when the maniacal condition came on and you were bossing the universe. Not only ordinary "tact, " but a genius for diplomacy must have been needed for avoiding rows with you; but you certainly were wrongly treated nevertheless; and the spiteful Assistant M. D. At ---- deserves to have his name published. Your report is full of instructiveness for doctors and attendants alike. 

 The most striking thing in it to my mind is the sudden conversion of you from a delusional subject to a maniacal one--how the whole delusional system disintegrated the moment one pin was drawn out by your proving your brother to be genuine. I never heard of so rapid a change in a mental system. 

 You speak of rewriting. Don't you do it. You can hardly improve your book. I shall keep the MS. A week longer as I wish to impart it to a friend. 

 Sincerely yours, WM. JAMES. 

Though Mr. James paid me the compliment of advising me not to rewritemy original manuscript, I did revise it quite thoroughly beforepublication. When my book was about to go to press for the first timeand since its reception by the public was problematical, I askedpermission to publish the letter already quoted. In reply, Mr. Jamessent the following letter, also for publication. 

 95 IRVING ST. , CAMBRIDGE, MASS. November 10, 1907. 

 DEAR MR. BEERS:

 You are welcome to use the letter I wrote to you (on July 1, 1906) after reading the first part of your MS. In any way your judgment prompts, whether as preface, advertisement, or anything else. Reading the rest of it only heightens its importance in my eyes. In style, in temper, in good taste, it is irreproachable. As for contents, it is fit to remain in literature as a classic account "from within" of an insane person's psychology. 

 The book ought to go far toward helping along that terribly needed reform, the amelioration of the lot of the insane of our country, for the Auxiliary Society which you propose is feasible (as numerous examples in other fields show), and ought to work important effects on the whole situation. 

 You have handled a difficult theme with great skill, and produced a narrative of absorbing interest to scientist as well as layman. It reads like fiction, but it is not fiction; and this I state emphatically, knowing how prone the uninitiated are to doubt the truthfulness of descriptions of abnormal mental processes. 

 With best wishes for the success of the book and the plan, both of which, I hope, will prove epoch-making, I remain, Sincerely yours, WM. JAMES. 

Several times in my narrative, I have said that the seemingly unkindfate that robbed me of several probably happy and healthful years hadhidden within it compensations which have offset the sufferings and theloss of those years. Not the least of the compensations has been themany letters sent to me by eminent men and women, who, having achievedresults in their own work, are ever responsive to the efforts of anyonetrying to reach a difficult objective. Of all the encouraging opinionsI have ever received, one has its own niche in my memory. It came fromWilliam James a few months before his death, and will ever be aninspiration to me. Let my excuse for revealing so complimentary aletter be that it justifies the hopes and aspirations expressed in thecourse of my narrative, and shows them to be well on the way toaccomplishment. 

 95 IRVING STREET, CAMBRIDGE, January 17, 1910. 

 DEAR BEERS:

 Your exegesis of my farewell in my last note to you was erroneous, but I am glad it occurred, because it brought me the extreme gratification of your letter of yesterday. 

 You are the most responsive and recognizant of human beings, my dear Beers, and it "sets me up immensely" to be treated by a practical man on practical grounds as you treat me. I inhabit such a realm of abstractions that I only get credit for what I do in that spectral empire; but you are not only a moral idealist and philanthropic enthusiast (and good fellow!), but a tip-top man of business in addition; and to have actually done anything that the like of you can regard as having helped him is an unwonted ground with me for self-gratulation. I think that your tenacity of purpose, foresight, tact, temper, discretion and patience, are beyond all praise, and I esteem it an honor to have been in any degree associated with you. Your name will loom big hereafter, for your movement must prosper, but mine will not survive unless some other kind of effort of mine saves it. 

 I am exceedingly glad of what you say of the Connecticut Society. May it prosper abundantly!

 I thank you for your affectionate words which I return with interest and remain, for I trust many years of this life, Yours faithfully, WM. JAMES. 

At this point, rather than in the dusty corners of the usual preface, Iwish to express my obligation to Herbert Wescott Fisher, whom I knew atschool. It was he who led me to see my need of technical training, neglected in earlier years. To be exact, however, I must confess that Iread rather than studied rhetoric. Close application to its rulesserved only to discourage me, so I but lazily skimmed the pages of theworks which he recommended. But my friend did more than direct me tosources. He proved to be the kindly mean between the two extremes ofstranger and intimate. I was a prophet not without honor in his eyes. Upon an embarrassing wealth of material he brought to bear hispractical knowledge of the workmanship of writing; and my drafting ofthe later parts and subsequent revisions has been so improved by thepractice received under his scrupulous direction that he has had littlefault to find with them. My debt to him is almost beyond repayment. 

Nothing would please me more than to express specifically myindebtedness to many others who have assisted me in the preparation ofmy work. But, aside from calling attention to the fact that physiciansconnected with the State Hospital and with the private institutionreferred to--the one not run for profit--exhibited rare magnanimity(even going so far as to write letters which helped me in my work), and, further, acknowledging anonymously (the list is too long forexplicit mention) the invaluable advice given me by psychiatrists whohave enabled me to make my work authoritative, I must be content toindite an all-embracing acknowledgment. Therefore, and with distinctpleasure, I wish to say that the active encouragement of casual, buttrusted acquaintances, the inspiring indifference of unconvincedintimates, and the kindly scepticism of indulgent relatives, who, perforce, could do naught but obey an immutable law of blood-relatedminds--all these influences have conspired to render more sure theaccomplishment of my heart's desire. 

XXXII

"My heart's desire" is a true phrase. Since 1900, when my own breakdownoccurred, not fewer than one million men and women in the United Statesalone have for like causes had to seek treatment in institutions, thousands of others have been treated outside of institutions, whileother thousands have received no treatment at all. Yet, to use thewords of one of our most conservative and best informed psychiatrists, "No less than half of the enormous toll which mental disease takes fromthe youth of this country can be prevented by the application, largelyin childhood, of information and practical resources now available. "

Elsewhere is an account of how my plan broadened from reform to cure, from cure to prevention--how far, with the co-operation of some of thiscountry's ablest specialists and most generous philanthropists, it hasbeen realized, nationally and internationally, through the new form ofsocial mechanism known as societies, committees, leagues orassociations for mental hygiene. 

More fundamental, however, than any technical reform, cure, orprevention--indeed, a condition precedent to all these--is a changedspiritual attitude toward the insane. They are still human: they loveand hate, and have a sense of humor. The worst are usually responsiveto kindness. In not a few cases their gratitude is livelier than thatof normal men and women. Any person who has worked among the insane, and done his duty by them, can testify to cases in point; and evencasual observers have noted the fact that the insane are oftentimesappreciative. Consider the experience of Thackeray, as related byhimself in "Vanity Fair" (Chapter LVII). "I recollect, " he writes, "seeing, years ago, at the prison for idiots and madmen, at Bicêtre, near Paris, a poor wretch bent down under the bondage of hisimprisonment and his personal infirmity, to whom one of our party gavea halfpennyworth of snuff in a cornet or 'screw' of paper. The kindnesswas too much . .. He cried in an anguish of delight and gratitude; ifanybody gave you and me a thousand a year, or saved our lives, we couldnot be so affected. "

A striking exhibition of fine feeling on the part of a patient wasbrought to my attention by an assistant physician whom I met whilevisiting a State Hospital in Massachusetts. It seems that the woman inquestion had, at her worst, caused an endless amount of annoyance byindulging in mischievous acts which seemed to verge on malice. At thattime, therefore, no observer would have credited her with the exquisitesensibility she so signally displayed when she had become convalescentand was granted a parole which permitted her to walk at will about thehospital grounds. After one of these walks, taken in the early spring, she rushed up to my informant and, with childlike simplicity, told himof the thrill of delight she had experienced in discovering the firstflower of the year in full bloom--a dandelion, which, withcharacteristic audacity, had risked its life by braving the elements ofan uncertain season. 

"Did you pick it?" asked the doctor. 

"I stooped to do so, " said the patient; "then I thought of the pleasurethe sight of it had given me--so I left it, hoping that someone elsewould discover it and enjoy its beauty as I did. "

Thus it was that a woman, while still insane, unconsciously exhibitedperhaps finer feeling than did Ruskin, Tennyson, and Patmore on anoccasion the occurrence of which is vouched for by Mr. JulianHawthorne. These three masters, out for a walk one chilly afternoon inlate autumn, discovered a belated violet bravely putting forth from theshelter of a mossy stone. Not until these worthies had got down on allfours and done ceremonious homage to the flower did they resume theirwalk. Suddenly Ruskin halted and, planting his cane in the ground, exclaimed, "I don't believe, Alfred--Coventry, I don't believe thatthere are in all England three men besides ourselves who, after findinga violet at this time of year, would have had forbearance and finefeeling enough to refrain from plucking it. "

The reader may judge whether the unconscious display of feeling by theobscure inmate of a hospital for the insane was not finer than theself-conscious raptures of these three men of world-wide reputation. 

Is it not, then, an atrocious anomaly that the treatment often metedout to insane persons is the very treatment which would deprive somesane persons of their reason? Miners and shepherds who penetrate themountain fastnesses sometimes become mentally unbalanced as a result ofprolonged loneliness. But they usually know enough to return tocivilization when they find themselves beginning to be affected withhallucinations. Delay means death. Contact with sane people, if not toolong postponed, means an almost immediate restoration to normality. This is an illuminating fact. Inasmuch as patients cannot usually beset free to absorb, as it were, sanity in the community, it is the dutyof those entrusted with their care to treat them with the utmosttenderness and consideration. 

"After all, " said a psychiatrist who had devoted a long life to workamong the insane, both as an assistant physician and later assuperintendent at various private and public hospitals, "what theinsane most need is a _friend_!"

These words, spoken to me, came with a certain startling freshness. Andyet it was the sublime and healing power of this same love whichreceived its most signal demonstration two thousand years ago at thehands of one who restored to reason and his home that man of Scripture"who had his dwelling among the tombs; and no man could bind him, no, not with chains: Because that he had been often bound with fetters andchains, and the chains had been plucked asunder by him, and the fettersbroken in pieces; neither could any man tame him. And always, night andday, he was in the mountains, and in the tombs, crying, and cuttinghimself with stones. But when he saw Jesus afar off, he ran andworshipped him, And cried with a loud voice, and said, What have I todo with Thee, Jesus, Thou Son of the Most High God? I adjure Thee byGod, that Thou torment me not. "