But in a few minutes, Trevelyan grew wearied of the sameness of the prospect, so still and inanimate at that hour; and he began to examine, more minutely than at first, the chamber in which he found himself.
A massive wardrobe of dark mahogany, and elaborately carved, particularly attracted his notice; and, impelled by that curiosity which frequently seizes upon persons who seek to while away an hour or two by any means that opportunity or accident may afford, he opened the large and heavy doors. There were several shelves inside, filled with blankets and counterpanes, evidently deposited there during the summer-months, when the beds required less clothing than in winter.
Trevelyan was about to close the doors, when he suddenly caught sight of something that appeared to be a roll of papers thrust between the blankets. He drew forth the object of his attention, and found that his conjecture was correct; for he held in his hand a manuscript consisting of several folios of foolscap closely written upon in a genteel and fluent style.
A farther examination of the papers showed him, by means of certain dates, that the manuscript was only recently composed; and an indescribable feeling of interest, superior to any thing like vulgar curiosity, prompted him to read the documents that had thus strangely fallen into his possession.
Besides, he had determined to let a couple of hours slip away ere he took any step in pursuance of the design that had brought him to the mad-house; and he was by no means sorry at having discovered a mode of passing the interval otherwise than by restlessly pacing his chamber or gazing from the window.
He accordingly seated himself at the table, and commenced the perusal of the extraordinary document that will be found in the ensuing chapter.
CHAPTER CLXXXVIII.
THE CONFESSIONS OF A LUNATIC.
“My blood has been boiling like a lava-stream. It appears to me as if I can now freely respire the fresh air, after having only breathed by gasps. What agony, then, has it been that has thus convulsed my soul?—of what kind was the anguish which has left such strange and unnatural sensations behind? Have I just awakened from a reverie of burning thoughts and appalling visions?—or was there any truth in the hideous things which seem to have passed like a frightful phantasmagoria through my brain? What means this suffocating sob that has struggled upward, and as it were spontaneously from my breast? O God! it appears to me now as if the wildest—most maniacal ideas have crowded into volumes, but become compressed into instants! Do I rave?—am I really here—in a room elegantly furnished—and seated at this table, writing? Is the bright sun-light streaming in at the open casement?—and does the breeze penetrate into the chamber, fanning my feverish cheek and throbbing brow, and wafting to me the delicious perfume of flowers? Is all this true—or a dream? Am I still a denizen of the earth,—that earth of which I seem for some time to have lost all forgetfulness—dwelling during the interval in a chaos peopled with horrible images—ghastly spectres—frightful beings of nondescript shape? Oh, I remember—I found this paper, this pen, and this ink in that large and massive ward-robe so exquisitely carved;—and something tells me that there are persons watching my movements—spying my actions—and who will be angry with me—perhaps ill-treat me—if they behold me writing down my ideas. Oh! I am afraid—I am afraid. My God! where am I? There is a hurry in my brain—my blood again begins to boil—my hand trembles as I write. But wherefore do I write at all? I know not:—and yet it seems to do me good!
“If any persons—any of those men whom I remember to have seen just now—should endeavour to enter the room, I will hide my papers in yonder ward-robe. Or else under the bed?—or between the mattresses? No: in that ward-robe—it is the safest place, I feel confident.
“But why should I not go forth and walk in that garden which I can see from the window?—or else penetrate into the fields at a great distance, and lie down and think? If the breeze coming into this room, does me good, how much more refreshed should I feel were I to ramble about in the open country! Yes—I will go.