“What does this mean? I have tried the door—and it is locked! Who dares to treat me thus—me—a gentleman of birth and fortune? I will not endure such conduct: I will appeal to my brother, the magistrate, for protection. He shall hang the wretches who have perpetrated this insolence.
“O God! what do I see? There are bars at the window! Great heavens! I shall go mad!
“Mad! Yes—that was the last word that I wrote yesterday—I suppose it must have been yesterday—when I so hastily concealed my papers, on hearing some one approach the door. I remember that full well! Yes—it was an elderly man, with a mild and benevolent countenance—dressed in black, with linen beautifully white—and with a massive chain and seals. I looked at him well: but I knew him not. I do not think that I ever saw him before. He sate down by my side—felt my pulse—and asked me several questions. Ah! a thought flashes to my mind: that good old gentleman is a doctor. And now,—yes—I think I can recollect it all,—I abused him—I insulted him very grossly;—and then some men entered and compelled me to go to bed. They undressed me by force. I struggled against them; but it was useless.
“Oh! what does it all mean? Why those men to coerce me?—why that doctor to attend upon me?—and why those bars at the window? Gracious God! it cannot be—no—no—the horrible thought——
“Yes: it must be so—I am really mad!
“Again I sit down, calmly and tranquilly, to write. I have weighed well my condition—have asked myself a thousand questions—have read what I have written above—have striven to recollect all the past—have carefully examined the present—and have dared to think of the future. By all this—and by the bars at the window—I know that I am mad!
“Yes: but I can write the word now without growing excited; and I must practise writing it again, so that I may by degrees gather to my aid such an amount of self-possession as to be able to trace on this paper all that has occurred to me. Then shall I possess a positive memorial—a substantial key to the past; and should I again forget, in an interval of delirium, all that has occurred, I can speedily recommit the mournful history to my memory during a lucid interval like the present.
“Mad—mad—mad—mad! There—now I can write the word without the least excitement; and this is a triumph already achieved. By gaining a complete and accurate knowledge of my real position, I shall know how to act. I am aware that I am in a lunatic asylum: I am also aware that I have passed through intervals of fearful delirium. But I must compose myself as much as possible. I cannot remain in this horrible place;—and if I cannot become really sane again, I may at all events pretend to be so—and then they will let me out. But in order to regain my intellects, or appear to recover my reason, I must remember all that has occurred to me, so as to be enabled to converse calmly and sensibly on the subject. Stay! I will think—I will reflect profoundly for the rest of the day; and to-morrow I will resume my pen.