The Madman of St. James': a narrative, from the Journal of a Physician. Translated from the German, by T. H

Chapter I

A SUCCESSFUL TREATMENT. If anybody could place himself exactly in my situation, and picture to himself my long and anxious .search for an object so ardently desired — ■ a search pursued under uncertain and ever-mislead ing circumstances, he could then imagine my agita tion, when, half in doubt, half in despair, of any happy result, I thus suddenly and unexpectedly found myself placed in the very midst of all I had longed for, and exerted myself so much to find; — he could then feel and understand in part what must have been my feelings at this change. In a cheerful little room on the ground-floor of the house, I found myself alone with Sir Robert; the bright light of a lamp fell full on the stately VOL. III. b but slightly-bent form of the old clergyman. Ah ! how correctly, how well had Percy described him to me !

Dignity and benevolence were impressed on his form and features, but years and the many sufferings which had passed over his head and whitened his hair, had also left their traces on his noble, manly features, not inj uring them, but making them softer, by giving them almost an expression of melancholy. The lines of deep suffering could be seen round the mouth, and his kind, benevo lent eyes rested on me earnestly and seriously with a look, in which might be read the resigned con sciousness of lost happiness. He wore a long black velvet coat, which gave an imposing appearance to his tall figure ; but it seemed as if his shoulders bore a heavy, invisible burden, for they were bent forward, and his head was slightly bowed down as if with a certain air of submission, which suited well with the natural dignity of his quiet manner.

But that which at first sight gave me the firm and joyful assurance that Sir Robert Graham's heart and mind had not fallen a prey to the great misfortunes he had known, was his free, noble, manly forehead; for on that open brow reigned the firmest trust in the Most High, and the most submissive and most complete resignation to the will of his Almighty Creator. " You are very kind, sir," he began, in a tone of voice which had in it something peculiarly pleasing ; " you are very kind in thus taking the trouble at this late hour to come at my request ; I thank you most heartily for it." And he once more offered me his hand. I was determined to undeceive him as soon as possible, for I longed to shorten his moments of suffering, and to tell him all quickly, although I had determined to go to work in doing so with the greatest caution.

Without hesitation therefore I answered, — " You are mistaken in me, Sir Robert ; I am not so happy as to have been called here at your request ; — what I have done, I have done of my own free will ; — for — 1 have been long, very long seeking for you." He looked at me astonished, and said hastily, — " What ! Are you not Dr. from C ? " "I am a doctor," 'I answered; "but my name is not , neither do I come from C -." He was going to interrupt me, but I laid my hand on his arm and continued, — " I must even claim your pardon for sending the doctor from b2 C away; but although you have neither sent for me, nor even know me, yet I believe you will place more confidence in me than m any other doctor, and I shall be better able than any other to help you or any of your family, who stands in need of medical assistance."

These strange words, spoken in a loud and de cided voice, made an uncertain but visible im pression on him. He looked at me somewhat bewildered, and bowed ; but then quickly collecting himself, he placed a chair for me, and motioned me with his hand to sit down. But refusing the offer of a chair, I continued, — "I shall not sit down until I have disclosed to you the important matter which my heart longs to tell you ; but I see you do not yet understand me, and therefore I must speak intelligibly. Well then, Sir Robert Graham, I have only need to speak one word, and to name one name, and you will understand me better than all those mysterious trials which for four long years have been passing over your head." He folded his hands submissively, and looked at me in silence with the greatest amazement.

" Yes," I continued ; " you do not know me ; but I know you. For twenty-nine days I have been seeking you :— you were formerly at Codring- THE MADMAN OF ST. JAMESJ. 5 ton — the name of your suffering daughter is — Ellinor — I come from Dunsdale. What, sir, has no messenger been with you who thought to find a stranger here, or who announced his coming?" Ah ! never shall I forget the expression of his face at that delightful moment — how he seemed to snap up, as it were, every word which fell from my lips. He stood before me, his arms extended, with lips apart, but still said nothing ; he seemed to have lost the power of speech ; for astonishment, joyful surprise, and perhaps even the recollection of the past, rushed on him too quickly, and agitated him too deeply. " Ha ! — the letter ! — that mysterious letter," he at length stammered out.

" Yes, this morning — my astonishment and perplexity — my daughter's anxiety, and from that moment the sudden in crease of her sufferings," and putting his hand into his breast coat-pocket, he drew out a letter and gave it to me. "Is it really for you, sir? — yes — yes — it is, I se'e it— ah ! how that letter has perplexed me ; unfortunately I could give no information respecting the stranger, and the messenger who brought it went away again." I held the letter in my hand, the long sought for — anxiously-expected letter. I held it up, and said, — "My dear Sir Robert Graham, although I rejoice to find this letter here, I now no longer need it; — it doubtless contains only the letter which not long since your daughter herself left at Dunsdale Castle for Percy, Viscount of Dunsdale." " Ha I" cried he, " and wherefore all this?"

" Wherefore all this ? " I repeated ; " thank God with me, sir ! It is because a just and almighty Being reigns above ; because the end of your sufferings is come ; the night is past ; and the sun of fresh happiness has arisen; it is because you should know that Percy, Viscount of Dunsdale, is not dead — and because — and because — I am able in one word to make you happy; — do you under me now, sir, and why I am the best doctor for your daughter?" I can still see him standing before me ; his first movement was to fall on his knees ; he was theu just going to rush out of the room, probably to tell Ellinor the joyful tidings, when, immediately re collecting himself, he quickly came up to me, aiid taking me in his arms, he pressed me to his heart, saying only,—" Oh ! my God !— my God !" This was all he could say.

The first outburst of joy, of surprise, and thank fulness towards Him who is the author and giver of all good things, passed over, and gave place in Sir Robert to a calmer and more tranquil state of feeling, while I was considering what should be done next. Sir Robert soon recovered from the astonishment my communication produced, and was again himself; and after a while we were sitting by each other, he holding my hand in his, and I telling him as quickly, and in as few words as possible, all the events which had taken place in the brief period of ten weeks, since the time I had made Percy's acquaintance — but where I had made it, I did not dare tell him as yet ; how I had begun to love him, how he had given me his confidence, and related to me his history ; how I with Bob had been searching for him, Sir Robert Graham, and his daughter Ellinor ; how I had been at Dunsdale Castle, and the letter had been lost ; in what ex traordinary manner I had got to the marquis, and what I had managed to arrange there; aud how, finally, I had arrived at the house of the late Sir William Graham, and without any informa tion, and only following the uncertain traces of the messenger from Dunsdale, I had at last come into this neighbourhood, when, almost despairing of any success, I had only been attracted by the beauty of the scenery, and an undefinable wish to linger there, — and thus had found Sir Robert Graham.

" And now," I concluded, " was it the reason, the proud reason of man, or was it luck, oft-praised luck, which has thus conducted me to you? No, it was the instinct of an animal which brought me here ; for Othello recognized Bravour, and the saddle of his master, whom for four years he had not seen, and yet had not forgotten !" " What ! Bravour is there ? — and Bob the boy is there ? Let me see them, sir ! I must touch and feel it all, that I may believe incredibilities, and consider the impossible possible. Yes, come, I must see them, and have time to consider how — how I can best break it all to her." And Sir Robert, almost beside himself at the unexpected discovery of Percy, drew me in his joy almost by force out of the room, into the court-yard, into the stable, where Bravour and Puck, the little brown pony, covered with woollen rugs, were enjoying the sweet hay of the fruitful valley.

It was only after he had stroked and patted the good faithful horse more than twenty times, called him by name, and convinced himself it was really Bravour, and shaken hands with my good Bob three times, that he at last listened to the servant, who brought him a message from his daughter to request he would go to her directly. Notwithstanding this message, the old man could scarcely tear himself away. Othello could not be prevailed upon to go with us ; he lay down close to Bravour in the stable, as if after such a long separation he did not like to leave him again. We, however, returned to the room we had just left. " And now what shall we do for this poor girl ? " he asked anxiously ; " she is very suffering !" "Leave all this to me," I answered; "to me alone; of course we must act with the greatest caution, but still we must not let her remain long in suspense; for I do not see why we should hesitate any longer, or keep her for one mo ment from the great happiness which is awaiting her, and which will immediately drive from her memory the dreadful sorrow she has endured.

The best way, it seems to me, would be to let her, from some remarks which we will%autiously make, arrive at the right conclusion herself. I think that would be better than telling her outright, — it will agitate her less ; let me arrange it. I have got my own little plans. And now," I continued, taking out all Ellinor's letters which ,1 had found at the different places I had visited, and breaking the seal of the one I had just received, "before you go to your daughter and announce my arrival, let me quickly read over these lines, and then let us go to her, and see what we can do." Enclosed in a letter from the steward of Duns dale Castle to me was Ellinor's letter to Percy, which had arrived at its destination at the same time as myself, and which I would restore to her unopened; later, however, I heard that in this letter she had acquainted Percy with the sale of her late uncle's estate, and told him of their pre sent place of residence, without, however, giving any reason for their change of abode.

But I now heard that my supposition had proved correct, and that they had been obliged to take this step in consequence of the estate of Lord Seymour being so near by. From the steward's letter, I learned that in order to take especial care of Ellinor's letter, good Mrs. Trollope, to keep it We, had put it into the pil low-case of her bed, and with her usual absence of mind had quite forgotten where she had put it, until the linen had been changed; when, to her fright as well as joy, the important letter had been found, and sent immediately after me as I had requested. And now, replacing my three letters in my pocket, I said to Sir Robert, — " I am ready, sir ! Let us now go to our last, best, and happiest task !" Sir Robert Graham opened the door of a room which connected the one in which we had been sitting with Ellinor's. I followed him softly, for the door of Ellinor's room was open.

The room, in which I now was, was small, but most tastefully arranged, and well lighted by two lamps. I seated myself on a sofa which stood in one corner, in order to hear what might now take place between father and child, and — why should I conceal it ? — in order to calm also the throbbings of my own heart, which, as soon as I felt myself near Ellinor, had become so violent, that I could hear them myself. I sat down, and made Sir Robert a sign that he should go to his daughter, but he .hesitated — his heart most likely was over full with the many feelings which agitated it, and which he evidently made an effort to control. He still stood before the door, passed his hand over his forehead, as if he knew not how to begin, and with the other hand he supported himself by the table, but his eye beamed, and he drew a deep breath.

"Father !" now uttered a soft voice from the adjoining apartment, "father! are you there? — why do you stay so long ? — do come in !" Ah ! the sound of this voice was like music to my ear, and its tones powerfully affected me. Percy, now, indeed, I could understand the calming effect of this voice on your heart, when you first heard its sweet tones in the green wood, when, forsaken by the whole world, you thought it to be an angel's voice, sent for your consolation. Ah ! what rich gifts can Providence bestow ! How beautiful in itself is the human voice ! How powerful, and often how mighty does it become when, speaking like a messenger from above, it proclaims truth, justice, and freedom ! Then again, how persuasive and beautiful, when, coming from the unfathomable depths of an inno cent, loving heart, it whispers words of devo tion and love, inspiring the whole soul with hap piness !

I listened to its soft, plaintive tones, anxious not to lose a single word she uttered. " Here I am, my dear child \" answered her father, in his kind voice, which, however was not quite so firm as usual ; for Sir Robert could hardly control his agitation. " What is the matter with Othello?" she continued ; " he has barked more than I have heard him bark for a long time — is anybody come ? " Sir Robert now went into her room, and I could hear him sit down in a chair, which most likely stood by her couch. "The doctor has' come, Ellinor, and Othello ran out to meet him : perhaps he knows him," added he in an uncertain, trembling voice. " The doctor ! why do you say that so strangely? No, no, it is not that. You are concealing something from me. What, you do conceal something from me : — give me your hand.

Ah ! it trembles — what has happened, father ? Speak — speak, I implore you — you are agitated !" " Yes, I am agitated ; I can't deny it, my dear child; but you know what has perplexed and agitated me the whole day, and now more so than ever !" " And why ? and where is the doctor? " " I am here !" said I slowly, for I heard by the increasing agitation of the father's voice that he was losing his composure and knew not what to say; and fearing that he might discover too much, I had gently approached the door, though I was still concealed from the view of the father and daughter. " Ah ! sir," now exclaimed the old man quickly, " come in ! — otherwise she will not be lieve it ? " And I came in ; the room was nearly as brightly lighted as the first ; upon the couch lay a form — ah ! what a form !

Percy, had you been in my place, and could you but have seen what I saw ! A simple white muslin dress, trimmed with black ribbon, for the mourning for her late uncle had not yet expired, covered her graceful figure, leaving bare part of her snowy, delicate throat. She leaned her head on her arm, which was bare to the elbow, and of the most lovely shape. Human beauty can be as little understood as it can be de scribed in words. The head, with its thick, clus tering, light-brown ringlets, was of such perfect beauty in its oval form and the way in which it was placed on her graceful shoulders, that I was not only astonished but perfectly dazzled. And how beautiful was the delicately formed nose ; the full rosy mouth with the parted lips; how tender the light of those large, soft, blue eyes '.—nothing could equal the expression of that face, now trans parent and pale as marble, or the melting look of those eyes.

If it was possible to imagine a beautiful and pure soul embodied, it was to be met with here. Not only could the trace of deep suffering be seen in that lovely innocent face, but the whole earnest dignity, the feminine resignation of a noble soul lay there also. Yes ! I was dazzled by a beauty, which I had imagined noble, captivating, and charming, but which I could never have pictured to myself so touching in its perfect loveliness, so wonderful ! I had never seen any beauty like it before. But these observations it was not of course pos sible for me to make at the first moment of my entrance ; for Ellinor immediately occupied all my attention, and I was compelled to recall quickly to mind all the circumstances which had thus led me to her. I do not know how it was ; either the muscles of my face were not under my control, or my face expressed in opposition to my wishes something of what was passing in my heart ; — but certainly, her eyes fixed themselves more and more searchingly and with a peculiar intensity upon me, and seemed not only to read my inmost thoughts, but to understand them.

Sir Robert Graham got up from the chair by her couch, and motioned me to take his place there. I seated myself mechanically ; for I felt my knees tremble, my head giddy, and all my pulses beating. " Yes, Miss Graham," said I purposely, in order not to betray myself, " your doctor is here, and is glad to have an opportunity to be of service to you, although he regrets that his assistance is needed." "I do not know why," she answered, still keeping her eyes fixed immoveably upon my face, " I do not know why, but your face and my father's have an expression inexplicable to me ; but no, I suppose I am mistaken. I am certainly mistaken. Ah, sir ! pray excuse me, but as you have now been called in to one who is suffering, why should I mind letting you be a witness to it ? And I suppose I am again deceived by an illu sion such as has often deceived my heart before."

" Calm yourself, Miss Graham," said I ; " you certainly do not yet know me, and therefore I should be sorry if my face gave you any cause for believing yourself deceived in me." " Oh ! it is not that ! — it is something else ; you do not understand me, — but, pardon me, — are you really a doctor ? " " Why should you ask me that ? " I asked. " Because, excuse my frankness, I might have perhaps confidence in you ; although, at the same time, I must regret that you should have taken the trouble to come here in vain ; for I am not ill." With this she looked at her father, who gave me a stolen glance, but remained silent. " You are not ill, Miss Graham," I continued, " but still I know that you are suffering." "What, do I look so? — or does my good father's anxiety speak through you ? " " Both, Miss Graham, both ;" and here I raised my voice, " but I beg of you not to be anxious ; for I am certain, quite certain, of being able to relieve you greatly, if not to ensure your perfect recovery."

Here she gave me a look so full of sorrow, and shook her lovely head so mournfully, that I determined to fulfil this promise as quickly as possible. " You promise much, more perhaps than you can perform," she continued ; " for, good and kind as you appear to be, and whatever trouble you are willing to take for me, still your power is but vol. in. c human, and that, I am afraid, is not sufficient to help me. No, no, do not shake your head ; be lieve what I say. Ah! once I was strong in health, and merry as the fawn in the sunshine of the green wood, and then I became unhappy— was it not so, dear father?— and then I got ill, gradually, slowly ; but it struck to my very soul, and it will never pass away. Can you restore to me my lost happiness ? Yes ; if you could do that jthen indeed I might believe that you could cure me !

But no, no, no ! Human help cannot avail !" " Humanly speaking, it may be impossible," I answered, involuntarily touching with my hand the letters she herself had written ; " but God's power is great, and He has many ways of helping and consoling us. Yes, He alone can cure us, and restore that happiness which we, short-sighted mortals, believe to be lost for ever." " Yes, yes, He can ; but I have now no more hope in this life for myself! But tell me," she added, and in such a mournful voice that the im pression it made on me almost caused me to be tray myself, and yet it was in such a low tone that I could scarcely understand her, " have you ever loved ? But why, why should I ask that, for you are married." Sir Robert gave me a sign, as if I were to con firm this, but I shook my head, and answered,' — "Married, Miss Graham? — no, that I am not; but still I can imagine what love is, and what deep sorrow the loss of it, or rather of its object, must produce."

" Imagine it ? — oh no, it cannot be imagined, no, not imagined ! — and therefore if you have not yet loved, you also cannotknow how to alleviate the sufferings it causes." She paused, and with a motion of her hand, easy to be understood, she pointed to her heart and then resumed, — "Have you the dew which could refresh this withered heart, and the rain which could give new life to the dried-up soi«Ke of my withered hopes ? No, you have it not—^but how is it ? You say you are not married, and yet, father, you spoke of Mr. L . having a wife !" A pause now ensued, which seemed to be painful both to father and daughter ; whilst I inwardly rejoiced, and answered boldly, — " You are in error, Miss Graham. Has your father not told you that I am not the doctor for whom he sent, but the one for whom the letter of this morning " c2 She did not let me finish.

" Heavens !" cried she, suddenly raising herself up;— with a trembling hand she grasped my arm, her eye, which until now had been dim with tears, sparkled with life and animation, while she gazed alternately at. me and at her father, who stood there looking anxiously at me, uncertain as to what was now to follow — " What ! was the letter from Dunsdale Castle for you ? " I likewise now got up, and, holding up the three letters, I said in as calm a voice as I could, — " Here, Miss Graham, here is the one of this morning ; and here, and here, are two others of an earlier date." I looked at her steadily but kindly. Mechani cally she seized the first httev — the second — the third — she saw the address. " Ah ! my God ! " cried she, and she covered her face with her hands. " Ellinor, Miss Graham !"

I exclaimed in a loud voice, "listen to me. Compose yourself; I have still much to tell." " No, no, something has happened ; something dreadfulhas taken place; you are preparing me forit." " By the heavens above us, nothing dreadful has happened ; on the contrary, rather " " Who has opened these letters ? " she asked quickly, looking at me almost angrily. " I, Lady Dunsdale .'" I said. Speaking these words slowly, but with strong emphasis, I anxiously waited for the effect they might produce. It was most extraordinary. At first she appeared petrified with surprise, and her face became pale as death ; she then began to tremble, and this gave place to a smile, a quickly fading smile, like the passing remembrance of a half-forgotten dream ; then came mistrust with its timid, half-credulous look; but when she saw me gazing on her, serious but happy, this also passed away ; and a beautiful expression of peace rested on her features — of peace such as only an angel could feel.

She blushed deeply, and looked down. But then raising her head again, she passed her hand over her forehead, as if she wished to recall to mind something long forgotten; her eyes were filled with tears, and she said in a low voice, as if speaking to herself, — " Lady Dunsdale ? — what do I hear — I think I was called so once. Ah ! that moment was short — and the separation so long ; I suppose it was only a dream." Then said I half audibly, as if likewise speaking to myself, — " Those dreams are often the sweetest, and the most delightful, when, on awaking, we find that it has been no dream ; but that fate, with living certainty, has realized our most ardent hopes and wishes." A deathlike stillness reigned around ; Ellinor lay in the same state, exhausted and half uncon scious. I only heard her deep breathing, and could see by the heaving of her bosom that the past and the present were struggling within her for mastery.

Just as gently as before I continued, — " I also know one who dreamed just such a short and happy dream, never to be forgotten ; who, but just united to the one he loved, and who loved him beyond all else, was torn from her, and for four years did not see her again." Ellinor's hand fell from her forehead ; her smil ing eye rested delightedly upon me; a rosy tint suffused her cheeks, and she might well thus have personified Day stepping forth from the dark and dewy night. She continued whispering, and it seemed to me as if she were not speaking to us, but to her own heart, — " And who was he, that unhappy, that most un happy being ? " " Ah ! it was my friend — or rather it is my friend — my dearest friend !" " Has he only a name for you ? " " I know not what his name is for others, but for me — he is — Percy, Viscount of Dunsdale, the eldest son of the Marquis of Seymour !"

" Father !" cried she in a loud voice, springing up with the quickness of lightning from her couch, and throwing herself into the arms of the old man, who stood there silent but happy, and unable to utter a word; " father ! save me from him ; he will deceive my heart with vain hopes, that it may once more throb with happiness, and then be hushed for ever." But her father had still no words for his happiness. With one arm he supported his child, and the other he extended towards me, as if to motion me to continue. Ellinor herself, resting on his bosom, half turned round her head towards me — fearing — hoping — and as if her eye rather sought for another than for me. " I would never deceive a heart like that of Ellinor Graham," I continued ; " but if Percy himself sends me here, to name his name, to search for his wife,— is it my fault if she will not believe me?"