April 2. Mesmerized by Miss P. (Sphygmographic chart taken by
Professor Wilson.)
April 3. It is possible that this course of mesmerism may be a little
trying to the general constitution. Agatha says that I am thinner and
darker under the eyes. I am conscious of a nervous irritability which
I had not observed in myself before. The least noise, for example,
makes me start, and the stupidity of a student causes me exasperation
instead of amusement. Agatha wishes me to stop, but I tell her that
every course of study is trying, and that one can never attain a result
with out paying some price for it. When she sees the sensation which
my forthcoming paper on "The Relation between Mind and Matter" may
make, she will understand that it is worth a little nervous wear and
tear. I should not be surprised if I got my F. R. S. over it.
Mesmerized again in the evening. The effect is produced more rapidly
now, and the subjective visions are less marked. I keep full notes of
each sitting. Wilson is leaving for town for a week or ten days, but
we shall not interrupt the experiments, which depend for their value as
much upon my sensations as on his observations.
April 4. I must be carefully on my guard. A complication has crept
into our experiments which I had not reckoned upon. In my eagerness
for scientific facts I have been foolishly blind to the human relations
between Miss Penclosa and myself. I can write here what I would not
breathe to a living soul. The unhappy woman appears to have formed an
attachment for me.
I should not say such a thing, even in the privacy of my own intimate
journal, if it had not come to such a pass that it is impossible to
ignore it. For some time,--that is, for the last week,--there have
been signs which I have brushed aside and refused to think of. Her
brightness when I come, her dejection when I go, her eagerness that I
should come often, the expression of her eyes, the tone of her voice--I
tried to think that they meant nothing, and were, perhaps, only her
ardent West Indian manner. But last night, as I awoke from the
mesmeric sleep, I put out my hand, unconsciously, involuntarily, and
clasped hers. When I came fully to myself, we were sitting with them
locked, she looking up at me with an expectant smile. And the horrible
thing was that I felt impelled to say what she expected me to say.
What a false wretch I should have been! How I should have loathed
myself to-day had I yielded to the temptation of that moment! But,
thank God, I was strong enough to spring up and hurry from the room. I
was rude, I fear, but I could not, no, I COULD not, trust myself
another moment. I, a gentleman, a man of honor, engaged to one of the
sweetest girls in England--and yet in a moment of reasonless passion I
nearly professed love for this woman whom I hardly know. She is far
older than myself and a cripple. It is monstrous, odious; and yet the
impulse was so strong that, had I stayed another minute in her
presence, I should have committed myself. What was it? I have to
teach others the workings of our organism, and what do I know of it
myself? Was it the sudden upcropping of some lower stratum in my
nature--a brutal primitive instinct suddenly asserting itself? I could
almost believe the tales of obsession by evil spirits, so overmastering
was the feeling.
Well, the incident places me in a most unfortunate position. On the
one hand, I am very loath to abandon a series of experiments which have
already gone so far, and which promise such brilliant results. On the
other, if this unhappy woman has conceived a passion for me---- But
surely even now I must have made some hideous mistake. She, with her
age and her deformity! It is impossible. And then she knew about
Agatha. She understood how I was placed. She only smiled out of
amusement, perhaps, when in my dazed state I seized her hand. It was
my half-mesmerized brain which gave it a meaning, and sprang with such
bestial swiftness to meet it. I wish I could persuade myself that it
was indeed so. On the whole, perhaps, my wisest plan would be to
postpone our other experiments until Wilson's return. I have written a
note to Miss Penclosa, therefore, making no allusion to last night, but
saying that a press of work would cause me to interrupt our sittings
for a few days. She has answered, formally enough, to say that if I
should change my mind I should find her at home at the usual hour.
10 P. M. Well, well, what a thing of straw I am! I am coming to know
myself better of late, and the more I know the lower I fall in my own
estimation. Surely I was not always so weak as this. At four o'clock
I should have smiled had any one told me that I should go to Miss
Penclosa's to-night, and yet, at eight, I was at Wilson's door as
usual. I don't know how it occurred. The influence of habit, I
suppose. Perhaps there is a mesmeric craze as there is an opium craze,
and I am a victim to it. I only know that as I worked in my study I
became more and more uneasy. I fidgeted. I worried. I could not
concentrate my mind upon the papers in front of me. And then, at last,
almost before I knew what I was doing, I seized my hat and hurried
round to keep my usual appointment.
We had an interesting evening. Mrs. Wilson was present during most of
the time, which prevented the embarrassment which one at least of us
must have felt. Miss Penclosa's manner was quite the same as usual,
and she expressed no surprise at my having come in spite of my note.
There was nothing in her bearing to show that yesterday's incident had
made any impression upon her, and so I am inclined to hope that I
overrated it.
April 6 (evening). No, no, no, I did not overrate it. I can no longer
attempt to conceal from myself that this woman has conceived a passion
for me. It is monstrous, but it is true. Again, tonight, I awoke from
the mesmeric trance to find my hand in hers, and to suffer that odious
feeling which urges me to throw away my honor, my career, every thing,
for the sake of this creature who, as I can plainly see when I am away
from her influence, possesses no single charm upon earth. But when I
am near her, I do not feel this. She rouses something in me, something
evil, something I had rather not think of. She paralyzes my better
nature, too, at the moment when she stimulates my worse. Decidedly it
is not good for me to be near her.
Last night was worse than before. Instead of flying I actually sat for
some time with my hand in hers talking over the most intimate subjects
with her. We spoke of Agatha, among other things. What could I have
been dreaming of? Miss Penclosa said that she was conventional, and I
agreed with her. She spoke once or twice in a disparaging way of her,
and I did not protest. What a creature I have been!
Weak as I have proved myself to be, I am still strong enough to bring
this sort of thing to an end. It shall not happen again. I have sense
enough to fly when I cannot fight. From this Sunday night onward I
shall never sit with Miss Penclosa again. Never! Let the experiments
go, let the research come to an end; any thing is better than facing
this monstrous temptation which drags me so low. I have said nothing
to Miss Penclosa, but I shall simply stay away. She can tell the
reason without any words of mine.
April 7. Have stayed away as I said. It is a pity to ruin such an
interesting investigation, but it would be a greater pity still to ruin
my life, and I KNOW that I cannot trust myself with that woman.
11 P. M. God help me! What is the matter with me? Am I going mad?
Let me try and be calm and reason with myself. First of all I shall
set down exactly what occurred.
It was nearly eight when I wrote the lines with which this day begins.
Feeling strangely restless and uneasy, I left my rooms and walked round
to spend the evening with Agatha and her mother. They both remarked
that I was pale and haggard. About nine Professor Pratt-Haldane came
in, and we played a game of whist. I tried hard to concentrate my
attention upon the cards, but the feeling of restlessness grew and grew
until I found it impossible to struggle against it. I simply COULD not
sit still at the table. At last, in the very middle of a hand, I threw
my cards down and, with some sort of an incoherent apology about having
an appointment, I rushed from the room. As if in a dream I have a
vague recollection of tearing through the hall, snatching my hat from
the stand, and slamming the door behind me. As in a dream, too, I have
the impression of the double line of gas-lamps, and my bespattered
boots tell me that I must have run down the middle of the road. It was
all misty and strange and unnatural. I came to Wilson's house; I saw
Mrs. Wilson and I saw Miss Penclosa. I hardly recall what we talked
about, but I do remember that Miss P. shook the head of her crutch at
me in a playful way, and accused me of being late and of losing
interest in our experiments. There was no mesmerism, but I stayed some
time and have only just returned.
My brain is quite clear again now, and I can think over what has
occurred. It is absurd to suppose that it is merely weakness and force
of habit. I tried to explain it in that way the other night, but it
will no longer suffice. It is something much deeper and more terrible
than that. Why, when I was at the Mardens' whist-table, I was dragged
away as if the noose of a rope had been cast round me. I can no longer
disguise it from myself. The woman has her grip upon me. I am in her
clutch. But I must keep my head and reason it out and see what is best
to be done.
But what a blind fool I have been! In my enthusiasm over my research I
have walked straight into the pit, although it lay gaping before me.
Did she not herself warn me? Did she not tell me, as I can read in my
own journal, that when she has acquired power over a subject she can
make him do her will? And she has acquired that power over me. I am
for the moment at the beck and call of this creature with the crutch.
I must come when she wills it. I must do as she wills. Worst of all,
I must feel as she wills. I loathe her and fear her, yet, while I am
under the spell, she can doubtless make me love her.
There is some consolation in the thought, then, that those odious
impulses for which I have blamed myself do not really come from me at
all. They are all transferred from her, little as I could have guessed
it at the time. I feel cleaner and lighter for the thought.
April 8. Yes, now, in broad daylight, writing coolly and with time for
reflection, I am compelled to confirm every thing which I wrote in my
journal last night. I am in a horrible position, but, above all, I
must not lose my head. I must pit my intellect against her powers.
After all, I am no silly puppet, to dance at the end of a string. I
have energy, brains, courage. For all her devil's tricks I may beat
her yet. May! I MUST, or what is to become of me?
Let me try to reason it out! This woman, by her own explanation, can
dominate my nervous organism. She can project herself into my body and
take command of it. She has a parasite soul; yes, she is a parasite, a
monstrous parasite. She creeps into my frame as the hermit crab does
into the whelk's shell. I am powerless What can I do? I am dealing
with forces of which I know nothing. And I can tell no one of my
trouble. They would set me down as a madman. Certainly, if it got
noised abroad, the university would say that they had no need of a
devil-ridden professor. And Agatha! No, no, I must face it alone.