Chapter IX: Introduction: Of the Potato Into France (4)

Mr. Chiswick is treated by the magistrates and officers with great kindness and consideration. His employments are such as befit a gentleman. No menial or laborious tasks are imposed upon him. He is allowed, to a great extent, to consult his predilections, and these are invariably of a tasteful and elegant description. His time is divided chiefly between reading and painting, in which occupations he is devotedly industrious. He is an early riser, and intersperses his more sedentary pursuits with seasons of vigorous exercise. To this practice, in conjunction with strictly temperate habits, he attributes his excellent health and remarkable prowess. To a stranger, no signs of mental aberration are discernible. His aspect is so calm and collected, and his ideas are so lucidly expressed, that, if met with in any other place besides an asylum, no one would suspect that he had ever been smitten with a calamity so terrible. He would simply be regarded as eccentric. So satisfied is he of his own perfect saneness, and of his ability to secure self-maintenance by the productions of his own genius, that confinement begins to be felt by him as intolerably irksome and oppressive. The invisible fetters gall his sensitive soul, and render him impatient of restraint. On our last visit but one, he declared that he had abandoned all thoughts of doing any thing more to his painted room; he aspired to higher things than that. He was striving to cultivate his artistic talents, so that by their exercise he might henceforth minister to his own necessities. Who his connections, and what his antecedents were should never be known--they were things that concerned no one; his aim was to qualify himself, by self-reliant labor, to wrestle once more with the world, and to wring from it the pittance of a humble subsistence. As soon as he felt himself competent to hazard this step, he intended to demand his immediate release; "and, should it then be refused," said he, with the solemn and impressive emphasis of a man thoroughly in earnest, "they will, on the next day, find me a _corpse_." To the superintendent in the tailoring department, he likewise remarked, a short time since, when giving instructions for a new garment: "This is the last favor I shall ever ask of you. I intend shortly to quit the asylum; for if they do not discharge me of their own accord, in answer to my request, _I will discharge myself_."

On the occasion of our second visit to the asylum, we were received by Mr. Chiswick with great courtesy, and were favored with a long conversation on a variety of topics. Besides the exercise of his brush and pencil, his genius manifests itself in other ways, some of them being rather amusing and eccentric. Among these, is that of making stockings, and other articles of apparel in a very original manner. His mind, as we have remarked, is well replenished with anecdotes and illustrations suitable to whatever topic may happen to be on hand. On the present occasion, upon offering us a glass of wine, we declined his hospitality, on the true plea that we had fasted since eight o'clock in the morning, and it was then nearly five in the afternoon. Upon this, he produced a piece of sweet bread, saying, "Take that first, and then the wine will not hurt you. You remember the anecdote of the bride? Soon after her marriage, her mother inquired,'How does your husband treat you, my dear?' Oh, he loves me very much, for he gives me two glasses of white wine every morning before I am up.' 'My dear child,' said the mother, with an air of alarm, 'he means to kill you. However, do not refuse the wine, but take a piece of cake to bed with you at night, and when he is gone for the wine in the morning, do you eat the cake, then the wine will not hurt you,' The bride obeyed the mother's advice, and lived to a good old age."

Having sat down by the fire in the ward with a number of the patients, Mr. Chiswick took out his pocket-book to show us a letter which he had received from some kind but unknown friend, who had visited the asylum, and also that he might present to us a piece of poetry, which had just been printed at the asylum press. In looking for these, he accidentally dropped a greater part of the contents of his pocket-book on the floor; and when one of the lunatics hastened to scramble for some of the papers, Mr. Chiswick, quick as thought, pulled off the officious patient's hat, and sent it flying to the other end of the ward, bidding its owner to run after it. We offered to assist in picking up the scattered papers, but he would not allow us to touch them. "You act," we remarked, "on the principle of not allowing others to do for you any thing that you can do yourself." "Exactly so," said he, "and I will tell you a good anecdote about that. There was once a bishop of Gibraltar, who hired a valet; but for some time this valet had nothing to do: the bishop cleaned his own boots, and performed many other menial tasks, which the servant supposed that he had been engaged to do. At length he said--'Your lordship, I should be glad to be informed what it is expected that I should do. You clean your own boots, brush your own clothes, and do a multitude of other things that I supposed would fall to my lot.' 'Well,' said the bishop, 'I have been accustomed to do this, and I can do it very well; therefore, why should you do it? I act upon the principle of never allowing others to do what I can do myself. Therefore, do you go and study, and I will go on as usual. I have already had opportunities to get knowledge, and you have not; and I think that will be to do to you as I should wish you to do to me.'"

BLEAK HOUSE.

BY CHARLES DICKENS.