THE VOICE OF THE HEART.

Otago Witness, Issue 2721, 9 May 1906, Page 82

THE VOICE OF THE HEART.

By Owes Oliver.

A STRANGE CASE OF HALLUCINATION THAT BAFFLED A PATHOLOGISTS THEORIES.

It is true that you cannot minister to a mind diseased. After 20 years' practice as a specialist in mental cases, and 100 wonderful "cures" to my credit, I still cay that. But sometimes you can put a mind in the way of ministering to itself; and sometimes you can show that the disease isn't a "disease" at oil, but merely an unusual activity of the brain that science does not understand. An hallucination upon some particular point, and which does not interfere with the normal working of the mental faculties in the ordinary matters of life, is not so uncommon as laymen think ; and it must not be confused with madness. The term "hallucination" is applied in pathology to all mental appearances or images which have no origin in objects of sense. It is supposed that an unnatural activity of the nerves or cells of the brain raises a mental impression to such abnormal vividness that it successfully simulates an actual sense impression, and is as convincing to the patient as reality. Most of the cases which occur can undoubtedly be accounted for in this way ; but in the course of my experience I have met with a few instances entirely beyond explanation. The most curious of these cases was that of Edward Payne, the well-known novelist, who writes under the name of Arthur Raymond,

I had just begun to be known as a specialist when he came to me for advice. He was then about 30, a tall, strongfeatured young fellow, with keen dark eyes, and black hair prematurely stre.-iced with grey. (The grey, strange to say, has now disappeared.) He looked a trille worn, but eminently sane and healthy, and I shrugged my shoulders when he told me that he was suffering from a delusion. "You are an imaginative man, I told him, '"and your nerves are excited by overwork. You have got the idea for a .story into your mind, and have been dwelling on it too much. That is all. ■Go to a bracing seaside place for a month and live in the open air and don't attempt to work, and you'll turn the delusion into a three-volume novel." He shook his head and set his face obstinately. He had a determined square jaw — the sort of jaw that never goes with mental weakness. '"If I do," he said, "it will be the story of my own life. It may be a delusion, but it's real to me, as real as you are." "Umph!" I said. "What is the delusion, precisely?" " A woman's voice — a young woman. She doesn't just call or say a parrot phrase, but talks to me quite connectedly ; question? me and answers back. She generally .©peaks when I am alone ; but the other night she came when I was with a lady that — well, I was almost engaged to her. She spoke so suddenly and urgently that I forgot myself, and answered her sloud. My companion thought I was a lunatic and ran from me in terror. There is no idea of an engagement now, of course. They think I am mad. Am I?" I felt his pulee and looked closely into his eyes. "No,' I said, "you are not ; but you seem, by your account, to have a curious hallucination. Yon know what I mean by that?" He nodded quickly. "Yes. I have read your book. Hallucinations are not usually so — so detailed, are they?" " No," I agreed, "it is unusual ; but you are an unusual man, you see, Mr Payne. It is the novelist's imagination running riot. Well, we most try to curb it. Tell me all about the — the hallucinatory lady. When does she come? What does sha say? And what do you say to her?"' He shook his head. "No," he refused, "I can't betray her confidence. She's as real to me as — that." "Then bow am I to set to work to cure you?" I asked. " I want you to stay with me for a time," he answered, "and watch me and see what you can find out about my delusion and my mental condition generally. I am not a poor man, and you can name your own terms." 1 suggested terms that I thought high in those days. He accepted without demur. The next day I went down to Deal with him. We stayed at a comfortable hotel and spent a fortnight fishing and golfing, and playing bridge in the evenings. I took a strong liking to him, and he seemed- to like me : but he did not give me his confidence about the imaginary woman. She had not come again he said when I asked him, and changed' the subject. He seemed .absolutely sane, and I began to think that the hallucination had been only a temporary result of overwrought nerves and had disappeared with liis return to health. " You are wasting your money in retaining me," I told him when we were strolling along the esplanade one evening. " The 'lady' evidently doesn't care for fishing and golfing. She won't intrude while you occupy yourself with them." " No,'' he agreed, "she won't. But, you see, I shouldn't confine myself to fishing and golfing if you weren't here. I should start talking to women, and' — well, the fact is, she's jealous." "Come, come," I said, "you're joking!" I wanted to draw him out a little. " No," he declared, "I'm not. I have been on the point of getting engaged three times — I have the domestic virtues, I believe, and I'd like to settle down — but she's always made me break it off, confound her! I don't mean quite that, either, because* — because I like her ; but a fellow can't marry a voice. She won't let me marry anyone else. If I were to begin flirting she'd come back like a shot." " Then you'd better begin flirting," I told him. It was advisable, I considered, to bring his delusion to a head. "That's what I was •th/inking," he agreed calmly. "The curious thing is that 1 always want lip'- to come back, though I suppose it's all "fooleiy."' "Of course it is," I assured him. "But it's the foolery that I've got to cine you of. So you'd better fetch it out and let me have a look at it." The next morning he started flirting wilh a golden-haired widow at the hoiel. He took her to Walmer Castle, and I went fishing alone. He escorted her somewhere else in the afternoon, and sang duets with her in the evening. At about 10 o'clock he suddenly left her and walked over to me. There was a strange look in his eyes. " Come outside "' lie whispered hoarsely. I went out with, him at once. He gripped my arm tightly. " She's come back !" he said in a loud, harsh whisper. " She's — she's be*n crying ! I . Hang it all, Moidaunt !" " Hush !" I entreated. " People, will hear. Come on the beach and bit down. This boat will do. Now tell me about it." He scarcely seemed to hear me. "It was only play, Violet," he declared, addressing the air. "I don't care for her. I wanted you all the time. I " " Hush !" I commanded. " People are looking at you." " I don't Care," he answered. " I've made her cry, I tell you ! I like her better than all the rest of them. If she were real, I'd marry her. She is real, I tell you. She is real. She lives and waits for me somewhere. I know it, I know it '" i 1 Ask hrv where she lives a.nd waits

then," I said, still humouring him. "If she is real she'll tell you." " I've asked her many times, and she won't tell." "Then she doesn't want you, and you had better tell her to behave like a lady and not annoy you any more," I suggested in a matter-of-fact tone. " She is a lady," he almost shouted, " and she does want me ! I know, I know !" " Then tell her you want a wife of flesh and blood, not a buzzing in your ears; and if she does not choose to reveal herself you're going to have one whether she likes it or not. Don't just say it — mean it. Make up your mind that you will put it to a test that way. Come, Payne, be a man. You know it is a hallucination ; but suppose it isn't, and that the voice is the voice of some real woman, a good woman such as you evidently think she is, wouldn't she reveal herself if she cared for you? And if she didn't care for you, wouldn't you be man enough to put the mought of her aside ? Take your hallucination as a reality, if you will; but if you take it for such, treat it as such. Have a straight talk with her and take or break with her. " It may seem strange to a layman that I should speak so to a natient about his delusion in this manner; but a doctor wilJ understand my reason. The only way to cure a hallucination is to treat it as real and so encourage the patient to bring it to a crucial test against reality. That is what 1 meant to do with Payne. " Very well," he said slowly. " I'll have it out with her ; but I can't do it before anyone. I'll walk along by the sea up Walmer way and talk to her and come back to you here." "All right," I agreed. I lit a cigar and watched him walk slowly away. I was smoking a second cigar and strolling about to keep warm when he returned. He walked briskly and hummed a cheerful tune, and when he came up to me he sla-pped me on the shoulder. " She's real !"' he cried. " She's real ! She won't tell me her name, or anything ab&ut herself; but she says if I'D go to Gibraltar she'll meet me there — at the Bristol Hotel. We'll go by the mail." " Umph !" I said. "Well, we may as well go there as anywhere else; but you must know that it's utter folly Come, Payne, you are a clever man, and you know now that it> is a hallucination ; but if you let it grow on you till you don't know you'll be insane. You understand ?" " Yes," he agreed. " I understand. If she doesn't appear there I shall know that there's nothing in it. There isn't, of course ; butr-^don't you think there might be something in it, Mordaunt?" "Don't be an ass!" I answered. Then we went back to the hotel and to bed. Two days later we started for Gibraltar. "Violet" did not trouble him on the voyage, and we stayed on " the Rock " for a week without hearing from her. Meanwhile we made friends with an elderly woman, Miss Fane, and her niece Doris Fane, who were staying at the same hotel. The niece was about twenty, a shy, pretty girl with soft brown hair and big brown eyes. Payne talked to her a good deal, and at the end of the week 1 noticed them sitting together in the dusk in the little garden opposite to the hotel. "Were you talking to Miss Doris to make ' Violet ' jealous ?" I asked him when he had come in. " Xo-o," he said. "I was talking to her for herself." " Umph !" I took a drink of my whisky and soda. " She — she's young, you know, old man, and she might think you meant — what you don't of course." " Oh, I'll be. careful," he promised hastily. " I didn't say anything that mattered, and — and a fellow must talk to somebody. She's got rather ihe same sort of voice as ' Violet.' and I suppose that attracted me ; though she's the very antipodes of her in character. She's a dear little girl, all the same. If I was sure she wouldn't turn vp — you know what I mean ?" "Yes," I said, "I know. It won't do, Payne. You're perfectly sane at present, but you have a pretty bad hallucination. You have got to get rid of it before you've any right to make love to little Doris." "I haven't done anything of the sort," he protested warmly. "Then don't!" I insisted. "You're a likable fellow, old chap — I like you, you know — and she's young, and she might think you meant something." He drew a deep breath. " I would mean something," he said. "if I was sure that she wouldn't come back — Violet." "But you're not sure, are you?" I asked. Strange to say, those who suffer from hallucinations can generally tell when their delusions have gone from them. " No." he said. "I'm not. I wish — I don't know that 1 do either. No woman can be to me quite what Violet has been. ' For the next week he was less with Doris, but when a fortnight had passed and Violet did not appear, either as a ! delusion or in reality, he began to pay marked attention to her again. She appeared to like him also, but their courtship was cuiiously spasmodic. They seemed attracted and repelled by one another in turn, and to be falling in love half unwillingly. Miss Fane, the aunt, spoke to me about it one evening. "I am very troubled about Mr Payne and ray niece, Dr Mordaunt," she said. "They seem to be drifting toward an engagement, and yet I don't think they are really sure that they care for one another. When young people are really in love one hopes that they may be ; but when they are not sure about it themselves, you may be confident that they are not in love, and if they marry I fear they will regret it bitterly. I can't induce Doris to leave here. Can't you get him to go away?"' I promised to try, and spoke to him ( strongly about it that evening.

f He was a long time before he answered, and he had 1 turned very pale. "I do love Doris," he said, "but — but it seems disloyal to the other. Unless Don't you think that may be what she meant when she told me to come here — that I should meet Doris?" | I considered for a long time before I answered. If he could really believe this he might kill one delusion with another, which is the *- way that the. diseased mind usually cures itself. But suppose he only half -believed it, and the "voice" returned after he was engaged to Doris or had married her? I wa6 fond- of the child, and could not let her run such a risk even for his sake, much as I liked him. "Do you really think that is true, Payne?" I asked — "right at the bottom of your mind?" He groaned. "No," he cried passionately, "I don't ! I don't think about it at all ; I know Violet is real. She loved me. She meant to come here to me. She hasn't come, because she has met someone else. I can't tell you how I know, but I do. There was someone else once before, i and I knew, and I called her, and mad« her give him up." "~ "Well r " I said, "this time you need not' call her. You can let her go, since you love Doris." He groaned. "I love Violet too," he said. "You don't know what she is to me. I've laid my heart bare to her as I've never done to any living being — never ehall. It's something more than love — • bettez, higher. I called her 'Voice of my i heart.' I must have her. I must! I I suppose I am mad, and she will never come. It- is only a figment of my mind. Can't you help me to smother it, Mordaunt?" He laid his hand on my arm. His face woi'ked painfully. "You can't -another things when they are as strong as that," I said. "You must face them. Call her up again if you can. Tell her just how you fesl. Ask her if she is in love with someone else. If she is, ask her to pledge you her word to come to you no more. She is only a dream, dear old chap, a character in a tale — more than that perhaps — the dream that we all dream, the 'Voice in the heart.' There was a voice in mine once, Payne. She — she died. God help you !" He wrung my' hand and went unsteadily upstairs. I listened outside his door and heard him talking softly, with intervals between his speech as if he listened to answers. The next morning he looked haggard and ill. We would leave by the next mail, he said. I wasn't there when he told Doris. Her eyes were red as if she had been crying when I met her in the afternoon. They moped miserably, and kept looking at one another. I Was afraid he I might propose to her after all, and tried to keep him out of the way, but he told me that it was unnecessary. "I began to speak to her this morning," he said. "I was going to explain thino. to her — to tell her obo'ut my miserable delusion — but she evidently thought I was going to propose — she cut me short pretty sharply. Well, I needn't worry^that I've hurt hi&r. That's one consolation." He laughed bitterly. ■v» .a consolation," I said, "since you don't love her." "But" I do," he said. Then he turned away. It was a wretched time, and I was glad when the last evening came. I w&tched ; them carefully to prevent their being alone * together, and when I saw them sitting 1 some way apart in the little drawing room which had no other occupant, I went and sat tfcere too- They were both staring at the ceiling as if their thoughts were far away. I had nearly fallen into a doze, when suddenly he spoke aloud. "Voice of my heart !" he said softly. Doris had heard. Her big eyes were staring, and she stretched out her hands. "Oh, Voice of my heart !" she cried. "Voice of mine ! Was it you all the time? You? You?" And suddenly they were in one another's arms. . • * » * They never told me the whole of the story, but it seemed that Doris had suffered from an hallucination as he had. She had fallen in love, as a neurotic child of 16, with Arthur Raymond, the author, as she knew him in his books. She had pictured herself meeting him, and had held make-believe conversations with him, until she fancied — but apparently it wasn't mere faney — that they were real. These imaginary conversations that he had told me of were all real, they declared, and each of them remembered them perfectly. She had been ashamed to give him her real name, after avowing her love for him, and of course she had not known his, and had not identified Edward Payne with Arthur Raymond, from one of whose books she had adopted the name of Violet. So tbey did not recognise each other when they met at Gibraltar; and their love affair had failed to come to a head, partly because they suspected their own sanity and thought themselves barred from marrigae. and partly from loyalty to illusions that they had cherished of one another. I hope they cherish them still. That is the story of the strangest of the many strange cases that have come before ms in 20 years' doctoring of the minds and bodies of women and men- Some of my scientific confreres explain it as a kind of wireless telegraphy between two excitable brains ; others, as a curious mental chemistry of overcharged nerve-cells. Yon Dollner believes that it offers the clue to a new and hitherto unsuspected force, which he provisionally names neural electricity. Mveelf, I do not try to explain it at all. Explanation only substitutes one mystery for another when you come to the dearest things of life; and reason, and science — thank God ! — will never accounts for the tugging and pulling at our heartstrings — for the dumb, passionate voice of the heart.

— The man who goes early to berl, ai;d is early to rise, misses lots of the good things of life*