Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - VI. Hell
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Then once more the well-known electric fluid
streams through the wall on my bed, seeks my
breast, and under it, my heart. The tension
increases: I seize my clothes, slip through the
window, and do not dress till I am outside
the house. There I am again in the street, on
the pavement, my last refuge and only friend
behind me! I wander onward without a definite
aim; but when I come to myself I go direct to
the chief physician of the town. I have to ring
and wait, and prepare what to say so as not
to injure my friend.
At last the doctor appears. I excuse myself
for paying such an untimely visit on the plea
of sleeplessness, palpitations, and want of
confidence in my own doctor, who, I said, treated
me as a hypochondriac and would not listen to
me. The doctor invites me inside, as though
he had been expecting me, asks me to take a seat,
and offers me a cigar and a glass of wine. I
breathe freely at finding myself once more treated
as a respectable man, and not a wretched idiot.
We chat for two hours, and the doctor turns out
to be a theosophist to whom I can tell
everything, without compromising myself. At last
about midnight I rise in order to find an hotel;
the doctor, however, advises me to return home.
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