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Orval, or The Fool of Time

And Other Imitations and Paraphrases. By Robert Lytton

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Scene X.—Corridor in a Mad-House.
Wife of the Mad-House Doctor
(with a bunch of keys, followed by Orval).

No, I think not, Sir. They tell me there is no hope of the lady's recovery. Poor thing! I am grieved that my husband is not here. It would have given him the greatest satisfaction to have the honour of waiting on your worship. He could have explained to you, better than I, the nature of this malady. Interesting case. My husband, Sir, has been very successful in the treatment of this kind of insanity. He has given much study to the subject. Perhaps you have read his book upon the Brain? 'Tis much admired. But the worst cases— cases like this, I fear, are quite incurable. Quite. This way, if you please, Sir. You won't mind the noise? There is no danger. 'Tis only Howling Tom. A violent case, very. But we keep him chained. The lady, poor dear, is quiet enough. Pray, Sir, observe the view from that window. The finest in this part of the country. Indeed, we are very healthily situated. But the establishment is large, Sir. Large, dear me, and costs a deal to keep


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up. And so little encouragement! One year we accommodated no less than four hundred lunatics, and not a sixpence from Government. Some of them paupers, too. For the Parish obliges us to receive them. But that sort of patients seldom lives long. Which is the Lord's mercy. To be sure, one makes something, when the season is good, by the gardens and orchards. Our pears are especially successful. Some of our patients are vastly fond of gardening, Sir. And we occupy them that way. Only the milder sort, of course. Bless your heart, there's a young man here that is a smart hand at pruning wall fruit. Yet for all that, he will swear you by St Christopher that he is a king's bastard. But there's no harm in him. Pray, Sir, is it true that the lady's husband ran away in the night with another gentleman's lady? Well, I dare say, if the lady had been married as long as I—and that's full thirty years; thirty years, Sir, come next Lady-day—she would not have taken it so mightily to heart. In truth, she looks but a child. This is a strange world. Is it not, Sir? The gallery to the right, if you please. We have been thin, very thin, this year. But perhaps we shall do better by and by. Let us all hope for the best. That's what I say, Sir. And the Lord be bountiful to them that deserve it. Now, Sir. This way.


(Exeunt.)