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Number Twenty

Fables and Fantasies: By H. D. Traill

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THE PASSING OF THE AGED PSYCHOPATH.


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THE PASSING OF THE AGED PSYCHOPATH.

In Russia, where obscure and imaginary mental ailments are, for all legal and most practical purposes, confounded with insanity of behaviour, the word psychopath,—meaning a person who enjoys all the rights of a sane man, and many of the privileges of a lunatic,— though coined but a few years ago, is most extensively used by all classes of society. So many persons now describe themselves as psychopaths that it no longer confers upon them the least distinction. —Lanin.

Come hither, little Vladimir,
And listen and take heed;
I've sent for you that you may hear
Your grandsire's dying rede.
I ever sought distinction's niche
Throughout my life, and you,
My Vladimir Ivanovitch,
Must be distinguished too.
Then take not up, O grandson mine,—
Or dread my ghostly wrath,—
So common and so cheap a line
As that of psychopath.
For you must shun the vulgar herd;
And nowadays, my lad,

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To name yourself by such a word
Would stamp you as a cad.
Far otherwise it was with me,
Thank Heaven! when I was young,
And my well-marked psychopathy
Employed the public tongue.
When, as a child, in childish play
I chanced to break a limb,
And got my tutor sent away
By charging it on him;
All deemed my case with interest fraught,
Whom thus, ere yet a youth,
A nervous system highly-wrought
Forbade to speak the truth.
In like emotion, too, they joined
When, in my boyhood's spring,
I irresponsibly purloined
My father's diamond ring.
Then as my morbid instincts throve,
And paralysed my will,
Men's curiosity inwove
A stronger feeling still.
And awe and wonder were complete
When, with no purposed aim,
I was impelled to counterfeit
My uncle's honoured name.

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Why dwell upon the homicides
And criminal assaults
For which psychopathy provides
Excuse as venial faults?
Suffice it that a case so rare
Through mouths of mortals ran,
Till I was reckoned everywhere
A most distinguished man.
But now, alas! the psychopath
Is everywhere on view—
Ah, boy, avert my ghostly wrath,
And shun the common crew!
Ascribe your thefts to simple greed,
Plead hatred when you slay,
Account for every wicked deed
In the old-fashioned way.
To shame these imitative times
The novel sight present
Of one who perpetrates his crimes
With criminal intent.
And ever this distinction proud
To psychopaths oppose,
That you, unlike that vulgar crowd,
Could help it if you chose.