features, set in a permanent half-frown, suggested habitual seriousness. Although young, there was nothing about her that suggested naivety or insouciance.
Beyond the confines of the examination room, Liebermann could hear a man screaming. He was accustomed to such sounds in the hospital; however, he was concerned that these anguished cries – suggesting the practice of some medieval torture – would upset his new patient.
The woman raised her left hand to stifle a repetitive cough. Her right hand remained conspicuously still – the palm and fingers curled upwards on her lap like the petals of a dying flower.
The screaming stopped.
'If I may,' said Liebermann, 'I would like to examine your arm, Miss Lydgate.'
'Of course.' Her voice was soft, but serrated with a certain huskiness: a consequence, no doubt, of her incessant coughing.
Liebermann rolled up the right sleeve of her gown. Her arm was slender, almost emaciated, and beneath the crêpe-paper transparency of her skin a network of branching veins was clearly visible.
'Could you close your eyes, please? Now, tell me if you feel anything.'
Liebermann tapped the woman's palm, wrist and forearm with his pencil, to none of which was there any response. When he reached a point close to her shoulder, she suddenly flinched, saying: 'Yes, I feel something there.' By continuous tapping in this region, Liebermann was able to establish that the woman's paralysis had begun quite suddenly. It was as though an amulet encircled her upper arm, below which the sensory apparatus was no longer functioning. Such a decisive boundary did not correspond with the underlying continuities of the nervous system. The phenomenon was a physical impossibility and a cardinal symptom of hysteria.
'Thank you, Miss Lydgate, you can open your eyes now. When did you first notice the paralysis?'
'Last week.'
'Had you ever had problems of this kind before?'
'No.'
'Did the paralysis develop suddenly or gradually?'
'Suddenly. When I woke up, I could no longer move my arm.'
'Not even the fingers?'
'No.'
'Is the paralysis continuous, or do you get the feeling back sometimes?'
'It is continuous.'
Liebermann let Miss Lydgate's sleeve down and somewhat pedantically positioned the fringe of her cuff along the crease-lines of her wrist.
'Did the cough begin at the same time?'
'Yes.'
'Did anything significant happen – last week?'
'No. Not really.'
'Do you suffer from any other problems?'
She paused and took a deep breath.
'Amenorrhoea.'
'I see,' said Liebermann, attempting to gloss over her embarrassment with workaday efficiency. 'And when was the last time you menstruated?'
Miss Lydgate's cheeks coloured as though they'd been sprinkled with a pinch of ochre.
'Three months ago.'
'I imagine your appetite hasn't been very good lately.'
'No, that's right. It hasn't.'
Liebermann opened his notebook and began scribbling.
'Your German is remarkably good, Miss Lydgate.'
A smile began to flicker into existence, but failed to ignite: the half-frown quickly reasserted itself.
'Well, it isn't so remarkable. My grandfather was German – and my mother spoke to me in German when I was a child.'
Liebermann turned to a fresh page and proceeded to ask Miss Lydgate several questions about her circumstances. He discovered that she lived with distant relatives: Herr Schelling (a Christian-Social parliamentary minister), Frau Schelling, and their two children Edward and Adele. Herr Schelling had agreed to provide Miss Lydgate with a room and a monthly stipend, contingent upon her performing the duties of a governess; however, in reality her only significant task was to provide Edward and Adele with instruction in written and spoken English.
'How long do you intend to stay in Vienna?' asked Liebermann.
'For some time,' replied Miss Lydgate. 'Years, perhaps.'
'The Schellings have agreed to this?'
'That isn't necessary,' she replied. 'I do not wish to retain my position as the Schellings' governess.'
'No?'
She shook her head, and
Beyond the confines of the examination room, Liebermann could hear a man screaming. He was accustomed to such sounds in the hospital; however, he was concerned that these anguished cries – suggesting the practice of some medieval torture – would upset his new patient.
The woman raised her left hand to stifle a repetitive cough. Her right hand remained conspicuously still – the palm and fingers curled upwards on her lap like the petals of a dying flower.
The screaming stopped.
'If I may,' said Liebermann, 'I would like to examine your arm, Miss Lydgate.'
'Of course.' Her voice was soft, but serrated with a certain huskiness: a consequence, no doubt, of her incessant coughing.
Liebermann rolled up the right sleeve of her gown. Her arm was slender, almost emaciated, and beneath the crêpe-paper transparency of her skin a network of branching veins was clearly visible.
'Could you close your eyes, please? Now, tell me if you feel anything.'
Liebermann tapped the woman's palm, wrist and forearm with his pencil, to none of which was there any response. When he reached a point close to her shoulder, she suddenly flinched, saying: 'Yes, I feel something there.' By continuous tapping in this region, Liebermann was able to establish that the woman's paralysis had begun quite suddenly. It was as though an amulet encircled her upper arm, below which the sensory apparatus was no longer functioning. Such a decisive boundary did not correspond with the underlying continuities of the nervous system. The phenomenon was a physical impossibility and a cardinal symptom of hysteria.
'Thank you, Miss Lydgate, you can open your eyes now. When did you first notice the paralysis?'
'Last week.'
'Had you ever had problems of this kind before?'
'No.'
'Did the paralysis develop suddenly or gradually?'
'Suddenly. When I woke up, I could no longer move my arm.'
'Not even the fingers?'
'No.'
'Is the paralysis continuous, or do you get the feeling back sometimes?'
'It is continuous.'
Liebermann let Miss Lydgate's sleeve down and somewhat pedantically positioned the fringe of her cuff along the crease-lines of her wrist.
'Did the cough begin at the same time?'
'Yes.'
'Did anything significant happen – last week?'
'No. Not really.'
'Do you suffer from any other problems?'
She paused and took a deep breath.
'Amenorrhoea.'
'I see,' said Liebermann, attempting to gloss over her embarrassment with workaday efficiency. 'And when was the last time you menstruated?'
Miss Lydgate's cheeks coloured as though they'd been sprinkled with a pinch of ochre.
'Three months ago.'
'I imagine your appetite hasn't been very good lately.'
'No, that's right. It hasn't.'
Liebermann opened his notebook and began scribbling.
'Your German is remarkably good, Miss Lydgate.'
A smile began to flicker into existence, but failed to ignite: the half-frown quickly reasserted itself.
'Well, it isn't so remarkable. My grandfather was German – and my mother spoke to me in German when I was a child.'
Liebermann turned to a fresh page and proceeded to ask Miss Lydgate several questions about her circumstances. He discovered that she lived with distant relatives: Herr Schelling (a Christian-Social parliamentary minister), Frau Schelling, and their two children Edward and Adele. Herr Schelling had agreed to provide Miss Lydgate with a room and a monthly stipend, contingent upon her performing the duties of a governess; however, in reality her only significant task was to provide Edward and Adele with instruction in written and spoken English.
'How long do you intend to stay in Vienna?' asked Liebermann.
'For some time,' replied Miss Lydgate. 'Years, perhaps.'
'The Schellings have agreed to this?'
'That isn't necessary,' she replied. 'I do not wish to retain my position as the Schellings' governess.'
'No?'
She shook her head, and
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