Hysteria Page #2

Your servant, ma'am.

So pleased to meet you, Dr. Granville.

Emily is the angel of the house.

Since the day that my wife, Melodia, passed away,

Emily has run things in proper order.

Oh, and she's also quite a scientist in her own right.

You boast, Father.

Let me guess.

Jollyty?

Botany?

Lepidopterology?

Phrenology.

- Phrenology...hahahaha...Yes.

I can assure you Phrenology

is an accurate science, doctor.

Yes. Besides emulation of the bump

someone's head's a varied road map to the personality,

if one is properly trained to read them.

I don't mean to imply...

I think a demonstration is in order

for our young skeptic.

it could be the most convivial.

Please.

What...

Dr. Granville, you had the most

perfectly formed nimbus I've ever felt.

nimbus?

He is a man of great wisdom.

I knew it. I knew it

And your mastoid is...is very well pronounced.

Doctor, you're quite sympathetic, aren't you?

Umm...well...

What else...what else?

Oh...

Oh, I'm so sorry.

- What?

It's just...

Well your...your thrombus is so...rigid,

so jotting and prominent, it startled me.

Rigid thrombus?

Sorry. Rigid thrombus?

it augurs fame.

No, no, no...

While I have the utmost respect

for your method, Miss Dalrymple

I must complaint that you misread me.

I'm but a simple doctor.

I have no ambition for notoriety.

And I can assure you, your

thrombus is the key to you future.

Whether you seek it or not, Dr. Granville.

You're destined for fame.

Ahoy!

Ahoy!

Who is this?

Who is this, please?

Mr. Stanton...Huh.

Can you hear me?

Can you hear me now?

Yes.

This is Edmund St. John Smythe.

No, I don't work at

the telephone exchange. You see...

I've installed this telephone and I wanted to test it

you're the only person

they could connect me to. Haha...

How're things going over there?

Sound's thrilling. Very well.

Carry on then. Goodbye.

Do you realize?

I have been speaking to a barrister

on the other side of London.

What about it?

Nothing. I don't even know the job.

Nothing to value if you

have nothing to speak about.

Here I am in Grosvenor Square,

and he's miles away

yet, we're able to speak

to each other instantaneously.

Do you think they'll catch on?

I have no idea.

But imagine if everyone had one.

Right.

Well...

I have just been offered a position

by London'0s leading specialist in women's medicine.

Oh, God...

How ghastly for you.

When do you start?

Tomorrow.

Quite looking forward to it, actually.

Who is she?

What?

Hmm?

She's his daughter.

Emily Dalrymple.

I've only met her briefly, but...

But what?

Oh, Edmund. She is magnificent.

The epitome of English virtue and...

Womanliness.

I haven't the hope.

Huh. Handsome, young doctor.

What more could a woman ask?

Huh, better income. Social equal.

Overrated.

A few laughs, stiff pricks. That's all a woman wants.

And you know this because?

Oh, I've read it in a magazine.

Oh, I see.

A toast then. To the end of

Dr. Mortimer Granville, once a brilliant student,

most recently, a visionary doctor to the poor,

and now, handmade to anxious middle-aged women.

Edmund St. John Smythe.

Bachelor.

Benefactor. Miserable student.

Sometimes drunkard.

Full time sexual deviant and

supreme waster of time and money,

especially if it has anything to do

with the science of electricity.

- To the telephone.

- To the Queen.

To calling the Queen on the telephone.

Morning, Mrs. Parsons.

Oh, good morning, Doctor.

This is Dr. Granville.

He'll be assisting me this morning.

Very pleased to meet you, Mrs. Parsons.

Doctor...

Notice the general pallor.

And how are we

this morning, Ms. Parsons?

Still feeling anxious?

yes, quite anxious, doctor.

I've been having those distracting

thoughts we discussed all week.

Yes.

Throughout history,

the medical establishment just

offered hysterical women

a veritable small respond order of treatments.

Warm baths, ice baths, water jets,

mesmerisation,

horseback riding even.

But, I favour

a more direct approach.

Now, I like to begin

with a drop of musk oil...

followed by oil of lilies.

good dollop.

Are you ready, Mrs. Parsons?

Yes...yes, doctor. Quite ready.

Ooh...

Now, you begin with the index finger.

Applying gentle pressure.

And slowly...

slowly in a circular motion,

still pressing gently.

It's a bit like tapping your head

and rubbing your tummy at the same time.

But you certainly get the hang of it.

Vulva massage was popularized by

Pieter Van Forest in the 16th century.

Who prescribed it most especially for widows

and women of religious orders.

- No offense, Mrs. Parsons.

- None taken, Doctor.

But today, in a clinical

environment with a trained professional

this is the most direct,

most effective treatment we can offer.

Good steady pressure.

That's the key.

Oh...Thank you, doctor. Thank you.

Of course, reapply oil as needed.

Notice the effect, Doctor?

Shortness of breath.

Blushing of the skin.

Fluttering of the eyelids,

twitching.

Mourn crimson.

Vocalization. All perfectly normal.

Merely, involuntary

physiological reaction to the treatment.

Oh...Oh, come on!

Come on, boy!

Up and over!

Steady on, Mrs. Parsons. Steady on.

Put steady pressure.

That's the key of it all.

Tally-ho!

Tally-ho!

Steady she goes, Mrs. Parsons.

Steady she goes

Is she's by fierce external stimulation,

we're able to elicit the pain pleasure reaction,

there by inducing the hysterical paroxysm,

and causing the uterus back to its normal position.

Amazing.

The female organ is as you know

incapable of experiencing

any pleasurable sensation what so ever

without actual penetration, of the male organ.

Arghhh...

As you can see, Granville.

A very satisfactory paroxysm.

Well, I think we can judge this treatment a

great success, What do you say, Mrs. Parsons?

Startling, Dr. Dalrymple.

How a full demonstration.

And those nagging thoughts?

Gone, Doctor.

Wonderful.

Wonderful.

So, same time next week.

Umm...

Same time tomorrow, I should say.

Moderation in all things, Mrs. Parsons.

Moderation in all things.

Is that you, Sarah?

Hello.

Ow...missed me, Charlie!

Sauce, sir?

It's lovely with the fish.

Thank you.

My father was the Anglican minister of Mortlake.

Unfortunately, he and mother

perished in the last cholera outbreak.

when I was a boy.

After coming to London to volunteer,

they contracted the disease themselves.

Oh, how dreadful.

Oh, terrible.

No doubt that's where you came

your interest in medicine.

Lord St. John Smythe,

knew of my fate and without thought of the cost,

brought me into his own home

and provided for my welfare and education.

Just what you'd expect from a man of his standing.

There is no greater charity

than the gift of education.

You read the book of Samuel Smiles?

Is there anyone more sensible,

more supremely British.

Quite.

Music, philosophy,

phrenology,

you're woman of many talents Miss Dalrymple.

It's through generosity, through compassion,

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