The Photoplay / A Psychological Study

s attracted me. My room looks out on a cul-de-sac, so that standing in the middle of it, one sees nothing but a moss-grown wall with two small round windows in it. But when I sit at my table close to the window, I have an uncommonly pleasant look-out. Under me there is a circular wall overgrown with ivy surrounding a courtyard, where young girls walk under plane trees and acacias. In the centre there stands a charming Gothic chapel. Somewhat farther on one sees high walls with numerous little b

and arrive at an ever clearer conviction that the Eternal has handed me over to Satan to be tried. This

on of the unknown powers. From this point I use the entries in my journal,

ing-point of the investigation consists in the question: Why does sulphate of iron in a solution of choloro-aurate of sodium precipitate gold? The answer is, because iron and sulphur

take the train for Meudon. I go into the village itself, which I visit for the first time, traverse the main street, and turn to the right into a narrow alley confined by walls on both sides. Tw

ls of my wife's name. She loves me still! The next moment I see, as by a flash, that it is the chemical symbol for ferrum (iron) and sulphur, and the secret of gold lies revealed before my gaze. I search the ground and find two leaden seals fastened toge

fire is nearly extinguished I take out a mass of coal of fantastic shape. It resembles a cock's head with a splendid comb

drunken dwarfs, who embrace each other while their clothes f

e them on my table. A friendly painter visits me; he regards the three statuettes with growing curiosity, and asks who has "made" them. In order to try him, I m

y take their crumbs from my window-sill. So I place them there. The sparrows are frightened and remain aloof. There is the

e cock's head collapse. This reminds me of the country-people's

name as my wife. The postmark is "Dornach," the name of the Austrian village where my wife and child live. But since I am certain that there is no post-office at Dornach, the matter remains mysterious. This letter,

there arrives a letter with the postmark "Vienna," which, according to the printed envelope, comes from the chemical bureau of Dr. Eder. So they are trying to spy out my gold-making ex

see in the letter-rack quite close to my keys a post card. For a moment I feel tempted to solve the riddle by looking at the post card, but my good angel paralysed my hand, just as

er, my wife has neither brothers nor cousins. This undefined threatening spectre of a continuous vengean

our depressed society. But though he was an active and bold spirit with cosmopolitan ideas and good company too, he inspired me with an u

had left him, he was head over ears in debt, and his creditors were dunning him; he was insulted in the streets by the supporters of his unpaid models. But what depressed him most of all was that the cruel landlord ha

to kill two people, but death apparently did not yet want him. After an earnest discussion, we agreed to go to another quarter, and there eat our meals in som

le share of suffering, so closely do I identify myself with him. I do so in

into court, he has spent seven years in America. I discover in him intelligence above the average, a melancholy temperament, and unbridled sensuality. But beh

iscoverer, I think little of it now. Moreover, my companion loves me only when I conceal my successes. If I am obliged to refer to them in passing, he is annoyed, and assumes the r?le of an unfortunate nonentity, so that at last, out of sympathy, I put on the a

lf-denial with which I mortify myself for another. But go

nion. To confirm my supposition, I show the Revue to a Swedish sculptor with whom I have an appointment in the Café de Versailles. He notices the resemblance at once, and reminds me of a remarkable coincidence of circumstances. Both the doctor and my friend were Germans by birth, and worked in

n the right and the other on the left bank of the river. Moreover, I learn that my mysterious friend lives a double life in this sense, that, af

simile letter of Francis Schlatter. "Come to dinner to-night," I suggested. "I will dictate to him Schlatter

and signatures are identical. A little surprised, the artist submits

ow Francis

ver heard

r that doctor in A

s! that

I show him the por

d remains quite calm and

malicious aspect, suddenly stops before the café, then rushes through the customers, and bawls at my friend in his loudest voice: "At last I have you, you sharper, who f

b, and prostrate, like a condemned man, remained exposed to the gaze of a circle of artists who all knew him more or less. When the commotion was over,

ross which I was going to use for

was a devil,

but one does not play unpunished eith

lieve i

ut the thirty pi

he exclaims in a

an old toy. He had learned to regard suffering as the only real joy in life, and so had attained to resignation. He was a hero in his poverty. I admired him when twice in the same day he measured on foot the distance between Montrouge and the Market Halls with boots

that it was enough, and that our destinies must go on to separate fulfilments. When we exchanged our last f

e of their illness with my mischievous attempt at magic, I was alarmed. I had frivolously played with hidden forces, and now my evil purpose, guided by an unseen Hand, had reached its goal, and struck my heart. I do not excuse myself, and o

, Sylva Sylvarum, in the periodical Initiation, in which I was called "a countryman of Swedenborg." When I got home I opened the book, which was almost entirely unknown to me, for so many years had passed between my first acquaintance with it and this second reading. It was like a new work to me, and now my mind was prepared for it, I swall

sulted the almanac; it was exactly the 20th of March, and also Palm Sunday. It was then that Swedenborg entered into my life, in which he was to play

fectly righteous man, whom the Eternal was testing, and whom the purgatory of this world would soon make fit for deliverance. The courage produced by the consciousness of my confidential relation to the powers was always increased, when I saw my scientific experiments crowned with success. According to my computations and the ob

protected, encouraged, and chastised me. They did not appear to me in dreams or waking visions, but in small daily occurrences showed me that they

ce, cannot be explained b

my wife. It stood under the armillary sphere and the sign Pisces, and a pair of sparrows had built their nest behind her back. At the foot of the monument I found two pieces of cardboard cut in an oval shape, one stamped with the number 207, the other with the number 28. These are the signs for the atomic weight of lead, and of silicium. I made a note of the discovery, and when I got home began a

sh my experiments. A year later, in Lund, a sculptor, who made experiments in his own potteries, gave me some glaze composed of lead and silicium, by means of which I for the first time produced in the f

carved in the style of Michael Angelo. One evening when I return home in the company of the "double" of the American empiric doctor, I discover, in the half-shadow of the alcove where my bed is, what looks like a gigantic Zeus reposing on it. B

s the cushion takes the shape of terrible monsters, such as Gothic dragons and serpents; and one night after I have spent a hilarious evening, I am greeted on my return by a medi?val d

at all astonished, and called me into his studio, where a pencil

hat from?" I asked. "

les, copied from the float

n, and the watchword of the poets and artists, "Back to Pan!" has roused such a strong echo that nature has awoken from her long sleep of centuries. Nothing can exist on ear

Christ side by side in a block of stone, and adds that he intends

hs were exhibited. They represented fantastic scenes with human bodies whose heads were replaced by pansies. In spite of my botanica

uman faces. I thought it was a hallucination of my overexcited nerves. And here are these pictures drawn a lon

Boulevard des Invalides, one sees above the Rue Oudinot the cupola, the corbels, and cornices of the substructure of the cupola displayed in the full light of the setting sun, and apparently assumi

xplain this phen

anything by replacing one heap of

t the architect has worked

1706, could not well have foreseen the silhouette of Na

o me secrets. For instance, a long-deceased friend appears to me in a dream, and shows me a piece of money of

vain all over Europe. It carried with it an honorarium of 12,000 francs, an enormous sum for me in my desperate circumstances, which I could very easily find use for. This 12,000 francs would have se

iously ornamented. Some days later, when I went to walk on the Boulevard St. Michel, a

the 13th of August. In a future chapter I will explain what the fateful 13th of August brought with it. This and other occurrences took place during my stay in the H?tel Orfila betw

turned into a Vale of Sharon full of lilies, lilacs, and acacias. I feel very melancholy, but the merry laughter of the girls who play unseen beneath the trees,

incurable boils? Am I not visited with poverty and forsaken by my friends? "I go blackened, but not by the sun; I am a brother to dragons and a companion to o

words fathoms the depth of my

friend, my pupil who called me "Father," because he owed all his culture to me, my assistant who called me "Master" and kissed my hands, whose life began where mine ended. He has come from Vienna to Paris to ruin me, as he ruined me in Vienna-and why? Because Fate has arranged that his present wife, before he knew her, was my sweetheart. Was it my fault that matters so fell out? Surely not, an

ill not defend myself. For he is right, and my life is nothing to me. He continues to play the Aufschwung, which no one can play so well. H

drive me to flight? Perhaps I shall find out in the restaurant where the

stile glances. The whole company, informed of my conflict with the Russ

is in Par

t," one of

as been seen in the office

ents and poisons me. I don't look forward to death now! Shall the hand of an inferior man crush me? The humiliation for me and the honour for him would be too great. I will accept the challenge and defend myself. In order to obtain clear information I go to find a Danish painter, a friend of Popoffsky, in the Rue de la Santé behind the Val de Grace. Six weeks before he had come to Paris, a

o murder me

take

Danish dog, which reposed in all its hideousness on the ground of the courtyard. For a moment I hesitated, then I turn

at a child with a playing-card in its hand. I glanced at the card superstitiously; it was the ten

ed our common experiences in Vienna; he seemed to be the same good friend that he was before, narrated his stories with enthusiasm, forgot our former small disagreements, and confessed the truth of some things which he had before publicly denied. Suddenly he appeared to reme

time she had given him up on my account, he cherished a grudge against me. Now he played the

ns invisible and leaves me doubtful as before as to the exact house in which he

s "p" and "y," the first and last letters of Popoffsky. He was, then, persecuting me, and the powers wished to guard me against the danger. I felt uneasy in spite of these signs of grace from the unseen. I invoked the protection of Providence, I read the imprecatory psalms, I hated my enemy with an Old Testament hatred, while I lac

stament like cowardice. To what unknown power my iniquitous prayer found its way I

FROM MY

8

She feels in despair about it, confesses to me her unalterable love, and adjures me to give up this idea, which is tantamount to suici

ike an actor come down in the world through drink. The head began to speak. I was frightened, and knocked my

yself with the green drink, a cigarette, the Temps, and the Débuts. How sweet is life after all, when the mist of a mild intoxication casts its veil over the miseries of existence. Probably the powers envy me this hour of a visionary happiness, for from this evening o

ead out. Then a drunken man passes; a hateful-looking fellow, whose mischievous, contemptuous air annoys me. His face is red, his nose blue, his eyes malicious. I taste my absinthe, and feel happy not to be lik

n't venture to

garette glows, and the Temps has important news. Then (I speak the truth, reader), a chimney of the café over my head takes fire! There is a universal panic. I remain sitting, but a

e. There seems to be no end of them. Women push against my chair, children do their little businesses before my eyes, young men take away my matches without asking leave. Thus I sit in the midst of a noisy, s

able. A stranger, and alone among a crowd of people, I let

that is the dagger which I drive into my bre

e brings it after me, and informs me politely that the young man had found it under my table,

some evil purpose! An escape-pipe flows out at the edge of the pavement, exactly where my seat is. I begin to understand th

its quarters next my room. For a day and a night crying babies afford me much pleasure, and

nd the children howl. How similar it is

em bidding them to be present in Stockholm at the farewell feast which was to celebrate my depart

he evening, in the garden of a Russian painter, I found a third heart of the same size, exact

e to oppose me. He admits that Popoffsky is a scoundrel, and that all my misfortunes are due to him. Suddenly a strange fit of nervousness takes hold of him; he trembles like a medium under the influence of the hypnotiser, gets excited, shakes off the overcoat, stops eating, lays his fork on one side, stands up and goes off. What is the meaning of it? Does he feel my coat to be a Nessus robe? Has my nervous fluid become s

a wizard witho

ed well and cheerful, but after half an hour he had a nervous attack, which increased so much

eems to foreshadow something. I compare the four stones together before the open window, as the bells of St. Sulpice begin to ring; then the great bell of Notre-Dame commences, and through these usual so

nd I contemplate these four hard stone hearts,

and yet it is impossible; or have my ears become so extra

eet; certainly the Carrousel Bridge trembles under the weight of the carts. But to-day, this movement continues past the Tuiler

vard des Italiens, I felt homesick, and I hurried back to the river, where the sight of the Rue des Saints Pères revived me. Near the Church St. Ger-main des Prés I met a fu

es in her famous grotto; before her kneels a veiled woman. When I place the figure in the sun, it casts strange shadows.

children. After I recover from the first surprise, and my first feeling of sincere sympathy for a man who at any rate had once been my intimate friend, a deep peace settles on my spirit, which had been tortu

he jealousy which his lawful wife felt against the illegitimat

ha

Was it possible that my earnest prayers had averted the dagger, and turned it against the murderer himself?" Then, giving up guessing, I conclude magnanimously like a victor: "Let

his head, with a cloud below it. Underneath are a pair of cross-bones like one sees on tombstones. The decapitated head makes us shudder,

ind, with marks of genius, which dreamed of fame without being willing to pay

t last disc

appears to me as though someone somewhere were meddling with my destiny, and I tell the Danish painter my

stay in Paris will soon be at an end, and tha

iments in alchemy shows on its inner sides a landscape formed by the evaporation of iron salts. I understand it is a presage, but I cannot guess where this landscape is. Hills covered with forests of firs; lying between them, plains covered with f

of the Initiation. As the doctor and I arrived at Marolles en Brie we received three piec

Brie. Brie? I begin to fear that the occupants of my hotel will become suspicious, hear of my excursion to Br

ife is much more interesting. There is a sudden change as regards the Popoffsky case. His friend the Dane begins to doubt his having committed the crime, and says the accusation against hi

ipt and blot it in such a way that from the obliterated letters the word "Alp"[3] is formed, and also a blot in the shape of an

h were missing. She gave me a guitar, which looked like a

te of ammonia. When I took off the mixture, the paper retained the impression of a face,

ed between the dustbin and the lavatory. Over the dustbin hung the picture of the crucified woman by my former American friend. They had revenged themselves so severely upon him that he had disappeared without paying his debts. Near the table the Russians have placed a statuette, a warrior with the conventional scythe, possibly to frighten me! A young fellow belonging to the house goes behind my back to the lavatory with the thinly

e pansies blooming in the tiny flower-bed. They shake their heads as though they wished to warn me of a danger, and one of them with a child's face and large eyes

ushed by the hand of the invisible, I am anxious to own myself wrong, and fear lays hold upon me when I carefully think over my behaviour during the last weeks. My conscience exacts my confession ruthlessly and pitilessly. I had sinned through conceit, through ?βρι?, the one sin which the gods do not forgive. Encouraged by the friendship of Dr. Popus

d wished to hear my opinion of the Occult Doctrine and the priestess of Isis, Madame Blavatsky. The aggressive tone of his letter annoyed me, and I did not conceal this annoyance in my answer. Four years later I published my Antibarbarus, and received at the most critical juncture of my life a second letter from this unknown friend, in which, in an elevated and almost

when he once took upon himself to instruct me in an insulting way about matters which I knew very well, and preached to me proudly about my want of modesty. After we had made it up again, I imparted to him all my observations, and gave him m

kind of Nemesis. He was accordingly a champion of the mechanical view of the universe, a representative of the so-called materialistic school. To me, on the other hand, the powers had revealed themselves as concrete, living, individual personalities, who guide the course o

, indeed, but the culture of this Ego seems, therefore, the highest and ultimate aim of existence. My

evil propensities daily as much as possible. To combat for the preservation of my ego, against all influence which a sect or party, from love o

admire, I put up with his admonitions when he often addressed me in a presumptuous way as

no need of the lady, and that no one had anything to teach me. Thereupon what did he threaten me with? That he would bring me back to the right path with the aid of stronger powers than mine. Then I asked him not to meddle with my destiny, which the hand of Providence had always so well protected and

the feminist movement, which, with the exception of myself, everyone in Scandinavia supported. The heat of the c

stop with him for a year, he made no mention of my wife. This letter, with its affected style, its corrections and omissions, seemed to betray some hesitation on the p

s whole manner embarrassed and equivocal, and our conversation was more like a police examination. After giving a wakeful night's consideration to the matter, I understood it. This man, whose self-love I had woun

with slanders and stories invented to suit every occasion, but did it so clumsily that I wa

and left it to my good fortune

is need to confide in someone. He told me, with incredible frankness for a man of fifty, that his sister during the past winter had gone out of her min

joined me. Four weeks later a letter summoned me to my "friend," whom I found quite broken down because his brother in a fit of mania had shattered his skull. I comforted my executioner, and his wife whispered to me with tears that she had long feared lest the same fate should ov

ranger, and more ominous still, every time that

h the word "marten" written on it; in another street a similar scrap with the word "vulture" written by the same hand. Popoffsky certainly has a resemblance to

lie on the bed, uncork the flask containing cyanide of potassium, and let its poisonous perfume stream out. The man with the scythe approaches softly and volu

he only joy left, an

sides at once. Absolutely alone, I take my mid-day meal in my room, and I eat so little that the waiter pities me. For eight days I have not heard the sound of my own voice, which begins to grow feeble for want of exercise. I have n't a sou left, and my tobacco and postage stamps run out. Then I rally my will power for a last attempt: I will make gold, by the dry process. I manage to borrow some money and procure the necessary apparatus: an oven, smelting-saucepans, wood-coals, bellows, and tongs. The heat is terrific and, like a workman in a smithy, I sweat before the open fire, stripped to the waist. But sparrows have built their nests in the chimney, and smoke pours out of it into the room. I feel like going mad over this first attempt, my head-aches, and the frustration of my efforts; for everything goes wrong. I have smelted the mass of metal in the fire and look inside the saucepan. The borax has formed within it a death's-head with two glow

y wife and children to a phantom. Alas for my delusion! There is a gaping abyss between my parting from my family and this moment.

agnetic fluid streams from the wall, and sleep nearly overcomes me. I pull myself together, and stand up, in order to go out. As I pass through the passage, I hear two voices whispering in the room adjoining mine. Why are they whis

gases, is here. He has copied the famous experiment of Pettenkofer, and discharged a stream of gas through the

the housetop! Never was my misery greater, and

hich it is, the blind is noisily pulled down; then I hear the Unknown enter the room, which is near my bed, and all is silent. For three hours I lie awake with open eyes to which sleep refuses to come; then a feeling of uneasiness takes possession of me; I am exposed to an electric current which passes to and fro between the two adjoining rooms. The

attack of indisposition, caused by the evaporations from my chemicals, and ask for another room for the night. Thanks to a wrathful Providence, the only vacant room is directly under that of my enemy. I open

my overhead get out of bed and place some heavy object in a box which h

o the St. Lazare Station, but when we get opposite the Odeon, I alter the route and bid him drive to the Rue de la Clef, ne

risation de l

Norwegian

Nigh