The Photoplay / A Psychological Study

ted among the roses of this garden-the favourite flower of my youth. The Jardin des Plantes, this wonder of Paris unknown to the Parisians themselves, has become my park. This epitome of creation confined within a narrow circuit, this Noah's Ark, this Paradise Regained in which I wander without danger among wild beasts-it is too much happiness. Beginning with stones, I proceed to the vegetable and animal kingdoms, till I come to man, and behind man I

to resume my correspondence with the outer world, lint no sooner have I lifted the mask of my incogn

therto was vacant of furniture. An old gentleman, with grey, malicious eyes, carries empty boxes, strips of metal, and other mysterious obje

her manner of greeting me. Besides this, the lodger who occupies the first floor above me, leaves the house. Me was a quiet old gentleman, whose heavy footfall

m, and brings my meals, has a serious a

my firm conviction. By whom? By the Russians, the Pietists, Catholics, Jesuits, Theosophists? As what?-A wizard or practiser

eal nature of the events of that July night when death threat

nds, let me tell them that I feel anger against no one, for I know now that

imagination conjured up these chastising spirits for my own punishme

religious; I have no more ties binding me to life. I have put my papers in order, written necessary let

onuments of great epochs when botany was still a living science. I buy bread and cherries for my old friends. The old bear knows me well, for I am the only o

an and its wide horizon! Farewell, stones, plants, flowers, trees, butterflies, birds, snakes, all creatures of a good God! And you great men, Bernadin de Saint-Pierre, Linn?us, Geoffroy Saint-Hilaire,

rope obviously conceals something. On the mantelpiece are metal projections isolated by wooden panels, and on each there lies a photograph album or some other book, in order to give these diabolical machines, which I am inclined to think are accumulators,

yself, and put on the underclothes which I bought three years ago in Vienna for my wedding-the toilet of a man condemned to die. I read the psalms in the Bible in which David invokes the wrath of the Eternal upon his enemies. I do not read the penitential psalms. I have no right to remo

have experienced enough of them to feel an intense desire to depart from the vanities and false joys of this world, which I always despised. Born with a heavenly homesickness, I wept as a child over the filthiness of life, and felt stran

But they are not a merry company; their faces are all serious, they discuss, seem to form plans, and speak in an undertone with each other, as though it were a conspiracy. To intensify my men

presses me to the ground. I rise again, seize my clothes and rush, my heart beating violently, into the garden. When I have dressed myself, my first clear thought is to go to the police and have the house

to, I was quite well. Is it an attack? Yes, because I saw the preparations for it going on. For the rest, I feel better here outside in the garden beyond the power of my enemies, and my heart beats quite regularly. While reflecting thus, I hear someone cough in th

seat. Sleep has pity on me, so that under the stars of a beautiful summe

allen and shipwrecked. When I ask to speak to the directress of the house, she is not visible, and sends a message to say she is unwell. I might have expected that she would be involved in the plot against me. I leave the house with a curse on t

ou come from,

e from

look as if you had

ss, that I may see myself. I certainly look a pitiable object; my face blackened by smoke from

il spirit on my soul, and the occurrences of the last weeks. Now I felt ashamed and angry with myself, and my conscience pained me on account of my ingratitude towards this family, which had proved a harbour of refuge for me, as for so many other shipwrecked voyagers. As a punishment, I shall be driven hence also by the furies. Here is a beautiful artistic ho

ng I observe two men looking over the wall of the institution towards our villa, and pointing at m

be lurking there. Only in a lumber-room an object of no significance in itself has a depressing effect upon me. It is only the skin of a polar bear used as a rug; but the gaping jaws, the threatenin

happens. Then in a dare-devil spirit, or perhaps only with the intention of making a physical experiment, I rise, open both windows, and light

id? In this labyrinth of questioning I find no answer, and try at last to go to sleep, but a new discharge of electricity strikes me like a cyclone, forces me to rise from bed, and the chase begins afresh. I hide myself behind the walls, lie down close to the doors, or in front of the stove. Everywhere, everywhere the furies find me. Overmastered by terror, I fly in panic from everything and nothing, from room to room, and finish by crouching down on the balcony. The grey-yellow light of dawn begins to break, the sepia-coloured clouds assume fantastic and monstrous shapes, which increase my despair. I repair to my friend's studio, lie down on the carpet, and close my eyes. After barely five minutes' quiet, a rustle awakes me. A mouse looks at me and seems to wish to come nearer.

ns. The Angelus rings out. It is the day of the Lord. I open my breviary and read "De Pro

nteresting. To-day, Andrée's balloon is to ascend for its voyage to the North Pole, but the occasion is not propit

benediction on the house, over whose well-de

, I imagine that I am the victim of a nervous illness. Accordingly, I mak

and tells me that these stones fall from the sky and are cast by the waves on the land. I believe him willingly, and keep the gift as a talisman, the significance of which is hidden f

tor's house looks like a Buddhist cloister. The four wings of the one-storeyed house form a quadrangle, in the centre of which the dome-shaped wood-shed resembles the tomb of Tamerlane at Samarcand. The style of which the roof is buil

ict hospital. He is a widower, solitary and independent, and from the hard discipline of life has derived that

such an unexpected manner, that I am inclined to a

You have a nervous illness! Good! But that is not all. You look so strange that I do not recognise

gainst me, has made inquiries about me in some quarter, and wants to have me confined. I tel

at this diabolical coincidence. Besides, it is impossible to ask for another bed, as I might be suspected of being mad. In order to assure myself that nothing is concealed above me, I mount into the loft overhead. There is only one object there, but it drives me almost to desperation.

rs like the sound of a water-wheel. Doubting the objective existence of this noise, I ask the cause of it, and learn that i

is watching me in the darkness, touches me and feels for my heart in order to suck my blood. Without waiting any longer, I spring out of bed, fling open the window and jump into the courtyard-but I have forgotten the rose-bushes, whose sharp thorns pierce me through my night-shirt. Scratched and streaming with blood, I grope about th

d when I am attacked. Always this solitude! Does it not

he doctor's voic

am ill. Open

door. "What i

tack in the Rue de la Clef, which I ascribe to e

man! Your min

telligence; read what I writ

hese stories of electricity ar

ports that in order to clear the matter up, I am wil

Not a word more now!

insist on his hearing m

rong character. But one does not pay very highly for an ordinary piece of revenge. Therefore he must have a strong interest in the matter himself. Stop! I have it! I have made gold; the doctor has half-accomplished it also, although, when asked, he denies having repeated the experiments regarding which I had corresponded with him. He denies it, and yet as I stepped across the p

his intended purchase of the ground on which his dwelling stands. He is in debt, must even economi

cution-mania, but what smith forges

s is the thought with which my mental torment

ve changed my room, and have fairly quiet

y table, and becomes angry and excited. "Always thi

ty like other

ormerly. These flatteries of the Deity belong to the past, and personally I agree with the Mohammedans, who

ndifferent matters of secondary interest, world histories, or mythologies, and leave idle dreaming. Above all things, beware of

es, he only says, "All the worse for them." In the evening he brings me, w

you to sleep, standing. I

a spark he was throwing into a

hich are imprinted in letters of fire on my memory:-"As the legend relates, Bhrign, having out-grown his father's teaching, became so conceited, that he believed he could su

ished by my father and teacher. And I am in hell, driven

e may compare with this the German myth of the fiel

of it-I am in hell! And in fact, real occurrences suppor

ugh I were a sick child. But then, again, it seems to give him pleasure to be able to trample under his feet a man of worth for whom he has formerly had a high regard. Then he lectures me like a pitiless tormentor. I am to work, but not to give way to

for the newest Stockholm paper, since the leading paper of Paris and of the whole world has accepted my manuscripts. Then he plays the inc

ess the growing hatred which I feel towards this unexpected tormentor, and curse the fate which

purposes. What a Satanic coincidence that I should have these implements of execution and torture before my eyes! For I cannot explain to myself what they mean, and why they are there. My nights now pass fairly quietly, while the doctor has taken to roaming about at night. Once at midnight I am startled by the sudden report of a gun. Out of politenes

punished. I have a terrible nervous attack. My heart seems to stop beating, and I hear two words, which I have noted in my diary. An unknown voice calls o

in an asylum. Appearances are stronger and stronger against the doctor. I find out that he has discovered my process of making gold, and that perhaps he knew it before I did. E

post is humming: I step up to it, lay my ear on it, and listen as if bewitched. At the foot of t

By his strange aspect I see that he has struggled with himself; his face is pale; his eyes seem de

men." I hear him with alarm, and secretly watch him, after we have wished each other good-night on the threshold which divides our rooms. First of all, he goes in the garden, but I cannot hear what he does. Then he steps into the verandah adjoinin

ough the window, and do not dress till I am outside the house. There I am again in the street, on the pavement, my last refuge and only friend behind me! I wander onward wit

The doctor invites me inside, as though he had been expecting me, asks me to take a seat, and offers me a cigar and a glass of wine. I breathe freely at finding myself once more treated as a respectable man, and not a wretched idiot

capable of m

I accomp

the enemy's fire together. B

ame, let u

vocate of deliberate murder, is an object of pity indeed. He is pale as death, trembles, stammers, and at the sight of the doctor standing behind me seems on the point of collapse, so that I feel more panic-struck tha

s of walnut or alderwood, I forget which. As usual, the veins in the wood formed figures in my imagination. Among them I saw in lively presentment a head with a goat's beard, and immediately turned my back upon it. It was Pan in person, as depicted by the ancients and as metamorphosed later into the Devil of the Middle Ages. I content myself by noting the

-point in my destiny is at hand. My health is now restored again; I sleep quietly and work diligently. The wrath of Providence seems to have spent itself, for my exertions are crowned with success in all quarters. If I take a book at haphazard out of the doctor's library, it always gives the explanation I was looking for. Thus I find in an old chemical treatise the secret of my process for making gold, and I can now

kind of prophecy, the interpretation of which will appear in the sequel. It is as follows: On the left is the waxing moon in the first quarter, surrounded by a branch in blossom; th

d. I wait for something to happen, but in vain; none the less. I am certain that s

there is printed on it "August 13th" (the same date which was on the clock). Underneath

ughter, who lives with her grandparents in the country. That calls me back to life. My child, my daughter is more than my wife. Only to think of embracing the harmless, innocent creature, whom I wished to injure,[1] to ask her forgiveness, to brighten her life by little paternal attention

ch, because of an undefined grudge against her, I am quite indifferent, I prepare for m

t from my friend-my executioner-without bitterness. He has only been the scourge

above,