The Photoplay / A Psychological Study

een." Both starting from a neutral point of view as regards religion had begun to study occultism. From that moment onwards they suffered from sleepless nights, mysterious accidents accompanied by terrible fears, and at last, attacks of madness. The invisible furies pursue their prey up to the very gates of the city of refuge-religion. But befor

should I be

fall on the description of one of Swedenborg's hells which exactly reproduces the landscape of Klam, as I saw it in the zinc bath

lty in this exposition of the doctrine of so-called eternal punishment? we are already in hell. Earth, earth is hell? the dungeon appointed by a superior power, in which I cannot move a step wi

, everything is seen to be worthless and the victory is null and void. Oh, vanity of vanities! Then, after the first disappointment, the powers rekindle the flame of ambition and desire; an

orgotten sins. With a docile mind, which is my chief weakness, I receive a deep and sombre impression from my reading of Swedenborg. And the powers let me rest no more. Walking along the little brook in the neighbourhood of the village, I reach the so-called ravine path between the two mountains. The entrance between fallen and precipitous rocks has a wonderful attraction for me. The almost perpendicular hill, crowned by the deserted castle, forms the gate of the ravine, in which the stream drives a water-mill. A freak of nature has given the rock the form of a Turk's head, a fact well known

six oven doors! Is it a bad dream? No, commonplace fact, for a frightful stench, a stream of

la Santé in Paris. I retreat two steps, but immediately remember Jacques C?ur's motto, "To a brave heart nothing is impossible," and press onward into the ravine. Cerberus appears not to notice me, and so I pursue the path which now winds between low and gloomy ho

m of water rushes from under the great never-resting wheel. Then I reach the smithy with its bare-armed, blackened workmen armed with tongs, choppers, screw-vices, and hammers; amid the flames and sparks of the furnace there lie red-glowing iron and molten

behind, covering the sharp pebbles on which my feet continually slip. I wish to cross the water, but since the little bridge has been swept away, I ha

, which, taken together, without being superna

feelings, and thoughts are so vividly reflected there, that his visions seem to me like experiences and real "human documents." It is no question of blind faith; it is enough for me to read his experiences and to compare with them my own. The book I have is only an extract; the chief riddle of the spiritual life will be solved for me later on when his

destiny like yours; but you have not yet f

le. You know that I seek no gain and despise money. As regards my gold-making, I have sworn in the presence of the powers that any profits I made should be used for humanitarian, scientific, and religious objects. Finally, wedded love. Need I say that from my youth I have concentrated my love of woman on the

whose efforts have been involuntarily frustrated. Certainly, you must be doing penance, for sins which you committed before your birth. You must in your former existe

I should beco

es

ligion of one's fathers, for everyone belongs t

receives graciously e

f need I can find a place among the Jews and Mohamm

prefer the mess of pottage to

orn for the Son of a Serv

b, the righteous and sinless man, whom the Eternal tries in order to sh

y relatives I accuse myself of living in too much luxury, and my rose-coloured room seems to me to be a satire upon me. They notice my sincere repentance, and overwhelm me wi

n it, they reply that she has withdrawn her order of expulsion, so that I am free to arrange my residence where I like. This sudden change of mind astonishes me, and I hardly dare to attribute it to her illness. The next day she gets worse. My mother-in-law gives me in the name of her mother a bouquet as a sign of reconciliation, and tells me in confidence that, besides other wild fancies, the old lady th

ut on the street, and so obliged me to go to hospital? Or is she superstitious? Does she think she is bewitched

ft. The author tells the reader that he must not regard himself as innocent, if he merely avoids using magic arts; one must rath

t in anger against the old lady's picture and cursed her. Secondly, it reawakens my old suspicions that I myself am the victim of mal-practices

ere, and regards himself as one of the elect. Gradually the splendours disappear, and the wretched soul fin

er, the bed creaks, and the rest of the furniture moves whenever I cross the floor. The lamp smokes, the ink-pot is too narrow so that the pen-holder gets inky. The farmhouse smells of dung and manure, ammonia, sulphuretted hydrogen, and sulphuric acid. The whole day there is a noise of cows, swine, calves, cocks, turkeys, and doves. Flies and wasps worry me by day, and gnats by night. At the village shop there

the village strike thirteen. Immediately I feel the electric b

ox; it is empty; only five staves painted black, the use of which is unknown to me, lie in the form of a pentagram at the bottom of th

ts itself and soon subsides; this one, however, remains raging for two hours over the

illas, the huts are occupied by unhappy people of all kinds, and I cannot take my walks without thinking of Swedenborg's hells. Beggars, imbeciles of both sexes, sick persons and cripples line the high roads or kneel at the foot of a crucifix, a Madonna, or a martyr

est rules prevail. In the winter when the thermometer registers twenty degrees of frost, the penitents must sleep on

amnation. Then the wretched creature loses her reason, imagines that she is dead, wanders from village to village and implores the priests to be merciful and to bury her in consecrated ground. Shunned and driven away everywhere, she wa

d man makes his confession in church before the people. Thereupon the young monk sets to work and succeeds, after prayers and conjurations which last an entire day, in driving out the Devil. The alarmed spectators have not ventured to relate the details of the affair. A year later the young monk dies. These and still more tragic narrati

my aunt and mother-in-law wish to live together in Klam. We therefore break up our camp. In order to preser

ion, as though the air were poisoned. I go to my mother-in-law: "If I sleep up there yo

so many jaws; a tall iron oven, ornamented with ugly devices of salamanders and dragons, confronts me like a spectre. In a word, there reigns such a disharmony in the room as makes me feel poorly. More

ssatisfied

aroused, everything is in vain. She tries to remember my favourite dishes, but every

d with brown butter before me. I understand that it is an unconscious mistake on h

ot eating

se annoyances to feminine malice; now I a

on it. And, as a matter of fact, in the morning my mind rejoices in a feeling of harmony and happy elevation which borders on ecstasy. My corporeal

t she does not understand it. She cries, and I have not the heart to sadden her to-day, but make a firm resolve not to allow her again to misuse her rights. She is certainly thoroughly fascinating as a child, with her originality, her chee

o escape any more, but my soul is a prisoner, and my brain exhausted by the effort of continually having to descend to a child's level. What, however, pains me intensely is the deep, reproachful look she casts at me when she thinks I find her a nuisance, and imagines that I love her no longer. Then her open joyous little face falls, her loo

a moment of madness I had wished to conjure down on this angel's head.

Strindberg's fi