The Photoplay / A Psychological Study

, Novem

hen he has begotten a child. Then he goes into the d

ne in your former human existence t

y an Austrian, like myself! Then his little Austrian is torn from him, as mine has been from me, and their only child is kept i

ough!

at my father's mother

p! Unha

st murderer of the century to a hair. Only look at he

ou ar

nce your lot is still harder than ours? See how justly I hav

woman is a t

stian doctrine which has been maintained by some of the clergy. Christ said t

an Church forbids in

s it, as soon as scien

er, both sisters suspect that my evil wishes caused their mother's mysterious illness, and remembering that it is to my interest to have my separation from my wife terminated, they cannot suppress the fairly reasonable th

ove for the little one. At one time they regard me as a saint, and the scars in my hands as wound-prints. And certainly the marks on my palms resemble large nail-holes.

for fearing that I might be stoned by the inhabitants of the place. Here is a simple fact. My little Christina has an extraordinary dread of chi

e; and I become alarmed all the more as I see my mother-in-law make the sign of a cro

orror. My night attacks recommence. Prayers are said for me, beads are told, and the holy water vessel in my room is filled by the priest himself. "The hand of the Lord rests heavily on thee!" with these words my mother-in-law crushes me. But slowly I recover myself. My mental elasticity and an inborn scepticism free me again from these bl

e coffin in the churchyard before the ceremony. Every morning this creature follows me in my walk, a fact which really disquiets me because of the superstitious nature of the people. One day, which is des-tined to prove its last, the jackdaw accompanies me with horrible screams and words of abuse, which the blasphemer had taught him, through the streets of the village. Then there come

my chair. Then I stab with the dagger behind me, and imagine I am fighting an enemy. So it goes on till five o'clock in the afternoon. If I remain sitting longer, the conflict becomes terrific, until, feeling wholly exhausted, I light my lantern and go to my mother-in-law and my child. On one occasion, as early as two or three o'clock, I find my room full of the thick and choking atmosphere I have spoken of. But I continue the struggle till six o'clock in order to

rth then; but not before I choose; till

emain in this haunted house. Unknown forces li

ic, to the church-yard, to greet the dead. The bells begin to ring. Then, without a warning, without even one cloud appearing as precursor in the pale blue sky, a storm breaks

and a cross made out of consecrated wood-the timber of a church which is more than a thousand years old. I accepted it as a va

h the crevices of the window with a curious humming noise like that of a Jew's-harp. Then it is past. My mother-in-law throws a look of alarm at me and folds the child in her arms. In a second I interpret what her look means: "Leave us, O d

divine, and will wrestle with It, like Jacob with the angel. There is a knock at the door. It is my mother-in-law, who forebodes a bad night for me, and invites me to sleep on the sofa in her sitting-room. "The

lenges death. About eleven o'clock the air in the room begins to grow dense, and a deadly fear masters my courageous heart. I open the window.

perhaps she fears sleep and its dreams. Weary, I lie down again on the bed, and try to sleep. At once the old game recommences. An electric stream seeks my heart; my lungs cease to work; I must rise or die. I sit down on a chair, but am too exhausted to be able to read, and spend

at the last moment, when the invisible vulture is about to stifle me under its wings, someone lifts me up, and the pursuit of the furies is at an end. Conquered, hurled to the earth, beaten down, I quit the scene of an unequa

you wish,

hen to be burnt, or r

it has no curtains, so that the black window opening gapes at me. Moreover, it is the very same window through which the wind gust came when we were at supper. With all my powers exhausted, I sink on the sofa. I curse this ever-present, unavoidable "chance" which persecutes me with the obvious purpose of making me fall a

have provoked, when, influenced by the pamphlet The Joy of Dying, I tried to die, and considered myself already ripe for eternal life? Am I Phlegyas

rist when the soldiers spit in His face, some buffet Him and others st

remember that orgy when the author of t

with him, and defy him! But that is just what he avoids doing, in order to afflict me with madness and make me feel the scourge of conscience, which causes m

em to forget all, and go to my usual work, which is not unsuccessful. Everything that I writ

art, a fool, or a swindler. My theosophical friend, who has hitherto furnished me with the means of livelihood, tries to enrol me in his sect. He sends me one of Madame Blavatsky's occult treat

ds her own presumptuous claims, interesting through its quotations from little-known authors, repellent through its conscious or unconscious fabrications regarding the Mahatmas. It is

impossible for me to belong to a sect which denies a personal God, Who alone can satisfy my religious needs. It is a confession of faith which is de

tuation is painful; I have lost a friend and am nearly destitute. By a diabolical chance during our paper war, the following incident takes place: L'Initiation publishes an article by me which criticises the current astronomical system. A few days after its appearance Tisserand, the head of the Paris observatory, dies. In an access of mischievous humou

us of the Swedish astronomers dies of a fit of apoplexy. I am alarmed, and with reason. To be acc

mers die, one after another. I fear my fanatical friend, whom I credit with the c

ks of the theosophists and their magicians, the Hindu sages, supposed to be gifted with incredible powers. I now feel myself c

rom Zanzibar has arrived at the end of November in midwinter. That is enough to rouse doubts and dark thoughts in a morbid mind.

my best comfort in the Old Testament, and I invoke the protection of the Eternal and His vengeance against my enemies. The psalms of David

have not thee before their eyes. Show me a token for good; that all they which hate

r, and notice well, reader,

d of fema

tanical