is, how mean and wretched--grudgingly given,
poorly invented,
clumsily made! Ah! the
elephant and the hippopotamus, what power!
And the camel, what suppleness!
But the
butterfly, you will say, a flying flower! I dream of one
that should be as large as a hundred worlds, with wings whose
shape, beauty, colors, and
motion I cannot even express. But I
see it--it flutters from star to star,
refreshing them and
perfuming them with the light and
harmoniousbreath of its
flight! And the people up there gaze at it as it passes in an
ecstasy of delight!
What is the matter with me? It is He, the Horla who haunts me,
and who makes me think of these foolish things! He is within me,
He is becoming my soul; I shall kill him!
August 20. I shall kill Him. I have seen Him! Yesterday I sat
down at my table and pretended to write very assiduously. I knew
quite well that He would come prowling round me, quite close to
me, so close that I might perhaps be able to touch him, to seize
him. And then--then I should have the strength of
desperation; I
should have my hands, my knees, my chest, my
forehead, my teeth
to strangle him, to crush him, to bite him, to tear him to
pieces. And I watched for him with all my overexcited nerves.
I had lighted my two lamps and the eight wax candles on my
mantelpiece, as if, by this light I should discover Him.
My bed, my old oak bed with its columns, was opposite to me; on
my right was the
fireplace; on my left the door, which was
carefully closed, after I had left it open for some time, in
order to attract Him; behind me was a very high
wardrobe with a
looking-glass in it, which served me to dress by every day, and
in which I was in the habit of inspecting myself from head to
foot every time I passed it.
So I pretended to be
writing in order to
deceive Him, for He also
was watching me, and suddenly I felt, I was certain, that He was
reading over my shoulder, that He was there, almost
touching my
ear.
I got up so quickly, with my hands
extended, that I almost fell.
Horror! It was as bright as at
midday, but I did not see myself
in the glass! It was empty, clear,
profound, full of light! But
my figure was not reflected in it--and I, I was opposite to it! I
saw the large, clear glass from top to bottom, and I looked at it
with unsteady eyes. I did not dare advance; I did not
venture to
make a
movement; feeling certain,
nevertheless, that He was
there, but that He would escape me again, He whose imperceptible
body had absorbed my reflection.
How frightened I was! And then suddenly I began to see myself
through a mist in the depths of the looking-glass, in a mist as
it were, or through a veil of water; and it seemed to me as if
this water were flowing slowly from left to right, and making my
figure clearer every moment. It was like the end of an eclipse.
Whatever hid me did not appear to possess any clearly defined
outlines, but was a sort of opaque transparency, which gradually
grew clearer.
At last I was able to
distinguish myself completely, as I do
every day when I look at myself.
I had seen Him! And the
horror of it remained with me, and makes
me
shudder even now.
August 21. How could I kill Him, since I could not get hold of
Him? Poison? But He would see me mix it with the water; and then,
would our
poisons have any effect on His impalpable body?
No--no--no doubt about the matter. Then?--then?
August 22. I sent for a
blacksmith from Rouen and ordered iron
shutters of him for my room, such as some private hotels in Paris
have on the ground floor, for fear of
thieves, and he is going to
make me a similar door as well. I have made myself out a
coward,
but I do not care about that!
September 10. Rouen, Hotel Continental. It is done; it is
done--but is He dead? My mind is
thoroughly upset by what I have
seen.
Well then,
yesterday, the locksmith having put on the iron
shutters and door, I left everything open until midnight,
although it was getting cold.
Suddenly I felt that He was there, and joy, mad joy took