selected writings-第53节

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〃　'Here　reposes　Jacques　Olivant；　who　died　at　the　age　of

fifty…one。　He　hastened　his　father's　death　by　his　unkindness；　as

he　wished　to　inherit　his　fortune；　he　tortured　his　wife；　tormented

his　children；　deceived　his　neighbors；　robbed　everyone　he　could；

and　died　wretched。'



〃When　he　had　finished　writing；　the　dead　man　stood　motionless；

looking　at　his　work。　On　turning　round　I　saw　that　all　the　graves

were　open；　that　all　the　dead　bodies　had　emerged　from　them；　and

that　all　had　effaced　the　lies　inscribed　on　the　gravestones　by

their　relations；　substituting　the　truth　instead。　And　I　saw　that

all　had　been　the　tormentors　of　their　neighborsmalicious；

dishonest；　hypocrites；　liars；　rogues；　calumniators；　envious；　that

they　had　stolen；　deceived；　performed　every　disgraceful；　every

abominable　action；　these　good　fathers；　these　faithful　wives；

these　devoted　sons；　these　chaste　daughters；　these　honest

tradesmen；　these　men　and　women　who　were　called　irreproachable。

They　were　all　writing　at　the　same　time；　on　the　threshold　of　their

eternal　abode；　the　truth；　the　terrible　and　the　holy　truth　of

which　everybody　was　ignorant；　or　pretended　to　be　ignorant；　while

they　were　alive。



〃I　thought　that　SHE　also　must　have　written　something　on　her

tombstone；　and　now　running　without　any　fear　among　the　half…open

coffins；　among　the　corpses　and　skeletons；　I　went　toward　her；　sure

that　I　should　find　her　immediately。　I　recognized　her　at　once；

without　seeing　her　face；　which　was　covered　by　the　winding…sheet；

and　on　the　marble　cross；　where　shortly　before　I　had　read：



　　　　　　　　　　〃　'She　loved；　was　loved；　and　died。'



I　now　saw：



〃　'Having　gone　out　in　the　rain　one　day；　in　order　to　deceive　her

lover；　she　caught　cold　and　died。'



　*　*　*　*　*　*　*



〃It　appears　that　they　found　me　at　daybreak；　lying　on　the　grave

unconscious。〃







THE　DIARY　OF　A　MADMAN



He　was　deadthe　head　of　a　high　tribunal；　the　upright　magistrate；

whose　irreproachable　life　was　a　proverb　in　all　the　courts　of

France。　Advocates；　young　counselors；　judges　had　saluted；　bowing

low　in　token　of　profound　respect；　remembering　that　grand　face；

pale　and　thin；　illumined　by　two　bright；　deep…set　eyes。



He　had　passed　his　life　in　pursuing　crime　and　in　protecting　the

weak。　Swindlers　and　murderers　had　no　more　redoubtable　enemy；　for

he　seemed　to　read　in　the　recesses　of　their　souls　their　most

secret　thoughts。



He　was　dead；　now；　at　the　age　of　eighty…two；　honored　by　the　homage

and　followed　by　the　regrets　of　a　whole　people。　Soldiers　in　red

breeches　had　escorted　him　to　the　tomb；　and　men　in　white　cravats

had　shed　on　his　grave　tears　that　seemed　to　be　real。



But　listen　to　the　strange　paper　found　by　the　dismayed　notary　in

the　desk　where　the　judge　had　kept　filed　the　records　of　great

criminals！　It　was　entitled：



　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　WHY？



June　20；　1851。　I　have　just　left　court。　I　have　condemned　Blondel

to　death！　Now；　why　did　this　man　kill　his　five　children？

Frequently　one　meets　with　people　to　whom　killing　is　a　pleasure。

Yes；　yes；　it　should　be　a　pleasurethe　greatest　of　all；　perhaps；

for　is　not　killing　most　like　creating？　To　make　and　to　destroy！

These　two　words　contain　the　history　of　the　universe；　the　history

of　all　worlds；　all　that　is；　all！　Why　is　it　not　intoxicating　to

kill？



June　25。　To　think　that　there　is　a　being　who　lives；　who　walks；　who

runs。　A　being？　What　is　a　being？　An　animated　thing　which　bears　in

it　the　principle　of　motion；　and　a　will　ruling　that　principle。　It

clings　to　nothing；　this　thing。　Its　feet　are　independent　of　the

ground。　It　is　a　grain　of　life　that　moves　on　the　earth；　and　this

grain　of　life；　coming　I　know　not　whence；　one　can　destroy　at　one's

will。　Then　nothing　nothing　more。　It　perishes；　it　is　finished。



June　26。　Why；　then；　is　it　a　crime　to　kill？　Yes；　why？　On　the

contrary；　it　is　the　law　of　nature。　Every　being　has　the　mission　to

kill；　he　kills　to　live；　and　he　lives　to　kill。　The　beast　kills

without　ceasing；　all　day；　every　instant　of　its　existence。　Man

kills　without　ceasing；　to　nourish　himself；　but　since　in　addition

he　needs　to　kill　for　pleasure；　he　has　invented　the　chase！　The

child　kills　the　insects　he　finds；　the　little　birds；　all　the

little　animals　that　come　in　his　way。　But　this　does　not　suffice

for　the　irresistible　need　of　massacre　that　is　in　us。　It　is　not

enough　to　kill　beasts；　we　must　kill　man　too。　Long　ago　this　need

was　satisfied　by　human　sacrifice。　Now；　the　necessity　of　living　in

society　has　made　murder　a　crime。　We　condemn　and　punish　the

assassin！　But　as　we　cannot　live　without　yielding　to　this　natural

and　imperious　instinct　of　death；　we　relieve　ourselves　from　time

to　time；　by　wars。　Then　a　whole　nation　slaughters　another　nation。

It　is　a　feast　of　blood；　a　feast　that　maddens　armies　and

intoxicates　the　civilians；　women　and　children；　who　read；　by

lamplight　at　night；　the　feverish　story　of　massacre。



And　do　we　despise　those　picked　out　to　accomplish　these　butcheries

of　men？　No；　they　are　loaded　with　honors。　They　are　clad　in　gold

and　in　resplendent　stuffs；　they　wear　plumes　on　their　heads　and

ornaments　on　their　breasts；　and　they　are　given　crosses；　rewards；

titles　of　every　kind。　They　are　proud；　respected；　loved　by　women；

cheered　by　the　crowd；　solely　because　their　mission　is　to　shed

human　blood！　They　drag　through　the　streets　their　instruments　of

death；　and　the　passer…by；　clad　in　black；　looks　on　with　envy。　For

to　kill　is　the　great　law　put　by　nature　in　the　heart　of　existence！

There　is　nothing　more　beautiful　and　honorable　than　killing！



June　30。　To　kill　is　the　law；　because　Nature　loves　eternal　youth。

She　seems　to　cry　in　all　her　unconscious　acts：　〃Quick！　quick！

quick！〃　The　more　she　destroys；　the　more　she　renews　herself。



July　2。　It　must　be　a　pleasure；　unique　and　full　of　zest；　to　kill

to　place　before　you　a　living；　thinking　being；　to　make　therein　a

little　hole；　nothing　but　a　little　hole；　and　to　see　that　red

liquid　flow　which　is　the　blood；　which　is　the　life；　and　then　to

have　before　you　only　a　heap　of　limp　flesh；　cold；　inert；　void　of

thought！



August　5。　I；　who　have　passed　my　life　in　judging；　condemning；

killing　by　words　pronounced；　killing　by　the　guillotine　those　who

had　killed　by　the　knife；　if　I　should　do　as　all　the　assassins　whom

I　have　smitten　have　done；　I；　Iwho　would　know　it？



August　10。　Who　would　ever　know？　Who　would　ever　suspect　me；

especially　if　I　should　choose　a　being　I　had　no　interest　in　doing

away　with？



August　22。　I　could　resist　no　longer。　I　have　killed　a　little

creature　as　an　experiment；　as　a　beginning。　Jean；　my　servant；　had

a　goldfinch　in　a　cage　hung　in　the　office　window。　I　sent　him　on　an

errand；　and　I　took　the　little　bird　in　my　hand；　in　my　hand　where　I

felt　its　heart　beat。　It　was　warm。　I　went　up　to　my　room。　From　time

to　time　I　squeezed　it　tighter；　its　heart　beat　faster；　it　was

atrocious　and　delicious。　I　was　nearly　choking　it。　But　I　could　not

see　the　blood。



Then　I　took　scissors；　short　nail　scissors；　and　I　cut　its　throat

in　three　strokes；　quite　gently。　It　opened　its　bill；　it　struggled

to　escape　me；　but　I　held　it；　oh！　I　held　itI　could　have　held　a

mad　dogand　I　saw　the　blood　trickle。



And　then　I　did　as　assassins　doreal　ones。　I　washed　the　scissors

and　washed　my　hands。　I　sprinkled　water；　and　took　the　body；　the

corpse；　to　the　garden　to　hide　it。　I　buried　it　under　a

strawberry…plant。　It　will　never　be　found。　Every　day　I　can　eat　a

strawberry　from　that　plant。　How　one　can　enjoy　life；　when　one

knows　how！



My　servant　cried；　he　thought　his　bird　flown。　How　could　he　suspect

me？　Ah！



August　25。　I　must　kill　a　man！　I　must！



August　30。　It　is　done。　But　what　a　little　thing！　I　had　gone　for　a

walk　in　the　forest　of　Vernes。　I　was　thinking　of　nothing；

literally　nothing。　See！　a　child　on　the　road；　a　little　child

eating　a　slice　of　bread　and　butter。　He　stops　to　see　me　pass　and

says；　〃Good　day；　Mr。　President。〃



And　the　thought　enters　my　head：　〃Shall　I　kill　him？〃



I　answer：　〃You　are　alone；　my　boy？〃



〃Yes；　sir。〃



〃All　alone　in　the　wood？〃



〃Yes；　sir。〃



The　wish　to　kill　him　intoxicated　me　like　wine。　I　approached　him

quite　softly；　persuaded　that　he　was　going　to　run　away。　And

suddenly　I　seized　him　by　the　throat。　He　held　my　wrists　in　his

little　hands；　and　his　body　writhed　like　a　feather　on　the　fire。

Then　he　moved　no　more。　I　threw　the　body　in　the　ditch；　then　some

weeds　on　top　of　it。　I　returned　home　and　dined　well。　What　a　little

thing　it　was！　In　the　evening　I　was　very　gay；　light；　rejuvenated；

and　passed　the　evening　at　the　Prefect's。　They　found　me　witty。　But

I　have　not　seen　blood！　I　am　not　tranquil。



August　31。　The　body　has　been　discovered。　They　are　hunting　for　the

assassin。　Ah！



September　1。　Two　tramps　have　been　arrested。　Proofs　are　lacking。



September　2。　The　parents　have　been　to　see　me。　They　wept！　Ah！



October　6。　Nothing　has　been　discovered。　Some　strolling　vagabond

must　have　done　the　deed。　Ah！　If　I　had　seen　the　blood　flow　it