St. Paul daily globe. [volume] (Saint Paul, Minn.) 1884-1896, 1886-07-31
Il E!
You ask me whyI am going to marry?

You ask me why 1 am going to marry?
l can scarcely dare to confess to you tn e
strange and inconceivable desire which
urges me to this insane course.
L am going to marry i'll order not to be
alone
l do not know how to tell it-how to
make myself understood. You will pity
me and you will despise me when you know
in what wretched state of mind l am.
do not want to be alone any more-at
night. [ want to feel some being near me,
close to me-a being that can speak, say
something. no matter what.
l want to be able to rouse that being from
sleep-to be able to ask that being any
question suddenly-even a stupid question,
so that l can feel my dwelling is inhabited
so that can know that mind is awoke.
that reasoning power is at work-so that,
if [ suddenly light my candle [ can see
human face beside me-because-(how can
[ dare avow my shamei) because l am
afraid when I am by myself.
Oh! you do not yet comprehend me!
l am not afraid of any danger. If man
were to come in would kill him without a
shudder. | have no fear of ghosts-I do
not believe in the supernatural. 1 am not
afraid of the dead believe in the total
humiliation of every human being that
passes away!
Then!-yes. Then?-well! I am afraid
of myself! [ am afraid of being afraid, -
afraid of the mental SpaSmS that are driving
me mad-afraid of the horrible sense of
lhcomprehensible terror.
Laugh if you please! 1t is hideous; it is
| incurable. am afraid of the walls, of the
furniture, of familiar objects which seem to
me to become animated with sort OF ami
NAL life Above all l am afraid of the hor-
rible confusion of my mind. the confusion
of my reason, which goes from me, all be-
logged, dissipated by some mysterious and
| ineXplicable anguish.
First, | feel a vague disquiet that passes
into my mind, and makes all my flesh creep.
l look around me. Nothing! And [ feel
need of something. Of whato Something
incomprehensible. Then l become afraid.
simply because cannot comprehend my
own fear
speak, am frightened by my own
voice. l walk!-then l am frightened by
the Unknown which is behind the door, or
behind the curtain, or inside the armoir, or
under the bed. And nevertheless l know
perfectly well there is really nothing in any
of those places.
[ turn round suddenly because I am
afraid of what is behind me although
there is really nothing behind me, and al
though know it.
l become nervous; [ feel the scare grow
ing upon me; and lock myself into my
room, and L bury myself in my bed and
hide myself under my bedclothes; and,
covering there, gathering myself up like
ball, l shut my eyes in desperation, and
thus remain for a seemingly infinite length
of time, oppressed by the thought that my
candle is still burning on the little table be-
side the bed, and that l should really blow
it out. And / dare not.
Is it not frightfuI to be in such condi-
ton?
There was time when I never felt
this way. l used to go home feeling per-
fectly calm. l went out and came in
without anything to trouble the serenity of
my mind. If had then been told what
stupid and incredible disease of fear--of
incredible fear, would come upon me in
after days, would certainly have laughed!
l used to open the doors in the dark with
perfect confidence; l used to make my
preparations for going to bed quietly,
without even boiling myself in; and l never
thought of getting up in the middle of the
night to see if all the entrances to my room
were strongly secured.
The trouble began last year in singu-
lar way.
1t was In autumn, on certain damp
evening. When the householder had taken
her departure, after l had dined, l asked
myself what L was going to do. For
some time l walked up and down my room.
| felt myself weary. unreasonably de-
pressed. incapable of doing any work
lacking even the mental force to read, A
fine rain was moistening the window paues;
l was melancholy-all permeated by one of
those causeless attacks of dependency
,uyt,in oh,
which make man want to talk to some
body or anybody in order to shake off the
weight of ones own fanceS.
l felt lonesome. Never before did my
dwelling to me seem so empty. An in
finite and Notwithstanding solitude sur
rounded me. What was | to do? | sat
down. Then nervous Impotence seemed
to pass into my legs. [ got up and began
to walk again. Perhaps was also a little
feverish; for my hands-clasped behind
my back, as ones hands often are when
one walks about leiSurely- seemed to burn
one another where they touched, and
noticed it. Then sudden cold shudder
ran down my back. l thought that the
outside dampnesS was entering the room,
and the idea occurred to me that it would
be well to light a fire. | lit it, it was the
first of the year. And | sat down once
more, watching the flame. But soon the
impossibility of remaining quiet in any one
position forced me to get up again; and
felt that l would have to go out somewhere,
to stir myself, to find a friend.
| went out. First | visited the houses of
three different friends-no one of whom
was at home; then [ went on the boule-
vald. resolved to find some acquaintance or
other.
1t was dismal everywhere. The wet side
walks were shining. a watery lukewarm-
ness-One of those lukewarmnesses which
nevertheless chill you with sudden shivers
/. the weghty lukewarmnesS of impalpable
rain-seemed to bear down over the whole
street. and to make the gas-jetS burn
YEARLY and dim.
l walked along sluggishly, saying over
and over again to myself: 81 won't find
anybody to talk to.
Several times | looked into all the cafes
between La Madeleine and the Faubourg
PoisSonniere. Only miserable looking
people, who did not seem to have even vim
enough to finish what they had ordered,
were sitting at the tables.
l wandered about in this way for long
time, and about midnight took my way
home. L was quite calm but very tired.
My concierge, who always goes to bed be-
fore II O'Clock, opened the door for me at
once. contrary TO DIS usual hdDlt, and L
thought to myself: ''HelloI some other
ledger must have just gone up stairs"
Whenever | go out always double lock
my door. This time l found it simply
pulled-to: and the fact impressed me-
thought that perhaps some letters might
have been brought upstairs during the even
ing.
went in. My fire was still burning
even brightly enough to light up the apart
ment. l took the candle in order to kindle
it at the CRATE, when, as looked right be-
fore me- l saw someone sitting in my easy
chair. with his back turned to me-appar-
emily warming his feet at the fire.
| was not startled at all-no! not the