Fjallkonan #42 | 27 October 1900

THERE IS A LOT OF DISCUSSION ABOUT HYPNOSIS.²¹⁶ I have never tried letting myself be hypnotized, but in my law cases I have seen on more than one occasion a wrongdoing blamed on hypnosis. I have always believed that this so-called hypnotic state is nothing more than a lack of moral endurance or will, and I have never wanted to accept that such an excuse would be honored in legal proceedings. If men of law would acknowledge and use this as an argument, it could lead to a confusion of people’s moral compass and accountability. It would, however, be convenient for all weak men, if they could employ this subterfuge to lay blame on some chap whose evil will they couldn’t have resisted.²¹⁷ As a result, society would plunge into chaos. Although I had to undergo the painful experience myself, that another person was powerful enough to make my will melt like wax—weakening until it dissolved altogether—I feel and I know that it is entirely my own fault. If my soul were purer, and my desire for the good stronger and tougher in the battle, I wouldn’t so easily give in to something that I cannot identify—which I cannot even understand with common sense.

She bent over me and I could feel how her eyes sought out my innermost nature, my independence and all my mental strength. I sensed it, although at that moment I couldn’t put it into words. I leaned back in the chair and looked at her. A ray of light revealed the ruby heart on her chest and it seemed to me as though blood ran from it. Was I asleep? At first I only saw the radiance in her eyes, but then I clearly saw that her bosom was bloody, and I remember how horrified I was. What happened next I only recall as if from a dream in which truth and fantasy merge. She sank down on my knee, and I felt her soft body in my arms as she wrapped hers around me so tightly that I could hardly breathe. I can still feel how she pressed her lips to my neck with a long, quivering kiss. It was as if I melted and lost all awareness, as if time and space dissolved. But then I woke up in pain and she whispered to me impetuously, “Take away the cross—the cross, I cannot stand it—take it away.”

I assumed that she meant the crucifix hanging from the rosary I carried around my neck, but it was as if some internal force within me revolted. By no means can I explain it, for I put no belief in inanimate objects—neither in the cross, nor in anything else—and I am such a devoted Lutheran²¹⁸ that I cannot ascribe supernatural power to the crucifix, as Roman-Catholics do. I honestly don’t know what stopped me from obeying her. It was as though some voice whispered to me that I should pay no heed to her words. I woke up as if from a slumber, and it felt like some invisible string suddenly snapped. She jumped up from my lap like a spring, glancing at me with a threatening look. She extended her arm over my head, gradually lowering it while she stared at me; at the same time, she inched backward towards the door. I stood still, stunned as if struck by a rock, and so I didn’t notice how she stole out, though I was curious to find out.

– – – And since then I’ve felt that she is constantly around me. Even though I’m clearly helpless and horror struck²¹⁹ when I think of her, I cannot rid myself of the strings she has wrapped around me; those invisible threads that have been spun around me ever since I got here, initially filigree and light like spider silk, but then stronger and stronger—so strong that they practically strangle me.

I have seen her twice since then. Once in the twilight, like the first time I saw her. I stood by the window in the library and looked out, but when I glanced back I saw that she was standing behind me, and before I knew what was happening she had slung her arms around me and pressed a kiss on my throat like before. The second time, she was standing, pale and sylph-like, right under the lamp in the octagonal room, when I opened my door. We looked at each other, but I had enough strength to turn around and slam the door so that it locked between us.

– – – But whether I’m awake or asleep, she always hovers before my mind’s eye, and if I were to obey that voice that always seems to be talking to me, I would search the whole castle for her.

There is only one desire in me that is stronger: my wish to get away from here, even if it costs me my life. But how do I get out?

The gate is always locked and I don’t know any other exit. True, the Count doesn’t monitor me at all times, but I know for sure he’d soon find out if I tried to flee. It seems he’s constantly observing me in his self-satisfied and scorning manner—he hardly cares to cover that up. Sometimes when he speaks to me (always diligent to practice his English) and I’m so lost in thought that I forget to answer him, he pauses and looks at me with an expression that I cannot describe. But it frightens me. I am almost convinced that he knows and understands how I feel, and that he’s enjoying it.

The things he said to me during the first days of my stay here often cross my mind, when he talked about his—allegedly moonstruck—cousin; I remember how slyly he peered at me with those eyes of his. Now I wonder whether I am caught in a trap. Is she actually a lunatic—or what then?²²⁰ No. I have to get away from here … before I go insane myself.