ck I go up to my room. As soon as I have entered I lock
and bolt the door. I am frightened--of what? Up till the present time I
have been frightened of nothing. I open my cupboards, and look under my
bed; I listen--I listen--to what? How strange it is that a simple
feeling of discomfort, of impeded or heightened circulation, perhaps
the irritation of a nervous center, a slight congestion, a small
disturbance in the imperfect and delicate functions of our living
machinery, can turn the most light-hearted of men into a melancholy
one, and make a coward of the bravest? Then, I go to bed, and I wait
for sleep as a man might wait for the executioner. I wait for its
coming with dread, and my heart beats and my legs tremble, while my
whole body shivers beneath the warmth of the bedclothes, until the
moment when I suddenly fall asleep, as a man throws himself into a pool
of stagnant water in order to drown. I do not feel this perfidious
sleep coming over me as I used to, but a sleep which is close to me and
watching me, which is going to seize me by the head, to close my eyes
and annihilate me.

I sleep--a long time--two or three hours perhaps--then a dream--no--a
nightmare lays hold on me. I feel that I am in bed and asleep--I feel
it and I know it--and I feel also that somebody is coming close to me,
is looking at me, touching me, is getting on to my bed, is kneeling on
my chest, is taking my neck between his hands and squeezing
it--squeezing it with all his might in order to strangle me.

I struggle, bound by that terrible powerlessness which paralyzes us in
our dreams; I try to cry out--but I cannot; I want to move--I cannot; I
try, with the most violent efforts and out of breath, to turn over and
throw off this being which is crushing and suffocating me--I cannot!

And then suddenly I wake up, shaken and bathed in perspiration; I light
a candle and find that I am alone, and after that crisis, which occurs
every night, I at length fall asleep and slumber tranquilly till
morning.

June 2. My state has grown worse. What is the matter with me? The
bromide does me no good, and the shower-baths have no effect whatever.
Sometimes, in order to tire myself out, though I am fatigued enough
already, I go for a walk in the forest of Roumare. I used to think at
first that the fresh light and soft air, impregnated with the odor of
herbs and leaves, would instill new life into my veins and impart fresh
energy to my heart. One day I t