I know that I shall strike her with the Arab knife
that is on one of the console-tables, in our room
among other knick-knacks. I see the spot where
I shall plunge in the sharp blade, into the nape of
her neck, which is covered with little soft pale golden
curls, that are the same color as the hair of her
head. It attracted me so at one time, during
the chaste period of our engagement, that I used to
wish to bite it, as if it had been some fruit.
I shall do it some day in the country, when she is
bathed in a ray of sunlight, which makes her look dazzling
in her pink muslin dress, some day on a towing-path,
when the nightingales are singing, and the dragonflies,
with their reflections of blue and silver are flying
about.
There, there, I shall skillfully plunge it in up to
the hilt, like those who know how to kill....
And after I had killed her, what then?
As the judges would not be able to explain such an
extraordinary crime to themselves, they would of course
say that I was mad, medical men would examine me and
would immediately agree that I ought at once to be
kept under supervision, taken care of and placed in
a lunatic asylum.
And for years, perhaps, because I was strong, and
because such a vigorous animal would survive the calamity
intact, although my intellect might give way, I should
remain a prey to these chimeras, carry that fixed
idea of her lies, her impurity and her shame about
with me, that would be my one recollection, and I
should suffer unceasingly.
I am writing all this perfectly coolly and in full
possession of my reason; I have perfect prescience
of what my resolve entails, and of this blind rush
towards death. I feel that my very minutes are
numbered, and that I no longer have anything in my
skull, in which some fire, though I do not quite know
what it is, is burning, except a few particles of
what used to be my brain.
Just as a short time ago, I should certainly have
murdered Elaine, if she had been with me, when invisible
hands seemed to be pushing me towards her, inaudible
voices ordered me to commit that murder, it is surely
most probable that I shall have another crisis, and
will there be any awakening from that?
Ah! It will be a thousand times better, since
Destiny has left me a half-open door, to escape from
life before it is too late, before the free, sane,
strong man that I am at present, becomes the most pitiable,
the most destructive, the most dangerous of human wrecks!
May all these notes of my misery fall into Elaine’s
hands some day, may she read them to the end, pity
and absolve me, and for a long time mourn for me!
(Here ends Jacques’ Journal.)
