Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - VI. Hell
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suddenly asks, “You have a nervous illness! Good!
But that is not all. You look so strange that I
do not recognise you. What have you been
after? Dissipation, crime, lost illusions,
religion? Tell me, old fellow!”
But I tell him nothing special, for my first
thought is one of suspicion. He is prejudiced
against me, has made inquiries about me in some
quarter, and wants to have me confined. I tell
him about my sleeplessness, nervousness, and
bad dreams, and then we talk of other things.
In my room my attention is arrested by the
American bed, with its four legs topped by four
brass balls, which look like the conductors of
an electric machine. Add to this an elastic
mattress with copper springs, resembling Ruhmkorff
induction coils, and one can easily imagine
my rage at this diabolical coincidence. Besides,
it is impossible to ask for another bed, as I
might be suspected of being mad. In order to
assure myself that nothing is concealed above
me, I mount into the loft overhead. There is
only one object there, but it drives me almost
to desperation. An enormous wire-net rolled
together stands immediately over my bed. One
could not wish for a better accumulator. If
there is a thunderstorm, such as is frequent here,
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