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to a meal the noise begins there also. And it
should be observed that whenever I ask those
present whether they hear the same noise too,
they say “yes,” and their description of it tallies
with mine.
It is then no acoustic hallucination from which
I suffer; everywhere there are plots, I say to
myself. But one day, as I go by chance into
a shoemaker’s shop, the noise instantaneously
breaks out. It is no plot, then! It is the Devil
himself! Hunted from hotel to hotel, pursued
everywhere by electric wires even to my bed,
attacked everywhere by electric currents which
lift me from my chair, or out of bed, I
deliberately set about planning my suicide. The
weather is terrible, and in my depression I seek
distraction in drinking bouts with friends.
One dreary day, after such a bout, I have just
finished my early breakfast in my room. I turn
round towards the table on which the breakfast
things are standing. A slight noise attracts my
attention, and I see that a knife has fallen on
the ground. I lift it up and place it so that it
cannot do so again. The knife moves and falls.
So it is electricity!
The same morning I write a letter to my
mother-in-law, and complain of the bad weather
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