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Updated: June 19, 2025
For it was evident that to them, this chimera was still real. She was an avenger towering with a knife above them. "But Mallare smiled. "'See, he murmured aloud, 'here is the reward of your folly. You would philander with this shadow. You would disport yourself in abominable fornications with this hallucination.
Mallare can invent daggers, beautiful daggers that poise melodramatically over his heart, that move slowly in quest of his life's blood! S'death, a property man of parts! "'Clever dagger, I murmured. 'Do you enjoy the illusion of yourself as much as this chimera wielding you quivers with the illusion of impending murder? "It paused before me and I nodded. My laughter had halted it.
A psychological code into which you have translated great inner moments." Mallare answered, "On the contrary. They are the only thoughts I have had in which I could detect no reason. It has amused me to put down with great care the few banalities which have normalized my days. They are very precious to me, although they have no value in themselves.
The snow was piling itself over the grass of a small park. The swollen shapes of trees and benches rested in the storm. Mallare sat down on a bench and removed his gloves. Both hands were red. Smiling tiredly, he began to rub them with the snow. His eyes waited as the color dissolved. His hands were clean. He looked at them and nodded. "There are no bruises," he murmured.
There lived with him as a servant a little monster whom he called Goliath and who was a dwarfed and paralytic negro. Goliath's age was unknown. His deformities gave him the air of an old man and his hunched back made him seem too massive for a boy. But in studying him Mallare had concluded that he was a boy. Goliath had been one of the first symptoms of Mallare's madness.
Another of them eats and sleeps like a prosperous grocer. And there is a fifth Mallare who weeps. A baffling rogue who puts his arms around me and blubbers on my shoulder like a lodge brother. He says nothing, and of them all I dislike him the most. "His silence is mysterious. His tears are uncomfortable. A distressing ass, weeping, blubbering. He implores me. Aha, I have it. I know his secret.
He had become aware that his master was acting strangely. A look of ferocity slowly came into the deep black of his face. His misshapen body trembled. Mallare, the destruction ended, turned to him. "And finally a last figure," he murmured. "Goliath, too. Do you agree, Goliath? You will find a congenial company in the souls of these friends I have butchered." Goliath shook his head vigorously.
Goliath who, preoccupied with his own deformities, had remained indifferent to his master, serving him faithfully however, listened to Mallare one night. Sitting in the center of the room, his black hair grown into a long slant across his pale forehead, Mallare talked to his servant as a man, still asleep, reciting a dream.
There is this other this mania of possession of which passion, compounded of all the senses, is but an unimportant fragment. I am a man with a woman inside him. I possess the secret of the hermaphroditic Gods. I am complete." Rita kneeled beside him and his hands stroked her black hair. Her face remained raised in adoration. Mallare, observing her eyes, nodded satisfactions at them.
"You have followed me," said Mallare inside his chamber. "Very well. It is useless to explain matters to you. You pursue me with your lecherous body. I have warned you. Now I will kill you. I will take your throat in my hands and that will be an end of you. You will fall down." The beggar uttered a cry of terror.
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