Diary of a Madman Page #3

It doesn't matter.

I have faith in Paul's work.

After all, Odette,

it is Paul's first show.

It takes time for an artist

to become popular.

Of course, Jeanne.

We all have Paul's interests

at heart, don't we?

He's in the office having coffee.

Oh, hello, darling.

I thought there would be more

customers by the time you got here.

Six rich ones are better

than twenty poor ones.

- Anybody buy?

- Yeah, the small seascape.

The one where I posed

on the rock?

30 francs.

30 francs?

Oh, Paul.

Paint, canvas, a frame?

Your time and my time

for 30 francs?

Well, the larger ones

will bring more.

Oh, what is Andre doing,

trying to sell them by the yard?

Well, at least

I'm going to make some money.

-You? -I have a job, posing.

When you married me, you said

you'd give up posing for anyone else.

I didn't say I'd give up eating.

Well, at least we starve together.

Odette, you know

how much I love you.

Oh, love!

Love!

A man says the word so easily!

Do I have to wait

until you're an old man

before I can get a new dress,

until I can feel like a woman again?

Have I ever failed

to make you feel like a woman?

10 francs an hour.

We need the money, Paul.

Who is this artist

who can afford so much money?

You're jealous?

Yeah, my husband?

Yes.

You worry too much.

What man could know me

better than you?

There, for luck.

Sell a lot of paintings,

and we'll share a bottle of wine

when I return, all right?

- Mrs. Mallotte?

- Yes.

Come in, please.

I'll tell Magistrate Cordier

that you are here. Please.

8:
00 exactly.

You are most prompt.

Oh, well, the time of a magistrate

is important.

And is your time not important?

Oh, the more I look at clocks,

the more they keep saying,

"Here it is tomorrow already,

and you're a day older."

Only at my age

is each clay so valuable.

Where do you work?

The studio is upstairs. Come.

When he brought home the clay

and said to clean up the attic,

I knew everything

was going to be all right.

- She's beautiful.

- Yes.

It's been a long time

since we've seen a woman

go up those stairs.

Oh, how nice!

It'll be a pleasure to pose for once

in a studio that isn't drafty.

Most artists can't even afford heat.

Well, the house is quite old

but very well built.

I think my ancestors

demanded their comfort.

Are those were the ones

who frowned at me

in the hall downstairs?

The portraits?

I assure you,

they frown at everyone.

Is your laughing lady to laugh with

or without her clothes on?

No, it won't be a nude.

Oh, that's right.

There should be nothing to detract

from the expression on her face.

You know quite a good deal

about art, don't you?

One listens, one learns.

Where shall I pose?

Oh, I'm sorry, right here.

The light is best here.

All right.

Let's see.

You want the head, throat,

and bare shoulders.

Yes.

I'm afraid I've forgotten

how to compliment

a beautiful woman.

I hope perhaps the clay

will be able to do it for me.

There. Down a little.

Now, the expression, Odette.

The expression. Gaiety.

Think of something to laugh about.

Oh, that's simple.

Life is full of things to laugh at.

There!

There, that's it.

That's the expression.

Now, keep it just like that.

The sketches are finished,

and I have begun

the actual working of the clay.

My eagerness to capture

Odette's laughing quality,

which is gay

yet strangely enigmatic,

has found me sculpting

for long hours without realizing it.

But the girl has held the difficult

pose without complaining.

It is indeed flattering

that she shares

my dedication to the work.

The nightmares have not returned,

and I feel so much better now.

It is as if all the dark corners

of my mind

have been filled

with bright sunlight.

There! We've done it.

We've brought highness point to life.

You are the laughing woman.

Why not? Heine was writing

about me all the time.

It's good! It's really good!

I am now immortal.

You have created me.

You are my master,

and I thank you.

You really like it?

I hoped you would.

But what happens to me now?

Do I stay up here like all the rest

of your statues to gather dust?

No, that wouldn't give her much

to laugh about, would it?

Perhaps you should do

something new

to keep her company.

Oh, what would you like?

Oh, I don't know.

Oh, of course.

A life-size figure of me.

Then, she could look at herself,

and you would know

why she's laughing.

You don't take yourself

seriously at all, do you?

Now you've returned

to being the magistrate

who wants to know about people.

Why should you want

to know about me?

I've posed, the work is finished.

I will leave.

Sometime I might just do

that life-sized figure of you.

Tonight you think that.

Tomorrow...

You know what I am?

Perfume.

Your 10 francs an hour bought it.

And that is all

you will remember of me.

The scent of a perfume

that was once in this room.

No, really, Odette, I...

Sensitive enough to be an artist.

Strong enough to be a man

who can judge others.

You're an unusual man, Simon.

That is what I will remember of you.

Thank you, Odette.

You're very kind.

When you told me your wife

had died many years ago,

I thought, "How fine she looks.

She must have meant

a great deal to him."

And yet, you keep her

locked away up here.

I've wondered why.

It was the way she died.

She wasn't buried from the church.

But surely she must have been

a good woman.

She took her own life.

And you never forgave her.

I...

It was in the past.

Perhaps she didn't know

how to laugh at herself.

Odette, I'm grateful to you

in more ways than you know.

I think I will miss this attic.

If I have another idea

for a new work, I'll call on you.

Now, the coach is waiting.

- Good-bye, Simon.

- Good-bye, Odette.

What is it, Magistrate?

Are you wondering

how so important a man

can fail to see himself in a mirror?

Now, come, Simon Cordier,

you should know by now

that I am real,

that I am not a dream.

Common sense should tell you

that the reason

you can't see yourself

is that someone stands

between you and the mirror.

What?

I am that someone.

That should assure you

that my physical being is quite solid,

even if your eyes can't see me.

That's not possible.

I do not believe it.

You are there!

Then, why can't I see you?

Calm yourself, Magistrate.

I will give you back your reflection.

You see, as good as new.

Tell me what's happening.

Are you human?

That depends

on the point of view.

If you mean, do the Horia live

on the earth as you do?

Yes, you are not

the sole inhabitants.

The Horla?

But if you are here...

We have always been.

We just exist on different planes.

We can move into your plane

only when you make it possible.

I don't understand.

How could I have made it possible?

Through evil, Magistrate.

But I have fought evil all my life.

The great Magistrate,

the dispenser of justice

for one and all.

You're a murderer,

Simon Cordier.

I have never murdered anyone!

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