MISTER MYSTERY RESPONDS

I’ve been strolling all the morning through the Luxembourg Gardens, going over the events of the last days in my head. In an ironic twist of fate, the accident that was to prevent me from being initiated into the mysteries of Parisian high society, was going to become the springboard that would give me access to them. The event will be next Saturday at eleven p.m. in the castle that the Marquis Stanislas de Guaita has outside of Paris. On the one hand, I long for that day to come. On the other hand, I fear it. I’ve read too many feuilletons about secret sects that perform human sacrifices in order to obtain a good supply of blood to fill the inkwells of their initiates. However, all things considered, my fears are unfounded since I never have my blood on me when I leave: it stays at home keeping company to my physical body. And to make sure of that, I have turned away from the busy path and made a small cut in my hand with my penknife. Indeed, not a drop of blood has come out. But, whi...

Since, while convalescing, I can not move to the Luxembourg Gardens, I close my eyes and move there with my imagination. The transfer is quick because the Gardens are a stone's throw from the rue de Medicis where I live. Then I start the daily walk through the well-known paths and alleys. One day, when I was walking near the bandstand, I found a handkerchief. It smelled of roses. Surely some lady would have dropped it as though by chance, with the intention that the gentleman who came after her would pick it up and returned it to her, giving thus him a pretext to start a conversation. But the gentleman had passed by. That handkerchief, I reflected, was a symbol of what could have been but won't be. Suddenly, I heard a commotion. A group of people shouted and gesticulated with indignant attitude. I approached and, as I did it, all eyes turned towards me. Right in the center of the group, there was a nursemaid with the face of Madame Verdurin. She was pointing at me shouting hyst...

Today, while walking through the gardens of Luxembourg, two misfortunes have occurred simultaneously: a sudden storm has broken out and I came across Monsieur de Charlus. I thought he would not remember me, but he immediately pointed to me with his outstretched arm and exclaimed: "You!" I became  paralyzed. I didn’t know whether to run or to pretend I was a statue. I chose this last. But, still, he came towards me with great strides swinging his cane and roaring with laughter at my pretence. Such undisguised disbelief made me angry and decided me to persist in my pretense. Furthermore, so there could be no doubt that I was a statue, I internalized my status as a statue. I no longer pretended: I was one of the many statues that dot the Luxembourg Gardens, and nothing and no one could persuade me otherwise. How do you persuade a block of stone? I was not aware of anything! I neither reasoned nor heard or saw or felt anything anymore. I have no idea what that damn Charlus told m...

Today I went back to walk around the Luxembourg Gardens. There was a balloon salesman at the entrance and, without any reason, out of sheer boredom, I acquired one. Have you tried to walk all afternoon holding the vertical string of a helium balloon? I do not recommend it: the hand ends up getting tired. So I had the idea of tying the balloon around the ring finger of my right hand. I thought: this may be a brilliant idea or a totally stupid thing to do; there is no middle ground: it's either one thing or the other. As much as I thought, I couldn’t make up my mind. Being so distracted, time went by without me noticing. When my mind landed, I noticed that it had got dark. I hurried to the access gate, but it was already closed. What a disaster! I would have to spend the night in the park sleeping on one of those uncomfortable benches made of long wrought iron bars! Then I remembered the balloon. The purchase of that balloon had been providential, as it would serve as a pillow. I cho...

One afternoon I was walking through the Luxembourg Gardens looking at the daisies that clustered along the side of the path. I passed a lady and gallantly take my hat off. Then I put it back on. As I had nothing better to do, I started to put on and take off my hat alternately. It was an exercise like any other, I thought. Like someone lifting weights in the gym. In fact, the hat’s got some weight to it as it was lined with lead. I had it commissioned in this way to avoid being blown away by the wind. That’s the thing with top hats: that as soon as a wind gust comes, you see yourself running after them, with the bad effect that causes on the ladies. On the contrary, with this leaden hat well stuck in the head, you're ready for a hurricane! I was thinking of this and, at the same time, the daisies on the path kept drawing my attention. My mind was divided between the hat and the daisies. And then, the remote possibility occurred to me that both elements would be exchanged. Thus, the...

Here in Paris, time goes by at a snail's pace. We have been stuck for months in the same year and the advances are so slow that we have to wait a whole day for the next day. In the Fin-de-Siècle Paris, life can become very boring if you are part of the privileged class that does not need to work to live, as is my case. Strolling along Boulevard Saint-Germain, I happened to meet Monsieur Ardenuy, who confirmed that we are still in 1897. How is that possible? In New York they must be already in 1900! The damn Dreyfus affair has delayed us a lot. It will take a lot of effort on the part of the government to catch up. It will be necessary to put the state machinery to work at full speed. And even the government itself would have to be put to work, no matter how much this upsets it. Here the only ones who work are the workers! Good heavens! If they heard me at Madame de Villeparisis' salon, they would accuse me of being a revolutionary. Even I myself would accuse me of being a revol...