October 17, 2025 • 9 mins
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Speaker 1 (00:00):
The Diary of a Madman by gay De mont Passant.
He was dead, the head of a high tribunal, the
upright magistrate, whose irreproachable life was a proverb in all
the courts of France. Advocates, young counselors, judges had saluted,
bowing low in token of profound respect, remembering that grand face,
(00:21):
pale and thin, illumined by two bright, deep set eyes.
He had passed his life in pursuing crime and in
protecting the weak. Swindlers and murderers had no more redoubtable enemy,
for he seemed to read in the recesses of their
souls their most secret thoughts. He was dead now at
the age of eighty two, honored by the homage and
(00:42):
followed by the regrets of a whole people. Soldiers in
red breeches had escorted him to the tomb, and men
in white cravats had shed on his grave tears that
seemed to be real. But listened to the strange paper
found by the dismayed notary in the desk where the
judge had kept filed the records of great criminals. It
was entitled why June twenty, eighteen fifty one, I have
(01:06):
just left court. I have contemned Blondell to death. Now
why did this man kill his five children? Frequently one
meets with people to whom killing is a pleasure. Yes, yes,
it should be a pleasure, the greatest of all, perhaps,
For is not killing most like creating? To make and
to destroy? These two words contain the history of the universe,
(01:27):
the history of all worlds, all that is all. Why
is it not intoxicating to kill? June twenty fifth, To
think that there is a bean who lives, who walks?
Who runs? A bean? What is a bean? An animated
thing which bears in it the principle of motion and
a will ruling that principle. It clings to nothing, this thing,
(01:50):
its feet are independent of the ground. It is a
grain of life that moves on the earth. And this
grain of life coming I know not whence one can
destroy at one's will, and nothing nothing more, It perishes,
it is finished. June twenty sixth. Why then, has it
a crime to kill? Yes? Why? The contrary is the
(02:11):
law of nature. Every bean has the mission to kill.
He kills to live, and he lives to kill. The
beast kills without ceasing all day, every instant of its existence.
A man kills without ceasing to nourish himself. But since
in addition he needs to kill for pleasure, he has
invented the chase. The child kills the insects, he finds
the little birds, all the little animals that come in
(02:33):
his way. But this does not suffice for the irresistible
need of massacre that is in us. It is not
enough to kill beast, We must kill man. Too long
ago this need was satisfied by human sacrifice. Now the
necessity of living in society has made murder a crime.
We condemn and punish the assassin. But as we cannot
(02:54):
live without yielding to this natural and imperious instinct of death,
we relieve ourselves from time to time by wars. Then
a whole nation slaughters another nation. It is a feast
of blood, a feast that maddens armies and intoxicate the civilians,
women and children who read by lamplight at night, the
feverish story of massacre. And do we despise those picked
(03:17):
up to accomplish these butcheries of men. No, they are
loaded with honors. They are clad in gold, in it
and replendent stuffs. They wear plumes on their heads and
ornaments on their breast. They are given crosses, rewards, titles,
are very rekind. They are proud, respected, love by women,
cheered by the crowd, solely because their mission is to
shed human blood. They dragged through the streets their instruments
(03:40):
of death, and the passer by clad in black looks
on with envy. But to kill is the great law
put by nature in the heart of existence. There is
nothing more beautiful and honorable than killing. June thirtieth. To
kill is the law, because nature loves eternal youth seems
to cry, and all our unconscious acts quick, quick, quick.
(04:01):
The more she destroys, the more she renews herself. July
second must be a pleasure, unique and full of zest.
To kill the place before you, a living, thinking bean,
to make it there in a little hole, think but
a little hole, and to see that red liquid flow
which is the blood, that which is the life. And
then to have before you only a heap of limp flesh,
(04:24):
cold and earth, void of thought. August fifth, I, who
have passed my life in judging, condemning killing, my words
pronounced killing by the guillotine, those who were killed by
the knife. If I should do as all the assassins
whom I have smitten have done. I I who would
know it? August tenth, Who would ever know? Who would
(04:46):
ever suspect me? Especially if I should choose a being.
I had no interest in doing away with August twenty second.
I could resist no longer. I have killed the little
creature as an experiment, as a beginning. John, my servant,
had a goldfinch in a cage hung in the office window.
I sent him on an errand, and I took the
little bird in my hand, and my hand where I
(05:07):
felt its heart beat. It was warm. I went up
to my room. From time to time I squeezed it tighter,
its heart beat faster. It was atrocious and delicious. I
was nearly choking it, but I could not see the blood.
Then I took scissors, short nail scissors, and I cut
its throat in three strokes, quite gently opened its bill.
(05:29):
It struggled to escape me, but I held it. Oh,
I held it. I could have held a mad dog.
And I saw the blood trickle. And then I did
as assassins do real ones. I washed the scissors and
washed my hands. I sprinkled water and took the body
of the corpse to the garden to hide it. I
buried it on the strawberry plant whenever we found. Every
(05:50):
day I can eat a strawberry from that plant. How
one can enjoy life when one knows how? My servant cried,
he thought his bird flowed? How can he suspect me?
August twenty fifth, I must kill a man, I must
August thirty. It is done. But what a little thing.
(06:11):
They had gone for a walk in the forest of Renee.
I was thinking of nothing, literally nothing. See a child
on the road, A little child eating a slice of
bread and butter. She stops to see me pass and says,
good day, mister President. The thought enters my head. Shall
I kill him? I answered, You are alone, my boy, yes, sir,
(06:33):
haul alone in the wood, Yes, sir. The wish to
kill him intoxicated me like wine. I approached him quite softly,
persuaded that he was going to run away, and suddenly
I seized him by the throat. He held my wrist
in his little hands, and his body wreathed like a
feather on a fire. Then he moved no more. I
threw the body in the ditch, and some weeds on
(06:55):
top of it. I returned home and dined. Well, what
a little thing it was. In the evening, I was
very gay, light rejuvenated, and passed the evening the prefix.
They found me witty, for I have not seen blood.
I am not tranquil. August thirty. First, the body has
been discovered. They are hunted for the assassin. September first,
(07:17):
two tramps have been arrested. Proofs a Lackin September. Second,
the parents have been to see me. They wept. October
sixth nothing has been discovered. Some strolling vagabond must have
done the deed. Ah. If I had seen the blood flow,
it seems to me I should be tranquil now. October
tenth yet another I was walking by the river after breakfast,
(07:41):
and I saw under a willow a fisherman asleep. Was
noon a spade so expressly put there for me. Standing
in a potato field near by, I took it. I returned.
I raised it like a club, and at the one
blow the edge I cleft the fisherman's head. Oh, he
bled this one rose colored blood that flowed into the
(08:03):
water quite gently. I went away with a grave step.
I had been seen, Ah, I should have made an
excellent assassin. October twenty fifth, the affair of the fisherman
makes a great noise. His nephew, who fished with him,
is charged with the murder. October twenty sixth, the examining
(08:23):
magistrate affirms that the nephew is guilty. Everybody in town
believes it had October twenty seventh, the nephew defends himself badly.
He had gone to the village to fight bread and cheese,
he declares. He swears that his uncle had been killed
in his absence. Who would believe him? October twenty eight
the nephew is all but confessed. So much have they
(08:45):
made him lose his head? Ah? Justice? November fifteenth. There
are overwhelming proofs against the nephew, who is his uncle's heir.
I shall preside at the sessions. January twenty fifth, eighteen
fifty two. To death, to death, to death. I have
had him condemned to death. The Advocate General spoke like
(09:07):
an angel. Ah yet another. I shall go to see
him execute it. March tenth. It is done. They guillotined
him this morning. He died very well, very well. That
gave me pleasure. How fine it is to see a
man's head cut off. Now, I shall wait. I can wait.
It would take such a little thing to let myself
(09:30):
be caught. The manuscript contained more pages, but told of
no new crime. Alienist physicians, to whom this awful story
has been submitted, declare that there are in the world
many unknown madmen as adroit and as terrible as this
monstrous lunatic. And of the Diary of a madman by
(09:51):
guide de mon paisant
The Diary of a Madman by gay De mont Passant.
He was dead, the head of a high tribunal, the
upright magistrate, whose irreproachable life was a proverb in all
the courts of France. Advocates, young counselors, judges had saluted,
bowing low in token of profound respect, remembering that grand face,
(00:21):
pale and thin, illumined by two bright, deep set eyes.
He had passed his life in pursuing crime and in
protecting the weak. Swindlers and murderers had no more redoubtable enemy,
for he seemed to read in the recesses of their
souls their most secret thoughts. He was dead now at
the age of eighty two, honored by the homage and
(00:42):
followed by the regrets of a whole people. Soldiers in
red breeches had escorted him to the tomb, and men
in white cravats had shed on his grave tears that
seemed to be real. But listened to the strange paper
found by the dismayed notary in the desk where the
judge had kept filed the records of great criminals. It
was entitled why June twenty, eighteen fifty one, I have
(01:06):
just left court. I have contemned Blondell to death. Now
why did this man kill his five children? Frequently one
meets with people to whom killing is a pleasure. Yes, yes,
it should be a pleasure, the greatest of all, perhaps,
For is not killing most like creating? To make and
to destroy? These two words contain the history of the universe,
(01:27):
the history of all worlds, all that is all. Why
is it not intoxicating to kill? June twenty fifth, To
think that there is a bean who lives, who walks?
Who runs? A bean? What is a bean? An animated
thing which bears in it the principle of motion and
a will ruling that principle. It clings to nothing, this thing,
(01:50):
its feet are independent of the ground. It is a
grain of life that moves on the earth. And this
grain of life coming I know not whence one can
destroy at one's will, and nothing nothing more, It perishes,
it is finished. June twenty sixth. Why then, has it
a crime to kill? Yes? Why? The contrary is the
(02:11):
law of nature. Every bean has the mission to kill.
He kills to live, and he lives to kill. The
beast kills without ceasing all day, every instant of its existence.
A man kills without ceasing to nourish himself. But since
in addition he needs to kill for pleasure, he has
invented the chase. The child kills the insects, he finds
the little birds, all the little animals that come in
(02:33):
his way. But this does not suffice for the irresistible
need of massacre that is in us. It is not
enough to kill beast, We must kill man. Too long
ago this need was satisfied by human sacrifice. Now the
necessity of living in society has made murder a crime.
We condemn and punish the assassin. But as we cannot
(02:54):
live without yielding to this natural and imperious instinct of death,
we relieve ourselves from time to time by wars. Then
a whole nation slaughters another nation. It is a feast
of blood, a feast that maddens armies and intoxicate the civilians,
women and children who read by lamplight at night, the
feverish story of massacre. And do we despise those picked
(03:17):
up to accomplish these butcheries of men. No, they are
loaded with honors. They are clad in gold, in it
and replendent stuffs. They wear plumes on their heads and
ornaments on their breast. They are given crosses, rewards, titles,
are very rekind. They are proud, respected, love by women,
cheered by the crowd, solely because their mission is to
shed human blood. They dragged through the streets their instruments
(03:40):
of death, and the passer by clad in black looks
on with envy. But to kill is the great law
put by nature in the heart of existence. There is
nothing more beautiful and honorable than killing. June thirtieth. To
kill is the law, because nature loves eternal youth seems
to cry, and all our unconscious acts quick, quick, quick.
(04:01):
The more she destroys, the more she renews herself. July
second must be a pleasure, unique and full of zest.
To kill the place before you, a living, thinking bean,
to make it there in a little hole, think but
a little hole, and to see that red liquid flow
which is the blood, that which is the life. And
then to have before you only a heap of limp flesh,
(04:24):
cold and earth, void of thought. August fifth, I, who
have passed my life in judging, condemning killing, my words
pronounced killing by the guillotine, those who were killed by
the knife. If I should do as all the assassins
whom I have smitten have done. I I who would
know it? August tenth, Who would ever know? Who would
(04:46):
ever suspect me? Especially if I should choose a being.
I had no interest in doing away with August twenty second.
I could resist no longer. I have killed the little
creature as an experiment, as a beginning. John, my servant,
had a goldfinch in a cage hung in the office window.
I sent him on an errand, and I took the
little bird in my hand, and my hand where I
(05:07):
felt its heart beat. It was warm. I went up
to my room. From time to time I squeezed it tighter,
its heart beat faster. It was atrocious and delicious. I
was nearly choking it, but I could not see the blood.
Then I took scissors, short nail scissors, and I cut
its throat in three strokes, quite gently opened its bill.
(05:29):
It struggled to escape me, but I held it. Oh,
I held it. I could have held a mad dog.
And I saw the blood trickle. And then I did
as assassins do real ones. I washed the scissors and
washed my hands. I sprinkled water and took the body
of the corpse to the garden to hide it. I
buried it on the strawberry plant whenever we found. Every
(05:50):
day I can eat a strawberry from that plant. How
one can enjoy life when one knows how? My servant cried,
he thought his bird flowed? How can he suspect me?
August twenty fifth, I must kill a man, I must
August thirty. It is done. But what a little thing.
(06:11):
They had gone for a walk in the forest of Renee.
I was thinking of nothing, literally nothing. See a child
on the road, A little child eating a slice of
bread and butter. She stops to see me pass and says,
good day, mister President. The thought enters my head. Shall
I kill him? I answered, You are alone, my boy, yes, sir,
(06:33):
haul alone in the wood, Yes, sir. The wish to
kill him intoxicated me like wine. I approached him quite softly,
persuaded that he was going to run away, and suddenly
I seized him by the throat. He held my wrist
in his little hands, and his body wreathed like a
feather on a fire. Then he moved no more. I
threw the body in the ditch, and some weeds on
(06:55):
top of it. I returned home and dined. Well, what
a little thing it was. In the evening, I was
very gay, light rejuvenated, and passed the evening the prefix.
They found me witty, for I have not seen blood.
I am not tranquil. August thirty. First, the body has
been discovered. They are hunted for the assassin. September first,
(07:17):
two tramps have been arrested. Proofs a Lackin September. Second,
the parents have been to see me. They wept. October
sixth nothing has been discovered. Some strolling vagabond must have
done the deed. Ah. If I had seen the blood flow,
it seems to me I should be tranquil now. October
tenth yet another I was walking by the river after breakfast,
(07:41):
and I saw under a willow a fisherman asleep. Was
noon a spade so expressly put there for me. Standing
in a potato field near by, I took it. I returned.
I raised it like a club, and at the one
blow the edge I cleft the fisherman's head. Oh, he
bled this one rose colored blood that flowed into the
(08:03):
water quite gently. I went away with a grave step.
I had been seen, Ah, I should have made an
excellent assassin. October twenty fifth, the affair of the fisherman
makes a great noise. His nephew, who fished with him,
is charged with the murder. October twenty sixth, the examining
(08:23):
magistrate affirms that the nephew is guilty. Everybody in town
believes it had October twenty seventh, the nephew defends himself badly.
He had gone to the village to fight bread and cheese,
he declares. He swears that his uncle had been killed
in his absence. Who would believe him? October twenty eight
the nephew is all but confessed. So much have they
(08:45):
made him lose his head? Ah? Justice? November fifteenth. There
are overwhelming proofs against the nephew, who is his uncle's heir.
I shall preside at the sessions. January twenty fifth, eighteen
fifty two. To death, to death, to death. I have
had him condemned to death. The Advocate General spoke like
(09:07):
an angel. Ah yet another. I shall go to see
him execute it. March tenth. It is done. They guillotined
him this morning. He died very well, very well. That
gave me pleasure. How fine it is to see a
man's head cut off. Now, I shall wait. I can wait.
It would take such a little thing to let myself
(09:30):
be caught. The manuscript contained more pages, but told of
no new crime. Alienist physicians, to whom this awful story
has been submitted, declare that there are in the world
many unknown madmen as adroit and as terrible as this
monstrous lunatic. And of the Diary of a madman by
(09:51):
guide de mon paisant
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