“Yes, it’s like the Musée Grévin. … But, I say, Erik … there are no tortures in there! … What a fright you gave me!”
“Why … as there is no one there?”
“Did you design that room? It’s very handsome. You’re a great artist, Erik.”
“Yes, a great artist, in my own line.”
“But tell me, Erik, why did you call that room the torture-chamber?”
“Oh, it’s very simple. First of all, what did you see?”
“I saw a forest.”
“And what is in a forest?”
“Trees.”
“And what is in a tree?”
“Birds.”
“Did you see any birds?”
“No, I did not see any birds.”
“Well, what did you see? Think! You saw branches! And what are the branches?” asked the terrible voice. “ There’s a gibbet! That is why I call my wood the torture-chamber! … You see, it’s all a joke. I never express myself like other people. But I am very tired of it! … I’m sick and tired of having a forest and a torture-chamber in my house and of living like a mountebank, in a house with a false bottom! … I’m tired of it! I want to have a nice, quiet flat, with ordinary doors and windows and a wife inside it, like anybody else! A wife whom I could love and take out on Sundays and keep amused on weekdays. …