Muggles love stories about their demise. Muggle children committing murder for sport, Muggles committing murder for infamy, Muggles committing murder for their next dinner, the population devours these stories with bloodthirsty hunger akin to the cannibalism they read about. It’s like watching Nagini play with her tail. Only such a jovial sport could lead to the ensuing whimpering and blood, yet she continues despite my protests that as the most wanted Dark wizard of this era I can’t keep strolling into Petsmart to buy bandages. But Muggles, like Nagini (bless her) never seem to learn. They poke and prod these festering wounds of sore subjects about their true nature until rancid pus leaks down their arm and their fingers are scratching at bone. And why do you ask would they continue to act like such simpletons? Apparently they believe that exploring the macabre will bring about a catharsis. Pathetic really to believe that delving into darkness shall bring light. “Crusaders” of their time, authors such as Maupassant and Gogol, try and delve into the murkiest and most revered subject of Muggle fascination in order to bring some understanding to a subject that can’t be understood. Madness. However, in their pointless exploits, they do paint a much more useful picture about the rigid and yet pointlessly illusory nature of Muggle society.
To say that Gogol was an advocate for simple law-abiding men would warrant one a trip straight to my dungeon (which would aggravate me so, I am quite running out of room). His reflection on madness in his story, “The Diary of a Madman” is used, much like Pushkin’s, as a device in which to channel his own thoughts on Muggle society. However, unlike in Gogol’s other works such as “Nevsky Prospect” and “The Nose”, in this particular piece Gogol does not use the madness of exterior Muggle society, grotesque forms of “waists beyond your wildest dreams - slender and narrow, no thicker than the neck of a bottle.... And the ladies’ sleeves... [that] are rather like two hot-air balloons” (Gogol pg. 81), but rather delves into the interior madness of Muggles. In a bid to show his readers that he is still a flawed mortal, he goes against his own warning against “the boundaries the artist crosses at his peril… separating imagination from inner reality” (Peace pg. 124) and fully immerses himself into the subconscious of this crazed Muggle.
Said foolish Muggle, Poprishchin, spirals into a madness because of his realization that Muggle society is rigid and unmoving. To that I have no mercy, of course Muggle society must be rigid. How else are Muggle “officials” to try and maintain control of those heathens? But nevertheless, this realization that he is nothing but a titular councilor, nothing but his societal title, is enough to push him over the deep end. Pathetic and weak. I say if you don’t like your position in the world then rally some sympathetic followers and simply kill all those who stand in your way. But no, this is a Muggle and therefore an idiot. If he wasn’t fictional, I would kill him myself. He lost his mind due to anger over his place in society? I fixed that problem years ago with a few easy murders, a slice and dice to the old soul, and a strict maintenance that casual Fridays are not permitted amongst my ranks and look at where I am today. Yet this pathetic weakling allows himself to be carted off to a mental institution – all while believing that he’s in Spain of all places! – where he is subjected to torture (Which admittedly is rather primitive and ineffective, only mere water torture. So five centuries ago). He subjects himself to torment and torture because of a crisis of identity when he could have been administering such torture instead! But no, because of his inability to see his options, I’m stuck reading about his descent into the recesses of his brain when I have much better things to attend my time towards. Being a Dark Lord is no easy task. And Gogol makes Poprishchin’s descent a lengthy and structured one, dragging out for several pages so that Muggle readers may appreciate the flimsy nature of their own minds or for some other fruitless purpose. Gogol doesn’t even have Poprishchin become aware of his own madness until the very last paragraph. Even then, after this revelation, he quickly recesses back into futile insanity, “Mother, save your poor son!... There’s no place for him in this world! They’re persecuting him! Mother, have pity on your poor child... And did you know that the Dhey of Algiers has a lump right under his nose?” (Gogol pg. 196).
Maupassant on the other hand, sees Muggle society as it truly is. Not as too strong for its own good, but rather too weak and flimsy to contain the menace that is Muggle. I mean honestly, how concrete could their society be when it takes only a couple of well placed terror-inducing missions on the part of my Death Eaters to reduce it to nothing but rubble? As I have previously discussed, Muggles relish murder. They live and breathe in a society that endorses the idea of it. Maupassant shows this pitiful attempt at justification through his magistrate main character, someone revered in Muggle society, someone who dishes out murder daily to rapturous applause. In Maupassant’s world, madness is not born from the realization that one’s identity only comes from one’s place within the framework of Muggle society, but rather that madness stems from the realization that the justifications Muggles have built their society upon are nothing but sand. Maupassant sees Muggles not as ruthless beings like Gogol, but rather as weak-minded creatures that cower from true knowledge and fear murder for they may discover who they truly are. While Gogol’s character is subjected to a crisis of identity, Maupassant’s is tormented by a crisis of purpose. Which, to be honest, is just as futile as Muggle’s frantic attempts to “discover themselves” (they really are quite idiotic creatures, never able to figure out anything about themselves). I’m not even a filthy Muggle and I know their purpose! So listen up Muggles. It’s quite simple. You’re purpose is to die. No, not in the Hamlet sense, “to be or not to be” and all of that nonsense. No, you are to die (at my hands) so that the superior wizarding race may be realized. Any questions? No. Good. Moving along.
Maupassant also leans more heavily on the crutch of structure when it comes to exploring the crazed Muggle mind. His spurts of diary entries move along at a rapid pace to suggest a downhill slide. The turning point of the magistrate’s snap from sanity to insanity is quite clear. However, Gogol’s madness is much more subtle, building at a more slow and ambiguous pace. Some of the first clues that his character has slipped into insanity come only from the way in which he dates his diary. Maupassant has his magistrate contemplate his own soul straight from the moment his conscience turns. Gogol’s takes some building. He only erupts at the end when he cries out for this mother, proving himself to be human, weak, pathetic, and disgusting. He does switch back though for an instant at the end. Porprishchin reaches the brink of truly understanding himself and his affliction but then he falls back into madness, almost by choice, as if he can not stand to bare his own world and the horrors around him. I don’t blame him. My target is Muggles and, if I do say so myself, I’m terrifying. Maupassant’s magistrate never realizes that he’s dropped off the plane of sanity. His fate is only realized after he’s dead and those who thought they cherished the life of a hero learn that instead they honored the life of a murderer.
So yes, two Muggles go crazy. I can’t say that it’s anything new to me. They are practically like popcorn the breed of them. Place them under the Cruciatis curse for about ten minutes and their minds pop like kernels (If you haven’t tried this before, it’s quite a rewarding endeavor). This we all know, that Muggles don’t just live on the brink of insanity because of their society – whether it be too rigid and demanding or too vague and allowing of murder – but instead they stick their whole leg over the edge of the cliff. So what can any aspiring wizards hoping to rise to the heights of my greatness take from these stories? It’s quite simple. Muggles are hopeless. Both of these stories written in the late 19th century are still applicable to the modern world because, and only because, Muggles still remain as hopelessly deadlocked in these same issues as they did almost two hundred years ago. They still don’t know who they are. They still don’t know what they want. They still rail and rant against a system that constricts them. And they still snap and break under their own logic in a system that encourages murder. They still justify slaughter daily. They are no closer to finding a solution. So here’s mine. Mass genocide. It’s a tried and tested technique for getting rid of pesky problems. The Muggles even enjoy it themselves. Look at their history! The Holocaust, the desecration of the Native Americans, and that Africa place in today’s times. They suffer and inflict suffering to such and extent that it seems unfair to let the little imbeciles squirm around in their misery. One could think of it as euthanasia if the word “murder” upset their stomach. But one thing is clear, the Muggles certainly wouldn’t mind. They are too lost in their own heads to notice any warnings right before their eyes.
Gogol, Nikolay. The Diary of a Madman, the Government Inspector and Selected
Stories. London: Penguin, 2005. Print.
Peace, Richard Arthur. The Enigma of Gogol : An Examination of the Writings of
N.V. Gogol and Their Place in the Russian Literary Tradition. New York:
Cambridge University , 1981. Print.
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