 The weird circle. In this cave, by the restless sea, we are met to call from out the past stories, strange, and weird. Bellkeeper, hold the bell, so all may know we are gathered again in the weird circle. In the world gone by speak again the immortal tale, the case of Monsieur Voldemort. Dr. Foissard, you may proceed with your statement. Murder. I, Dr. Emile Foissard, stand charged with murder. But your honor, murder means to take away the life of someone. I did not take away the life of Marie-Valdemar. I granted her life. Granted it from the depths of my knowledge of facts which previously were known only to God. But let me tell you my story. One night, about eight months ago, I was sitting in my study. Dr. Foissard, a visitor wishes to see you. I'm about to begin an experiment in self-hypnosis. I cannot be disturbed. Tell him to come some other time. Sir, I told him that, but he said it might be too late. Too late? I'm no longer a physician subject to the call of every glutton whose stomach repents his sins. He knows you are a physician no more, sir. He said he needs you to implore your powers of mesmerism. I wouldn't have bothered you, sir. But he seems so desperate. Mesmerism, eh? Yes, sir. I'll see him. Dr. Foissard was seen. Dr. Foissard, I'm Ernest Valdemar. I don't know how to thank you. My wife, my sweet wife, Maria, lies desperately ill. I'm sure she will die. Mr. Valdemar, you have gained entrance to my office by a trick. I cannot help your wife. My license to practice medicine has been taken away by pill peddlers who didn't have sufficient intelligence to understand my study of hypnotism. Take your case to one of them, Mr. Valdemar, and permit me to go on with what they call my black art. Dr. Foissard, when I told your servant I wanted to implore your hypnotic powers, I meant it. I am acquainted with what your fellow physicians have done to you. You know. Yes, and I've heard your lectures on mesmerism many, many times. Oh, you like my lectures, eh? Oh, they were nothing. Wait till my new experiments are complete. But, doctor... Then, please, you will really hear something then on the threshold of discovering the art of hypnotizing myself. Yes, but... You see, when a trance has been... Please, please, Dr. Foissard, some other time! I beg your pardon. My enthusiasm, I forgot myself. Please, go on. My wife is at the point of death. You have a physician attending her? Yes. Dr. Bulo. Bulo? That dealt with it. He headed the committee which revoked my license of more hypocritical bombastic blowhard I have never seen in all my life. Please, let me tell you... I... Oh, please forgive me. Go on. We've been married a short year, during most of which Maria's been ill. We have not even had time to skim the cream of our happiness when ill health overcame her. What is the nature of her illness? Dr. Bulo says that it's a rare type of incurable consumption. She lies a bed, her beauty unabated, but under the surface of flesh is rotting away in decay and waste. I see. Tonight. Perhaps tomorrow she will breathe her last. Mr. Waldemar, believe me, sir. I understand your desperation, but I cannot see how I can help you. By hypnotism, Dr. Fazzar. Hypnotism? Yes, from the depths of my anguish an idea came to me. In your lectures you have stated that a person in a mesmeric trance is, how shall I say it, suspended, lifted out of the stream of life. Yes? His consciousness is not like that of an ordinary feeling mortal. I see. I see. You mean that if your wife were put in a trance before she died... She would go on living exactly. She would be beyond the reach of death. Stop now. Mr. Waldemar, you... you have leaked the last step in the logic of mesmerism. This is the thing for which I have been groping blindly in my studies. You'll do it then. Well, the idea intrigues me. It has never been tried, but... I need time to think. But Dr. Fazzar, there is no time. Maria may be gone before we can attempt to save her. Well... Very well then. I'll do it. God bless you, sir. But there is one condition. For my own protection, her doctor must be in attendance. Bülow? Yes. Otherwise, if the experiment should fail, I will be placed in jeopardy. I might be accused of unlawful practice. But at this time of night, how can we gain his consent? We must induce him to attend. Otherwise, I cannot risk the experiment. My carriage is outside. Good. We will go to see my friend, Dr. Bülow. Oh, thank you, doctor. Come, come. We must hurry. Fazzar, I tell you, you are overreaching yourself. Bülow. You have thrown me out of the profession. You have deprived me of my right to earn a living. Very well, Hal. Not hold that against you. Oh, that's quite gracious of you. Please, gentlemen, my wife. That's right, Bülow. This issue is, Mr. Waldemar's wife. Not my pride. Not your medical orthodoxy. I do not presume to tell you whether to make your worthless pills out of bread or out of sugar. Oh, I should hope not you. Well then, please don't presume to tell me how to practice my art. Art? Sheer bunkum. Perhaps it is. But I am willing to put it to the test. I approach this experiment with an open mind. Mr. Waldemar's wife lies a bed dying. Mr. Waldemar loves her, wants her to live. You shrug your shoulders and say, poor fellow, it is hopeless. Well, it is. If you remembered any of the medicine you learned, you'd agree. I say it is not hopeless. He wants his wife. I'm willing to try to save her. God bless you, sir. No, Mr. Waldemar, God will not bless him. The first thing a physician learns is that there comes a time in the course of an illness when it is sacrilege to stand between man and his maker. Bülow, please do not dress up your lack of medical knowledge in the cloak of a sermon. I tell you, sermon or not, no mortal person can meddle in matters of life and death without meeting the consequences. As Madame Waldemar's physician, I cannot sanction this blasphemous experiment. Well, Mr. Waldemar, there is your answer. I'm sorry, but the proceed without Dr. Bülow would only be putting my head in a noose. Dr. Bülow, I have held my tongue, but I can no longer be silent. I have given to your care the most precious thing I own, my wife. You see, Waldemar, are you suggesting that I have not performed my duty? No, Dr. Bülow, I am not at least not until now. As long as you are willing to try anything your knowledge and experience suggests that I have been patient. But I cannot. I cannot bear to let Maria slip away from me without attempting to save her. What more can I do? Come to my wife's bedside. Oh, yes, madness. Dr. Bülow, I have hesitated to say this, but if you do not come at my request to attend my wife, I shall spend the rest of my days reviling you to the people of this town. A doctor who is unwilling to come to the death bed of his own patient, no matter what the circumstances, will not find himself welcome in the house of the sick. Very well. I shall go with you, Mr. Waldemar, but only to protect you from this charlatan. For was I, this is your doing. I won't forget it. The light is on in my wife's chamber. Come, gentlemen, we have no time to lose. I warn you, for was I do not attempt any medical cure. Dr. Bülow, please. This way, gentlemen. Oh, Mr. Waldemar, I am so glad you're here. Madame has nearly left us. Twice she called your name and cried, I'm going, Ernest. I'm going. May God preserve her. In here, Dr. Fusar. Oh, I was afraid you'd left me alone forever. Never, Maria. I've brought someone who will help you. No one can help me now. Do not say that, Madame. Put yourself in my hands. Think only of life, of the joy of living. Dr. Bülow, would you care to examine the patient? I have given my judgment. You may proceed. Do you need anything, Dr. Fusar? Give me a candle, please. Everyone be good enough to remain quiet and let me have your attention and good wishes. Here. Here is the candle. Thank you. Now, Madame Waldemar, I'm going to put you in a trance. Are you willing? Yes. Yes, I want to be put in a trance, but I'm afraid you've come too late. There is yet time life does not exist in quantity. It is all or none. While there is life, it can be preserved it, wish it, if there is nothing dearer than it. Look at the candle. See the flame of the candle. I see the candle. The candle will preserve you from death. If you will put yourself in my hands, in my hands. Look at the candle and think. Think slowly. Go to sleep. Go to sleep. To sleep. Are you asleep now? Not asleep. Very tired. You want to sleep. You want to fall deep. Deep. Asleep. You're tired. You're drowsy. Sleep. Sleep. There. Sleep. Maria. Are you asleep? Do not wake me. Let me die so. Do you still feel pain? No pain. I am dying. Raise your arm and point at the candle. She hasn't had the strength to do that in days. Now, lower it. That's very good. She's in a trance now. Will you take over Dr. Bulo? Perhaps feel her pulse. Very well. God bless her. She looks so beautiful. The pulse is steady, but it's very weak. It's growing weaker. Her breath is hardly noticeable. Give me a mirror, we'll see. Here, doctor. There. Just the faintest clouding. Her life is heading away fast. Are you asleep, madame? Yes. Still asleep. Her pulse has stopped. The mirror doesn't cloud. She's stopped breathing. You mean... all hope is gone, doctor Bulo? Hope was gone before, Mr. Vandema. Life cannot be lengthened by the application of parlor games. I only regret that your hopes have been reared so cruelly by this charlatan. Bulo, did you ever think that there may be matters in this world beyond our kin, forces which are indestructible, which live independently of the beating of the human heart? You're mad, dangerously mad. A deathbed is no place for this cabalistic mumble jumble. There can be no better place. For there, where life and death meet, is the great mystery which man must ever aspire to know if he is to know God. What do you mean? You, a physician, say she is dead. But I put her in a trance and only I can release her. But she is dead, man. Dead. There's nothing beyond death. I put her in a trance, I say, and only I can release her. It's blasphemy. Call it what you will. I care not for names, but watch. And watch carefully. Listen, Maria. Are you still asleep? No. No. I have been sleeping. But now. Now. Dr. Foissac, you testify under oath that after her heart and breath had stopped, Madame Valdemar spoke. Is this really true? I swear to what your honor, I cannot deny that these words issuing from the still, lifeless Maria Valdemar called forth in an utterable shuddering horror in every one that was present at her bedside. Even Bulo stood aghast, his face moist with fear. This is the devil's work. Maria Valdemar is dead. But it was her voice. Sounded as if it came from a distance or echoed through a large cavern. I heard the voice, but there's no pulse, no breath. Your wife is dead. Perhaps it is my turn to preach a sermon, Bulo. A mere mortal presumed to say what constitutes life and what does not. Her breath is stilled, her heart no longer beats. She's dead. Bulo, Bulo, can't you see? This is no time to recite elementary physiology by rote. She's dead. All the signs prove it. Signs? What signs? Does a dead person speak? No. It is plain that death has been arrested by the mesmeric process. Dr. Bulo, why do you insist she is dead? We had so little time for happiness together. Do you begrudge me the faint small spark of life that yet remains? Maria! Maria, my love is yours forever. Her lips trembles as she's trying to reply. Mr. Valdemar, I have my responsibility. Your wife is dead. Her death must be reported. Bulo, I know your responsibility well. I have exercised it many times myself with heavy heart, but I cannot see how you dare pronounce Madame Valdemar dead. For what, sir, I told you at your trial in front of the committee that no good would come of this dealing with the devil. I warned you before that you would regret your meddling with life and death. Madame Valdemar has died. I must report it. Please. Please, Dr. Bulo, I beg of you. You heard her speak. You saw her lips tremble. Can't you accept this miracle? Suppose I do accept it. Would you? I can accept the miracle, but I cannot accept the responsibility arising from it. Then you will issue no certificate of death. There will be none issued so long as the flicker of life remains. Good night, gentlemen. Proceed, Dr. Foissard. The months rolled by. Mr. Valdemar overwhelmed me with his gratitude for the prolonging of his wife's life. Madame Valdemar remained in the same condition. Her heart beat and breath continued absent. But her skin, though cold and lacking blood, neither shriveled nor decayed, her lips still responded to questions put to her with the slightest quiver. But there were no other evidences of life. Mr. Valdemar derived much comfort from the presence of his wife and became my devoted pupil. Ah, Ernest, what brings you here today? To see you and perhaps ask you a few troublesome questions. We'll save the trouble for last. No, Emil. My mind is ill at ease. Nonsense, Ernest. Listen, I have been making great progress lately with my new studies. Oh, yes? Yes, indeed. I have been practicing self-hypnosis. Really? There's no limit to the possibilities of mesmerism. When I can completely grasp the art of hypnotizing myself, perhaps then I will have come close to my goal. Don't you see? A man can be released from a trance only by the person who put it into it. Now, if I should put myself in a trance, Ernest, you're not even listening. Emil, I'm troubled. Sorely troubled. Your wife remains the same. Yes, Buolo has been to see her. Yes, as usual. He agrees that there is no change. Yes. Look, Emil, when I came to you seven months ago in desperation, you did what I asked you to do. Whatever is the matter with you today, Valdemar? I'm beginning to realize the horror of my situation. My dear fellow, it's just that it's new, perhaps strange, but when mesmeric science becomes better known, you will feel more at ease. This is not just the mood at the moment. I felt it growing for some time. You've been listening to Buolo's battle. No, no, for some. I'm fed up with heavy chains. A prettiest, pleading look on her face. This is hallucination, not science. Was it hallucination when she cried out, Ernest, my beloved, for the sake of God if you love me, release me? I'm neither on earth nor in heaven. Again, hallucination. You're giving your imagination free reign. Maria is still with you. This is not Maria. Not my Maria. You saved all the life that was in her. You did, and I thought it would be enough. But as day after day goes by, as night follows upon night, I come more and more to the conviction that this is not she. The real Maria lives in my brain, in my heart, and in the love I bear her memory. Not in this corpse with the trembling limp. For as long as you understand, I'm living in a tomb with the body of a stranger. Voldemire, what would you have me do? Release her from the trance. Come, Voldemire. Come, there's no need to be hysterical. The trance has lasted a mere seven months. Give me a year. That is not much to ask. I shall be mad at dead before the year is out. You must release her from the trance. Remember, Ernest, I cannot tell what will happen. Whatever happens, at least it will be God's will. Very well. For you, Ernest, for you is my pupil and my friend. I shall try to release Maria tonight. Good evening. Good evening. It's good to be in out of the rain. They are up in Madame Val in her chamber. They? Monsieur Voldemire and Dr. Boulot. Oh, that is Boulot doing here. I beg your pardon, sir. Oh, nothing, nothing. They are waiting for me. Yes, sir. Thank you. Come in for, sir. We're ready. Boulot, what are you doing here? Attending my patient. I see. After all, we agree that she is alive, don't we? Of course. Monsieur Voldemire, I'm sorry. Tonight's work cannot be done in the presence of an unsympathetic spirit such as Bureau's. It will require the most delicate hypnotic adjustment. Put your mind at ease for us, sir. Not for the world would I be present at tonight's meeting with the devil. That's your responsibility, completely. I leave her in your hands. Alive. Good. Now that he's gone, I can work. Maria Voldemire, you are in my power. Awake. Awake. Awake from the trance. Look, how highly twitched. Maria, I command you to raise your arm. Your right arm. Your arm. Move your right arm. Maria, Maria, can you explain what your feelings or wishes are now? Look, her lips. Oh, God, sink. Quick. Quick. Put me to sleep. Awaken me. Quick. I say to you, I am dead. Maria Voldemire, awaken be among the living. Waken. Dead. Dead. See, her whole body's moving. Rise. Awaken. Live. No, she lies still. It is too late. Paria, are you with us? She does not answer. Her lips tremble no more. Dr. Biolo! Voldemire. You called? Biolo. She's gone. She's dead. Froissart. What have you done? I...done? She was alive when I left this room. What have you done? Nothing. I released her from the trance. Release? Trance? Neither science nor the law recognizes these terms. What do you mean, Biolo? This is the end of your meddling, Froissart. My patient was alive when I left this room. We agreed that she was alive. Now she's dead. I charge you with the murder of Madame Maria Voldemire. This, Your Honor, is the true and complete story. With full faith in the justice of the court, I shall await the verdict. Amiel Foissart, you have been tried fairly before this court and you have been judged guilty of the murder of Maria Voldemire. It is now my duty to pronounce sentence. I hereby condemn you to hang by the neck until you are dead. They thought they could kill me, but they forgot that it was I, Amiel Foissart, who had discovered in mesmerism the secret of immortality. They led me to the gallows. They blindfolded me. They put the noose over my head. But I laughed at them. Yes, laughed at their gallows and their noose. They sprang the trap. With the noose tightened around my throat, I quickly put myself in a trance, a trance from which I could be released only by myself. Dead. I shall go on living forever. Time-worn pages of the past, we have brought you the immortal tale, the case of Michelle Laldemar. Keeper of...