 THE HEADLESS CAT OF NUMBER BLANK, LOWER SEADLY ROAD, by Elliott O'Donnell. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org, recording by Bologna Times. THE HEADLESS CAT OF NUMBER BLANK, LOWER SEADLY ROAD, by Elliott O'Donnell. It was related to me by Mr. Robert Dane, who was at one time a tenet of NUMBER BLANK, LOWER SEADLY ROAD, SEADLY. I quote it as nearly as possible in his words, thus. When we, my wife and I, took NUMBER BLANK, LOWER SEADLY ROAD, no possibility of the place being haunted crossed our minds. Indeed ghosts were the very last things we reckoned on, as neither of us had the slightest belief in them. Like the generality of solicitors, I am stodgy and unimaginative. Whilst my wife is the most practical and matter-of-fact little woman you would meet in a day's march. Nor was there anything about the house that in any way suggested the super-physical. It was airy and light, no dark corners nor sinister staircases, and equipped throughout with all modern conveniences. We began our lease in June, the hottest June I remember, and nothing occurred to disturb us till October. It happened then in this wise. I will quote from my diary. Monday, October 11th. Dick, that is my brother-in-law, and I, at 11 p.m., were sitting, smoking, and chatting together in the study. All the rest of the household had gone to bed. We had no light in the room, as Dick had a headache, said the fire, and that burned so low that its feeble glimmering scarcely enabled us to see each other's face. After a space of sudden and thoughtful silence, Dick took the stump of a cigar from his lips and threw it into the grate, where, for a few minutes, it lay glowing in the gloom. Jack, he said, you will think me mad, but there is something deust-quare about this room tonight. Looking in the atmosphere, I cannot define, but which I have never felt here, or indeed anywhere, before. Look at that cigar end. Look! I did so, and received a shock. What I saw was certainly not the stump Dick had in his mouth, but an eye, a large red and lurid eye, that looked up at us with an expression of the utmost hate. Dick raised the shovel, and struck at it, but without effect. It still glared at us. A great horror then seized us, and unable to remove our gaze from the hellish thing, we sat glued to our chairs, staring at it. This state of affairs lasted to the clock in the hall outside struck twelve, when the eyes suddenly vanished, and we both felt as if some intensely evil influence had been suddenly removed. Dick did not like the idea of sleeping alone, and asked if he might keep the electric light on in his room all night, tremendous extravagance, but under the circumstances excusable, I confess devoutly wished it was morning. October 12th. I was awakened at 11.30 p.m. by Delia, saying to me, Oh, Edward, there have been such dreadful noises on the landing, just as if a cat were being worried to death by dogs. Hark! There it is again! And as she spoke, from apparently just outside the door came a series of loud screeches, accompanied by savage growls and snarls. Not knowing what to make of it, as we had no animals of our own in the house, but concluding that a door or a window having been left open, a dog and cat had got in from outside, I lit a candle, and opened the bedroom door. Instantly the sound ceased, and there was dead silence, and although I searched everywhere, not a vestige of any animal was to be seen. Moreover all the doors leading into the garden were shut and locked, and the windows closed. Not wishing to frighten Delia, I laughingly assured her the cat, a black tom, was all right, that it was sitting on the roof of the summer house, looking none the worse for its treatment, and that I had sent the dog a terrier, flying out the gate with a well-deserved kick. I explained it was my fault about the front door being left open. My brain had been a bit overstrained through excessive work, and asked her on no account to blame the servants. I grow alarmed at times when I realize how easy lawyering makes lying. Friday, October 21. On my way to bed last night I encountered a rush of icy cold air at the first bend of the staircase. The candle flared up, a bright blue flame, and it went out. Something, an animal of sorts, came tearing down the stairs past me, and on peering over the banisters I saw, looking up from me from the well of darkness beneath, two big red eyes, the counterparts of the one Dick and I had seen in October 11. I threw a match-box at them, but without effect. It was only when I switched on the electric light that they had disappeared. I searched the house most carefully, but there were no signs of any animal. Joined Delia, feeling nervous, and hand-packy. Monday, November 7. Tom and Mabel came running into Delia's room in a great state of excitement after tea to-day. Together they cried, Mother, do come, some horrid dog has got a cat in the spare room and is tearing it to pieces. Delia, who was mending my socks at the time, flung them everywhere, and springing to her feet, flew to the spare room. The door was shut, but proceeding from within was the most appalling pandemonium of screeches and snarls, just as if some dog had got hold of a cat by the neck and was shaking it to death. Delia swung open the door and rushed in. The room was empty, not a trace of a cat or dog anywhere, and the sound ceased. On my return home Delia met me in the garden. Jack, she said, I have probed the mystery at last. The house is haunted. We must leave. Saturday, November 12. That house to James Barstow, retired oil merchant, to-day. He comes in on the 30th. Hope you'll like it. Tuesday, November 15. Cook left to-day. I've no fault to find with you, Mum. She condescendingly explained to Delia, it's not you, nor the children, nor the food. It's the noises at night. Screeches outside my door, which sound like a cat. But which I know can't be a cat, as there is no cat in the house. This morning, Mum, shortly after the clock struck two, things came to a climax, hearing something in the corner, and wondering if it was a mouse. I ain't a bit afraid of mice, Mum. I sat up in bed and was getting ready to strike a light. The matchbox was in my hand. When something heavy sprang right on top of me and gave a loud growl in my ear. That finished me, Mum. I fainted. When I came to myself, I was too frightened to stir, but lay with my head under the blankets till it was time to get up. I then searched everywhere, but there was no sign of any dog, and as the door was locked there was no possibility of any dog having got in during the night. Mum, I wouldn't go through what I suffered again for fifty pounds. I've got palpitations even now, and I would rather go without my month's wages than sleep in that room another night. Delia paid her up to date, and she went directly after tea. Friday, November 18th. As I was coming out of the bathroom at eleven p.m., something fell into the bath with a loud splash. I turned to see what it was. There was nothing there. I ran up the stairs to bed three steps at a time. Sunday, November 20th. Went to church in the morning, and heard the usual Oxford roll. On the way back I was pondering over the sermon, and wishing I could contort the law as successfully as Parsons contort the scriptures when, dot, she is six today, came running up to me with a very scared expression in her eyes. Father, she cried, plucking me by the sleeve, do hurry up! Mother is very ill! All of dreadful anticipations I tore home, and on arriving found Delia lying on the sofa in a violent fit of hysterics. It was fully an hour before she recovered sufficiently to tell me what had happened. Her account runs thus. After you went to church, she began, I made the custard pudding, jelly, and blommage for dinner, hurt the children their collects, and had just sat down with the attention of writing a letter to mother when I heard a very pathetic mew coming, so I thought from under the sofa. Thinking it was some stray cat that had gotten in through one of the windows, I tried to entice it out by calling Puss, Puss, and making the usual silly noise people do on such occasions. No cat coming out, and the mewing still continuing. I knelt down, and peered under the sofa. There was no cat there. Had it been night, I should have been very much afraid. But I could scarcely reconcile myself to the idea of ghost with the room filled with sunshine. Resuming my seat, I went on with my writing, but not for long. The mewing grew nearer. I distinctly heard something crawl out from under the sofa. There was then a pause, during which you could have heard the proverbial pen fall, and then something sprang upon me and dug its claws in my knees. I looked down, and to my horror and distressed, perceived, standing on the sign-legs, pawing at my clothes, a large tapicat without a head, the neck terminating in a mangled stump. The sight so appalled me that I don't know what happened, but nurse and the children came in and found me lying on the floor in hysterics. Can't we leave the house at once? Wednesday, November 30, left Number Blank, Lower Seedley Road, at 2 p.m. Had an awful scurry to get things packed in time, and read opening certain of the packing cases lest we shall find all the crockery smashed. Just as we were starting, Delia cried out that she had left her reticule behind, and I was dispatched in search of it. I searched everywhere, till I was worn out, for I know what Delia is, and was leaving the premises in full anticipation of being sent back again, when there was a loud commotion in the hall, just as if a dog had suddenly pounced upon a cat in the next moment, a large tabby, with a head hewn away as Delia had described, rushed up to me, and tried to spring onto my shoulders. At this juncture one of the servants cautiously opened the hall to our from without, and informed me that I was wanted. The cat instantly vanished, and on my reaching the carriage in a state of breathless haste and trepidation, Delia told me she had found her reticule. She had been sitting on it all the time. In a subsequent note, in his diary, a year or so later, Mr. Dane says, after innumerable inquiries read the history of Number Blank, Lower Seedley Road, prior to our inhabiting it, I have at length elicited the fact that twelve years ago a Mr. and Mrs. Barlow lived there. They had one son, Arthur, whom they spoiled in the most outrageous fashion, even to the extent of encouraging him in acts of cruelty, to afford him amusement they used to buy rats for his dog, a fox terrier, to worry. An unwanted occasion procured a stray cat, which the servants afterwards declared was mangled in the most shocking manner before being finally destroyed by Arthur. Here, then, in my opinion, is a very feasible explanation for the hauntings. The phenomenon seen was the phantasm of the poor tortured cat. For if human tragedies are re-enacted by ghosts, why not animal tragedies, too? It is absurd to suppose man has the monopoly of soul or spirit. End of The Headless Cat of Number Blank, Lower Seedley Road. I never knew anyone so keenly alive to a joke as the king was. He seemed to live only for joking. To tell a good story of the joke kind and to tell it well was the surest road to his favor. Thus it happened that his seven ministers were all noted for their accomplishments as jokers. They all took after the king, too, in being large, corpulent oily men as well as inimitable jokers. Whether people grow fat by joking, or whether there is something in fat itself which predisposes to a joke, I have never been quite able to determine. But certain it is that a lean joker is a rara avis in terrace. About their affinements, or as he called them, the ghost of wit, the king troubled himself very little. He had a special admiration for bread than a jest, and would often put up with length for the sake of it. Over niceties worried him. He would have preferred robolets, gargantua, to the za-dig of Voltaire, and upon the whole practical joke suited his taste far better than verbal ones. At the date of my narrative, professing gestures had not altogether gone out of fashion at court. Several of the great continental powers still retained their fools, who wore motley with cap and bells, and who were expected to be always ready with sharp witticisms at a moment's notice in consideration of the crumbs that fell from the royal table. Our king, as a matter of course, retained his fool. The fact is, he required something in the way of folly, if only to counterbalance the heavy wisdom of the seven wise men who were his ministers, not to mention himself. His fool, or professional gesture, was not only a fool, however. His value was troubled in the eyes of the king by the fact of his being also a dwarf and a cripple. Dwarfs were as common at court in those days as fools, and many monarchs would have found it difficult to get through their days, days or rather longer at court than elsewhere, without both a gesture to laugh with and a dwarf to laugh at. But as I have already observed, your gestures in 99 cases out of 100 are fat, rounded, and unwieldy, so that it was no small source of self-gratulation with our king that, in Hopfrog, this was the fool's name, he possessed a triplicate treasure in one person. I believe the name Hopfrog was not given to the dwarf by his sponsors at baptism, but it was conferred upon him by general consent of the several ministers on account of his inability to walk as other men do. In fact, Hopfrog could only get along by a sort of interjectional gait, something between a leap and a wriggle, a movement that afforded illimitable amusement, and of course, consolation to the king, and for, nowwithstanding the protuberance of his stomach and a constitutional swelling of the head, the king, by his whole court, was accounted a capital figure. But although Hopfrog, through the distortion of his legs, could move only with great pain and difficulty along a road or floor, to prodigious muscle or power which nature seemed to have bestowed upon his arms by way of compensation for defection of the lower limbs, enabled him to perform many feats of wonderful dexterity where trees or ropes were in question or anything else to climb. At such exercises, he certainly much more resembled a squirrel or a small monkey than a frog. I am not able to say with precision from what country Hopfrog originally came. It was from some barbarous region, however, that no person ever heard of. A vast distance from the court of our king. Hopfrog, and a young girl very little less dwarfish than himself, though of exquisite proportions and a marvelous dancer, had been forcibly carried off from their respective homes in adjoining provinces and sent his presence to the king by one of his ever-victorious generals. Under these circumstances, it is not to be wondered at that a young girl had a close intimacy arose between the two little captives. Indeed, they soon became sworn friends. Hopfrog, who, although he made a great deal of sport, was by no means popular, had it not in his power to render trapeta many services. But she, on account of her grace and exquisite beauty, although a dwarf, was universally admired and petted, so she possessed much influence and never failed to use it whenever she could for the benefit of Hopfrog. On some grand state occasion, I forgot what, the king determined to have a masquerade, and whenever a masquerade or anything of that kind occurred at our court, then the talents, both of Hopfrog and Trapeta, were sure to be called into play. Hopfrog, in a special, was so inventive in the way of getting up pageants, suggesting novel characters and arranging costumes for masked balls, that nothing could be done, it seems, without his assistance. The night appointed for the fate had arrived. A gorgeous hall had been fitted up under Trapeta's eye with every kind of device which could possibly give a claw to a masquerade. The whole court was in a fever of expectation. As for costumes and characters, it might well be supposed that everybody had come to a decision on such points. Many had made up their minds, as to what roles they should assume, a week or even a month in advance, and in fact, there was not a particle of indecision anywhere, except in the case of the king and his seven ministers. Why they hesitated, I never could tell unless they did it by way of a joke. More probably, they found it difficult on account of being so fat to make up their minds. At all events, time flew and as a last resort, they sent for Trapeta and Hopfrog. When the two little friends obeyed the summons of the king, they found him sitting at his wine with the seven members of his cabinet council, but the monarch appeared to be in a very ill humor. He knew that Hopfrog was not fond of wine, for it excited the poor cripple almost to madness, and madness is no comfortable feeling. But the king loved his practical jokes and took pleasure in forcing Hopfrog to drink and, as the king called it, to be merry. Come here, Hopfrog, said he, as the jester and his friend entered the room. Swallow this bumper to the health of your absent friends, here Hopfrog sighed. And then let us have the benefit of your invention. We want characters, characters, man, something novel out of the way. We are wearied with this everlasting sameness. Come, drink, the wine will brighten your wits. Hopfrog endeavored, as usual, to get up a jest and reply to these advances from the king, but the effort was too much. It happened to be the poor dwarf's birthday and the command to drink to his absent friends forced the tears to his eyes. Many large, bitter drops fell into the goblet as he took it humbly from the hand of the tyrant. Ha, ha, ha, roared the latter, as the dwarf reluctantly drained the beaker. See what a glass of good wine can do while your eyes are shining already. Poor fellow, his large eyes gleamed rather than shone, for the effect of wine on his excitable brain was not more powerful than instantaneous. He placed the goblet nervously on the table and looked round upon the company with a half insane stare. They all seemed confused at the success of the king's joke. And now to business said the prime minister, a very fat man. Yes, said the king. Come lend us your assistance. Character is my fine fellow. We stand in need of characters, all of us, ha, ha, ha. And this was seriously meant for a joke. His laugh was chorused by the seven. Hopfrog also laughed, although feebly and somewhat vacantly. Come, come, said the king impatiently. Have you nothing to suggest? I am endeavouring to think of something novel, replied the dwarf abstractedly, for he was quite bewildered by the wine. Endeavouring, cried the tyrant fiercely, what do you mean by that? Ah, I perceive. You are sulky and want more wine. Here, drink this. And he poured out another goblet full and offered it to the cripple, who merely gazed at it, gasping for breath. Drink, I say, shouted the monster, or by the fiends. The dwarf hesitated. The king grew purple with rage. The courtiers smirked. Trepeta, pale as a corpse, advanced to the monarch's seat and falling on her knees before him, implored him to spare her friend. The tyrant regarded her for some moments, in evident wonder at her audacity. He seemed quite at a loss what to do or say, how most becomingly to express his indignation. At last, without uttering syllable, he pushed her violently from him and through the contents of the brimming goblet in her face. The poor girl got up the best she could, and, not daring even to sigh, resumed her position at the foot of the table. There was a dead silence for about half a minute, during which the falling of a leaf feather might have been heard. He was interrupted by a low but harsh and protracted grading sound which seemed to come at once from every corner of the room. What? What are you making that noise for, demanded the king, turning furiously to the dwarf? The latter seemed to have recovered in great measure from his intoxication and, looking fixedly, but quietly into the tyrant's face, merely ejaculated, I, I, how could it have been me? The sound appeared to come from without, observed one of the courtiers. I fancy it was the parrot at the window quitting his bill upon the cage wires. True, replied the monarch, as if much relieved by the suggestion, but on the honor of a night I could have sworn that it was the gritting of this vagabond's teeth. Hereupon the dwarf laughed. The king was too confirmed a joker laughing, and displayed a set of large, powerful, and very repulsive teeth. Moreover, he avowed his perfect willingness to swallow as much wine as desired. The monarch was pacified, and, having drained another bumper, with no very perceptible ill effect, hopfrog entered at once and with spirit into the plan for the masquerade. I cannot tell what was the association of idea observed he, very tranquilly, and as if he had never tasted wine in his life. But just after your majesty had struck the girl and thrown the wine in her face, just after your majesty had done this, and while the parrot was making that odd noise outside the window, there came into my mind a capital diversion. One of my own country frolics often enacted among us at our masquerades. But here it will be new altogether. Unfortunately, however, it requires a company of eight persons and, here we are, cried the king, laughing at his acute discovery of the coincidence, eight to a fraction. I and my seven ministers come. What is the diversion? We call it, replied the cripple, the eight chained orangutans. And it really is excellent sport and well enacted. We will enact it, remarked the king, drawing himself up and lowering his heads. The beauty of the game, continued Hopfrog, lies in the fright at occasions among the women. Capital roared in chorus the monarch and his ministry. I will equip you as orangutans, proceeded the dwarf. Leave all that to me. Their resemblance shall be so striking that the company of masqueraders will take you for real beasts and, of course, they will be as much terrified as astonished. Oh, this is exquisite, exclaimed the king. Hopfrog, I will make a man of you. The chains are for the purpose of increasing the confusion by their jangling. You are supposed to have escaped en masse from your keepers. Your majesty cannot conceive the effect produced at a masquerade by eight chained orangutans. Imagine to be real ones by most of the company and rushing in with savage cries among the crowd of delicately and gorgeously habited men and women. The contrast is inimitable. It must be, said the king, and the council rode hurriedly as it was growing late to put in execution the scheme of Hopfrog. His mode of equipping the party as orangutans was very simple but effective enough for his purposes. The animals in question had, at the epoch of my story, very rarely been seen in any part of the civilized world, and as the demonstrations made by the dwarf were sufficiently beast-like and more than sufficiently hideous, their truthfulness to nature was thus thought to be secured. The king and his ministers were first encased in tight-fitting stockinette shirts and drawers. They were then saturated with tar. At this stage of the process, someone of the party suggested feathers. But the suggestion was at once overruled by the dwarf, who soon was made by ocular demonstration that the hair of such a brute as the orangutan was much more efficiently represented by flax. A thick coating of the latter was accordingly plastered upon the coating of tar. A long chain was now procured. First, it was passed about the waist of the king and tied, then about another of the party and also tied, and then about all successively in the same manner. When this chaining arrangement was complete and the party stood as far apart from each other as possible, they formed a circle and to make all things appear natural hopfrog passed the residue of the chain in two diameters at right angles across the circle after the fashion adopted at the present day by those who captured chimpanzees or other large apes in Borneo. The grand saloon in which the masquerade was to take place was a circular room, very lofty and receiving the light of the sun only through a single window at top. At night, the season for which the apartment was especially designed, it was illuminated principally by a large chandelier depending by a chain from the center of the skylight and lowered or elevated by means of a counterbalance as usual. But in order not to look unsightly, this ladder passed outside the cupola and over the roof. The arrangements of the room have been left to Trapeta's superintendent's. But in some particulars it seems she had been guided by the calmer judgment of her friend the dwarf. At his suggestion it was that on this occasion the chandelier was removed. Its wax and drippings, which in weather so warm it was quite impossible to prevent, would have been seriously detrimental to the rich dresses of the guests who on account of the crowded state of the saloon could not at all be expected to keep out from its center, that is to say from under the chandelier. Additional sconces were set in various parts of the hall out of the way and a flambeau emitting sweet odor was placed in the right hand of each of the cariatids that stood against the wall. Some 50 or 60 all together. The eight orangutans taking hot frogs advice waited patiently until midnight when the room was thoroughly filled with masqueraders before making their appearance. No sooner had the clock see-striking however than they rushed or rather rolled in all together for the impediments of their chains caused most of the party to fall and to stumble as they entered. The excitement among the masqueraders was prodigious and filled the heart of the king with glee. As had been anticipated there were not a few of the guests who supposed looking creatures to be beasts of some kind in reality if not precisely orangutans. Many of the women swooned with a fright and had not the king taken their precaution to exclude all weapons from the saloon his party might soon have expatiated their frolic in their blood. As it was a general rush was made for the doors but the king had ordered them to be locked immediately upon his entrance and at the dwarf suggestion the servants had been deposited with him. All the tumult was at its height and each masquerader attentive only to his own safety for in fact there was much real danger from the pressure of the excited crowd the chain by which the chandelier ordinarily hung and which had been drawn up on its removal might have been seen very gradually to descend until its hooked extremity came within three feet of the floor. Soon after this the king and his seven friends having reeled about the hall in all directions found themselves at length in its center and of course in immediate contact with the chain. While they were thus situated the dwarf who had followed noiselessly at their heels inciting them to keep up the commotion took hold of their own chain at the intersection of the two portions which crossed the circle diametrically and at right angles here with the rapidity of thought he inserted the hook from which the chandelier had been want to depend and in an instant by some unknown agency the chandelier chain was drawn so far upward as to take the hook out of reach and as an inevitable consequence to drag the orangutans together in close connection and face to face. The masqueraders by this time had recovered in some measure from their alarm and beginning to regard the whole matter as a well-contrived pleasantry set up a loud shout of laughter at the predicament of the apes leave them to me now screamed Hupfrog his shrill voice making itself easily heard through all the din leave them to me I fancy I know them if I can only get a good look at them I can soon tell who they are here scrambling over the heads of the crowd he managed to get to the wall in seizing a flambeau from one of the karyatids he returned as he went to the center of the room leaping with the agility of a monkey upon the king's head and thence clambered a few feet up the chain holding down the torch to examine the group of orangutans and still screaming I shall soon find out who they are and now while the whole assembly the apes included were convulsed with laughter and violently uttered a shrill whistle when the chain flew violently up for about 30 feet dragging with it the dismayed and struggling orangutans and leaving them suspended in midair between the skylight and the floor Hupfrog clinging to the chain as it rose still maintained his relative position in respect to the ape maskers and still as if nothing were the matter continued to thrust his torch down toward them as though they were so thoroughly astonished was the whole company at this ascent that a dead silence of about a minutes duration ensued it was broken by just such a low harsh grating sound as had before attracted the attention of the king and his counselors when the former threw the wine in the face of trepeta but on the present occasion there could be no question as to whence the sound issued it came from the fang like teeth of the dwarf who ground them and gnashed them as he foamed at the mouth and glared with an expression of maniacal rage into the upturned countenances of the king and his seven companions aha said at length the infuriated gesture aha I begin to see who these people are now here pretending to scrutinize the king more closely he held the flambo to the flaxen coat which enveloped him and which instantly burst into a sheet of vivid flame in less than half a minute the whole eight orangutans were blazing fiercely amid the streaks of the multitude who gazed at them from below horror-stricken and without the power to render them the slightest assistance at length the flames suddenly increasing in virulence forced the gesture to climb higher up the chain to be out of their reach and as he made this movement the crowd again sank for a brief moment the dwarf seized his opportunity and once more spoke I see now distinctly he said what manner of people these masquers are they are a great king and his seven privy counselors a king who does not scruple to strike a defenseless girl and his seven counselors who have bet him in the outrage as for myself, I am simply hopfrog the jester and this is my last jest owing to the high combustibility of both the flax and the tar to which it adhered the dwarf had scarcely made an end of his brief speech before the work of vengeance was complete the eight corpses swung in their chains a fetid black and hideous and indistinguishable mass the cripple hurled his torch at them clambered leisurely to the ceiling and disappeared through the skylight it is supposed that Trepeta, stationed on the roof of the saloon, had been the accomplice of her friend in his fiery revenge and that together they effected their escape to their own country for neither was seen again end of hopfrog recording by Alan Winteroud boomcoach.blogspot.com the lady witch by lady Jane Wilde this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain you can find the link in the description below LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org the lady witch by lady Jane Wilde about a hundred years ago there lived a woman in Joyce's country of whom all the neighbors were afraid for she had always plenty of money though no one knew how she came by it and the best of eating and drinking went on at her house chiefly at night meat and fowls and Spanish wines and plenty for all corners and when people asked how it all came she laughed and said I have paid for it but she would tell them no more so the word went through the country that she had sold herself to the evil one and could have everything she wanted merely by wishing and willing and because of her riches they called her the lady witch she never went out but at night and then always with a bridle and whip in her hand the horse galloping was heard often far on in the night along the roads near her house then a strange story was whispered about that if a young man drank of her Spanish wines at supper and afterwards fell asleep she would throw the bridle over him and change him to a horse and ride him all over the country and whatever she touched with her whip became hers fowls or butter or wine or the new maid cakes and they were carried by spirit hands to her house and laid in her larder then when the ride was done and she had gathered enough through the country of all she wanted she took the bridle off the young man and he came back to his own shape and fell asleep and when he woke he had no knowledge of all that had happened and the lady witch made him come again and drink of her Spanish wines as often as it pleased him now there was a fine brave young fellow in the neighborhood and he determined to make out the truth of the story so he often went back and forwards and made friends with the lady witch and sat down to talk to her but always on the watch and she took a great fancy to him and told him he must come to supper some night and she would give him the best of everything and he must taste her Spanish wine so she named the night and he went gladly for he was filled with curiosity and when he arrived there was a beautiful supper laid and plenty of wine to drunk and he ate and drank but was cautious about the wine and spilled it on the ground from his glass when her head was turned away then he pretended to be very sleepy and she said, my son you are weary lie down there on the bench and sleep for the night is far spent and you are far from your home so he lay down as if he were quite dead with sleep and he looked at his eyes but watched her all the time and she came over in a little while and looked at him steadily but he never stirred only breathed more heavily then she went softly and took the bridle from the wall and stole over to fling it over his head but he started up and seizing the bridle through it over the woman who was immediately changed into a spanking grey mare and he led her out and jumped on her back to the forge ho smith he cried rise up and shoe my mare for she is weary after the journey and the smith got up and did his work as he was bid well and strong then the young man mounted again and rode back like the wind to the house of the witch and there he took off the bridle and she immediately regained her own form and sank down in a deep sleep but as the shoes had been put on at the forge without saying the proper form of words they remained on her hands and feet and no power on earth could remove them so she never rose from her bed again and died not long after of grief and shame and not one in the whole country would follow the coffin of the lady witch to the grave and the bridle was burned with fire and of all her riches nothing was left but a handful of ashes and this was flung to the four points of the earth and the four winds of heaven the enchantment was broken and the power of the evil one ended End of The Lady Witch by Lady Jane Wilde Letter to Sura by Pliny the Younger this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org recording by Timothy Ferguson Letter to Sura by Pliny the Younger Our leisure furnishes me with the opportunity of learning from you and you with that of instructing me Accordingly I particularly wish to know whether you think there exist such things as phantoms possessing an appearance peculiar to themselves and a certain supernatural power or that mere empty delusions receive a shape from our fears for my part I am led to believe in their existence especially by what I hear happen to courteous roofers and dancers and obscure he was a hanger on in the suite of the governor of Africa while pacing the colonnade one afternoon there appeared to him a female form of superhuman size and beauty she informed the terrified man that she was Africa and had come to foretell future events for that he would go to Rome would fill offices of state there and would even return to that same province with the highest powers and die in it all of which things were fulfilled moreover as he touched at Carthage and was disembarking from his ship the same form is said to have presented itself to him on the shore it is certain that being seized with illness and auguring the future from the past and misfortune from his previous prosperity he himself abandoned all hope of life though none of those about him despaired is not the following story again still more appalling and not less marvellous I will relate it as it was received by me there was at Athens a mansion spacious and comodious but of evil repute and dangerous to health in the dead of night there was a noise as of iron and if you listened more closely a clanking of chains was heard first of all from a distance and afterwards hard by presently a spectre used to appear an ancient man sinking with amaciation and squalor with a long beard and bristly hair wearing shackles on his legs and fetters on his hands and shaking them hence the inmates by reason of their fears passed miserable and horrible nights in sleeplessness this want of sleep was followed by disease and their terrors increasing by death for in the daytime as well though the apparition had departed yet a reminiscence of it flitted before their eyes and their dread outlived its cause the mansion was accordingly deserted and condemned to solitude was entirely abandoned to the dreadful ghost however it was advertised on the chance of someone ignorant of the fearful curse attached to it being willing to buy or rent it Athenodorus the philosopher came to Athens and read the advertisement when he had been informed of the terms which were so lowest to appear suspicious he made inquiries and learned the whole of the particulars yet nonetheless on that account nay all the more readily did he rent the house as evening began to draw on he ordered a sofa to be set for himself in the front part of the house and called for his notebooks writing implements and a light the whole of his servants he dismissed to the interior apartments and for himself applied his soul eyes and hand to composition that his mind might not for want of an occupation pictured to itself the phantoms of which he had heard or any empty terrors at the commencement there was the universal silence of the night soon the shaking of the irons and the clanking of chains was heard yet he never raised his eyes nor slackened his pen but hardened his soul and deadened his ears by its help the noise grew and approached now it seemed to be heard at the door and next inside the door he looked round beheld and recognised the figure he had been told of it was standing and signalling to him with its finger as though inviting him he in reply made a sign with his hand that it should wait a moment and applied himself fresh to his tablets and pen upon this the figure kept rattling its chains over his head as he wrote looking round again he saw it making the same signal as before and without delay the light and followed it it moved with a slow step as though oppressed by its chains and after turning into the courtyard of the house vanished suddenly and left his company on being thus left to himself he marked the spot with some grass and leaves which he plucked next day he applied to the magistrates and urged them to have the spot in question dug up though were found there some bones attached to and intermingled with fetters the body to which they had belonged away by time in the soil had abandoned them thus naked and corroded to the chains they were collected and interred at the public expense and the house was ever afterwards free from the spirit which had obtained due sepulcher the above story I believe on the strength of those who affirm it what follows I am myself in a position to affirm to others I have a freedman who is not without some knowledge of letters a younger brother of his was sleeping with him the latter dreamed he saw someone sitting on the couch who approached a pair of scissors to his head and even cut the hair from the crown of it when the day dawned he was found to be cropped around the crown and his locks were discovered lying about a very short time afterwards a fresh occurrence of the same kind confirmed the truth of the former one a lad of mine was sleeping in company with several others in the pages apartment they came through the windows so he tells the story two figures in white tunics who cut his hair as he lay and departed the way they came in his case too daylight exhibited him shorn and his locks scattered about nothing remarkable followed except perhaps this that I was not brought under accusation as I should have been if domination in whose reign these events happened had lived longer for in his desk was found an information against me which had been presented by Karras from which circumstance it may be conjectured insomuch as it is the custom of accused persons to let their hair grow that the cutting off of my slave's hair was a sign of the danger which threatened me being averted I beg then that you will apply your great learning to the subject the matter is one which deserves long and deep consideration on your part nor am I for my part undeserving of having the fruits of your wisdom imparted to me you may even argue on both sides as your ways provided you argue more forcibly on one side than the other so as not to dismiss me in suspense and anxiety when the very cause of my consulting you has been to have my doubts put an end to End of Letter to Surah Recording by Timothy Ferguson Gold Coast, Australia The Old Portrait by Hugh Nesbett This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Jeff McAlvin The Old Portrait by Hugh Nesbett Old-fashioned frames are a hobby of mine I'm always on the prowl among the framers and dealers and curiosities for something quaint and unique in picture frames I don't care much for what is inside them For being a painter it is my fancy to get the frames first and then paint a picture which I think suits their probable history and design In this way I get some curious and I think also some original ideas One day in December about a week before Christmas I picked up a fine but dilapidated specimen of wood carving in a shop near Soho The gilding had been nearly worn away and three of the corners broken off Yet as there was one of the corners still left I hoped to be able to repair the others from it As for the canvas inside this frame it was so smothered with dirt and time stains that I could only distinguish it had been a very badly painted likeness of some sort of some commonplace person Dobbed in by a poor pot boiling painter to fill the second hand frame which his patron may have picked up as cheaply as I had done after him But as the frame was all right I took the spoiled canvas along with it thinking it might come in handy For the next few days my hands were full of work of one kind and another so that it was only on Christmas Eve that I found myself at liberty to examine my purchase which had been lying with its face to the wall since I brought it to my studio Having nothing to do on this night and not in the mood to go out I got my picture in frame from the corner and laying them upon the table with a sponge, basin of water and some soap I began to wash so that I might see them better They were in a terrible mess and I think I used the best part of a packet of soap powder and had to change the water about a dozen times so that the pattern began to show up on the frame and the portrait within it asserted its awful crudeness vile drawing and intense vulgarity It was the bloated, pigish visage of a publican clearly with a plentiful supply of jewellery displayed as is usual with such masterpieces where the features are not considered of so much importance as a strict fidelity in the depicting of such articles as watch guard and seals and breast pens These were all there, as natural and hard as reality The frame delighted me and the picture satisfied me that I had not cheated the dealer with my price and I was looking at the monstrosity as the gaslight beat full upon it and wondering how the owner could be pleased with himself as thus depicted When something about the background attracted my attention I was marking underneath the thin coating as if the portrait had been painted over some other subject It was not much certainly yet enough to make me rush over to my cupboard where I kept my spirits of wine and turpentine with which and a plentiful supply of rags I began to demolish the publican ruthlessly in the vague hope that I might find something worth looking at underneath A slow process that was as well as a delicate one but it was close upon midnight before the gold cable rings and vermilion massage disappeared and another picture loomed up before me Then giving it a final wash over I wiped it dry and set it in a good light on my easel while I filled and lit my pipe and then sat down to look at it What had I liberated from that vile prison of crude paint? For I did not require to set it up I wanted to know that this bungler of the brush had covered and defiled a work as far beyond his comprehension as the clouds are from the caterpillar The bust and head of a young woman at uncertain age merged within a gloom of rich accessories painted as only a master hand can paint who is above asserting his knowledge and who has learnt to cover his technique It was as perfect and natural in its sombre yet quiet dignity as if it had come from the brush of Moroni A face and neck perfectly colourless in their pallid whiteness Would the shadow so artfully managed that that they could not be seen and for this quality would have delighted the strong-minded queen best At first as I looked I saw in the center of a vague darkness a dim patch of grey gloom that drifted into the shadow and the greyness appeared to grow lighter as I set from it and leaned back in my chair until the features stole out softly and became clear and definite while the figure stood out from the background as if tangible although having washed it I knew that it had been smoothly painted an intent face with delicate nose well shaped although bloodless lips and eyes like dark caverns without a spark of light in them the hair loosely about the neck and oval cheeks massive silky textured jet black and lustrous which hid the upper portion of her brow with the ears and fell in straight and definite waves over the left breast leaving the right portion of the transparent neck exposed The dress and background were symphonies of ebony yet full of subtle colouring and masterly feeling a dress of rich brocaded velvet with a background that represented vast receding space wondrously suggestive and awe inspiring I noticed that the pilot lips were parted slightly and showed a glimpse of the upper front teeth which added to the intent expression of the face a short upper lip which curled upward with the underlip full and cinch-ous or rather, if colour had been in it would have been so it was an eerie looking face that I had resurrected on this midnight hour of Christmas Eve in its passive palidity it looked as if the blood had drained from its body and that I was gazing upon an open-eyed corpse the frame also I noticed for the first time and its details appeared to have been designed with the intention of carrying out the idea of life and death what had before looked like the scroll work of flowers and fruit were loathsome snake-like worms twined amidst carnal house bones which they have covered in a decorative fashion a hideous design in spite of its exquisite workmanship that made me shudder and wish that I had left the cleaning to be done by daylight I am not at all of a nervous temperament and would have laughed had anyone told me that I was afraid and yet as I sat here alone with that portrait opposite to me in this solitary studio away from all human contact for none of the other studios were tenanted on this night and the janitor had gone on his holiday I wished that I had spent my evening in a more congenial manner for in spite of a good fire in the stove and the brilliant gas that intense face and those haunting eyes were exercising a strange influence upon me I heard the clocks from the different steeples chime out the last hour of the day one after the other like echoes taking up the refrain and dying away in the distance and still I set spellbound looking at that weird picture with my neglected pipe in my hand and a strange lassitude creeping over me it was the eyes which fixed me now with the unfathomable depths and absorbing intensity they gave out no light but seemed to draw my soul into them and with it my life and strength as I lay inert before them until overpowered I lost consciousness and dream I thought that the frame was still on the easel with the canvas but the woman had stepped from them and was approaching me with a floating motion leaving behind her vault filled with coffins some of them shut down whilst others lay or stood upright and open showing the grisly contents in their decaying and stained serenance I could only see her head and shoulders with the somber drapery of that upper portion and the inky wealth of hair hanging around she was with me now that pallid face touching my face and those cold bloodless lips glued to mine with a close lingering kiss while the soft black hair covered me like a cloud and thrilled me through and through with a delicious thrill that whilst it made me growth faint intoxicated me with delight as I breathed she seemed to absorb it quickly into herself giving me back nothing getting stronger as I was becoming weaker while the warmth of my contact passed into her and made her palpitate with vitality and all at once the horror of approaching death seized upon me and with a frantic effort I flung her from me and started up for my chair dazed for a moment and uncertain where I was then consciousness returned and I looked around wildly the gas was still blazing brightly while the fire burned ruddy in the stove by the timepiece on the mantle I could see that it was half past twelve the picture and frame were still on the easel only as I looked at them the portrait had changed a hectic flush was on the cheeks while the eyes glittered with life and the sinchuous lips were red and ripe looking with a drop of blood still upon the nether one and a frenzy of horror I seized my scraping knife and slashed out the vampire picture then tearing the mutilated fragments out I crammed them into my stove and watched them frizzle with savage delight I have that frame still but I have not yet had courage to paint a suitable subject for it End of The Old Portrait The Stranger by Ambrose Beers This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Recording by James Christopher The Stranger by Ambrose Beers A man stepped out of the darkness into the little illuminated circle about our failing campfire and seated himself upon a rock You are not the first to explore this region he said gravely Nobody controverted his statement He was himself proof of its truth for he was not of our party and must have been somewhere near when we camped Moreover, he must have companions not far away It was not a place where one would be living or traveling alone For more than a week we had seen, besides ourselves and our animals only such living things as rattlesnakes and horned toads In an Arizona desert one does not long coexist with only such creatures as these One must have pack animals, supplies, arms, and outfit and all these imply comrades It was perhaps a doubt as to what manner of men these unceremonious strangers comrades might be together with something in his words interpretable as a challenge that caused every man of our half dozen gentlemen adventurers to rise to a sitting posture and lay his hand upon a weapon and act signifying, in that time and place a policy of expectation The Stranger gave the matter no attention and began again to speak in the same deliberate, uninflected monotone in which he had delivered his first sentence Thirty years ago, Ramon Galegos, William Shaw, George W. Kent and Barry Davis, all of Tucson crossed the Santa Catalina Mountains and traveled due west as nearly as the configuration of the country permitted We were prospecting and it was our intention, if we found nothing to push through to the Gila River at some point near Big Bend where we understood there was a settlement We had a good outfit but no guide Just Ramon Galegos, William Shaw, George W. Kent and Barry Davis The man repeated the name slowly and distinctly as if to fix them in the memories of his audience Every member of which was now attentively observing him but with a slackened apprehension regarding his possible companion somewhere in the darkness that seemed to enclose us like a black wall In the manner of this voluntary historian was no suggestion of an unfriendly purpose His act was rather that of a harmless lunatic than an enemy We were not so new to the country as not to know that the solitary life of many a Plainsman had a tendency to develop eccentricities of conduct and character not always easily distinguishable from mental aberration A man is like a tree In a forest of his fellows he will grow as straight as his generic and individual nature permits Alone in the open he yields to the deforming stresses and torsions that environ him Some such thoughts were in my mind as I watched the man from the shadow of my hat pulled low to shut out the firelight A witless fellow no doubt but what could he be doing here in the heart of a desert Having undertaken to tell this story I wish that I could describe the man's appearance That would be a natural thing to do Unfortunately and somewhat strangely I find myself unable to do so with any degree of confidence For afterwards not two of us agreed as to what he wore and how he looked and when I try to set down my own impressions they elude me Anyone can tell some kind of story Narration is one of the elemental powers of the race but the talent for description is a gift Nobody having broken silence the visitor went on to say this country was not then what it is now There was not a ranch between the Gila and the Gulf There was a little game here and there in the mountains and near the infrequent waterholes grasped enough to keep our animals from starvation If we should be so fortunate as to encounter no Indians we might get through But within a week the purposes of the expedition were from discovery of wealth to preservation of life We had gone too far to go back for what was ahead could be no worse than what was behind So we pushed on, riding by night to avoid Indians in the intolerable heat and concealing ourselves by day as best we could Sometimes having exhausted our supply of wild meat and emptied our cask we were days without food or drink Then a waterhole or a shallow pool in the bottom of an ario so restored our strength and sanity that we were able to shoot some of the wild animals that saw it also Sometimes it was a bear Sometimes an antelope a coyote a cougar That was all as God pleased All were food One morning as we skirted a mountain range seeking a practicable pass we were attacked by a band of Apaches who had followed our trail up a gulch It is not far from here Knowing that they outnumbered us ten to one they took none of their usual cowardly precautions but dashed upon us at a gallop firing and yelling Fighting was out of the question We urged our feeble animals up the gulch as far as they was footing for a hoof then threw ourselves out of our saddles and took to the chaperelle on one of the slopes abandoning our entire outfit to the enemy But we retained our rifles every man Ramon Gallegos, William Shaw, George W. Kent and Barry Davis Same old crowd, said the humorist of our party He was an eastern man unfamiliar with the decent observances of social intercourse a gesture of disapproval from our lever silenced him and the stranger proceeded with his tail The savage just dismounted also and some of them ran up the gulch beyond the point at which we had left it cutting off further retreat in that direction and forcing us up on the side Unfortunately, the chaperelle extended only a short distance up the slope and as we came into the open ground above we took the fire of a dozen rifles but Apache shoot badly when in a hurry and God so willed that none of us fell 20 yards up the slope beyond the edge of the brush were vertical cliffs in which directly in front of us was a narrow opening into that we ran finding ourselves in a cavern about as large as an ordinary room in a house Here for a time we were safe a single man with a repeating rifle could defend the entrance against all the Apaches in the land but against hunger and thirst we had no defense courage we still had but hope was a memory Not one of those Indians did we afterwards see but by the smoke and glare of their fires and the gulch we knew that by day and night they watched with ready rifles at the edge of the bush knew that if we made a sorte not a man of us would live to take three steps out into the open For three days, watching in turn we held out before our suffering became insupportable Then it was on the morning of the fourth day Ramon Gallego said Seniors, I know not well the good God what pleases him I have lived without religion and I am not acquaint with that of you Pardon, Seniors, if I shock you but for me it is time to come to beat the game of the Apache He knelt upon the rock floor of the cave and pressed his pistol against his temple Madre de Dios, he said comes now the soul of Ramon Gallegos And so he left us William Shaw, George W. Kent and Barry Davis I was the leader, it was for me to speak He was a brave man, I said He knew when to die, and how It is foolish to go mad from thirst and fall by Apache bullets or be skinned alive It is in bad taste Let us join Ramon Gallegos That is right, said William Shaw That is right, said George W. Kent I straightened the limbs of Ramon Gallegos and put a handkerchief over his face Then William Shaw said I should like to look like that a little while And George W. Kent said that he felt that way too It shall be so, I said The Red Devils will wait a week William Shaw and George W. Kent Draw and kneel They did so, and I stood before them Almighty God our Father, said I Almighty God our Father, said William Shaw Almighty God our Father, said George W. Kent Forgive us our sins, said I Forgive us our sins, said they And receive our souls And receive our souls Amen, amen I laid them beside Ramon Gallegos And covered their faces There was a quick commotion on the opposite side of the campfire One of our party has sprung to his feet Pistol in hand And you, he shouted You dared to escape You dared to be alive You cowardly hound I'll send you to join them if I hang for it But with the leap of a panther The captain was upon him, grasping his wrist Hold it in, Sam Yancey Hold it in We were now all upon our feet Except the stranger Who set motionless and apparently inattentive Someone seized Yancey's other arm Captain, I said There is something wrong here Our lunatic or merely a liar Just a plain everyday liar Who's Yancey has no call to kill If this man was of that party It had five members, one of whom Probably himself he has not named Yes, said the captain Releasing his insurgent who sat down There is something unusual Years ago Four dead bodies of white men Scalped and shamefully mutilated Were found about the mouth of that cave They're buried there We shall all see them tomorrow The stranger rose Standing tall in the light of the expiring fire Which in our breathless attention to a story We had neglected to keep going There were four, he said Ramon Gallegos, William Shaw George W. Kent And Barry Davis With this reiterated roll call of the dead He walked into the darkness And we saw him no more At that moment one of our party Who had been on guard strode in among us A little in hand and somewhat excited Captain, he said For the last half hour three men had been standing Out there on the mesa He pointed in the direction taken by the stranger I could see them distinctly For the moon is up But as they had no guns and I had them cover with mine I thought it was their move They have made none, but damn it They have got on my nerves Go back to your post and stay till you see them again Said the captain The rest of you men lie down Before I'll kick you all into the fire The sentinel obediently withdrew Swearing and did not return As we were arranging our blankets The fiery Yahtzee said I beg your pardon captain But who the devil do you take them to be Ramon Gallegos, William Shaw And George W. Kent But how about Barry Davis I ought to have shot him Quite needless You couldn't have made him any deader Go to sleep The Stranger By Ambrose Beers Recording by James Christopher JxChristopher at yahoo.com Was It a Dream By Guy de Maupassant This is a LibreVox recording All LibreVox recordings are in the public domain For more information Or to volunteer Please visit LibreVox.org Recording by Sandra Wood Was It a Dream By Guy de Maupassant I had loved her madly Why does one love Why does one love How queer it is to see Only one being in the world To have only one thought in one's mind Only one desire in the heart And only one name on the lips A name which comes up continually Rising like the water in a spring From the depths of the soul to the lips A name which one repeats Over and over again Which one whispers ceaselessly Everywhere like a prayer I am going to tell you our story For love only has one Which is always the same I met her and loved her That is all And for a whole year I have lived On her tenderness, on her caresses In her arms, in her dresses On her words So completely wrapped up Bound and absorbed in everything Which came from her That I no longer cared whether it was Day or night or whether I was Dead or alive on this old earth Of ours And then she died How? I do not know I no longer know anything But one evening she came Home wet for it was raining heavily And the next day she coughed And she coughed for about a week And took to her bed What happened I do not remember Now but doctors came Wrote and went away Medicines were brought And some women made her drink them Her hands were hot Her forehead was burning And her eyes bright and sad When I spoke to her she answered me But I do not remember what we said I have forgotten everything Everything, everything She died and I very well remember Her slight feeble sigh The nurse said Ah And I understood I knew nothing more Nothing I saw a priest who said You're mistress And it seemed to me as if he were insulting her As she was dead Nobody had the right to say that any longer And I turned him out Another came who was very kind And tender and I shed tears When he spoke to me about her They consulted me about the funeral But I do not remember anything that they said Though I recollected the coffin And the sound of the hammer When they nailed her down in it Oh God, God She was buried, buried She in that hole Some people came, female friends I made my escape and ran away I ran and then walked through the streets Went home and the next day Started on a journey Yesterday I returned to Paris And when I saw my room again Our room, our bed, our furniture Everything that remains of the life Of a human being after death I was seized by such a violent Attack of fresh grief That I felt like opening the window And throwing myself out into the street I could not remain any longer Among these things Between these walls which had Enclosed and sheltered her Which retained a thousand atoms Of her, of her skin and of her breath In their imperceptible crevices I took up my hat To make my escape And just as I reached the door I passed the large glass in the hall Which she had put there so that she might Look at herself every day from head to foot As she went out To see if her toilette looked well And was correct and pretty From her little boots to her bonnet I stopped short in front of that looking glass In which she had so often been reflected So often, so often That it must have retained her reflection I was standing there trembling With my eyes fixed on the glass On that flat, profound, empty glass Which had contained her entirely And had possessed her as much as I As my passionate looks had I felt as if I loved that glass I touched it, it was cold Oh, the recollection Sorrowful mirror Burning mirror Horrible mirror To make men suffer such torments Happy is the man whose heart Forgets everything that it had has contained Everything that has passed before it Everything that has looked at itself in it Or has been reflected in its affection In its love How I suffer I went out without knowing it Without wishing it and toward the cemetery I found her simple grave A white marble cross With these few words She loved, was loved And died She is there below Decade, how horrible I sobbed with my forehead on the ground And I stopped there for a long time A long time Then I saw that it was getting dark And a strange, mad wish The wish of a despairing lover Seized me I wished to pass the night The last night in weeping on her grave But I should be seen and driven out How was I to manage I was kind enough How was I to manage I was cunning and got up And began to roam about in that city of the dead I walked and walked How small this city is In comparison with the other The city in which we live And yet How much more numerous the dead are than the living We want high houses, wide streets And much room for the four generations Who see the daylight at the same time Drink water from the spring And wine from the vines And bread from the plains And for all the generations of the dead For all that ladder of humanity That has descended down to us There is scarcely anything, scarcely anything The earth takes them back And oblivion effaces them Adieu At the end of the cemetery I suddenly perceived that I was in its oldest part Where those who had been dead a long time Are mingling with the soil Where the crosses themselves are decayed Where possibly newcomers will be put tomorrow It is full of untended roses Of strong and dark cypress trees A sad and beautiful garden Nourished on human flesh I was alone, perfectly alone So I crouched in a green tree And hid myself there completely Amid the thick and somber branches I waited, clinging to the stem Like a shipwrecked man does to a plank When it was quite dark I left my refuge and began to walk Softly, slowly Inaudibly through that ground Full of dead people I wandered about for a long time But could not find her tomb again I went on with extended arms Knocking against the tombs with my hands My feet, my knees, my chest Even with my head Without being able to find her I groped about like a blind man Finding his way I felt the stones, the crosses The iron railings, the metal reese And the wreaths of faded flowers I read the names with my fingers By passing them over the letters What a night, what a night I could not find her again There was no moon What a night I was frightened, horribly frightened In these narrow paths Between two rows of graves Graves, graves, graves Nothing but graves On my right, on my left In front of me, around me There were graves I sat down on one of them For I could not walk any longer My knees were so weak I could hear my heart beat And I heard something else as well What! I confused Nameless noise Was the noise in my head In the impenetrable night Or beneath the mysterious earth The earth sewn with human corpses I looked all round me But I cannot say how long I remained there Cold with fright, ready to shout out Ready to die Suddenly it seemed to me That the slab of marble on which I was sitting Was moving Certainly it was moving, as if it were being raised With a bound I sprang onto the neighbouring tomb And I saw, yes, I distinctly saw the stone Which I had just quitted rise upright Then the dead person appeared A naked skeleton Pushing the stone back with its bent back I saw it quite clearly Although the night was so dark On the cross I could read Here lies Jacques Olivier Who died at the age of fifty-one He loved his family Was kind and honourable And died in the grace of the Lord The dead man also read what was inscribed On his tombstone Then he picked up a stone off the path A little pointed stone And began to scrape the letters carefully He slowly effaced them And with the hollows of his eyes He looked at the places where they had been engraved Then with the tip of the bone That had been his forefinger He wrote in luminous letters Like those lines which boys trace on walls With the tip of a Lucifer match Here reposes Jacques Olivier Who died at the age of fifty-one He hastened his father's death By his unkindness As he wished to inherit his fortune He tortured his wife, tormented his children Deceived his neighbours Robbed everyone he could And died wretched When he had finished writing The dead man stood motionless Looking at his work On turning round I saw that all the graves were open That all the dead bodies had emerged from them And that all had effaced the lies Inscribed on the gravestones By their relations Substituting the truth instead And I saw that all had been The tormentors of their neighbours Malicious, dishonest, hypocrites Liars, rogues Calumniators Envious That they had stolen, deceived Performed every disgraceful Every abominable action These good fathers These faithful wives These devoted sons These chaste daughters These honest tradesmen These men and women who were called irreproachable They were all writing at the same time On the threshold of their eternal abode The truth The terrible and the holy truth Of which everybody was ignorant Or pretended to be ignorant While they were alive I thought that she Also must have written something on her tombstone And now running without any fear Among the half-open coffins Among the corpses and skeletons I went toward her Sure that I should find her immediately I recognised her at once Without seeing her face which was covered By the winding sheet And on the marble cross Where shortly before I had read She loved, was loved, and died I now saw Having gone out in the rain one day In order to deceive her lover She caught cold And died It appears that they found me at daybreak Lying on the grave unconscious End of Was it a dream