A Bottomless Grave

by A Bottomless Grave

  At last we reached the foot of a ladder whose steps disappeared through a loft in the midst of the darkness. I still ask myself to-day how I had the rashness to climb this ladder without demanding the slightest explanation from my friend Wolfgang. It appears that madness is contagious.

  And so there I was climbing, with him behind me. I got right to the top, I put my foot on the dusty floor, I looked around; it was a huge attic, the roof pierced by three skylights, the grey wall of the gable climbing up on the left to the rafters. There was a small table laden with books and papers in the middle, the beams crossing one another over our heads in the darkness. Impossible to look out, for the skylights were ten or twelve feet above the floor.

  I noticed, as my eyes became accustomed to the gloom, a large door with a vent, chest-high, cut in the wall of the gable.

  Wolfgang, without a word, made me sit down on a crate which served him as an armchair, and taking up a crock of water in the darkness, drank for a long time, while I looked at him quite bemused.

  ‘We are in the attic of the old abattoir,’ he said with a strange smile, putting down his earthenware crock. ‘The council has voted funds to build another one outside the town. I have been here for five years without paying any rent. Not a soul has come here to disturb my studies.’

  He sat down on some logs piled up in a corner.

  ‘Now then,’ he resumed, ‘let’s get to the point. Are you quite sure, Kasper, that we have a soul?’

  ‘Look here, Wolfgang,’ I angrily answered him. ‘If you have brought me here to discuss metaphysics, you have made a great mistake. I was just leaving Hâsenkopf’s lecture and I was going to the inn to have lunch when you intercepted me. I have had my daily dose of abstraction. It is enough for me. Therefore, explain yourself clearly or let me get back on the track of food.’

  ‘You then, only live for food,’ he said in a sharp tone. ‘Do you realise that I have spent days without touching food for the love of science?’

  ‘To each his taste; you live on syllogisms or homed arguments; me, I like sausages and beer.’

  He had become quite pale, his lips were trembling, but he mastered his anger.

  ‘Kasper,’ he said, ‘since you don’t wish to answer me, at least listen to my explanations. Man needs admirers and I want you to admire me. I want you to be in some way overwhelmed by the sublime discovery I have just made. It’s not asking too much, I think, one hour’s attention for ten years of conscientious studies?’

  ‘So be it. I am listening to you, but hurry up!’

  A new quivering agitated his face and gave me food for horrifying thought. I was repenting of having climbed the ladder, and I assumed a serious look so as not to infuriate the maniac further. My meditative physiognomy appeared to calm him a little, because, after a few moments of silence, he resumed.

  ‘You are hungry, well here’s my bread and here’s my crock. Eat, drink, but listen.’

  ‘You need not trouble, Wolfgang, I shall listen anyway to you without that.’

  He smiled bitterly and continued:

  ‘Not only do we have a soul, a thing accepted since the beginning of history, but from plant to man, all beings live. They are animated, therefore they have a soul. You don’t need six years of study under Hâsenkopf to agree with me that all organised beings have one soul at least. But the more their organisation perfects itself, the more complicated it gets, and the more the souls multiply. This is what distinguishes animate beings from each other. The plant has only one soul. the vegetable soul. Its function is simple, unique—merely nutrition, by the air, by means of the leaves, and by the earth through the roots. The animal has two souls. First of all the vegetable soul, whose functions are the same as those of the plant—nutrition by the lungs and intestines, which are true plants; and the animal soul, so called, which has as its function feeling and whose organ is the heart. Finally man, who is up to the present the height of earthly creation, has three souls —the vegetable soul, the animal soul whose functions are exercised as in the beast, and the human soul which has its object, reason and intelligence, and its organ is the brain. The more the animal nears man in the perfection of its cerebral organisation, the more it shares in this third soul, such as the dog, the horse, the elephant. But alone the man of genius possesses it in all its fullness.’

  At this point Wolfgang stopped and fixed his eyes on me.

  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘what have you got to say?’

  ‘Well, it’s a theory like any other. There is only the proof missing.’

  A sort of frenzied exultation took hold of Wolfgang at this reply. He leapt up, hands in the air, and exclaimed: ‘Yes! Yes! The proof is missing. That is what has been tormenting my soul for ten years. That’s what was the cause of so many late nights, of so much moral suffering, so many privations ! Because it was on myself, Kasper, that I wanted to experiment first of all. Fasting impressed more and more this sublime conviction on my mind, without its being possible for me to establish any proof of it. But, at last, I have found it. You are going to hear the three souls show themselves, declare themselves ... you will hear them.’

  After this explosion of enthusiasm which gave me the shudders, so much energy did it indicate, so much fanaticism, he suddenly became cold again and, sitting down with his elbows on the table, he resumed, pointing out the lofty wall of the gable.

  ‘The proof is there, behind this wall. I shall show it to you presently. But above all you must follow the progressive step of my ideas. You know the opinions of the classic philosophers on the nature of souls. They accepted four of them, united in man. Caro, the flesh, a mixture of earth and water which death dissolves; Manes, the spirit, which wanders around tombs—its name comes from manere, to remain, to stay; Umbra, the shade, more immaterial than Manes, it disappears after visiting its relatives; finally Spiritus, the spirit, the immaterial substance which climbs up to the gods. This classification appeared right to me; it was a question of breaking down the human being so as to establish the distinct existence of the three souls, an abstraction made from the flesh. Reason told me that each man, before reaching his highest development, must have passed through the state of plant or animal; in other words that Pythagoras had caught sight of the reality, without being able to provide proof of it. Well, as for myself, I wanted to solve this problem. It was necessary to successively extinguish the three souls in myself, then revive them. I had recourse to rigorous fasting. Unfortunately, the human soul, in order to let the animal soul act freely, had to succumb first. Hunger made me lose the faculty of observing myself in the animal state. By exhausting myself I was putting myself in the position of not being able to judge. After a host of fruitless attempts on my own organism I remained convinced that there was only one way of attaining my goal; that was to act on a third person. But who would want to be a party to this type of observation?’

  Wolfgang paused, his lips contracted and brusquely he added:

  ‘I needed a subject at any cost. I decided to experiment on a worthless being.’

  At this point I shuddered. This man then was capable of anything.

  ‘Have you understood?’ he said.

  ‘Very well; you needed a victim.’

  ‘To study,’ he added, coldly.

  ‘And you have found one?’

  ‘Yes! I promised to let you hear the three souls. It will perhaps be difficult now: but yesterday you would have heard them in turn howl, roar, implore, grind their teeth !’

  An icy shiver ran through me. Wolfgang, impassive, lit a small lamp which he usually used for his work and went over to the low door on the left.

  ‘Look!’ he said, putting his hand forward into the darkness. ‘Come near and look, then listen.’

  In spite of the most funereal presentiments, in spite of the inward shudder which shook me, lured by the attraction of the mystery, I looked through the vent. Behind the door, extending some three yards back, was a dark pit about ten feet deep. The only door, in or out, was the one th
rough which I was peering. I realised that it was one of those storage spaces built into the ceiling of the abattoir, where butchers piled up the hides from the slaughterhouse so as to let them turn green, before delivering them to the tanners. It was empty and for a few seconds I saw only this hole full of shadows.

  ‘Have a good look,’ said Wolfgang in a low voice. ‘Don’t you see a bundle of clothes gathered together in a corner? It’s old Catherine Wogel, the cake-seller, who ...’

  He didn’t have time to finish, because a wild piercing cry, similar to that of an enraged cat, made itself heard in the pit. A frightened and frightening shape leapt up, seeming to want to claw its way up the wall. More dead than alive, my brow covered with a cold sweat, I darted backwards, exclaiming:

  ‘It’s horrible !’

  ‘Did you hear it?’ said Wolfgang, his face lit up by an infernal joy. ‘Isn’t that the cry of the cat? Ha ha! The old woman, before reaching the human state was formerly a cat or a panther. Now the beast wakes again. Oh! Hunger, hunger and especially thirst works miracles !’

  He wasn’t looking at me, he was revelling. A loathsome satisfaction lit up his countenance, his attitude, his smile.

  The mewings of the poor old woman had stopped. The madman, having placed his lamp on the table, began to gloat over his ‘experiment’.

  ‘She has been fasting for four days. I lured her here under the pretext of selling her a small cask of kirsch. I pushed her into the pit and shut her in. Drunkenness has been the ruin of her. She is now atoning for her excessive thirst. The first two days the human soul was revealed in all its strength. She beseeched me, she implored me, she proclaimed her innocence, saying that she had done nothing to me, that I had no right to do this to her. Then madness took possession of her. She overwhelmed me with reproaches, called me a monster, an inhuman wretch and so forth. On the third day, which was yesterday, the human soul disappeared completely. The cat brought out its claws. It was hungry; its teeth became long; it started to miaow, to roar. Fortunately we are in a secluded place. Last night the people in the square of the Tanners must have thought there was a real cat fight: there were shrieks that would make one shudder ! Now, when the beast is exhausted do you know, Kasper, what will result? The vegetable soul will have its turn. It dies the last. You know, of course, that the hair and nails of corpses still grow under the earth; there even forms in the interstices of the skull a sort of human lichen which is called moss. It is thought to be a mould engendered by the juices of the brain. Finally the vegetable soul itself withdraws. Then, Kasper, the proof of the three souls will be complete.’

  These words struck my ears as the reasoning of delirium in the most horrible nightmare. The screeching of Catherine Wogel went through me to the very marrow of my bones. I didn’t know myself any more, I was losing my head.

  I stood up and grabbed the maniac by the throat, dragging him towards the ladder.

  ‘You wretch!’ I said to him. ‘Who has given you permission to lay hands on your fellow man? on the creature of God? To satisfy your infamous curiosity? I shall hand you over to justice!’

  He was so surprised by my aggression that at first he made no resistance, and let himself be dragged towards the ladder without replying. But suddenly, turning round with the suppleness of a wild animal, he in turn seized me by the neck. His hand, as powerful as a steel spring, raised me off the ground and held me against the wall while with the other he drew the bolt of the door to the pit. Realising his intentions, I made a terrible effort to get free. I set my back athwart the door. But he was endowed with superhuman strength. After a quick and desperate struggle I felt myself lifted up for the second time and hurled into space, while above me echoed these strange words:

  ‘Thus perish rebellious flesh! Thus triumph the immortal soul!’

  I had hardly touched the bottom of the pit, bruised and aching all over, when the heavy door closed ten feet above me, shutting off from my eyes the greyish light of the attic.

  II

  I was caught like a rat in a trap. My consternation was such that I rose to my feet without a moan.

  ‘Kasper,’ I said to myself, leaning up against the wall with a strange calmness, ‘it is now a matter of devouring the old woman, or being devoured by her . . . Choose! As for wanting to get out of this pit, it’s a waste of time. Wolfgang has you in his clutches, he will not let you go. The walls are made of stone and the floor of thick oak planks. No one has seen you cross the square of the Tanners and no one knows you in this district. No one will think of looking for you here. It’s all over, Kasper, it’s all over. Your last resource is this poor Catherine Wogel, or rather, you are each other’s last resource.’

  All this passed through my mind like a flash of lightning. When, at that very moment, the pale head of Wolfgang, with his little lamp appeared at the vent, and when, my hands clasped together through terror, I wanted to beseech him, I realised that I was stammering dreadfully. Not a word came from my trembling lips. He, seeing me like this, began to smile, and I heard him whispering in the silence.

  ‘The coward ... he beseeches me.’

  This finished me. I fell to the ground, and I would have remained in a faint had not the fear of being attacked by the old woman made me come to my senses. However, she still did not move. Wolfgang’s head disappeared... I heard the maniac crossing his garret, move back the table, cough a little. My ear was so attuned that the slightest noise reached me. I heard the old woman yawning, and, as I turned round, I noticed for the first time her eyes glittering in the dark. At the same time I heard Wolfgang go down the ladder and I counted the steps one by one until the sound died away in the distance. Where had the scoundrel gone to? I did not know, but during all that day and the following night he did not reappear. It was only the following day at about eight o’clock in the evening, just as the old woman and I were howling enough to bring the walls down, that he returned.

  I hadn’t closed my eyes. I no longer felt fear or rage. I was hungry... devouringly hungry. And I knew that the hunger would get even worse.

  However, hardly had a faint noise made itself heard in the attic than I became silent and looked up. The vent was lit up. Wolfgang had lit his lamp. Undoubtedly he was going to come and see me. With this expectation, I prepared a touching prayer, but the lamp went out. No one came.

  It was perhaps the most frightful moment of my torture. I realised that Wolfgang, knowing that I was not yet exhausted, would not bother to even give me a glance. In his eyes I was only an interesting subject, only ripe for science in two or three days’ time—between life and death. I seemed to feel my hair slowly turn to grey on my head. Finally my terror became such that I lost all feeling.

  At about midnight, I was wakened by something touching me. I leapt up in disgust. The old woman, attracted by hunger, had drawn near. Her hands were fastened onto my clothes. At the same time the screeching of a cat filled the pit and froze me with terror.

  I expected a terrible battle to fight her; but the poor wretch was very weak; after all, she was in her fifth day of captivity.

  Then Wolfgang’s words came back into my mind: ‘Once the animal soul is dead the vegetable soul will have the upper hand ... the hair and nails grow in the grave ... and the green moss ... the mould takes root in the interstices of the skull.’ I pictured for myself the old woman reduced to this state, her skull covered with mouldy lichen, and myself, lying next to her, our souls spinning their moist vegetation beside each other, in the silence.

  This image took such a hold of my mind that I no longer felt the pangs of hunger. Stretched out against the wall, my eyes wide open, I looked in front of me without seeing anything.

  And as I was like this, more dead than alive, a vague light shone above in the darkness. I looked up. The pale face of Wolfgang was leaning through the ventilator. He wasn’t laughing. He appeared to feel neither joy, satisfaction or remorse: he was observing me!

  Oh! how this face frightened me! Had he laughed, had he enjoyed his ve
ngeance, I would have hoped to bend him ... but he just observed!

  We remained thus, our eyes fixed on each other, one terror stricken, the other cold, calm, attentive, as if facing an inert object. The insect pierced by a needle, which one observes under a microscope, if it thinks, if it understands the eye of man, must have these sort of visions.

  I had to die to satisfy the curiosity of a monster. I understood that entreaty would be useless, so I said nothing.

  After having looked at me for long enough, the maniac, obviously pleased by his observations, turned his head to look at the old woman. I mechanically followed the direction of his gaze. What I saw haunts me to this day. A haggard head, emaciated, the limbs shrivelled up and so sharp that they seemed to have pierced the rags which covered them. Something mis-shapen, hideous. A dead person’s head, the hair scattered around the skull like tall withered grass and, in the midst of all that, shining eyes kindled by fever ... and two long yellow teeth.

  Even more dreadful, I saw two snails already crawling over the skeletal figure. When I had seen all that beneath the wan beam of the lamp, falling like a thread in the midst of the darkness, I closed my eyes with a convulsive shudder, and said to myself: That’s how I shall be in five days’ time.’

  When I re-opened my eyes the lamp had been withdrawn.

  ‘Wolfgang!’ I exclaimed. ‘God’s above us .... God sees us ... Wolfgang ... Woe to monsters!’

  The rest of the night was spent in terror.

  After having dreamed again, in the delirium of the fever, of the chances which were left to me of escaping, and not finding any, suddenly I resolved to die. This determination gave me some moments of calm. I went over in my mind the arguments of Hâsenkopf relating to the immortality of the soul, and, for the first time, I found in them an invincible force.