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The Woman of the Satyr by Jerome
k Jerome. Wild Reindeer stalking is hardly

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so exciting a sport as the evening's
veranda talk in Norway hotels would lead the

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trustful traveler to suppose, under the
charge of your guide, a very young

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man with the dreamy, wistful eyes
of those who live in valleys, you

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leave the farmstead early in the forenoon, arriving towards twilight at the desolate hut,

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which, for so long as you
remain upon the uplands, will be

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your somewhat cheerless headquarters. Next morning, in the chill, mist laden dawn,

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you rise, and, after a
breakfast of coffee and dried fish,

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shoulder your remington and step forth silently
into the raw, damp air, the

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guide locking the door behind you,
the key grating harshly in the rusty lock.

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For hour after hour you toil over
the steep, stony ground, or

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wind through the pines, speaking in
whispers lest your voice reached the quick ears

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of your prey that keeps its head
ever pressed against the wind. Here and

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there, in the hollows of the
hills lie wide fields of snow over which

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you pick your steps thoughtfully listening to
the smothered thunder of the Torrent tunneling its

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way beneath your feet, and wondering
whether the frozen arch above it be at

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all points as firm as is desirable. Now and again, as in single

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file you walk cautiously along some jagged
ridge, you catch glimpses of the green

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world three thousand feet below you,
though you gaze not long upon the view,

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for your attention is chiefly directed to
watching the footprints of the guide,

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lest, by deviating to the right
or left, you find yourself at one

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stride back in the valley, or, to be more correct, are found

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there. These things you do,
and as exercise they are healthful and invigorating.

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But a reindeer you never see,
and, unless overcoming the prejudices of

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your British bred conscience, you care
to take an occasional pop at a fox,

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you had better have left your rifle
at the hut, and instead have

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brought a stick, which would have
been helpful. Notwithstanding which, the guide

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continues, sanguine, and in broken
English, helped out by stirring gesture,

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tells of the terrible slaughter generally done
by sportsmen under his superintendence, and of

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the vast herds that generally infest these
fields. And when you grow skeptical upon

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the subject of rains, he whispers
alluringly of bears. Once in a way

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he will come across a track and
will follow it breathlessly for hours, and

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it will lead to a sheer precipice. Whether the explanation is suicide or a

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reprehensible tendency on the part of the
animal towards practical joking, you are left

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to decide for yourself. Then,
with many rough miles between you and your

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rest, you abandon the chase.
But I speak from personal experience. Merely

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all day long we had tramped through
the pitiless rain, stopping only for an

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hour at noon to eat some dried
venison and smoke a pipe beneath the shelter

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of an overhanging cliff. Soon afterwards, Michael knocked over a riper, a

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bird that will hardly take the trouble
to hop out of your way with his

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gun barrel, which incident cheered us
a little, and later on our flagging

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spirits were still further revived by the
discovery of apparently very recent deer tracks.

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These we followed forgetful in our eagerness
of the lengthening distance back to the hut

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of the fading daylight of the gathering
mist. The track led us higher and

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higher, farther and farther into the
mountains, until on the shores of a

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desolate, rock bound vand it abruptly
ended, and we stood staring at one

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another, and the snow began to
fall. Unless in the next half hour

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we could chance upon a satya,
this meant passing the night upon the mountain.

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Michael and I looked at the guide, but though with characteristic Norwegian sturdiness,

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he put a bold face upon it, we could see that in that

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deepening darkness he knew no more than
we did. Wasting no time on words,

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we made straight for the nearest point
of descent, knowing that any human

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habitation must be far below us.
Down we scrambled, heedless of torn clothes

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and bleeding hands, the darkness pressing
close round us. Then suddenly it became

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black, black as pitch, and
we could only hear each other. Another

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step might mean death. We stretched
out our hands and felt each other.

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Why we spoke in whispers, I
do not know, but we seemed afraid

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of our own voices. We agreed. There was nothing for it but to

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stop where we were till morning,
clinging to the short grass. So we

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lay there side by side for what
may have been five minutes, or may

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have been an hour. Then,
attempting to turn, I lost my grip

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and rolled. I made convulsive efforts
to clutch the ground, but the incline

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was too steep. How far I
fell I could not say. But at

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last something stopped me. I felt
it cautiously with my foot. It did

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not yield, so I twisted myself
round and touched it with my hand.

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It seemed planted firmly in the earth. I passed my arm along to the

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right, then to the left.
I shouted with joy. It was a

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fence rising and groping about me.
I found an opening and passed through,

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and crept forward with palms outstretched,
until I touched the logs of a hut.

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Then feel my way round, discovered
the door and knocked. There came

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no response, so I knocked louder, then pushed, and the heavy woodwork

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yielded groaning, But the darkness within
was even darker than the darkness without.

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The others had contrived to crawl down
and join me. Michael struck a wax

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vesta and held it up, and
slowly the room came out of the darkness

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and stood round us. Then something
rather startling happened. Giving one swift glance

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about him, our guide uttered a
cry and rushed out into the night.

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We followed to the door and called
after him, but only a voice came

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to us out of the blackness,
and the only words we could catch shrieked

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back in terror, were seta fraunen
sata frawnen the women of the satyr.

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Some foolish superstition about the place,
I suppose, said Michael. In these

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mountain solitudes, men breed ghosts for
company. Let us make a fire.

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Perhaps when he sees the light,
his desire for food and shelter may get

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the better of his fears. We
felt about the small enclosure round the house,

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and gathered juniper and birch twigs,
and kindled a fire upon the open

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stove built in the corner of the
room. Fortunately, we had some dried

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reindeer and bread in our bag,
and on that and the riper and the

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contents of our flasks, we supped
afterwards for a while. Away the time

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we made an inspection of the strange
eerie we had lighted on. It was

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an old lock built Satya. Some
of these mountain farmsteads are as old as

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the stone ruins of other countries.
Carvings of strange beasts and demons were upon

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its blackened rafters, and on the
lintel in runic letters ran this legend Hunt

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builded me in the days of hard
Fager. The house consisted of two large

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apartments. Originally, no doubt these
had been separate dwellings standing beside one another,

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but they were now connected by a
long, low gallery. Most of

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the scanty furniture was almost as ancient
as the walls themselves, but many articles

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of a comparatively recent date had been
added. All was, now, however,

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rotting and falling into decay. The
place appeared to have been deserted suddenly

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by its last occupants. Household utensils
lay as they were left, rust and

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dirt encrusted on them. An open
book, limp and mildewed, lay face

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downwards on the table, while many
others were scattered about both rooms, together

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with much paper scored with faded ink. The curtains hung in shreds about the

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windows. A woman's cloak of an
antiquated fashion, drooped from a nail behind

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the door. In an oak chest, we found a tumbled heap of yellow.

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They were of various dates, extending
over a period of four months,

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and with them, apparently intended to
receive them, lay a large envelope inscribed

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with an address in London that has
since disappeared. Strong curiosity overcoming faint scruples,

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we read them by the dull glow
of the burning juniper twigs, and

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as we lay aside the last of
them, there rose from the depths below

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us a wailing cry, And all
night long it rose and died away,

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and rose again, and died away
again, Whether born of our brain or

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of some human thing, God knows. And these a little altered and shortened,

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are the letters extract from first letter. I cannot tell you, my

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dear Joyce, what a haven of
peace this place is to me. After

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the rackish and fret of I am
almost quite recovered already, and am growing

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stronger every day. And joy of
joys, my brain has come back to

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me fresher and more vigorous, I
think, for its holiday. In this

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silence and solitude, my thoughts flow
freely, and the difficulties of my task

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are disappearing, as if by magic. We are perched upon a tiny plateau

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halfway up the mountain. On one
side the rock rises almost perpendicularly, piercing

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the sky, while on the other, two thousand feet below us, the

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torrent hurls itself into the black waters
of the Fiord. The house consists of

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two rooms, or rather it is
two cabins connected by a passage. The

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larger one we use as a living
room, and the other is our sleeping

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apartment. We have no servant,
but do everything for ourselves. I fear

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sometimes Muriel must find it lonely.
The nearest human habitation is eight miles away

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across the mountain, and not a
soul comes near us. I spend as

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much time as I can with her, however, during the day, and

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make up for it by working at
night after she has gone to sleep.

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And when I question her, she
only laughs and answers that she loves to

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have me all to herself. Here. You will smile cynically, I know,

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and say humph. I wonder will
she say the same when they have

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been married six years instead of six
months. At the rate I am working

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now, I shall have finished my
first volume by the spring. And then,

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my dear fellow, you must try
and come over, and we will

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walk and talk together amid these storm
reared temples of the gods. I have

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felt a new man since I arrived
here, instead of having to cudgel my

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brains as we say, thoughts crowd
upon me. This work will make my

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name part of the third letter,
the second being mere talk about the book

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a history, apparently that the man
was writing. My dear joyce, I

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have written you two letters. This
will make the third, but have been

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unable to post them. Every day
I have been expecting a visit from some

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farmer or villager. For the Norwegians
are kindly people towards strangers, to say

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nothing of the inducements of trade.
A fortnight having passed, however, and

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the commissariat question having become serious,
I yesterday set out before dawn and made

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my way down to the valley,
and this gives me something to tell you.

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Nearing the village, I met a
peasant woman. To my intense surprise,

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instead of returning my salutation, she
stared at me as if I were

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some wild animal, and shrank away
from me as far as the width of

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the road would permit in the village, the same experience awaited me. The

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children ran from me, the people
avoided me. At last, a gray

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haired old man appeared to take pity
on me, and from him I learnt

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the explanation of the mystery. It
seems there is a strange superstition attaching to

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this house in which we are living. My things were brought up here by

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the two men who accompanied me from
Drontheim. But the natives are afraid to

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go near the place, and prefer
to keep as far as possible from any

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one connected with it. The story
is that the house was built by one

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Hunt, a maker of runs,
one of the old saga writers, no

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doubt, who lived here with his
young wife. All went peacefully until,

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unfortunately for him, a certain maiden
stationed at a neighboring Satya, grew to

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love him. Forgive me if I
am telling you what you know. But

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a Satya is the name given to
the upland pastures to which during the summer

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are sent the cattle, generally under
the charge of one or more of the

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maids. Here for three months,
these girls live in their lonely huts,

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entirely shut off from the world.
Customs change a little in this land.

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Two or three such stations are within
climbing distance of this house at this day,

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looked after by the farmer's daughters.
As in the days of Hunt,

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Maker of Ruins. Every night,
by devious mountain paths, the woman would

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come and tap lightly at Hunt's door. Hunt had built himself two cabins,

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one behind the other. These are
now, as I think I have explained

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to you, connected by a passage. The smaller one was the homestead.

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In the other he carved and wrote, so that while the young wife slept,

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the Maker of runs and the sat
woman sat whispering. One night,

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however, the wife learnt all things, but said no word. Then,

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as now, the ravine in front
of the enclosure was crossed by a slight

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bridge of planks, And over this
bridge the woman of the sater passed and

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repassed each night. On a day
when Hunt had gone down to fish in

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the fiord, the wife took an
axe and hacked and hewed at the bridge.

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Yet it still looked firm and solid. And that night, as Hunt

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sat waiting in his workshop, there
struck upon his ears a piercing cry,

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and a crashing of logs and rolling
rock, and then again the dull roaring

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of the torrent far below. But
the woman did not die unavenged. For

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that winter, a man skating far
down the fiord noticed a curious object embedded

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in the ice, and when stooping
he looked closer he saw two corpses,

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one gripping the other by the throat, and the bodies were the bodies of

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Hunt and his young wife. Since
then, they say, the woman of

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the Sata haunts Hunt's house, and
if she sees a light within, she

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taps upon the door, and no
man may keep her out. Many at

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different times have tried to occupy the
house, but strange tales are told of

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them. Men do not live at
Hunt's Satyr, said my old gray haired

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friend, concluding his tale. They
die there. I have persuaded some of

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the braver of the villagers to bring
what provisions and other necessaries we require up

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to a plateau about a mile from
the house, and leave them there.

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That is the most I have been
able to do. It comes somewhat as

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a shock to one to find men
and women fairly educated and intelligent, as

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many of them are slaves. To
fears that one would expect a child to

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laugh at but there is no reasoning
with superstition extract from the same letter,

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but from a part seemingly written a
day or two later at home. I

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should have forgotten such a tale an
hour after I heard it, But these

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mountain fastnesses seemed strangely fit to be
the last stronghold of the supernatural. The

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woman haunts me. Already at night, instead of working, I find myself

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listening for her, tapping at the
door. And yesterday an incident occurred that

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makes me fear for my own common
sense. I had gone out for a

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long walk alone, and the twilight
was thickening into darkness as I neared home.

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Suddenly, looking up from my reverie, I saw standing on a knoll

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the other side of the ravine,
the figure of a woman. She held

206
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a cloak about her head, and
I could not see her face. I

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00:17:45,519 --> 00:17:49,000
took off my cap and called out
a good night to her, but she

208
00:17:49,119 --> 00:17:55,599
never moved or spoke. Then God
knows why, for my brain was full

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00:17:55,599 --> 00:17:59,839
of other thoughts at the time.
A clammy chill crept over me, and

210
00:18:00,039 --> 00:18:04,880
my tongue grew dry and parched.
I stood rooted to the spot, staring

211
00:18:04,920 --> 00:18:11,000
at her across the yawning gorge that
divided us. And slowly she moved away

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00:18:11,359 --> 00:18:15,640
and passed into the gloom, and
I continued my way. I have said

213
00:18:15,680 --> 00:18:21,160
nothing to Muriel, and shall not. The effect the story has had upon

214
00:18:21,279 --> 00:18:26,920
myself warns me not to do so. From a letter dated eleven days later,

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00:18:29,640 --> 00:18:33,880
she has come. I have known
she would since that evening I saw

216
00:18:33,920 --> 00:18:37,920
her on the mountain, and last
night she came, and we have sat

217
00:18:37,119 --> 00:18:41,960
and looked into each other's eyes.
You will say, of course, that

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00:18:41,000 --> 00:18:45,279
I am mad, that I have
not recovered from my fever, that I

219
00:18:45,319 --> 00:18:48,839
have been working too hard, that
I have heard a foolish tale, and

220
00:18:48,880 --> 00:18:53,359
that it has filled my overstrung brain
with foolish fancies. I have told myself

221
00:18:53,400 --> 00:19:00,640
all that. But the thing came, nevertheless, A creature of flesh and

222
00:19:00,720 --> 00:19:04,240
blood, a creature of air,
a creature of my own imagination. What

223
00:19:04,480 --> 00:19:11,680
matter? It was real to me? It came last night as I sat

224
00:19:11,759 --> 00:19:17,880
working alone. Each night I have
waited for it, listened for it,

225
00:19:18,720 --> 00:19:22,839
longed for it. I know now. I heard the passing of its feet

226
00:19:22,920 --> 00:19:27,920
upon the bridge, the tapping of
its hand upon the door, three times,

227
00:19:29,359 --> 00:19:36,920
tap tap tap. I felt my
loins grow cold. And a pricking

228
00:19:37,000 --> 00:19:41,519
pain about my head. And I
gripped my chair with both hands and waited,

229
00:19:41,799 --> 00:19:48,279
and again there came the tapping,
tap, tap tap. I rose

230
00:19:48,400 --> 00:19:52,559
and slipped the bolt of the door
leading to the other room, and again

231
00:19:52,799 --> 00:19:59,039
I waited, and again there came
the tapping, tap tap tap. Then

232
00:19:59,079 --> 00:20:03,599
I opened the heavy and the wind
rushed past me, scattering my papers,

233
00:20:03,799 --> 00:20:07,880
and the woman entered in, and
I closed the door behind her. She

234
00:20:07,960 --> 00:20:12,240
threw her hood back from her head
and unwound a kerchief from about her neck

235
00:20:12,519 --> 00:20:17,599
and laid it on the table.
Then she crossed and sat before the fire,

236
00:20:17,960 --> 00:20:21,400
and I noticed that her bare feet
were damp with the night dew.

237
00:20:22,799 --> 00:20:26,079
I stood over against her and gazed
at her, and she smiled at me,

238
00:20:26,680 --> 00:20:32,200
a strange, wicked smile. But
I could have laid my soul at

239
00:20:32,240 --> 00:20:37,200
her feet. She never spoke or
moved, and neither did I feel the

240
00:20:37,279 --> 00:20:41,000
need of spoken words, for I
understood the meaning of those upon the mount

241
00:20:41,279 --> 00:20:47,039
when they said, let us hear
make tabernacles, it is good for us

242
00:20:47,039 --> 00:20:51,960
to be here. How long a
time passed thus I do not know.

243
00:20:52,319 --> 00:20:56,880
But suddenly the woman held her hand
up, listening, and there came a

244
00:20:56,960 --> 00:21:00,200
faint sound from the other room.
Then swiftly she drew her hood about her

245
00:21:00,200 --> 00:21:04,440
face and passed out, closing the
door softly behind her. And I drew

246
00:21:04,480 --> 00:21:08,559
back the bolt of the inner door
and waited, and, hearing nothing more,

247
00:21:10,079 --> 00:21:15,000
sat down and must have fallen asleep
in my chair. I awoke,

248
00:21:15,400 --> 00:21:18,720
and instantly there flashed through my mind
the thought of the kerchief the woman had

249
00:21:18,799 --> 00:21:22,640
left behind her, and I started
from my chair to hide it. But

250
00:21:22,720 --> 00:21:26,880
the table was already laid for breakfast, and my wife sat with her elbows

251
00:21:26,880 --> 00:21:30,519
on the table and her head between
her hands, watching me with a look

252
00:21:30,519 --> 00:21:34,920
in her eyes that was new to
me. She kissed me, though her

253
00:21:34,960 --> 00:21:38,519
lips were cold, and I argued
to myself that the whole thing must have

254
00:21:38,559 --> 00:21:42,640
been a dream. But later in
the day, passing the open door,

255
00:21:42,680 --> 00:21:47,279
when her back was towards me,
I saw her take the kerchief from a

256
00:21:47,319 --> 00:21:52,960
locked chest and look at it.
I have told myself must have been a

257
00:21:52,000 --> 00:21:56,680
kerchief of her own, and that
all the rest has been my imagination.

258
00:21:56,680 --> 00:22:02,720
That if not, then my strain
visitant was no spirit but a woman,

259
00:22:03,400 --> 00:22:08,319
and that if human thing knows human
thing, it was no creature of flesh

260
00:22:08,319 --> 00:22:14,680
and blood, that sat beside me
last night. Besides, what woman would

261
00:22:14,680 --> 00:22:18,880
she be? The nearest? Satya
is a three hours climb to a strong

262
00:22:18,000 --> 00:22:22,680
man, and the path is dangerous
even in daylight. What woman would have

263
00:22:22,720 --> 00:22:27,200
found them in the night? What
woman would have chilled the air around her

264
00:22:27,440 --> 00:22:33,880
and have made the blood flow cold
through all my veins. Yet, if

265
00:22:33,880 --> 00:22:37,440
she come again, I will speak
to her. I will stretch out my

266
00:22:37,519 --> 00:22:45,839
hand and see whether she be mortal
thing or only air. The fifth letter,

267
00:22:48,519 --> 00:22:53,440
my dear joyce. Whether your eyes
will ever see these letters is doubtful.

268
00:22:55,519 --> 00:22:59,680
From this place, I shall never
send them. They would read to

269
00:22:59,680 --> 00:23:03,799
you as the ravings of a madman. If ever I return to England,

270
00:23:03,960 --> 00:23:07,000
I may one day show them to
you, But when I do, it

271
00:23:07,039 --> 00:23:14,160
will be when I with you can
laugh over them. At present I write

272
00:23:14,160 --> 00:23:18,759
them merely to hide away. Putting
the words down on paper saves my screaming

273
00:23:18,799 --> 00:23:25,519
them aloud. She comes each night, now, taking the same seat beside

274
00:23:25,519 --> 00:23:30,720
the embers, and fixing upon me
those eyes with the hell light in them

275
00:23:30,119 --> 00:23:37,240
that burn into my brain. And
at rare times she smiles, and all

276
00:23:37,279 --> 00:23:41,920
my being passes out of me and
is hers. I make no attempt to

277
00:23:42,039 --> 00:23:48,400
work. I sit listening for her
footsteps on the creaking bridge, for the

278
00:23:48,480 --> 00:23:52,079
rustling of her feet upon the grass, for the tapping of her hand upon

279
00:23:52,119 --> 00:23:57,519
the door. No word is uttered
between us. Each day. I say,

280
00:23:59,000 --> 00:24:02,279
when she comes to night, I
will speak to her. I will

281
00:24:02,279 --> 00:24:07,960
stretch out my hand and touch her. Yet when she enters, all thought

282
00:24:07,160 --> 00:24:12,720
and will goes out from me.
Last night, as I stood gazing at

283
00:24:12,720 --> 00:24:17,920
her, my soul filled with her
wondrous beauty as a lake with moonlight,

284
00:24:18,480 --> 00:24:22,680
her lips parted, and she started
from her chair, and turning, I

285
00:24:22,759 --> 00:24:26,599
thought I saw a white face pressed
against the window, But as I looked,

286
00:24:26,720 --> 00:24:30,720
it vanished. Then she drew her
cloak about her and passed out.

287
00:24:30,680 --> 00:24:36,000
I slid back the bolt I always
draw now, and stole into the other

288
00:24:36,119 --> 00:24:38,920
room, and, taking down the
lantern, held it above the bed.

289
00:24:40,880 --> 00:24:47,720
But Muriel's eyes were closed, as
if in sleep. Extract from the sixth

290
00:24:47,920 --> 00:24:52,839
letter. It is not the night
I fear, but the day I hate.

291
00:24:52,839 --> 00:24:56,119
The sight of this woman with whom
I live, whom I call wife.

292
00:24:56,960 --> 00:25:00,119
I shrink from the blow of her
cold li lips. The curse of

293
00:25:00,160 --> 00:25:07,400
her stony eyes. She has seen
she has lat I feel it, I

294
00:25:07,480 --> 00:25:11,559
know it Yet she winds her arms
around my neck and calls me sweetheart,

295
00:25:11,759 --> 00:25:18,839
and smooths my hair with her soft, false hands. We speak mocking words

296
00:25:18,839 --> 00:25:22,920
of love to one another, but
I know her cruel eyes are ever following

297
00:25:22,960 --> 00:25:26,759
me. She is plotting her revenge, and I hate her. I hate

298
00:25:26,799 --> 00:25:36,319
her, I hate her part of
the Seventh Letter. This morning I went

299
00:25:36,359 --> 00:25:40,960
down to the fiord. I told
her I should not be back until the

300
00:25:41,039 --> 00:25:45,319
evening. She stood by the door, watching me until we were mere specks

301
00:25:45,319 --> 00:25:48,880
to one another, and a promontory
of the mountain shut me from view.

302
00:25:49,680 --> 00:25:53,240
Then, turning aside from the track, I made my way, running and

303
00:25:53,279 --> 00:25:57,319
stumbling over the jagged ground, round
to the other side of the mountain and

304
00:25:57,440 --> 00:26:03,480
began to climb again. It was
slow, weary work. Often I had

305
00:26:03,519 --> 00:26:07,079
to go miles out of my road
to avoid a ravine, and twice I

306
00:26:07,160 --> 00:26:11,079
reached a high point, only to
have to descend again. But at length

307
00:26:11,119 --> 00:26:15,640
I crossed the ridge and crept down
to a spot where concealed I could spy

308
00:26:15,799 --> 00:26:22,559
upon my own house. She,
my wife, stood by the flimsy bridge.

309
00:26:22,160 --> 00:26:26,759
A short hatchet, such as butcher's
use, was in her hand.

310
00:26:26,960 --> 00:26:32,880
She leant against a pine trunk with
her arm behind her as one stands whose

311
00:26:32,960 --> 00:26:37,559
back aches with long stooping in some
cramped position. And even at that distance

312
00:26:37,920 --> 00:26:44,640
I could see the cruel smile about
her lips. Then I recrossed the ridge

313
00:26:44,720 --> 00:26:48,880
and crawled down again, and,
waiting until evening, walked slowly up the

314
00:26:48,960 --> 00:26:52,440
path. As I came in view
of the house, she saw me and

315
00:26:52,519 --> 00:26:56,400
waved her handkerchief to me, and
in answer, I waved my hat and

316
00:26:56,480 --> 00:27:02,519
shouted curses at her that the wind
whirled away into the torrent. She met

317
00:27:02,519 --> 00:27:04,880
me with a kiss, and I
breathed no hint to her that I had

318
00:27:04,920 --> 00:27:10,839
seen. Let her devil's work remain
undisturbed. Let it prove to me what

319
00:27:11,039 --> 00:27:14,839
manner of thing this is that haunts
me. If it be a spirit,

320
00:27:15,119 --> 00:27:18,680
then the bridge will bear it safely. If it be woman, but I

321
00:27:18,720 --> 00:27:23,079
dismiss the thought. If it be
human thing, why does it sit gazing

322
00:27:23,119 --> 00:27:27,200
at me, never speaking? Why
does my tongue refuse to question it?

323
00:27:27,839 --> 00:27:32,559
Why does all power forsake me in
its presence so that I stand as in

324
00:27:32,599 --> 00:27:36,720
a dream. Yet, if it
be spirit, why do I hear the

325
00:27:36,759 --> 00:27:40,680
passing of her feet? And why
does the night rain glisten on her hair.

326
00:27:41,279 --> 00:27:45,079
I force myself back into my chair. It is far into the night,

327
00:27:45,359 --> 00:27:51,680
and I am alone, waiting,
listening. If it be spirit,

328
00:27:52,000 --> 00:27:55,200
she will come to me. And
if it be woman, I shall hear

329
00:27:55,240 --> 00:28:00,440
her cry above the storm. Unless
it be a demon mocking me, I

330
00:28:00,480 --> 00:28:04,799
have heard the cry. It rose, piercing and shrill, above the storm,

331
00:28:06,000 --> 00:28:10,359
above the writhing and rending of the
bridge, above the downward crashing of

332
00:28:10,400 --> 00:28:15,680
the logs and loosened stones. I
hear it as I listen now. It

333
00:28:15,799 --> 00:28:19,160
is cleaving its way upward from the
depths below. It is wailing through the

334
00:28:19,240 --> 00:28:25,680
room as I sit writing. I
have crawled upon my belly to the utmost

335
00:28:25,799 --> 00:28:30,200
edge of the still standing pier until
I could feel with my hand the jagged

336
00:28:30,240 --> 00:28:36,079
splinters left by the fallen planks,
and have looked down. But the chasm

337
00:28:36,200 --> 00:28:40,640
was full to the brim with darkness. I shouted, but the wind shook

338
00:28:40,640 --> 00:28:45,559
my voice into mocking laughter. I
sit here feebly, striking at the madness

339
00:28:45,599 --> 00:28:49,720
that is creeping nearer and nearer to
me. I tell myself, the whole

340
00:28:49,720 --> 00:28:53,759
thing is but the fever in my
brain. The bridge was rotten, the

341
00:28:53,799 --> 00:28:59,720
storm was strong. The cry is
but a single one among the many voices

342
00:28:59,759 --> 00:29:04,440
of the mountain. Yet still I
listen, and it rises clear and shrill,

343
00:29:04,599 --> 00:29:07,759
above the moaning of the pines,
above the sobbing of the waters.

344
00:29:08,440 --> 00:29:15,000
It beats like blows upon my skull, and I know that she will never

345
00:29:15,559 --> 00:29:23,559
come again. Extract from the last
letter, I shall address an envelope to

346
00:29:23,599 --> 00:29:30,039
you, and leave it among these
letters. Then, should I never come

347
00:29:30,079 --> 00:29:33,119
back, some chance wanderer may one
day find and post them to you,

348
00:29:33,799 --> 00:29:41,000
and you will know my books and
writings remain untouched. We sit together of

349
00:29:41,039 --> 00:29:47,680
a night, this woman I call
wife, and I she holding in her

350
00:29:47,720 --> 00:29:52,759
hands some knitted thing that never grows
longer by a single stitch, and I

351
00:29:52,359 --> 00:29:57,359
with a volume before me that is
ever open at the same page. And

352
00:29:57,519 --> 00:30:03,240
day and night we watch each other, stealthily, moving to and fro about

353
00:30:03,279 --> 00:30:07,759
the silent house, and at times, looking round, swiftly catch the smile

354
00:30:07,839 --> 00:30:12,680
upon her lips before she has time
to smooth it away. We speak like

355
00:30:12,720 --> 00:30:18,599
strangers about this and that, making
talk to hide our thoughts. We make

356
00:30:18,640 --> 00:30:22,559
a pretense of busying ourselves about whatever
will help us to keep apart from one

357
00:30:22,559 --> 00:30:29,400
another. At night, sitting here
between the shadows, and the dull glow

358
00:30:29,480 --> 00:30:33,880
of the smoldering twigs. I sometimes
think I hear the tapping I have learnt

359
00:30:33,880 --> 00:30:37,359
to listen for, and I start
from my seat softly, open the door

360
00:30:37,960 --> 00:30:44,440
and look out, but only the
knight stands there. Then I close to

361
00:30:44,759 --> 00:30:48,839
the latch, and she, the
living woman, asks me, in her

362
00:30:48,920 --> 00:30:52,799
purring voice, what sound I heard, hiding a smile, as she stoops

363
00:30:52,839 --> 00:30:59,000
low over her work. And I
answer lightly, and moving towards her,

364
00:30:59,400 --> 00:31:03,880
put my arms about her, feeling
her softness and her suppleness, and wondering

365
00:31:04,759 --> 00:31:10,799
supposing I held her close to me
with one arm, while pressing her from

366
00:31:10,880 --> 00:31:15,559
me with the other, how long
before I should hear the cracking of her

367
00:31:15,559 --> 00:31:22,720
bones? For here amid these savage
solitudes, I also am grown savage.

368
00:31:22,880 --> 00:31:27,759
The old primeval passions of love and
hate stir within me, and they are

369
00:31:27,880 --> 00:31:33,079
fierce and cruel and strong, beyond
what you men of the later ages could

370
00:31:33,160 --> 00:31:37,440
understand. The culture of the sentries
has fallen from me as a flimsy garment

371
00:31:37,680 --> 00:31:42,640
whirled away by the mountain wind.
The old savage instincts of the race I

372
00:31:42,799 --> 00:31:48,759
bear. One day I shall twine
my fingers about her full white throat,

373
00:31:49,119 --> 00:31:52,640
and her eyes will slowly come towards
me, and her lips will part,

374
00:31:52,839 --> 00:31:59,720
and the red tongue creep out and
backwards. Step by step, I shall

375
00:31:59,799 --> 00:32:04,319
put her before me, gazing the
while upon her bloodless face, and it

376
00:32:04,359 --> 00:32:08,720
will be my turn to smile backwards
through the open door, backwards, along

377
00:32:08,720 --> 00:32:14,519
the golden path between the juniper bushes, backwards till her heels are overhanging the

378
00:32:14,640 --> 00:32:19,079
ravine, and she grips life with
nothing but her little toes. I shall

379
00:32:19,119 --> 00:32:23,519
force her step by step before me. Then I shall lean forward, closer,

380
00:32:24,079 --> 00:32:30,440
closer, till I kiss her purpling
lips. And down down, down,

381
00:32:30,559 --> 00:32:32,759
past the startled sea birds, past
the white spray of the foss,

382
00:32:32,799 --> 00:32:37,079
past the downward peeping pines, Down, down, down, we will go

383
00:32:37,279 --> 00:32:44,359
together till we find the thing that
lies sleeping beneath the waters of the few.

384
00:32:44,279 --> 00:32:52,000
Ward with these words ended the last
letter unsigned. At the first streak

385
00:32:52,039 --> 00:32:57,039
of dawn, we left the house, and, after much wandering, found

386
00:32:57,039 --> 00:33:00,640
our way back to the valley.
But of our guide we heard no news,

387
00:33:01,119 --> 00:33:06,759
whether he remained still upon the mountain, or whether by some false step

388
00:33:07,039 --> 00:33:15,400
he had perished. Upon that night
we never learnt end of the woman of the satyr