The owl's ear by Erkman Katrian. On the twenty ninth of July eighteen thirty
five, Kaspar Buck, a shepherd of the little village of Hirschveller, with
his large felt hat tipped back, his wallet of stringy sackcloth hanging at his
hip, and his great tawny dog at his heels, presented himself at about
nine o'clock in the evening at the house of the burgomaster Petros Maher, who
had just finished supper and was taking a little glass of Kirschwasser to facilitate digestion.
This burgomaster was a tall, thin man and wore a bushy gray mustache.
He had seen service in the armies of the Archduke Charles. He had
a jovial disposition and ruled the village, it is said, with his finger
and with a rod. Mister Burgomaster cried the shepherd in evident excitement. But
Petros Mahuer, without awaiting the end of his speech, frowned and said,
Kasparbuk, begin by taking off your hat, put your dog out of the
room, and then speak distinctly intelligibly, without stammering, so that I may
understand you. Hereupon the Burgomaster standing near the table Tranquility emptied his little glass
and wiped his great gray mustaches indifferently. Cusper put his dog out and came
back with his head off. Well, said Petrus, seeing that he was
silent. What has happened? It happens that the spirit has appeared again in
the ruins of Geyerstein. Ha I doubt it. You've seen it yourself,
very clearly, mister Burgomaster, without closing your eyes. Yes, mister Burgomaster,
my eyes were wide open. There was plenty of moonlight. What form
did it have? The form of a small man? Good? And turning
toward a glass door at the left, Carter cried the Burgomaster. An old
serving woman opened the door, Sir, I am going out for a walk
on the hillside. Sit up from me until ten o'clock. Here's the key,
yes, sir. Then the old soldier took down his gun from the
hook over the door, examined the priming, and slung it over his shoulder.
Then he addressed Cuspar, book, go and tell the rural guard to
meet me in the holy path and tell him behind the mill. Your spirit
must be some marauder, But David's a fox I'll make a fine hood of
it with long ear laps. Master Petros Mauer and humble Cusper then went out.
The weather was superb, the stars innumerable. While the shepherd went to
knock at the rural guard's door, the burgomaster plunged among the elder bushes in
a little lane that wound around behind the old church. Two minutes later,
Cusper and Hans Gerner Winger at his side. By running overtook Master Petrus in
the holy path. All three made their way together toward the ruins of Geyerstein.
These ruins, which are twenty minutes walk from the village, seem to
be insignificant enough. They consist of the ridges of a few decrepit walls from
four to six feet high, which extend among the briar bushes. Archeologists call
them the aqueducts of Serranus, the Roman camp of Holderloch, or vestiges of
Theodoric. According to their fantasy, the only thing about these ruins which could
be considered remarkable is a stairway to a cistern cut in the rock. Inside
of the spiral staircase. Instead of concentric circles which twist around with each complete
turn. The involutions become wider as they proceed, in such a way that
the bottom of the pit is three times as large as the opening. Is
it an arch tactial freak, or did some reasonable cause determine such an odd
construction? It matters little to us. The result was to cause in the
cistern that vague reverberation which any one may hear upon placing a shell at his
ear, and to make you aware of steps on the gravel path, murmurs
of the air, rustling of the leaves, and even distant words spoken by
people passing the foot of the hill. Our three personages then followed the pathway
between the vineyards and gardens of Hirschville. I see nothing, the Burgomaster would
say, turning up his nose derisively, Nor I either, the rural guard
would repeat, imitating the other's tone. It's down in the hole, muttered
the shepherd. We shall see, we shall see, returned the burgomaster.
It was in this fashion, after a quarter of an hour, that they
came upon the opening of the cistern. As I said, the night was
clear, limpid, and perfectly still. The moon portrayed as far as the
eye could reach one of those nocturnal landscapes in bluish lines, studded with slim
trees, the shadows of which seemed to have been drawn with a black crayon.
The blowing brier and broom perfumed the air with a rather sharp odor,
and the frogs of a neighboring swamp sang their oily anthem interspersed with silences.
But all these details escaped the notice of our good rustics. They thought of
nothing but laying hands on the spirit. When they had reached the stairway,
all three stopped and listened, then gazed into the dark shadows. Nothing appeared.
Nothing stirred the devil, said the Burgomaster. We forgot to bring a
bit of candle the scent Casper. You know the way better than I.
I'll follow you at this proposition. The shepherd recoiled promptly. If he had
consulted his inclinations, the poor man would have taken to flight. His pitiful
expression made the Burgomaster burst out laughing, How well, Hans, since he
doesn't want to go down, show me the way, he said to the
game warden. But mister Burgomaster said the latter. You know very well that
steps are missing. We should breaking our necks. Then what's to be done?
Yes, what's to be done? Send your dog, replied petrilas the
shepherd whistled to his dog, showed in the stairway urged him, but he
did not wish to take the chances any more than the others. At this
moment, a bright idea struck the rural guardsman. Ah mister burgomaster said he
if you should fire your gun inside, faith, cried the other. You're
right, we shall catch a glimpse at least, And without hesitating, the
worthy man approached the stairway and leveled his gun. But by the acoustic effect
which I have already pointed out, the spirit the marauder, the individual who
chanced to be actually in the cistern, had heard everything. The idea of
stopping a gunshot did not strike him as amusing, for in a shrill,
piercing voice, he cried, stop, don't fire, I'm coming. Then
the three functionaries looked at each other and laughed softly, and the burgomaster,
leaning over the opening again, cried, rudely, be quick about it,
you varlet or I'll shoot. Be quick about it. He cocked his gun,
and the click seemed to hasten the ascent to the mysterious person. They
heard him rolling down some stones. Nevertheless, it still took him another minute
before he appeared the cistern, being at a death of sixty feet. What
was this man doing in such deep darkness? He must be some great criminal,
so at least, thought Petrus Maure and his acolytes. At last a
vague form could be discerned in the dark. Then, slowly, by degrees,
a little man four and a half feet high at the most frail,
ragged, his face withered and yellow, his eye gleaming like a magpie's,
and his hair tangled, came out shouting, by what right do you come
to disturb my studies, wretched creatures? This grandiose apostrophe was scarcely in accord
with his co and physiognomy. Accordingly, the burgomaster indignantly replied, try to
show that your honest you knave, or I'll begin by administering our correction.
A correction, said the little man, leaping with anger and drawing himself up
under the nose of the burgomaster. Yes, replied the other, who nevertheless
did not fail to admire the pigmy's courage. If you do not answer the
questions satisfactorily, I am going to put to you I am the Burgomaster of
Hirshville. Here are the rural guard, the shepherd and his dog. We
are stronger than you. Be wise and tell me peaceably who you are,
what you are doing here, and why you do not dare to appear in
broad daylight. Then we shall see what's to be done with you. Oh
that's none of your business, replied the little man in his cracked voice.
I shall not answer in that case. Forward march, ordered the burgomaster,
who grasped him firmly by the nape of the neck. You are going to
sleep in present, the little man writhed, like a weasel. He even
tried to bite, and the dog was sniffing at the calves of his legs.
When quite exhausted, he said, not without a certain dignity, let
go, sir. I surrendered the superior force. I'm yours. The burgomaster,
who was not entirely lacking in good breeding, became calmer. Do you
promise, said he. I promise very well. Walk in front, And
that is how On the night of the twenty ninth of July eighteen thirty five,
the burgomaster took captive a little red haired man issuing from the cavern of
Geyerstein. Upon arriving at Hyershville, the rule guard ran to find the key
of the prison, and the vagabond was locked in and double locked, not
to forget the outside bowlden petlock. Every one then could repose after his fatigues,
and Petros Mahor went to bed and dreamt till midnight of this singular adventure.
On the morrow to, at nine o'clock, Hans Gerner, the rural
guard, having been ordered to bring the prisoner to the town house for another
examination, repaired to the cooler with four husky dar devils. They opened the
door, all of them curious to look upon the will of the wisp.
But imagine their astonishment upon seeing him hanging from the bars to the window by
his neck tie. Some say that he was still writhing, others that he
was already stiff, however that may be. They ran to Petrous Mauer's house
to inform him of the fact. And what is certain is that upon the
letter's arrival, the little man had breathed his last. The Justice of the
peace and the doctor of Heirschville drew up a formal statement of the catastrophe.
Then they buried the Unknown in a field of meadow grass, and it was
all over. Now. About three weeks after these occurrences, I went to
see my cousin Petrus Mauer, whose nearest relative I was, and consequently his
heir. This circumstance sustained an acquaintance between us. We were at dinner,
talking on indifferent matters, when the burgomaster recounted the foregoing little story. As
I've just reported it tis strange, cousin said, I, truly strange.
And you have no other information concerning the Unknown, none, And you have
found nothing which could give you a clue as to his purpose, Absolutely nothing
Christian. But as a matter of fact, what could he have been doing
in the cistern? On? What did he live? The burgomaster shrugged his
shoulders, refilled our glasses, and replied, with to your health, cousin,
to yours. We remained silent a few minutes. It was impossible for
me to accept the abrupt conclusion of the adventure, and in spite of myself,
I mused with some melancholy on the sad fate of certain men who appear
and disappear in this world like the grass of the field, without leaving the
least memory or the least regret. Cousin, I resumed, how far may
it be from here to the ruins of Geyerstein? Twenty minutes walk at the
most? Why? Because I should like to see them. You know that
we have a meeting of the municipal council, and that I can't accompany you.
Oh, I can find them by myself. No, the rural guard
will show you the way. He is nothing better to do. And my
worthy cousin, having wrapped on his glass, called his servant Cartel, go
and find Hans Gerner. Let him hurry and get here. By two o'clock
I must be going. The servant went out, and the rural guard was
not tardy in coming. He was directed to take me to the ruins,
while the burgomaster proceeded gravely towards the hall of the municipal Council. We were
already climbing the hill. Hans Gerner, with a wave of the hand,
indicated the remains of the aqueduct. At the same moment, the rocky ribs
of the plateau, the blue distances of Hunsruck the sad crumbling walls covered with
somber ivy, the tolling of the Hirschwiller bell summoning the notables to the council,
the rural guardsmen panting and catching at the brambles, assumed in my eyes
a sad and severe tinge for which I could not account. It was the
story of the hanged man which took the color out of the prospect. The
cistern staircase struck me as being exceedingly curious, with its elegant spiral, the
bushes bristling in the fissures at every step, the deserted aspect of its surroundings,
all harmonized with my sadness. We descended, and soon the luminous point
of the opening, which seemed to contract more and more and to take the
shape of a star with curved rays, alone senterus its pale light. When
we attained the very bottom of the cistern, we found a superb sight was
to be had of all those steps, lighted from above and cutting off their
shadows with marvelous precision. I then heard the hum of which I have already
seen spoken. The immense granite conch had as many echoes as stones. Has
nobody been down here since the little man, I asked the rural guardsman.
No, sir, the peasants I are afraid. They imagine that the hanged
man will return, can't you ai Ah, I'm not curious, but the
justice of the peace his duty was to ha What could he have come to
the owl's ear? For they call this the owl's ear. Yes, that's
pretty near it, said I, raising my eyes. This reversed vault forms
the pavilion well enough. The under side of the steps makes the covering of
the tympanum, and the winding of the staircase, the cocklear, the labyrinth,
and the vestibule of the ear. That is the cause of the murmur
which we hear. We are at the back of a colossal ear. It's
very likely, said Hans Goerner, who did not seem to have understood my
observations. We started up again, and I had a sended the first steps
when I felt something crush under my foot. I stopped to see what it
could be, and at that moment perceived a wide object before me. It
was a torn sheet of paper. As for the hard object which I had
felt grinding up, I recognized it as a sort of glazed earthenware. Jug
ah ha, I said to myself, this may clear up the Burgomas's story.
I rejoined Hans Gerner, who was now waiting for me at the edge
of the pit. Now, Sir cried he, where would you like to
go? First, Let's sit down for a while. We shall see.
Presently I sat down on a large stone, while the rural guard cast its
falcon eyes over the village to see if there chanced to be any trespassers in
the gardens. I carefully examined the glazed vase, of which nothing but splinters
remained. These fragments presented the appearance of a funnel lined with wool. It
was impossible for me to perceive its purpose. I then read the piece of
a letter written in an easy running and firm hand. I transcribe it here
below word for word. It seems to follow the other half of the sheet
for which I looked vainly all about the ruins. My microcoustic ear trumpet thus
has the double advantage of infinitely multiplying the intensity of sounds, and of introducing
them into the air without causing the observer the least discomfort. You would never
have imagined, Dear Master, the charm which one feels in perceiving these thousands
of imperceptible sounds, which are confounded on a fine summer day in an immense
murmuring. The bumble bee has his song as well as the nightingale. The
honey bee is the warbler of the mosses, The cricket is the lark of
the tall grass. The maggot is the wren. It is only a sigh,
but the sigh is melodious. This discovery, from the point of view
of sentiment, which makes us live in a universal life, surpasses in its
importance all that I could say on the matter. After so much suffering,
privations and weariness, How happy it makes one to reap the rewards of all
its labors, how the sole source towards the divine author of all these microscopic
worlds, the magnificence of which is revealed to us. Where now are the
long hours of anguish, hunger, contempt which overwhelmed us before? Gone,
Sir, Gone, tears of gratitude moisten our eyes. One is proud to
have achieved through suffering, new joys for humanity, and to have contributed to
its mental development. But how soever vast, howsoever admirable, may be he
the first fruits of my microcustic ear trumpet, these do not delimit its advantages.
There are more positive ones, more material and ones which may be expressed
in figures. Just as the telescope brought the discovery of myriads of worlds performing
their harmonious revolutions in infinite space, so also will my microcosmick ear trumpet extend
the sense of the unbearable beyond all possible bounds. Thus, Sir, the
circulation of the blood and the fluids of the body will not give me pause.
You shall hear them flow with the impetuosity of cataracts, shall perceive them
so distinctly as to startle you. The slightest irregularity of the pulse. The
least obstacle is striking and produces the same effect as a rock against which the
waves of a torrent are dashing. It is doubtless an immense conquest in the
development of our knowledge of physiology and pathology. But this is not the point
on which I would emphasize. Upon applying your ear to the ground, sir,
you may hear the mineral waters springing up at immeasurable deaths. You may
judge of their volume, their currents, and the obstacles which they meet.
Do you wish to go further enter a subterranean vault which is so constructed as
to gather a quantity of loud sounds. Then at night, when the world
sleeps, when nothing will be confused with the interior noises of our globe.
Listen, sir, all, that it is possible for me to tell you
at the present moment, For in the midst of my profound misery, of
my privations, and often of my despair, I am left only a few
lucid instants to pursue my geological observations. All that I can affirm is that
the seething of glow worms, the explosions of boiling fluids, is something terrifying
and sublime, which can only be compared to the impression of the astronomer whose
glass fathom's deaths of limitless extent. Nevertheless, I must avow that these impressions
should be studied further and classified in a methodical manner, in order that definite
conclusions may be derived. Therefrom Likewise, as soon as you shall have deainned,
dear and noble Master, to transmit the little sum for use at noistud,
as I asked to supply my first needs. We shall see our way
to an understanding in regard to the establishment of three great subterranean observatories, one
in the valley of Catania, another in Iceland, then a third in kabak
Un Songai or kayembe Uren, the deepest of the cordilleries. And consequently here
the letter stopped. I let my hands fall into perfection. Had I read
the conceptions of an idiot or the inspirations of a genius which had been realized?
What am I to say to think? So this man, this miserable
creature, living at the bottom of a barrow like a fox dying of hunger,
had had perhaps one of those inspirations which the Supreme Being sends on earth
to enlighten future generations. And this man had hanged himself in disgust despair.
No one had answered his prayer, though he asked only for a crust of
bread in exchange for discovery. It was horrible, long long I sat there,
dreaming, thanking Heaven for having limited my intelligence to the needs of ordinary
life, for not having desired to make me a superior man in the community
of martyrs. At length, the rural guardsman, seeing me with fixed gaze
and mouth agape, made so bold as to touch me on the shoulder.
Mister Christian said, he see it's getting late. The burgomaster must have come
back from the council. Ah, that's a fact, cried I, crumpling
up the paper. Come on we descended the hill. My worthy cousin met
me with a smiling face at the threshold of his house. Well, well,
Christian, so you've found no trace of the imbecile who hanged himself.
No I thought as much. He was some lunatic who escaped from Stephensfeld or
somewhere. Faith he did well to hang himself. When one is good for
nothing, that's the simplest way for it. The following day I left Hirschveller.
I shall never return.