Speaker 1: The Mad Woman by Guy de mot Poissint. I can
tell you a terrible story about the Franco Prussian War.
Monsieur d'andolin said to some friends assembled in the smoking
room of Baron de Ravau's chateau. You know my house
in the Faubourg de Comais. I was living there when
the Prussians came, and I had for a neighbor a
kind of mad woman who had lost her senses in
the consequence of a series of misfortunes. At the age
of seven and twenty. She had lost her father, her husband,
and her newly born child, all in the space of
a month. When death has once entered into a house,
it almost invariably returns immediately, as if it knew the way,
and the young woman, overwhelmed with grief, took to her
bed and was delirious for six weeks. Then a species
of calm lassitude succeeded that violent crisis, and she remained motionless,
eating next to nothing, and only moving her eyes. Every
time they tried to make her get up, she screamed
as if they were about to kill her, and so
they ended by leaving her continually in bed and only
taking her out to wash her, to change her linen,
or to turn her mattress. An old servant remained with her,
to give her something to drink or a little cold meat.
From time to time. What passed in that despairing mind
no one ever knew, for she did not speak at all.
Now was she thinking of the dead? Was she dreaming
sadly without any precise recollection of anything that had happened?
Or was her memory as stagnant as water without any current,
But however this may have been. For fifteen years she
remained thus inert and secluded. The war broke out, and
in the beginning of December the Germans came to Courmay.
I can remember it as if it were but yesterday
it was freezing, hard enough to split the stones, and
I myself was lying back in an armchair, being unable
to move on account of the gout, when I heard
their heavy and regular tread, and could see them pass
from my window. They defiled past interminably with that particular
motion of a puppet on wires which belongs to them.
Then the officers billeted their men on the inhabitants, and
I had seventeen of them. My neighbor, the crazy woman
had a dozen, one of whom was the commandant, a regular, violent,
surly swashbuckler. During the first few days everything went on
as usual. The officer's next door had been told that
the lady was ill, and they did not trouble themselves
about that in the least. But soon that woman, whom
they never saw, irritated them. They asked what her illness was,
and were told that she had been in bed for
fifteen years in consequence of terrible grief. No doubt, they
did not believe it, and thought that the poor mad
creature would not leave leave her bed out of pride,
so that she might not come near the Prussians or
speak to them, or even see them. The commandant insisted
upon her receiving him. He was shown into the room
and said to her roughly, I must beg you to
come up, madam, and come downstairs, so that we may
all see you. But she merely turned her vague eyes
on him without replying, And so he continued, I do
not intend to tolerate any insolence, and if you do
not get up of your own accord, I can easily
find means to make you walk without any assistance. But
she did not give any signs of having heard him,
and remained quite motionless. Then he got furious, taking that
calm silence for a mark of supreme contempt, so he added,
if you do not come downstairs tomorrow, and then he
left the room. The next day, the terrified old servant
wished to dress her, but the mad woman began to
scream violently and resisted with all her might. The officer
ran upstairs quickly, and the servant threw herself at his
feet and cried, she will not come down, monsieur. She
will not forgive her, for she is so unhappy. The
soldier was embarrassed, as in spite of his anger, he
did not venture to order his soldiers to drag her out.
But suddenly he began to laugh and gave some orders
in German, and soon a party of soldiers was seen
coming out, supporting a mattress, as if they were carrying
a wounded man on that bed which had been unmade.
The mad woman, who was still silent, was lying quite quietly,
for she was quite indifferent to anything that went on
as long as they let her lie behind her. A
soldier was carrying a parcel of feminine attire, and the
officer said, rubbing his hands, we will see whether you
cannot dress yourself alone and take a little walk. And
then the procession went off in the direction of the
forest of Mmauville. In two hours, the soldiers came back alone,
and nothing more was seen of the mad woman. What
had they done with her? Where had they taken her too?
No one knew. The snow was falling day and night
and enveloped the plain and the woods in a shroud
of frozen foam, and the wolves came and howled at
our very doors. The thought of that poor lost woman
haunted me, and I made several applications to the Prussian
authorities in order to obtain some information, and was nearly
shot for doing so. When spring returned, the army of
occupation withdrew, but my neighbour's house remained closed, and the
grass grew thick in the garden walks. The old servant
had died during the winter, and nobody troubled any longer
about the occurrence. I alone thought about it constantly. What
had they done with the woman? Had she escaped through
the forest, had somebody found her and taken her to
a hospital? Without being able to obtain any information, from her.
Nothing happened to relieve my doubts, but by degrees time
assuaged my fears well. In the following autumn, the woodcock
were very plentiful, and as my gout had left me
for a time, I dragged myself as far as the forest.
I had already killed four or five of the long
billed birds when I knocked over one, which fell into
a ditch full of branches, and I was obliged to
get into it in order to pick it up, and
I found that it had fallen close to a dead
human body. Immediately, the recollection of the mad woman struck
me like a blow in the chest. Many other people
had perhaps died in the wood during that disastrous year,
But though I do not know why, I was sure sure,
I tell you that I should see the head of
that wretched maniac. And suddenly I understood. I guessed everything.
They had abandoned her on that mattress in the cold,
deserted wood, and faithfully to her fixed idea, she had
allowed herself to perish under that thick and light counterpane
of snow without moving either arms or legs. Then the
wolves had devoured her, and the birds had built their
nests with the wool from her torn bed, and I
took charge of her bones. I only pray that our
funds may never see any wars again. And of the
mad woman m