Speaker 1: 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.