The Tomb
On the seventeenth of July, eighteen hundred and eighty-three, at half past two o’clock in the morning, the caretaker of Béziers cemetery, who lived in a little house at the end of the burying ground, was awakened by the yelping of his dog, which was locked in the kitchen.
He immediately went downstairs, and saw that the animal was scenting something under the door and barking furiously, as though some tramp had been prowling about the house. Vincent, the caretaker, took up his gun and went out cautiously.
His dog ran off in the direction of General Bonnet’s Avenue and stopped short in front of Madam Tomoiseau’s monument.
The caretaker, advancing cautiously, soon noticed a dim light in the direction of Malenvers Avenue. He slipped in amongst the tombstones and witnessed a most horrible deed of desecration.
A young man had disinterred the corpse of a young woman, buried the day before, and he was dragging it out of the grave.
A small dark lantern, placed on a pile of earth, lit up this hideous scene.
Vincent, the caretaker, pounced upon the criminal, felled him to the ground, bound his hands and took him to the police station.
He was a young, lawyer from the city, rich and well thought of. His name was Courbataille.
He was tried. The public prosecutor recalled the monstrous deeds, committed by Sergeant Bertrand, and aroused the audience.
The crowd was thrilled with indignation. As soon as the magistrate sat down the cry arose: “Put him to death! Put him to death!” The president had great difficulty in restoring silence.
Then he said, in a serious tone of voice: “Accused, what have you to say in your defence?”
Courbataille, who had refused counsel, arose. He was a handsome youth, large, dark, with an open countenance, strong features, and a fearless eye.
The crowd began to hiss.
He was not disconcerted, but commenced speaking with a slightly husky voice, a little low in the beginning, but gradually gaining in strength:
“Your Honour,
“Gentlemen of the jury,
“I have very little to say. The woman whose tomb I violated was my mistress. I loved her.
“I loved her, not with a sensual love, not simply from kindness of soul and heart, but with an absolute, perfect love, with mad passion.
“Listen to what I have to say:
“When I first met her, I felt a strange sensation on seeing her. It was not astonishment, nor admiration, for it was not what is called love at first sight, but it was a delightful sensation, as though I had been plunged in a tepid bath. Her movements captivated me, her voice enchanted me, it gave me infinite pleasure to watch everything about her. It also seemed to me that I had known her for a long time, that I had seen her before. She seemed to have some of my spirit within her.
“She seemed to me like an answer to an appeal from my soul, to this vague and continuous appeal which forces us toward Hope throughout the whole course of our lives.
“When I became a little better acquainted with her, the mere thought of seeing her again filled me with a deep and exquisite agitation; the touch of her hand in mine was such a joy to me that I had never imagined the like before; her smile made my eyes shine with joy, and made me feel like running about, dancing, rolling on the ground.
“Then she became my mistress.
“She was more than that to me, she was my life itself. I hoped for nothing more on earth, I wished for nothing more, I longed for nothing more.
“Well, one evening, as we were taking a rather long walk by the bank of the stream, we were caught by the rain. She felt cold.
“The next day she had inflammation of the lungs. Eight days later she died.
“During those dying hours, astonishment and fear prevented me from understanding or thinking.
“When she was dead, I was so stunned by brutal despair that I was unable to think. I wept.
“During all the horrible phases of interment my wild, excessive grief was the sorrow of a man beside himself, a sort of sensual physical grief.
“Then when she was gone, when she was under the ground, my mind suddenly became clear, and I passed through a train of mental suffering so terrible that even the love she had given me was dear at such a price.
“Then I was seized with an obsession.
“I shall never see her again.
“After reflecting on that for a whole day, it maddens you.
“Think of it! A being is there, one whom you adore, a unique being, for in the whole wide world there is no one who resembles her. This being has given herself to you, with you she creates this mysterious union called love. Her glance seems to you vaster than space, more charming than the world, her bright glance full of tender smiles. This being loves you. When she speaks to you her voice overwhelms you with happiness.
“And suddenly she disappears! Think of it! She disappears not only from your sight, but from everybody’s. She is dead. Do you understand what that word means? Never, never, never more, nowhere, will this being exist. Those eyes will never see again. Never will this voice, never will any voice like this, among human voices, pronounce one word in the same way that she pronounced it.
“There will never be another face born like hers. Never, never! The cast of statues is kept; the stamp that reproduces objects with the same outlines and the same colours is preserved. But this body and this face will never be seen again on this earth. And still there will be born thousands of beings, millions, thousands of millions, and even more, and among all these women there will never be found one like her. Can that be possible? It makes one mad to think of it!
“She lived twenty years, no more, and she has disappeared forever, forever, forever! She thought, she smiled, she loved me. Now there is nothing more. The flies which die in the autumn are of as much importance as we in creation. Nothing more! And I thought how her body, her fresh, warm body, so soft, so white, so beautiful, was rotting away in the depths of a box under the ground. And her soul, her mind, her love—where were they?
“Never to see her again! Never again! My mind was haunted by the thought of that decomposing body, which I, however, might still recognize!
“I set out with a shovel, a lantern and a hammer. I climbed over the cemetery wall. I found the hole where her grave was. It had not yet been entirely filled up. I uncovered the coffin, and raised one of the planks. An awful odour, the abominable breath of putrefaction, arose in my face. Oh, her bed, perfumed with iris!
“However, I opened the coffin and thrust in my lighted lantern, and saw her. Her face was blue, swollen, horrible! Black liquid had flowed from her mouth.
“She! It was she! I was seized with horror. But I put out my arm and caught her hair to pull this monstrous face towards me! It was at that moment I was arrested.
“All night I carried with me, as one retains the perfume of a woman after a sexual embrace, the filthy smell of this putrefaction, the odour of my beloved!
“Do what you like with me.”
A strange silence seemed to hang over the hall. People appeared to be awaiting something more. The jury withdrew to deliberate. When they returned after a few minutes, the accused did not seem to have any fears, nor even any thoughts. In the traditional formula the judge informed him that his peers had found him not guilty.
He did not make a movement, but the public applauded.