The Grave

by Guy de Maupassant

　　

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The seventeenth of July, one thousand eight hundred and eighty-three, athalf-past two in the morning, the watchman in the cemetery of Besiers,who lived in a small cottage on the edge of this field of the dead, wasawakened by the barking of his dog, which was shut up in the kitchen.Going down quickly, he saw the animal sniffing at the crack of the doorand barking furiously, as if some tramp had been sneaking about thehouse. The keeper, Vincent, therefore took his gun and went out.His dog, preceding him, at once ran in the direction of the AvenueGeneral Bonnet, stopping short at the monument of Madame Tomoiseau.The keeper, advancing cautiously, soon saw a faint light on the side ofthe Avenue Malenvers, and stealing in among the graves, he came upon ahorrible act of profanation.A man had dug up the coffin of a young woman who had been buried theevening before and was dragging the corpse out of it.A small dark lantern, standing on a pile of earth, lighted up thishideous scene.Vincent sprang upon the wretch, threw him to the ground, bound his handsand took him to the police station.It was a young, wealthy and respected lawyer in town, named Courbataille.He was brought into court. The public prosecutor opened the case byreferring to the monstrous deeds of the Sergeant Bertrand.A wave of indignation swept over the courtroom. When the magistrate satdown the crowd assembled cried: "Death! death!" With difficulty thepresiding judge established silence.Then he said gravely:"Defendant, what have you to say in your defense?"Courbataille, who had refused counsel, rose. He was a handsome fellow,tall, brown, with a frank face, energetic manner and a fearless eye.Paying no attention to the whistlings in the room, he began to speak in avoice that was low and veiled at first, but that grew more firm as heproceeded."Monsieur le President, gentlemen of the jury: I have very little to say.The woman whose grave I violated was my sweetheart. I loved her."I loved her, not with a sensual love and not with mere tenderness ofheart and soul, but with an absolute, complete love, with an overpoweringpassion."Hear me:"When I met her for the first time I felt a strange sensation. It wasnot astonishment nor admiration, nor yet that which is called love atfirst sight, but a feeling of delicious well-being, as if I had beenplunged into a warm bath. Her gestures seduced me, her voice enchantedme, and it was with infinite pleasure that I looked upon her person.It seemed to me as if I had seen her before and as if I had known her along time. She had within her something of my spirit."She seemed to me like an answer to a cry uttered by my soul, to thatvague and unceasing cry with which we call upon Hope during our wholelife."When I knew her a little better, the mere thought of seeing her againfilled me with exquisite and profound uneasiness; the touch of her handin mine was more delightful to me than anything that I had imagined; hersmile filled me with a mad joy, with the desire to run, to dance, tofling myself upon the ground."So we became lovers."Yes, more than that: she was my very life. I looked for nothing furtheron earth, and had no further desires. I longed for nothing further."One evening, when we had gone on a somewhat long walk by the river, wewere overtaken by the rain, and she caught cold. It developed intopneumonia the next day, and a week later she was dead."During the hours of her suffering astonishment and consternationprevented my understanding and reflecting upon it, but when she was deadI was so overwhelmed by blank despair that I had no thoughts left.I wept."During all the horrible details of the interment my keen and wild griefwas like a madness, a kind of sensual, physical grief."Then when she was gone, when she was under the earth, my mind at oncefound itself again, and I passed through a series of moral sufferings soterrible that even the love she had vouchsafed to me was dear at thatprice."Then the fixed idea came to me: I shall not see her again."When one dwells on this thought for a whole day one feels as if he weregoing mad. Just think of it! There is a woman whom you adore, a uniquewoman, for in the whole universe there is not a second one like her.This woman has given herself to you and has created with you themysterious union that is called Love. Her eye seems to you more vastthan space, more charming than the world, that clear eye smiling with hertenderness. This woman loves you. When she speaks to you her voicefloods you with joy."And suddenly she disappears! Think of it! She disappears, not only foryou, but forever. She is dead. Do you understand what that means?Never, never, never, not anywhere will she exist any more. Nevermorewill that eye look upon anything again; nevermore will that voice, norany voice like it, utter a word in the same way as she uttered it."Nevermore will a face be born that is like hers. Never, never! Themolds of statues are kept; casts are kept by which one can make objectswith the same outlines and forms. But that one body and that one facewill never more be born again upon the earth. And yet millions andmillions of creatures will be born, and more than that, and this onewoman will not reappear among all the women of the future. Is itpossible? It drives one mad to think of it."She lived for twenty-years, not more, and she has disappeared forever,forever, forever! She thought, she smiled, she loved me. And nownothing! The flies that die in the autumn are as much as we are in thisworld. And now nothing! And I thought that her body, her fresh body, sowarm, so sweet, so white, so lovely, would rot down there in that boxunder the earth. And her soul, her thought, her love--where is it?"Not to see her again! The idea of this decomposing body, that I mightyet recognize, haunted me. I wanted to look at it once more."I went out with a spade, a lantern and a hammer; I jumped over thecemetery wall and I found the grave, which had not yet been closedentirely; I uncovered the coffin and took up a board. An abominableodor, the stench of putrefaction, greeted my nostrils. Oh, her bedperfumed with orris!"Yet I opened the coffin, and, holding my lighted lantern down into it Isaw her. Her face was blue, swollen, frightful. A black liquid hadoozed out of her mouth."She! That was she! Horror seized me. But I stretched out my arm todraw this monstrous face toward me. And then I was caught."All night I have retained the foul odor of this putrid body, the odor ofmy well beloved, as one retains the perfume of a woman after a loveembrace."Do with me what you will."A strange silence seemed to oppress the room. They seemed to be waitingfor something more. The jury retired to deliberate.When they came back a few minutes later the accused showed no fear anddid not even seem to think.The president announced with the usual formalities that his judgesdeclared him to be not guilty.He did not move and the room applauded.

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The Grave was featured as TheShort Story of the Day on Sun, Jan 01, 2012

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