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Embracing
ROMANCE. TRAVEL.COMEDY SfVERSE .
For the first time Complete in
Englisli.
With a Critical Preface by
PAUL BOURGET
of the French Academy
and an Introduction by
Robert Amot.M.A.
ILLUSTRATED FROM ORIGINAL DRAWINGS
BY EMINENT
FRENCH AND AMERICAN ARTISTS
m
THE ST.DUnSTAK SOCIFTY.
Akron. Ohio.
'^
/
"/f^./.f^riyAimA^y-y. H.''(1W/^ri^,,7/»f.
AFTER THE ORIGINAL DRAWING BY JHANNIOT
M. u ill) HIS Hred uitfiout seeing -what he wa^ doing/'
SHORT STORIES
OF THE TRAGEDY AND
COMEDY OF LIFE
By
GUY DE MAUPASSANT
VOL. V.
SAINT DUNSTAN SOCIETY
Akron, Ohio
Copyright, 1903, by
M. WALTER DUNNE
Entered at Stationers' Hall. London
^ . /A
. . V JK
I
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
lo
1 1
12
'3
14
'5
i6
17
i8
19
20
f6?
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A^E
17
TABLE OF CONTENTS*
PAGB
A DUEL I
THE LOVE OF LONG AGO 9
THE farmer's wife 1 5
BESIDE A DEAD MAN 25
A QUEER NIGHT IN PARIS 3 1
THE PEDDLER 45
THE UMBRELLA 56
THE QUESTION OF LATIN 68
MOTHER AND SON 8 1
HE? 89
A tailor's DAUGHTER 99
THE AVENGER II 7
THE CONSERVATORY 1 25
LETTER FOUND ON A CORPSE 1 33
THE LITTLE CASK I4I
POOR ANDREW 1 50
A FISHING EXCURSION 1 58
A WARNING NOTE 1 65
AFTER 175
THE SPASM 183
* At the close of the last Volume will be found a complete list of
the French Titles of De Maupassant's writings, with theii English
equivalents.
(ix)
X TABLE OF CONTENTS
PACB
21. A MEETING I92
22. A NEW year's GIFT 204
23. MY UNCLE SOSTHENES 2I3
24. ALL OVER 223
25. MY LANDLADY 232
2(). THE HORRIBLE 239
27. THE FIRST SNOWFALL 248
28. BOITELLE 260
29. THE ACCURSED BREAD 273
30. MY TWENTY-FIVE DAYS 280
31. A LUCKY BURGLAR 29I
J2. AN ODD FEAST 296
■>,}. SYMPATHY 302
34. JULOT'S OPINION 307
ILLUSTRATIONS
M. DUBUIS FIRED WITHOUT SEEING WHAT HE WAS
doing" Frontispiece
A DUEL
^HE war was over. The Germans
occupied France. The country
was panting like a wrestler lying
under the knee of his successful op-
ponent.
The first trains from Paris, after the
city's long agony of famine and despair,
were making their way to the new fron-
tiers, slowly passing through the country
districts and the villages. The passengers
gazed through the windows at the ravaged
fields and burned hamlets. Prussian soldiers,
in their black helmets with brass spikes, were
smoking their pipes on horseback or sitting on
chairs in front of the houses which were still left
standing. Others were working or talking just as if
they were members of the families. As you passed
through the different towns, you saw entire regiments
drilling in the squares, and, in spite of the rumble of
the carriage-wheels, you could, every moment, hear
the hoarse words of command.
M. Dubuis, who during the entire siege had served
as one of the National Guard in Paris, was going to
« G. de M,— I ( I )
2 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
join his wife and daughter, whom he had prudently
sent away to Switzerland before the invasion.
Famine and hardship had not diminished the big
paunch so characteristic of the rich, peace-loving
merchant. He had gone through the terrible events
of the past year with sorrowful resignation and bitter
complaints at the savagery of men. Now that he
was journeying to the frontier at the close of the
war, he saw the Prussians for the first time, although
he had done his duty at the ramparts, and staunchly
mounted guard on cold nights.
He stared with mingled fear and anger at those
bearded armed men installed all over French soil as if
in their own homes, and he felt in his soul a kind of
fever of impotent patriotism even while he yielded to
that other instinct of discretion and self-preservation
which never leaves us. In the same compartment,
two Englishmen, who had come to the country as
sight-seers, were gazing around with looks of stolid
curiosity. They were both stout also, and kept chat-
ting in their own language, sometimes referring to
their guidebook, and reading in loud tones the names
of the places indicated.
Suddenly, the train stopped at a little village sta-
tion, and a Prussian officer jumped up with a great
clatter of his saber on the double footboard of the
railway-carriage. He was tall, wore a tight-fitting
uniform, and his face had a very shaggy aspect. His
red hair seemed to be on fire and his long mustache
and beard, of a paler color, was stuck out on both
sides of his face, which it seemed to cut in two.
The Englishmen at once began staring at him
with smiles of newly-awakened interest, while M.
A DUEL 5
Dubuis made a show of reading a newspaper. He
sat crouched in a corner, like a thief in the presence
of a gendarme.
The train started again. The Englishmen went
on chatting, and looking out for the exact scene of
different battles; and, all of a sudden, as one
of them stretched out his arm toward the horizon
to indicate a village, the Prussian officer remarked
in French, extending his long legs and lolling back-
ward:
"We killed a dozen Frenchmen in that village,
and took more than a hundred prisoners."
The Englishmen, quite interested, immediately
asked:
"Ha! and what is the name of this village?"
The Prussian replied:
" Pharsbourg."
He added: "We caught these French blackguards
by the ears."
And he glanced toward M. Dubuis, laughing into
his mustache in an insulting fashion.
The train rolled on, always passing through ham-
lets occupied by the victorious army. German soldiers
could be seen along the roads, on the edges of fields,
standing in front of gates, or chatting outside cafes.
They covered the soil like African locusts.
The officer said, with a wave of his hand:
"If I were in command, I'd take Paris, burn
everything, and kill everybody. No more France!"
The Englishmen, through politeness, replied
simply:
"Ah! yes."
He went on:
4 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
"In twenty years, all Europe, all of it, will belong
to us. Prussia is more than a match for all of them."
The Englishmen, getting uneasy, said nothing in
answer to this. Their faces, which had become im-
passive, seemed made of wax behind their long
whiskers. Then the Prussian officer began to laugh.
And then, lolling back, he began to sneer. He sneered
at the downfall of France, insulted the prostrate
enemy; he sneered at Austria which had been recently
conquered; he sneered at the furious but fruitless de-
fense of the departments; he sneered at the Garde
Mobile and at the useless artillery. He announced
that Bismarck was going to build a city of iron with
the captured cannons. And suddenly he pushed his
boots against the thigh of M. Dubuis, who turned his
eyes away, reddening to the roots of his hair.
The Englishmen seemed to have assumed an air
of complete indifference, as if they had found them-
selves all at once shut up in their own island, far
from the din of the world.
The officer took out his pipe, and, looking fixedly
at the Frenchman, said:
"You haven't got any tobacco — have you.?"
M. Dubuis replied:
"No, Monsieur."
The German said:
"You might go and buy some for me when the
train stops next."
And he began laughing afresh, as he added:
"I'll let you have the price of a drink."
The train whistled and slackened its pace. They
had reached a station which had been burned down
and here there was a regular stop.
A DUEL 5
The German opened the carriage door, and, catch-
ing M. Dubuis by the arm, said:
"Go, and do what I told you — quick, quick!"
A Prussian detachment occupied the station. Other
soldiers were looking on from behind wooden grat-
ings. The engine was already getting up steam in
order to start off again. Then M. Dubuis hurriedly
jumped on the platform, and, in spite of the warn-
ings of the station-master, dashed into the adjoining
compartment.
« :): :fc « 4c « «
He was alone! He tore open his waistcoat, so
rapidly did his heart beat, and, panting for breath, he
wiped the perspiration off his forehead.
The train drew up at another station. And sud-
denly the officer appeared at the carriage door, and
jumped in, followed close behind by the two English-
men, who were impelled by curiosity. The German
sat facing the Frenchman, and, laughing still, said:
"You did not want to do what I asked you."
M. Dubuis replied: "No, Monsieur."
The train had just left the station, Vv'hen the officer
said:
"I'll cut off your mustache to fill my pipe with."
And he put out his hand toward the Frenchman's face.
The Englishmen kept staring in the same impas-
sive fashion with fixed glances. Already the German
had caught hold of the mustache and was tugging at
it, when M. Dubuis, with a back-stroke of his hand
threw back the officer's arm, and, seizing him by the
collar, flung him down on the seat. Then, excited
to a pitch of fury, with his temples swollen and his
eyes glaring, he kept throttling the officer with one
6 WORKS OF GUY DH MAUPASSA'N''r
hand while with the other clenched, he began to
strike him violent blows in the face. The Prussian
struggled, tried to draw his saber, and to get a grip,
while lying back, of his adversary. But M. Dubuis
crushed him with the enormous weight of his
stomach, and kept hitting him without taking breath
or knowing where his blows fell. Blood flowed
down the face of the German, who, choking and
with a rattling in his throat, spat forth his broken
teeth, and vainly strove to shake off this infuriated
man who was killing him.
The Englishmen had got on their feet and came
closer in order to see better. They remained stand-
ing, full of mirth and curiosity, ready to bet for or
against each of the combatants.
And suddenly M. Dubuis, exhausted by his violent
efforts, went and resumed his seat without uttering a
word.
The Prussian did not attack him, for the savage
assault had scared and terrified the officer. When he
was able to breathe freely, he said:
"Unless you give me satisfaction with pistols, I
will kill you."
M. Dubuis replied:
"Whenever you like. I'm quite ready."
The German said:
" Here is the town of Strasbourg. I'll get two offi-
cers to be my seconds, and there will be time before
the train leaves the station."
M. Dubuis, who was puffing as much as the en-
gine, said to the Englishmen:
"Will you be my seconds.?" They both answered
together:
A DUEL 7
"Oh! yes."
And the train stopped.
In a minute, the Prussian had found two com-
rades who carried pistols, and they made their way
toward the ramparts.
The Enghshmen were continually looking at their
watches, shuffling their feet, and hurrying on with the
preparations, uneasy lest they should be too late for
the train.
M. Dubuis had never fired a pistol in his life.
They made him stand twenty paces away from his
enemy. He was asked:
"Are you ready.?"
While he was answering "Yes, Monsieur," he
noticed that one of the Englishmen had opened his
umbrella in order to keep off the rays of the sun.
A voice gave the word of command.
"Fire!"
M. Dubuis fired at random without minding what
he was doing, and he was amazed to see the Prus-
sian staggering in front of him, lifting up his arms,
and immediately afterward, falling straight on his face.
He had killed the officer.
One of the Englishmen ejaculated " Ah! " quiver-
ing with delight, satisfied curiosity, and joyous im-
patience. The other who still kept his watch in his
hand, seized ?vl. Dubuis's arm, and hurried him in
double-quick time toward the station, his fellow-
countryman counting their steps, with his arms
pressed close to his sides: "One! two! one! two!"
And all three marching abreast they rapidly made
their way to the station like three grotesque figures
in a comic newspaper.
8 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
The train was on the point of starting. They
sprang into their carriage. Then the EngHshmen,
taking off their travehng-caps, waved them three
times over their heads, exclaiming:
"Hip! hip! hip! hurrah !"
Then gravely, one after the other, they stretched
out their right hands to M. Dubuis, and then went
back and sat in their own corner.
THE LOVE OF LONG AGO
HE old-fashioned chateau was built
on a wooded height. Tall trees
surrounded it with dark green-
ery; and the vast park extended its
vistas here over a deep forest and
there over an open plain. Some little
Jr* distance from the front of the mansion
"^^ ' stood a huge stone basin in which marble
nymphs were bathing. Other basins ar-
ranged in order succeeded each other down
as far as the foot of the slope, and a hidden
fountain sent cascades dancing from one to
the other.
From the manor-house, which preserved the
grace of a superannuated coquette, down to the grottos
incrusted with shellwork, where slumbered the loves
of a bygone age, everything in this antique demesne
had retained the physiognomy of former days. Every-
thing seemed to speak still of ancient customs, of the
manners of long ago, of faded gallantries, and of the
elegant trivialities so dear to our grandmothers.
In a parlor in the style of Louis XV., the walls
of which were covered with shepherds courting
(9)
JO WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
shepherdesses, beautiful ladies in hoop petticoats, and
gallant gentlemen in wigs, a very old woman, who
seemed dead as soon as she ceased to move, was al-
most lying down in a large easy-chair while her thin,
mummy-like hands hung down, one at each side of
her.
Her eyes were gazing languidly toward the distant
horizon as if they sought to follow through the park
visions of her youth. Through the open window
every now and then came a breath of air laden with
the scent of grass and the perfume of flowers. It
made her white locks flutter around her wrinkled
forehead and old memories sweep through her brain.
Beside her on a tapestried stool, a young girl, with
long, fair hair hanging in plaits over her neck, was
embroidering an altar-cloth. There was a pensive
expression in her eyes, and it was easy to see that,
while her agile fingers worked, her brain was busy
with thoughts.
But the old lady suddenly turned round her head.
"Berthe," she said, "read something out of the
newspapers for me, so that I may still know some-
times what is happening in the world."
The young girl took up a newspaper, and cast a
rapid glance over it.
"There is a great deal about politics, grand-
mamma; am I to pass it by?"
"Yes, yes, darling. Are there no accounts of
love affairs ? Is gallantry, then, dead in France that
they no longer talk about abductions or adventures as
they did formerly?"
The girl made a long search through the columns
of the newspaper.
YHE LOVE OF LONG AGb 1 1
•'Here is one," she said. "It fs 'entitled, 'A
Love-Drama. ' "
Tile old woman smiled through her wrinl<:les.
"Read that for me," she said.
And Berthe commenced. It was a case of vitriol-
throwing. A wife, in order to avenge herself on her
husband's mistress, had burned her face and eyes.
She had left the Assize-Court acquitted, declared to
be innocent, amid the applause of the crowd.
The grandmother moved about excitedly in her
chair, and exclaimed:
"This is horrible — why, it is perfectly horrible!
See whether you can find anything else to read for
me, darling."
Berthe again made a search; and further down in
the reports of criminal cases at which her attention
was still directed. She read:
"'Gloomy Drama. — A shopgirl, no longer young, allowed herself
to yield to the embraces of a young man. Then, to avenge herself on
her lover, whose heart proved fickle, she shot him with a revolver.
The unhappy man is maimed for life. The jury consisted of men of
moral character, and took the part of the murderess — regarding her as
the victim of illicit love. They honorably acquitted her.'"
This time, the old grandmother appeared quite
shocked, and, in a trembling voice, said:
"Why, you are mad, then, nowadays. You are
mad! The good God has given you love, the only
allurement in life. Man has added to this gallantry,
the only distraction of our dull hours, and here are
you mixing up with it vitriol and revolvers, as if one
were to put mud into a flagon of Spanish wine."
Berthe did not seem to understand her grand-
mother's indignation.
12 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
"But, grandmamma, this woman avenged herself.
Remember, she was married, and her husband de-
ceived her."
The grandmother gave a start.
"What ideas have they been putting into the heads
of you young girls of to-day?"
Berthe replied:
"But marriage is sacred, grandmamma."
The grandmother's heart, which had its birth in
the great age of gallantry, gave a sudden leap.
"It is love that is sacred," she said. "Listen,
child, to an old woman who has seen three genera-
tions and who has had a long, long experience of
men and women. Marriage and love have nothing
in common. We marry to found a family, and we
form families in order to constitute society. Society
cannot dispense with marriage. If society is a chain,
each family is a link in that chain. In order to weld
those links, we always seek for metals of the same
kind. When we marry, we must bring together suit-
able conditions; we must combine fortunes, unite
similar races, and aim at the common interests, which
are riches and children. We marry only once, my child,
because the world requires us' to do so, but we may
love twenty times in one lifetime because nature has
made us able to do this. Marriage, you see, is law,
and love is an instinct, which impels us sometimes
along a straight and sometimes along a crooked path.
The world has made laws to combat our instincts —
it was necessary to make them; but our instincts are
always stronger, and we ought not to resist them too
much, because they come from God, while the laws
only come from men. If we did not perfume life
THE LOVE OF LONG AGO
13
with love, as much love as possible, darling, as we
put sugar into drugs for children, nobody would care
to take it just as it is."
Berthe opened her eyes widely in astonishment.
She murmured:
"Oh! grandmamma, we can only love once."
The grandmother raised her trembling hands toward
Heaven, as if again to invoke the defunct god of gal-
lantries. She exclaimed indignantly:
"You have become a race of serfs, a race of com-
mon people. Since the Revolution, it is impossible
any longer to recognize society. You have attached
big words to every action, and wearisome duties to
every corner of existence; you believe in equality and
eternal passion. People have written verses telling
you that people have died of love. In my time,
verses were written to teach men to love every
woman. And we! — when we liked a gentleman, my
child, we sent him a page. And when a fresh caprice
came into our hearts, we were not slow in getting
rid of the last lover — unless we kept both of them."
The old woman smiled with a keen smile, and a
gleam of roguery twinkled in her gray eye, the
sprightly, sceptical roguery of those people who did
not believe that they were made of the same clay as
the others, and who lived as rulers for whom com-
mon restrictions were not made.
The young girl, turning very pale, faltered out:
"So, then, women have no honor."
The grandmother ceased to smile. If she had kept
in her soul some of Voltaire's irony, she had also a
little of Rousseau's glowing philosophy: "No honor!
because we loved, and dared to say so, and even
14 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
boasted of it ? But, my child, if one of us, among
the greatest ladies in France, were to live without a
lover, she would have the entire court laughing at
her. Those who wished to live differently had only
to enter a convent. And you imagine perhaps that
your husbands will love you alone all their lives. As
if, indeed, this could be the case. I tell you that
marriage is a thing necessary in order that society
should exist, but it is not in the nature of our race,
do you understand? There is only one good thing
in life, and that is love. And hov/ you misunder-
stand it! how you spoil it! You treat it as some-
thing solemn, like a sacrament, or something to be
bought, like a dress."
The young girl caught the old woman's trembling
hands in her own.
"Hold your tongue, 1 beg of you, grandmamma!"
And, on her knees, with tears in her eyes, she
prayed to Heaven to bestow on her a great passion,
one eternal passion alone, in accordance with the
dream of modern poets, while the grandmother, kiss-
ing her on the forehead, still penetrated by that
charming, healthy logic by which the philosophers of
gallantry sprinkled salt upon the life of the eighteenth
century, murmured:
"Take care, my poor darling! If you believe in
such follies as this, you will be very unhappy."
THE FARMER'S WIFE
o
NE day Baron Rene du Treilles
said to me:
"Will you come and open
the hunting season with me in
my farmhouse at Marinville ? By
doing so, my dear fellow, you will
give me the greatest pleasure. Be-
sides, I am all alone. This will be
a hard hunting-bout, to start with, and
le house where 1 sleep is so primi-
tive that I can only bring my most inti-
mate friends there."
K\(^- I accepted his invitation. So on Satur-
^^ day we started by the railway-line running
into Normandy, and alighted at the station of Alvi-
mare. Baron Rene, pointing out to me a country
jaunting-car drawn by a restive horse, driven by a big
peasant with white hair, said to me:
"Here is our equipage, my dear boy."
The man extended his hand to his landlord, and
the Baron pressed it warmly, asking:
"Well, Maitre Lebrument, how are you?"
(«5)
iS WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
"Always the same, M'sieu 1' Baron."
We jumped into this hencoop suspended and
shaken on two immense wheels. The young horse,
after a violent swerve, started into a gallop, flinging
us into the air like balls. Every fall backward on to
the wooden bench gave me the most dreadful pain.
The peasant kept repeating in his calm, monoto-
nous voice:
"There, there! it's all right, all right, Moutard, all
right!"
But Moutard scarcely heard and kept scampering
along like a goat.
Our two dogs, behind us, in the empty part of
the hencoop, stood erect and sniffed the air of the
plains as if they could smell the game.
The Baron gazed into the distance, with a sad eye.
The vast Norman landscape, undulating and melan-
choly as an immense English park, with farmyards
surrounded by two or four rows of trees and full of
dwarfed apple-trees which rendered the houses invisi-
ble, gave a vista, as far as the eye could see, of old
forest-trees, tufts of wood and hedgerows, which
artistic gardeners provide for when they are tracing
the lines of princely estates.
And Rene de Treilles suddenly exclaimed:
"I love this soil; I have my very roots in it."
A pure Norman, tall and strong, with the more or
less projecting paunch of the old race of adventurers
who went to found kingdoms on the shores of every
ocean, he was about fifty years of age, ten years less
perhaps than the farmer who was driving us. The
latter was a lean peasant, all skin and bone, one of
those men who live a hundred years.
THE FARMER'S WIFE
17
After two hours' traveling over stony roads, across
that green and monotonous plain, the vehicle entered
one of those fruit-gardens which adorn the fronts of
farmhouses, and drew up before an old structure fall-
ing into decay, where an old maid-servant stood
waiting at the side of a young fellow who seized the
horse's bridle.
We entered the farmhouse. The smoky kitchen
was high and spacious. The copper utensils and the
earthenware glistened under the reflection of the big
fire. A cat lay asleep under the table. Within, you
inhaled the odor of milk, of apples, of smoke, that
indescribable smell peculiar to old houses where peas-
ants have lived — the odor of the soil, of the walls, of
furniture, of stale soup, of washing, and of the old
inhabitants, the smell of animals and human beings
intermingled, of things and of persons, the odor of
time and of things that have passed away.
I went out to have a look at the farmyard. It was
big, full of old apple-trees dwarfed and crooked, and
laden with fruit which fell on the grass around them.
In this farmyard the smell of apples was as strong as
that of the orange-trees which blossom on the banks
of southern rivers.
Four rows of beeches surrounded this inclosure.
They were so tall that they seemed to touch the
clouds, at this hour of nightfall, and their summits,
through which the night winds passed, shook and
sang a sad, interminable song.
I re-entered the house. The Baron was warming
his feet at the fire, and was listening to the farmer's
talk about country matters. He talked about mar-
riages, births, and deaths, then about the fall in the
J G. de M. — a
l8 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
price of corn and the latest news about the selling
value of cattle. The "Veularde" (as he called a cow
that had been bought at the fair of Veules) had calved
in the middle of June. The cider had not been first-
class last year. The apricot-apples were almost dis-
appearing from the country.
Then we had dinner. It was a good rustic meal,
simple and abundant, long and tranquil. And while
we were dining, 1 noticed the special kind of friendly
familiarity between the Baron and the peasant which
had struck me from the start.
Without, the beeches continued sobbing in the
nightwind, and our two dogs, shut up in a shed,
were whining and howling in uncanny fashion. The
fire was dying out in the big grate. The maid-
servant had gone to bed. Maitre Lebrument said in
his turn:
"If you don't mind, M'sieu 1' Baron, I'm going
to bed. I am not used to staying up late."
The Baron extended his hand toward him and
said: "Go, my friend," in so cordial a tone that I
said, as soon as the man had disappeared:
"He is devoted to you, this farmer?"
"Better than that, my dear fellow! It is a drama,
an old drama, simple and very sad, that attaches him
to me. Here is the story:
"You know that my father was a colonel in a
cavalry regiment. His orderly was this young fellow,
now an old man, the son of a farmer. Then, when
my father retired from the army, he took this retired
soldier, then about forty, as his servant. I was at
that time about thirty. We lived then in our old
chateau of Valrenne, near Caudebec-in-Caux.
THE FARMER'S WIFE
19
"At this period, my mother's chambermaid was
one of the prettiest girls you could see, fair-haired,
slender, and sprightly in manner, a genuine specimen
of the fascinating Abigail, such as we scarcely ever
find nowadays. To-day these creatures spring fsijp
into hussies before their time. Paris, with the aid
of the railways, attracts them, calls them, takes hold
of them, as soon as they are bursting into woman-
hood — these little wenches who, in old times, re-
mained simple maid-servants. Every man passing by,
as long ago recruiting sergeants did with conscripts,
entices and debauches them — foolish lassies — till now
we have only the scum of the female sex for servant-
maids, all that is dull, nasty, common, and ill-formed,
too ugly even for gallantry.
"Well, this girl was charming, and 1 often gave
her a kiss in dark corners — nothing more, I swear to
you! She was virtuous, besides; and 1 had some
respect for my mother's house, which is more than
can be said of the blackguards of the present day.
"Now it happened that my father's man-servant,
the ex-soldier, the old farmer you have just seen, fell
in love with this girl, but in an unusual sort of way.
The first thing we noticed was that his memory was
affected; he did not pay attention to anything.
"My father was incessantly saying: 'Look here,
Jean! What's the matter with you.? Are you un-
well ? '
"'No, no, M'sieu 1' Baron. There's nothing the
matter with me. '
"Jean got thin. Then, when serving at table, he
broke glasses and let plates fall. We thought he
must have been attacked by some nervous malady,
20 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
and we sent for the doctor, who thought he could
detect symptoms of spinal disease. Then my father,
full of anxiety about his faithful man-servant, de-
cided to place him in a private hospital. When the
poor fellow heard of my father's intentions, he made
a clean breast of it.
'"M'sieu r Baron—'
•"Well, my boy?'
"'You see, the thing I want is not physic'
•"Ha! what is it, then?
" 'It's marriage!'
"My father turned round and stared at him in
astonishment.
"'What's that you say — eh?'
•' 'It's marriage.'
" 'Marriage? So then, you donkey, you're in love.'
'"That's how it is, M'sieu 1' Baron.'
"And my father began to laugh in such an im-
moderate fashion that my mother called out through
the wall of the next room:
'"What in the name of goodness is the matter
with you, Gontran?'
"My father replied:
"'Come here, Catherine.'
"And, when she came in, he told, with tears in
his eyes from sheer laughter, that his idiot of a servant-
man was love-sick.
"But my mother, instead of laughing, was deeply
affected.
"'Who is it that you have fallen in love with,
my poor follow?' she asked.
"He answered, without hesitation:
" * With Louise, Madame la Baronne.'
THE FARMER'S WIFE 21
"My mother said, with the utmost gravity: 'We
must try to arrange the matter the best way we can.'
"So Louise was sent for, and questioned by my
mother. She said in reply that she knew all about
Jean's liking for her, that in fact Jean had spoken to
her about it several times, but that she did not want
him. She refused to say why,
"And two months elapsed during which my father
and mother never ceased to urge this girl to marry
Jean. As she declared she was not in love with any
other man, she could not give any serious reason for
her refusal. My father, at last, overcame her resist-
ance by means of a big present of money, and started
the pair of them on a farm on the estate — this very
farm. At the end of three years, 1 learned that Louise
had died of consumption. But my father and my
mother died, too, in their turn, and it was two years
more before I found myself face to face with Jean.
"At last, one autumn day, about the end of Oc-
tober, the idea came into my head to go hunting on
this part of my estate, which my tenant had told me
was full of game.
"So, one evening, one wet evening, I arrived at
this house. I was shocked to find the old soldier
who had been my father's servant perfectly white-
haired, though he was not more than forty-five or
forty-six years of age. I made him dine with me, at
the very table where we're now sitting. It was rain-
ing hard. We could hear the rain battering at the
roof, the walls, and the windows, flowing in a per-
fect deluge into the farmyard; and my dog was
howling in the shed where the other dogs are howl-
ing to-night.
22 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
"All of a sudden, when the servant-maid had gone
to bed, the man said in a timid voice:
•"M'sieu r Baron.'
"'What is it, my dear Jean?'
"'I have something to tell you.'
"'Tell it, my dear Jean.'
"'You remember Louise, my wife?'
"'Certainly, 1 do remember her.'
"'Well, she left me a message for you.'
"'What was it?'
" 'A — a — well, it was what you might call a con-
fession.'
"'Ha! And what was it about?'
"'It was — it was — I'd rather, all the same, tell
you nothing about it — but 1 must — 1 must. Well,
it's this — it wasn't consumption she died of at all.
It was grief — well, that's the long and the short of
it. As soon as she came to live here, after we were
married, she grew thin; she changed so that you
wouldn't know her at the end of six months — no,
you wouldn't know her, M'sieu 1' Baron. It was all
just as before I married her, but it was different,
too, quite another sort of thing.
'"I sent for the doctor. He said it was her liver
that was affected — he said it was what he called a
"hepatic" complaint — 1 don't know these big words
M'sieu r Baron. Then 1 bought medicine for her,
heaps on heaps of bottles, that cost about three hun-
dred francs. But she'd take none of them; she
wouldn't have them; she said: "It's no use, my
poor Jean; it wouldn't do me any good." I saw well
that she had some hidden trouble; and then I found
her one time crying, and I didn't know what to do
THE FARMER'S WIFE
23
— no, I didn't know what to do. I bought caps and
dresses and hair-oil and earrings for her. No good!
And I saw that she was going to die. And so one
night in the end of November, one snowy night,
after remaining the whole day without stirring out of
the bed, she told me to send for the cure. So I went
for him. As soon as he had come, she saw him.
Then, she asked him to let me come into the room,
and she said to me: "Jean, I'm going to make a
confession to you. I owe it to you, Jean. I have
never been false to you, never! — never, before or
after you married me. M'sieu le Cure is there, and
can tell it is so, and he knows my soul. Well, listen,
Jean. If 1 am dying, it is because I was not able to
console myself for leaving the chateau — because — I
was too — too fond of the young Baron, Monsieur
Rene — too fond of him, mind you, Jean, — there was
no harm in it! This is the thing that's killing me.
When I could see him no more, I felt that I should
die. If I could only have seen him, I might have
lived; only seen him, nothing more. I wish you'd
tell it to him some day, by-and-by, when I am no
longer there. You will tell him — swear you will,
Jean — swear it in the presence of M'sieu le Cure! It
will console me to know that he will know it one
day — that this was the cause of my death! Swear it!"
' ' ' Well, I gave her my promise, M'sieu I' Baron ! and,
on the faith of an honest man, I have kept my word.'
"And then he ceased speaking, his eyes filling
with tears.
"Upon my soul, my dear boy, you can't form any
idea of the emotion that filled me when I heard this
24
WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
poor devil, whose wife I had caused the death of
without knowing it, telling me this story on that wet
night in this very kitchen.
"I exclaimed: 'Ah! my poor Jean! my poor Jean!'
"He murmured: 'Well, that's all, M'sieu 1' Baron.
I could do nothing, one way or another — and now
it's all over!'
"I caught his hand across the table, and I began
to cry.
"He asked: 'Will you come and see her grave?'
I nodded by way of assent, for I couldn't speak. He
rose up, lighted a lantern, and we walked through
the blinding rain which, in the light of the lamp,
looked like falling arrows.
"He opened a gate, and I saw some crosses of
blackwood.
"Suddenly, he said: 'There it is, in front of a
marble slab,' and he flashed the lantern close to it so
that I could read the inscription:
"'To LOUISE-HORTENSE MaRINET,
Wife of Jean-Franfois Lebrument, farmer.
She was a faithful Wife! God rest her Soul!'
"We fell on our knees in the damp grass, he and
I, with the lantern between us, and I saw the rain
beating on the white marble slab. And I thought of
the heart of her sleeping there in her grave. Ah!
poor heart! poor heart!
"Since then, I have been coming here every year.
And I don't know why, but I feel as if I were guilty
of some crime in the presence of this man who al-
ways shows that he forgives me!"
BESIDE A DEAD MAN
E WAS slowly dying, as consumptives
die. I saw him sitting down every
day at two o'clock under the win-
dows of the hotel, facing the tran-
quil sea. on an open-air bench. He
remained for some time without mov-
ing, in the heat of the sun, gazing
mournfully at the Mediterranean. Every
now and then he cast a glance at the
lofty mountain with vaporous summits
;h shuts in Mentone; then, with a very
"9 ' slow movement, he crossed his long legs, so
«^ thin that they seemed two bones, around which
O^ fluttered the cloth of his trousers, and opened
/ a book, which was always the same. And then
he did not stir any more, but read on, read on with
his eye and with his mind; all his poor expiring
body seemed to read, all his soul plunged, lost itself,
disappeared, in this book, up to the hour when the
cool air made him cough a little. Then he got up
and re-entered the hotel.
He was a tall German, with a fair beard, who
breakfasted and dined in his own room, and spoke
to nobody.
(25)
26 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
A vague curiosity attracted me to him. One day,
I sat down by his side, having taken up a book, too,
to keep up appearances, a volume of Musset's poems.
And I began to run through "Rolla."
Suddenly, my neighbor said to me, in good French:
"Do you know German, Monsieur?"
"Not at all. Monsieur."
"I am sorry for that. Since chance has thrown
us side by side, I could have lent you, I could have
shown you, an inestimable thing — this book which I
hold in my hand."
"What is it, pray?"
" It is a copy of my master, Schopenhauer, anno-
tated with his own hand. All the margins, as you
may see, are covered with his handwriting."
I took the book from him reverently, and I gazed
at those forms incomprehensible to me, but which re-
vealed the immortal thoughts of the greatest shatterer
of dreams who had ever dwelt on earth.
And Musset's verses arose in my memory:
"Hast thou found out, Voltaire, that it is bliss to die.
Or does thy hideous smile over thy bleached bones fly ? "
And involuntarily I compared the childish sarcasm,
the religious sarcasm, of Voltaire with the irresistible
irony of the German philosopher whose influence is
henceforth ineffaceable.
Let us protest and let us be angry, let us be in-
dignant or let us be enthusiastic. Schopenhauer has
marked humanity with the seal of his disdain and of
his disenchantment. A disabused pleasure-seeker, he
overthrew beliefs, hopes, poetic ideals, and chimeras,
destroyed the aspirations, ravaged the confidence of
BESIDE A DEAD MAN 27
souls, killed love, dragged down the chivalrous wor-
ship of woman, crushed the illusions of hearts, and
accomplished the most gigantic task ever attempted
by scepticism. He passed over everything with his
mocking spirit, and left everything empty. And even
to-day those who execrate him seem to carry por-
tions of his thought, in spite of themselves, in their
own souls.
"So, then, you were intimately acquainted with
Schopenhauer?" I said to the German.
He smiled sadly.
"Up to the time of his death. Monsieur."
And he spoke to me about the philosopher, and told
me about the almost supernatural impression which
this strange being made on all who came near him.
He gave me an account of the interview of the
old iconoclast with a French politician, a doctrinaire
Republican, who wanted to get a glimpse of this
man, and found him in a noisy tavern, seated in the
midst of his disciples, dry, wrinkled, laughing with
an unforgettable laugh, eating and tearing ideas and
beliefs with a single word, as a dog tears with one
bite of his teeth the tissues with which he plays.
He repeated for me the comment of this French-
man as he went away, scared and terrified: "I
thought that I had spent an hour with the devil."
Then he added:
"He had, indeed. Monsieur, a frightful smile,
which terrified us even after his death. 1 can tell
you an anecdote about it not generally known, if it
has any interest for you."
And he began, in a tired voice, interrupted by fre-
quent fits of coughing:
28 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
"Schopenhauer had just died, and it was arranged
that we should watch, in turn, two by two, till
morning.
" He was lying in a large apartment, very simple,
vast, and gloomy. Two wax-candles were burning
on the bedside stand.
"It was midnight when 1 took up my task of
watching along with one of our comrades. The two
friends whom we replaced had left the apartment,
and we came and sat down at the foot of the bed.
"The face was not changed. It was laughing.
That pucker which we knew so well lingered still
around the corners of the lips, and it seemed to us
that he was about to open his eyes, to move, and
to speak. His thought, or rather his thoughts, en-
veloped us. We felt ourselves more than ever in the
atmosphere of his genius, absorbed, possessed by
him. His domination seemed to us even more sover-
eign now that he was dead. A sense of mystery
was blended with the power of this incomparable
spirit.
"The bodies of these men disappear, but they
remain themselves; and in the night which follows
the stoppage of their heart's beating, I assure you,
Monsieur, they are terrifying.
"And in hushed tones we talked about him, re-
calling to mind certain sayings, certain formulas of
his, those startling maxims which are like jets of
flame flung, by means of some words, into the dark-
ness of the Unknown Life.
" 'It seems to me that he is going to speak,' said
my comrade. And we stared with uneasiness bor-
dering on fear at the rr^otionless face with its eternal
BESIDE A DEAD MAN
29
laugh. Gradually, we began to feel ill at ease, op-
pressed, on the point of fainting. I faltered:
" 'I don't know what is the matter with me, but,
I assure you I am not well.'
"And at that moment we noticed that there was
an unpleasant odor from the corpse.
"Then, my comrade suggested that we should go
into the adjoining room, and leave the door open;
and I assented to this proposal.
"I took one of the wax-candles which burned on
the bedside stand, and I left the second behind.
Then we went and sat down at the other end of the
adjoining apartment, so as to be able to see from
where we were the bed and the corpse clearly re-
vealed by the light.
" But he still held possession of us. One would
have said that his immaterial essence, liberated, free,
all-powerful, and dominating, was flitting around us.
And sometimes, too, the dreadful smell of the de-
composing body came toward us and penetrated us,
sickening and indefinable.
"Suddenly a shiver passed through our bones: a
sound, a slight sound, came from the death-chamber.
Immediately we fixed our glances on him, and we
saw, yes. Monsieur, we saw distinctly, both of us,
something white flying over the bed, falling on the
carpet, and vanishing under an armchair.
"We were on our feet before we had time to
think of anything, distracted by stupefying terror,
ready to run away. Then we stared at each other.
We were horribly pale. Our hearts throbbed so
fiercely that our clothes swelled over our chests. I
was the first to speak.
30
WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
"'You saw?'
'"Yes, I saw.'
"'Can it be that he is not dead?'
"'Why not, when the body is putrefying?'
"'What are we to do?'
"My companion said in a hesitating tone:
"'We must go and look.'
"I took our wax-candle and I entered first, search-
ing with my eye through all the large apartment with
its dark corners. There was not the least movement
now, and 1 approached the bed. But I stood trans-
fixed with stupor and fright: Schopenhauer was no
longer laughing! He was grinning in a horrible
fashion, with his lips pressed together and deep hol-
lows in his cheeks. 1 stammered out:
"'He is not dead!'
"But the terrible odor rose up to my nose and
stifled me. And I no longer moved, but kept staring
fixedly at him, scared as if in the presence of an ap-
parition. Then my companion, having seized the
")ther wax-candle, bent forward. Then, he touched
my arm without uttering a word. 1 followed his
glance, and I saw on the floor, under the arm-
chair by the side of the bed, all white on the dark
carpet, open as if to bite, Schopenhauer's set of arti-
ficial teeth.
"The work of decomposition, loosening the jaws,
had made it jump out of the mouth.
"I was really frightened that day, Monsieur."
And as the sun was sinking toward the glittering
sea, the consumptive German rose from his seat,
gave me a parting bow, and retired into the hotel.
A QJDEER NIGHT IN PARIS
AiTRE Saval, notary at Vernon,
was passionately fond of music.
Still young, though already bald,
always carefully shaved, a little cor-
pulent, as was fitting, wearing a gold
pince-nei instead of old-fashioned
spectacles, active, gallant, and joyous,
he passed in Vernon for an artist. He
thrummed on the piano and played on
the violin, and gave musical evenings
where mterpretations were given of new
operas.
He had even what is called a bit of a voice;
nothing but a bit, a very little bit of a voice;
but he managed it with so much taste that cries of
"Bravo!" "Exquisite!" "Surprising!" "Adorable!"
issued from every throat as soon as he had mur-
mured the last note.
He was a subscriber to a music publisher in Paris,
who sent all new pieces to him. From time to
time to the high society of the town he sent little
notes something in this style:
(3«)
32
WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
"You are invited to be present on Monday even-
ing at the house of M. Saval, notary, Vernon, at the
first production of 'Sais.'"
A few officers, gifted with good voices, formed
the chorus. Two or three of the vinedressers' fami-
nes also sang. The notary filled the part of leader of
the orchestra with so much skill that the band-master
of the 190th regiment of the line said one day, at
the Cafe de I'Europe:
"Oh! M. Saval is a master. It is a great pity that
he did not adopt the career of an artist."
When his name was mentioned in a drawing-room,
there was always somebody found to declare: "He
is not an amateur; he is an artist, a genuine artist."
And two or three persons would repeat, in a tone of
profound conviction: "Oh! yes, a genuine artist,"
laying particular stress on the word "genuine."
Every time that a new work was interpreted at a
big Parisian theater, M. Saval paid a visit to the cap-
ital. Last year, according to his custom, he went to
hear "Henry VIll." He then took the express which
arrives in Paris at 4:30 P. M., intending to return by
the 12:35 A. M. train so as not to have to sleep at a
hotel. He had put on evening dress, a black coat
and white tie, which he concealed under his overcoat
with the collar turned up.
As soon as he had planted his foot on the Rue d'
Amsterdam, he felt in quite a jovial mood, and said
to himself:
"Decidedly the air of Paris does not resemble any
other air. It has in it something indescribably stim-
ulating, exciting, intoxicating, which fills you with a
strange longing to gambol and to do many other
A QUEER NIGHT IN PARIS 33
things. As soon as I arrive here, it seems to me, all
of a sudden, that I have taken a bottle of champagne.
What a life one can lead in this city in the midst of
artists! Happy are the elect, the great men who en-
joy renown in such a city! What an existence is
theirs!"
And he made plans; he would have liked to know
some of those celebrated men, to talk about them in
Vernon, and to spend an evening with them from
time to time in Paris.
But suddenly an idea struck him. He had heard
allusions to little cafes in the outer boulevards at
which well-known painters, men of letters, and even
musicians gathered, and he proceeded to go up toward
Montmartre at a slow pace.
He had two hours before him. He wanted to have
a look round. He passed in front of taverns fre-
quented by belated Bohemians, gazing at the different
faces, seeking to discover the artists. Finally, he came
to the sign of "The Dead Rat," and, allured by the
name, he entered.
Five or six women, with their elbows resting on
the marble tables, were talking in low tones about
their love affairs, the quarrels of Lucie with Hortense,
and the scoundrelism of Octave. They were no longer
young, but were fat or thin, tired out, used up. You
could see that they were almost bald; and they drank
bocks like men.
M. Saval sat down at some distance from them,
and waited, for the hour for taking absinthe was at
hand.
A tall young man soon came in and took a seat
beside him. The landlady called him "M. Romantin."
5 G. de M.— 1
34
WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
The notary quivered. Was this the Romantin who
had taken a medal at the last Salon ?
The young man made a sign to the waiter:
"You will bring up my dinner at once, and then
carry to my new studio, 15, Boulevard de Clichy,
thirty bottles of beer and the ham I ordered this
morning. We are going to have a housewarming."
M. Saval immediately ordered dinner. Then he
took off his overcoat, so that his dress coat and his
white tie could be seen. His neighbor did not seem
to notice him. He had taken up a newspaper, and
was reading it. M. Saval glanced sideways at him,
burning with the desire to speak to him.
Two young men entered, in red velvet, and peaked
beards in the fashion of Henry III. They sat down
opposite Romantin.
The first of the pair said:
"It is for this evening.?"
Romantin pressed his hand.
"1 believe you, old chap, and everyone will be
there. 1 have Bonnat, Guillemet, Gervex, Beraud,
Hebert, Duez, Clairin, and Jean-Paul Laurens. It will
be a glorious blowout! And women, too! Wait till
you see! Every actress without exception — of course
I mean, you know, all those who have nothing to do
this evening."
The landlord of the establishment came across.
"Do you often have this housewarming.?"
The painter replied:
"Certainly — every three months, each quarter."
M. Saval could not restrain himself any longer,
and in a hesitating voice said:
"1 beg your pardon for intruding on you, Mon-
A QUEER NIGHT IN PARIS 35
sieur, but I heard your name pronounced, and ! would
be very glad to know if you really are M. Romantin
whose work in the last Salon I have so much ad-
mired."
The painter answered:
"I am the very person, Monsieur."
The notary then paid the artist a very well-turned
compliment, showing that he was a man of culture.
The painter, gratified, thanked him politely in reply.
Then they chatted. Romantin returned to the subject
of his housewarming, going into details as to the
magnificence of the forthcoming entertainment.
M. Saval questioned him as to all the men he was
going to receive, adding:
" It would be an extraordinary piece of good for-
tune for a stranger, to meet at one time, so many
celebrities assembled in the studio of an artist of
your rank."
Romantin, overcome, answered: " If it would be
agreeable to you, come."
M. Saval accepted the invitation with enthusiasm,
reflecting:
" I'll always have time enough to see ' Henry VIII.' "
Both of them had finished their meal. The notary
insisted on paying the two bills, wishing to repay
his neighbor's civilities. He also paid for the drinks
of the young fellows in red velvet; then he left the
establishment with the painter.
They stopped in front of a very long house, by
no means high, the first story of which had the ap-
pearance of an interminable conservatory. Six studios
stood in a row with their fronts facing the boule-
vards.
36
WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
Romantin was the first to enter. Ascending the
stairs, he opened a door, and lighted a match and
then a candle.
They found themselves in an immense apartment,
the furniture of which consisted of three chairs, two
easels, and a few sketches lying on the floor along
the walls. M. Saval remained standing at the door
in a stupefied state of mind.
The painter remarked:
"Here you are! We've got to the spot; but every-
thing has yet to be done."
Then, examining the high, bare apartment, whose
ceiling was veiled in shadows he said:
"We might make a great deal out of this studio."
He walked round it, surveying it with the utmost
attention, then went on:
"I have a mistress who might easily give us a
helping hand. Women are incomparable for hanging
drapery. But 1 sent her to the country for to-day in
order to get her off my hands this evening. It is
not that she bores me, but she is too much lacking
in the ways of good society. It would be embar-
rassing to my guests."
He reflected for a few seconds, and then added:
"She is a good girl, but not easy to deal with.
If she knew that 1 was holding a reception, she would
tear out my eyes."
M. Saval had not even moved; he did not under-
stand.
The artist came over to him.
"Since I have invited you, you are going to give
me some help."
The notary said emphatically:
A QUEER NIGHT IN PARIS 37
"Make any use of me you please. I am at your
disposal."
Romantin took off his jacket.
"Well, citizen, to work! We are first going to
clean up."
He went to the back of the easel, on which there
was a canvas representing a cat, and seized a very
worn-out broom.
"I say! Just brush up while I look after the
lighting."
M. Saval took the broom, inspected it, and then
began to sweep the floor very awkwardly, raising a
whirlwind of dust.
Romantin, disgusted, stopped him: "Deuce take
it! you don't know how to sweep the floor! Look
at me!"
And he began to roll before him a heap of
grayish sweepings, as if he had done nothing else all
his life. Then he gave back the broom to the no-
tary, who imitated him.
In five minutes, such a cloud of dust filled the
studio that Romantin asked:
"Where are you? I can't see you any longer."
M. Saval, who was coughing, came nearer to him.
The painter said to him:
"How are you going to manage to get up a chan-
delier."
The other, stunned, asked:
"What chandelier?"
"Why, a chandelier to light — a chandelier with
wax-candles."
The notary did not understand.
He answered: "I don't know."
38 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
The painter began to jump about, cracking his
fingers.
"Weil, Monseigneur, I have found out a way."
Then he went more calmly:
"Have you got five francs about you?"
M. Saval replied:
"Why, yes."
The artist said:
"Well! you'll go and buy for me five francs'
worth of wax-candles while 1 go and see the cooper."
And he pushed the notary in his evening coat into
the street. At the end of five minutes, they had re-
turned, one of them with the wax-candles, and the
other with the hoop of a cask. Then Romantin
plunged his hand into a cupboard, and drew forth
twenty empty bottles, which he fixed in the form of
a crown around the hoop. He then came down, and
went to borrow a ladder from the doorkeeper, after
having explained that he had obtained the favors of the
old woman by painting the portrait of her cat ex-
hibited on the easel.
When he mounted the ladder, he said to M. Saval:
"Are you active?"
The other, without understanding answered:
"Why, yes."
"Well, you just climb up there, and fasten this
chandelier for me to the ring of the ceiling. Then
you must put a wax-candle in each bottle, and fight
it. I tell you I have a genius for lighting up. But
off with your coat, damn it! you are just like a
Jeames."
The door was opened violently. A woman ap-
peared, with her eyes flashing, and remained standing
A QUEER NIGHT IN PARIS 39
on the threshold. Romantin gazed at her with a
look of terror. She waited some seconds, crossed
her arms over her breast, and then in a shrill, vibrat-
ing, exasperated voice said:
"Ha! you villain, is this the way you leave me?"
Romantin made no reply. She went on:
"Ha! you scoundrel! You are again doing the
swell, while you pack me off to the country. You'll
soon see the way I'll settle your jollification. Yes,
I'm going to receive your friends."
She grew warmer:
"I'm going to slap their faces with the bottles and
the wax-candles."
Romantin uttered one soft word:
"Mathilde."
But she did not pay any attention to him; she
went on:
"Wait a little, my fine fellow! wait a little!"
Romantin went over to her, and tried to take her
by the hands:
"Mathilde."
But she was now fairly under way; and on she
went, emptying the vials of her wrath with strong
words and reproaches. They flowed out of her
mouth, like a stream sweeping a heap of filth along
with it. The words hurled out seemed struggling
for exit. She stuttered, stammered, yelled, suddenly
recovering her voice to cast forth an insult or a
curse.
He seized her hands without her having even
noticed it. She did not seem to see anything, so
much occupied was she in holding forth and relieving
her heart. And suddenly she began to weep. The
40
WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
tears flowed from her eyes without making her stem
the tide of her complaints. But her words had taken
a howling, shrieking tone; they were a continuous
cry interrupted by sobbings. She commenced afresh
twice or three times, till she stopped as if something
were choking her, and at last she ceased with a
regular flood of tears.
Then he clasped her in his arms and kissed her
hair, himself affected.
"Mathilde, my little Mathilde, listen. You must
be reasonable. You know, if 1 give a supper party to
my friends, it is to thank these gentlemen for the
medal 1 got at the Salon, I cannot receive women.
You ought to understand that. It is not the same
with artists as with other people."
She stammered in the midst of her tears:
"Why didn't you tell me this?"
He replied:
"It was in order not to annoy you, not to give
you pain. Listen, I'm going to see you home. You
will be very sensible, very nice; you will remain
quietly waiting for me in bed, and I'll come back as
soon as it's over."
She murmured:
"Yes, but you will not begin over again?"
"No, I swear to you! "
He turned toward M. Saval, who had at last hooked
on the chandelier:
"My dear friend, 1 am coming back in five min-
utes. If anyone arrives in my absence, do the honors
for me, will you not?"
And he carried off Mathilde, who kept drying her
eyes with her handkerchief as she went along.
A QUEER NIGHT IN PARIS 4I
Left to himself, M. Saval succeeded in putting
everything around him in order. Then he lighted
the wax-candles and waited.
He waited for a quarter of an hour, half an hour,
an hour, Romantin did not return. Then, suddenly,
there was a dreadful noise on the stairs, a song
shouted out in chorus by twenty mouths and a reg-
ular march like that of a Prussian regiment. The
whole house was shaken by the steady tramp of feet.
The door flew open, and a motley throng appeared —
men and women in a row, holding one another arm
in arm, in pairs, and kicking their heels on the
floor, in proper time — advancing into the studio like
a snake uncoiling itself. They howled:
"Come, let us all be merry,
Pretty maids and soldiers gay!"
M. Saval, thunderstruck, remained standing in
evening dress under the chandelier. The procession
of revellers caught sight of him, and uttered a shout:
"A Jeames! A Jeames!"
And they began whirling round him, surrounding
him with a circle of vociferation. Then they took
each other by the hand and went dancing about
madly.
He attempted to explain:
' ' Messieurs — Messieurs — Mesdames — "
But they did not listen to him. They whirled
about, they jumped, they brawled.
At last the dancing ceased. M. Saval uttered the
Word:
" Messieurs — "
42 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
A tall young fellow, fair-haired and bearded to the
nose, interrupted him:
"What's your name, my friend?"
The notary, quite scared, said:
"I am M. Saval."
A voice exclaimed:
"You mean Baptiste."
A wom.an said:
"Let the poor waiter alone! You'll end by mak-
ing him get angry. He's paid to attend on us, and
not to be laughed at by us."
Then, M. Saval noticed that each guest had
brought his own provisions. One held a bottle of
wine, another a pie. This one had a loaf of bread,
that one a ham.
The tall, fair, young fellow placed in his hands an
enormous sausage, and gave him orders;
"Go and settle up the sideboard in the corner
over there. You are to put the bottles at the left
and the provisions at the right."
Saval, getting quite distracted, exclaimed:
"But, Messieurs, 1 am a notary!"
There was a moment's silence and then a wild
outburst of laughter. One suspicious gentleman
asked:
"How are you here.?"
He explained, telling about his project of going
to the opera, his departure from Vernon, his arrival
in Paris, and the way in which he had spent the
evening.
They sat around him to listen to him; they
greeted him with words of applause, and called him
Scheherazade.
A QUEER NIGHT IN PARIS 4^
Romantin did not come back. Other guests arrived.
M. Saval was presented to them so that he might begin
his story over again. He declined; they forced him
to relate it. They fixed him on one of three chairs
between two women who kept constantly filling his
glass. He drank; he laughed; he talked; he sang, too.
He tried to waltz with his chair, and fell on the floor.
From that moment, he forgot everything. It
seemed to him, however, that they undressed him,
put him to bed, and that his stomach got sick.
When he awoke, it was broad daylight, and he
lay stretched with his feet against a cupboard, in a
strange bed.
An old woman with a broom in her hand was
glaring angrily at him. At last, she said:
"Clear out, you blackguard! Clear out! What
right has anyone to get drunk like this?"
He sat up in the bed, feeling very ill at ease. He
asked:
"Where am 1.?"
"Where are you, you dirty scamp? You are
drunk. Take your rotten carcass out of here as quick
as you can, — and lose no time about it!"
He wanted to get up. He found that he was
naked in the bed. His clothes had disappeared. He
blurted out:
"Madame, I — "
Then he remembered. What was he to do? He
asked:
"Did Monsieur Romantin come back?"
The doorkeeper shouted:
"Will you take your dirty carcass out of this so
thai he at any rate may not catch you here?"
44
WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
M. Saval said, in a state of confusion:
**I haven't got my clothes; they have been taken
away from me."
He had to wait, to explain his situation, give
notice to his friends, and borrow some money to buy
clothes. He did not leave Paris till evening.
And, when people talk about music to him in his
beautiful drawing-room in Vernon, he declares with
an air of authority that painting is a very inferior art.
THE PEDDLER
^.r'Bi
H
ow many trifling occurrences —
tilings wliicli liave left only a
on
our
passing impression
^^%j^ minds, Iiumble dramas of wiiicli we
S^ iiave got a mere glimpse, so that we
j^ have to guess at or suspect their real
nature — are, while we are still young
' and inexperienced, guiding us, step by
step, toward a knowledge of the painful
truth !
J£^ Every now and then, when I am retracing
C^^ ' my steps during the long wandering reveries
^- which distract my thoughts along the path through
> which I saunter at random, my soul takes wing, and
suddenly I recall little incidents of a gay or sinister
character which, emerging from the shades of the past,
flit before my memory as the birds flit through the
bushes before my eyes.
This summer, I wandered along a road in Savoy
which commands a view of the right bank of the
Lake of Bourget, and, while my glance floated over
that mass of water, mirror-like, and blue with a
unique blue, tinted with glittering beams by the set-
(45)
46 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
ting sun, I felt my heart stirred by that attachment
which I have had since my childhood for the surface
of lakes, for rivers, and for the sea. On the opposite
bank of the vast liquid plate, so long that you did
not see the ends of it, one vanishing in the Rhone,
and the other in the Bourget, rose the high moun-
tain, jagged like a crest up to the topmost peak of
the "Cat's Tooth." On either side of the road,
vines, trailing from tree to tree, massed under their
leaves their slender supporting branches, and ex-
tended in garlands through the fields, green, yellow,
and red garlands, festooning from one trunk to the
other, and spotted with clusters of dark grapes.
The road was deserted, v^hite, and dusty. All of
a sudden a man emerged out of the thicket of large
trees which shuts in the village of Saint-Innocent,
and, bending under a load, came toward me, leaning
on a stick.
When he had come closer to me, I discovered
that he was a peddler, one of those itinerant dealers
who go about the country from door to door selling
paltry objects cheaply, and thereupon a reminiscence
of long ago arose up in my mind, a mere nothing
almost, the recollection simply of an accidental meeting
I had one night between Argenteuil and Paris when
I was twenty-one.
All the happiness of my life, at that period, was
derived from boating. I had taken a room in an
obscure inn at Argenteuil, and every evening 1 took
the Government clerks' train, that long, slow train
which, in its course, sets down at different stations
a crowd of men with little parcels, men fat and
heavy, for they scarcely walk at all, with trousers that
THE PEDDLER 47
are always baggy owing to their constant occupation
of tlie office-stool. This train, in which it seemed to
me I could even sniff the odor of the writing-desk,
of official documents and boxes, deposited me at Ar-
genteuil. My boat was waiting for me, ready to
glide over the water. And I rapidly plied my oar so
that I might get out and dine at Bezons or Chatou
or Epinay or Saint-Ouen. Then I came back, put
up my boat, and made my way back on foot to Paris
with the moon shining down on me.
Well, one night on the white road I perceived
just in front of me a man walking. Oh! I was con-
stantly meeting those night travelers of the Parisian
suburbs so much dreaded by belated citizens. This
man went on slowly before me with a heavy load on
his shoulders.
I came right up to him, quickening my pace
so much that my footsteps rang on the road. He
stopped, and turned round; then, as I kept approaching
nearer and nearer, he crossed to the opposite side of
the road.
As I rapidly passed him, he called out to me:
"Hallo! good evening, Monsieur"
I responded:
"Good evening, comrade."
He went on:
"Are you going far?"
"1 am going to Paris."
"You won't be long getting there; you're going
at a good pace. As for me, I have too big a load on
my shoulders to walk so quickly."
I slackened my pace. Why had this man spoken
to me? What was he carrying in this big pack?
48 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
Vague suspicions of crime sprang up in my mind,
and rendered me curious. Tiie columns of the news-
papers every morning contain so many accounts of
crimes committed in this place, the peninsula of Gen-
nevilliers, that some of them must be true. Such
things are not invented merely to amuse readers —
all this catalogue of arrests and varied misdeeds with
which the reports of the law-courts are filled.
However, this man's voice seemed more timid than
bold, and up to the present his manner had been
more discreet than aggressive.
In my turn I began to question him:
"And you — are you going far?"
"Not farther than Asnieres."
"Is Asnieres your place of abode?"
"Yes, Monsieur, I am a peddler by occupation,
and I live at Asnieres."
He had quitted the sidewalk, where pedestrians
move along in the daytime under the shadows of the
trees, and was soon in the middle of the road, i
followed his example. We kept staring at each othe/
suspiciously, each of us holding his stick in his hand
When I was sufficiently close to him, I felt less dis-
trustful. He evidently was disposed to assume thf
same attitude toward me, for he asked:
"Would you mind going a little more slowly?"
"Why do you say this?"
"Because I don't care for this road by night. /
have goods on my back, and two are always bettei
than one. When two men are together, people don't
attack them."
I felt that he was speaking truly, and that he was
afraid. So 1 yielded to his wishes, and the pair of
THE PEDDLER
49
US walked on side by side, this stranger and I, at one
o'clock in the morning, along the. road leading from
Argenteuil to Asnieres.
"Why are you going home so late when it is so
dangerous?" I asked my companion.
He told me his history. He had not intended to
return home this evening, as he had brought with
him that very morning a stock of goods to last him
three or four days. But he had been so fortunate in
disposing of them that he found it necessary to get
back to his abode without delay in order to deliver
next day a number of things which had been bought
on credit.
He explained to me with genuine satisfaction that
he had managed the business very well, having a
tendency to talk confidentially, and that the knick-
knacks he displayed were useful to him in getting
rid, while gossiping, of other things which he could
not easily sell.
He added:
"I have a shop in Asnieres. 'Tis my wife keeps it."
"Ah! So you're married?"
"Yes, M'sieu, for the last fifteen months. I have
got a very nice wife. She'll get a surprise when she
sees me coming home to-night."
He then gave me an account of his marriage. He
had been after this young girl for two years, but she
had taken time to make up her mind.
She had since her childhood kept a little shop at
the corner of a street, where she sold all sorts of
things — ribbons, flowers in summer, and principally
pretty little shoe-buckles, and many other gewgaws,
in which, owing to the favor of a manufacturer, she
S G. de M, 4
50
WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
enjoyed a monopoly. She was well known in As-
nieres as "La Bluette." This name was given to her
because she often dressed in blue. And she made
money, as she was very skillful in everything she did.
His impression was that she was not very well at the
present moment; but he was not quite sure. Their
business was prospering; and he traveled about ex-
hibiting samples to all the small traders in the ad-
joining districts. He had become a sort of traveling
commission-agent for some of the manufacturers,
working at the same time for them and for himself.
"And you — what are you?" he said.
I answered him with an air of embarrassment. I
explained that I had a sailing-boat and two yawls in
Argenteuil, that I came for a row every evening,
and that, as I was fond of exercise, 1 sometimes
walked back to Paris, where 1 had a profession,
which — I led him to infer — was a lucrative one.
He remarked:
"Faith, if 1 had money like you, I wouldn't amuse
myself by trudging that way along the roads at night.
'Tisn't safe along here."
He gave me a sidelong glance, and I asked myself
whether he might not, all the same, be a criminal oi
the sneaking type who did not want to run any
fruitless risk.
Then he restored my confidence, when he mur-
mured:
"A little less quickly, if you please. This pack of
mine is heavy."
The sight of a group of houses showed that we
had reached Asnieres.
"I am nearly at home," he said. "We don't sleep
THE PEDDLER 5 I
in the shop; it is watched at night by a dog, but a
dog who is worth four men. Ai)d then it costs too
much to live in the center of the town. But listen
to me, Monsieur! You have rendered me a precious
service, for I don't feel my mind at ease when I'm
traveling with my pack along the roads. Well, now
you must come in with me, and drink a glass of
mulled wine with my wife if she hasn't gone to bed,
for she is a sound sleeper and doesn't like to be
waked up. Besides, I'm not a bit afraid without my
pack, and so I'll see you to the gates of the city with
a cudgel in my hand."
I declined the invitation; he insisted on my com-
ing in; I still held back; he pressed me with so much
eagerness, with such an air of real disappointment,
such expressions of deep regret — for he had the art
of expressing himself very forcibly — asking me in
the tone of one who felt wounded "whether I ob-
jected to have a drink with a man like him," that I
finally gave way and followed him up a lonely road
toward one of those big dilapidated houses which are
to be found on the outskirts of suburbs.
In front of this dwelling I hesitated. This high
barrack of plaster looked like a den for vagabonds, a
hiding-place for suburban brigands. But he pushed
open a door which had not been locked, and made
me go in before him. He led me forward by the shoul-
ders, through profound darkness, toward a staircase
where 1 had to feel my way with my hands and
feet, with a well-grounded apprehension of tumbling
into some gaping cellar.
When I had reached the first landing, he said to
me: "Go on up! 'Tis the sixth story."
52 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
I searched my pockets, and, finding there a box
of vestas, I lighted the way up the ascent. He fol-
lowed me, puffing under his pack, repeating:
"Tis high! 'tis high!"
When we were at the top of the house, he drew
forth from one of his inside pockets a key attached
to a thread, and unlocking his door, he made me
enter.
It was a little whitewashed room, with a table in
the center, six chairs, and a kitchen-cupboard close to
the wall.
"1 am going to wake up my wife," he said;
"then I am going down to the cellar to fetch some
wine; it doesn't keep here."
He approached one of the two doors which opened
out of this apartment, and exclaimed:
"Bluette! Bluette!" Bluette did not reply. He
called out in a louder tone: "Bluette! Bluette!"
Then knocking at the partition with his fist, he
growled: "Will you wake up in God's name?"
He waited, glued his ear to the keyhole, and
muttered, in a calmer tone: "Pooh! if she is asleep,
she must be let sleep! I'll go and get the wine:
wait a couple of minutes for me."
He disappeared. I sat down and made the best
of it.
What had I come to this place for.^ All of a sud-
den, I gave a start, for I heard people talking in low
tones, and m.oving about quietly, almost noiselessly,
in the room where the wife slept.
Deuce take it! Had I fallen into some cursed
trap.^ Why had this woman — this Bluette — not
been awakened by the loud knocking of her husband
THE PEDDLER 53
at the doorway leading into her room ? Could it
have been merely a signal conveying to accomplices:
"There's a mouse in the trap! I'm going to look
out to prevent him escaping. 'Tis for you to do
the rest I"
Certainly there was more stir than before now in
the inner room; I heard the door opening from
within. My heart throbbed. I retreated toward the
further end of the apartment, saying to myself, "1
must make a fight of it!" and, catching hold of the
back of a chair with both hands, I prepared for a
desperate struggle.
The door was half-opened; a hand appeared which
kept it ajar; then a head, a man's head covered with
a billycock hat, slipped through the folding-doors, and
I saw two eyes staring hard at me. Then, so quickly
that I had not time to make a single movement by
way of defense, the individual, the supposed criminal,
a tall young fellow in his bare feet with his shoes in
his hands, a good-looking chap, I must admit, — half
a gentleman, in fact, — made a dash for the outer
door, and rushed down the stairs.
1 resumed my seat. The adventure was assuming
a humorous aspect, and I waited for the husband,
who took a long time fetching the wine. At last, I
heard him coming up the stairs, and the sound of his
footsteps made me laugh, with one of those solitary
laughs which it is hard to restrain.
He entered with two bottles in his hands. Then
he asked me:
"Is my wife still asleep? You didn't hear her
stirring, did you?"
1 knew instinctively that there was an ear pasted
54' ^ORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
against the other side of the partition-door, and I
said: "No, not at all."
And now he again called out:
"Pauline!"
She made no reply, and did not even move.
He came back to me, and explained:
"You see, she doesn't like me to come home at
night, and take a drop with a friend."
"So then you believe she was not asleep?"
He wore an air of dissatisfaction.
"Well, at any rate," he said, "let us have a drink
together."
And immediately he showed a disposition to empty
the two bottles one after the other without more ado.
This time, I did display some energy. When I
had swallowed one glass, 1 rose up to leave. He no
longer spoke of accompanying me, and with a sullen
scowl, the scowl of a common man in an angry mood,
the scowl of a brute whose violence is only slumber-
ing, in the direction of his wife's sleeping apartment,
he muttered:
"She'll have to open that door when you've gone."
I stared at this poltroon, who had worked himself
into a fit of rage without knowing why, perhaps
owing to an obscure presentiment, the instinct of the
deceived male who does not like closed doors. He
had talked about her to me in a tender strain; now
assuredly he was going to beat her.
He exclaimed, as he shook the lock once more:
"PauHne!"
A voice, like that of a woman waking out of her
sleep, replied from behind the partition:
"Eh! what?"
THE PEDDLER 55
"Didn't you hear me coming in?"
"No, I was asleep! Let me rest!"
"Open the door!"
"Yes, when you're alone. I don't like you to be
bringing home fellows at night to drink with you."
Then I took myself off, stumbling down the stairs,
as the other man, of whom I had been the accom-
plice, had done. And, as I resumed my journey
toward Paris, I realized that I had just witnessed in
this wretched abode a scene of the eternal drama
which is being acted every day under every form
and among every class.
THE UMBRELLA
ME. Oreille was a very economical
woman; she thoroughly knew the
value of a half-penny, and pos-
sessed a whole storehouse of strict
principles with regard to the multipli-
cation of money, so that her cook
found the greatest difficulty in making
what the servants call their "market-
penny," while her husband was hardly
v 21-8 allowed any pocket-money at all. They
^\*7"^ were, however, very comfortably off, and
had no children. It really pained Mme. Oreille
to see any money spent; it was like tearing at
her heartstrings when she had to take any of those
nice crownpieces out of her pocket; and whenever
she had to spend anything, no matter how necessary
it was, she slept badly the next night.
Oreille was continually saying to his wife:
"You really might be more liberal, as we have
no children and never spend our income."
"You don't know what may happen," she used
to reply. "It is better to have too much than too
little."
(56)
THE UMBRELLA
57
She was a little woman of about forty, very
active, rather hasty, wrinkled, very. neat and tidy, and
with a very short temper. Her husband very often
used to complain of all the privations she made him
endure; some of them were particularly painful to
him, as they touched his vanity.
He was one of the upper clerks in the War Office,
and only stayed there in obedience to his wife's wish,
so as to increase their income, which they did not
nearly spend.
For two years he had always come to the office
with the same old patched umbrella, to the great
amusement of his fellow-clerks. At last he got tired
of their jokes, and insisted upon his wife buying him
a new one. She bought one for eight francs and
a-half, one of those cheap things which large houses
sell as an advertisement. When the others in the
office saw the article, which was being sold in Paris
by the thousand, they began their jokes again, and
Oreille had a dreadful time of it with them. They
even made a song about it, which he heard from
morning till night all over the immense building.
Oreille was very angry, and peremptorily told his
wife to get him a new one, a good silk one, tor
tv/enty francs, and to bring him the bill, so that he
might see that it was all right.
She bought him one for eighteen francs, and said,
getting red with anger as she gave it to her husband:
"This will last you for five years at least."
Oreille felt quite triumphant, and obtained a small
ovation at the office with his new acquisition. When
he went home in the evening, his wife said to him,
looking at the umbrella uneasily:
58 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
" You should not leave it fastened up with the
elastic; it will very likely cut the silk. You must
take care of it, for I shall not buy you a new one in
a hurry."
She took it, unfastened it, and then remained
dumfounded with astonishment and rage. In the
middle of the silk there was a hole as big as a six-
penny-piece, as if made with the end of a cigar.
"What is that?" she screamed.
Her husband replied quietly, without looking at it:
"What is it? What do you mean?"
She was choking with rage and could hardly get
out a word.
' ' You — you — have burned — your umbrella ! Why
— you must be — mad! Do you wish to ruin us out-
right?"
He turned round hastily, as if frightened.
"What are you talking about?"
"I say that you have burned your umbrella. Just
look here — "
And rushing at him, as if she were going to beat
him, she violently thrust the little circular burned hole
under his nose.
He was so utterly struck dumb at the sight of it
that he could only stammer out:
"What — what is it? How should I know? I
have done nothing, I will swear. I don't know what
is the matter with the umbrella."
"You have been playing tricks with it at the
office; you have been playing the fool and opening
it, to show it off!" she screamed.
"I only opened it once, to let them see what a
.nice one it was, that is all, I declare.."
THE UMBRELLA 59
But she shook with rage, and got up one of those
conjugal scenes which make a peaceable man dread
the domestic hearth more than a battlefield where
bullets are raining.
She mended it with a piece of silk cut out of the
old umbrella, which was of a different color, and the
next day Oreille went off very humbly with the mended
article in his hand. He put it into a cupboard, and
thought no more of it than of some unpleasant recol-
lection.
But he had scarcely got home that evening when
his wife took the umbrella from him, opened it, and
nearly had a fit when she saw what had befallen it,
for the disaster was now irreparable. It was covered
with small holes, which evidently, proceeded from
burns, just as if some one had emptied the ashes from
a lighted pipe on to it. It was done for utterly, irrep-
arably.
She looked at it without a word, in too great a
passion to be able to say anything. He also, when
he saw the damage, remained almost dumb, in a
state of frightened consternation.
They looked at each other; then he looked on to
the floor. The next moment she threw the useless
article at his head, screaming out in a transport of
the most violent rage, for she had now recovered her
voice:
"Oh! you brute! you brute! You did it on pur-
pose, but 1 will pay you out for it. You shall not
have another."
And then the scene began again. After the storm
had raged for an hour, he, at last, was enabled to ex-
plain himself. He declared that he could not under-
6o WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
Stand it at all, and that it could only proceed from
malice or from vengeance,
A ring at the bell saved him; it was a friend whom
they were expecting to dinner.
Mme. Oreille submitted the case to him. As for
buying a new umbrella, that was out of the question;
her husband should not have another. The friend
very sensibly said that in that case his clothes would
be spoiled, and they were certainly worth more than
the umbrella. But the little woman, who was still in
a rage, replied:
"Very well, then, when it rains he may have the
kitchen umbrella, for I will not give him a new silk
one."
Oreille utterly rebelled at such an idea.
"All right," he said; "then 1 shall resign my post.
I am not going to the office with the kitchen um-
brella."
The friend interposed:
"Have this one recovered; it will not cost much."
But Mme. Oreille, being in the temper that she
was, said:
"It will cost at least eight francs to recover it.
Eight and eighteen are twenty-six. Just fancy, twenty-
six francs for an umbrella! It is utter madness!"
The friend, who was only a poor man of the mid-
dle classes, had an inspiration:
"Make your fire insurance pay for it. The com-
panies pay for all articles that are burned, as long as
the damage has been done in your own house."
On hearing this advice the little woman calmed
down immediately, and then, after a moment's re-
flection, she said to her husband:
THE UMBRELLA 6l
"To-morrow, before going to your office, you will
go to the Maternelle Insurance Company, show them
the state your umbrella is in, and make them pay for
the damage."
M. Oreille fairly jumped, he was so startled at the
proposal.
"I would not do it for my life! It is eighteen
francs lost, that is all. It will not ruin us."
The next morning he took a walking-stick when
he went out, for, luckily, it was a fine day.
Left at home alone, Mme. Oreille could not get
over the loss of her eighteen francs by any means.
She had put the umbrella on the dining-room table,
and she looked at it without being able to come to
any determination.
Every moment she thought of the insurance com-
pany, but she did not dare to encounter the quizzical
looks of the gentlemen who might receive her, for
she was very timid before people, and grew red at a
mere nothing, feeling embarrassed when she had to
speak to strangers.
But regret at the loss of the eighteen francs pained
her as if she had been wounded. She tried not to
think of it any more, and yet every moment the rec-
ollection of the loss struck her painfully. What was
she to do, however.^ Time went on, and she could
not decide; but suddenly, like all cowards, she made
up her mind.
"I will go, and we will see what will happen."
But first of all she was obliged to prepare the
umbrella so that the disaster might be complete, and
the reason of it quite evident. She took a match from
the mantelpiece, and between the ribs she burned a
(,2 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
hole as big as the palm of her hand. Then she rolled
it up carefully, fastened it with the elastic band, put
on her bonnet and shawl, and went quickly toward
the Rue de Rivoli, where the insurance office was.
But the nearer she got the slower she walked. What
was she going to say, and what reply would she get?
She looked at the numbers of the houses; there
were still twenty-eight. That was all right, she had
time to consider, and she walked slower and slower.
Suddenly she saw a door on which was a large brass
plate with "La Maternelle Fire Insurance Office" en-
graved on it. Already! She waited for a moment,
for she felt nervous and almost ashamed; then she
went past, came back, went past again, and came
back again.
At last she said to herself:
"1 must go in, however, so I may as well do it
now as later."
She could not help noticing, however, how her
heart beat as she entered. She went into an enor-
mous room with grated wicket openings all round,
and a man behind each of them, and as a gentleman,
carrying a number of papers, passed her, she stopped
him and said, timidly:
"1 beg your pardon, Monsieur, but can you tell
me where I must apply for payment for anything that
has been accidentally burned.?"
He replied in a sonorous voice:
" The first door on the left; that is the department
you want."
This frightened her still more, and she felt inclined
to run away, to make no claim, to sacrifice her eight-
een francs. But the idea of that sum revived her
THE UMBRELLA 63
courage, and she went upstairs, out of breath, stop-
ping at ahnost every other step.
She knocked at a door which she saw on the
first landing, and a clear voice said, in answer:
"Come in!"
She obeyed mechanically, and found herself in a
large room where three solemn gentlemen, each with
a decoration in his buttonhole, were standing talking.
One of them asked her: "What do you want,
Madame.^"
She could hardly get out her words, but stam-
mered: "1 have come — I have come on account of
an accident, something — "
He very politely pointed out a seat to her.
"If you will kindly sit down I will attend to you
in a moment."
And, returning to the other two, he went on with
the conversation.
"The company, gentlemen, does not consider
that it is under any obligation to you for more than
four hundred thousand francs, and we can pay no at-
tention to your claim to the further sum of a hundred
thousand, which you wish to make us pay. Besides
that, the surveyor's valuation — "
One of the others interrupted him:
"That is quite enough, Monsieur; the law-courts
will decide between us, and we have nothing further
to do than to take our leave." And they went out
after mutual ceremonious bows.
Oh! if she could only have gone away with them,
how gladly she would have done it; she would have
run away and given up everything. But it was too
late, for the gentleman came back, and said, bowing:
64 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
"What can I do for you, Madame?"
She could scarcely speak, but at last she managed
to say:
"I have come — for this."
The manager looked at the object which she held
out to him in mute astonishment. With trembling
fingers she tried to undo the elastic, and succeeded,
after several attempts, and hastily opened the dam-
aged remains of the umbrella.
"It looks to me to be in a very bad state of
health," he said, compassionately.
"It cost me twenty francs," she said, with some
hesitation.
He seemed astonished. "Really! As much as
that?"
"Yes, it was a capital article, and I wanted you
to see the state it is in."
"Very well, 1 see; very well. But I really do not
understand what it can have to do with me."
She began to feel uncomfortable; perhaps this
company did not pay for such small articles, and she
said:
"But — it is burned."
He could not deny it.
"1 see that very well," he replied.
She remained open-mouthed, not knowing what
to say next; then suddenly forgetting that she had
left out the main thing, she said hastily:
"I am Mme. Oreille; we are assured in La
Maternelle, and I have come to claim the value of
this damage. I only want you to have it recovered,"
she added quickly, fearing a positive refusal.
The manager was rather embarrassed, and said;
THE UMBRELLA
65
"But, really, Madame, we do not sell umbrellas;
we cannot undertake such kinds of repairs."
The little woman felt her courage reviving; she
was not going to give up without a struggle; she
was not even afraid now, so she said:
"I only want you to pay me the cost of repairing
it; I can quite well get it done myself."
The gentleman seemed rather confused.
"Really, Madame, it is such a very small matter!
We are never asked to give compensation for such
trivial losses. You must allow that we cannot make
good pocket-handkerchiefs, gloves, brooms, slippers,
all the small articles which are every day exposed to
the chances of being burned,"
She got red, and felt inclined to fly into a rage.
"But, Monsieur, last December one of our
chimneys caught fire, and caused at least five hun-
dred francs' damage. M. Oreille made no claim on
the company, and so it is only just that it should
pay for my umbrella now."
The manager, guessing that she was telling a lie,
said, with a smile:
"You must acknowledge, Madame, that it is very
surprising that M. Oreille should have asked no com-
pensation for damages amounting to five hundred
francs, and should now claim five or six francs for
mending an umbrella."
She was not the least put out, and replied:
"I beg your pardon, Monsieur, the five hundred
francs affected M. Oreille's pocket, whereas this dam-
age, amounting to eighteen francs, concerns Mme.
Oreille's pocket only, which is a totally different
matter."
5 G. de M.— 5
66 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
As he saw that he had no chance of getting rid
of her, and that he would only be wasting his time,
he said, resignedly:
"Will you kindly tell me how the damage was
done?"
She felt that she had won the victory, and said:
"This is how it happened, Monsieur: In our hall
there is a bronze stick- and umbrella-stand, and the
other day, when I came in, I put my umbrella into
it. I must tell you that just above there is a shelf
for the candlesticks and matches. I put out my
hand, took three or four matches, and struck one,
but it missed fire, so I struck another, which ig-
nited, but went out immediately, and a third did the
same."
The manager interrupted her, to make a joke.
" I suppose they were Government matches,
then?"
She did not understand him, and went on:
"Very likely. At any rate, the fourth caught fire,
and I lit my candle, and went into my room to go
to bed; but in a quarter-of-an-hour I fancied that I
smelled something burning, and I have always been
terribly afraid of fire. If ever we have an accident it
will not be my fault, I assure you. I am terribly
nervous since our chimney was on fire, as I told you;
so I got up, and hunted about everywhere, sniffmg
like a dog after game, and at last 1 noticed that my
umbrella was burning. Most likely a match had
fallen between the folds and burned it. You can see
how it has damaged it."
The manager had taken his clue, and asked her:
"What do you estimate the damage at?"
THE UMBRELLA
67
She did not know what to say, as she was not
certain what amount to put on it, but at last she re-
plied:
"Perhaps you had better get it done yourself. I
will leave it to you."
He, however, naturally refused.
"No, Madame, 1 cannot do that. Tell me the
amount of your claim, that is all I want to know."
"Well! — 1 think that — Look here. Monsieur, I do
not want to make any money out of you, so I will
tell you what we will do. 1 will take my umbrella to
the maker, who will recover it in good, durable silk,
and I will bring the bill to you. Will that suit you,
Monsieur.^"
"Perfectly, Madame; we will settle it on that
basis. Here is a note for the cashier, who will repay
you whatever it costs you."
He gave Mme. Oreille a slip of paper. She took
it, got up, and went out, thanking him, for she was
in a hurry to escape lest he should change his mind.
She went briskly through the streets, looking out
for a really good umbrella-maker, and when she
found a shop which appeared to be a first-class one,
she went in, and said, confidently:
"1 want this umbrella recovered in silk, good
silk. Use the very best and strongest you have; I
don't mind what it costs."
THE QJUESTION OF LATIN
HIS question of Latin, with which we
were so much bothered some time
since, recalls to my mind a story —
a story of my youth.
I was finishing my studies with a
teacher, in a big central town, at the
Institution Robineau, celebrated through
the entire province owing to the special
attention paid there to Latin studies.
For the past ten years, the Institution
Robineau beat at every competitive examina-
ion the Imperial "lycee" of the town, and
all the colleges of the Subprefecture; and these
constant successes were due, they said, to an
usher, a simple usher, M. Piquedent, or rather Pere
Piquedent.
He was one of those middle-aged men, quite gray,
whose real age it is impossible to know, and whose
history we can guess at a first glance. Having en-
tered as an usher at twenty into the first institution
that presented itself so that he could proceed to take
out his degree of Master of Arts first, and afterwtird
the degree of Doctor of Laws, he found himself so
(68)
THE QUESTION OF LATIN 69
much enmeshed in this sinister life that he remained
an usher all his life. But his love for Latin did not
leave him, but harassed him like an unhealthy passion.
He continued to read the poets, the prose-writers, the
historians, to interpret them, to study their meaning,
to comment on them with a perseverance bordering
on madness.
One day, the idea came into his head to force all
the students of his class to answer him in Latin only;
and he persisted in this resolution until at last they
were capable of sustaining an entire conversation with
him just as they would in their mother-tongue. He
listened to them, as a leader of an orchestra listens to
his musicians rehearsing, and, striking his desk every
moment with his ruler, he exclaimed:
"Monsieur Lefrere, Monsieur Lefrere, you are com-
mitting a solecism! You are not recalling the rule to
mind.
"Monsieur Plantel, your turn of phrase is alto-
gether French and in no way Latin. You must
understand the genius of a language. Look here, lis-
ten to me."
Now it came to pass that the pupils of the Insti'
tution Robineau carried off, at the end of the year,
all the prizes for composition, translation, and Latin
conversation.
Next year, the principal, a little man, as cunning
as an ape, and with the same grinning and grotesque
physique, got printed on his programmes, on his
advertisements, and painted on the door of his insti-
tution:
"Latin Studies a Speciality. Five first prizes car-
ried off in the five classes of the lycee.
70
WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
"Two prizes of honor at the general Competitive
Examinations with all the lycees and colleges of
France."
For ten years the Institution Robineau triumphed
in the same fashion. Now, my father, allured by
these successes, sent me as a day-pupil to Robineau's
— or, as we called it, Robinetto or Robinettino — and
made me take special private lessons from Pere
Piquedent at the rate of five francs per hour, out of
which the usher got two francs and the principal
three francs. I was at the time in my eighteenth
year, and was in the philosophy class.
These private lessons were given in a little room
looking out on the street. It so happened that Pere
Piquedent, instead of talking Latin to me, as he did
when teaching publicly in the Institution, kept telling
about his troubles in French. Without relations,
without friends, the poor man conceived an attach-
ment for me, and poured out into my heart his own
misery.
He had never for the last ten or fifteen years
chatted confidentially with anyone.
"I am like an oak in a desert," he said — " stcut
quercus in solitiidine.''
The other ushers disgusted him. He knew nobody
in the town since he had no liberty for the purpose
of making acquaintances.
"Not even the nights, my friend, and that is the
hardest thing on me. The dream of my life is to
have a room of my own with furniture, my own
books, little things that belonged to myself and which
others could not touch. And I have nothing of my
own, nothing except my shirt and my frock-coat,
THE QUESTION OF LATIN 7I
nothing, not even my mattress and my pillow! I
have not four walls to shut myself up in, except
when I come to give a lesson in this room. Do you
see what this means — a man forced to spend his hfe
without ever having the right, without ever finding
the time to shut himself up all alone, no matter
where, to think, to reflect, to work, to dream? Ahl
my dear boy, a key, the key of a door which one
can open — this is happiness, mark you, the only
happiness!
"Here, all day long, the study with all those dirty
brats jumping about in it, and during the night the
dormitory with the same dirty brats snoring. And I
have to sleep in the public bed at the end of two
rows of beds occupied by these brats whom I must
look after. I can never be alone, never! If I go out,
1 find the street full of people, and, when I am tired
of walking, 1 go into some caf6 crowded with
smokers and billiard players. I tell you that it is a
regular prison."
I asked him:
"Why did you not take up some other line. Mon-
sieur Piquedent?"
He exclaimed:
"What, my little friend? I am not a bootmaker
or a joiner or a hatter or a baker or a hairdresser. 1
only know Latin, and I have not the diploma which
would enable me to sell my knowledge at a high
price. If I were a doctor, I would sell for a hundred
francs what 1 now sell for a hundred sous; and 1
would supply it probably of an inferior quality, for
my academic rank would be enough to sustain my
reputation."
72
WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
Sometimes, he would say to me:
"I have no rest in life except in the hours spent
with you. Don't be afraid 1 you'll lose nothing by
that. I'll make it up to you in the study by teaching
you to speak twice as much Latin as the others."
One day, I grew bolder and offered him a ciga-
rette. He stared at me with astonishment at first,
then he gave a glance toward the door:
*'lf anyone were to come in, my dear boy!"
"Well, let us smoke at the window," said I.
And we went and leaned with our elbows on the
window-sill facing the street, keeping our hands over
the Ijttle rolls of tobacco wrapped up in tissue-paper
so that they concealed them from view like a shell.
Just opposite to us was a laundry. Four women in
white bodices were passing over the linen spread out
before them the heavy and hot irons, letting a damp
fume escape from them.
Suddenly, another, a fifth carrying on her arm a
large basket which made her back stoop, came out
to bring the customers their shirts and chemises, their
handkerchiefs and their sheets. She stopped on the
threshold as if she were already fatigued; then, she
raised her eyes, smiled when she saw us smoking,
flung at us, with her left hand, which was free, the
sly kiss characteristic of a free-and-easy working-
woman; and she went away at a slow pace dragging
her shoes after her.
She was a damsel of about twenty, small, rather
thin, pale, rather pretty, with the manners of a street-
wench, and eyes laughing under her ill-combed fair
hair.
Pere Piquedent, affected, began murmuring:
THE QUESTION OF LATIN 73
"What an occupation for a woman. Really a trade
only fit for a horse."
And he spoke with emotion about the misery of
the people. He had a heart which swelled with lofty
democratic sentiment, and he referred to the fatiguing
pursuits of the working class with phrases borrowed
from Jean-Jacques Rousseau and with sobs in his
throat.
Next day, as we were resting our elbows at the
same window, the same workwoman perceived us,
and cried out to us:
"Good day, my scholars!" in a comical sort of
tone, while she made a contemptuous gesture with
her hands.
I flung her a cigarette, which she immediately
began to smoke. And the four other ironers rushed
out to the door with outstretched hands to get ciga-
rettes also.
And, each day, a friendly relationship was being
formed between the working-women of the pavement
and the idlers of the boarding-school.
Pere Piquedent was really a comic sight to look
at. He trembled at being noticed, for he might have
lost his place; and he made timid and ridiculous
gestures, quite a theatrical display of amorousness, to
which the women responded with a regular fusillade
of kisses.
A perfidious idea sprang up in my head. One
day, on entering our room, I said to the old usher
in a low tone;
"You would not believe it, Monsieur Piquedent, I
met the little washerwoman! You know the one — the
woman who had the basket — and 1 spoke to herl"
74
WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
He asked, rather excited by the tone I had taken:
"What did she say to you?"
"She said to me — goodness gracious! — she said
she thought you were very nice. The fact of the
matter is, I believe — I believe — that she is a little in
love with you." 1 saw that he was growing pale.
He exclaimed:
"She is laughing at me, of course. These things
don't happen at my age."
1 said gravely:
"How is that? You are very nice."
As I felt that my trick had produced its effect on
him, I did not press the matter.
But every day 1 pretended that I had met the little
laundress and that I had spoken to her about him, so
that in the end he believed me, and sent her ardent
and earnest kisses.
Now, it happened that, one morning, on my way
to the boarding-school, I really came across her. I
accosted her without hesitation, as if I had known
her for the last ten years.
"Good day. Mademoiselle. Are you quite well?"
"Very well, Monsieur, thank you."
"Will you have a cigarette?"
"Oh! not in the street."
"You can smoke it at home."
"In that case, I will."
"Let me tell you, Mademoiselle, there's something
you don't know."
"What is that, Monsieur?"
"The old gentleman — my old professor, *
mean — "
" Pere Piquedent."
THE QUESTION OF LATIN 75
"Yes, Pere Piquedent. So you know his name?"
''Faith, I do! What of that?"
"Well, he is in love with you!"
She burst out laughing like a crazy woman and
exclaimed:
"This is only humbug!"
"Oh! no, 'tis no humbug! He keeps talking of
you all the time he is giving lessons. I bet that he'll
marry you!"
She ceased laughing. The idea of marriage makes
every girl serious. Then, she repeated, with an in-
credulous air:
"This is humbug! "
"I swear to you 'tis true.'
She picked up her basket which she had laid
down at her feet.
"Well, we'll see," she said. And she went away.
Presently, when I had reached the boarding-school,
I took Pere Piquedent aside, and said:
"You must write to her: she is mad about you."
And he wrote a long letter of a soft and affec-
tionate character full of phrases and circumlocutions,
metaphors and similes, philosophy and academic gal-
lantry; and 1 took on myself the responsibility of de-
livering it to the young woman.
She read it with gravity, with emotion; then, she
murmured:
"How well he writes! It is easy to see he has
got education! Does he really mean to marry me?"
1 replied intrepidly: "Faith, he has lost his head
about you!"
"Then he must invite me to dinner on Sunday at
the lie des Fleurs."
^6 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
I promised that she would be invited^
Pere Piquedent was much touched by everything
I told him about her.
I added:
"She loves you, Monsieur Piquedent, and I believe
her to be a decent girl. It is not right to seduce her
and then abandon her."
He replied in a firm tone:
"I hope I, too, am a decent man, my friend."
I confess I had at the time no plan. I was play-
ing a practical joke, a schoolboy's practical joke, noth-
ing more. I had been aware of the simplicity of
the old usher, his innocence, and his weakness. I
amused myself without asking myself how it would
turn out. 1 was eighteen, and had been for a long
time looked upon at the lycee as a knowing practi-
cal joker.
So, it was agreed that Pere Piquedent and 1 should
set out in a hackney=coach for the ferry of Queue de
Vache, that we should there pick up Angele, and
that I should get them to come into my boat, for at
this time I was fond of boating. I would then bring
them to the lie de Pleura, where the three of us
would dine. 1 had made it my business to be pres-
ent, in order the better to enjoy my triumph, and the
usher, consenting to my arrangement, proved clearly,
in fact, that he had lost his head by thus risking his
post.
When we arrived at the ferry where my boat had
been moored since morning, I saw in the grass, or
rather above the tall weeds of the bank, an enormous
red parasol, resembling a monstrous wild poppy.
Under the parasol waited the little laundress in her
THE QUESTION OF LATIN -jy
Sunday clothes. I was surprised. She was really
nice-looking, though pale, and graceful, though with
a suburban gracefulness.
Pere Piquedent raised his hat and bowed. She
put out her hand toward him and they stared at one
another without uttering a word. Then they stepped
into my boat and I took the oars.
They were seated side by side on the seat near
the stern. The usher was the first to speak:
"This is nice weather for a row in a boat."
She murmured: "Oh! yes."
She drew her hand through the current, skimming
the water with her fingers, which raised up a thin
transparent little stream like a sheet of glass. It made
a light sound, a gentle ripple, as the boat moved along.
When they were in the restaurant, she took it on
herself to speak, and ordered dinner — fried fish, a
chicken, and salad; then, she led us on toward the
isle, which she knew perfectly.
After this, she was gay, romping, and even rather
mocking.
Up to the dessert, no question of love arose. I had
treated them to champagne and Pere Piquedent was
tipsy. Herself slightly elevated, she called out to him:
"Monsieur Piquenez."
He said all of a sudden:
"Mademoiselle, Monsieur Raoul has communicated
my sentiments to you."
She became as serious as a judge:
"Yes, Monsieur."
"Are you going to give any answer?"
"We never reply to these questions!"
He panted with emotion, and went on:
^8 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
"After all, a day will come when 1 may make
you like me."
She smiled: "You big fool! You are very nice."
"In short, Mademoiselle, do you think that, later
on, we might — "
She hesitated a second; then in a trembling voice
she said:
"Is it in order to marry me you say that? For
never otherwise, you know."
" Yes, Mademoiselle ! "
"Well, that's all right, Monsieur Piquedent!"
It is thus that these two silly creatures promised
marriage to each other through the wiles of a reck-
less schoolboy. But 1 did not believe that it was
serious, nor indeed did they themselves, perhaps.
On her part there was a certain feeling of hesita-
tion:
"You know, I have nothing — not four sous."
He stammered, for he was as drunk as Silenus:
"I have saved five thousand francs."
She exclaimed triumphantly:
"Then we can set up in business!"
He became restless: "In what business?"
"What do 1 know about that? We shall see.
With five thousand francs, we could do many things.
You don't want me to go and live in your boarding-
school, do you?"
He had not looked forward so far as this, and he
stammered in great perplexity:
"What business could we set up in? It is not
convenient, for all 1 know is Latin!"
She reflected in her turn, passing in review all the
professions which she had longed for.
THE QUESTION OF LATIN yn
"You could not be a doctor?"
"No, I have not the diploma."
"Or a chemist?"
"No more than the other."
She uttered a cry, a cry of joy. She had discov-
ered it.
"Then we'll buy a grocer's shop! Oh! what luck!
we'll buy a grocer's shop! Not on a big scale, all the
same; with five thousand francs one cannot go far."
He was shocked at the suggestion:
"No, I can't be a grocer. 1 am — I am — too well
known. 1 only know Latin — that's all 1 know."
But she poured a glass of champagne down his
throat. He drank it and was silent.
We got back into the boat. The night was dark,
very dark. I saw clearly, however, that he had
caught her by the waist, and that they were hugging
each other again and again.
It was a frightful catastrophe. Our escapade was
discovered with the result that Pere Piquedent was
dismissed. And my father, in a fit of anger, sent
me to finish my course of philosophy at Ribaudet's
School.
Six months later I passed for my degree of Bachelor
of Arts. Then I went to study law in Paris, and 1
did not return to my native town till ten years after.
At the corner of the Rue de Serpent, a shop
caught my eye. Over the door were the words:
"Colonial products — Piquedent"; then underneath so
as to enlighten the most ignorant: "Grocery."
I exclaimed: " Qiianhim mutatus ab illol"
He raised his head, left his female customer, and
rushed toward me with outstretched hands.
8o WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
((
Ah! my young friend, my young friend, here
you are! What luck! What luck!"
A beautiful woman, very plump, abruptly left the
counter and flung herself on my breast. I had some
difficulty in recognizing her, so fat had she grown.
I asked: "So then you're going on well?"
Piquedent had gone back to weigh the groceries:
"Oh! very well, very well, very well. 1 have
made three thousand francs clear this year!"
"And what about the Latin, Monsieur Pique-
dent?"
"Oh! goodness gracious! the Latin — the Latin —
the Latin. Well, you see, it does not keep the pot
boiling 1"
MOTHER AND SON !!!
W
E WERE chatting in the smok-
ing-room after a dinner at
which only men were pres-
ent. We talked about unexpected
legacies, strange inheritances. Then
M. le Brument, who was sometimes
^,"~^ called "the illustrious master" and at
other times the "illustrious advocate,"
came and stood with his back to the fire.
"I have," he said, "just now to
search for an heir who disappeared under
peculiarly terrible circumstances. It is one
of those simple and ferocious dramas of or-
dinary life, a thing which possibly happens
every day, and which is nevertheless one of the most
dreadful things I know. Here are the facts:
"Nearly six months ago I got a message to come
to the side of a dying woman. She said to me:
"'Monsieur, I want to intrust to you the most
delicate, the most difficult, and the most wearisome
mission than can be conceived. Be good enough to
> G. deM.-6 (8| )
82 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
take cognizance of my will, which is there on the
table. A sum of five thousand francs is left to you
as a fee if you do not succeed and of a hundred
thousand francs if you do succeed. I want to have
my son found after my death.'
"She asked me to assist her to sit up in the bed,
in order that she might be able to speak with greater
ease, for her voice, broken and gasping, was gurgling
in her throat.
"I saw that I was in the house of a very rich
person. The luxurious apartment, with a certain
simplicity in its luxury, was upholstered with mate-
rials solid as the walls, and their soft surfaces im-
parted a caressing sensation, so that every word
uttered seemed to penetrate their silent depths and to
disappear and die there.
"The dying woman went on:
" ' You are the first to hear my horrible story. I
will try to have strength enough to go on to the end
of it. You must know everything so that you, whom
I know to be a kind-hearted man as well as a man
of the world should have a sincere desire to aid me
with all your power.
" 'Listen to me.
"'Before my marriage, I loved a young man,
whose suit was rejected by my family because he was
not rich enough. Not long afterward, I married a
man of great wealth. I married him through igno-
rance, through obedience, through indifference, as
young girls do marry.
"M had a child, a boy. My husband died in the
course of a few years.
'"He whom 1 had loved had got married, in his
MOTHER AND SON ! ! ! 83
turn. When he saw that I was a widow, he was
crushed by horrible grief at knowing that he was not
free. He came to see me; he wept and sobbed so
bitterly before my eyes that it was enough to break
my heart. He at first came to see me as a friend.
Perhaps I ought not to have seen him. What could
I do.? 1 was alone, so sad, so solitary, so hopeless!
And I loved him still. What sufferings we women
have sometimes to endure!
'"I had only him in the world, my parents also
being dead. He came frequently; he spent whole
evenings with me. I should not have let him come
so often, seeing that he was married. But I had not
enough will-power to prevent him from coming.
"'How am 1 to tell you what next happened?
He became my lover. How did this come about ?
Can I explain ii? Can anyone explain such things.? Do
you think it could be otherwise when two human
beings are drawn toward each other by the irresisti-
ble force of a passion by which each of them is pos-
sessed.? Do you believe. Monsieur, that it is always
in our power to resist, that we can keep up the
struggle forever, and refuse to yield to the prayers,
the supplications, the tears, the frenzied words, the
appeals on bended knees, the transports of passion,
with which we are pursued by the man we adore,
whom we want to gratify even in his slightest wishes,
whom we desire to crown with every possible happi-
ness, and whom, if we are to be guided by a worldly
code of honor, we must drive to despair. What
strength would it not require? What a renunciation
of happiness? what self-denial? and even what virtu-
ous selfishness ?
84 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
'"In short, Monsieur, I was his mistress; and I
was happy. For twelve years, I was happy. I be-
came — and this was my greatest weakness and my
greatest piece of cowardice — I became his wife's
friend.
"'We brought up my son together; we made a
man of him, a thorough man, intelligent, full of sense
and resolution, of large and generous ideas. The boy
reached the age of seventeen.
*" He, the young man, was fond of my — my lover,
almost as fond of him as I was myself, for he had
been equally cherished and cared for by both of us.
He used to call him his "dear friend," and respected
him immensely, having never received from him any-
thing but wise counsels and a good example of recti-
tude, honor, and probity. He looked upon him as
an old, loyal, and devoted comrade of his mother, as
a sort of moral father, tutor, protector — how am I to
describe it?
"'Perhaps the reason why he never asked any
questions was that he had been accustomed from his
earliest years to see this man in the house, by his
side, and by my side, always concerned about us both.
"'One evening the three of us were to dine to-
gether (these were my principal festive occasions),
and I waited for the two of them, asking myself
which of them would be the first to arrive. The door
opened; it was my old friend. 1 went toward him
with outstretched arms; and he drew his lips toward
mine in a long, delicious kiss.
"'All of a sudden, a sound, a rustling which was
barely audible, that mysterious sensation which indi-
cates the presence of another person, made us start
MOTHER AND SON ! i ! 85
and turn round with a quick movement. Jean, my
son, stood there, livid, staring at us.
"'There was a moment of atrocious confusion. I
drew back, holding out my hands toward my son as
if in supplication; but I could see him no longer. He
had gone.
"'We remained facing each other — my lover and
I — crushed, unable to utter a word. I sank down on
an armchair, and 1 felt a desire, a vague, powerful
desire to fly, to go out into the night, and to disap-
pear forever. Then, convulsive sobs rose up in my
throat, and I wept, shaken with spasms, with my
heart torn asunder, all my nerves writhing with the
horrible sensation of an irremediable misfortune, and
with that dreadful sense of shame which, in such
moments as this, falls on a mother's heart.
"'He looked at me in a scared fashion, not ven-
turing to approach me or to speak to me or to touch
me, for fear of the boy's return. At last he said:
'""I am going to follow him — to talk to him —
to explain matters to him. In short, I must see him
and let him know — "
"'And he hurried away.
"'I waited — 1 waited in a distracted frame of
mind, trembling at the least sound, convulsed with
terror, and filled with some unutterably strange and
intolerable emotion by every slight crackling of the
fire in the grate.
"'I waited for an hour, for two hours, feeling my
heart swell with a dread I had never before experi-
enced, with such an anguish as I would not wish the
greatest of criminals to experience. Where was my
son? What was he doing .^
86 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
" 'About midnight, a messenger brought me a note
from my lover. I still know its contents by heart:
"'"Has your son returned? I did not find him. 1 am down
here. I do not want to go up at this hour."
" ' I wrote in pencil on the same slip of paper:
"'"Jean has not returned. You must go and find him."
" * And I remained all night in the armchair, wait-
ing for him.
'"I felt as if I were going mad. 1 longed to run
wildly about, to roll myself on the floor. And yet
I did not even stir, but kept waiting hour after hour.
What was going to happen? 1 tried to imagine, to
guess. But I could form no conception, in spite of
my efforts, in spite of the tortures of my soul!
'"And now my apprehension was lest they might
meet. What would they do in that case? What
would my son do ? My mind was lacerated by fear-
ful doubts, by terrible suppositions.
"•You understand what I mean, do you not,
Monsieur?
"'My chambermaid, who knew nothing, who
understood nothing, was coming in every moment,
believing, naturally, that I had lost my reason. I sent
her away with a word or a movement of the hand.
She went for the doctor, who found me in the throes
of a nervous fit.
"'I was put to bed. Then came an attack of
brain-fever. When 1 regained consciousness, after a
long illness, I saw beside my bed my — lover — alone.
I exclaimed:
"'"My son? Where is my son?"
MOTHER AND SON!!! 87
'"He replied :
*" "1 assure you every effort has been made by me
to fmd him, but I have failed!"
"'Then, becoming suddenly exasperated and even
indignant, — for women are subject to such outbursts
of unaccountable and unreasoning anger, — I said:
"'"I forbid you to come near me or to see me
again unless you find him. Go away!"
'"He did go away.
"'I have never seen one or the other of them
since. Monsieur, and thus I have lived for the last
twenty years.
'"Can you imagine what all this meant to me?
Can you understand this monstrous punishment, this
slow perpetual laceration of a mother's heart, this
abominable, endless waiting? Endless, did 1 say?
No: it is about to end, for I am dying. I am dying
without ever again seeing either of them — either one
or the other!
'"He — the man 1 loved — has written to me every
day for the last twenty years; and I — 1 have never
consented to see him, even for one second; for 1 had
a strange feeling that if he came back here, it would
be at that very moment my son would again make
his appearance! Ah! my son! my son! Is he dead?
Is he living? Where is he hiding? Over there per-
haps, at the other side of the ocean, in some country
so far away that even its very name is unknown to
mel Does he ever think of me? Ah! if he only
knew! How cruel children are! Did he understand
to what frightful suffering he condemned me, into
what depths of despair, into what tortures, he cast me
while I was still in the prime of life, leaving me to
88 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
suffer like this even to this moment when I am going
to die — me, his mother, who loved him with all the
violence of a mother's love! Oh! isn't it cruel, cruel?
"'You will tell him all this. Monsieur — will you
not? You will repeat for him my last words:
"'"My child, my dear, dear child, be less harsh
toward poor women 1 Life is already brutal and sav-
age enough in its dealings with them. My dear son,
think of what the existence of your poor mother has
been ever since the day when you left her. My dear
child, forgive her, and love her, now that she is dead,
for she has had to endure the most frightful penance
ever inflicted on a woman."*
"She gasped for breath, shuddering, as if she had
addressed the last words to her son and as if he stood
by her bedside.
"Then she added:
"'You will tell him also, Monsieur, that I never
again saw — the other.'
"Once more she ceased speaking, then, in a broken
voice she said:
" 'Leave me now, I beg of you. I want to die all
alone, since they are not with me.'"
Maitre le Brument added:
"I left the house. Messieurs, crying like a fool, so
vehemently, indeed, that my coachman turned round
to stare at me.
"And to think that every day heaps of dramas
like this are being enacted all around us!
"I have not found the son — that son — well, say
what you like about him, but I call him that criminal
son I"
HE?
Y DEAR friend, you cannot under-
stand it by any possible means,
you say, and I perfectly believe
you. You think I am going mad?
It may be so, but not for the reasons
which you suppose.
Yes, I am going to get married, and
I will tell you what has led me to take
that step.
My ideas and my convictions have not
changed at all. I look upon all legalized co-
habitation as utterly stupid, for I am certain that
nine husbands out of ten are cuckolds; and they
get no more than their deserts for having been
idiotic enough to fetter their lives and renounce their
freedom in love, the only happy and good thing in
the world, and for having clipped the wings of fancy
which continually drives us on toward all women.
Vou know what I mean. More than ever I feel that
I am incapable of loving one woman alone, because
*It was in this story that the first gleams of De Maupassant's
approaching madness became apparent. Thenceforward he began to
revel in the strange and terrible, until his malady had seized him
wholly. "The Diary of a Madman," is in a similar vein.
(89)
90 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
I shall always adore all the others too much. I
should like to have a thousand arms, a thousand mouths,
and a thousand — temperaments, to be able to strain
an army of these charming creatures in my embrace
at the same moment.
And yet 1 am going to get married!
I may add that 1 know very little of the girl who
is going to become my wife to-morrow; I have only
seen her four or five times. I know that there is
nothing unpleasing about her, and that is enough for
my purpose. She is small, fair, and stout; so of
course the day after to-morrow I shall ardently wish
for a tall, dark, thin woman.
She is not rich, and belongs to the middle classes.
She is a girl such as you may find by the gross,
well adapted for matrimony, without any apparent
faults, and with no particularly striking qualities.
People say of her: "Mile. Lajolle is a very nice girl,"
and to-morrow they will say: "What a very nice
woman Madame Raymon is." She belongs, in a
word, to that immense number of girls who make
very good wives for us till the moment comes when
we discover that we happen to prefer all other women
to that particular woman we have married.
"Well," you will say to me, "what on earth do
you get married for?"
I hardly like to tell you the strange and seemingly
improbable reason that urged me on to this senseless
act; the fact, however, is that I am frightened of be-
ing alone!
I don't know how to tell you or to make you un-
derstand me, but my state of mind is so wretched
that you will pity me and despise me.
HE?
91
I do not want to be alone any longer at night; I
want to feel that there is some one close to me
touching me, a being who can speak and say some-
thing, no matter what it be.
I wish to be able to awaken somebody by my
side, so that I may be able to ask some sudden
question, a stupid question even, if I feel inclined, so
that I may hear a human voice, and feel that there is
some waking soul close to me, some one whose
reason is at work — so that when I hastily light the
candle I m^y see some human face by my side — be-
cause — because — I am ashamed to confess it — because
I am afraid of being alone.
Oh! you don't understand me yet.
I am not afraid of any danger; if a man were to
come into the room I should kill him without trem-
bling. I am not afraid of ghosts, nor do I believe in
the supernatural. I am not afraid of dead people, for
I believe in the total annihilation of every being that
disappears from the face of this earth.
Well, — yes, well, it must be told; I am afraid of
myself, afraid of that horrible sensation of incompre-
hensible fear.
You may laugh, if you like. It is terrible and I
cannot get over it. I am afraid of the walls, of the
furniture, of the familiar objects, which are animated,
as far as I am concerned, by a kind of animal life.
Above all, I am afraid of my own dreadful thoughts,
of my reason, which seems as if it were about to
leave me, driven away by a mysterious and invisible
agony.
At first I feel a vague uneasiness in my mind
which causes a cold shiver to run all over me. I
92
WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
look round, and of course nothing is to be seen, and
I wish there were something there, no matter what,
as long as it were something tangible: 1 am fright-
ened, merely because I cannot understand my own
terror.
If 1 speak, I am afraid of my own voice. If I
walk, I am afraid of 1 know not what, behind the
door, behind the curtains, in the cupboard, or under
my bed, and yet all the time 1 know there is nothing
anywhere, and I turn round suddenly because 1 am
afraid of what is behind me, although there is noth-
ing there, and I know it.
I get agitated; I feel that my fear increases, and
so I shut myself up in my own room, get into bed,
and hide under the clothes, and there, cowering down
rolled into a ball, I close my eyes in despair and re-
main thus for an indefinite time, remembering that
my candle is alight on the table by my bedside, and
that I ought to put it out, and yet — I dare not do it!
It is very terrible, is it not, to be like that?
Formerly I felt nothing of all that; I came home
quite comfortably, and went up and down in my
rooms without anything disturbing my calmness of
mind. Had anyone told me that I should be attacked
by a malady — for I can call it nothing else — of most
improbable fear, such a stupid and terrible malady as
it is, I should have laughed outright. I was certainly
never afraid of opening the door in the dark; I used
to go to bed slowly without locking it, and never
got up in the middle of the night to make sure that
everything was firmly closed.
It began last year in a very strange manner, on a
damp autumn evening. When my servant had left
HE?
93
the room, after I had dined, I asked myself what I
was going to do. I walked up and down my room
for some time, feehng tired without any reason for
it, unable to work, and without enough energy to
read. A fine rain was falling, and I felt unhappy, a
prey to one of those fits of casual despondency which
make us feel inclined to cry, or to talk, no matter to
whom, so as to shake off our depressing thoughts.
1 felt that I was alone and that my rooms seemed
to me to be more empty that they had ever been
before. I was surrounded by a sensation of infinite
and overwhelming solitude. What was I to do? I
sat down, but then a kind of nervous impatience
agitated my legs, so that I got up and began to
walk about again. I was feverish, for my hands,
which I had clasped behind me, as one often does
when walking slowly, almost seemed to burn one
another. Then suddenly a cold shiver ran down my
back, and I thought the damp air might have pene-
trated into my room, so I lit the fire for the first
time that year, and sat down again and looked at
the flames. But soon I felt that 1 could not possibly
remain quiet". So I got up again and determined to
go out, to pull myself together, and to seek a friend
to bear me company.
1 could not find anyone, so I went on to the boule-
vards to try and meet some acquaintance or other
there.
1 was wretched everywhere, and the wet pave-
ment glistened in the gaslight, while the oppressive
mist of the almost impalpable rain lay heavily over
the streets and seemed to obscure the light from
the lamps.
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WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
I went on slowly, saying to myself, "I shall not
find a soul to talk to."
1 glanced into several cafes, from the Madeleine as
far as the Faubourg Poissoniere, and saw many
unhappy-looking individuals sitting at the tables, who
did not seem even to have enough energy left to
finish the refreshments they had ordered.
For a long time 1 wandered aimlessly up and
down, and about midnight I started off for home; I
was very calm and 'very tired. My concierge* opened
the door at once, which was quite unusual for him,
and I thought that another lodger had no doubt just
come in.
When I go out I always double-lock the door
of my room. Now I found it merely closed, v^hich
surprised me; but 1 supposed that some letters had
been brought up for me in the course of the eve-
ning.
I went in, and found my fire still burning so that
it lighted up the room a little. In the act of taking
up a candle, I noticed somebody sitting in my arm-
chair by the fire, warming his feet, with his back
toward me.
1 was not in the slightest degree frightened, i
thought very naturally that some friend or other had
come to see me. No doubt the porter, whom I had
told when I went out, had lent him his own key.
In a moment 1 remembered all the circumstances of
my return, how the street door had been opened im-
mediately, and that my own door was only latched,
and not locked.
* Hall-porter.
HE? 95
! could see nothing of my friend but his head.
He had evidently gone to sleep while waiting for me,
so I went up to him to rouse him. I saw him quite
dearly; his right arm was hanging down and his legs
were crossed, while his head, which was somewhat
inclined to the left of the armchair, seemed to indi-
cate that he was asleep. "Who can it be?" I asked
myself, I could not see clearly, as the room was
rather dark, so I put out my hand to touch him on
the shoulder, and it came in contact with the back of
the chair. There was nobody there; the seat was
empty.
I fairly jumped with fright. For a moment I drew
back as if some terrible danger had suddenly appeared
in my way; then I turned round again, impelled by
some imperious desire to look at the armchair again.
I remained standing upright, panting with fear, so up-
set that I could not collect my thoughts, and ready to
drop.
But 1 am naturally a cool man, and soon recovered
myself 1 thought: "It is a mere hallucination, that
is all," and 1 immediately began to reflect about this
phenomenon. Thoughts fly very quickly at such mo-
ments.
I had been suffering from a hallucination, that was
an incontestable fact. My mind had been perfectly
lucid and had acted regularly and logically, so there
was nothing the matter with the brain. It was only
my eyes that had been deceived; they had had a
vision, one of those visions which lead simple folk to
believe in miracles. It was a nervous accident to the
optical apparatus, nothing more; the eyes were rather
overwrought, perhaps.
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WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
I lit my candle, and when 1 stooped down to the
fire in so doing, I noticed that 1 was trembling, and
I raised myself up with a jump, as if somebody had
touched me from behind.
I was certainly not by any means reassured.
I walked up and down a little, and hummed a
tune or two. Then I double-locked my door, and
felt rather reassured; now, at any rate, nobody could
come in.
1 sat down again, and thought over my adventure
for a long time; then 1 went to bed, and put out my
light.
For some minutes all went well; 1 lay quietly on
my back. Then an irresistible desire seized me to
look round the room, and 1 turned on to my side.
My fire was nearly out and the few glowing em-
bers threw a faint light on to the floor by the chair,
where I fancied I saw the man sitting again.
I quickly struck a match, but I had been mis-
taken, for there was nothing there; I got up, how-
ever, and hid the chair behind my bed, and tried to
get to sleep as the room was now dark. But I had
not forgotten myself for more than five minutes when
in my dream 1 saw all the scene which I had wit-
nessed as clearly as if it were reality. I woke up
with a start, and, having lit the candle, sat up in
bed, without venturing even to try and go to sleep
again.
Twice, however, sleep overcame me for a few
moments in spite of myself, and twice I saw the
same thing again, till I fancied I was going mad.
When day broke, however, I thought that I was
cured, and slept peacefully till noon.
HE?
97
It was all past and over. I had been feverish, had
had the nightmare; I don't know what. I had been ill,
in a word, but yet I thought that I was a great fool.
I enjoyed myself thoroughly that evening; I went
and dined at a restaurant; afterward I went to the
theater, and then started home. But as I got near
the house I was seized by a strange feeling of un-
easiness once more; I was afraid of seeing him again.
I was not afraid of him, not afraid of his presence, in
which I did not believe; but I was afraid of being
deceived again; I was afraid of some fresh hallucina-
tion, afraid lest fear should take possession of me.
For more than an hour 1 wandered up and down
the pavement; then I thought that 1 was really too
foolish, and returned home. I panted so that I could
scarcely get upstairs, and remained standing outside
my door for more than ten minutes; then suddenly I
took courage and pulled myself together. I inserted
my key into the lock, and went in with a candle in
my hand. I kicked open my half-open bedroom
door, and gave a frightened look toward the fire-
place; there was nothing there. A — h!
What a relief and what a delight! What a de-
liverance! 1 walked up and down briskly and boldly,
but 1 was not altogether reassured, and kept turning
round with a jump; the very shadows in the corners
disquieted me.
I slept badly, and was constantly disturbed by
imaginary noises, but I did not see him; no, that
was all over.
Since that time I have been afraid of being alone
at night. I feel that the specter is there, close to me,
around me; but it has not appeared to me again.
9 G. d«M.-7
q8 works of guy DE MAUPASSANT
And supposing it did, what would it matter, since I
do not believe in it and know tiiat it is nothing?
It still worries me, however, because I am con-
stantly thinking of it: his right arm hanging down
and his head inclined to the left like a man who was
asleep — Enough of that, in Heaven's name! I don't
want to think about it!
Why, however, am I so persistently possessed
with this idea? His feet were close to the fire!
He haunts me; it is very stupid, but so it is. Who
and what is HE ? I know that he does not exist
except in my cowardly imagination, in my fears,
and in my agony! There — enough of that!
Yes, it is all very well for me to reason with my-
self, to stiffen myself, so to say; but I cannot remain
at home, because I know he is there. I know { shall
not see him again; he will not show himself again;
that is all over. But he is there all the same in my
thoughts. He remains invisible, but that does not
prevent his being there. He is behind the doors, in
the closed cupboards, in the wardrobe, under the bed,
in every dark corner. If I open the door or the cup-
board, if I take the candle to look under the bed and
throw a light on to the dark places, he is there no
longer, but 1 feel that he is behind me. I turn round,
certain that I shall not see him, that 1 shall never see
him again; but he is, none the less, behind me.
It is very stupid, it is dreadful; but what am I to
do? I cannot help it.
But if there were two of us in the place, I feel
certain that he would not be there any longer, for he
is there just because I am alone, simply and solely
because I am alone!
THE TAILOR'S DAUGHTER
HE Steamboat "Kleber" had stopped,
and I was admiring the beautiful
bay of Bougie, that was opened
out before us. The high hills were
covered with forests, and in the dis-
tance the yellow sands formed a beach
,. - of powdered gold, while the sun shed
"> its fiery rays on the white houses of the
""/' town.
The warm African breeze blew the odor
- of that great, mysterious continent, into which
men of the Northern races but rarely penetrate,
into my face. For three months I had been
wandering on the borders of that great unknown
world, on the outskirts of that strange world of the
ostrich, the camel, the gazelle, the hippopotamus, the
gorilla, the lion and the tiger, and the negro. 1 had
seen the Arab galloping like the wind and passing
like a floating standard, and I had slept under those
brown tents, the moving habitation of the white birds
of the desert, and felt, as it were, intoxicated with
light with fancy, and with space.
(99)
lOO WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
But now, after this present and final excursion, I
should have to return to France and to Paris, that
city of useless chatter, of commonplace cares, and of
continual hand-shaking, and should bid adieu to all
that 1 had got to like so much, which was so new
to me, which I had scarcely had time to see thor-
oughly, and which I so much regretted to leave.
A fleet of small boats surrounded the steamer, and,
jumping into one rowed by a negro lad, 1 soon
reached the quay near the old Saracen gate, whose
gray ruins at the entrance of the Kabyle town looked
like an old escutcheon of nobility. While I was
standing by the side of my portmanteau, looking at
the great steamer lying at anchor in the roads, and
filled with admiration at that unique shore, and that
semicircle of hills, bathed in blue light, more beauti-
ful than those of Ajaccio, or of Porto, in Corsica, a
heavy hand was laid on my shoulder. Turning round
I saw a tall man with a long beard, dressed in white
flannel, and wearing a straw hat, standing by my
side and looking at me with his blue eyes.
"Are you not an old schoolfellow of mine?" he
said.
"It is very possible. What is your name?"
"Tremouhn."
"By Jove! You were in the same class as I."
"Yes! Old fellow, I recognized you immediately."
He seemed so pleased, so happy at seeing me,
that in an outburst of friendly selfishness, I shook
both the hands of my former schoolfellow heartily,
and felt very pleased at meeting him thus.
For four years, Tremoulin had been one of my
best and most intimate school friends, one of those
THE TAILOR'S DAUGHTER lOl
whom we are too apt to forget as soon as we leave.
In those days, he had been a tall, thin fellow, whose
head seemed to be too heavy for his bodv; it was a
large, round head, and hung sometimes to the right
and sometimes to the left, on to his chest. TremouHn
was very clever, however; he had a marvelous apti^
tude for learning, an instinctive intuition for all liter-
ary studies, and gained nearly all the prizes in our
class.
We were fully convinced at school that he would
turn out a celebrated man, a poet, no doubt, for he
wrote verses, and was full of ingeniously sentimental
ideas. His father, who kept a chemist's shop near
the Pantheon, was not supposed to be very well oflF»
and I had lost sight of him as soon as he had taken
his bachelor's degree. I naturally asked him what he
was doing there.
"I am a planter," he replied.
"Bah! You really plant?"
"And I have my harvest."
"What is it?"
"Grapes, from which I make wine."
"Is your wine-growing a success?"
"A great success."
"So much the better, old fellow."
"Were you going to the hotel?"
"Of course I was."
"Well, then, you must just come home with me,
instead."
"Butl — "
"The matter is settled."
And he said to the young negro who was watch-
ing our movements: "Take that home, Al."
I02 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
The lad put my portmanteau on his shoulder, and
set off, raising the dust with his black feet, while
Tremoulin took my arm and led me off. First of all,
he asked about my journey and what impressions it
had made on me, and seeing how enthusiastic 1 was
about it, he seemed to like me better than ever. He
lived in an old Moorish house, in an interior street,
commanded by a terrace. It had a windowless court-
yard and commanded the neighboring houses as well
as the bay, and the forests, the hill, and the open
sea. I could not help exclaiming:
"Ah! This is what I like; the whole of the East
lays hold of me in this place. You are indeed lucky
to be living here! What nights you must spend upon
that terrace! Do you sleep there?"
"Yes, in the summer. We will go on to it this
evening. Are you fond of fishing?"
"What kind of fishing?"
"Fishing by torchlight"
"Yes, I am particularly fond of it."
"Very well, then, we will go after dinner, and we
will come back and drink sherbet on my roof."
After 1 had had a bath, he took me to see the
charming Kabyle town, a veritable cascade of white
houses toppling down to the sea, and then, when it
was getting dusk, we went in, and after an excellent
dinner went down to the quay. We saw nothing
except the fires and the stars, those large, bright,
scintillating African stars. A boat was waiting for
us, and as soon as we had got in, a man whose
face 1 could not distinguish began to row. My friend
was getting ready the brazier which he would light
later, and he said to me: "You know I have a
THE TAILOR'S DAUGHTER
105
mania for using a fish-spear, and few can handle it
it better than I."
"Allow me to compliment you on your skill."
We had rowed round a kind of mole, and now were
in a small bay full of high rocks, whose shadows
looked like towers built in the water. I suddenly
perceived that the sea was phosphorescent, and as
the oars moved gently, they seemed to light up mov-
ing flames, that followed in our wake, and then died
out. I leaned over the side of the boat and watched
it as we glided over the ghmmer in the darkness.
Where were we going to ? I could not see my
neighbors; in fact, 1 could see nothing but the lumi-
nous ripple, and the sparks of water dropping from
the oars. It was hot, very hot, the darkness seemed
as hot as a furnace, and this mysterious motion with
these two men in that silent boat had a pecuhar
effect upon me.
Suddenly the rower stopped. Where were we?
I heard a slight scratching noise close to me, and I
saw a hand, nothing but a hand applying a lighted
match to the iron grating which was fastened over
the bows of the boat and was heaped high with
wood, as if it had been a floating funeral pile. It was
soon blazing brightly, illuminating the boat and the
two men, an old, thin, pale, wrinkled sailor, with a
pocket handkerchief tied round his head instead of a
cap, and Tremoulin, whose fair beard glistened in the
light.
The other began to row again, while Tremoulin
kept throwing wood on to the brazier, which burned
red and brightly. 1 leaned over the side again, and
could see the bottom. A few feet below us there
I04
WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
was that strange country of the water, which vivifies
plants and animals, just like the air of heaven does.
Tremoulin, who was standing in the bows with his
body bent forward and holding the sharp-pointed
trident in his hand, was on the lookout with the
ardent gaze of a beast of prey watching for its spoil.
Suddenly, with a swift movement, he darted his
forked weapon into the sea so vigorously that it
secured a large fish swimming near the bottom. It
was a conger eel, which managed to wriggle, half
dead as it was, into a puddle of the brackish water.
Tremoulin again threw his spear, and when he
pulled it up, I saw a great lump of red flesh which
palpitated, moved, and rolled and unrolled long, strong,
soft feelers round the handle of the trident. It was
an octopus, and Tremoulin opened his knife, and
with a swift movement plunged it between the eyes
and killed it. And so our fishing continued, until
the wood began to run short. When there was not
enough left to keep up the fire, Tremoulin dipped the
braziers into the sea, and we were again buried in
darkness.
The old sailor began to row again, slowly and
regularly, though 1 could not tell where the land or
where the port was. By and by, however, I saw
lights. We were nearing the harbor.
"Are you sleepy?" my friend said to me.
"Not the slightest."
"Then we will go and have a chat on the roof."
"I shall be delighted."
Just as we got on to the terrace, I saw the crescent
moon rising behind the mountains, and around us
the white houses, with their flat roofs, sloping down
THE TAILOR'S DAUGHTER
105
toward the sea, while human forms were stand-
ing or lying on them, sleeping or dreaming under
the stars; whole families wrapped in long gowns, and
resting in the calm night, after the heat of the day.
It seemed to me as if the Eastern mind were
taking possession of me, the poetical and legendary
spirit of a people with simple and flowery thoughts.
My head was full of the Bible and of " The Arabian
Nights"; 1 could hear the prophets proclaiming mira-
cles, and I could see princesses wearing silk robes
on the roofs of the palaces, while delicate perfumes,
whose smoke assumed the forms of genii, were burn-
ing on silver dishes. I said to Tremoulin:
"You are very fortunate in living here."
"1 came here quite by accident," he replied.
"By accident?"
"Yes, accident and unhappiness brought me
here."
"You have been unhappy.?"
"Very unhappy."
He was standing in front of me, wrapped in his
burnous, and his voice had such a painful ring in it,
that it almost made me shiver. After a moment's
silence, however, he continued:
"I will tell you what my troubles have been; per-
haps it will do me good to speak about them."
"Let me hear them."
"Do you really wish it?"
"Yes."
"Very well, then. You remember what I was at
school; a sort of a poet, brought up in a chemist's
shop. I dreamed of writing books, and I tried it,
after taking my degree, but I did not succeed. I
I06 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
published a volume of verse, and then a novel, and
neither of them sold; then I wrote a play, which
was never acted.
"Next, 1 lost my heart, but I will not give you an
account of my passion. Next door to my father's
shop, there was a tailor, who had a daughter with
whom 1 fell in love. She was very clever, had ob-
tained her certificates for higher education, and hei
mind was bright and active, quite in keeping indeed
with her body. She might have been taken for fif-
teen, although she was two-and-twenty. She was
very small, with delicate features, outlines and tints,
just like some beautiful water-color. Her nose, her
mouth, her blue eyes, her light hair, her smile, her
waist, her hands, all looked as if they were fit for a
stained window, and not for everyday life, but she
was lively, supple, and incredibly active, and 1 was
very much in love with her. I remember two or
three walks in the Luxembourg Garden, near the
Medicis fountain, which were certainly the happiest
hours of my hfe. 1 dare say you have known that
foolish condition of tender madness, which causes us
to think of nothing but of acts of adoration ! One really
becomes possessed, haunted by a woman, and noth-
ing exists for us when by her side.
"We soon became engaged, and I told her my
projects for the future, which she did not approve.
She did not believe that 1 was either a poet, a nov-
elist, or a dramatic author, and thought a prosperous
business could afford perfect happiness. So I gave
up the idea of writing books, and resigned myself to
selling them, and 1 bought a bookseller's business at
Marseilles, the owner of which had just died.
THE TAILOR'S DAUGHTER
107
"I had three very prosperous years. We had
made our shop into a sort of hterary drawing-room,
where all the men of letters in the town used to
come and talk. They came in, as if it had been a
club, and exchanged ideas on books, on poets, and
especially on politics. My wife, who took a very
active part in the business, enjoyed quite a reputation
in the town, but as for me, while they were all talk-
ing downstairs, I was working in my studio upstairs,
which communicated with the shop by a winding
staircase. I could hear their voices, their laughter,
and their discussions, and sometimes I left off writing
in order to listen. I remained in my own room to
write a novel — which I never finished.
"The most regular frequenters of the shop were
Monsieur Montina, a man of good private means,
a tall, handsome man, such as one meets with in
the south of France, with an olive skin and dark, ex-
pressive eyes; Monsieur Barbet, a magistrate; two
merchants, who were partners, Messrs. Faucil and La-
barregue; and General the Marquis de la Fleche, the
head of the Royalist party, the principal man in the
whole district, an old fellow of sixty-six.
"My business prospered, and I was happy, very
happy. One day, however, about three o'clock when
I was out on business, as 1 was going through the
Rue Saint Ferreol, I suddenly saw a woman come out
of a house, whose figure and appearance were so
much like my wife's, that I should have said to my-
self, 'There she is!' if I had not left her in the shop
half an hour before, suffering from a headache. She
was walking quickly on before me, without turning
round, and, in spite of myself, I followed her, as 1 felt
Io8 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
surprised and uneasy. I said to myself: 'It is she;
no, it is quite impossible, as she has a sick headache.
And then, what could she have to do in that house?'
However, as I wished to have the matter cleared up,
I made haste after her. 1 do not know whether she
felt or guessed that I was behind her, or whether she
recognized my step, but she turned round suddenly.
It was she! When she saw me, she grew very red
and stopped, and then, with a smile, she said: 'Oh!
Here you are?' I felt choking.
"'Yes; so you have come out? And how is your
headache?'
"'It is better, and I have been out on an errand.'
"'Where?'
"'To Lacaussade's, in the Rue Cassinelli to order
some pencils.'
"She looked me full in the face. She was not
flushed now, but rather pale, on the contrary. Her
clear, limpid eyes — ah! those women's eyes! — ap-
peared to be full of truth, but 1 felt vaguely and pain-
fully, that they were full of lies. I was much more
confused and embarrassed than she was herself, with-
out venturing to suspect, but sure that she was lying,
though I did not know why, and so I merely said:
"'You were quite right to go out, if you felt
better.'
"'Oh! yes; my head is much better.'
'"Are you going home?'
'"Yes, of course I am.'
"I left her, and wandered about the streets by
myself. What was going on? While I was talking
to her, I had an intuitive feeling of her falseness,
but now I could not believe that it was so, and when
THE TAILOR'S DAUGHTER
109
I returned home to dinner, I was angry for having
suspected her, even for a moment.
''Have you ever been jealous? It does not matter
whether you have or not, but the first drop of jealousy
had fallen into my heart, and that is always like a
spark of fire. It did not accuse her of anything, and
I did not think anything, I only knew that she had
lied. You must remember that every night, after
the customers and clerks had left, we were alone, and
either strolled as far as the harbor, when it was
fine, or remained talking in my office, if the weather
was bad, and I used to open my heart to her without
any reserve, because 1 loved her. She was part of
my Hfe, the greater part, and all my happiness, and
in her small hands she held my trusting, faithful
heart captive.
"During the first days, those days of doubt, and
before my suspicions increased and assumed a pre-
cise shape, I felt depressed and chilly as if I were
going to be seriously ill. I was continually cold,
really cold, and could neither eat nor sleep. Why
had she told me a lie ? What was she doing in that
house.? I went there to try and find out something,
but I could discover nothing. The man who rented
the first floor, and who was an upholsterer, had told
me all about his neighbors, but without helping me
the least. A midwife had lived on the second
floor, a dressmaker and a manicure and chiropodist
on the third, and two coachmen and their families in
the attics.
"Why had she told me a lie? It would have been
so easy for her to have said that she had been to the
dressmaker's or chiropodist's. Oh! how I longed to
no WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
question them, also! I did not say so, for fear that
she might guess my suspicions. One thing, however,
was certain: she had been into that house, and had
concealed the fact from me, so there was some mys-
tery in it. But what? At one moment, I thought
there might be some laudable purpose in it, some
charitable deed which she wished to hide, some in-
formation which she wished to obtain, and I found
fault with myself for suspecting her. Have not all of
us the right to our little, innocent secrets, a kind of
second, interior life, for which one ought not to be
responsible to anybody? Can a man, because he has
taken a girl to be his companion through life, de-
mand that she shall neither think nor do anything
without telling him, either before or afterward ? Does
the word marriage mean renouncing all liberty and
independence? Was is not quite possible that she
was going to the dressmaker's without telling me, or
that she was going to assist the family of one of the
coachmen? Or she might have thought that I might
criticise, if not blame, her visit to the house. She
knew me thoroughly, and my slightest peculiarities,
and perhaps she feared a discussion, even if she did
not think that I should find fault with her. She had
very pretty hands, and I ended by supposing that she
was having them secretly attended to by the mani-
cure in the house which I suspected, and that she
did not tell me of it for fear that I should think her
extravagant. She was very methodical and economical,
and looked after all her household duties most care-
fully, and no doubt she thought that she should
lower herself in my eyes, were she to confess that
slight piece of feminine extravagance. Women have
THE TAILOR'S DAUGHTER HI
very many subtleties and innate intricacies in their
souls!
"But none of my own arguments reassured me.
I was jealous, and I felt that my suspicion was affect-
ing me terribly, that I was being devoured by it. 1
felt secret grief and anguish, and a thought which I
still veiled. I did not dare to lift the veil, for be-
neath it I should find a terrible doubt. A lover?
Had not she a lover? It was unlikely, impossible. A
mere dream — and yet?
"I continually saw Montina's face before my eyes.
I saw the tall, silly-looking, handsome man, with
his bright hair, smiling into her face, and I said to
myself: ' He is the one. ' 1 concocted a story of
their intrigues. They had talked a book over to-
gether, had discussed the love adventures it contained,
had found something in it that resembled them, and
they had turned that analogy into reality. And so I
watched them, a prey to the most terrible sufferings
that a man can endure. 1 bought shoes with india-
rubber soles, so that I might be able to walk about
the house without making any noise, and I spent half
my time in going up and down my little spiral stair-
case, in the hope of surprising them, but I always
found that the clerk was with them.
"1 lived in a constant state of suffering, I could
no longer work nor attend to my business. As soon
as I went out, as soon as I had walked a hundred
yards along the street, I said to myself: 'He is there!'
and when 1 found he was not there, I went out
again! But almost immediately, I went back again,
thinking: 'He has come now!' and that went on
every day.
112 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
"At night it was still worse, for I felt her by my
side in bed asleep, or pretending to be asleep! Was
she really sleeping? No, most likely not. Was that
another lie?
"1 remained motionless on my back, hot from the
warmth of her body, panting and tormented. Oh!
how intensely I longed to get up, to get a hammer
and to split her head open, so as to be able to see
inside it! I knew that I should have seen nothing
except what is to be found in every head, and I
should have discovered nothing, for that would have
been impossible. And her eyes! When she looked
at me, I felt furious with rage. I looked at her — she
looked at me! Her eyes were transparent, candid —
and false, false! Nobody could tell what she was
thinking of, and I felt inclined to run pins into them
and to destroy those mirrors of falseness.
"Ah! how well 1 could understand the Inquisition!
I would have applied the torture, the boot — Speak!
Confess! You will not? Then wait! And 1 would
have seized her by the throat until I choked her. Or
else 1 would have held her fingers into the fire. Oh!
how I should have enjoyed doing it! Speak! Speak!
You will not? I would have held them on the coals,
and when the tips were burned, she would have
confessed — certainly she would have confessed!"
Tremoulin was sitting up, shouting, with clenched
fists. Around us, on the neighboring roofs, people
awoke and sat up, as he was disturbing their sleep.
As for me, I was moved and powerfully interested,
and in the darkness 1 could see that little woman,
that little, fair, lively, artful woman, as if I had known
her personally. I saw her selling her books, talking
THE TAILOR'S DAUGHTER
113
with the men whom her childish ways attracted, and
in her delicate, doIl-Hke head, 1 could see little crafty
ideas, silly ideas, the dreams which a milliner smell-
ing of musk attaches to all heroes of romantic ad-
ventures. I suspected her just as he did, I hated and
detested her, and would willingly have burned her
fingers and made her confess.
Presently, he continued more calmly: "I do not
know why I have told you all this, for 1 have never
mentioned it to anyone, but then 1 have not seen
anybody for two years! And it was seething in my
heart like a fermenting wine. I have got rid of it,
and so much the worse for you. Well, I had made a
mistake, but it was worse than I thought, much
worse. Just listen. I employed the means which a
man always does under such circumstances, and pre-
tended that 1 was going to be away from home for
a day, and whenever 1 did this my wife went out to
lunch. I need not tell you how I bribed a waiter in
the restaurant to which they used to go, so that I
might surprise them.
"He was to open the door of their private room
for me. I arrived at the appointed time, with the
fixed determination of killing them both. I could see
the whole scene, just as if it had already occurred!
I could see myself going in. A small table covered
with glasses, bottles, and plates separated her from
Montina. They would be so surprised when they
saw me that they would not even attempt to move,
and without a word, 1 should bring down the loaded
stick which 1 had in my hand on the man's head.
Killed by one blow, he would fall with his head on
the table, and then, turning toward her, I should
* G. de M.— 8
114
WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
leave her a few moments to understand it all and to
stretch out her arms toward me, mad with terror,
before dying in her turn. Oh! I was ready, strong,
determined, and pleased, madly pleased at the idea.
The idea of the terrified look that she would throw
at my raised stick, of her arms that she would stretch
out to me, of her horrified cry, of her livid and con-
vulsed looks, avenged me beforehand. I would not
kill her at one blow. You will think me cruel, I
daresay; but you do not know what a man suffers.
To think that a woman, whether she be wife or
mistress, whom one loves, gives herself to another,
yields herself up to him as she does to you, and re-
ceives kisses from his lips, as she does from yours!
It is a terrible, an atrocious thing to think of. When
one feels that torture, one is ready for anything. 1
only wonder that more women are not murdered, for
every man who has been deceived longs to commit
murder, has dreamed of it in the solitude of his own
room, or on a deserted road, and has been haunted
by the one fixed idea of satisfied vengeance.
"I arrived at the restaurant, and asked whether
they were there. The waiter whom I had bribed re-
plied: 'Yes, Monsieur,' and taking me upstairs, he
pointed to a door, and said: 'That is the room!' So
I grasped my stick, as if my fingers had been made
of iron, and went in. I had chosen a most appropri-
ate moment, for they were kissing most lovingly, but
it was not Montina, it was General de la Fleche, who
was sixty-six years old. I had so fully made up my
mind that I should find the other one there, I was
motionless from astonishment.
"And then — and then 1 really do not quite know
THE TAILOR'S DAUGHTER II5
what I thought, no, I really do not know. If I had
found myself face to face with the other, 1 should
have been convulsed with rage, but on seeing this
old man, with fat stomach and pendulous cheeks, I
was nearly choked with disgust. She, who did not
look fifteen, small and slim as she was, had given
herself to this fat man, who was nearly paralyzed,
because he was a marquis and a general, the friend
and representative of dethroned kings. No, I do not
know what I felt, nor what 1 thought. 1 could not
have lifted my hand against this old man; it would
have been a disgrace to me, and I no longer felt in-
clined to kill my wife, but all women who could be
guilty of such things! I was no longer jealous, but
felt distracted, as if I had seen the horror of horrors!
"Let people say what they like of men, they are
not so vile as that! If a man is known to have
given himself up to an old woman in that fashion,
people point their finger at him. The husband or
lover of an old woman is more despised than a thief.
We men are a decent lot, as a rule, but many women,
especially in Paris, are absolutely bad. They will give
themselves to all men, old or young, from the most
contemptible and different motives, because it is their
profession, their vocation, and their function. They
are the eternal, unconscious, and serene prostitutes,
who give up their bodies, because they are the mer-
chandise of love, which they sell or give, to the old
man who frequents the pavements with money in his
pocket, or else for glory, to a lecherous old king, or
to a celebrated and disgusting old man."
He vociferated like a prophet of old, in a furious
voice, under the starry sky, and with the rage of a
Il6 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
man in despair he repeated all the glorified disgrace
of the mistresses of old kings, the respectable shame
of those virgins who marry old husbands, the toler-
ated disgrace of those young women, who accept old
kisses with a smile.
1 could see them, as he evoked their memory,
since the beginning of the world, surging round us
in that Eastern night, girls, beautiful girls, with vile
souls, who, like the lower animals who know noth-
ing of the age of the male, are docile to senile desires.
They rose up before one, the handmaids of the patri-
archs, who are mentioned in the Bible, Hagar, Ruth,
the daughters of Lot, Abigail, Abishag; the virgin of
Shunam, who reanimated David with her caresses
when he was dying, and the others, young, stout,
white, patricians or plebeians, irresponsible females
belonging to a master, and submissive slaves, whether
caught by the attraction of royalty or bought as
slaves !
"What did you do?" I asked.
"I went away," he replied simply. And we re-
mained sitting side by side for a long time without
speaking, only dreaming! *
I have retained an impression of that evening that
will never be dispelled. All that I saw, felt, and
heard, our fishing excursion, the octopus also, per-
haps that harrowing story, amid those white figures
on the neighboring roofs, all seemed to concur in
producing a unique sensation. Certain meetings, cer-
tain inexplicable combinations of things, contain a
larger quantity of the secret quintessence of life than
that which is spread over the ordinary events of our
days, when nothing exceptional happens.
THE AVENGER
w
HEN M. Antoine Leuillet mar-
ried the Widow Mathilde
Souris, he had been in love
with her for nearly ten years.
M. Souris had been his friend,
his old college chum. Leuillet was
very fond of him, but found him
rather a muff. He often used to say:
"That poor Souris will never set the
Seine on fire."
When Souris married Mile. Mathilde
Duval, Leuillet was surprised and some-
gs.1^- what vexed, for he had a slight weakness
•^ for her. She was the daughter of a neighbor
of his, a retired haberdasher with a good deal of
money. She v/as pretty, well-mannered, and intel-
ligent. She accepted Souris on account of his money.
Then Leuillet cherished hopes of another sort. He
bc'gan paying attentions to his friend's wife. He was
a handsome man, not at all stupid, and also well off.
He was confident that he would succeed; he failed.
Then he fell really in love with her, and he was the
(|'7)
Il8 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
sort of lover who is rendered timid, prudent, and em-
barrassed by intimacy with the husband. Mme.
Souris fancied that he no longer meant anything se-
rious by his attentions to her, and she became simply
his friend. This state of affairs lasted nine years.
Now, one morning, Leuillet received a startling
communication from the poor woman. Souris had
died suddenly of aneurism of the heart.
He got a terrible shock, for they were of the same
age; but, the very next moment, a sensation of pro-
found joy, of infinite relief, of deliverance, penetrated
his body and soul. Mme. Souris was free.
He had the tact, however, to make such a display
of grief as the occasion required; he waited for the
proper time to elapse, and attended to all the con-
ventional usages. At the end of fifteen months, he
married the widow.
His conduct was regarded as not only natural but
generous. He had acted like a good friend and an
honest man. In short, he was happy, quite happy.
They lived on terms of the closest confidence,
having from the first understood and appreciated each
other. One kept nothing secret from the other, and
they told each other their inmost thoughts. Leuillet
now loved his wife with a calm, trustful affection; he
loved her as a tender, devoted partner, who is an
equal and a confidant. But there still lingered in his
soul a singular and unaccountable grudge against the
deceased Souris, who had been the first to possess
this woman, who had had the flower of her youth
and of her soul, and who had even robbed her of her
poetic attributes. The memory of the dead husband
spoiled the happiness of the living husband; and this
THE AVENGER
119
posthumous jealousy now began to torment Leuillet's
heart day and night.
The result was that he was incessantly talking
about Souris, asking a thousand minute and intimate
questions about him, and seeking for information as
to all his habits and personal characteristics. And he
pursued him with railleries even into the depths of
the tomb, recalling with self-satisfaction his oddities,
emphasizing his absurdities, and pointing out his de-
fects.
Constantly he would call out to his wife from one
end to the other of the house:
. "Hallo, Mathilde!"
"Here I am, dear."
"Come and let us have a chat."
She always came over to him, smiling, well aware
that Souris was to be the subject of the chat, and
anxious to gratify her second husband's harmless fad.
"I say! do you remember how Souris wanted one
day to prove to me that small men are always bet-
ter loved than big men?"
And he launched out into reflections unfavorable to
the defunct husband, who was small, and discreetly
complimentary to himself, as he happened to be tall.
And Mme. Leuillet let him think that he was quite
right; and she laughed very heartily, turned the first
husband into ridicule in a playful fashion for the
amusement of his successor, who always ended by
remarking:
"Never mind! Souris was a muff!"
They were happy, quite happy. And Leuillet never
ceased to testify his unabated attachment to his wife
by all the usual manifestations.
I20 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
Now, one night, when they happened to be both
kept awake by a renewal of youthful ardor, Leuillet,
who held his wife clasped tightly in his arms and
had his lips glued to hers, said:
"Tell me this, darling."
"What?"
"Souris — 'tisn't easy to put the question — was he
very — very loving?"
She gave him a warm kiss, as she murmured:
"Not as much as you, my sweet."
His male vanity was flattered, and he went on:
"He must have been — rather a flat — eh?"
She did not answer. There was merely a sly lit-
tle laugh on her face, which she pressed close to her
husband's neck.
He persisted in his questions:
"Come nowl Don't deny that he was a flat-
well, I mean, rather an awkward sort of fellow?"
She nodded slightly.
"Well, yes, rather awkward."
He went on:
"I'm sure he used to weary you many a night —
isn't that so?"
This time she had an access of frankness, and she
replied:
"Oh! yes."
He embraced her once more when she made this
acknowledgment, and murmured:
"What an ass he was! You were not happy with
him?'^
She answered:
"No. He was not always jolly."
Leuillet felt quite delighted, making a comparison
THE AVENGER 121
in his own mind between his wife's former situation
and her present one.
He remained silent for some time; then, with a
fresh outburst of curiosity, he said:
"Tell me this!"
"What?"
"Will you be quite candid — quite candid with
me?"
"Certainly, dear."
"Well, look here! Were you never tempted to —
to deceive this imbecile, Souris?"
Mme. Leuillet uttered a little "Oh!" in a shame-
faced way, and again cuddled her face closer to her
husband's chest. But he could see that she was
laughing.
He persisted:
"Come now, confess it! He had a head just suited
for a cuckold, this blockhead! It would be so funny!
The good Souris! Oh! I say, darling, you might tell
it to me — only to me!"
He emphasized the words "to me," feeling certain
that if she wanted to show any taste when she
deceived her husband, he, Leuillet, would have been
the man; and he quivered with joy at the expecta-
tion of this avowal, sure that if she had not been
the virtuous woman she was he could have won her
then.
But she did not reply, laughing incessantly as if
at the recollection of something infinitely comic.
Leuillet, in his turn, burst out laughing at the no-
tion that he might have made a cuckold of Souris.
What a good joke! What a capital lot of fun, to be
sure!
132 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
He exclaimed in a voice broken by convulsions of
laughter:
"Oh! poor Sourisl poor Souris! Ah! yes, he had
that sort of head — oh, certainly he had!"
And Mme. Leuillet now twisted herself under the
sheets, laughing till the tears almost came into her eyes.
And Leuillet repeated: "Come, confess it! con-
fess it! Be candid. You must know that it cannot
be unpleasant to me to hear such a thing."
Then she stammered, still choking with laughter:
"Yes, yes."
Her husband pressed her for an answer:
"Yes, what.? Look here! tell me everything."
She was now laughing in a more subdued fashion,
and, raising her mouth up to Leuillet's ear, which
was held toward her in anticipation of some pleasant
piece of confidence she whispered: ''Yes — 1 did de-
ceive him!"
He felt a cold shiver down his back, and utterly
dumfounded, he gasped:
"You — you — did — really — deceive him ?"
She was still under the impression that he thought
the thing infinitely pleasant, and replied:
" Yes — really — really. "
He was obliged to sit up in bed so great was the
shock he received, holding his breath, just as over-
whelmed as if he had just been told that he was a
cuckold himself. At first he was unable to articulate
properly; then after the lapse of a minute or so, he
merely ejaculated:
"Ah!"
She, too, had stopped laughing now, realizing her
mistake too late.
THE AVENGER
123
Leuillet, at length asked:
"And with "whom ?"
She kept silent, cudgeling her brain to find some
excuse.
He repeated his question:
"With whom?"
At last, she said:
"With a young man."
He turned toward her abruptly, and in a dry tone,
said:
"Well, I suppose it wasn't with some kitchen-
slut. I ask you who was the young man — do you
understand ?"
She did not answer. He tore away the sheet
which she had drawn over her head and pushed her
into the middle of the bed, repeating:
"I want to know with what young man — do you
understand.?"
Then, she repHed, having some difficulty in utter-
ing the words:
"I only wanted to laugh." But he fairly shook
with rage:
"What? How is that? You only wanted to
laugh? So then you were making game of me? I'm
not going to be satisfied with these evasions, let
me tell you! I ask you what was the young man's
name?"
She did not reply, but lay motionless on her
back.
He caught hold of her arm and pressed it tightly:
"Do you hear me, I say? 1 want you to give
me an answer when 1 speak to you."
Then she said, in nervous tones:
124
WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
**I think you must be going mad! Let me
alone!"
He trembled with fury, so exasperated that he
scarcely knew what he was saying, and, shaking her
with all his strength, he repeated:
"Do you hear me? do you hear me?"
She wrenched herself out of his grasp with a sud-
den movement and with the tips of her fingers
slapped her husband on the nose. He entirely lost
his temper, feeling that he had been struck, and
angrily pounced down on her.
He now held her under him, boxing her ears in a
most violent manner, and exclaiming:
"Take that — and that — and that — there you are,
you trollop, you strumpet — you strumpet!"
Then when he was out of breath, exhausted from
beating her, he got up and went over to the bureau
to get himself a glass of sugared orange-water,
almost ready to faint after his exertion.
And she lay huddled up in bed, crying and
heaving great sobs, feeling that there was an end of
her happiness, and that it was all her own fault.
Then in the midst of her tears, she faltered:
"Listen, Antoine, come here! I toid you a lie —
listen! I'll explain it to you."
And now, prepared to defend herself, armed with
excuses and subterfuges, she sHghtly raised her head
all disheveled under her crumpled nightcap.
And he turning toward her, drew close to her,
ashamed at having whacked her, but feeling still in
his heart's core as a husband an inexhaustible hatred
against the woman who had deceived his predeces-
sor, Souris.
THE CONSERVATORY
M'
ONSiEUR and Mme, Lerebour were
about the same age. But Monsieur
looked younger, although he was
the weaker of the two. They lived
near Mantes in a pretty estate which
they had bought after having made a
fortune by selling printed cottons.
The house was surrounded by a
,.. beautiful garden containing a poultry
yard, Chinese kiosqiies, and a little con-
servatory at the end of the avenue. M.
^ Lerebour was short, round, and jovial, with
A: the joviality of a shopkeeper of epicurean
t&^ tastes. His wife, lean, self-willed, and always
/ discontented, had not succeeded in overcoming
her husband's good-humor. She dyed her hair, and
sometimes read novels, which made dreams pass
through her soul, although she affected to despise writ-
ings of this kind. People said she was a woman of
strong passions without her having ever done any-
thing to sustain that opinion. But her husband
sometimes said: "My wife is a gay woman," with a
certain knowing air which awakened suppositions.
('25)
126 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
For some years past, however, she had shown
herself aggressive toward M. Lerebour, always irritated
and hard, as if a secret and unavowable grief tor-
mented her. A sort of misunderstanding was the re-
sult. They scarcely spoke to each other, and Madame,
whose name was Palmyre, was incessantly heaping
unkind compliments, wounding allusions, bitter words,
without any apparent reason, on Monsieur, whose
name was Gustave.
He bent his back, bored though gay, all the same,
endowed with such a fund of contentment that he
endured her domestic bickerings. He asked himself,
nevertheless, what unknown cause could have thus em-
bittered his spouse, for he had a strong feeling that
her irritation had a hidden reason, but so difficult to
penetrate that his efforts to do so were in vain.
He often said to her: "Look here, my dear, tell
me what you have against me. 1 feel that you are
concealing something."
She invariably replied: "But there is nothing the
matter with me, absolutely nothing. Besides, if I
had some cause for discontent, it would be for you
to guess at it. I don't like men who understand
nothing, who are so soft and incapable that one must
come to their assistance to make them grasp the
slightest thing."
He murmured dejectedly: "I see clearly that yoi-
don't want to say anything."
And he went away still striving to unravel thu
mystery.
The nights especially became very painful to him,
for they always shared the same bed, as one does in
good and simple households. It was not, therefore,
THE CONSERVATORY
127
mere ordinary ill-temper that she displayed toward
him. She chose the moment when they were lying
side by side to load him with the liveliest raillery.
She reproached him principally with his corpulence:
"You take up all the room, you are becoming so
fat."
And she forced him to get up on the slightest
pretext, sending him downstairs to look for a news-
paper she had forgotten, or a bottle of orange-water,
which he failed to find as she had herself hidden it
away. And she exclaimed in a furious and sarcastic
tone: "You might, however, know where to find it,
you big booby!" When he had been wandering
about the sleeping house for a whole hour, and re-
turned to the room empty-handed, the only thanks
she gave him was to say: "Come, get back to bed,
it will make you thin to take a little walking; you
are becoming as flabby as a sponge."
She kept waking him every moment by declaring
that she was suffering from cramps in her stomach,
and insisting on his rubbing her with flannel soaked
in eau de Cologne. He would make efforts to cure
her, grieved at seeing her ill, and would propose to
go and rouse up Celeste, their maid. Then she would
get angry, crying: "You must be a fool. Well! it is
over; I am better now, so go back to bed, you big
lout."
To his question: "Are you quite sure you have
got better.^" she would fling this harsh answer in his
face:
"Yes, hold your tongue! let me sleep! Don't
worry me any more about it! You are incapable of
doing anything, even of rubbing a woman."
128 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANi
He got into a state of deep dejection: "But, my
darling — "
She became exasperated: "I want no 'buts.'
Enough, isn't it? Give me some rest now." And
she turned her face to the wall.
Now, one night, she shook him so abruptly that
he started up in terror, and found himself in a sitting
posture with a rapidity which was not habitual to
him. He stammered:
"What.? What's the matter?"
She caught him by the arm and pinched him till
he cried out. Then she gave him a box on the ear:
"I hear some noise in the house."
Accustomed to the frequent alarms of Mme. Lere-
bour, he did not disturb himself very much, and
quietly asked:
"What sort of noise, my darling?"
She trembled, as if she were in a state of terror,
and replied: "Noise — why, noise — the noise of
footsteps. There is some one."
He remained incredulous: "Some one? You think
so? But no; you must be mistaken. Besides, whom
do you think it can be?"
She shuddered:
"Who? Who? Why, thieves, of course, you im-
becile!"
He plunged softly under the sheets:
"Ah! no, my darling! There is nobody. I dare
say you only dreamed it."
Then, she flung off the coverlet, and, jumping out
of bed, in a rage: "Why, then, you are just as
cowardly as you are incapable! In any case, I shall
not let myself be massacred owing to your pusilla-
THE CONSERVATORY 12Q
nimity." And snatching up the tongs from the fire-
place, she placed herself in a fighting attitude in
front of the bolted door.
Moved by his wife's display of valor, perhaps
ashamed, he rose up in his turn sulkily, and without
taking off his nightcap he seized the shovel, and
placed himself face to face with his better half.
They waited for twenty minutes in the deepest
silence. No fresh noise disturbed the repose of the
house. Then, Madame, becoming furious, got back
into bed saying: "Nevertheless I'm sure there is some
one."
In order to avoid anything like a quarrel, he did
not make an allusion during the next day to this
panic. But, next night, Mme. Lerebour woke up
her husband with more violence still than the night
before, and, panting, she stammered: "Gustave,
Gustave, somebody has just opened the garden-
gate!"
Astonished at this persistence, he fancied that his
wife must have had an attack of somnambulism, and
was about to make an effort to shake off this danger-
ous state when he thought he heard, in fact, a slight
sound under the walls of the house. He rose up,
rushed to the window, and he saw — yes, he saw —
a white figure quickly passing along one of the
garden-walks.
He murmured, as if he were on the point of faint-
ing: "There is some one." Then, he recovered his
self-possession, felt more resolute, and suddenly carried
away by the formidable anger of a proprietor whose
territory has been encroached upon, he said: "Wait!
wait, and you shall see!"
5 C. de M.— 9
i^o
WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
He rushed toward the writing-desk, opened it,
took out the revolver, and dashed out into the stairs.
His wife, filled with consternation, followed him, ex-
claiming: "Gustave, Gustave, don't abandon me,
don't leave me alone! Gustave! Gustave!"
But he scarcely heard her; he had by this time laid
his hand on the garden-gate.
Then she went back rapidly and barricaded her-
self in the conjugal chamber.
*
She waited five minutes, ten minutes, a quarter of
an hour. Wild terror took possession of her. With-
out doubt, they had killed him; they had seized,
garroted, strangled him. She would have preferred
to hear the report of the six barrels of the revolver,
to know that he was fighting, that he was defending
himself. But this great silence, this terrifying silence
of the country overwhelmed her.
She rang for Celeste. Celeste did not come in
answer to the bell. She rang again, on the point of
swooning, of sinking into unconsciousness. The en-
tire house remained without a sound. She pressed
her burning forehead to the window, seeking to peer
through the darkness without. She distinguished
nothing but the blacker shadows of a row of trees
beside the gray ruts on the roads.
It struck half past twelve. Her husband had been
absent for forty-five minutes. She would never see
him again. No! she would never see him again.
And she fell on her knees sobbing.
Two light knocks at the door of the apartment
made her spring up with a bound. M. Lerebour
THE CONSERVATORY I3I
called out to her: "Open, pray, Palmyre — 'tis I."
She rushed forward, opened the door, and standing in
front of him, with her arms akimbo, and her eyes
full of tears, exclaimed: "Where have you been, you
dirty brute? Ah! you left me here by m.yself nearly
dead of fright. You care no more about me than if
I never existed."
He closed the bedroom door; then he laughed and
laughed like a madman, grinning from ear to ear,
with his hands on his sides, till the tears came into
his eyes.
Mme. Lerebour, stupefied, remained silent.
He stammered: "It was — it was — Celeste, who
had an appointment in the conservatory. If you knew
what — what I have seen — "
She had turned pale, choking with indignation.
"Eh? Do you tell me so? Celeste? In my
house? in — my — house — in my — my — in my con-
servatory. And you have not killed the man who
was her accomplice! You had a revolver and did not
kill him? In my house — in my house."
She sat down, not feeling able to do anything.
He danced a caper, snapped his fingers, smacked
his tongue, and, still laughing: "If you knew — if
you knew — " He suddenly gave her a kiss.
She tore herself away from him, and in a voice
broken with rage, she said: "1 will not let this girl
remain one day longer in my house, do you hear?
Not one day — not one hour. When she returns to
the house, we will throw her out."
M. Lerebour had seized his wife by the waist, and
he planted rows of kisses on her neck, loud kisses,
as in bvgoTie days. She becam.e silent once more,
132
WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
petrified with astonishment. But he, holding her
clasped in his arms, drew her softly toward the bed.
*******
Toward half past nine in the morning, Celeste,
astonished at not having yet seen her master and
mistress, who always rose early, came and knocked
softly at their door.
They were in bed, and were gaily chatting side
by side. She stood there astonished, and said:
"Madame, it is the coffee."
Mme. Lerebour said in a very soft voice: "Bring
it here to me, my girl. We are a little tired; we
have slept very badly."
Scarcely had the servant-maid gone than M. Lere-
bour began to laugh again, tickling his wife under
the chin, and repeating: " If you knew. Oh! if you
knew."
But she caught his hands: "Look here! keep
quiet, my darling, if you laugh like this you will
make yourself ill."
And she kissed him softly on the eyes.
*******
Mme. Lerebour has no more fits of sourness.
Sometimes on bright nights the husband and wife
come, with furtive steps, along by the clumps of
trees and flower-beds as far as the little conservatory
at the end of the garden. And they remain there
planted side by side with their faces pressed against
the glass as if they were looking at something strange
and full of interest going on within.
They have increased Celeste's wages.
But M, Lerebour has got thin.
LETTER FOUND ON A
CORPSE
ou ask me, Madame, whether I am
laughing at you ? You cannot
believe that a man has never been
smitten with love. Well, no, I have
never loved, never!
What is the cause of this? I really
cannot tell. Never have I been under
the influence of that sort of intoxication
of the heart which we call love! Never
have I lived in that dream, in that exalta-
tion, in that state of madness into which
y**/ the image of a woman casts us. 1 have
&; never been pursued, haunted, roused to fever-
f' heat, lifted up to Paradise by the thought of
meeting, or by the possession of, a being who had
suddenly become for me more desirable than any
good fortune, more beautiful than any other creature,
more important than the whole world! I have never
wept, 1 have never suffered on account of any of
you. I have not passed my nights thinking of one
woman without closing my eyes. 1 have no experi-
ence of waking up with the thought and the mem-
('33)
134
WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
ory of her shedding their illumination on me. I have
never known the wild desperation of hope when she
was about to come, or the divine sadness of regret
when she parted with me, leaving behind her in the
room a delicate odor of violet-powder.
1 have never been in love.
I, too, have often asked myself why is this. And
truly I can scarcely tell. Nevertheless, I have found
some reasons for it; but they are of a metaphysical
character, and perhaps you will not be able to ap-
preciate them.
1 suppose I sit too much in judgment on women to
submit much to their fascination. I ask you to for-
give me for this remark. I am going to explain what
I mean. In every creature there is a moral being and
a physical being. In order to love, it would be nec-
essary for me to find a harmony between these two
beings which I have never found. One has always
too great a predominance over the other, sometimes
the moral, sometimes the physical.
The intellect which we have a right to require in
a woman, in order to love her, is not the same as
virile intellect. It is more and it is less. A woman
must have a mind open, delicate, sensitive, refined,
impressionable. She has no need of either power or
initiative in thought, but she must have kindness, ele-
gance, tenderness, coquetry, and that faculty of assim-
ilation which, in a little while, raises her to an equality
with him who shares her life. Her greatest quality
must be tact, that subtle sense which is to the mind
what touch is to the body. It reveals to her a thou-
safid little things, contours, angles, and forms in the
intellectual life.
LETTER FOUND ON A CORPSE
»35
Very frequently pretty women have not intellect
to correspond with their personal charms. Now the
slightest lack of harmony strikes me and pains me at
the first glance. In friendship, this is not of impor-
tance. Friendship is a compact in which one fairly
divides defects and merits. We may judge of friends,
whether man or woman, take into account the good
they possess, neglect the evil that is in them, and ap-
preciate their value exactly, while giving ourselves up
to an intimate sympathy of a deep and fascinating
character.
In order to love, one must be blind, surrender
oneself absolutely, see nothing, reason from nothing,
understand nothing. One must adore the weakness
as well as the beauty of the beloved object, renounce
all judgment, all reflection, all perspicacity.
I am incapable of such blindness, and rebel against
a seductiveness not founded on reason. T- is is not
all. I have such a high and subtle idea of harmony
that nothing can ever realize my ideal. But you will
call me a madman. Listen to me. A woman, in my
opinion, may have an exquisite soul and a charming
body without that body and that soul being in perfect
accord with one another. I mean that persons who
have noses made in a certain shape are not to be ex-
pected to think in a certain fashion. The fat have no
right to make use of the same words and phrases as
the thin. You, who have blue eyes, Madame, cannot
look at life, and judge of things and events as if you
had black eyes. The shades of your eyes should cor-
respond, by a sort of fatality, with the shades of your
thought. In perceiving these things I have the scent
of a bloodhound. Laugh if you like, but it is so.
1^6 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
And yet I imagined that I was in love for an
hour, for a day. I had foolishly yielded to the in-
fluence of surrounding circumstances. I allowed my-
self to be beguiled by the mirage of an aurora.
Would you like to hear this short history?
I met, one evening, a pretty, enthusiastic woman
who wanted, for the purpose of humoring a poetic
fancy, to spend a night with me in a boat on a river.
I would have preferred — but, no matter, I consented.
It was in the month of June. My fair companion
chose a moonlight night in order to excite her imag-
ination all the better.
We had dined at a riverside inn, and then we set
out in the boat about ten o'clock. I thought it a
rather foolish kind of adventure; but as my compan-
ion pleased me I did not bother myself too much
about this. I sat down on the seat facing her, seized
the oars, and off we started.
I could not deny that the scene was picturesque.
We glided past a wooded isle full of nightingales,
and the current carried us rapidly over the river cov-
ered with silvery ripples. The grasshoppers uttered
their shrill, monotonous cry; the frogs croaked in the
grass by the river's bank, and the lapping of the
water as it flowed on made around us a kind of con-
fused, almost imperceptible murmur, disquieting, which
gave us a vague sensation of mysterious fear.
The sweet charm of warm nights and of streams
glittering in the moonlight penetrated us. It seemed
bliss to live and to float thus, to dream and to feel by
one's side a young woman sympathetic and beautiful.
LETTER FOUND ON A CORPSE
137
I was somewhat affected, somewhat agitated, some-
what intoxicated by the pale brightness of the night
and the consciousness of my proximity to a lovely
woman.
"Come and sit beside me," she said.
I obeyed. She went on:
"Recite some verses for me."
This appeared to me rather too much. I declined;
she persisted. She certainly wanted to have the ut-
most pleasure, the whole orchestra of sentiment, from
the moon to the rhymes of poets. In the end, I had
to yield, and, as if in mockery, I recited for her a
charming little poem by Louis Bouilhet, of which the
following are a few strophes:
' ' I hate the poet who with tearful eye
Murmurs some name while gazing tow'rds a star,
Who sees no magic in the earth or sky,
Unless Lizette or Ninon be not far.
The bard who in all Nature nothing sees
Divine, unless a petticoat he ties
Amorously to the branches of the trees,
Or nightcap to the grass, is scarcely wise.
He has not heard the eternal's thundertone.
The voice of Nature in her various moods,
He cannot tread the dim ravines alone,
And of no woman dream 'mid whispering woods."
I expected some reproaches. Nothing of the sort.
She murmured:
"How true it is!"
I remained stupefied. Had she understood.^
Our boat was gradually drawing nearer to the
bank, and got entangled under a willow which im-
peded its progress. I drew my arm around my com-
138 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
panion's waist, and very gently moved my lips toward
her neck. But she repulsed me with an abrupt, angry
movement:
"Have done, pray! You are rude!"
I tried to draw her toward me. She resisted,
caught hold of the tree, and nearly upset us both
into the water. I deemed it the prudent course to
cease my importunities.
She said:
"1 would rather have you capsized. I feel sO'
happy. I want to dream — that is so nice." Then,
in a slightly malicious tone, she added:
"Have you, then, already forgotten the verses you
recited for me just now?"
She was right. I became silent.
She went on:
"Come! row!"
And 1 plied the oars once more. I began to find
the night long and to see the absurdity of my con-
duct. My companion said to me:
"Will you make me a promise?"
"Yes. What is it?"
" To remain quiet, well-behaved, and discreet, if
I permit you — "
"What? Say what you mean!"
"Here is what 1 mean! I want to lie down on
my back in the bottom of the boat with you by my
side. But I forbid you to touch me, to embrace me
— in short to — to caress me."
1 promised. She warned me:
"If you move, I'll capsize the boat."
And then we lay down side by side, our eyes turned
toward the sky, while the boat glided slowly through
LETTER FOUND ON A CORPSE
139
the water. We were rocked by the gentle move-
ments of the shallop. The light sounds of the night
came to us more distinctly in the bottom of the boat,
sometimes causing us to start. And I felt springing
up within me a strange, poignant emotion, an infinite
tenderness, something like an irresistible impulse to
open my arms in order to embrace, to open my
heart in order to love, to give myself, to give my
thoughts, my body, my life, my entire being to some
one.
My companion murmured, like one in a dream:
"Where are we .^ Where are we going.? It seems
to me that I am quitting the earth. How sweet it is!
Ah! if you loved me — a little!"
My heart began to throb. I had no answer to
give. It seemed to me that 1 loved her. I had no
longer any violent desire. I felt happy there by her
side, and that was enough for me.
And thus we remained for a long, long time with-
out stirring. We caught each other's hands; some
delightful force rendered us motionless, an unknown
force stronger than ourselves, an alliance, chaste, in-
timate, absolute, of our persons lying there side by
side which belonged to without touching each other.
What was this ? How do I know ? Love, perhaps.
Little by little, the dawn appeared. It was three
o'clock in the morning. Slowly, a great brightness
spread over the sky. The boat knocked against
something. I rose up. We had come close to a
tiny islet.
But I remained ravished, in a state of ecstasy. In
front of us stretched the shining firmament, red, rosy,
violet, spotted with fiery clouds resembling golden
140
WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
vapors. The river was glowing with purple, and
three houses on one side of it seemed to be burn-
ing.
I bent toward my companion. I was going to say:
"Oh! look!" But I held my tongue, quite dazed,
and I could no longer see anything except her. She,
too, was rosy, with the rosy flesh tints with which
must have mingled a little the hue of the sky. Her
tresses were rosy; her eyes were rosy; her teeth were
rosy; her dress, her laces, her smile, all were rosy.
And in truth I believed, so overpowering was the
illusion, that the aurora was there before me.
She rose softly to her feet, holding out her lips to
me; and I moved toward her, trembling, delirious,
feeling indeed that 1 was going to kiss Heaven, to
kiss happiness, to kiss a dream which had become a
woman, to kiss an ideal which had descended into
human flesh.
She said to me: "You have a caterpillar in your
hair." And suddenly 1 felt myself becoming as sad
as if I had lost all hope in life.
That is all, Madame. It is puerile, silly, stupid.
But I am sure that since that day it would be im-
possible for me to love. And yet — who can tell.?
[The young man upon whom this letter was found was yester-
day taken out of the Seine between Bougival and Marly, An oblig-
ing bargeman, who had searched the pockets in order to ascertain the
name of the deceased, brought this paper to the author.]
THE LITTLE CASK
^i.'j!:^- ..^rx>..-i '■' ULES Chicot, the innkeeper, who lived
at Epreville, pulled up his tilbury
in front of Mother Magloire's farm-
house. He was a tall man of about
X^ forty, fat and with a red face and was
generally said to be a very knowing
customer.
** He hitched his horse up to the gate-
' post and went in. He owned some land
adjoining that of the old woman. He had
J&> been coveting her plot for a long while, and
t^^ ' had tried in vain to buy it a score of times.
Y^- but she had always obstinately refused to part
> with it.
"1 was born here, and here I mean to die," was
all she said.
He found her peeling potatoes outside the farm-
house door. She was a woman of about seventy-two,
very thin, shriveled and wrinkled, almost dried-up,
in fact, and much bent, but as active and untiring as
a girl. Chicot patted her on the back in a very
friendly fashion, and then sat down by her on a stool.
( J4I i
142
WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
"Well, Mother, you are always pretty well and
hearty, I am glad to see."
"Nothing to complain of, considering, thank you.
And how are you. Monsieur Chicot?"
"Oh! pretty well, thank you, except a few rheu-
matic pains occasionally; otherwise, I should have
nothing to complain of."
"That's all the better!"
And she said no more, while Chicot watched her
going on with her work. Her crooked, knotty fin-
gers, hard as a lobster's claws, seized the tubers,
which were lying in a pail, as if they had been a
pair of pincers, and peeled them rapidly, cutting off
long strips of skin with an old knife which she held
in the other hand, throwing the potatoes into the
water as they were done. Three daring fowls jumped
one after the other into her lap, seized a bit of peel,
and then ran away as fast as their legs would carry
them with it in their beaks.
Chicot seemed embarrassed, anxious, with some-
thing on the tip of his tongue which he could not
get out. At last he said hurriedly:
"I say. Mother Magloire — "
"Well, what is it?"
"You are quite sure that you do not want to sell
your farm ?"
"Certainly not; you may make up your mind to
that. What I have said, I have said, so don't refer
to it again."
"Very well; only I fancy 1 have thought of an
arrangement that might suit us both very well."
"What is it?"
"Here you are: You shall sell it to me, and
THE LITTLE CASK 1 43
keep it all the same. You don't understand ? Very
well, so just follow me in what I am going to say."
The old woman left off peeling her potatoes, and
looked at the innkeeper attentively from under her
bushy eyebrows, and he went on:
"Let me explain myself: Every month I will
give you a hundred and fifty francs.* You under-
stand me, 1 suppose.? Every month I will come and
bring you thirty crowns,! and it will not make the
slightest difference in your life — not the very
slightest. You will have your own home just as you
have now, will not trouble yourself about me, and
will owe me nothing; all you will have to do will
be to take my money. Will that arrangement suit
you?"
He looked at her good-humoredly, one might al-
most have said benevolently, and the old woman re-
turned his looks distrustfully, as if she suspected a
trap, and said:
"It seems all right, as far as I am concerned, but
it will not give you the farm."
"Never mind about that," he said, "you will re-
main here as long as it pleases God Almighty to let
you live; it will be your home. Only you will sign
a deed before a lawyer making it over to me after
your death. You have no children, only nephews
and nieces for whom you don't care a straw. Will
that suit you? You will keep everything during
your life, and I will give you the thirty crowns a
month. It is pure gain as far as you are concerned."
*As near as possible $30.
f The old name, still applied locally to a five-franc piece.
144
WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
The old woman was surprised, rather uneasy, but,
nevertheless, very much tempted to agree, and an-
swered:
"I don't say that I will not agree to it, but I
must think about it. Come baci<; in a week and we
will talk it over again, and I will then give you my
definite answer."
And Chicot went off, as happy as a king who
had conquered an empire.
Mother Magloire was thoughtful, and did not sleep
at all that night; in fact, for four days she was in a
fever of hesitation. She smelted, so to say, that there
was something underneath the offer which was not
to her advantage; but then the thought of thirty
crowns a month, of all those coins chinking in her
apron, falling to her, as it were, from the skies,
without her doing anything for it, filled her with
covetousness.
She went to the notary and told him about it.
He advised her to accept Chicot's offer, but said she
ought to ask for a monthly payment of fifty crowns
instead of thirty, as her farm was worth sixty thou-
sand francs* at the lowest calculation,
"If you live for fifteen years longer," he said,
"even then he will only have paid forty-five thousand
francs t for it."
The old woman trembled with joy at this prospect
of getting fifty crowns a month; but she was still
suspicious, fearing some trick, and she remained a
long time with the lawyer asking questions without
being able to make up her mind to go. At last she
*fi2ooo. f$90oa
THE LITTLE CASK I^^
gave him instructions to draw up the deed, and re-
turned home with her head in a whirl, just as if she
had drunk four jugs of new cider.
When Chicot came again to receive her answer
she took a lot of persuading, and declared that she
could not make up her mind to agree to his proposal,
though she was all the time on tenter-hooks lest he
should not consent to give the fifty crowns. At last,
when he grew urgent, she told him what she ex-
pected for her farm.
He looked surprised and disappointed, and refused.
Then, in order to convince him, she began to
talk about the probable duration of her life.
"1 am certainly not likely to live for more than
five or six years longer. I am nearly seventy-three,
and far from strong, even considering my age. The
other evening I thought 1 was going to die, and could
hardly manage to crawl into bed."
But Chicot was not going to be taken in.
"Come, come, old lady, you are as strong as
the church tower, and will live till you are a hundred
at least; you will be sure to see me put underground
first."
The whole day was spent in discussing the
money, and as the old woman would not give way,
the landlord consented to give the fifty crowns, and
she insisted upon having ten crowns over and above
to strike the bargain.
Three years passed by, and the old dame did not
seem to have grown a day older. Chicot was in
despair. It seemed to him as if he had been paying
that annuity for fifty years, that he had been taken
5 C de M.— lo
146 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
in, outwitted, and ruined. From time to time he
went to see his annuitant, just as one goes in July to
see when the harvest is likely to begin. She always
met him with a cunning look, and one would have
felt inclined to think that she was congratulating her-
self on the trick she had played him. Seeing how
well and hearty she seemed, he very soon got into
his tilbury again, growling to himself:
"Will you never die, you old brute?"
He did not know what to do, and felt inclined to
strangle her when he saw her. He hated her with a
terocious, cunning hatred, the hatred of a peasant
who has been robbed, and began to cast about for
means of getting rid of her.
One day he came to see her again, rubbing his
hands like he did the first time when he proposed
the bargain, and, after having chatted for a few min-
utes, he said:
"Why do you never come and have a bit of din-
ner at my place when you are in Epreville? The
people are talking about it and saying that we are
not on friendly terms, and that pains me. You know
it will cost you nothing if you come, for I don't look
at the price of a dinner. Come whenever you feel
inclined; I shall be very glad to see you."
Old Mother Magloire did not need to be tol()
twice, and the next day but one — she was going
to the town in any case, it being market-day, in hei
gig, driven by her man — she, without any demur,
put her trap up in Chicot's stable, and went in search
of her promised dinner.
The publican was delighted, and treated her like a
princess, giving her roast fowl, black pudding, leg of
THE LITTLE CASK I^n
mutton, and bacon and cabbage. But she ate next to
nothing. She had always been a small eater and
had generally lived on a little soup and a crust of
bread-and-butter.
Chicot was disappointed, and pressed her to eat
more, but she refused. She would drink next to
nothing either, and declined any coffee, so he asked
her:
"But surely, you will take a little drop of brandy
or liquor.?"
"Well, as to that, I don't know that I will re-
fuse." Whereupon he shouted out:
"Rosalie, bring the superfine brandy, — the special,
— you know."
The servant appeared, carrying a long bottle orna-
mented with a paper vine-leaf, and he filled two
hquor glasses.
"Just try that; you will find it first-rate."
The good woman drank it slowly in sips, so as
tG make the pleasure last all the longer, and when
she had finished her glass, draining the last drops so
as to make sure of all, she said:
"Yes, that is first-rate!"
Almost before she had said it, Chicot had poured
her out another glassful. She wished to refuse, but
it was too late, and she drank it very slowly, as she
had done the first, and he asked her to have a third.
She objected, but he persisted.
"It is as mild as milk, you know. I can drink
ten or a dozen without any ill effect; it goes down
like sugar, and leaves no headache behind; one would
think that it evaporated on the tongue. It is the
most wholesome thing you can drink."
148 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
She took it, for she really wished to have it, but
she left half the glass.
Then Chicot, in an excess of generosity, said:
"Look here, as it is so much to your taste, I will
give you a small keg of it, just to show that you
and 1 are still excellent friends." Then she took
her leave, feehng slightly overcome by the effects of
what she had drunk.
The next day the innkeeper drove into her yard,
and took a little iron-hooped keg out of his gig. He
insisted on her tasting the contents, to make sure it
was the same delicious article, and, when they had
each of them drunk three more glasses, he said, as
he was going away:
"Well, you know, when it is all gone, there is
more left; don't be modest, for I shall not mind.
The sooner it is finished the better pleased 1 shall
be."
Four days later he came again. The old woman
was outside her door cutting up the bread for her
soup.
He went up to her, and put his face close to
hers, so that he might smell her breath; and when
he smelled the alcohol he felt pleased.
"I suppose you will give me a glass of the
special?" he said. And they had three glasses
each.
Soon, however, it began to be whispered abroad
that Mother Magloire was in the habit of getting
drunk all by herself She was picked up in her
kitchen, then in her yard, then in the roads in the
neighborhood, and was often brought home like a
log.
THE LITTLE CASK
149
Chicot did not go near her any more, and, when
people spoke to him about her, he used to say, put-
ting on a distressed look:
"It is a great pity that she should have taken to
drink at her age; but when people get old there is
no remedy. It will be the death of her in the long
run."
And it certainly was the death of her. She died
the next winter. About Christmas time she fell
down unconscious in the snow, and was found dead
the next morning.
And when Chicot came in for the farm he said:
"It was very stupid of her; if she had not taken
to drink she might very well have lived for ten years
longer."
POOR ANDREW
'HE lawyer's house looked on to the
Square. Behind it, there was a
nice, well-kept garden, with a
back entrance into a narrow street
which was almost always deserted,
and from which it was separated by
a wall.
At the bottom of that garden Maitre *
Moreau's wife had promised, for the first
time, to meet Captain Sommerive, who had
been making love to her for a long time.
Her husband had gone to Paris for a week,
so she was quite free for the time being. The
Captain had begged so hard, and had used such
loving words; she was certain that he loved her so
ardently, and she felt so isolated, so misunderstood,
so neglected amid all the law business which seemed
to be her husband's sole pleasure, that she had given
away her heart without even asking herself whether
he would give her anything else at some future time.
* Maitre (Master) is the official title of French lawyers.
(150)
POOR ANDREW
151
Then, after some months of Platonic love, of press-
ing of hands, of kisses rapidly stolen behind a door,
the Captain had declared that he would ask permis-
sion to exchange, and leave the town immediately, if
she would not grant him a meeting, a real meeting,
during her husband's absence. So at length she
yielded to his importunity.
Just then she was waiting, close against the wall,
with a beating heart, trembling at the slightest sound,
and when at length she heard somebody climbing up
the wall, she very nearly ran away.
Suppose it were not he, but a thief.? But no;
some one called out softly, "Matilda!" and when she
replied, "Etienne!" a man jumped on to the path
with a crash.
It was he, — and what a kiss I
For a long time they remained in each other's arms,
with united lips. But suddenly a fine rain began to
fall, and the drops from the leaves fell on to her neck
and made her start. Whereupon he said:
"Matilda, my adored one, my darling, my angel,
let us go indoors. It is twelve o'clock, we can have
nothing to fear; please let us go in."
"No, dearest; I am too frightened."
But he held her in his arms, and whispered in her
ear:
"Your servants sleep on the third floor, looking
on to the Square, and your room, on the first, looks
on to the garden, so nobody can hear us. I love you
so that I wish to love you entirely, from head to
foot." And he embraced her vehemently.
She resisted still, frightened and even ashamed.
But he put his arms round her, lifted her up, and
152 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
carried her off through the rain, which was by this
time descending in torrents.
The door was open; they groped their way up-
stairs; and when they were in the room he bolted
the door while she lit a candle.
Then she fell, half fainting, into a chair, while he
kneeled down beside her.
At last, she said, panting:
"No! no! Etienne, please let me remain a virtuous
woman; I should be too angry with you afterward;
and after all, it is so horrid, so common. Cannot
we love each other with a spiritual love only.^ Oh!
Etienne! "
But he was inexorable, and then she tried to get
up and escape from his attacks. In her fright she
ran to the bed in order to hide herself behind the
curtains; but it was a dangerous place of refuge, and
he followed her. But in haste he took off his sword
too quickly, and it fell on to the floor with a crash.
And then a prolonged, shrill child's cry came from the
next room, the door of which had remained open.
"You have awakened the child," she whispered,
"and perhaps he will not go to sleep again."
He was only fifteen months old and slept in a
room opening out of hers, so that she might be able
to hear him.
The Captain exclaimed ardently:
"What does it matter, Matilda? How I love you;
you must come to me, Matilda."
But she struggled and resisted in her fright.
"No! no! Just listen how he is crying; he will
wake up the nurse, and what should we do if she
were to come? We should be lost. Just listen to
POOR ANDREW 1 53
me, Etienne. When he screams at night his father
always takes him into our bed, and he is quiet im-
mediately; it is the only means of keeping him still.
Do let me take him."
The child roared, uttering shrill screams, which
pierced the thickest walls and could be heard by
passers-by in the streets.
In his consternation the Captain got up, and Ma-
tilda jumped out and took the child into her bed,
when he was quiet at once.
Etienne sat astride on a chair, and made a ciga-
rette, and in about five minutes Andrew went to
sleep again.
"I will take him back," his mother said; and she
took him back very carefully to his bed.
When she returned, the Captain was waiting for
her with open arms, and put his arms round her in
a transport of love, while she, embracing him more
closely, said, stammering:
"Oh! Etienne, my darling, if you only knew how
I love you; how — "
Andrew began to cry again, and he, in a rage,
exclaimed:
"Confound it all, won't the little brute be quiet .^"
No, the little brute would not be quiet, but
howled all the louder, on the contrary.
She thought she heard a noise downstairs; no
doubt the nurse was coming, so she jumped up and
took the child into bed, and he grew quiet directly.
Three times she put him back, and three times
she had to fetch him again, and an hour before day-
break the Captain had to go, swearing like the pro-
verbial trooper; and, to calm his impatience, Matilda
154
WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
promised to receive him again the next night. Of
course he came, more impatient and ardent than
ever, excited by the delay.
He took care to put his sword carefully into a
corner; he took oflf his boots like a thief, and spoke
so low that Matilda could hardly hear him. At last,
he was just going to be really happy when the floor,
or some piece of furniture, or perhaps the bed itself,
creaked; it sounded as if something had broken; and
in a moment a cry, feeble at first, but which grew
louder every moment, made itself heard. Andrew
was awake again.
He yapped like a fox, and there was not the
slightest doubt that if he went on like that the whole
house would awake; so his mother, not knowing
what to do, got up and brought him. The Captain
was more furious than ever, but did not move, and
very carefully he put out his hand, took a small
piece of the child's skin between his two fingers, no
matter where it was, the thighs or elsewhere, and
pinched it. The little one struggled and screamed in
a deafening manner, but his tormentor pinched every-
where, furiously and more vigorously. He took a
morsel of flesh and twisted and turned it, and then
let go in order to take hold of another piece, and
then another and another.
The child screamed like a chicken having its
throat cut, or a dog being mercilessly beaten. His
mother caressed him, kissed him, and tried to stifle
his cries by her tenderness; but Andrew grew purple,
as if he were going into convulsions, and kicked and
struggled with his little arms and legs in an alarming
manner.
POOR ANDREW
155
The Captain said, softly:
"Try and take him back to his cradle; perhaps
he will be quiet."
And Matilda went into the other room with the
child in her arms. As soon as he was out of his
mother's bed he cried less loudly, and when he was
in his own he was quiet, with the exception of a
few broken sobs. The rest of the night was tranquil.
The next night the Captain came again. As he
happened to speak rather loudly, Andrew awoke
again and began to scream. His mother went and
fetched him immediately, but the Captain pinched so
hard and long that the child was nearly suffocated by
its cries, its eyes turned in its head and it foamed at
the mouth. As soon as it was back in its cradle it
was quiet, and in four days Andrew did not cry any
more to come into his mother's bed.
On Saturday evening the lawyer returned, and
took his place again at the domestic hearth and in the
conjugal chamber. As he was tired with his journey
he went to bed early; but he had not long Iain down
when he said to his wife:
"Why, how is it that Andrew is not crying?
Just go and fetch him, Matilda; I like to feel that he
is between us."
She got up and brought the child, but as soon as
he saw that he was in that bed, in which he had
been so fond of sleeping a few days previous, he
wriggled and screamed so violently in his fright that
she had to take him back to his cradle.
M. Moreau could not get over his surprise. "What
a very funny thing! What is the matter with him
this evening? I suppose he is sleepy?"
156 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
"He has been like that all the time that you were
away; 1 have never been able to have him in bed
with me once."
In the morning the child woke up and began to
laugh and play with his toys.
The lawyer, who was an affectionate man, got
up, kissed his offspring, and took him into his arms
to carry him to their bed. Andrew laughed, with
that vacant laugh of little creatures whose ideas are
still vague. He suddenly saw the bed and his mother
in it, and his happy little face puckered up, till sud-
denly he began to scream furiously, and struggled as
if he were going to be put to the torture.
In his astonishment his father said:
"There must be something the matter with the
child," and mechanically he lifted up his little night-
shirt.
He uttered a prolonged "O — o — h!" of astonish-
ment. The child's calves, thighs, and buttocks were
covered with blue spots as big as half-pennies.
"Just look, Matilda!" the father exclaimed; "this
is horrible!" And the mother rushed forward in a
fright. It was horrible; no doubt the beginning of
some sort of leprosy, of one of those strange affec-
tions of the skin which doctors are often at a loss to
account for. The parents looked at one another in
consternation.
"We must send for the doctor," the father said.
But Matilda, pale as death, was looking at her
child, who was spotted like a leopard. Then sud-
denly uttering a violent cry as if she had seen some-
thing that filled her with horror, she exclaimed:
"Oh I the wretch!"
POOR ANDREW 1 57
In his astonishment M. Moreau asked: "What
are you talking about? What wretch?"
She got red up to the roots of her hair, and stam-
mered:
"Oh, nothing! but I think I can guess — it must
be — we ought to send for the doctor. It must be
that wretch of a nurse who has been pinching the
poor child to make him keep quiet when he cries."
In his rage the lawyer sent for the nurse, and
very nearly beat her. She denied it most impudently,
but was instantly dismissed, and the Municipality
having been informed of her conduct, she will find it
a hard matter to get another situation.
A FISHING EXCURSION
3 ^i^
^-i'S.^
P
ARis was blockaded, desolate, famished.
The sparrows were few, and any-
thing that was to be had was good
to eat.
On a bright morning in January, Mr.
Morissot, a watchmaker by trade, but
idler through circumstances, was walking
along the boulevard, sad, hungry, with
his hands in the pockets of his uniform
trousers, when he came face to face with
a brother-in-arms whom he recognized as an
"V old-time friend.
Before the war, Morissot could be seen at
daybreak every Sunday, trudging along with a
cane in one hand and a tin box on his back. He
would take the train to Colombes and walk from there
to the Isle of Marante where he would fish until dark.
It was there he had met Mr. Sauvage who kept a
little notion store in the Rue Notre Dame de Lorette,
a jovial fellow and passionately fond of fishing like
himself. A warm friendship had sprung up between
these two and they would fish side by side all day,
A FISHING EXCURSION
159
very often without saying a word. Some days, when
everything looked fresh and new and the beautiful
spring sun gladdened every heart, Mr. Morissot would
exclaim:
"How delightful!" and Mr. Sauvage would an-
swer:
"There is nothing to equal it."
Then again on a fall evening, when the glorious
setting sun, spreading its golden mantle on the already
tinted leaves, would throw strange shadows around
the two friends, Sauvage would say:
"What a grand picture!"
"It beats the boulevard!" would answer Morissot.
But they understood each other quite as well without
speaking.
The two friends had greeted each other warmly
and had resumed their walk side by side, both think-
ing deeply of the past and present events. They
entered a cafe, and when a glass of absinthe had
been placed before each Sauvage sighed:
■'What terrible events, my friend!"
"And what weather!" said Morissot sadly; "this
is the first nice day we have had this year. Do you
remember our fishing excursions?"
"Do 1! Alas! when shall we go again!"
After a second absinthe they emerged from the
cafe, feeling rather dizzy — that light-headed effect
which alcohol has on an empty stomach. The balmy
air had made Sauvage exuberant and he exclaimed:
"Suppose we go!"
"Where?"
"Fishing."
"Fishing! Where?"
l6o WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
"To our old spot, to Colombes. The French sol-
diers are stationed near there and I know Colonel
Dumoulin will give us a pass."
"It's a go; I am with you."
An hour after, having supplied themselves with
their fishing tackle, they arrived at the colonel's villa.
He had smiled at their request and had given them a
pass in due form.
At about eleven o'clock they reached the advance-
guard, and after presenting their pass, walked through
Colombes and found themselves very near their desti-
nation. Argenteuil, across the way, and the great
plains toward Nanterre were all deserted. Solitary
the hills of Orgemont and Sannois rose clearly above
the plains; a splendid point of observation.
"See," said Sauvage pointing to the hills, "the
Prussians are there."
Prussians! They had never seen one, but they
knew that they were all around Paris, invisible and
powerful; plundering, devastating, and slaughtering.
To their superstitious terror they added a deep hatred
for this unknown and victorious people.
"What if we should meet some?" said Morissot.
"We would ask them to join us," said Sauvage
in true Parisian style.
Still they hesitated to advance. The silence
frightened them. Finally Sauvage picked up cour-
age.
"Come, let us go on cautiously."
They proceeded slowly, hiding behind bushes,
looking anxiously on every side, listening to every
sound. A bare strip of land had to be crossed before
reaching the river. They started to run. At last,
A FISHING EXCURSION l6i
i
they reached the bank and sank into the bushes;
breathless, but reheved.
Morissot thought he heard some one walking. He
Hstened attentively, but no, he heard no sound.
They were indeed alone! The little island shielded
them from view. The house where the restaurant
used to be seemed deserted; feeling reassured, they
settled themselves for a good day's sport.
Sauvage caught the first fish, Morissot the second;
and every minute they would bring one out which
they would place in a net at their feet. It was in-
deed miraculous! They felt that supreme joy which
one feels after having been deprived for months of a
pleasant pastime. They had forgotten everything;
even the war!
Suddenly, they heard a rumbling sound and the
earth shook beneath them. It was the cannon on
Mont Valerien. Morissot looked up and saw a trail
of smoke, which was instantly followed by another
explosion. Then they followed in quick succession.
"They are at it again," said Sauvage shrugging
his shoulders. Morissot, who was naturally peaceful,
felt a sudden, uncontrollable anger.
"Stupid fools! What pleasure can they find in
killing each other! "
"They are worse than brutes!"
"It will always be thus as long as we have gov-
ernments."
"Well, such is life!"
"You mean death!" said Morissot laughing.
They continued to discuss the different political
problems, while the cannon on Mont Valerien sent
death and desolation among the French.
S G. deM.— II
l62 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
Suddenly they started. They had heard a step be-
hind them. They turned and beheld four big men in
dark uniforms, with guns pointed right at them.
Their fishing-lines dropped out of their hands and
floated away with the current.
In a few minutes, the Prussian soldiers had bound
them, cast them into a boat, and rowed across the
river to the island which our friends had thought de-
serted. They soon found out their mistake when
they reached the house, behind which stood a score
or more of soldiers. A big burly officer, seated astride
a chair, smoking an immense pipe, addressed them
in excellent French:
-'Well, gentlemen, have you made a good haul.?"
just then, a soldier deposited at his feet the net
full of fish which he had taken good care to take
along with him. The officer smiled and said:
"I see you have done pretty well; but let us
change the subject. You are evidently sent to spy
upon me. You pretended to fish so as to put me off
the scent, but I am not so simple. I have caught
you and shall have you shot. I am sorry, but war is
war. As you passed the advance-guard you certainly
must have the password; give it to me, and I will
set you free."
The two friends stood side by side, pale and
slightly trembling, but they answered nothing.
"No one will ever know. You will go back
home quietly and the secret will disappear with you.
If you refuse, it is instant death! Choose!"
They remained motionless; silent. The Prussian
officer calmly pointed to the river.
"In five minutes you will be at the bottom of this
A FISHING EXCURSION
163
river! Surely, you have a family, friends waiting for
you?"
Still they kept silent. The cannon rumbled inces-
santly. The officer gave orders in his own tongue,
then moved his chair away from the prisoners.
A squad of men advanced within twenty feet of them,
ready ior command.
"I give you one minute; not a second morel'
Suddenly approaching the two Frenchmen, he took
Morissot aside and whispered:
"Quick; the password. Your friend will not
know; he will think 1 have changed my mind."
Morissot said nothing.
Then taking Sauvage aside he asked him the same
thing, but he also was silent. The officer gave further
orders and the men leveled their guns. At that
moment, Morissot's eyes rested on the net full of fish
lying in the grass a few feet away. The sight made
him feel faint and, though he struggled against it, his
eyes filled with tears. Then turning to his friend:
"Farewell! Mr. Sauvage!"
"Farewell! Mr. Morissot."
They stood for a minute, hand in hand, trembling
with emotion which they were unable to control.
"Fire!" commanded the officer.
The squad of men fired as one. Sauvage fell
straight on his face. Morissot, who was taller,
swayed, pivoted, and fell across his friend's body, his
face to the sky; while blood flowed freely from the
wound in his breast. The officer gave further orders
and his men disappeared. They came back presently
with ropes and stones, which they tied to the feet
of the two friends, and four of them carried them to
l64 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
the edge of the river. They swung them and threw
them in as far as they could. The bodies weighted
by stones sank immediately. A splash, a few ripples
and the water resumed its usual calmness. The only
thing to be seen was a little blood floating on the
surface. The officer calmly retraced his steps toward
the house muttering:
"The fish will get even now."
He perceived the net full of fish, picked it up,
smiled, and called:
"Wilhelm!"
A soldier in a white apron approached. The offi-
cer handed him the fish saying:
"Fry these little things while they are still alive;
They will make a delicious meal."
And having resumed his position on the chair, he
puffed away at his pipe."
A WARNING NOTE
"■ ~' "^ HAVE received the following letter.
Thinking that it may be profit-
able to many readers, I make
it my business to communicate it
to them:
"Paris, November 15, 1886.
"Monsieur: You often treat, either
in the shape of short stories or chroni-
cles, of subjects which have relation to
what I may describe as ' current morals.*
c;^r~^-. 1 am going to submit to you some reflec-
^^ >^ tions which, it seems to me, ought to furnish
^^"'^ you with the materials for one of your tales.
"I am not married; I am a bachelor, and, as it
seems to me, a rather simple man. But I fancy that
many men, the greater part of men, are simple in the
way that I am. As 1 am always, or nearly always, a
plain dealer, I am not always able to see through the
natural cunning of my neighbors, and I go straight
ahead, with my eyes open, without sufficiently looking
out for what is behind things — behind people's ex-
ternal behavior.
(165)
1 66 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
"We are nearly all accustomed, as a rule, to take
appearances for realities, and to look on people as what
they pretend to be. Very few possess that scent
which enables certain men to divine the real and
hidden nature of others. From this peculiar and con-
ventional method of regarding life comes the fact
that we pass, like moles, through the midst of events;
and that we never believe in what is, but in what
seems to be, that we declare a thing to be improbable
as soon as we are shown the fact behind the veil,
and that everything which displeases our idealistic
morality is classed by us as an exception, without
taking into account that these exceptions all brought
together constitute nearly the total number of cases.
It further results that credulous and good people like
me are deceived by everybody, especially by women,
who have a talent in this direction,
"1 have started far afield in order to come to the
particular fact which interests me. I have a mistress,
a married woman. Like many others, I imagined
(do you understand?) that I had chanced on an ex-
ception, on an unhappy little woman who was de-
ceiving her husband for the first time, I had paid
attentions to her, or rather I had looked on myself as
having paid attention to her for a long time, as having
overcome her virtue by dint of kindness and love, and
as having triumphed by the sheer force of persever-
ance. In fact, I had made use of a thousand precau-
tions, a thousand devices, and a thousand subtle
dallyings in order to succeed,
"Now here is what happened last week: Her
husband being absent for some days, she suggested
that we should both dine together, and that I should
A WARNING NOTE 1 67
attend on myself so as to avoid the presence of a
manservant. She had a fixed idea which had haunted
her for the last four or five months: She wanted to
get tipsy, but to get tipsy altogether without being
afraid of consequences, without having to go back
home, speak to her chambermaid, and walk before
witnesses. She had often obtained what she called
'a gay agitation' without going farther, and she had
found it delightful. So she had promised herself that
she would get tipsy once, only once, but thoroughly
so. At her own house she pretended that she was
going to spend twenty-four hours with some friends
near Paris, and she reached my abode just about
dinner-hour.
"A woman naturally ought not to get fuddled ex-
cept when she has had too much champagne. If she
drinks a big glass of it fasting, and before the oysters
arrive, she begins to ramble in her talk.
"We had a cold dinner prepared on a table be-
hind me. It was enough for me to stretch out my
arm to take the dishes or the plates, and I attended
on myself as best 1 could while I listened to her
chattering.
"She kept swallowing glass after glass, haunted
by her fixed idea. She began by making me the re-
cipient of meaningless and interminable confidences
with regard to her sensations as a young girl. She
went on and on, her eyes wandering and brilliant,
her tongue untied, and her light ideas rolling them-
selves out endlessly like the blue telegraph-paper
which is moved on without stopping by the bobbin
and keeps extending in response to the click of the
electric apparatus which covers it with words.
1 68 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
"From time to time she asked me:
'"Am 1 tipsy?'
'"No, not yet.'
"And she went on drinking.
"She was so in a little while — not so tipsy as to
lose her senses, but tipsy enough to tell the truth, as
it seemed to me.
" To her confidences as to her emotions while a young
girl succeeded more intimate confidences as to her re-
lations with her husband. She made them to me
without restraint, till she wearied me with them,
under this pretext, which she repeated a hundred
times: 'I can surely tell everything to you. To whom
could I tell everything if it were not to you ? ' So I
was made acquainted with all the habits, all the de-
fects, all the fads and the most secret fancies of her
husband.
"And by way of claiming my approval she asked:
'Isn't he a fool.? Do you think he has taken a feather
out of me, eh ? So, the first time I saw you, I said
to myself: "Let me see! I like him, and I'll take
him for my lover." It was then you began flirting
with me.'
"I must have presented an odd face to her eyes
at that moment, for she could see it, tipsy though she
was; and with great outbursts of laughter, she ex-
claimed: 'Ah! you big simpleton, you did go about
it cautiously; but, when men pay attentions to us,
you dear blockhead, you see we like it, and then
they must make quick work of it, and not keep us
waiting. A man must be a ninny not to understand,
by a mere glance at us, that we mean "Yes." Ah!
I believe I was waiting for you, you stupid! I did
A WARNING NOTE 169
not know what to do in order to make you see that
I was in a hurry. Oh! yes — flowers — verses — com-
pliments — more verses — and nothing else at all! I
was very near letting you go, my fine fellow, you
were so long in making up your mind. And only to
think that half the men in the world are like you,
while the other half — ha! ha! ha!'
"This laugh of hers sent a cold shiver down my
back. I stammered: 'The other half — what about
the other half?'
"She still went on drinking, her eyes steeped in
the fumes of sparkling wine', her mind impelled by
that imperious necessity for telling the truth which
sometimes takes possession of drunkards.
"She replied: 'Ah! the other half makes quick
work of it — too quick; but, all the same, they are
right. There are days when we don't hit it off with
them; but there are days too, when it all goes right,
in spite of everything. My dear, if you only knew
how funny it is — the way the two kinds of men act!
You see, the timid ones, such as you — you never
could imagine what sort the others are and what
they do — immediately — as soon as they find them-
selves alone with us. They are regular dare-devils!
They get many a slap in the face from us — no doubt
of that — but what does that matter? They know
we're the sort that kiss and don't tell! They know
us well — they do!'
"I stared at her with the eyes of an Inquisitor,
and with a mad desire to make her speak, to learn
everything from her. How often had I put this ques-
tion to myself: ' How do the other men behave
toward the women who belong to us?' I was fully
170
WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
conscious of the fact that from the way I saw two
men talking to the same woman publicly in a draw-
ing-room, these two men, if they found themselves,
one after the other, all alone with her, would conduct
themselves quite differently, although they were both
equally well acquainted with her. We can guess at
the first glance of the eye that certain beings, natu-
rally endowed with the power of seduction, more
lively, more daring than we are, reach, after an hour's
chat with a woman who pleases them, a degree of
intimacy to which we would not attain in a year.
Well, do these men, these seducers, these bold ad-
venturers, take, when the occasion presents itself to
them, liberties with their hands and lips which to
us, the timid ones, would appear odious outrages, but
which women perhaps look on merely as pardonable
effrontery or as indecent homage to their irresistible
grace ?
"So I asked her: 'There are women, though,
who think these men very improper?'
"She threw herself back on her chair in order to
laugh more at her ease, but with a nerveless, un-
healthy laugh, one of those laughs which end in
hysteria. Then, a little more calmly, she replied:
'Ha! ha! my dear, improper — that is to say, that they
dare everything — at once — all — you understand —
and many other things, too.'
"I felt myself horrified as if she had just revealed
to me a monstrous thing.
"'And you permit this, you women?'
"'No, we don't permit it; we slap them in the
face — but, for all that, they amuse us! And then
with them one is always afraid — one is never easy.
A WARNING NOTE
171
You must keep watching them the whole time — it is
like fighting a duel. You have to keep staring into
their eyes to see what they are thinking of or what
they intend. They are blackguards, if you like, but
they love us better than you do!'
'/A singular and unexpected sensation stole over
me. Although a bachelor, and determined to re-
main a bachelor, I suddenly felt in my breast the
spirit of a husband in the face of this impudent con-
fidence. I felt myself the friend, the ally, the brother
of all these confiding men who are, if not robbed,
at least defrauded by all the rufflers of women's
waists.
"It is this strange emotion, Monsieur, that I am
obeying at this moment, in writing to you, in beg-
ging of you to address a warning note to the great
army of easy-going husbands.
"However, I had still some lingering doubts.
This woman was drunk and must be lying.
"I went on to inquire: 'How is it that you
never relate these adventures to anyone, you women.?'
"She gazed at me with profound pity, and with
such an air of sincerity that, for the moment, I
thought she had been sobered by astonishment.
"'We.? My dear fellow, you are very foolish.
Why do we never talk to you about these things ?
Ha! ha! ha! Does your valet tell you about his tips,
his odd sous? Well, this is our little tip. The hus-
band ought not to complain when we don't go
farther. But how dull you are! To talk of these
things would be to give the alarm to all ninnies!
Ah! how dull you are! And then what harm does it
do as long as we don't yield?'
172 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
"I felt myself in a state of great confusion as I
put the question to her:
"'So then you have often been embraced by
men ?'
"She answered, with an air of sovereign contempt
for the man who could have any doubt on the sub-
ject :
"'Faith! Why, every woman has been often em-
braced. Try it on with any of them, no matter
whom, in order to see for yourself, you great goose!
Look here! embrace Mme. de X ! She is quite
young, and quite virtuous. Embrace, my friend — ■
embrace — and touch — you shall see — ha! ha! ha!'
"All of a sudden, she flung her glass straight at
the chandelier. The champagne fell down in a
shower, extinguished three wax-candles, stained the
hangings, and deluged the table, while the broken
glass was scattered about the dining-room. Then,
she made an effort to seize the bottle to do the same
with it, but I prevented her. After that, she burst
out crying in a very loud tone — the hysteria had
come on, as I had anticipated.
"Some days later, I had almost forgotten this
avowal of a tipsy woman when I chanced to find
myself at an evening party with this Mme. de X ,
whom my mistress had advised me to embrace. As
I lived in the same direction as she did, I offered to
drive her to her own door, for she was alone this
evening. She accepted my offer.
" As soon as we were in the carriage, I said to
myself: 'Gomel I must try it onl' But I had not
A WARNING NOTE 1 73
the courage. I did not know how to make a start,
how to begin the attack.
"Then, suddenly, the desperate courage of cow-
ards came to my aid. I said to her: 'How pretty
you were, this evening.'
"She replied with a laugh: 'So then, this even-
ing was an exception, since you only remarked it for
the first time?'
"I did not know what rejoinder to make. Cer-
tainly my gallantry was not making progress. After
a little reflection, however, I managed to say:
"'No, but I never dared to tell it to you.'
She was astonished:
"'Why?'
"'Because it is — -it is a little difficult.'
'Diificult to tell a woman that she's pretty?
Why, where did you come from ? You should always
tell us so, even when you only half think it, because
it always gives us pleasure to hear.'
"I felt myself suddenly animated by a fantastic
audacity, and, catching her round the waist, I raised
my lips toward her mouth,
"Nevertheless I seemed to be rather nervous about
it, and not to appear so terrible to her. I must also
have arranged and executed my movement very badly,
for she managed to turn her head aside so as to
avoid contact with my f;ice, saying:
"'Oh, no — this is rather too much — too much.
You are too quick! Take care of my hair. You
cannot embrace a woman who has her hair dressed
like mine! '
"I resumed my former position in the carriage, dis-
concerted, unnerved by this repulse. But the carriage
174
WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
drew up before her gate; and she, as she stepped out
of it, held out her hand to me, saying, in her most
gracious tones:
'"Thanks, dear Monsieur, for having seen me
home — and don't forget my advice!'
"I saw her three days later. She had forgotten
everything.
"And I, Monsieur, \ am incessantly thinking on
the other sort of men — the sort of men to whom a
lady's hair is no obstacle, and who know how to
seize every opportunity."
AFTER
M
Y DARLINGS," Said the Comtesse,
"you must go to bed."
The three children, two girls
and a boy, rose up to kiss their grand-
mother.
Then they said "Good night" to M.
le Cure, who had dined at the chateau,
as he did every Thursday.
The Abbe Mauduit sat two of the young
Li ones on his knees, passing his long arms
clad in black behind the children's necks;
and, drawing their heads toward him with a
j,:^ paternal movement, he kissed each of them on
^ the forehead with a long, tender kiss.
Then, he again set them down on the floor, and
the little beings went off, the boy in front, and the
girls behind.
"You are fond of children, M. le Cure," said the
Comtesse.
"Very fond, Madame."
The old woman raised her bright eyes toward the
priest.
"And — has your solitude never weighed too
heavily on you?"
(175)
176
WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
"Yes, sometimes."
He became silent, hesitated, and then added: "But
I was never made for ordinary life."
"What do you know about it?"
"Oh! I know very well. I was made to be a
priest; I followed my own path."
The Comtesse kept staring at him:
"Look here, M. le Cure, tell me this — tell me
how it was you resolved to renounce forever what
makes us love life — the rest of us — all that consoles
and sustains us ? What is it that drove you, impelled
you, to separate yourself from the great natural path
of marriage and the family. You are neither an en-
thusiast nor a fanatic, neither a gloomy person nor a
sad person. Was it some strange occurrence, some
sorrov/, that led you to take lifelong vows?"
The Abbe Mauduit rose up and drew near to the
fire, stretching out to the flames the big shoes that
country priests generally wear. He seemed still hes-
itating as to what reply he should make.
He was a tall old man with white hair, and for the
last twenty years had been the pastor of the parish
of Sainte-Antoine-du-Rocher. The peasants said of
him, "There's a good man for you!" And indeed
he was a good man, benevolent, friendly to all, gen-
tle, and, to crown all, generous. Like Saint Martin,
he had cut his cloak in two. He freely laughed, and
wept too, for very little, just like a woman, — a thing
that prejudiced him more or less in the hard minds
of the country people.
The old Comtesse de Saville, living in retirement in
her chateau of Rocher, in order to bring up her grand-
children, after the successive deaths of her son and her
AFTER
177
daughter-in-law, was very much attached to the cur6,
and used to say of him: "He has a kind heart!"
The abbe came every Thursday to spend the even-
ing at the chateau, and they were close friends, with
the open and honest friendship of old people.
She persisted:
"Look here M. le Cure! 'tis your turn now to
make a confession!"
He repeated: "I was not made for a life like
everybody else. I saw it myself, fortunately, in time,
and have had many proofs since that I made no
mistake on that point,
"My parents, who were mercers in Verdiers, and
rather rich, had much ambition on my account.
They sent me to a boarding-school while I was very
young. You cannot conceive what a boy may suffer
at college, by the mere fact of separation, of isola-
tion. This monotonous life without affection is good
for some and detestable for others. Young people
often have hearts more sensitive than one supposes,
and by shutting them up thus too soon, far from
those they love, we may develop to an excessive
extent a sensibility which is of an overstrung kind,
and which becomes sickly and dangerous.
"I scarcely ever played; I never had companions;
I passed my hours in looking back to my home with
regret; I spent the whole night weeping in my bed.
I sought to bring up before my mind recollections of
my own home, trifling recollections of little things,
little events. I thought incessantly of all I had left
behind there. I became almost imperceptibly an over-
sensitive youth, to whom the slightest annoyances
were dreadful griefs.
5 G. de M.— u
178
WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
"Together with this, I remained taciturn, self-
absorbed, without expansion, without confidants. This
work of mental exaltation was brought about obscurely
but surely. The nerves of children are quickly excited;
one ought to realize the fact that they live in a state
of deep quiescence up to the time of almost complete
development. But does anyone reflect that, for cer-
tain students, an unjust imposition can be as great a
pang as the death of a friend afterward ? Does any-
one realize the fact that certain young souls have, with
very little cause, terrible emotions, and are in a very
short time diseased and incurable souls?
"This was my case. This faculty of regret devel-
oped itself in me in such a fashion that my exist-
ence became a martyrdom.
"I did not speak about it; I said nothing about
it; but gradually I acquired a sensibility, or rather a
sensitivity, so lively that my soul resembled a living
wound. Everything that touched it produced in it
twitchings of pain, frightful vibrations, and veritable
ravages. Happy are the men whom nature has
buttressed with indifference and cased in stoicism.
"I reached my sixteenth year. An excessive timid-
ity had come to me from this aptitude to suffer on
account of everything. Feeling myself unprotected
against all the attacks of chance or fate, I feared every
contact, every approach, every event. I lived on the
watch as if under the constant threat of an unknown
and always expected misfortune. I was afraid either
to speak or to act publicly. I had, indeed, the sensa-
tion that life is a battle, a dreadful conflict in which
one receives terrible blows, grievous, mortal wounds.
In place of cherishing, like all men, the hope of good-
AFTER
179
fortune on the morrow, I only kept a confused fear
of it, and 1 felt in my own mind a desire to conceal
myself — to avoid that combat in which I should be
vanquished and slain.
"As soon as my studies were finished, they gave
me six months' time to choose a career. Sud-
denly a very simple event made me see clearly
into myself, showed me the diseased condition of
my mind, made me understand the danger, and caused
me to make up my mind to fly from it.
"Verdiers is a little town surrounded with plains
and woods. In the central street stands my parents'
house. 1 now passed my days far from this dwelling
which I had so much regretted, so much desired.
Dreams were awakened in me, and I walked all alone
in the fields in order to let them escape and fly away.
My father and my mother, quite occupied with busi-
ness, and anxious about my future, talked to me only
about their profits or about my possible plans. They
were fond of me in the way that hard-headed, prac-
tical people are; they had more reason than heart in
their affection for me. I lived imprisoned in my
thoughts, and trembling with eternal uneasiness.
"Now, one evening, after a long walk, as I was
making my way home with quick strides so as not to
be late, 1 met a dog trotting toward me. He was a
species of red spaniel, very lean, with long curly ears.
"When he was ten paces away from me, he
stopped. I did the same. Then he began wagging
his tail, and came over to me with short steps and
nervous movements of his whole body, going down
on his paws as if appealing to me, and softly shak-
ing his head. He then made a show of crawling
l8o WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
with an air so humble, so sad, so suppliant, that I
felt the tears coming into my eyes. I came near
him; he ran away; then he came back again; and I
bent down, trying to coax him to approach me with
soft words. At last, he was within reach and I
gently caressed him with the most careful hands.
"He grew bold, rose up bit by bit, laid his paws
on my shoulders, and began to lick my face. He
followed me into the house.
"This was really the first being I had passionately
loved, because he returned my affection. My attach-
ment to this animal v/as certainly exaggerated and
ridiculous. It seemed to me in a confused sort of
way that we were two brothers, lost on this earth,
and therefore isolated and without defense, one as
well as the other. He never again quitted my side.
He slept at the foot of my bed, ate at the table in
spite of the objections of my parents, and followed
me in my solitary walks.
"I often stopped at the side of a ditch, and I sat
down in the grass. Sam would lie on my knees,
and lift up my hand with the end of his nose so that
I might caress him.
"One day toward the end of June, as we were
on the road from Saint-Pierre-de-Chavrol, I saw the
diligence from Pavereau coming along. Its four horses
were going at a gallop. It had a yellow box-seat, and
imperial crowned with black leather. The coachman
cracked his whip; a cloud of dust rose up under the
wheels of the heavy vehicle, then floated behind, just
as a cloud would do.
"And, all of a sudden, as the vehicle came close to
me. Sam, perhaps frightened by the noise and wishing
AFTER l8l
to join me, jumped in front of it. A horse's foot
knocked him down. I saw him rolling over, turning
round, falling back again on all fours, and then the
entire coach gave two big jolts and behind it I saw
something quivering in the dust on the road. He
was nearly cut in two; all his intestines were hanging
through his stomach, which had been ripped open,
and spurts of blood fell to the ground. He tried to
get up, to walk, but he could only move his two front
paws, and scratch the ground with them, as if to
make a hole. The two others were already dead.
And he howled dreadfully, mad with pain.
"He died in a few minutes. I cannot describe
how much I felt and suffered. I was confined to my
own room for a month.
"Now, one night, my father, enraged at seeing
me in such a state for so little, exclaimed:
"'How then will it be when you have real griefs.
If you lose your wife or children?'
"And I began to see clearly into myself. I under-
stood why all the small miseries of each day assumed
in my eyes the importance of a catastrophe; I saw
that I was organized in such a way that I suffered
dreadfully from everything, that every painful impres-
sion was multiplied by my diseased sensibility, and
an atrocious fear of life took possession of me. I was
without passions, without ambitions; I resolved to
sacrifice possible joys in order to avoid sure sorrows.
Existence is short, but I made up my mind to spend
it in the service of others, in relieving their troubles
and enjoying their happiness. By having no direct
experience of either one or the other, I would only
be conscious of passionless emotions.
l82 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
"And if you only knew how, in spite of this,
misery tortures me, ravages me. But what would be
for me an intolerable affliction has become commisera-
tion, pity.
"The sorrows which I have every day to concern
myself about I could not endure if they fell on my
own heart. I could not have seen one of my children
die without dying myself. And I have, in spite of
everything, preserved such a deep and penetrating
fear of circumstances that the sight of the postman
entering my house makes a shiver pass every day
through my veins, and yet I have nothing to be afraid
of now."
The Abbe Mauduit ceased speaking. He stared
into the fire in the huge grate, as if he saw there
mysterious things, all the unknown portion of exist-
ence which he would have been able to live if he
had been more fearless in the face of suffering.
He added, then, in a subdued tone:
"I was right. I was not made for this world."
The Comtesse said nothing at first; but at length,
after a long silence, she remarked:
" For my part, if I had not my grandchildren, I
believe I would not have the courage to live."
And the Cure rose up without saying another word.
As the servants were asleep in the kitchen, she
conducted him herself to the door which looked out
on the garden, and she saw his tall shadow, revealed
by the reflection of the lamp, disappearing through
the gloom of night.
Then she came back, sat down before the fire,
and pondered over many things on which we never
think when we are young.
THE SPASM
HE hotel-guests slowly entered the
dining-room, and sat down in
their places. The waiters began
to attend on them in a leisurely
fashion so as to enable those who
were late to arrive, and to avoid bring-
.. ing back the dishes. The old bathers,
the habitues, those whose season was
advancing, gazed with interest toward the
door, whenever it opened, with a desire
to see new faces appearing.
This is the principal distraction of health-
^ resorts. People look forward to the dinner
hour in order to inspect each day's new arrivals,
to find out who they are, what they do, and what they
think. A vague longing springs up in the mind, a
longing for agreeable meetings, for pleasant acquaint-
ances, perhaps for love-adventures. In this life of
elbowings, strangers, as well as those with whom we
have come into daily contact, assume an extreme
importance. Curiosity is aroused, sympathy is ready to
exhibit itself, and sociability is the order of the day.
(«85)
l84 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
We cherish antipathies for a week and friendships
for a month; we see other people with different eyes,
when we view them through the medium of the ac-
quaintanceship that is brought about at health-resorts.
We discover in men suddenly, after an hour's chat
in the evening after dinner, or under the trees in the
park where the generous spring bubbles up, a high
intelligence and astonishing merits, and, a month after-
ward, we have completely forgotten these new friends,
so fascinating when we first met them.
There also are formed lasting and serious ties more
quickly than anywhere else. People see each other
every day; they become acquainted very quickly; and
with the affection thus originated is mingled some-
thing of the sweetness and self-abandonment of long-
standing intimacies. We cherish in after years the
dear and tender memories of those first hours of friend-
ship, the memory of those first conversations through
which we have been able to unveil a soul, of those
first glances which interrogate and respond to the
questions and secret thoughts which the mouth has
not as yet uttered, the memory of that first cordial
confidence, the memory of that delightful sensation of
opening our hearts to those who are willing to open
theirs to us.
And the melancholy of health-resorts, the mo-
notony of days that are alike, help from hour to hour
in this rapid development of affection. ^^
in :t: * * * * * &^
Well, this evening, as on every other evening, we
awaited the appearance of strange faces.
Only two appeared, but they were very remarkable
looking, a man and a woman — father and daughter.
THE SPASM
185
They immediately produced the same effect on my
mind as some of Edgar Poe's characters; and yet
there was about them a charm, the charm associated
with misfortune. I looI<ed upon them as the victims of
fatality. The man was very tall and thin, rather stoop-
ing, with hair perfectly white, too white for his com-
paratively youthful physiognomy; and there was ia
his bearing and in his person that austerity peculiar to
Protestants. The daughter, who was probably
twenty-four or twenty-five, was small in stature, and
was also very thin, very pale, and had the air of one
worn out with utter lassitude. We meet people like
this from time to time, people who seem too weak
for the tasks and the needs of daily life, too weak to
move about, to walk, to do all that we do every day.
This young girl was very pretty, with the diapha-
nous beauty of a phantom; and she ate with extreme
slowness, as if she were almost incapable of moving
her arms. It must have been she assuredly who had
come to take the waters.
They found themselves facing me at the opposite
side of the table; and I at once noticed that the
father had a very singular nervous spasm. Every time
he wanted to reach an object, his hand made a hook-
like movement, a sort of irregular zigzag, before it
succeeded in touching what it was in search of; and,
after a little while, this action was so wearisome to
me that I turned aside my head in order not to see it.
1 noticed, too, that the young girl, during meals,
wore a glove on her left hand.
After dinner, I went for a stroll in the park of the
thermal establishment. This led toward the little
Auvergnese station of Chatel Guyon, hidden in a gorge
l86 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
at the foot of the high mountain, of that mountain
from which flow so many boiling springs, rising
from the deep bed of extinct volcanoes. Over there,
above us, the domes, which had once been craters,
raised their mutilated heads on the summit of the
long chain. For Chatel Guyon is situated at the spot
where the region of domes begins. Beyond it stretches
out the region of peaks, and, further on again, the
region of precipices.
The Puy de Dome is the highest of the domes,
the Peak of Sancy is the loftiest of the peaks, and
Cantal is the most precipitous of these mountain
heights.
This evening, it was very warm. I walked up and
down a shady path, on the side of the mountain
overlooking the park, listening to the opening strains
of the Casino band. I saw the father and the daughter
advancing slowly in my direction. I saluted them,
as we are accustomed to salute our hotel-companions
at health-resorts; and the man, coming to a sudden
halt, said to me:
"Could you not. Monsieur, point out to us a short
walk, nice and easy, if that is possible, and excuse
my intrusion on you?"
I offered to show them the way toward the val-
ley through which the little river flowed, a deep valley
forming a gorge between two tall, craggy, wooded
slopes. They gladly accepted my offer, and we talked
naturally about the virtues of the waters.
"Oh!" he said, "my daughter has a strange mal-
ady, the seat of which is unknown. She suffers from
incomprehensible nervous disorders. At one time, the
doctors think she has an attack of heart disease, at
THE SPASM 187
another time, they imagine it is some affection of the
liver, and at another time they declare it to be a dis-
ease of the spine. To-day, her condition is attributed
to the stomach, which is the great caldron and reg-
ulator of the body, the Protean source of diseases
with a thousand forms and a thousand susceptibilities
to attack. This is why we have come here. For my
part, I am rather inclined to think it is the nerves.
In any case it is very sad."
Immediately the remembrance of the violent spas-
modic movement of his hana came back to my mind,
and I asked him:
"But is this not the result of heredity.? Are not
your own nerves somewhat affected.?"
He replied calmly:
"Mine? Oh! no — my nerves have always been
very steady."
Then suddenly, after a pause, he went on:
"Ah! You were alluding to the spasm in my
hand every time I want to reach for anything.? This
arises from a terrible experience which I had. Just
imagine! this daughter of mine was actually buried
alive!"
I could only give utterance to the word "Ah!" so
great were my astonishment and emotion.
4c 41 « 4c * « 3):
He continued:
"Here is the story. It is simple. Juliette had
been subject for some time to serious attacks of the
heart. We believed that she had disease of that
organ and we were prepared for the worst.
"One day, she was carried into the house cold,
lifelesi^s, dead. She had fallen down unconscious in
1 88 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
the garden. The doctor certified that life was extinct.
I watched by her side for a day and two nights. I
laid her with my own hands in the coffin, which I
accompanied to the cemetery where she was deposited
in the family vault. It is situated in the very heart of
Lorraine.
"1 wished to have her interred with her jewels,
bracelets, necklaces, rings, all presents which she had
got from me, and with her first ball-dress on.
"You may easily imagine the state of mind in
which I was when I returned home. She was the
only companion I had, for my wife has been dead for
many years. 1 found my way to my own apartment
in a half-distracted condition, utterly exhausted, and
1 sank into my easy-chair, without the capacity to
think or the strength to move. 1 was nothing better
now than a suffering, vibrating machine, a human
being who had, as it were, been flayed alive; my
soul was like a living wound.
"My old valet, Prosper, who had assisted me in
placing Juliette in her coffin, and preparing her for
her last sleep, entered the room noiselessly, and
asked:
"'Does Monsieur want anything?'
"I merely shook my head, by way of answering
*No.'
"He urged: 'Monsieur is wrong. He will bring
some illness on himself. Would Monsieur like me to
put him to bed?'
"I answered: 'No! let me alone!' And he left
the room.
"I know not how many hours slipped away. Oh!
what a night, what a night! It was cold. My firs
THE SPASM 189
had died out in the huge grate; and the wind, the
winter wind, an icy wind, a hurricane accompanied
by frost and snow, kept blowing against the window
with a sinister and regular noise.
"How many hours slipped away? There 1 was
without sleeping, powerless, crushed, my eyes wide
open, my legs stretched out, my body limp, inani-
mate, and my mind torpid with despair. Suddenly,
the great bell of the entrance gate, the bell of the
vestibule, rang out.
"I got such a shock that my chair cracked under
me. The solemn ponderous sound vibrated through
the empty chateau as if through a vault. I turned
round to see what the hour was by my clock. It
was just two in the morning. Who could be coming
at such an hour?
"And abruptly the bell again rang twice. The
servants, without doubt, were afraid to get up. I
took a wax-candle and descended the stairs. I was
on the point of asking: 'Who is there?'
"Then, 1 felt ashamed of my weakness, and I
slowly opened the huge door. My heart was throb-
bing wildly; I was frightened; I hurriedly drew back
the door, and in the darkness, I distinguished a white
figure standing erect, something that resembled an
apparition.
"I recoiled, petrified with horror, faltering:
"'Who — who — who are you?'
"A voice replied:
"'It is I, father.'
"It was my daughter. I really thought I must be
mad, and I retreated backward before this advancing
specter. 1 kept moving away, making a sign with
190
WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
my hand, as if to drive the phantom away, that
gesture which you have noticed, — that gesture of
which since then I have never got rid.
"The apparition spoke again:
"'Do not be afraid, papa; I was not dead. Some-
body tried to steal my rings, and cut one of my fin-
gers, the blood began to flow, and this reanimated
me.'
"And, in fact, I could see that her hand was cov-
ered with blood.
"I fell on my knees, choking with sobs and with
a rattling in my throat.
"Then, when I had somewhat collected my
thoughts, though 1 was still so much dismayed that
I scarcely realized the gruesome good-fortune that had
fallen to my lot, I made her go up to my room, and
sit down in my easy-chair; then 1 rang excitedly for
Prosper to get him to light up the fire again and to
get her some wine and summon the rest of the serv-
ants to her assistance.
"The man entered, stared at my daughter, opened
his mouth with a gasp of alarm and stupefaction, and
then fell back, insensible.
"It was he who had opened the vault, and who
had mutilated and then abandoned my daughter, for
he could not efface the traces of the theft. He had
not even taken the trouble to put back the coffin
into its place, feeling sure, besides, that he would
not be suspected by me, as I completely trusted him.
"You see, Monsieur, that we are very unhappy
people."
4: 4: 4: * » * *
He stopped.
THE SPASM
191
The night had fallen, casting its shadows over the
desolate, mournful vale, and a sort of mysterious fear
possessed me at finding myself by the side of those
strange beings, of this young girl who had come
back from the tomb and this father with his uncanny
spasm.
I found it impossible to make any comment on
this dreadful story. I only murmured:
"What a horrible thing!"
Then, after a minute's silence, I added:
"Suppose we go back, I think it is getting cold."
And we made our way back to the hotel.
A MEETING
T WAS all an accident, a pure acci-
dent. Tired of standing, Baron
d'Etraille went — as all the Prin-
cess's rooms were open on that
particular evening — into an empty
bedroom, which appeared almost
dark after coming out of the bril-
liantly-lighted drawing-rooms.
He looked round for a chair in
which to have a doze, as he was sure
lis wife would not go away before day-
^ht. As soon as he got inside the door
^ly- he saw the big bed with its azure-and-gold
^o» hangings, in the middle of the great room,
looking like a catafalque in which love was buried,
for the Princess was no longer young. Behind it,
a large bright spot looked hke a lake seen at a dis-
tance from a window It was a big looking-glass,
which, discreetly covered with dark drapery very
rarely let down, seemed to look at the bed, which
was its accomplice. One might almost fancy that it
felt regrets, and that one was going to see in it
(192)
A MEETING I93
charming shapes of nude women and the gentle
movement of arms about to embrace them.
The Baron stood still for a moment, smihng and
rather moved, on the threshold of this chamber dedi-
cated to love. But suddenly something appeared in
the looking-glass, as if the phantoms which he had
evoked had come up before him. A man and a
woman who had been sitting on a low couch hidden
in the shade had risen, and the polished surface, re-
flecting their figures, showed that they were kissing
each other before separating.
The Baron recognized his wife and the Marquis de
Cervigne. He turned and went away like a man fully
master of himself, and waited till it was day before
taking away the Baroness. But he had no longer any
thoughts of sleeping.
As soon as they were alone, he said:
"Madame, I saw you just now in the Princess de
Raynes's room. I need say no more, for I am not
fond either of reproaches, acts of violence, or of ridi-
cule. As I wish to avoid all such things, we shall
separate without any scandal. Our lawyers will settle
your position according to my orders. You will be
free to live as you please when you are no longer
under my roof; but, as you will continue to bear my
name, I must warn you that should any scandal
arise, I shall show myself inflexible."
She tried to speak, but he stopped her, bowed,
and left the room.
He was more astonished and sad than unhappy.
He had loved her dearly during the first period of
their married life; but his ardor had cooled, and now
he often had a caprice, either in a theater or in soci-
f G. de M.— IJ
194
WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
ety, though he always preserved a certain liking for
the Baroness.
She was very young, hardly four-and-twenty,
small, slight, — too slight, — and very fair. She was
a true Parisian doll: clever, spoiled, elegant, coquettish,
witty, with more charm than real beauty. He used to
say familiarly to his brother, when speaking of her:
"My wife is charming, attractive, but — there is
nothing to lay hold of. She is like a glass of cham-
pagne that is all froth — when you have got to the
wine it is very good, but there is too little of it, un-
fortunately."
He walked up and down the room in great agita-
tion, thinking of a thousand things. At one moment
he felt in a great rage, and felt inclined to give the
Marquis a good thrashing, to horsewhip him publicly,
in the club. But he thought that would not do, it
would not be the thing; he would be laughed at, and
not the other, and he felt that his anger proceeded
more from wounded vanity than from a broken heart.
So he went to bed, but could not get to sleep.
A few days afterward it was known in Paris that
the Baron and Baroness d'Etraille had agreed to an
amicable separation on account of incompatibility of
temper. Nobody suspected anything, nobody laughed,
and nobody was astonished.
The Baron, however, to avoid meeting her, trav-
eled for a year; then he spent the summer at the sea-
side, and the autumn in shooting, returning to Paris
for the winter. He did not meet his wife once.
He did not even know what people said about
her. At any rate, she took care to save appearances,
ind that was all he asked for.
A MEETING
195
Ke got dreadfully bored, traveled again, restored
his old castle of Villebosc — which took him two
years; then for over a year he received relays of
friends there, till at last, tired of all these common-
place, so-called pleasures, he returned to his mansion
in the Rue de Lills, just six years after their sepa-
ration.
He was then forty-five, with a good crop of gray
hair, rather stout, and with that melancholy look of
people who have been handsome, sought after, much
liked, and are deteriorating daily.
A month after his return to Paris he took cold on
coming out of his club, and had a bad cough, so his
medical man ordered him to Nice for the rest of the
winter.
He started by the express on Monday evening.
He was late, got to the station only a very short
time before the departure of the train, and had barely
time to get into a carriage, with only one other oc-
cupant, who was sitting in a corner so wrapped in
furs and cloaks that he could not even make out
whether it were a man or a woman, as nothing of
the figure could be seen. When he perceived that
he could not find out, he put on his traveling-cap,
rolled himself up in his rugs, and stretched himself
out comfortably to sleep.
He did not wake up till the day was breaking,
and looked immediately at his fellow-traveler. He
had not stirred all night, and seemed still to be
sound asleep.
M. d'Etraille made use of the opportunity to brush
his hair and his beard, and to try and freshen him-
self up a little generally, for a night's traveling
!96 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
changes one's looks very much when one has at-
tained a certain age.
A great poet has said:
"When we are young, our mornings are triumphant!"
Then we wake up with a cool skin, a bright eye,
and glossy hair. When one grows older one wakes
up in a very different state. Dull eyes, red, swollen
cheeks, dry lips, the hair and beard all disarranged,
impart an old, fatigued, worn-out look to the face.
The Baron opened his traveling dressing-case,
made himself as tidy as he could, and then waited
The engine whistled and the train stopped, and
his neighbor moved. No doubt he was awake. They
started off again, and then an oblique ray of the sun
shone into the carriage just on to the sleeper, who
moved again, shook himself, and then calmly showed
his face.
It was a young, fair, pretty, stout woman, and the
Baron looked at her in amazement. He did not know
what to believe. He could really have sworn that it
was his wife — but wonderfully changed for the bet-
ter: stouter — why, she had grown as stout as he was
— only it suited her much better than it did him.
She looked at him quietly, did not seem to recog-
nize him, and then slowly laid aside her wraps. She
had that calm assurance of a woman who is sure of
herself, the insolent audacity of a first awaking,
knowing and feeling that she was in her full beauty
and freshness.
The Baron really lost his head. Was it his wife,
or somebody else who was as likt- her as any sister
A MEETING I97
could be? As he had not seen her for six years he
might be mistaken.
She yawned, and he knew her by the gesture.
She turned and looked at him again, calmly, indiffer-
ently, as if she scarcely saw him, and then looked
out at the country again.
He was upset and dreadfully perplexed, and
waited, looking at her sideways, steadfastly.
Yes; it was certainly his wife. How could he
possibly have doubted? There could certainly not be
two noses like that, and a thousand recollections
flashed through him, slight details of her body, a
beauty-spot on one of her limbs and another on her
back. How often he had kissed them! He felt the
old feeling of the intoxication of love stealing over
him, and he called to mind the sweet odor of her
skin, her smile when she put her arms on to his
shoulders, the soft intonations of her voice, all her
graceful, coaxing ways.
But how she had changed and improved! It was
she and yet not she. He thought her riper, more
developed, more of a woman, more seductive, more
desirable, adorably desirable.
And this strange, unknown woman, whom he had
accidentally met in a railway-carriage belonged to
him; he had only to say to her:
"I insist upon it."
He had formerly slept in her arms, existed only in
her love, and now he had found her again certainly,
but so changed that he scarcely knew her. It was
another, and yet she at the same time. It was an-
other who had been born, formed, and grown since
he had left her. It was she, indeed; she whom he
198
WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
had possessed but who was now altered, with a more
assured smile and .c^reater self-possession. There
were two women in one, mingling a great deal of
what was new and unknown with many sweet rec-
ollections of the past. There was something singular,
disturbing, exciting about it — a kind of mystery of
love in which there floated a delicious confusion. It
was his wife in a new body and in new flesh which
his lips had never pressed.
And he remembered that in six or seven years
everything changes in us, only outlines can be recog-
nized, and sometimes even they disappear.
The blood, the hair, the skin, all change, and are
reconstituted, and when people have not seen each
other for a long time they find, when they meet,
another totally different being, although it be the
same and bear the same name.
And the heart also can change. Ideas may be
modified and renewed, so that in forty years of life
we may, by gradual and constant transformations, be-
come four or five totally new and different beings.
He dwelt on this thought till it troubled him; it
had first taken possession of him when he surprised
her in the Princess's room. He was not the least
angry; it was not the same woman that he was
looking at — that thin, excitable little doll of those
days.
What was he to do? How should he address her?
and what could he say to her? Had she recognized
him ?
The train stopped again. He got up, bowed, and
said: "Bertha, do you want anything I can bring
you?"
A MEETING 1 99
She looked at him from head to foot, and answered,
without showing the slightest surprise or confusion
or anger, but with the most perfect indifference:
"I do not want anything — thank you."
He got out and walked up and down the platform
a little in order to think, and, as it were, to recover
his senses after a fall. What should he do now? If
he got into another carriage it would look as if he
were running away. Should he be polite or impor-
tunate ? That would look as if he were asking for
forgiveness. Should he speak as if he were her
master? He would look like a fool, and besides, he
really had no right to do so.
He got in again and took his place.
During his absence she had hastily arranged her
dress and hair, and was now lying stretched out on
the seat, radiant, but without showing any emotion.
He turned to her, and said: "My dear Bertha,
since this singular chance has brought us together
after a separation of six years — a quite friendly sepa-
ration — are we to continue to look upon each other
as irreconcilable enemies? We are shut up together,
Ute-d-tete, which is so much the better or so much the
worse. I am not going to get into another carriage,
so don't you think it is preferable to talk as friends
till the end of our journey?"
She answered quite calmly again:
"Just as you please."
Then he suddenly stopped, really not knowing
what to say; but as he had plenty of assurance, he
sat down on the middle seat, and said:
"Well, I see I must pay my court to you; so
much the better. It is, however, really a pleasure,
200 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
for you are charming. You cannot imagine how you
have improved in the last six years. I do not know
any woman who could give me that delightful sensa-
tion which I experienced just now when you emerged
from your wraps. I could really have thought such a
change impossible."
Without moving her head or looking at him, she
said: "I cannot say the same with regard to you;
you have certainly deteriorated a great deal."
He got red and confused, and then, with a smile
of resignation, he said:
"You are rather hard."
"Why?" was her reply. "I am only stating
facts. I don't suppose you intend to offer me your
love.? It must, therefore, be a matter of perfect in-
difference to you what I think about you. But I
see it is a painful subject, so let us talk of some-
thing else. What have you been doing since I last
saw you?"
He felt rather out of countenance, and stammered:
"I? 1 have traveled, shot, and grown old, as you
see. And you ?"
She said, quite calmly: "I have taken care of ap-
pearances, as you ordered me."
He was very nearly saying something brutal, but
he checked himself, and kissed his wife's hand:
"And I thank you," he said.
She was surprised. He was indeed strong and
always master of himself.
He went on: ''As you have acceded to my first
request, shall we now talk without any bitter-
ness ?"
She made a little movement of surprise.
A M^ET:^;G 2c:
"Bitterness ! I don't feel any; you are a complete
stranger to me; I am only trying to keep up a diffi-
cult conversation."
He was still looking at her, carried away in spite
of her harshness, and he felt seized with a brutal de-
sire, the desire of the master.
Perceiving that she had hurt his feelings, she said:
"How old are you now? I thought you were
younger than you look."
He grew rather pale:
" I am forty-five"; and then he added: "I forgot
to ask after Princess de Raynes. Are you still inti-
mate with her?"
She looked at him as if she hated him:
" Yes, certainly 1 am. She is very well, thank
you."
They remained sitting side by side, agitated and
irritated. Suddenly he said:
"My dear Bertha, I have changed my mind. You
are my wife, and I expect you to come with me to-
day. You have, I think, improved both morally and
physically, and I am going to take you back again.
1 am your husband and it is my right to do so."
She was stupefied, and looked at him, trying to
divine his thoughts; but his face was resolute and
impenetrable.
"I am very sorry," she said, "but I have made
other engagements."
"So much the worse for you," was his reply.
"The law gives me the power, and I mean to
use it."
They were getting to Marseilles, and the train
whistled and slackened speed. The Baroness got
202 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
up, carefully rolled up her wraps, and then turning to
her husband, she said:
"My dear Raymond, do not make a bad use of
the tete-d-tete which I had carefully prepared. I
wished to take precautions, according to your advice,
so that i might have nothing to fear from you or
from other people, whatever might happen. You
are going to Nice, are you not?"
"I shall go wherever you go."
"Not at all; just listen to me, and I am sure that
you will leave me in peace. In a few moments,
when we get to the station, you will see the Prin-
cess de Raynes and Countess Hermit waiting for me
with their husbands. I wished them to see us, and
to know that we had spent the night together in the
railway-carriage. Don't be alarmed; they will tell it
everywhere as a most surprising fact.
"I told you just now that I had most carefully
followed your advice and saved appearances. Any-
thing else does not matter, does it? Well, in order
to do so, I wished to be seen with you. You told
me carefully to avoid any scandal, and I am avoiding
it, for, I am afraid — I am afraid — "
She waited till the train had quite stopped, and as
her friends ran up to open the carriage door, she
said:
"I am afraid that I am enceinte."
The Princess stretched out her arms to embrace
her, and the Baroness said, pointing to the Baron,
who was dumb with astonishment, and trying to get
at the truth:
"You do not recognize Raymond? He has cer-
tainly changed a good deal, and he agreed to come
A MEETING 203
with me so that I might not travel alone. We take
little trips like this occasionally, like good friends
who cannot live together. We are going to separate
here; he has had enough of me already."
She put out her hand, which he took mechanically,
and then she jumped out on to the platform among
her friends, who were waiting for her.
The Baron hastily shut the carriage door, for he
was too much disturbed to say a word or come to
any determination. He heard his wife's voice, and
their merry laughter as they went away.
He never saw her again, nor did he ever discover
whether she had told him a lie or was speaking the
^ruth.
A NEW YEAR'S GIFT
ACQUES DE Randal, having dined at
home alone, told his valet he might
go, and then sat down at a table to
write his letters.
He finished out every year by writ-
ing and dreaming, making for himself
a sort of review of things that had
happened since last New Year's Day,
things that were now all over and dead;
and, in proportion as the faces of his
;nds rose up before his eyes, he wrote
them a few lines, a cordial "Good morn-
ing" on the first of January.
So he sat down, opened a drawer, took out
/ of it a woman's photograph, gazed at it a few
moments, and kissed it. Then, having laid it beside
a sheet of note-paper, he began:
"My Dear Irene: You must have by this time
the little souvenir which I sent you. 1 have shut my-
self up this evening in order to tell you — "
The pen here ceased to move. Jacques rose up
and began walking up and down the room.
(204)
A NEW YEAR'S GIFT
205
For the last six months he had a mistress, not a
mistress Iii\e the others, a wom.an with whom one
engages in a passing intrigue, of the theatrical world
or the demi-monde, but a woman whom he loved
and won. He was no longer a young man, although
still comparatively young, and he looked on life se~
riously in a positive and practical spirit.
Accordingly, he drew up the balance-sheet of his
passion, as he drew up every year the balance-sheet
of friendships that were ended or freshly contracted,
of circumstances and persons that had entered into
his life. His first ardor of love having grown calmer,
he asked himself, with the precision of a merchant
making a calculation, what was the state of his heart
with regard to her, and he tried to form an idea of
what it would be in the future. He found there a
great and deep affection, made up of tenderness, grat-
itude, and the thousand subtleties which give birth to
long and powerful attachments.
A ring of the bell made him start. He hesitated.
Should he open ? But he deemed it was his duty to
open, on this New Year's night, to the Unknown
who knocks while passing, no matter whom it may
be.
So he took a wax-candle, passed through the ante-
chamber, removed the bolts, turned the key, drew the
door back, and saw his mistress standing pale as a
corpse, leaning against the wall.
He stammered: "What is the matter with you?"
She replied: "Are you alone?"
"Yes."
"Without servants?"
"Yes."
2o6 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
"You are not going out?"
"No."
She entered with the air of a woman who knew
the house. As soon as she was in the drawing-room,
she sank into the sofa, and, covering her face with
her hands, began to weep dreadfully.
He kneeled down at her feet, seized hold of her
hands to remove them from her eyes, so that he
might look at them, and exclaimed:
"Irene, Irene, what is the matter with you? I
implore of you to tell me what is the matter with
you?"
Then, in the midst of her sobs she murmured: "I
can no longer live hke this."
He did not understand.
"Like this? What do you mean?"
"Yes. I can no longer live like this. I have en-
dured so much. He struck me this afternoon."
"Who — your husband?"
"Yes — my husband."
"Ha!"
He was astonished, having never suspected that
her husband could be brutal. He was a man of the
world, of the better class, a clubman, a lover of
horses, a theater-goer, and an expert swordsman; he
was known, talked about, appreciated everywhere,
having very courteous manners, but a very mediocre
intellect, an absence of education and of the real cul-
ture needed in order to think like all well-bred peo-
ple, and finally a respect for all conventional prejudices.
He appeared to devote himself to his wife, as a
man ought to do in the case of wealthy and well-
bred people. He displayed enough of anxiety about
A NEW YEAR'S GIFT
207
her wishes, her health, her dresses, and, beyond that,
left her perfectly free.
Randal, having become Irene's friend, had a right
to the affectionate hand-clasp which every husband
endowed with good manners owes to his wife's in-
timate acquaintances. Then, when Jacques, after hav-
ing been for some time the friend, became the lover,
his relations with the husband were more cordial.
Jacques had never dreamed that there were storms
in this household, and he was scared at this unex-
pected revelation.
He asked:
"How did it happen? Tell me."
Thereupon she related a long history, the entire
history of her life, since the day of her marriage —
the first discussion arising out of a mere nothing,
then accentuating itself in the estrangement which
grows up each day between two opposite types of
character.
Then came quarrels, a complete separation, not
apparent, but real; next, her husband showed himself
aggressive, suspicious, violent. Now, he was jealous,
jealous of Jacques, and this day even, after a scene,
he had struck her.
She added with decision: "I will not go back to
him. Do with me what you like."
Jacques sat down opposite to her, their knees
touching each other. He caught hold of her hands:
"My dear love, you are going to commit a gross,
an irreparable folly. If you want to quit your hus-
band, put wrongs on one side, so that your situation
as a woman of the world may be saved,"
She asked, as she cast at him a restless glance:
2o8 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
''Then, what do you advise me?"
'"'To go back home, and to put up with your life
there till the day when you can obtain either a sepa-
ration or a divorce, with the honors of war."
"Is not this thing which you advise me to do a
little cowardly?"
"No; it is wise and reasonable. You have a high
position, a reputation to safeguard, friends to pre-
serve, and relations to deal with. You must not lose
all these through a mere caprice."
She rose up, and said with violence:
"Well, no! I cannot have any more of it! It is
at an end! it is at an end!"
Then, placing her two hands on her lover's shoul-
ders and looking at him straight in the face, she
asked:
"Do you love me?"
"Yes."
"Really and truly?"
"Yes."
"Then keep me!"
He exclaimed:
"Keep you? In my own house? Here? Why,
you are mad. It would mean losing you forever; los-
ing you beyond hope of recall! You are mad!"
She replied, slowly and seriously, like a woman
who feels the weight of her words:
"Listen, Jacques. He has forbidden me to see you
again, and 1 will not play this comedy of coming
secretly to your house. You must either lose me or
take me."
" My dear Irene, in that case, obtain your divorce,
and I will marry you."
A NEW YEAR'S GIFT 209
"Yes, you will marry me in — two years at the
soonest. Yours is a patient love."
"LooPc here! Reflect! If you remain here, he'll
come to-morrow to take you away, seeing that he
is your husband, seeing that he has right and law
on his side."
"I did not ask you to keep me in your own
house, Jacques, but to take me anywhere you like.
1 thought you loved me enough to do that. 1 have
made a mistake. Good-bye!"
She turned round, and went toward the door so
quickly that he was only able to catch hold of her
when she was outside the room.
"Listen, Irene."
She struggled, and did not want to listen to him
any longer, her eyes full of tears, and with these
words only on her lips:
"Let me alone! let me alone! let me alone!"
He made her sit down by force, and falling once
more on his knees at her feet, he now brought for-
ward a number of arguments and counsels to make
her understand the folly and terrible risk of her proj-
ect. He omitted nothing which he deemed it neces-
sary to say to convince her, finding in his very
affection for her strong motives of persuasion.
As she remained silent and cold, he begged of her,
implored of her to listen to him, to trust him, to fol-
low his advice.
When he had finished speaking, she only replied:
"Are you disposed to let me go away now .^
Take away your hands, so that 1 may rise up."
" Look here, Irene."
"Will you let go?"
5 G. de M. — 14
210 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
"Irene — is your resolution irrevocable?"
"Do let me go."
"Tell me only whether this resolution, this foolish
resolution of yours, which you will bitterly regret, is
irrevocable ? "
"Yes: let me go!" '
"Then stay. You know well that you are at
home here. We shall go away to-morrow morning."
She rose up, in spite of him, and said in a hard
tone:
"No. It is too late. I do not want sacrifice; I
want devotion."
"Stay! I have done what 1 ought to do; I have
said what I ought to say. I have no further respon-
sibility on your behalf. My conscience is at peace.
Tell me what you want me to do, and I will obey."
She resumed her seat, looked at him for a long
time, and then asked, in a very calm voice:
"Explain, then."
"How is that? What do you wish me to ex-
plain?"
"Everything — everything that you have thought
about before coming to this resolution. Then I will
see what I ought to do."
"But I have thought about nothing at all. I ought
to warn you that you are going to accomplish an act
of folly. You persist; then I ask to share in this act
of folly, and I even insist on it."
"It is not natural to change one's opinion so
quickly."
"Listen, my dear love. It is not a question here
of sacrifice or devotion. On the day when I realized
that I loved you, I said this to myself, which every
A NEW YEAR'S GIFT 211
lover ought to say to himself in the same case: 'The
man who loves a woman, who makes an effort to
win her, who gets her and who takes her, contracts
so far as he is himself and so far as she is concerned,
a sacred engagement.' It is, mark you, a question of
dealing with a woman like you, and not with a
woman of an impulsive and yielding disposition,
"Marriage, which has a great social value, a great
legal value, possesses in my eyes only a very slight
moral value, taking into account the conditions under
which it generally takes place.
"Therefore, when a woman, united by this lawful
bond, but having no attachment to a husband whom
she cannot love, a woman whose heart is free, meets
a man for whom she cares, and gives herself to
him, when a man who has no other tie takes a
woman in this way, I say that they pledge them-
selves toward each other by this mutual and free
agreement much more than by the ' Yes ' uttered in
the presence of the Mayor.
"1 say that, if they are both honorable persons,
their union must be more intimate, more real, more
healthy than if all the sacraments had consecrated it.
"This woman risks everything. And it is exactly
because she knows it, because she gives everything,
her heart, her body, her soul, her honor, her life, be-
cause she has foreseen all miseries, all dangers, all
catastrophes, because she dares to do a bold act, an
intrepid act, because she is prepared, determined to
brave everything — her husband who might kill her,
and society which may cast her out. This is why
she is heroic in her conjugal infidelity; this is why
her lover in taking her mu^t also have foreseen every-
212 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
thing, and preferred her to everything, whatever
might happen. I have nothing more to say. I spoke
in the beginning like a man of sense whose duty it
was to warn you; and now there is left in me only
one man — the man who loves you. Say, then, what
I am to do!"
Radiant, she closed his mouth with her lips, and
said to him in a low tone:
"It is not true, darling! There is nothing the
matter! My husband does not suspect anything. But
1 wanted to see, I wanted to know, what you would
do. 1 wished for a New Year's gift — the gift of
your heart — another gift besides the necklace you
have just sent me. You have given it to me. Thanks!
thanks! God be thanked for the happiness you have
given me!"
MY UNCLE SOSTHENES
Y UNCLE SosTHENES was a Free-
thinker, like many others are,
from pure stupidity; people are
very often religious in the same
way. The mere sight of a priest
threw him into a violent rage; he
would shake his fist and grimace at
him, and touch a piece of iron when
the priest's back was turned, forgetting
that the latter aciion showed a belief
after all, the belief in the evil eye.
Now when beliefs are unreasonable one
should have all or none at all. I myself am
a Freethinker; I revolt at all the dogmas which
have invented the fear of death, but I feel no anger
toward places of worship, be they Catholic Apostolic,
Roman, Protestant, Greek, Russian, Buddhist, Jewish,
or Mohammedan. I have a peculiar manner of looking
at them and explaining them. A place of worship
represents the homage paid by man to "The Un-
known." The more extended our thoughts and our
views become, the more The Unknown diminishes,
and the more places of worship will decay. 1, how-
214
WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
ever, in the place of church furniture, in the place of
pulpits, reading desks, altars, and so on, would fit
them up with telescopes, microscopes, and electrical
machines; that is all.
My uncle and 1 differed on nearly every point.
He was a patriot, while 1 was not — for after all pa-
triotism is a kind of religion; it is the egg from which
wars are hatched.
My uncle was a Freemason, and I used to declare
that they are stupider than old women devotees.
That is my opinion, and I maintain it; if we must
have any religion at all the old one is good enough
for me.
What is their object? Mutual help to be obtained
by tickling the palms of each other's hands. I see
no harm in it, for they put into practice the Chris-
tian precept: "Do unto others as ye would they
should do unto you." The only difference consists
in the tickling, but it does not seem worth while to
make such a fuss about lending a poor devil half-a-
crown.
To all my arguments my uncle's reply used to be:
"We are raising up a religion against a religion;
Freethought will kill clericalism. Freemasonry is the
headquarters of those who are demolishing all deities."
"Very well, my dear uncle," I would reply (in
my heart 1 felt inclined to say, "You old idiot!");
"it is just that v/hich I am blaming you for. Instead
of destroying, you are organizing competition; it is
only a case of lowering the prices. And then, if you
only admitted Freethinkers among you I could under-
stand it, but you admit anybody. You have a number
of Catholics among you, even the leaders of the
MY UNCLE SOSTHENES 21 5
party. Pius IX. is said to have been one of you be-
fore he became Pope. If you call a society with
such an organization a bulwark against clericalism, I
think it is an extremely weak one."
"My dear boy," my uncle would reply, with a
wink, "our most formidable actions are political;
slowly and surely we are everywhere undermining
the monarchical spirit."
Then I broke out: "Yes, you are very clever! If
you tell me that Freemasonry is an election-machine,
I will grant it you. 1 will never deny that it is used
as a machine to control candidates of all shades; if
you say that it is only used to hoodwink people, to
drill them to go to the voting-urn as soldiers are
sent under fire, I agree with you; if you declare that
it is indispensable to all political ambitions because
it changes all its members into electoral agents, I
should say to you, 'That is as clear as the sun.'
But when you tell me that it serves to undermine the
monarchical spirit, I can only laugh in your face.
"Just consider that vast and democratic associa-
tion which had Prince Napoleon for its Grand Master
under the Empire; which has the Crown Prince for its
Grand Master in Germany, the Czar's brother in Russia,
?nd to which the Prince of Wales and King Hum-
bert and nearly all the royalists of the globe belong."
"You are quite right," my uncle said; "but all
these persons are serving our projects without guess-
ing it."
I felt inclined to tell him he was talking a pack of
nonsense.
It was, however, indeed a sight to see my uncle
when he had a Freemason to dinner.
2i6 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
On meeting they shook hands in a manner that
was irresistibly funny; one could sec that they were
going through a series of secret mysterious pressures.
When I wished to put my uncle in a rage, I had
only to tell him that dogs also have a manner which
savors very much of Freemasonry, when they greet
one another on meeting.
Then my uncle would take his friend into a corner
to tell him something important, and at dinner they
had a peculiar way of looking at each other, and of
drinking to each other, in a manner as if to say:
"We know all about it, don't we?"
And to think that there are millions on the face
of the globe who are amused at such monkey tricks!
I would sooner be a Jesuit.
Now in our town there really was an old Jesuit
who was my uncle's detestation. Every time he met
him, or if he only saw him at a distance, he used to
say: "Go on, you toad!" And then, taking my
arm, he would whisper to me:
"Look here, that fellow will play me a trick some
day or other, I feel sure of it."
My uncle spoke quite truly, and this was how it
happened, through my fault also.
It was close on Holy Week, and my uncle made
up his mind to give a dinner on Good Friday, a real
dinner with his favorite chitterlings and black pud-
dings. I resisted as much as I could, and said:
"I shall eat meat on that day, but at home, quite
by myself. Your manifestation, as you call it, is
an idiotic idea. Why should you manifest ? What
does it matter to you if people do not eat any
meat?"
MY UNCLE SOSTHENES 217
But my uncle would not be persuaded. He asked
three of his friends to dine with him at one of the
best restaurants in the town, and as he was going to
pay the bill, I had certainly, after all, no scruples
about manifesting.
At four o'clock we took a conspicuous place in
the most frequented restaurant in the town, and my
uncle ordered dinner in a loud voice, for six o'clock.
We sat down punctually, and at ten o'clock we
had not finished. Five of us had drunk eighteen
bottles of fine still wines, and four of champagne.
Then my uncle proposed what he was in the habit
of calling: "The archbishop's feat." Each man put
six small glasses in front of him, each of them filled
with a different liqueur, and then they had all to be
emptied at one gulp, one after another, while one of
the waiters counted twenty. It was very stupid, but
my uncle thought it was very suitable to the occa-
sion.
At eleven o'clock he was dead drunk. So we
had to take him home in a cab and put him to bed,
and one could easily foresee that his anti-clerical
demonstration would end in a terrible fit of indi-
gestion.
As I was going back to my lodgings, being rather
drunk myself, with a cheerful Machiavclian drunken-
ness which quite satisfied all my instincts of scepti-
cism, an idea struck me.
1 arranged my necktie, put on a look of great dis-
tress, and went and rang loudly at the old Jesuit's
door. As he was deaf he made me wait a longish
while, but at length he appeared at his window in a
cotton nightcap and asked what 1 wanted.
2i8 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
I shouted out at the top of my voice:
"Make haste, reverend Sir, and open the door; a
poor, despairing, sicl< man is in need of your spiritual
ministrations."
The good, kind man put on his trousers as quickly
as he could and came down without his cassock. I
told him in a breathless voice that my uncle, the Free-
thinker, had been taken suddenly ill. Fearing it was
going to be something serious he had been seized
with a sudden fear of death, and wished to see a
priest and talk to him; to have his advice and com-
fort, to make up with the Church, and to confess, so as
to be able to cross the dreaded threshold at peace
with himself; and I added in a mocking tone:
"At any rate, he wishes it, and if it does him no
good it can do him no harm."
The old Jesuit, who was startled, delighted, and
almost trembling, said to me:
"Wait a moment, my son, I will come with
you."
But I replied: "Pardon me, reverend Father, if I
do not go with you; but my convictions will not al-
low me to do so. 1 even refused to come and fetch
you, so 1 beg you not to say that you have seen me,
but to declare that you had a presentiment — a sort
of revelation of his illness."
The priest consented, and went off quickly,
knocked at my uncle's door, was soon let in, and
I saw the black cassock disappear within that strong-
hold of Freethought.
I hid under a neighboring gateway to wait for
events. Had he been well, my uncle would have
half murdered the Jesuit, but I knew that he would
MY UNCLE SOSTHENES 219
scarcely be able to move an arm, and I asked my-
self, gleefully, what sort of a scene would take place
between these antagonists — what explanation would
be given, and what would be the issue of this situ-
ation, which my uncle's indignation would render
more tragic still ?
1 laughed till I had to hold my sides, and said to
myself, half aloud: "Oh! what a joke, what a joke!"
Meanwhile it was getting very cold. I noticed
that the Jesuit stayed a long time, and thought:
"They are having an explanation, I suppose."
One, two, three hours passed, and still the rev-
erend Father did not come out. What had happened ?
Had my uncle died in a fit when he saw him, or
had he killed the cassocked gentleman? Perhaps they
had mutually devoured each other? This last suppo-
sition appeared very unlikely, for I fancied that my
uncle was quite incapable o^ swallowing a grain more
nourishment at that moment.
At last the day broke. I was very uneasy, and,
not venturing to go into the house myself, I went
to one of my friends who lived opposite. I roused
him, explained matters to him, much to his amuse-
ment and astonishment, and took possession of his
window.
At nine o'clock he relieved me and I got a little
sleep. At two o'clock I, in my turn, replaced him.
We were utterly astonished.
At six o'clock the Jesuit left, with a very happy
and satisfied look on his face, and we saw him go
away with a quiet step.
Then, timid and ashamed, I went and knocked at
my uncle's door. When the servant opened it I did
220 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
not dare to ask her any questions, but went upstairs
without saying a word.
My uncle was lying pale, exhausted, with weary,
sorrowful eyes and heavy arms, on his bed. A little
religious picture was fastened to one of the bed-
curtains with a pin.
"Why, uncle," I said, "you in bed still? Are
you not well?"
He replied in a feeble voice:
"Oh! my dear boy, I have been very ill; nearly
dead."
"How was that, uncle?"
"1 don't know; it was most surprising. But what
is stranger still is, that the Jesuit priest who has just
left — you know, that excellent man whom I have
made such fun of — had a divine revelation of my
state, and came to see me."
I was seized with an almost uncontrollable desire
to laugh, and with difficulty said: "Oh, really!"
"Yes, he came. He heard a Voice telling him to
get up and come to me, because I was going to die
It was a revelation."
I pretended to sneeze, so as not to burst out
laughing; 1 felt inclined to roll on the ground with
amusement.
In about a minute I managed to say, indignantly;
"And you received him, uncle, you? You, a Free-
thinker, a Freemason ? You did not have him thrown
out-of-doors ? "
He seemed confused, and stammered:
"Listen a moment, it is so astonishing — so aston-
ishing and providential! He also spoke to me about
my father; it seems he knew him formerly."
MY UNCLE SOSTHENES 221
"Your father, uncle? But that is no reason for
receiving a Jesuit."
"I know that, hut I was very ill, and he looked
after me most devotedly all night long. He was per-
fect; no doubt he saved my life; those men are all
more or less doctors."
"Oh! he looked after you all night? But you said
just now that he had only been gone a very short
time."
"That is quite true; I kept him to breakfast after
all his kindness. He had it at a table by my bedside
while I drank a cup of tea."
"And he ate meat.?"
My uncle looked vexed, as if I had said something
very much out of place, and then added:
"Don't joke, Gaston; such things are out of place
at times. He has shown me more devotion than
many a relation would have done and 1 expect to
have his convictions respected."
This rather upset me, but 1 answered, nevertheless:
"Very well, uncle; and what did you do after break-
fast?"
"We played a game of bezique, and then he re-
peated his breviary while 1 read a little book which
he happened to have in his pocket, and which was
not by any means badly written."
"A religious book, uncle?"
"Yes, and no, or rather — no. It is the history of
their missions in Central Africa, and is rather a book
of travels and adventures. What these men have
done is very grand."
I began to feel that matters were going badly, so
1 got up. "Well, good-bye, uncle," I said, "I see
222 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
you are going to leave Freemasonry for religion; you
are a renegade."
He was still rather confused, and stammered:
"Well, but religion is a sort of Freemasonry."
"When is your Jesuit coming back?" I asked.
"I don't — I don't know exactly; to-morrow, per-
haps; but it is not certain."
I went out, altogether overwhelmed.
My joke turned out very badly for me! My uncle
became radically converted, and if that had been all
1 should not have cared so much. Clerical or Free-
mason, to me it is all the same; six of one and half-
a-dozen of the other; but the worst of it is that he
has just made his will — yes, made his will — and has
disinherited me in favor of that rascally Jesuit!
ALL OVER
HE Comte de Lormerin had just
finished dressing himself. He
cast a parting glance at the large
1^ glass, which occupied an entire panel
^ of his dressing-room, and smiled.
He was really a fine-looking man
still, though he was quite gray. Tall,
slight, elegant, with no projecting paunch,
with a scanty mustache of doubtful shade
his thin face which seemed fair rather
JE:^ than white, he had presence, that "chic," in
CX^ ' short, that indescribable something which estab-
.pv lishes between two men more difference than
^ millions of dollars.
He murmured: "Lormerin is still alive!"
And he made his way into the drawing-room,
where his correspondence awaited him.
On his table, where everything had its place, the
work-table of the gentleman who never works, there
were a dozen letteis lying beside three newspapers
of different opinions. With a single touch of the
finger he exposed to view all these letters, like a
(223)
224 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
gambler giving the choice of a card; and he scanned
the handwriting — a thing he did each morning be-
fore tearing open the envelopes.
It was for him a moment of delightful expec-
tancy, of inquiry, and vague anxiety. What did these
sealed mysterious papers bring him ? What did
they contain of pleasure, of happiness, or of grief?
He surveyed them with a rapid sweep of the eye,
recognizing in each case the hand that wrote them,
selecting them, making two or three lots, according
to what he expected from them. Here, friends; there,
persons to whom he was indifferent; further on,
strangers. The last kind always gave him a little
uneasiness. What did they want from him ? What
hand had traced those curious characters full of
thoughts, promises, or threats ?
This day, one letter in particular caught his eye.
It was simple nevertheless, without seeming to reveal
anything; but he regarded it with disquietude, with a
sort of internal shiver.
He thought: "From whom can it be? I cer-
tainly know this writing, and yet I can't identify it."
He raised it to a level with his face, holding it
delicately between two fingers, striving to read
through the envelope without making up his mind to
open it.
Then he smelled it, and snatched up from the
table a little magnifying glass which he used in
studying all the niceties of handwriting. He suddenly
felt unnerved. "Whom is it from? This hand is
familiar to me, very familiar. I must have often read
its prosings, yes, very often. But this must have
been a long, long time ago. Who the deuce can it
ALL OVER 223
be from? Pooh! 'tis only from somebody asking for
money."
And he tore open the letter. Then he read:
"My Dear Friend: You have, without doubt, forgotten me, for
it is now twenty-five years since we saw each other. 1 was young;
I am old. When 1 bade you farewell, I quitted Paris in order to fol-
low into the provinces my husband, my old husband, whom you
used to call ' my hospital. ' Do you remember him ? He died five
years ago; and now I am retuming to Paris to get my daughter
married, for 1 have a daughter, a beautiful girl of eighteen, whom you
have nevei seen. I informed you about her entrance into the world,
but you certainly did not pay much attention to so trifling an event.
"You, you are always the handsome Lormerin; so I have been
told. Well, if you still recollect little Lise, whom you used to call
'Lison,'come and dine this evening with her, with the elderly Baronne
de Vance, your ever faithful friend, who, with some emotion, stretches
out to you, without complaining at her lot, a devoted hand, which
you must clasp but no longer kiss, my poor 'Jaquelet.'
" Lise de Vance."
Lormerin's heart began to throb. He remained
sunk in his armchair, with the letter on his knees,
staring straight before him, overcome by poignant
feelings that made the tears mount up to his eyes!
If he had ever loved a woman in his life, it was
this one, little Lise, Lise de Vance, whom he called
"Cinder-Flower" on account of the strange color of
her hair, and the pale gray of her eyes. Oh! what a
fine, pretty, charming creature she was, this frail
Baronne, the wife of that old, gouty, pimply Baron,
who had abruptly carried her off to the provinces,
shut her up, kept her apart through jealousy, through
jealousy of the handsome Lormerin.
Yes, he had loved her, and he believed that he,
too, had been truly loved. She gave him the name
5 G. dcM n
223 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
cf Jaquelet, and used to pronounce the word in an
exquisite fashion.
A thousand memories that had been effaced came
back to him, far off and sweet and melancholy now.
One evening, she called on him on her way home
from a ball, and they went out for a stroll in the Bois
de Boulogne, she in evening dress, he in his dressing-
jacket. !t was springtime; the weather was beautiful.
The odor of her bodice embalmed the warm air, —
the odor of her bodice, and also a little, the odor of
her skin. What a divine night! When they reached
the lake, as the moon's rays fell across the branches
into the water, she began to weep. A little surprised,
he asked her why.
She replied.
"I don't know. 'Tis the moon and the water
that have affected me. Every time I see poetic
thmgs they seize hold of my heart and I have to
cry. "
He smiled, moved himself, considering her feminine
emotion charming — the emotion of a poor little
woman whom every sensation overwhelms. And he
embraced her passionately, stammering:
"My little Lise, you are exquisite."
What a charming love affair, short-lived and dainty
it had been, and all over too so quickly, cut short in
the midst of its ardor by this old brute of a Baron,
tvho had carried off his wife, and never shown her
afterward to anyone!
Lormerin had forgotten, in good sooth, at the end
of two or three months. One woman drives out the
other so quickly in Paris, when one is a bachelor!
No matter! he had kept a little chapel for her in his
ALL OVER
227
heart, for he had loved her alone! He assured him-
self now that this was so.
He rose up, and said aloud: "Certainly, I will go
and dine with her this evening!"
And instinctively he turned round toward the
glass in order to inspect himself from head to foot.
He reflected: "She must have grown old unpleas-
antly, more than I have!" And he felt gratified at
the thought of showing himself to her still hand-
some, still fresh, of astonishing her, perhaps of filling
her with emotion, and making her regret those by-
gone days so far, far distant I
He turned his attention to the other letters. They
were not of importance.
The whole day, he kept thinking of this phantom.
What was she like now? How :unny it was to
meet in this way after twenty-five years I Would he
alone recognize her?
He made his toilette with feminine coquetry, put on
a white waistcoat, which suited him better, with the
coat, sent for the hairdresser to give him a finishing
touch with the curling-iron, for he had preserved his
hair, and started very early in order to show his
eagerness to see her.
The first thing he saw on entering a pretty
drawing-room, freshly furnished, was his own por-
trait, an old, faded photograph, dating from the days
of his good-fortune, hanging on the wall in an an-
tique silk frame.
He sat down, and waited. A door opened behind
him. He rose up abruptly, and, turning round, be-
held an old woman with white hair who extended
both hands toward him.
228 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
He seized them, kissed them one after the other
with long, long kisses, then, lifting up his head, he
gazed at the woman he had loved.
Yes, it was an old lady, an old lady whom he did
not recognize, and who, while she smiled, seemed
ready to weep.
He could not abstain from murmuring:
"It is you, Use?"
She replied:
"Yes, it is 1; it is I, indeed. You would not
have known me, isn't that so? I have had so much
sorrow — so much sorrow. Sorrow has consumed
my life. Look at me now — or rather don't look at
me! But how handsome you have kept — and young!
If I had by chance met you in the street, I would
have cried, 'Jaqueletl' Now sit down and let us,
first of all, have a chat. And then I'll show you my
daughter, my grown-up daughter. You'll see how
she resembles me — or rather how I resembled her —
no, it is not quite that: she is just like the 'me' of
former days — you shall seel But I wanted to be
alone with you first. I feared that there would be
some emotion on my side, at the first moment.
Now it is all over — it is past. Pray be seated, my
friend."
He sat down beside her, holding her hand; but he
did not know what to say; he did not know this
woman — it seemed to him that he had never seen
her before. What had he come to do in this house?
Of what could he speak? Of the long ago? What
was there in common between him and her? He
could no longer recall anything to mind in the pres-
once of this grandmotherly face. He could no longer
ALL OVER 229
recall to mind all the nice, tender things so sweet, so
bitter, that had assailed his heart, some time since,
when he thought of the other, of little Lise, of the
dainty Cinder-Flower. What then had become of
her, the former one, the one he had loved — that
woman of far-off dreams, the blonde with gray eyes,
the young one who used to call him Jaquelet so
prettily?
They remained side by side, motionless, both con-
strained, troubled, profoundly ill at ease.
As they only talked in commonplace phrases,
broken and slow, she rose up and pressed the button
of the bell.
"I am going to call Renee," she said.
There was a tap at the door, then the rustle of a
dress; next, a young voice exclaimed:
"Here I am, mamma!"
Lormerin remained scared, as if at the sight of an
apparition.
He stammered:
"Good day, Mademoiselle."
Then, turning toward the mother:
"Oh! it is you!"
In fact, it was she, she whom he had known in
bygone days, the Lise who had vanished and came
back! In her he found the woman he had won
twenty-five years before. This one was even younger
still, fresher, more childlike.
He felt a wild desire to open his arms, to clasp
her to his heart again, murmuring in her ear:
"Good day, Lison!"
A man-servant announced: "Dinner is ready, Ma-
dame." And they proceeded toward the dining-room.
230 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
What passed at this dinner? What did they say
to him, and what could he say in reply? He found
himself plunged in one of those strange dreams which
border on insanity. He gazed at the two women
with a fixed idea in his mind, a morbid, self-contra-
dictory idea: "Which is the real one?"
The mother smiled, repeating over and over again:
"Do you remember?" And it was in the bright
eye of the young girl that he found again his memo-
ries of the past. Twenty times, he opened his mouth
to say to her: "Do you remember, Lison? — " for-
getting this white-haired lady who was regarding
him with looks of tenderness.
And yet there were moments when he no longer
felt sure, when he lost his head. He could see that
the woman of to-day was not exactly the woman of
long ago. The other one, the former one, had in
her voice, in her glance, in her entire being some-
thing which he did not find again in the mother.
And he made efforts to recall his ladylove, to seize
again what had escaped from her, what this resusci-
tated one did not possess.
The Baronne said:
"You have lost your old sprightliness, my poor
friend."
He murmured: "There are many other things that
I have lost!"
But in his heart, touched with emotion, he felt his
old love springing to life once more like an awakened
wild beast ready to bite him.
The young girl went on chattering, and every now
and then some familiar phrase of her mother which
she had borrowed, a certain style of speaking and
ALL OVER 231
thinking, tliat resemblance of mind and manner wliicli
people acquire by livifig togetlier, sliool<: Lormerin
from iiead to foot. All these things penetrated him,
making the reopened wound of his passion bleed anew.
He got away early, and took a turn along the bou-
levard. But the image of this young girl pursued him,
haunted him, quickened his heart, inflamed his blood.
Instead of two women, he now saw only one, a
young one, the one of former days returned, and
he loved her as he had loved her prototype in by-
gone years. He loved her with greater ardor, after
an interval of twenty-five years.
He went home to reflect on this strange and ter-
rible thing, and to think on what he should do.
But as he was passing, with a wax-candle in his
hand before the glass, the large glass in which he had
contemplated himself and admired himself before he
started, he saw reflected there an elderly, gray-haired
man; and suddenly he recollected what he had been
in olden days, in the days of little Lise. He saw him-
self charming and handsome, as he had been when
he was loved! Then, drawing the light nearer, he
looked at himself more closely, as one inspects a
strange thing with a magnifying glass, tracing the
wrinkles, discovering those frightful ravages which h-e
had not perceived till now.
And he sat down, crushed at the sight of himself,
at the sight of his lamentable image, murmuring:
"All over, Lormerin!"
MY LANDLADY
T THAT time," said George Kervelen,
"I was living in furnished lodg-
ings in the Rue des Saints-Peres.
"When my father had made up his
mind that I should go to Paris to
continue my law studies, there had
been a long discussion about settling
everything. My allowance had been fixed
It first at two thousand five hundred
K 21. B francs,* but my poor mother was so anxious,
vi^.^-=^ that she said to my father that if I spent my
money badly I might not take enough to eat,
and then my health would suffer, and so it was
settled that a comfortable boarding-house should
be found for me, and that the amount should be paid
to the proprietor himself, or herself, every month.
"Some of our neighbors told us of a certain Mme.
Kergaran, a native of Brittany, who took in boarders,
and so my father arranged matters by letter with
this respectable person, at whose house I and my
luggage arrived one evening.
* $500 a year.
(233)
MY LANDLADY
253
"Mme. Kergaran was a woman of about forty.
She was very stout, had a voice like a drill-sergeant,
and decided everything in a very abrupt manner.
Her house was narrow, with only one window open-
ing on to the street on each story, which rather gave
it the appearance of a ladder of windows, or better,
perhaps, of a slice of a house sandwiched in between
two others.
"The landlady lived on the first floor with her
servant, the kitchen and dining-room were on the
second, and four boarders from Brittany lived on
the third and fourth, and I had two rooms on the
fifth.
"A little dark corkscrew staircase led up to these
attics. All day long Mme. Kergaran was up and
down these stairs like a captain on board ship. Ten
times a day she would go into each room, noisily
superintending everything, seeing that the beds were
properly made, the clothes well brushed, that the at-
tendance was all that it should be; in a word, she
looked after her boarders like a mother, and better
than a mother.
" 1 soon made the acquaintance of my four fellow-
countrymen. Two were medical and two were law
students, but all impartially endured the landlady's
despotic yoke. They were as frightened of her as a
boy robbing an orchard is of a rural policeman.
"I, however, immediately felt that I wished to be
independent; it is my nature to rebel. I declared at
once that I meant to come in at whatever time I
liked, for Mme. Kergaran had fixed twelve o'clock at
night as the limit. On hearing this she looked ar me
for a few moments, and then said:
234
WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
*"It is quite impossible; I cannot have Annette
called up at any hour of the night. You can have
nothing to do out-of-doors at such a time.'
"I replied firmly that, according to the law, she
was obliged to open the door for me at any time.
'"If you refuse,' I said, 'I shall get a policeman
to witness the fact, and go and get a bed at some
hotel, at your expense, in which I shall be fully justi-
fied. You will, therefore, be obliged either to open
the door for me or to get rid of me. Do which you
please.'
"I laughed in her face as I told her my conditions.
She could not speak for a moment for surprise, then
she tried to negotiate, but 1 was firm, and she was
obliged to yield. It was agreed that I should have a
latchkey, on my solemn undertaking that no one else
should know it.
"My energy made such a wholesome impression
on her that from that time she treated me with
marked favor; she was most attentive, and even
showed me a sort of rough tenderness which was not
at all unpleasing. Sometimes when I was in a jovial
mood I would kiss her by surprise, if only for the
sake of getting the box on the ears which she gave
me immediately afterward. When I managed to duck
my head quickly enough, her hand would pass over
me as swiftly as a ball, and I would run away laugh-
ing, while she would call after me:
"'Oh! you wretch, I will pay you out for that.*
" However, we soon became real friends.
"It was not long before I made the acquaintance
of a girl who was employed in a shop, and whom I
constantly met. You know what such sort of love
MY LANDLADY 2 35
affairs are in Paris. One fine day, going to a lec-
ture, you meet a girl going to work arm-in-arm
witli a friend. You look at her and feel that pleas-
ant little shock which the eyes of some women
give you. The next day at the same time, going
through the same street, you meet her again, and
the next, and the succeeding days. At last you speak,
and the love affair follows its course just like an ill-
ness.
"Well, by the end of three weeks I was on that
footing with Emma which precedes intimacy. The
fall would indeed have taken place much sooner had
I known where to bring it about. The girl lived
at home, and utterly refused to go to a hotel. I
did not know how to manage, but at last I made
the desperate resolve to take her to my room some
night at about eleven o'clock, under the pretense of
giving her a cup of tea. Mme. Kergaran always
went to bed at ten, so that we could get in by
means of my latchkey without exciting any atten-
tion, and go down again in an hour or two in the
same way.
"After a good deal of entreaty on my part, Emma
accepted my invitation.
" 1 did not spend a very pleasant day, for I was
by no means easy in my mind. 1 was afraid of com-
plications, of a catastrophe, of some scandal. At
night 1 went into a cafi, and drank two cups of
coffee and three or four glasses of cognac, to give
me courage, and when I heard the clock strike half
past ten, 1 went slowly to the place of meeting,
where she was already waiting for me. She took
my arm in a coaxing manner, and we set off slowly
236 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
toward my lodgings. The nearer we got to the door
the more nervous I got, and I thought to myself: 'If
only Mme. Kergaran is in bed already.'
"I said to Emma two or three times:
"'Above all things, don't make any noise on the
stairs,' to which she replied, laughing:
"'Are you afraid of being heard?'
"'No,* f said, 'but I am afraid of waking the
man who sleeps in the room next to me, who is not
at all well.'
"When I got near the house I felt as frightened
as a man does who is going to the dentist's. All the
windows were dark, so no doubt everybody was
asleep, and I breathed again. I opened the door as
carefully as a thief, let my fair companion In, shut it
behind me, and went upstairs on tiptoe, holding my
breath, and striking wax-matches lest the girl should
make a false step.
"As we passed the landlady's door I felt my
heart beating very quickly. But we reached the sec-
ond floor, then the third, and at last the fifth, and got
into my room. Victory!
"However, I only dared to speak in a whisper,
and took off my boots so as not to make any noise.
The tea, which I made over a spirit-lamp, was soon
drunk, and then I became pressing, till little by little,
as if in play, I, one by one, took off my companion'3
garments. She yielded while resisting, blushing, con-
fused.
"She had absolutely nothing on except a short
white petticoat when my door suddenly opened, and
Mme. Kergaran appeared with a candle in her hand,
in exactly the same costume as Emma.
MY LANDLADY 237
"I jumped away from her and remained standing
up, looking at tlie two women, who were looking at
each other. What was going to happen ?
"My landlady said, in a lofty tone of voice which
I had never heard from her before:
"'Monsieur Kervelen, 1 will not have prostitutes
in my house.'
"'But, Madame Kergaran/ I stammered, 'the
3'oung lady is a friend of mine. She just came in to
have a cup of tea.'
" ' People don't take tea in their chemises. You
will please make this person go directly.'
"Emma, in a natural state of consternation, began
to cry, and hid her face in her petticoat, and 1 lost
my head, not knowing what to do or say. My land-
lady added, with irresistible authority:
"'Help her to dress, and take her out at once.'
"It was certainly the only thing 1 could do, so I
picked up her dress from the floor, put it over her
head, and began to fasten it as best I could. She
helped me, crying all the time, hurrying and making
all sorts of mistakes and unable to find either button
holes or laces, while Mme. Kergaran stood by mo-
tionless, with the candle in her hand, looking at us
with the severity of a judge.
"As soon as Emma was dressed, without even
stopping to button her boots, she rushed past the
landlady and ran downstairs. I followed her in my
slippers and half undressed, and kept repeating:
'Mademoiselle! Mademoiselle!'
"1 felt that 1 ought to say something to her, but
I could not find anything. I overtook her just by the
street-door, and tried to take her into my arms, but
238 WORKS OF GUY DH MAUPASSANT
she pushed me violently away, saying in a low,
nervous voice:
" 'Leave me alone, leave me alone!' and so ran
out into the street, closing the door behind her.
" When 1 went upstairs again 1 found that Mme.
Kergaran v^^as waiting on the first landing. 1 went
up slowly, expecting, and ready for, anything.
"Her door was open, and she called me in, say-
ing in a severe voice:
" '1 want to speak to you, M. Kervelen.'
" I went in, with my head bent. She put her
candle on the mantlepiece, and then, folding her arms
over her expansive bosom, which a fine white dressing-
jacket hardly covered, she said:
"'So, Monsieur Kervelen, you think my house is
a house of ill-fame?'
"1 was not at all proud. 1 murmured:
"'Oh dear, no! But, Mme. Kergaran, you must
not be angry; you know what young men are.'
"'I know,' was her answer, 'that I will not have
such creatures here, so you will understand that. I
expect to have my house respected, and I will not
have it lose its reputation, you understand me ? I
know — '
" She went on thus for at least twenty minutes,
overwhelming me with the good name of her house,
with reasons for her indignation, and loading me with
severe reproofs. I went to bed crestfallen, and re-
solved never again to try such an experiment, so long,
at least, as I continued to be a lodger of Mme. Ker-
garan."
THE HORRIBLE
HE shadows of a balmy night were
slowly falling. The women remained
in the drawing-room of the villa.
The men, seated or astride on garden-
chairs, were smoking in front of the
door, forming a circle round a table
laden with cups and wineglasses.
Their cigars shone like eyes in the dark-
'■ ness which, minute by minute, was grow-
ing thicker. They had been talking about
a frightful accident which had occurred the
"/ night before — two men and three wom.en
drowned before the eyes of the guests in the
river opposite.
General de G remarked:
"Yes, these things are affecting, but they are not
horrible.
"The horrible, that well-known word, me ins
much more than the terrible. A frightful accidrnt
like this moves, upsets, scares; it does not hoi ify.
In order that we should experience horror, sometning
more is needed than the mere excitation of the soul,
/ (239)
240
WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
something more than the spectacle of the dreadful
death; there must be a shuddering sense of mystery
or a sensation of abnormal terror beyond the limits
of nature. A man who dies, even in the most dra-
matic conditions, does not excite horror; a field of
battle is not horrible; blood is not horrible; the vilest
crimes are rarely horrible.
"Now, here are two personal examples, which
have shown me what is the meaning of horror:
"It was during the war of 1870. We were re-
treating toward Pont-Audemer, after having passed
through Rouen. The army, consisting of about
twenty thousand men, twenty thousand men in dis-
order, disbanded, demoralized, exhausted, was going
to reform at Havre.
"The earth was covered with snow. The night
was falling. They had not eaten anything since the
day before, and were flying rapidly, the Prussians
not far off. The Norman country, livid, dotted with
the shadows of the trees surrounding the farms,
stretched away under a heavy and sinister black sky.
"Nothing else could be heard in the wan twilight
save the confused sound, soft and undefined, of a
marching throng, an endless tramping, mingled with
the vague clink of canteens or sabers. The men, bent,
round-shouldered, dirty, in many cases even in rags,
dragged themselves along, hurrying through the snow,
with a long broken-backed stride.
"The skin of their hands stuck to the steel of their
muskets' butt-ends, for it was freezing dreadfully that
night. I frequently saw a little soldier take off his
shoes in order to walk barefooted, so much did his
footgear bruise him; and with every step he left a
THE HORRIBLE
241
track of blood. Then, after some time, he sat down
in a field for a few minutes' rest, and never got up
again. Every man who sat down died.
"Should we have left behind us those poor ex-
hausted soldiers, who fondly counted on being able
to start afresh as soon as they had somewhat refreshed
their stiffened legs ? Now, scarcely had they ceased
to move, and to make their almost frozen blood cir-
culate in their veins, than an unconquerable torpor
congealed them, nailed them to the ground, closed
their eyes, and in one second the overworked human
mechanism collapsed. They gradually sank down,
their heads falling toward their knees — without, how-
ever, quite tumbling over, for their loins and their
limbs lost the capacity for moving, and became as
hard as wood, impossible to bend or straighten.
"The rest of us, more robust, kept still straggling
on, chilled to the marrow of our bones, advancing
by dint of forced movement through the night,
through that snow, through that cold and deadly
country, crushed by pain, by defeat, by despair,
above all overcome by the abominable sensation of
abandonment, of death, of nothingness.
"I saw two gendarmes holding by the arm a
curious-looking little man, old, beardless, of truly
surprising aspect.
"They were looking out for an officer, believing
that they had caught a spy. The word 'Spy' at
once spread through the midst of the stragglers, and
they gathered in a group round the prisoner. A
voice exclaimed: 'He must be shot!' And all these
soldiers who were falling from utter prostration, only
holding themselves on their feet by leaning on their
5 G. de M.— 16
242 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
guns, felt of a sudden that thrill of furious and bestial
anger which urges on a mob to massacre.
"1 wanted to speal<;! 1 was at that time in com-
mand of a battalion; but they no longer recognized
the authority of their commanding officers; they
would have shot me.
"One of the gendarmes said: 'He has been fol-
lowing us for the last three days. He has been asking
information from everyone about the artillery.'
"I took it on myself to question this person:
"'What are you doing? What do you want?
Why are you accompanying the army?'
"He stammered out some words in some unin-
telligible dialect. He was, indeed, a strange being,
with narrow shoulders, a sly look, and such an agi-
tated air in my presence that 1 had no longer any
real doubt that he was a spy. He seemed very aged
and feeble. He kept staring at me from under his
eyes with a humble, stupid, and crafty air.
"The men all round us exclaimed:
'To the wall! to the wall!'
"I said to the gendarmes:
" 'Do you answer for the prisoner?'
"1 had not ceased speaking when a terrible push
threw me on my back, and in a second 1 saw the
man seized by the furious soldiers, thrown down,
struck, dragged along the side of the road, and flung
against a tree. He fell in the snow, nearly dead al-
ready.
"And immediately they shot him. The soldiers
fired at him, reloaded their guns, fired again with the
desperate energy of brutes. They fought with each
other to have a shot at him, filed off in front of the
THE HORRIBLE 243
corpse, and kept firing at him, just as people at a
funeral keep sprinkling holy water in front of a
coffin.
"But suddenly a cry arose of 'The Prussians! the
Prussians!' and all along the horizon I heard the
great noise of this panic-stricken army in full flight.
"The panic, generated by these shots fired at this
vagabond, had filled his very executioners with ter-
ror; and, without realizing that they were themselves
the originators of the scare, they rushed away and
disappeared in the darkness.
"I remained alone in front of the corpse with the
two gendarmes whom duty had compelled to stay
with me.
"They lifted up this riddled piece of flesh, bruised
and bleeding.
"'He must be examined,' said I to them.
"And I handed them a box of vestas which I had
in my pocket. One of the soldiers had another box.
I was standing between the two.
"The gendarme, who was feeling the body, called
out:
"'Clothed in a blue blouse, trousers, and a pair of
sboes.'
"The first match went out; we lighted a second.
The man went on, as he turned out the pockets:
"'A horn knife, check handkerchief, a snuffbox,
a bit of packthread, a piece of bread.'
"The second match went out; we lighted a third.
The gendarme, after having handled the corpse for a
long time, said:
"'That is all.'
"I said:
244
WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
"'Strip him. We shall perhaps find something
near the skin.'
"And, in order that the two soldiers might help
each other in this task, I stood between them to give
them light. I saw them, by the rapid and speedily
extinguished flash of the match, take off the gar-
ments one by one, and expose to view that bleeding
bundle of flesh still warm, though lifeless.
"And suddenly one of them exclaimed:
'"Good God, Colonel, it is a woman!'
"I cannot describe to you the strange and poigH"
ant sensation of pain that moved my heart. I could
not believe it, and 1 kneeled down in the snow be-
fore this shapeless pulp of flesh to see for myself: it
was a woman„
"The two gendarmes, speechless and stunned,
waited for me to give my opinion on the matter.
But I did not know what to think, what theory to
adopt.
"Then the brigadier slowly drawled out:
" ' Perhaps she came to look for a son of hers in
the artillery, whom she had not heard from.'
"And the other chimed in:
"'Perhaps indeed that is so.'
"And 1, who had seen some terrible things in
my time, began to weep. I felt, in the presence of
this corpse, in that icy cold night, the midst of that
gloomy plain, at the sight of this mystery, at the
sight of this murdered stranger, the meaning of that
word 'horror.'
"Now, 1 had the same sensation last year while
interrogating one of the survivors Oi the Flatters Mis-
sion, an Algerian sharpshooter.
THE HORRIBLE 245
"You probably know some of the details of this
atrocious drama. It is possible, however, that you
are unacquainted with all.
"The Colonel traveled through the desert into the
Soudan, and passed through the immense territory of
the Touaregs, who are, in that great ocean of sand
which stretches from the Atlantic to Egypt and from
the Soudan to Algeria, a sort of pirates resembhng
those who ravaged the seas in former days.
"The guides who accompanied the column be-
longed to the tribe of Chambaa, of Ouargla.
"One day, they pitched their camp in the middle
of the desert, and the Arabs declared that, as the
spring was a little farther away, they would go with
all their camels to look for water.
"Only one man warned the Colonel that he had
been betrayed. Flatters did not believe this, and ac-
companied the convoy with the engineers, the doc-
tors, and nearly all his officers.
"They were massacred round the spring and all
the camels captured.
"The Captain of the Arab Intelligence Department
at Ouargla, who had remained in the camp, took
command of the survivors, spahis and sharpshooters,
and commenced the retreat, leaving behind the bag-
gage and the provisions for want of camels to carry
them.
"Then they started on their journey through this
solitude without shade and without limit, under a de-
vouring sun, which parched them from morning till
night.
"One tribe came to tender its submission and
brought dates as a tribute. They were poisoned.
246 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
Nearly all the French died, and among them, the last
officer.
"There now only remained a few spahis, with
their quartermaster, Pobeguin, and some native sharp-
shooters of the Chambaa tribe. They had still two
camels left. These disappeared one night along with
two Arabs.
"Then the survivors feared that they would have
to eat each other up. As soon as they discovered
the flight of the two men with the two beasts, those
who remained separated, and proceeded to march, one
by one, through the soft sand, under the glare of a
scorching sun, at a distance of more than a gunshot
from each other.
"So they went on all day, and, when they reached
a spring, each of them came up to drink at it in
turn as soon as each solitary marcher had moved
forward the number of yards arranged upon. And
thus they continued marching the whole day, rais-
ing, everywhere they passed in that level burned-up
expanse, those little columns of dust which, at a dis-
tance, indicate those who are trudging through the
desert.
"But, one morning, one of the travelers made a
sudden turn, and drew nearer to his neighbor. And
they all stopped to look.
"The man toward whom the famished soldier
drew near did not fly, but lay flat on the ground, and
took aim at the one who was coming on. When he
believed he was within gunshot, he fired. The other
was not hit, and continued to advance, and cocking
his gun in turn, killed his comrade.
"Then from the entire horizon, the others rushed
THE HORRIBLE 247
to seek their share. And he who had killed the fallen
man, cutting the corpse into pieces, distributed it.
"Then they once more placed themselves at fixed
distances, these irreconcilable allies, preparing for the
next murder which would bring them together.
"For two days they lived on this human flesh,
whicn they divided among each other. Then, the
famine came back, and he who had killed the first
man began KhVng afresh. And again, like a butcher,
he cut up the corpse and offered it to his comrades,
keeping only his own portion of it. This retreat of
cannibals continued. The last Frenchman, Pobeguin,
was massacred at the side of a well the very night
before the supplies arrived.
"Do you understand now what I mean by the
'horrible?'"
This was the story told us a few nights ago by
General de G .
THE FIRST SNOWFALL
•HE long promenade of La Croisette
runs in a curve up to the edge
of the blue water. Over there,
at the right, the Esterel advances
far into the sea. It obstructs the
view, shutting in the horizon with
the pretty southern aspect of its
peaked, numerous, and fantastic sum-
mits.
At the left, the isles of Sainte-Mar-
guerite and Saint-Honorat, lying in the
water, present long aisles of fir-trees.
And all along the great gulf, all along the
tall mountains that encircle Cannes, the white
villa residences seem to be sleeping in the sunlight.
You can see them from a distance, the bright houses,
scattered from the top to the bottom of the moun>.
tains, dotting the dark greenery with specks of snow.
Those near the water open their gates on the vast
promenade which is lashed by the quiet waves. The
air is soft and balmy. It is one of those days when
in this southern climate the chill of winter is not felt.
Above the walls of the gardens may be seen orange-
(248)
THE FIRST SNOWFALL
249
trees and citron-trees full of golden fruit. Ladies ad-
vance with slow steps over the sand of the avenue,
followed by children rolling hoops or chatting with
gentlemen.
•v "T* T» •!• •?■ "n "K
A young lady had just passed out through the
door of her coquettish little house facing La Croisette.
She stops for a moment to gaze at the promenaders,
smiles, and, with the gait of one utterly enfeebled,
makes her way toward an empty bench right in front
of the sea. Fatigued after having gone twenty paces,
she sits down out of breath. Her pale face seems
that of a dead woman. She coughs, and raises to
her lips her transparent fingers as if to stop those
shakings that exhaust her.
She gazes at the sky full of sunshine and at the
swallows, at the zigzag summits of the Esterel over
there, and at the sea, quite close to her, so blue, so
calm, so beautiful.
She smiles still, and murmurs:
"Ohl how happy I am!"
She knows, however, that she is going to die,
that she will never see the springtime, that in a year,
along the same promenade, these same people who
pass before her now will come again to breathe the
warm air of this charming spot, with their children a
little bigger, with their hearts all filled with hopes,
with tenderness, with happiness, while at the bottom
of an oak coffin the poor flesh which is left to her
still to-day will have fallen into a condition of rotten-
ness, leaving only her bones lying in the silk robe
which she has selected for a winding-sheet.
She will be no more. Everything in life will go
250
WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
on as before for others. For her life will be over —
over forever. She will be no more. She smiles, and
inhales as well as she can, with her diseased lungs,
the perfumed air of the gardens.
And she sinks into a reverie.
:it: 4: * * * * *
She recalls the past. She had been married, four
years ago, to a Norman gentleman. He was a strong
young man, bearded, healthy looking, with wide
shoulders, narrow mind, and joyous disposition.
They had been united through worldly motives
which she did not quite understand. She would
willingly have said "Yes." She did say "Yes," with
a movement of the head in order not to thwart her
father and mother. She was a Parisian, gay and full
of the joy of Hving.
Her husband brought her home to his Norman
chateau. It was a huge stone building surrounded by
tall trees of great age. A high clump of fir-trees shut
out the view in front. On the right an opening in
the trees presented a view of the plain which stretched
out, quite flat, up to the distant farmsteads. A cross-
road passed before the boundary-line leading to the
highroad three kilometers away.
Oh! she could remember everything — her arrival,
her first day in her new abode, and her isolated fate
afterward.
When she stepped out of the carriage, she glanced
at the old building and laughingly exclaimed:
"It does not look gay!"
Her husband began to laugh in his turn and replied:
"Pooh! we get used to it! You'll see. I never
feel bored in it, for my part."
THE FIRST SNOWFALL 25I
That day they passed their time in embracing
each other, and she did not find it too long. This
lasted for the best part of three months. The days
passed one after the other in insignificant yet absorbing
occupations. She learned the value and the impor-
tance of the little things of life. She knew that peo-
ple can interest themselves in the price of eggs which
cost a few centimes more or less according to the
seasons.
It was summer. She went to the fields to see the
harvest cut. The gaiety of the sunshine kept up the
gaiety of her heart.
The autumn came. Her husband went hunting.
He started in the morning with his two dogs, Medor
and Mirza. Then she remained alone, without grieving
herself, moreover, at Henry's absence. She was, how-
ever, very fond of him, but he was not missed by
her. When he returned home, her affection was
specially absorbed by the dogs. She took care of
them every evening with a mother's affection, caressed
them incessantly, gave them a thousand charming
little names which she had no idea of applying to
her husband.
He invariably told her all about his hunting. He
pointed out the places where he found partridges,
expressed his astonishm.ent at not having caught any
hares in Joseph Ledentu's clover, or else appeared
indignant at the conduct of M. Lechapelier, of Havre,
who always followed the border of his estates to
shoot game that had been started by him, Henry de
Parville.
She replied: "Yes, indeed; it is not right," think-
ing of something else ali the while.
252 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
The winter came, the Norman winter, cold and
rainy. The endless rain-storms came down on the slates
of the great many-angled roof, rising like a blade toward
the sky. The road seemed like streams of mud, the
country a plain of mud, and no noise could be heard
save that of water falling; no movement could be
seen save the whirling flight of crows rolling them-
selves out like a cloud, alighting on a field, and then
hurrying away again.
About four o'clock, the army of dark, flying crea-
tures came and perched in the tall beeches at the left
of the chateau, emitting deafening cries. During nearly
an hour, they fluttered from tree-top to tree-top,
seemed to be fighting, croaked, and made the gray
branches move with their black wings. She gazed
at them, each evening, with a pressure of the heart,
so deeply was she penetrated by the lugubrious
melancholy of the night falling on the desolate
grounds.
Then she rang for the lamp, and she drew near
the fire. She burned heaps of wood without succeed-
ing in warming the spacious apartments invaded by
the humidity. She felt cold every day, everywhere,
in the drawing-room, at meals in her own apartment.
It seemed to her she was cold even in the marrow
of her bones. He only came in to dinner, he was
always hunting, or else occupied with sowing seed,
tilling the soil, and all the work of the country.
He used to come back jolly and covered with mud,
rubbing his hands while he exclaimed:
"What wretched weather!" Or else: "It is a
good thing to have a fire." Or sometimes: "Well,
how are you to-day? Do you feel in good spirits?"
THE FIRST SNOWFALL 2S3
He was happy, in good health, without desires,
thinking of nothing else save this simple, sound, and
quiet life.
About December, when the snow had come, she
suflFered so much from the icy-cold air of the chateau
which seemed to have acquired a chill with the cen-
turies it had passed through, as human beings do
with years, that she asked her husband one even-
ing:
"Look here, Henry! You ought to have a hot-
air plant put into the house; it would dry the walls.
I assure you I cannot warm myself from morning till
night."
At first he was stunned at this extravagant idea of
introducing a hot-air plant into his manor-house. It
would have seemed more natural to him to have his
dogs fed out of his silver plate. Then, he gave a
tremendous laugh which made his chest heave, while
he exclaimed:
"A hot-air plant here! A hot-air plant here! Ha!
ha! ha! what a good joke!"
She persisted:
"I assure you, dear, I feel frozen; you don't feel
it because you are always moving about; but, all the
same, I feel frozen."
He replied, still laughing:
"Pooh! you will get used to it, and besides it is
excellent for the health. You will only be all the better
for it. We are not Parisians, damn it! to live in hot-
houses. And besides the spring is quite near."
About the beginning of January, a great misfortune
befell her. Her father and her mother died of a
254 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
carriage-accident. She came to Paris for the funeral.
And her mind was entirely plunged in grief on ac-
count of it for about six months.
The softness of fine days at length awakened her,
and she lived a sad, drifting life of languor until
autumn.
When the cold weather came back, she was
brought face to face, for the first time, with the
gloomy future. What was she to do? Nothing.
What was going to happen to her henceforth ? Noth-
ing. What expectation, what hope, could revive her
heart.? None. A doctor who was consulted de-
clared that she would never have children.
Sharper, more penetrating still than the year be-
fore, the cold made her suffer continually.
She stretched out her shivering hands to the big
flames. The glaring fire burned her face; but icy
puffs seemed to slip down her back and to penetrate
between the flesh and her underclothing. And she
shook from head to foot. Innumerable currents of air
appeared to have taken up their abode in the apart-
ment, living, crafty currents of air, as cruel as ene-
mies. She encountered them every moment; they
were incessantly buffeting her, sometimes on the face,
sometimes on the hands, sometimes on the neck,
with their treacherous, frozen breath.
Once more she spoke of a hot-air plant; but
her husband heard her request as if she were asking
for the moon. The introduction of such an appara-
tus at Parville appeared to him as impossible as the
discovery of the Philosopher's Stone.
Having been at Rouen on business one day he
brought back to his wife a dainty foot-warmer made
THE FIRST SNOWFALL 255
of copper, which he laughingly called a "portable hot-
water heater"; and he considered that this would pre-
vent her henceforth from ever being cold.
Toward the end of December she understood that
she could not live thus always, and she said timidly
one evening at dinner:
"Listen, dear! Are we not going to spend a
w<ek or two in Paris before spring?"
He was stupefied:
"In Paris? In Paris? But what are we to do
there? No, by Jove! We are better off here. What
odd ideas come into your head sometimes."
She faltered:
" It might distract us a little."
He did not understand:
"What is it you want to distract you ? Theaters,
evening parties, dinners in town? You know, how-
ever, well that in coming here you ought not to ex-
pect any distractions of that kind!"
She saw a reproach in these words and in the
tone in which they were uttered. She relapsed into
silence. She was timid and gentle, without resisting
power and without strength of will.
In January, the cold weather returned with vio-
lence. Then the snow covered the earth.
One evening, as she watched the great whirling
cloud of crows winding round the trees, she began
to weep, in spite of herself.
Her husband came in. He asked, in great sur-
prise:
"What is the matter with you?"
He was happy, quite happy, never having dreamed
of another life or other pleasures. He had been born
256 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
and had grown up in this melancholy district. He
felt well in his own house, at his ease in body and
mind.
He did not realize that we may desire events, have
a thirst for changing pleasures; he did not understand
that it does not seem natural to certain beings to re-
main in the same places during the four seasons; he
seemed not to know that spring, summer, autumn,
and winter, have, for multitudes of persons, new
pleasures in new countries.
She could not say anything in reply, and she
quickly dried her eyes. At last she murmured, in a
distracted sort of way:
"lam — 1 — 1 am a little sad — I am a little bored."
But she was seized with terror for having even
said so much, and she added very quickly:
"And besides — 1 am — I am a little cold."
At this statement he got angry:
"Ah! yes, still your idea of the hot-air plant.
But look here, deuce take it! you have only had one
cold since you came here."
>|c 4( 4: ^ 4: >l< ))i
The night came. She went up to her room, for
she had insisted on having a separate apartment. She
went to bed. Even in the bed, she felt cold. She
thought: "Is it to be like this always, always till
death?"
And she thought of her husband. How could he
have said this:
"You have only had one cold since you came
here?"
Then she must get ill; she must cough in order
that he might understand what she suffered!
THE FIRST SNOWFALL
257
And she was filled with indignation, the angry
indignation of a weak, a timid being.
She must cough. Then, without doubt, he would
take pity on her. Well, she would cough; he would
hear her coughing; the doctor should be called in;
he would see that her husband would see.
She got up with her legs and her feet naked, and
a childish idea made her smile:
"I want a hot-air plant, and I must have it. I
shall cough so much that he'll have to put one
into the house."
And she sat down almost naked in a chair. She
waited an hour, two hours. She shivered, but she
did not catch cold. Then she resolved to make use
of a bold expedient.
She noiselessly left her room, descended the stairs,
and opened the garden-gate.
The earth, covered with snow, seemed dead. She
abruptly thrust forward her naked foot, and plunged
it into the light and icy froth. A sensation of cold,
painful as a wound, mounted up to her heart. How-
ever, she stretched out the other leg and began to
descend the steps slowly.
Then she advanced through the grass, saying to
herself:
"I'll go as far as the fir-trees."
She walked with quick steps, out of breath, chok-
ing every time she drove her foot through the snow.
She touched the first fir-tree with her hand, as if
to convince herself that she carried out her plan to
the end; then she went back into the house. She
believed two or three times that she was going to
fall, so torpid and weak did she feel. Before going
$ G. deM.— 17
258
WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
in, meanwhile, she sat in that icy snow, and she even
gathered some in order to rub to her breast.
Then she went in, and got into bed. It seemed
to her, at the end of an hour, that she had a swarm
of ants in her throat, and that other ants were run-
ning all over her limbs. She slept, however.
Next day, she was coughing, and she could not
get up.
She got inflammation of the lungs. She became
delirious, and in her delirium she asked for a hot-
air plant. The doctor insisted on having one put in.
Henry yielded, but with an irritated repugnance.
She could not be cured. The lungs, severely at-
tacked, made those who attended on her uneasy
about her life.
"If she remains here, she will not last as long as
the next cold weather," said the doctor.
She was sent to the south. She came to Cannes,
recognized the sun, loved the sea, and breathed the
air of orange-blossoms. Then in the spring, she re-
turned north. But she lived with the fear of being
cured, with the fear of the long winters of Normandy;
and as soon as she was better, she opened her win-
dow by night while thinking of the sweet banks of
the Mediterranean. And now she was going to die.
She knew it and yet she was contented.
She unfolds a newspaper which she had not al-
ready opened, and reads this heading:
"THE FIRST SNOW IN PARIS."
After this, she shivers and yet smiles. She looks
across at the Esterel which is turning rose-colored
THE FIRST SNOWFALL
259
under the setting sun. She looks at the vast blue
sky, so blue, so very blue, and the vast blue sea, so
very blue also, and rises up and returns to the house,
with slow steps, only stopping to cough, for she had
remained out too long; and she has caught cold, a
slight cold.
She finds a letter from her husband. She opens it
still smiling, and she reads:
<(
'My dear Love: I hope you are going on well, and that you
do not regret too much our beautiful district. We have had for some
days past a good frost which announces snow. For my part, I adore
this weather, and you understand that I am keeping that cursed hot-
air plant of yours going. — "
She ceases reading, quite happy at the thought
that she has had her hot-air plant. Her right hand,
which holds the letter, falls down slowly over her
knees, while she raises her left hand to her mouth,
as if to calm the obstinate cough which is tearing
her chest.
BOITELLE
,ERE BoiTELLE (Antoine) had the rep-
utation through the whole country
of a speciaHst in dirty jobs. Every
time a pit, a dunghill, or a cesspool
required to be cleared away, or a
dirt-hole to be cleansed out, he was
the person employed to do it.
He would come there with his night-
man's tools and his wooden shoes cov-
ered with dirt, and would set to work,
whining incessantly about the nature of his
^^ occupation. When people asked him why he
"^ did this loathsome work, he would reply re-
^ signedly:
"Faith, 'tis for my children whom I must support.
This brings in more than anything else."
He had, indeed, fourteen children. If anyone asked
him what had become of them, he would say with
an air of indifference:
"There are only eight of them left in the house.
One is out at service, and five are married."
When the questioner wanted to know whether
they were well married, he replied vivaciously;
(260)
BOITELLE 261
"I did not cross them. I crossed them in noth-
ing. They married just as they pleased. We shouldn't
go against people's likings — it turns out badly. 1 am
a night-cartman because my parents went against my
likings. But for that I would have become a work-
man like the others."
Here is the way his parents had thwarted him in
his likings:
He was at that time a soldier stationed at Havre,
not more stupid than another, or sharper either, a
rather simple fellow, in truth. During his hours of
freedom his greatest pleasure was to walk along the
quay, where the bird-dealers congregate. Sometimes
alone, sometimes with a soldier from his own part of
the country, he would slowly saunter along by cages
where parrots with green backs and yellow heads
from the banks of the Amazon, parrots with gray
backs and red heads from Senegal, enormous macaws,
which looked like birds brought up in conservatories,
with their flower-like feathers, plumes, and tufts, par-
oquets of every shape, painted with minute care by
that excellent miniaturist, God Almighty, with the
little young birds, hopping about, yellow, blue, and
variegated, mingling their cries with the noise of the
quay, added to the din caused by the unloading of
the vessels, as well as by passengers and vehicles —
a violent clamor, loud, shrill, and deafening, as if
from some distant, monstrous forest.
Boitelle would stop, with strained eyes, wide-open
mouth, laughing and enraptured, showing his teeth to
the captive cockatoos, who kept nodding their white
or yellow topknots toward the glaring red of his
breeches and the copper buckle of his belt. When
262 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
he found a bird that could talk, he put questions to
it, and if it happened at the time to be disposed to
reply and to hold a conversation with him, he would
remain there till nightfall filled with gaiety and con-
tentment. He also found heaps of fun in looking at
the monkeys, and could conceive no greater luxury
for a rich man than to possess these animals, just like
cats and dogs. This taste for the exotic he had in
his blood, as people have a taste for the chase, or for
medicine, or for the priesthood. He could not refrain,
every time the gates of the barracks opened, from
going back to the quay, as if drawn toward it by an
irresistible longing.
Now, on one occasion, having stopped almost in
ecstasy before an enormous ararauna, which was
swelling out its plumes, bending forward, and brid-
ling up again, as if making the court-courtesies of
parrot-land, he saw the door of a little tavern
adjoining the bird-dealer's shop opening, and his
attention was attracted by a young negress, with
a silk kerchief tied round her head, sweeping into
the street the rubbish and the sand of the establish-
ment.
Boitelle's attention was soon divided between the
bird and the woman, and he really could not tell
which of these two beings he contemplated with the
greater astonishment and delight.
The negress, having got rid of the sweepings of
the tavern, raised her eyes, and, in her turn, was
dazzled by the soldier's uniform. There she stood
facing him with her broom in her hands as if she
were presenting arms for him, while the ararauna con-
tinued making courtesies. Now at the end of a few
BOITELLE 263
seconds the soldier began to get embarrassed by this
attention, and he walked away gingerly so as not to
present the appearance of beating a retreat.
But he came back. Almost every day he passed
in front of the Colonial tavern, and often he could
distinguish through the v/indowpanes the figure of
the little black-skinned maid filling out "bocks" or
glasses of brandy for the sailors of the port. Fre-
quently, too she would come out to the door on
seeing him. Soon, without even having exchanged a
word, they smiled at one another like old acquaint-
ances; and Boitelle felt his heart moved when he saw
suddenly glittering between the dark lips of the girl
her shining row of white teeth. At length, he ven-
tured one day to enter, and was quite surprised to
find that she could speak French like everyone else.
The bottle of lemonade, of which she was good
enough to accept a glassful, remained in the soldier's
recollection memorably delicious; and it became
habitual with him to come and absorb in this little
tavern on the quay all the agreeable drinks which
he could afford.
For him it was a treat, a happiness, on which his
thoughts were constantly dwelling, to watch the black
hand of the little maid pouring out something into his
glass while her teeth, brighter than her eyes, showed
themselves as she laughed. When they had kept
company in this way for two months, they became
fast friends, and Boitelle, after his first astonishment
at discovering that this negress was in principle as
good as the best girls in the country, that she ex-
hibited a regard for economy, industry, religion, and
good conduct, loved her more on that account, and
264 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
became so much smitten with her that he wanted to
marry her.
He told her about his intentions, which made her
dance with joy. Besides, she had a little money, left
her by a female oyster dealer, who had picked her up
when she had been left on the quay at Havre by an
American captain. This captain had found her, when
she was only about six years old, lying on bales of
cotton in the hold of his ship, some hours after his
departure from New York, On his arrival in Havre,
he there abandoned to the care of this compassionate
oyster-dealer the little black creature, who had been
hidden on board his vessel, he could not tell how or
why.
The oyster-woman having died, the young negress
became a servant at the Colonial tavern.
Antoine Boitelle added: "This will be all right if
my parents don't go against it. I will never go
against them, you understand — never! I'm going to
say a word or two to them the first time I go back
to the country."
On the following week, in fact, having obtained
twenty-four hours' leave, he went to see his tamily,
who cultivated a little farm at Tourteville near
Yvetot.
He waited till the meal was finished, the hour
when the coffee baptized with brandy makes people
more open-hearted, before informing his parents that
he had found a girl answering so well to his likings
in every way that there could not exist any other in
all the world so perfectly suited to him.
The old people, at this observation, immediately
assumed a circumspect air, and wanted explanations.
BOITELLE 2th
At first he concealed nothing from them except the
color of her skin.
She was a servant, without much means, but strong,
thrifty, clean, well-conducted, and sensible. All these
things were better than money would be in the hands
of a bad housewife. Moreover, she had a few sous,
left her by a woman who had reared her, — a good
number of sous, almost a little dowry, — fifteen hun-
dred francs in the savings' banic. The old people,
overcome by his talk, and relying, too, on their own
judgment, were gradually giving way, when he came
to the delicate point. Laughing in rather a con-
strained fashion, he said:
"There's only one thing you may not like. She
is not white."
They did not understand, and he had to explain
at some length and very cautiously, to avoid shocking
them, that she belonged to the dusky race of which
they had only seen samples among figures exhibited
at Epinal. Then, they became restless, perplexed,
alarmed, as if he had proposed a union with the Devil.
The mother said: " Black .^ How much of her is
black .^ Is it the whole of her?"
He replied: "Certainly. Everywhere, just as you
are white everywhere."
The father interposed: "Black? Is it as black as
the pot?"
The son answered: "Perhaps a little less than
that. She is black, but not disgustingly black. The
cure's cassock is black; but it is not uglier than a
surplice, which is white."
The father said: "Are there more black people
besides her in her country?"
266 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
And the son, with an air of conviction, exclaimed:
"Certainly!"
But the old man shook his head: "This must be
disagreeable!"
Said the son: "It isn't more disagreeable than
anything else, seeing that you get used to it in no
time."
The mother asked: "It doesn't soil linen more
than other skins, this black skin?"
"Not more than your own, as it is her proper
color."
Then, after many other questions, it was agreed
that the parents should see this girl before coming to
any decision and that the young fellow, whose period
of service was coming to an end in the course of a
month, should bring her to the house in order that
they might examine her, and decide by talking the
matter over whether or not she was too dark to
enter the Boitelle family.
Antoine accordingly announced that on Sunday,
the twenty-second of May, the day of his discharge,
he would start for Tourteville with his sweetheart.
She had put on, for this journey to the house of
her lover's parents, her most beautiful and most gaudy
clothes, in which yellow, red, and blue were the pre-
vailing colors, so that she had the appearance of one
adorned for a national fete.
At the terminus, as they were leaving Havre, peo-
ple stared at her very much, and Boitelle was proud
of giving his arm to a person who commanded so
much attention. Then, in the third-class carriage, in
which she took a seat by his side, she excited so
much astonishment among the peasants that the peo-
BOITELLE
267
pie in the adjoining compartments got up on tlieir
benches to get a look at her over the wooden par-
tition which divided the different portions of the car-
riage from one another. A child, at sight of her,
began to cry with terror, another concealed his face
in his mother's apron. Everything went off well,
however, up to their arrival at their destination. But,
when the train slackened its rate of motion as they
drew near Yvetot, Antoine felt ill at ease, as he
would have done at an inspection when he did not
know his drill-practice. Then, as he put his head
out through the carriage door, he recognized, some
distance away, his father, who was holding the bri-
dle of the horse yoked to a carriage, and his mother
who had made her way to the railed portion of the
platform where a number of spectators had gath-
ered.
He stepped out first, gave his hand to his sweet-
heart, and holding himself erect, as if he were escort-
ing a general, he advanced toward his family.
The mother, on seeing this black lady, in varie-
gated costume in her son's company, remained so
stupefied that she could not open her mouth; and the
father found it hard to hold the iiorse, which the en-
gine or the negress caused to rear for some time
without stopping. But Antoine, suddenly seized with
the unmingled joy of seeing once more the old peo-
ple, rushed forward with open arms, em.braced his
mother, embraced his father, in spite of the nag's
fright, and then turning toward his companion, at
whom the passengers on the platform stopped to
stare with amazement, he proceeded to explain:
"Here she isl I told you that, at first sight, she
268 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
seems odd; but as soon as you know her, in very
truth, there's not a better sort in the whole world.
Say good morrow to her without making any bother
about it."
Thereupon, Mere Boitelle, herself nearly frightened
out of her wits, made a sort of courtesy, while the
father took off his cap, murmuring: "I wish you
good luck! "
Then, without further delay, they climbed up on
the car, the two women at the lower end on seats,
which made them jump up and down as the vehicle
went jolting along the road, and the two men out-
side on the front seat.
Nobody spoke. Antoine, ill at ease, whistled a
barrack- room air; his father lashed the nag; and his
mother, from where she sat in the corner, kept cast-
ing sly glances at the negress, whose forehead and
cheek-bones shone in the sunlight like well-blacked
shoes.
Wishing to break the ice, Antoine turned round.
"Well," said he, "we don't seem inclined to
talk."
"We must get time," replied the old woman.
He went on:
"Come! tell us the little story about that hen of
yours that laid eight eggs."
It was a funny anecdote of long standing in the
family. But, as his mother still remained silent, par-
alyzed by emotion, he started the talking himself and
narrated, with much laughter on his own part, this
memorable adventure. The father, who knew it by
heart, brightened up at the opening words of the nar-
rative; his wife soon followed his example; and the
BOITELLE 269
negress herself, when he had reached the drollest part
of it, suddenly gave vent to a laugh so noisy, rolling,
and torrentlike that the horse, becoming excited,
broke into a gallop for a little while.
This served as the introduction to their acquaint-
anceship. The company at length began to chat.
On reaching the house they all alighted, and he
conducted his sweetheart to a room so that she
might take off her dress, to avoid staining it while
preparing a good dish intended to win the old peo-
ple's affections by appealing to their stomachs. Then
he drew his parents aside near the door, and with
beating heart, asked:
"Well, what do vou say now?"
The father said nothing. The mother, less timid,
exclaimed:
"She is too black. No, indeed, this is too much
for me. It turns my blood."
"That may be, but it is only for the moment."
They then made their way into the interior of the
house where the good woman was somewhat affected
at the spectacle of the negress engaged in cooking.
She at once proceeded to assist her, with petticoats
tucked up, active in spite of her age.
The meal was an excellent one — very long, very
enjoyable. When they had afterward taken a turn to-
gether, Antoine said to his father:
"Well, dad, what do you say to this?"
The peasant took care never to compromise him-
self.
"I have no opinion about it. Ask your mother."
So Antoine went back to his mother, and. leading
her to the end of the room, said:
270 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
"Well, mother, what do you think of her?"
"My poor lad, she is really too black. If she were
only a little less black, I would not go against you,
but this is too much. One would think it was
Satan!"
He did not press her, knowing how obstinate the
ola woman had always been, but he felt a tempest
of disappointment sweeping over his heart. He was
turning over in his mind what he ought to do, what
plan he could devise, surprised, moreover, that she
had not conquered them already as she had captivated
himself. And they all four set out with slow steps
through the cornfields, having again relapsed into si-
lence. Whenever they passed a fence, they saw a
countryman sitting on the stile and a group of brats
climbing up to stare at them. People rushed out into
the road to see the "black" whom young Boitelle
had brought home with him. At a distance they
noticed people scampering across the fields as they
do when the drum beats to draw public attention to
some living phenomenon. Pere and Mere Boitelle,
scared by this curiosity, which was exhibited every-
where through the country at their approach, quick-
ened their pace, walking side by side, leaving far
behind their son, whom his dark companion asked
what his parents thought of her.
He hesitatingly replied that they^ had not yet made
up their minds.
But on the village-green, people rushed out of all
the houses in a flutter of excitement; and, at the
sight of the gathering rabble, old Boitelle took to his
heels, and regained his abode, while Antoine, swell-
ing with rage, his sweetheart on his arm, advanced
BOITELLE
271
majestically under the battery of staring eyes, opened
wide in amazement.
He understood that it was at an end, that there
was no hope for him, that he could not marry his
negress. She also understood it; and as they drew
near the farmhouse they both began to weep. As
soon as they had got buck to the house, she once
more took off her dress to aid the mother in her
household duties, and followed her everywhere, to
the dairy, to the stable, to the henhouse, taking on
herself the hardest part of the work, repeating always,
"Let me do it, Madame Boitelle," so that, when
night came on, the old woman, touched but inexora-
ble, said to her son: "She is a good girl, all the
same. 'Tis a pity she is so black; but indeed she is
too much so, 1 couldn't get used to it. She must
go back again. She is too black!"
And young Boitelle said to his sweetheart:
"She will not consent. She thinks you are too
black. You must go back again. 1 will go with
you to the train. No matter — don't fret. 1 am go-
ing to talk to them after you have started."
He then conducted her to the railv/ay-station, still
cheering her up with hope, and, when he had kissed
her, he put her into the train, which he watched as
it passed out of sight, his eyes swollen with tears. In
vain did he appeal to the old people. They would
not give their consent.
And when he had told this story, which was
known all over the country, Antoine Boitelle would
always add:
"From that time forward 1 have had no heart for
anything — for anything at all. No trade suited me
272
WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
any longer, and so I became what I am — a night-
cartman."
People would say to him: "Yet you got mar-
ried."
"Yes, and I can't say that my wife didn't please
me, seeing that I've got fourteen children; but she is
not the other one, oh! no — certainly not! The other
one, mark you, my negress, she had only to give
me one glance and 1 felt as if I were in Heaven!"
THE ACCURSED BREAD
ADDY Taille had three daughters:
Anna, the eldest, who was
scarcely ever mentioned in the
family; Rose, the second girl, who
was eighteen; and Clara, the young-
est, who was a girl of fifteen.
.. ^ Old Taille was a widower, and a
_^ foreman in M. Lebrument's button-man-
ufactory. He was a very upright man,
- _~ very well thought of, abstemious; in fact
a sort of model workman. He lived at
p* Havre, in the Rue d'Angouleme.
When Anna ran away the old man flew
^ into a fearful rage. He threatened to kill the
seducer, who was head clerk in a large draper's es-
tablishment in that town. Then when he was told by
various people that she was keeping very steady and
investing money in government securities, that she
was no gadabout, but was maintained by a Monsieur
Dubois, who was a judge of the Tribunal of Com-
merce, the father was appeased.
He even showed some anxiety as to how she
was faring, asked some of her old friends who had
5 G. deM.— 18 (273)
274
WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
been to see her how she was getting on; and
when told that she had her own furniture, and that
her mantelpiece was covered with vases and the
walls with pictures, that there were clocks and car-
pets everywhere, he gave a broad, contented smile.
He had been working for thirty years to get together
a wretched five or six thousand francs. This girl
was evidently no fool.
One fine morning the son of Touchard, the cooper
at the other end of the street, came and asked him
for the hand of Rose, the second girl. The old man's
heart began to beat, for the Touchards were rich and
in a good position. He was decidedly lucky with
his girls.
The marriage was agreed upon. It was settled
that it should be a grand affair, and the wedding
dinner was to be held at Sainte-Adresse, at Mother
Lusa's restaurant. It would cost a lot certainly; but
never mind, it did not matter just for once in a way.
But one morning, just as the old man was going
home to breakfast with his two daughters, the door
opened suddenly and Anna appeared. She was ele-
gantly dressed, wore rings and an expensive bonnet,
and looked undeniably pretty and nice. She threw
her arms round her father's neck before he could say
a word, then fell into her sisters' arms with many
tears, and then asked for a plate, so that she might
share the family soup. Taille was moved to tears in
his turn and said several times:
"That is right, dear; that is right."
Then she told them about herself. She did not
wish Rose's wedding to take place at Sainte-Adresse,
— certainly not. It should take place at her house,
THE ACCURSED BREAD
275
and would cost her father nothing. She had settled
everything and arranged everything, so it was "no
good to say any more about it, — there!"
"Very well, my dear! very well!" the old man
said, "we will leave it so." But then he felt some
doubt. Would the Touchards consent.^ But Rose,
the bride-elect, was surprised, and asked, "Why
should they object, I should like to know ? Just leave
that to me, I will talk to Philip about it."
She mentioned it to her lover the very same day,
and he declared that it would suit him exactly.
Father and Mother Touchard were naturally delighted
at the idea of a good dinner which would cost them
nothing and said:
"You may be quite sure that everything will be
in first-rate style, as M. Dubois is made of money."
They asked to be allowed to bring a friend, Mme.
Florence, the cook on the first floor, and Anna agreed
to everything. The wedding was fixed for the last
Tuesday of the month.
II.
After the civil formalities and the religious cere-
mony the wedding party went to Anna's house.
Among those whom the Tallies had brought was a
cousin of a certain age, a M. Sauvetanin, a man given
to philosophical reflections, serious, and always very
self-possessed, and Mme. Lamonoois, an old aunt.
M. Sauvetanin had been told off to give Anna his
arm, as they were looked upon as the two most im-
portant persons in the company.
2^6 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
As soon as they had arrived at the door of An-
na's house she let go her companion's arm, and
ran on ahead, saying, "I will show you the way,"
while the invited guests followed more slowly. When
they got upstairs, she stood on one side to let them
pass, and they rolled their eyes and turned their heads
in all directions to admire this mysterious and luxu-
rious dwelling.
The table was laid in the drawing-room as the
dining-room had been thought too small. Extra
knives, forks, and spoons had been hired from a
neighboring restaurant, and decanters full of wine
glittered under the rays of the sun, which shone in
through the window.
The ladies went into the bedroom to take off
their shawls and bonnets, and Father Touchard, who
was standing at the door, squinted at the low, wide
bed, and made funny signs to the men, with many a
wink and nod. Daddy Taille, who thought a great
deal of himself, looked with fatherly pride at his
child's well-furnished rooms, and went from one to
the other holding his hat in his hand, making a men-
tal inventory of everything, and walking like a verger
in a church.
Anna went backward and forward, and ran about
giving orders and hurrying on the wedding feast.
Soon she appeared at the door of the dining-room,
and cried: "Come here, all of you, for a moment,"
and when the twelve guests did as they were asked
they saw twelve glasses of Madeira on a small table.
Rose and her husband had their arms round each
other's waists, and were kissing each other in every
corner. M. Sauvetanin never took his eyes off Anna;
'IHE ACCURSED BREAD
277
he no doubt felt that ardor, that sort of expectation
which all men, even if they are old and ugly, feel
for women of a certain stamp.
They sat down, and the wedding breakfast began;
the relatives sitting at one end of the table and the
young people at the other. Mme. Touchard, the mother,
presided on the right and the bride on the left.
Anna looked after everybody, saw that the glasses
were kept filled and the plates well supplied. The
guests evidently felt a certain respectful embarrass-
ment at the sight of the sumptuousness of the rooms
and at the lavish manner in which they were
treated. They all ate heartily of the good things pro-
vided, but there were no jokes such as are prevalent
at weddings of that sort; it was all too grand, and it
made them feel uncomfortable. Old Madame Touch-
ard, who was fond of a bit of fun, tried to enliven
matters a little, and at the beginning of the dessert
she exclaimed: "1 say, Philip, do sing us something."
The neighbors in their street considered that he had
the finest voice in all Havre.
The bridegroom got up, smiled, and turning to his
sister-in-law, from politeness and gallantry, tried to
think of something suitable for the occasion, some-
thing serious and correct, to harmonize with the seri-
ousness of the repast.
Anna had a satisfied look on her face, and leaned
back in her chair to listen, and all assumed looks of
attention, though prepared to smile should smiles be
called for.
The singer announced, "The Accursed Bread,"
and extending his right arm, which made his coat
ruck up into his neck, he began.
278 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
It was decidedly long, three verses of eight lines
each, with the last line and the last line but one re-
peated twice.
All went well for the first two verses; they were
the usual commonplaces about bread gained by honest
labor and by dishonesty. The aunt and the bride wept
outright. The cook, who was present, at the end of
the first verse looked at a roll which she held in her
hand with moist eyes, as if they applied to her,
while all applauded vigorously. At the end of the
second verse the two servants, who were standing
with their backs to the wall, joined loudly in the
chorus, and the aunt and the bride wept outright.
Daddy Taille blew his nose with the noise of a trom-
bone, old Touchard brandished a whole loaf half over
the table, and the cook shed silent tears on to the
crust which she was still holding.
Amid the general emotion M. Sauvetanin said:
"That is the right sort of song; very different
to the pointed things one generally hears at wed-
dings."
Anna, who was visibly affected, kissed her hand
to her sister and pointed to her husband with an
affectionate nod, as if to congratulate her.
Intoxicated by his success, the young man con-
tinued, and unfortunately the last verse contained
words about the bread of dishonor gained by young
girls who had been led astray from the paths of
virtue. No one took up the refrain about this bread,
supposed to be eaten with tears, except old Touchard
and the two servants. Anna had ^Town deadly pale
and cast down her eyes, while the bridegroom looked
from one to the other without understanding the rea-
THE ACCURSED BREAD 279
son for this sudden coldness, and the cook hastily
dropped the crust as if it were poisoned.
M. Sauvetanin said solemnly, in order to save the
situation: "That last couplet is not at all necessary";
and Daddy Taille, who had got red up to his ears,
looked round the table fiercely.
Then Anna, with her eyes swimming in tears,
told the servants, in the faltering voice of a woman
trying to stifle her sobs, to bring the champagne.
All the guests were suddenly seized with exuber-
ant joy, and their faces became radiant again. And
when old Touchard, who had seen, felt, and under-
stood nothing of what was going on, and, pointing
to the guests so as to emphasize his words, sang the
last words of the refrain: "Children, 1 warn you all
to eat not of that bread," the whole company, when
they saw the champagne bottles with their necks
covered with gold foil appear, burst out singing, as
if electrified by the sight:
"Children, I warn you all to eat not of that bread."
MY TWENTY-FIVE DAYS
HAD just taken possession of my
room in the iiotel, a narrow apart-
ment between two papered parti-
tions, so that I could hear all the
sounds made by my neighbors. 1
was beginning to arrange in the
glass cupboard my clothes and my
linen, when 1 opened the drawer
which was in the middle of this piece
of furniture, I immediately noticed a
manuscript of rolled paper. Having
unrolled it, I spread it open before me,
^ly- and read this title:
*^ "My Twenty-five Days."
It was the diary of a bather, of the last occupant
of my room, and had been left behind there in forget-
fulness at the hour of departure.
These notes may be of some interest to sensible
and healthy persons who never leave their own
homes. It is for their benefit that I here transcribe
them without altering a letter.
" Chatel-Guyon, July 15.
"At the first glance, it is not gay, this country.
So, I am going to spend twenty-five days here to
have my liver and my stomach treated, and to get
280)
MY TWENTY-FIVE DAYS 28 1
rid of flesh. The twenty-five days of a bather are
very hke the twenty-eight days of a reserviste; they
are all devoted to fatigue-duty, severe fatigue-duty.
To-day, nothing as yet; I am installed; I have made
the acquaintance of locality and the doctors. Chatel-
Guyon is composed of a stream in which flows yellow
water, in the midst of several mountain-peaks, where
are erected a Casino, houses, and stone-crosses. At
the side of the stream, in the depths of the valley,
may be seen a square building surrounded by a little
garden: this is the establishment of the baths. Sad
people wander around this building — the invalids. A
great silence reigns in these walks shaded by trees, for
this is not a pleasure-station but a true health-station:
you take care of your health here through conviction,
but you cannot get cured, it seems.
"Competent people declare that the mineral springs
perform true miracles here. However, no votive offer-
ing is hung around the cashier's office.
"From time to time, a gentleman or a lady comes
over to a kiosk with a slate roof, which shelters a
woman of smiling and gentle aspect and a spring
boiling in a basin of cement. Not a word is ex-
changed between the invalid and the female custodian
of the healing water. She hands to the newcomer a
little glass in which air-bubbles quiver in the trans-
parent liquid. The other drinks and goes off with a
grave step in order to resume his interrupted walk
under the trees.
"No noise in the little park, no breath of air in
the leaves, no voice breaks through this silence, in-
scribed over the entrance to this district should be:
'Here you no longer laugh; you nurse yourself,'
282 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
"The people who chat resemble mutes who open
their mouths in order to simulate sounds, so much
are they afraid of letting their voices escape.
"In the hotel, the same silence. It is a big hotel
where you dine solemnly with people of good posi-
tion, who have nothing to say to each other. Their
manners bespeak good-breeding and their faces re-
flect the conviction of a superiority of which it would
be difficult to give actual proof.
"At two o'clock, I make my way up to the
Casino, a little wooden hut perched on a hillock
to which one climbs by paths frequented by goats.
But the view from that height is admirable. Chatel-
Guyon is situated in a very narrow valley, exactly
between the plain and the mountain. At the left I
see the first great waves of the mountains of Au-
vergne covered with woods, exhibiting here and
there big gray spots, their hard lava-bones, for we
are at the foot of the extinct volcanoes. At the
right, through the narrow slope of the valley, I dis-
cover a plain infinite as the sea, steeped in a bluish
fog which lets one only dimly discern the villages,
the towns, the yellow fields of ripe corn, and the
green squares of meadow-land shaded with apple-
trees. It is the Limagne, immense and flat, always
enveloped in a light veil of vapor.
"The night has come. And now, after having
dined alone, I write these lines beside my open win-
dow. I hear, over there, in front of me, the little
orchestra of the Casino, which plays airs just as a
wild bird sings all alone in the desert.
"From time to time a dog barks. This great calm
does me good. Good night.
MY TWENTY-FIVE DAYS 283
''July 16. Nothing. I have taken a bath, or
rather a douche. I have swallowed three glasses of
water and I have walked in the pathways of the
park for a quarter of an hour between each glass,
then half-an-hour after the last. I have begun my
twenty-five days.
"July I J. Remarked two mysterious pretty
women who are taking their baths and their meals
after everyone else.
"July 18. Nothing.
"July 19. Saw the two pretty women again.
They have style and a little indescribable air which 1
like very much.
"July 20. Long walk in a charming wooded
valley as far as the Hermitage of Sans-Souci. This
country is delightful though sad; it is so calm, so
sweet, so green. Along the mountain-roads you meet
the long wagons loaded with hay drawn by two cows
at a slow pace or held back in descending the slopes
by their straining heads, which are tied together. A
man with a big black hat on his head is driving
them with a slight switch, tipping them on the side
or on the forehead; and often with an simple ges-
ture, a gesture energetic and grave, he suddenly
draws them up when the excessive load hastens their
journey down the rougher descents.
"The air is good in these valleys. And, if it is
very warm, the dust bears with it a light odor of
vanilla and of the stable, for so many cows pass over
these routes that they leave a little scent everywhere.
And the odor is a perfume, whereas it would be a
stench if it came from other animals.
"July 21. Excursion to the valley of the Enval. It
284
WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
is a narrow gorge inclosed in superb rocks at the
very foot of the mountain. A stream flows through
the space between the heaped-up bowlders.
"As I reached the bottom of this ravine, I heard
women's voices, and I soon perceived the two mys-
terious ladies of my hotel, who were chatting seated
on a stone.
"The occasion appeared to me a good one, and
without hesitation I presented myself. My overtures
were received without embarrassment. We walked
back together to the hotel. And we talked about
Paris. They knew, it seemed, many people whom
I knew too. Who can they be ?
"I shall see them to-morrow. There is nothing
more amusing than such meetings as this.
''July 22. Day almost entirely passed with the two
unknown ladies. They are very pretty, by Jove, one
a brunette and the other a blonde. They say they
are widows. Hum!
"I offered to accompany them in a visit to Royat
to-morrow, and they accepted my offer.
"Chatel-Guyon is less sad than I thought on my
arrival.
''July 2^. Day spent at Royat. Royat is a little
cluster of hotels at the bottom of a valley, at the gate
of Clermont-Ferrand. A great deal of society there.
A great park full of movement. Superb view of the
Puy-de-D6me, seen at the end of a perspective of
vales.
"I am greatly occupied with my fair companions,
which is flattering to myself. The man who escorts
a pretty woman always believes himself crowned with
an aureole, — with much more reason, therefore, the
MY TWENTY-FIVE DAYS 285
man who goes along with one on each side of him.
Nothing is so pleasant as to dine in a restaurant well
frequented, with a female companion at whom every-
body stares, and besides there is nothing better cal-
culated to set a man up in the estimation of his
neighbors.
"To go to the Bois in a trap drawn by a sorry
nag, or to go out into the boulevard escorted by a
plain woman, are the two most humiliating accidents
which could strike a delicate heart preoccupied with
the opinions of others. Of all luxuries woman is the
rarest and the most distinguished; she is the one that
costs most, and which we desire most; she is, there-
fore, the one that we like best to exhibit under the
jealous eyes of the public.
"To show the world a pretty woman leaning on
your arm is to excite, all at once, every kind of jeal-
ousy. It is as much as to say: Look here! I am rich,
since 1 possess this rare and costly object; I have
taste, since I have known how to discover this pearl;
perhaps even 1 am loved, unless I am deceived by
her, which would still prove that others, too, con-
sider her charming.
"But what a disgraceful thing it is to bring an
ugly woman with you through the city! And how
many humiliating things this gives people to under-
stand!
"In the first place, they assume she must be your
wife, for how could it be supposed that you would
have an unattractive mistress ? A real wife might be
ungraceful; but then her ugliness suggests a thousand
things disagreeable to you. One supposes you must
be a notary or a magistrate, as these two professions
286 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
have a monopoly of grotesque and well-dowered
spouses. Now, is this not painful for a man? And
then it seems to proclaim to the public that you have
the odious courage, and are even under a legal obli-
gation, to caress that ridiculous face and that ill-
shaped body, and that you will, without doubt, be
shameless enough to make a mother of this by no
means desirable being, — which is the very height of
ridicule.
''July 24. I never leave the side of the two un-
known widows, whom I am beginning to know
well. This country is delightful and our hotel is ex-
cellent. Good season. The treatment has done me
an immense amount of good.
''July 25. Drive in a landau to the lake ot
Tazenat. An exquisite and unexpected party, decided
on at lunch. Abrupt departure after getting up from
the table. After a long journey through the mountains,
we suddenly perceived an admirable little lake, quite
round, quite blue, clear as glass, and situated at the
bottom of a dead crater. One edge of this immense
basin is barren, the other is wooded. In the midst
of the trees is a small house, where sleeps a good-
natured, intellectual man, a sage who passes his days
in this Virgilian region. He opens his dwelling for
us. An idea comes into my head. I exclaim: 'Sup-
pose we bathe?'
"'Yes,' they said, 'but — costumes?'
"'Bah! we are in the desert.'
"And we did bathe!
"If I were a poet, how I would describe this un-.
forgettable vision of bodies young and naked in the
transparency of the water! The sloping high sides
MY TWENTY-FIVE DAYS 287
Shut in the lake, motionless, glittering, and round,
iike a piece of silver; the sun pours into it its warm
^ight in a flood; and along the rocks the fair flesh
slips into the almost invisible wave in which the
swimmers seemed suspended. On the sand at the
bottom of the lake we saw the shadows of the light
movements passing and repassing!
"July 26. Some persons seemed to look with
shocked and disapproving eyes at my rapid intimacy
with the two fair widows! Persons so constituted
im.agine that life is made for worrying oneself.
Everything that appears to be amusing becomes im-
mediately a breach of good-breeding or morality.
For them duty has inflexible and mortally sad rules.
*'I would draw their attention with all respect to
the fact that duty is not the same for Mormons,
Arabs, Zulus, Turks, Englishmen, and Frenchmen;
and that one will find very virtuous people among all
these nations. As for me, I take a little of each peo-
ple's notion of duty, and of the whole I make a re-
sult comparable to the morality of holy King Solomon.
"July 2y. Good news. I have grown 620 grams
thinner. Excellent, this water of Chatel-Guyon! I
am bringing the widows to dine at Riom. Sad town!
Its anagram constitutes an offense in the vicinity of
healing springs: Riom, Mori.
"July 28. Hoity-toity! My two widows have
been visited by two gentlemen who came to look for
them. Two widows, without doubt. They are leav-
ing this evening. They have written to me on fancy
note-paper.
"July 2g. Alone! Long excursion on foot to the
extinct crater of Nackere. Splendid view.
288 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
"July JO. Nothing, I am taking the treatm^j^at.
"July 3/. Ditto. Ditto. This pretty country is
full of polluted streams. I am drawing the notice of
the municipality to the abominable sink which poi-
sons the road in front of the hotel. All the re-
mains of the kitchen of the establishment are thrown
into it. This is a good way to breed cholera.
"August I. Nothing. The treatment.
"August 2. Admirable walk to Chateauneuf, a sta-
tion for rheumatic patients where everybody is lame.
Nothing can be queerer than this population of crip-
ples!
"August J. Nothing. The treatment.
"August 4. Ditto. Ditto.
"August 5. Ditto. Ditto.
"August 6. Despair! I have just weighed my-
self 1 have got fatter by 310 grams. But what
then ?
"August 7. 66 kilometers in a carriage in the
mountain. I will not mention the name of the coun-
try through respect for its women.
"This excursion had been pointed out to me as a
beautiful one, and one that was rarely made. After
four hours on the road I arrived at a rather pretty
village, on the border of a river in the midst of an
admirable wood of walnut-trees. I had not yet seen
a forest of walnut-trees of such dimensions in Au-
vergne. It constitutes, moreover, all the wealth of the
district, for it is planted on the common. This com-
mon was formerly only a hillside covered with brush-
wood. The authorities had tried in vain to get it
cultivated. It was scarcely enough to feed a few
sheep.
MY TWENTY-FIVE DAYS 289
"To-day it is a superb wood, thanks to the
women, and it has a curious name: it is called —
'the Sins of the Cure.'
"Now it is right to say that the women of the
mountain district have the reputation of being light,
lighter than in the plain. A bachelor who meets
them owes them at least a kiss; and if he does not
take more, he is only a blockhead. If we think
rightly on it, this way of looking at the matter is
the only one that is logical and reasonable. As
woman, whether she be of the town or the country,
has for her natural mission to please man, man
should always prove that she pleases him. If he ab-
stains from every sort of demonstration, this means
that he has found her ugly; it is almost an insult to
her. If I were a woman, I would not receive a sec-
ond time a man who failed to show me respect at
our first meeting, for I would consider that he had
failed to appreciate my beauty, my charm, and my
feminine qualities.
"So the bachelors of the village X often proved
to the women of the district that they found them
to their taste, and, as the cure was unable to pre-
vent these demonstrations as gallant as they were
natural, he resolved to utilize them for the profit of
the natural prosperity. So he imposed as a penance
on every woman who had gone wrong a walnut to
be planted on the common. And every night lan-
terns were seen moving about like will-o'-the-wisps
on the hillock, for the erring ones scarcely liked to
perform their penances in broad daylight.
"In two years there was no room any longer on
the lands belonging to the village; and to-day they
5 G de M. — 19
290
WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
calculate that there are more than three thousand
trees around the belfry which rings for the offices
through their foliage. These are 'the Sins of the
Cure.'
"Since we have been seeking for so many plans
for rewooding in France, the Administration of
Forests might surely enter into some arrangement
with the clergy to employ a method so simple as
that employed by this humble cure.
''August 8. Treatment.
"August g. I am packing up my trunks, and
saying good-bye to the charming little district so
calm and silent, to the green mountain, to the quiet
valleys, to the deserted Casino from which you can
see, almost veiled by its light, bluish mist, the im-
mense plain of the Limagne.
"I shall leave to-morrow."
4: 4: 4c % :|c i|e ))c
Here the manuscript stopped. I wish to add
nothing to it, my impressions of the country not
having been exactly the same as those of my prede-
cessor. For I did not find the two widows!
A LUCKY BURGLAR
HEY were seated in the dining-room
of a hotel in Barbizon.
"I tell you, you will not be-
lieve it."
"Well, tell it anyhow."
"All right, here goes. But first I
must tell you that my story is abso-
lutely true in every respect; even if
^i it does sound improbable." And the
^;^^^ old artist commenced:
^^^ "We had dined at Soriel's that night.
«t^ When I say dined, that means that we were
<^ all pretty well tipsy. We were three young
^, madcaps. Soriel (poor fellow! he is dead now),
f Le Poittevin, the marine painter, and myself.
Le Poittevin is dead, also.
"We had stretched ourselves on the floor of the
little room adjoining the studio and the only one in
the crowd who was rational was Le Poittevin. Soriel,
who was always the maddest, lay flat on his back,
with his feet propped up on a chair, discussing war
and the uniforms of the Empire, when, suddenly, he
got up, took out of the big wardrobe where he kept
his accessories a complete hussar's uniform and put
it on. He then took out a grenadier's uniform and
(2QI)
293
WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
told Le Poittevin to put it on; but he objected, so we
forced him into it. It was so big for him that he
was completely lost in it. I arrayed myself as a cui-
rassier. After we were ready, Soriel made us go
through a complicated drill. Then he exclaimed: 'As
long as we are troopers let us drink like troopers.'
"The punch-bowl had been brought out and filled
for the second time. We were bawling some old
camp songs at the top of our voice, when Le Poitte-
vin, who in spite of all the punch h?d retained his
self-control, held up his hand and said: 'Hush! I
am sure 1 heard some one walking in the studio.'
"'A burglar!' said Soriel, staggering to his feet.
'Good luck!' And he began the 'Marseillaise':
"'To arms, citizens!'
"Then he seized several weapons from the wall
and equipped us according to our uniforms. I re-
ceived a musket and a saber. Le Poittevin was
handed an enormous gun with a bayonet attached.
Soriel, not finding just what he wanted, seized a pis-
tol, stuck it in his belt, and brandishing a battle-axe
in one hand, he opened the studio door cautiously.
The army advanced. Having reached the middle of
the room Soriel said:
"'I am general. You [pointing to me], the cui-
rassiers, will keep the enemy from retreating — that
is, lock the door. You [pointing to Le Poittevin],
the grenadiers, will be my escort.'
"I executed my orders and rejoined the troops,
who were behind a large screen reconnoitering. Just
as I reached it I heard a terrible noise. I rushed up
with the candle to investigate the cause of it and this
A LUCKY BURGLAR
293
is what I saw, Le Poittevin was piercing the dummy's
breast with his bayonet and Soriel was splitting his
head open with his axe! When the mistake had been
discovered the General commanded: 'Be cautious!'
"We had explored every nook and corner of the
studio for the past twenty minutes without success,
when Le Poittevin. thought he would look in the
cupboard. As it was quite deep and very dark, 1
advanced with the candle and looked in. I drew
back stupefied. A man, a real live man this time,
stood there looking at me! I quickly recovered my-
self, however, and locked the cupboard door. We
then retired a few paces to hold a council.
" Opinions were divided. Soriel wanted to smoke
the burglar out; Le Poittevin suggested starvation,
and I proposed to blow him up with dynamite. Le
Poittevin's idea being finally accepted as the best, we
proceed to bring the punch and pipes into the studio,
while Le Poittevin kept guard with his big gun on
his shoulder, and settling ourselves in front of the
cupboard we drank the prisoner's health. We had
done this repeatedly, when Soriel suggested that we
bring out the prisoner and take a look at him.
"'Hooray!' cried 1. We picked up our weapons
and made a mad rush for the cupboard door. It was
finally opened, and Soriel, cocking his pistol which
was not loaded, rushed in first. Le Poittevin and 1
followed yelling like lunatics and, after a mad scram-
ble in the dark, we at last brought out the burglar.
He was a haggard-looking, white-haired old bandit,
with shabby, ragged clothes. We bound him hand
and foot and dropped him in an armchair. He said
nothing.
294
WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
" 'We will try this wretch' said Soriel, whom the
punch had made very solemn. I was so far gone
that it seemed to me quite a natural thing. Le Poitte-
vin was named for the defense and I for the prosecu-
tion. The prisoner was condemned to death by all
except his counsel.
"'We v/ill now execute him,' said Soriel. 'Still,
this man cannot die without repenting,' he added,
feeling somewhat scrupulous. ' Let us send for a
priest.'
"I objected that it was too late, so he proposed
that I officiate and forthwith told the prisoner to con-
fess his sins to me. The old man was terrified. He
wondered what kind of wretches we were and for
the first time he spoke. His voice was hollow and
cracked :
"'Say, you don't mean it, do you.?'
"Soriel forced him to his knees, and for fear he
had not been baptized, poured a glass of rum over
his head, saying: 'Confess your sins; your last hour
has come!'
"'Help! Help!' screamed the old man rolling
himself on the floor and kicking everything that came
his way. For fear he should wake the neighbors we
gagged him.
"'Come, let us end this'; said Soriel impatiently.
He pointed his pistol at the old man and pressed the
trigger. I followed his example, but as neither of
our guns were loaded we made very little noise. Le
Poittevin, who had been looking on said:
" 'Have we really the right to kill this man?'
"'We have condemned him to death!' said So-
rieL
A LUCKY BURGLAR
295
"'Yes, but we have no right to shoot a civilian.
Let us take him to the station-house.'
"We agreed with him, and as the old man could
not walk we tied him to a board, and Le Poittevin
and I carried him, while Soriel kept guard in the
rear. We arrived at the station-house. The chief,
who knew us and was well acquainted with our
manner of joking, thought it was a great lark and
laughingly refused to take our prisoner in. Soriel in-
sisted, but the chief told us very sternly to quit our
fooling and go home and be quiet. There was noth-
ing else to do but to take him back to Soriel's.
"'What are we going to do with him.^' I asked.
"'The poor man must be awfully tired!' said Le
Poittevin, sympathizingly.
"He did look half dead, and in my turn I felt a
sudden pity for him (the punch, no doubt), and I
relieved him of his gag.
"'How do you feel old man?' I asked.
"'By Jingo! I have enough of this,' he groaned.
"Then Soriel softened. He unbound him and
treated him as a long-lost friend. The three of us
immediately brewed a fresh bowl of punch. As soon
as it was ready we handed a glass to the prisoner,
who quaffed it without flinching. Toast followed
toast. The old man could drink more than the three
of us put together; but as daylight appeared, he got
up and calmly said: 'I shall be obliged to leave you;
I must get home now.'
"We begged him not to go, but he positively re-
fused to stay any longer. We were awfully sorry and
took him to the door, while Soriel held the candle
above his head saying: 'Look out for the last step.'"
AN ODD FEAST
T WAS in the winter of — I do not
remember wliat year, that I went
to Normandy to visit my bachelor
.^ cousin, Jules de Banneville, who lived
alone in the old manor, with a cook,
a valet, and a keeper. I had the hunt-
ing fever and for a month did nothing
else from morning until night.
The castle, an old, gray building sur-.
/ rounded with pines and avenues of tall oak-
trees, looked as if it had been deserted for
centuries. The antique furniture and the por-.
traits of Jules's ancestors were the only inhabit
> tants of the spacious rooms and halls now closed.
We had taken shelter in the only habitable room,
an immense kitchen, which had been plastered all
over to keep the rats out. The big, white walls
were covered with whips, guns, horns, etc., and in
the large fireplace a brushwood fire was burning,
throwing strange lights around the corners of the
dismal room. We would sit in front of the fire every
night, our hounds stretched in every available space
(296)
AN ODD FEAST 297
between our feet, dreaming and barking in their sleep,
until, getting drowsy, we would climb to our rooms
and slip into our beds shivering.
It had been freezing hard that day and we were
sitting as usual in front of the fire, watching a hare
and two partridges being roasted for dinner, and the
savory smell sharpened our appetites.
"It will be awfully cold going to bed to-night,"
said Jules.
"Yes, but there will be plenty of ducks to-morrow
morning," I replied indifferently.
The servant had set our plates at one end of the
table and those of the servants at the other.
"Gentlemen, do you know it is Christmas eve?"
she asked.
We certainly did not; we never looked at the cal-
endar.
"That accounts for the bells ringing all day," said
Jules. "There is midnight service to-night."
"Yes, sir; but they also rang because old Fournel
is dead."
Fournel was an old shepherd, well known in the
country. He was ninety-six years old and had never
known a day's sickness until a month ago, when he
had taken cold by falling into a pool on a dark night
and had died of the consequences.
"If you like," said Jules, "we will go and see
these poor people after dinner."
The old man's family consisted of his grandson,
fifty-eight years old and the hitter's wife, one year
younger. His children had died years ago. They
lived in a miserable hut at the entrance of the vil-
lage.
298 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
Perhaps Christmas eve in a lonely castle was an
incentive, at all events we were very talkative that
night. Our dinner had lasted way into the night and
long after the servant had left us, we sat there
smoking pipe after pipe, narrating old experiences,
telling of past revels and the surprises of the morrow
which followed our adventures. Our solitude had
brought us closer together and we exchanged those
confidences which only intimate friends can.
"1 am going to church, sir," said the servant, re-
appearing.
"What, so soon!" exclaimed Jules.
"It lacks only a quarter of twelve, sir."
"Let us go to church too," said Jules. "The
midnight service is very attractive in the country."
I assented and having wrapped ourselves up we
started for the village. It was bitterly cold, but a
clear, beautiful night. We could hear the peasants'
wooden shoes on the crisp, frozen earth and the
church bell ringing in the distance. The road was
dotted here and there with dancing lights. It was
the peasants carrying lanterns, lighting the way for
their wives and children. As we approached the
village, Jules said:
"Here is where the Fournels live, let us go in."
We knocked repeatedly, but in vain. A neighbor-
ing peasant informed us that they had gone to church
to pray for their father.
"We will see them on our way back," said
Jules.
The service had begun when we entered the
church. It was profusely decorated with small can-
dles, and to the left, in a small chapel, the birth of
AN ODD FEAST 299
Christ was represented by wax figures, pine brusii
forming a background. The men stood with bowed
heads, and the women, kneeling, clasped their hands
in deep devotion. After a few minutes Jules said:
"It is stifling in here, let us go outside."
We left the shivering peasants to their devotions
and regaining the deserted road, we resumed our
conversation. We had talked so long that the service
was over when we came back to the village. A
small ray of light filtered through the Fournels' door.
"They are watching their dead," said Jules. "They
will be pleased to see us."
We went in. The low, dark room was lighted
only by a smoking candle, placed in the middle of
the large, coarse table, under which a bread bin had
been built, taking up the whole length of it. A suf-
focating odor of roasted blood pudding pervaded
every corner of the room. Seated face to face, were
Fournel and his wife, a gloomy and brutish expres-
sion on their faces. Between the two, a single plate
of the pudding, the popular dish on Christmas eve,
out of which they would take turns in cutting a
piece off, spread it on their bread and munch in si-
lence. When the man's glass was empty, the woman
would fill it out of an earthen jar containing cider.
They asked us to be seated and to "join them,"
but at our refusal they continued to munch. After a
few minutes' silence Jules said:
"Well, Anthime, so your grandfather is dead! "
"Yes, sir, he died this afternoon."
The woman snuffed the candle in silence and 1>
for the want of something to say, added:
"He was quite old, was he not?"
300
WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
"Oh, his time was up," she answered; "he was
no earthly use here."
An invincible desire to see the old man took pos-
session of me and 1 asked to see him. The two
peasants suddenly became agitated and exchanged
questioning glances. Jules noticed this and insisted.
Then the man with a sly, suspicious look, asked:
"What good would it do you.?"
"No good," said Jules; "but why will you not
let us see him ?"
"I am willing," said the man, shrugging his shoul-
ders, "but it is kind of unhandy just now."
We conjectured all sorts of things. Neither of
them stirred. They sat there with eyes lowered, a
sullen expression on their faces seeming to say: "Go
away."
"Come, Anthime, take us to his room," said Jules
with authority.
"It's no use, my good sir, he isn't there any
more," said the man resolutely.
"Where is he?" said Jules.
The woman interrupted, saying:
"You see, -sir, we had no other place to put him
so we put him in the bin until morning." And hav-
ing taken the top of the table off, she held the candle
near the opening. We looked in and sure enough,
there he was, a shriveled gray mass, his gray hair
matted about his face, barefooted and rolled up in
his shepherd's cloak, sleeping his last sleep among
crusts of bread as ancient as himself.
His grandchildren had used as a table the bin
which held his body!
Jules was indignant, and pale with anger, said:
AN ODD FEAST 30I
"You villians! Why did you not leave him in
his bed ?"
The woman burst into tears and speaking rapidly:
"You see, my good gentlemen, it's just this way.
We have but one bed, and being only three we slept
together; but since he's been so sick we slept on the
floor. The floor is awful hard and cold these days,
my good gentlemen, so when he died this afternoon
we said to ourselves: 'As long as he is dead he
doesn't feel anything and what's the use of leaving
him in bed? He'll be just as comfortable in the bin.'
We can't sleep with a dead man, my good gentle-
men! — now can we.?"
Jules was exasperated and went out banging the
door, and I after him, laughing myself sick.
SYMPATHY
E WAS going up the Rue des Mar-
tyrs in a melancholy frame ol
mind, and in a melancholy frame
of mind she also was going up
the Rue des Martyrs. He was
already old, nearly sixty, with a
bald head under his seedy tall hat,
a gray beard, half buried in a high
shirt collar, with dull eyes, an unpleas-
ant mouth, and yellow teeth.
J ' y^^y She was past forty, with thin hair over
^^"yCli^^L _ her puffs, and with a false plait; her linen
, was doubtful in color, and she had evi-
dently bought her unfashionable dress at a
hand-me-down shop. He was thin, while she was
chubby. He had been handsome, proud, ardent,
full of self-confidence, certain of his future, and
seeming to hold in his hands all the trumps with
which to win the game on the green table of Pari-
sian life, while she had been pretty, sought after,
fast, and in a fair way to have horses and carriages,
and to win the first prize on the turf of gallantry
among the favorites of fortune.
(302)
SYMPATHY
303
At times, in his dark moments, he remembered
the time when he had come to Paris from the
country, with a volume of poetry and plays in his
portmanteau, feehng a supreme contempt for all the
writers who were then in vogue, and sure of sup-
planting them. She often, when she awoke in the
morning to another day's unhappiness, remembered
that happy time when she had been launched on to
the world, when she already saw that she was more
sought after than Marie G. or Sophie N. or any other
woman of that class, who had been her companions
in vice, and whose lovers she had stolen from them.
He had had a splendid start. Not, indeed, as a
poet and dramatist, as he had hoped at first, but
by a series of scandalous stories which had made
a sensation on the boulevards, so that after an action
for damages and several duels, he had become "our
witty and brilliant colleague who, etc., etc."
She had had her moments of extraordinary good
luck, though' she certainly did not eclipse Marie P. or
Camille L.,whom men compared to Zenobia or Ninon
de I'Enclos. Still her fortune caused her to be talked
about in the newspapers, and brought about a revo-
lution at certain tables d'hote in Montmartre. But one
fine day, the newspaper in which our brilliant and
witty colleague used to write became defunct, hav-
ing been killed by a much more cynical rival, thanks
to the venomous pen of a much more brilliant and
witty colleague. Then, the insults of the former
having become pure and simple mud-pelting, his
style soon became worn out, to the disgust of the
public, and the celebrated "Mr. What's-his-name"
had great difficulty in getting on to some minor
304
WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
paper, where he was transformed into the obscure
penny-a-liner "Machin."
Now one evening the quasi-rival of Marie P. and
Camille L. had fallen ill, and consequently into pecun-
iary difficulties, and the prostitute " No-matter-who "'
was now on the lookout for a dinner, and would
have been only too happy to get it at some table
d'hote in Montmartre. Machin had had a return of
ambition with regard to his poetry and his dramas,
but then, his verses of former days had lost their
freshness, and his youthful dramas appeared to him
to be childish. He would have to write others, and,
by Jove! he felt himself capable of doing it, for he
had plenty of ideas and plans in his head, and he
could easily demolish many successful writers if he
chose to try! But then, the difficulty was, how to
set about it, and to find the necessary leisure and
time for thought. He had his daily bread to gain,
and something besides; his coffee, his game of cards
and other little requirements, and the incessant writ-
ing article upon article barely sufficed for that, and so
days and years went by, and Machin was Machin still.
She also longed for former years, and surely it
could not be so very hard to find a lover to start her
on her career once more, for many of her female
friends, who were not nearly so nice as she, had un-
earthed one, so why should not she be equally for-
tunate ? But there, her youth had gone and she had
lost all her chances; other women had their fancy
men, and she had to take men on every day at re-
duced prices, and so day after day and months and
years passed, and the prostitute No-matter-who had
remained the prostitute No-matter-who.
SYMPATHY
30s
Often, in a fit of despondency, he used to say to
himself, thinking of some one who had succeeded in
hfe: "But, after all, I am cleverer than that fellow,"
And she always said to herself, when she got up
to her miserable, daily round, when she thought of
such and such a woman, who was now settled in
life: "In what respect is that slut better than 1 am?"
And Machin, who was nearly sixty, and whose
head was bald under his shabby tall hat, and whose
gray beard was half buried in a high shirt collar, who
had dull eyes, an unpleasant mouth, and yellow teeth,
was mad with his fellow-men, while the prostitute
No-matter-who, with thin hair over her puffs, and
with a false plait, with linen of a doubtful color,
and with her unfashionable dress, which she had
evidently bought at a hand-me-down shop, was en-
raged with society.
Ah! Those miserable, dark hours, and the wretched
awakenings! That evening he was more than usually
wretched, as he had just lost all his pay for the next
month, that miserable stipend which he earned so
hardly by almost editing the newspaper, for three
hundred francs* a month, in a brothel.
And she, too, that evening, was in a state of
semi-stupidity, as she had had too many glasses of
beer, which a charitable female friend had given her.
She was almost afraid to go back to her room, as
her landlord had told her in the morning that unless
she paid the fortnight's back rent that she owed at
the rate of a franc a day, he would turn her out of
doors and keep her things.
*|6o.
% C. de M.— 20
3o6
WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
This was the reason why they were both going
up the Rue des Martyrs in a melancholy frame of
mind. There was scarcely a soul in the muddy
streets; it was getting dark and beginning to rain,
and the drains smelt horribly.
He passed her, and in a mechanical voice she said:
"Will you not come home with me, you handsome,
dark man.?"
"I have no money," he replied.
But she ran after him, and catching hold of his
arm, she said: "Only a franc; that is nothing."
And he turned round, looked at her, and seeing
that she must have been pretty, and that she was
still stout (and he was fond of fat women), he said:
"Where do you live? Near here?"
"In the Rue Lepic."
"Why! So do I."
"Then that is all right, eh? Come along, old fel-
low."
He felt in his pockets and pulled out all the money
he found there, which amounted to thirteen sous,*
and said: "That is all 1 have, upon my honor!"
"All right," she said; "come along,"
And they continued their melancholy walk along
the Rue des Martyrs, side by side now, but without
speaking, and without guessing that their two exist-
ences harmonized and corresponded with each other,
and that by huddling up together, they would be
iTierely accomplishing the acme of their twin destinies.
* Thirteen cents.
jULOT'S OPINION
jg^-^tfe ^T'^HE Duchess Huguette de Lionzac
^*r_A-^ I was very much infatuated with
A herself, but then she had a perfect
right to be, for who, in her place,
would not have shown a spice of
conceit ? There was no success she
had wished for that she had not attained.
She had received a medal for sculpture
at the Salon, and at the Exhibition des
Excessives, she had shown a water-color
which looked eccentric even there.
She had published a collection of poems
which was crowned by the French Academy,
and a small volume of "Rhythmic Prose" of
which the "Revue de Demain" said that it showed
"a most subtle and evanescent execution of fugitive
pieces and was sure to descend to posterity.'' When
she acted in private theatricals, some exclaimed: "R
is better than the 'Comedie Frangaise,'" while others,
who were more refined, went so far as to utter the
supreme praise: "Better than the 'Theatre Libre.'"
At one time there had been a report, which had
Deen propaj^ated by the newspapers, that she was
(307)
::o8 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
going to come out at the "Opera Comique," in a part
that had been written especially for her extraordinary
voice, for it appeared that Massenet would not hear
of anybody else for the part.
She was the circus-rider, Miss Edith, who, under
that assumed name, gave a unique and never-to-be-
forgotten exhibition of horsemanship. What cheers
there were, and what quantities of flowers covered
the arena! And one must not forget that this was
before a paying public!
Then, it was notorious that she had carried off
the lovers of several celebrated courtesans, which
was not one of the smallest of her triumphs, for she
had chosen as her rivals some of those terrible and
hitherto unconquered women, of whom it was said:
"Oh ! When she has got hold of a man, she does
not let him go again. She has some secrets that
attach them to her."
There was, therefore, nothing surprising in the
fact, that the Duchess Huguette should have been so
proud of so many victories, and in such various
sports; but now, for the first time, a doubt had en-
tered her mind. In turning over the "Notules Psy-
chologiques " * of her favorite novel-writer, she had
just read these two sentences, which disturbed her:
"If anyone wishes to excel in an art, he must have
gained a living by it."
"What pleases us in a woman of the world who
gives herself up to debauchery, is the contrast be-
tween what she is and what she would like to be."
And she asked herself, whether she could really
Psychological Notes,
JULOT'S OPINION 309
have lived by those arts in which she excelled, and
whether the successes that she had obtained did not
chiefly depend on her charm of a woman of the
world, who wished to be what she was not. The
last whether, especially, made her anxious. For was
not it precisely that special charm which had given
her an advantage over courtesans who employed
secrets.
Would she have been victorious if she had been
deprived of that weapon? How could she find out.^
"And yet," she said to herself, "1 must know, for
everything depends on this point. If I can win the
game without playing that card, I am sure of all my
other triumphs, my mind will be easy then, whatever
it may cost."
She consulted her old godfather, Viscount Hugues
de Pierras, on the subject, and, after a few compli-
mentary words, as she had begged him to be sincere,
he said:
"Good heavens! my dear child, I must confess
that your psychologist is not altogether wrong, nor
your apprehensions either. I have before now left
many learned mistresses for women who were not in
the least learned, and who pleased me all the better
on that account. But that did not prevent the mis-
tresses I had sacrificed from being women of incom-
prehensible talents in spite of their defeat. But what
does that matter? It ought to be enough for you
that you conquer, without troubling yourself about
the means by which you obtain your victory. I do
!iot suppose that you have any pretensions to being
a mrtuosa in — "
*' In everything, yes. Excuse me godfather, I
3IO
WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT
have such pretensions. And what I ask of you, is
the means of obtaining absolute proof that my pre-
tensions are justified."
"Hum! Hum!" the Viscount said, in some em-
barrassment, " I do not know of any means, my dear
child, unless we get together a jury."
"Please do not joke about it! " Huguette exclaimed,
"I am perfectly serious."
" I am very serious also, I assure you, I think that
a jury — "
"Composed of whom? Of men of the world, I
suppose? commonly called Fine Gueule." *
"And what does this Julot do?"
"Oh! really, Duchess, you force me to speak of
persons and things, which — "
"Yes, yes, 1 force you to; we understand that.
But tell me! Bluntly, without mincing matters, if
necessary. You know that I have no objection to
that sort of thing, so go on. Do not keep me in
suspense like this. 1 am burning with curiosity.
What does Julot do?"
"Very well, little volunteer, if you insist on
knowing, 1 will tell you. Julot, generally called Fine
Giieule, is a trier of women."
"I beg your pardon?"
"I will explain it to you. There are a few of us
old amateurs in Paris, who are too old and impatient
to hunt for truffles, but who want them of such and
such a flavor, exactly to our taste. Now Julot knows
our tastes, our various fancies, and he undertakes — "
"Capital! capital!"
* Epicure. Gueule is a vulgarism.
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