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 '4tftyr^At-f»03 ^. H Vf-ii^r^Si^nrif 
 
 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? 
 
 i3 
 
 ''I 
 
 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.
 
 94 
 
 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.
 
 96 
 
 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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