henrey albert rene guy de maupassant - vol 10

7/31/2019 Henrey Albert Rene Guy de Maupassant - Vol 10

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Volume Ten O f

T H E EN T IRE OT H E EN T IRE OT H E EN T IRE OT H E EN T IRE OT H E EN T IRE O RIGINALRIGINALRIGINALRIGINALRIGINAL

M AM AM AM AM AU PU PU PU PU PA SSA N T SH OA SSA N T SH OA SSA N T SH OA SSA N T SH OA S SA N T SH O RRRRRT S TOT S TOT S TOT S TOT S TO RIESRIESRIESRIESRIESby

G uy de Maupassant

Translated by

A LBERT M. C. McMA STER, B.A.

A. E. HEN DERSON , B.A.

MME. QU ESADA and Oth ers

A n Electron ic C lassics Series Publication



T H E EN T IRE ORIGIN AL M AUPASSAN T SHO RT STO RIES, Volume Tenby Guy de Maupassant,trans. ALBERT M . C. McMAST ER, B.A.; A. E. H EN D ERSO N , B.A.; M M E. QUESAD A and O thersis a publication of The Electronic Classics Series. This Portable Document file is furnished free andwithout any charge of any kind. Any person using this docum ent file, for any pu rpose, and in any way

does so at his or her own risk. Neither the Pennsylvania State University nor Jim Manis, Editor, noranyon e associated with th e Pennsylvania State Un iversity assumes any responsibility for the m aterialcontained within the docum ent or for th e file as an electronic transmission, in any way.

T H E EN T IRE ORIGIN AL M AUPASSAN T SHO RT STO RIES, Volume Tenby Guy de Maupassant,trans. ALBERT M . C. McMAST ER, B.A.; A. E. H EN D ERSO N , B.A.; M M E. QUESAD A and O thers ,

T he Electronic Classics Series, Jim M anis, Editor, PSU-H azleton, H azleton, PA 18202 is a PortableD ocum ent File produced as part of an ongoing publication project to bring classical works of literature,in English, to free and easy access of those wishing to make use of them.

Jim Manis is a faculty member of the English Department of The Pennsylvania State University. This pageand any preceding page(s) are restricted by copyright. The text of the following pages are not copyrightedwithin the United States; however, the fonts used may be.

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Contents

VOLUME X ... . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .THE CHRI STENI NG .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4

THE FARMER’S WIFE .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8

THE DEVIL . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 14

THE SNI PE. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 20

THE WILL.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 22

WALTER SCHNAFFS’ ADVENTURE... . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2 6

AT SEA .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3 3

MINUET . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 37

THE SON . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4 1

THAT PI G OF A MORI N . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 49

SAINT ANTHONY . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5 8

LASTI NG LOVE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 65

PI ERROT . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6 9

A NORMANDY JOKE .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7 4

FATHER MATTHEW .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 77



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VOLUME X

THE CHRI STENI NG

“ Well doctor, a lit t le brandy?”“ Wit h pleasure.”The old ship’s surgeon, h oldin g out his glass, wat ched it as

it slowly fil led wit h t he golden liquid. Then, holding it i n frontof his eyes, he let the light from the lamp stream through it,smelled it , t ast ed a few drops and smacked hi s lips wit h relish.Then he said:

“Ah! t he charming poi son! Or rat her th e seductive murderer,the delightful destroyer of peoples!

“ You people do not know i t t he way I do. You may have readthat admirable book entitled L’Assommoir, but you have not,as I have, seen alcohol ext erminat e a whole t ribe of savages, alit tl e kingdom of negroes— alcohol calmly unl oaded by t he barrelby red-b earded English seamen.

“Right near here, in a little village in Brittany near Pont-l’Abbe, I once witnessed a strange and terrible tragedy caused

by alcohol. I was spending my vacation in a little counhouse left me by my father. You know t his flat coast wherewind whi stles day and ni ght , where one sees, standi ng or prothese giant rocks which in the olden times were regarded

guardians, and which still retain something majestic and posing about them. I always expect to see them come to land st art t o walk across the country wi t h t he slow and pondous tread of giants, or to unfold enormous granite wings afly t oward th e paradise of t he Druids.

“Everywhere is the sea, always ready on the slightest procation to rise in its anger and shake its foamy mane at thobold enough to brave its wrath.

“And the men who travel on this terrible sea, which, wone motion of its green back, can overturn and swallow their frail barks— they go out i n t he li t t le boats, day and nihardy, weary and drunk. They are often drunk. They havsaying which says: ‘When the bottle is full you see the r

but when it is empty you see it no more.’“Go into one of their huts; you will never find the fa

t here. I f you ask t he woman what has become of her husbashe wil l stret ch her arms out over th e dark ocean wh ich rumband roars along t he coast . He remained, t here one night, whhe had had t oo much t o drink; so did her oldest son. She h

T he Christenin g



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Gu y de M aupassant

four more big, strong, fair-haired boys. Soon it will be theirtime.

“As I said, I was living in a little house near Pont-l’Abbe. Iwas there alone with my servant, an old sailor, and with a

nati ve family which t ook care of the grounds in my absence. I tconsisted of three persons, two sisters and a man, who hadmarried one of them, and who attended to the garden.

“A short time before Christmas my gardener’s wife presentedhim wit h a boy. The husband asked me to stand as god-fat her.I could hardly deny t he request , and so he borrowed t en francsfrom me for the cost of the christening, as he said.

“The second day of January was chosen as the date of theceremony. For a week the earth had been covered by an enor-mous white carpet of snow, which made this flat, low countryseem vast and limitless. The ocean appeared to be black incontrast wit h t his whit e plain; one could see it rolling, ragingand tossing it s waves as t hough wi shing to anni hil ate it s pale

neighbor, which appeared to be dead, it was so calm, quietand cold.

“At n ine o’clock the fat her, Kerandec, came to my door wit hhis sister-in- law, t he big Kermagan, and t he nurse, wh o carriedt he infant wrapped up in a blanket . We st arted for t he church.The weather was so cold th at i t seemed t o dry up t he skin and

crack it open. I was thinking of the poor l i t t le creature wwas being carried on ahead of us, and I said t o myself t hat tBret on race must surely be of i ron, i f t heir chil dren were aas soon as t hey were born, t o stand such an out ing.

“ We came t o t he church, bu t t he door was closed; t he priwas late.

“ Then t he nurse sat down on one of t he st eps and began undress the child. At first I thought there must have besome slight accident, but I saw that they were leaving tpoor little fellow naked completely naked, in the icy air. Fous at such i mprudence, I protested:

“ ‘Why, you are crazy! You wi ll ki ll t he child! ’“The woman answered quietly: ‘Oh, no, sir; he must w

naked before t he Lord.’“The father and the aunt looked on undisturbed. It was

custom. If it were not adhered to misfortune was sure to tend the li t t l e one.

“I scolded, threatened and pleaded. I used force to try cover the frail creature. All was in vain. The nurse ran awfrom me through the snow, and the body of the li t t le oturned purple. I was about to leave these brutes when I sthe priest coming across the country, followed. by the sexand a young boy. I ran towards him and gave vent t o my ind



6

nation . He showed no surprise nor did he quicken his pace inthe least. He answered:

“‘What can you expect, sir? It’s the custom. They all do it,and it’s of no use trying to stop them.’

“‘But at least hurry up!’ I cried.“He answered: ‘But I can’t go any faster.’“He entered the vestry, while we remained outside on the

church steps. I was suffering. But what about the poor l i t t l ecreature who was howling from the effects of the biting cold.

“At last the door opened. He went int o t he church. But t hepoor child had to remain naked throughout the ceremony. Itwas intermi nable. The priest stammered over the Latin wordsand mispronounced them horribly. He walked slowly and witha ponderous tread. Hi s whit e surplice chilled my heart. I t seemedas t hough, in t he name of a pit iless and barbarous god, he hadwrapped himself in another kind of snow in order to tortureth is l i t t le piece of humanit y t hat suffered so from t he cold.

“Finally the christening was finished according to the ritesand I saw t he nurse once more take the f rozen, moaning chi ldand wrap it up i n t he blanket .

“ The priest said t o me: ‘Do you wi sh to sign t he register?’“Turning to my gardener, I said: ‘Hurry up and get home

quickly so that you can warm that child.’ I gave him some

advice so as to ward off, i f not t oo lat e, a bad att ack of pnmonia. He promised to f ollow my instructions and left witsist er-in- law and t he nurse. I foll owed the priest i nt o th e try, and when I had signed he demanded five francs for e

penses.“As I had already given the father ten francs, I refused

pay twice. The priest threatened to destroy the paper and annul the ceremony. I , in turn, threatened him with the dtrict attorney. The dispute was long, and I finally paid francs.

“As soon as I reached home I went down to Kerandec’sfind out whether everything was all right. Neither father,sist er-in- law, nor n urse had yet returned. The mot her, who remained alone, was in bed, shivering wit h cold and starvifor she had had nothing to eat since the day before.

“‘Where the deuce can they have gone?’ I asked. She aswered wi t hout surprise or anger, ‘They’re goin g t o drin k so

th ing t o celebrate: It was the custom. Then I t hought, often francs which were to pay the church and would doubtlpay for the alcohol.

“ I sent some broth t o the mot her and ordered a good firebe built in the room. I was uneasy and furious and promimyself to drive out these brutes, wondering with terror w

T he Christenin g



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Gu y de M aupassant

was going to h appen t o t he poor infant.“ I t was already six, and they had not yet returned. I told my

servant to wait for them and I went to bed. I soon fell asleepand slept like a top. At daybreak I was awakened by my ser-

vant, who was bringing me my hot water.“As soon as my eyes were open I asked: ‘How about Kerandec?’“ The man hesit at ed and then st ammered: ‘Oh! he came back,

all right, aft er midnight, and so drunk th at he couldn’t walk,and so were Kermagan and the nurse. I guess they must haveslept in a ditch, for the little one died and they never evennoticed it.’

“ I jumped up out of bed, crying:“‘What! The child is dead?’“‘Yes, sir. They brought it back to Mother Kerandec. When

she saw it she began t o cry, and now t hey are making her drinkto console her.’

“ ‘What’s th at? They are making her drink! ’

“ ‘Yes, sir. I only f ound it out t his morni ng. As Kerandec hadno more brandy or money, he took some wood alcohol, wh ichmonsieur gave him f or th e lamp, and all four of t hem are nowdrinking that. The mother is feeling pretty sick now.’

“ I had hast ily put on some clot hes, and seizing a st ick, wit hthe int ention of applying it t o t he backs of t hese human beast s,

I hastened towards the gardener’s house.“The mother was raving drunk beside the blue body of

dead baby. Kerandec, t he nurse, and t he Kermagan wo man wsnoring on the floor. I had to take care of the mother, w

died towards noon.”The old doctor was silent . He took up t he brandy-bot t le

poured out another glass. He held it up to the lamp, and tl ight streaming through it imparted to the liquid the amcolor of molt en to paz. Wit h one gulp he swallowed t he treerous drink.



8

THE FARMER’S WI FE

Said t he Baron Rene du Treill es to me:“Will you come and open the hunting season with me at my

farm at Marinville? I shall be delighted if you will, my dearboy. In the first place, I am all alone. It is rather a difficultground to get at , and the place I l i ve in is so primit ive that Ican in vit e only my most int imate friends.”

I accepted his invitation, and on Saturday we set off on thetrain going to Normandy. We alighted at a station calledAlmivare, and Baron Rene, pointing to a carryall drawn by atimid horse and driven by a big countryman with white hair,said:

“Here is our equipage, my dear boy.”

The driver ext ended hi s hand to his landlord, and t he baronpressed it warmly, asking:

“Well, Maitre Lebrument, how are you?”“Always the same, M’sieu le Baron.”We jumped int o th is swingi ng hencoop perched on t wo enor-

mous wheels, and the young horse, after a violent swerve,

started into a gallop, pitching us into the air like balls. Evfall backward on t he wooden bench gave me the most dreadpain.

The peasant kept repeati ng i n hi s calm, monot onous voi

“There, there! All right all right, Moutard, all right!”But Moutard scarcely heard, and kept capering along lik

goat.Our two dogs behind us, in the empty part of the henco

were standing up and sniff ing t he air of t he plains, where tscent ed game.

The baron gazed wit h a sad eye int o t he distance at t he vaNorman l andscape, undul ati ng and melancholy, like an i mmeEnglish p ark, where the f armyards, surrounded by t wo or frows of trees and full of dwarfed apple trees which hid houses, gave a vi sta as far as t he eye could see of fo rest t reecopses and shrubbery such as landscape gardeners look for laying out t he boundaries of princely est ates.

And Rene du Treill es suddenly exclaimed:“I love this soil; I have my very roots in i t .”He was a pure Norman, tall and strong, with a slight paun

and of t he old race of advent urers who went t o found ki ngdon the shores of every ocean. He was about fifty years of at en years less perhaps th an t he farmer who was driving us.

T he Farmer’s W ife



9

Gu y de M aupassant

The latter was a lean peasant, all skin and bone, one ofthose men who live a hundred years.

Aft er two h ours’ t ravelli ng over stony roads, across that greenand monotonous plain, the vehicle entered one of those or-

chard farmyards and drew up before in old structure fallingint o decay, where an old maid-servant st ood wait ing beside ayoung fellow, who t ook charge of t he horse.

We entered the farmhouse. The smoky kitchen was high andspacious. The copper utensils and the crockery shone in thereflection of the hearth. A cat lay asleep on a chair, a dogunder t he t able. One perceived an odo r of mi lk, appl es, smoke,that indescribable smell peculiar to old farmhouses; the odorof t he earth, of t he walls, of furni t ure, t he odor of spilled st alesoup, of former wash-days and of f ormer inhabi t ants, th e smellof animals and of human beings combined, of things and ofpersons, the odor of t ime, and of t hi ngs that have passed away.

I went out t o have a look at t he farmyard. I t was very large,

full of apple trees, dwarfed and crooked, and laden with fruitwhich fell on the grass around them. In this farmyard theNorman smell of apples was as st rong as that of t he bloom oforange trees on the shores of the south of France.

Four rows of beeches surrounded this inclosure. They wereso tall that they seemed to touch the clouds at this hour of

nightfall , and their summits, through which the night wpassed, swayed and sang a mournful , i nt erminable song.

I reentered t he house.The baron was warming h is feet at t he fire, and was list

ing t o t he farmer’s talk about count ry matt ers. He talked abmarriages, births and deaths, then about the fall in the prof grain and the latest news about cattle. The “Veularde” he called a cow that had been bought at the fair of Veulehad calved in t he middle of June. The cider had not been ficlass last year. Apricots were almost disappearing from country.

Then we had dinner. It was a good rustic meal, simple aabundant, long and tranquil. And while we were dining Iticed the special kind of friendly familiarity which had stme from the start between the baron and the peasant.

Outside, the beeches continued sighing in the night winand our two dogs, shut up in a shed, were whining and ho

ing in an uncanny fashion. The fire was dying out in the fi replace. The maid-servant h ad gone to bed. Mait re Lebrumsaid in his turn:

“I f you don’t mi nd, M’sieu le Baron, I ’m going t o bed.not used to staying up late.”

The baron extended hi s hand tow ard him and said: “ Go,



10

friend,” in so cordial a tone that I said, as soon as the manhad 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, th at at t aches him t o me. Here isthe story:“ You know t hat m y father was colonel in a cavalry regiment .

His orderly was thi s young fellow, now an old man, t he son ofa farmer. When my father retired from the army he took thisformer soldier, then about forty; as his servant. I was at thatt ime about t hirt y. We were living i n our old chat eau of Valrenne,near Caudebec-en-Caux.

“At this period my mother ’s chambermaid was one of theprett iest girls you could see, fair- haired, slender and spright lyin manner, a genuine soubrette of the old type that no longerexists. To-day these creatures spring up into hussies beforetheir time. Paris, with the aid of the railways, attracts them,

calls them, takes hold of them, as soon as they are buddingint o womanhood, these li t t le sluts who i n old t imes remainedsimpl e maid- servant s. Every man passin g by, as recruit ing ser-geants did formerly, looking for recruits, with conscripts, en-ti ces and ruins them — t hese foolish lassies— and we havenow onl y t he scum of t he female sex for servant maids, all t hat

is dull, nasty, common and ill-formed, too ugly, even for lantry.

“ Well, t his girl w as charming, and I oft en gave her a kisdark corners; not hin g more, I swear to you! She was virtuo

besides; and I had some respect for my mother’s house, whis more th an can be said of t he blackguards of t he present d“Now, it happened that my man-servant, the ex-soldier,

old farmer you have just seen, fell madly in l ove wit h t his perfectly daft. The first thing we noticed was that he foreverything, he paid no att ention t o anyth ing.

“ My father said incessant ly:“ ‘See here, Jean, wh at’s the matt er wit h you? Are you il“ He replied:“‘No, no, M’sieu le Baron. There’s nothing the matter

me.’“He grew thin; he broke glasses and let plates fall wh

wait ing on t he table. We thought he must h ave been at t ack

by some nervous affecti on, and sent for t he doctor, who t houhe could detect symptoms of spinal disease. Then my fathfull of anxiet y about his fait hful m an-servant, decided to phim in a private hospital. When the poor fellow heard offather ’s int ention s he made a clean breast of i t .

“ ‘M’sieu le Baron’




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Gu y de M aupassant

“‘Well, my boy?’“ ‘You see, the t hing I want is not physic.’“ ‘Ha! wh at is i t , t hen?’“‘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 jackass, you’re to love.’“‘That’s how it is, M’sieu le Baron.’“And my father began to laugh so immoderately that my

mother called out t hrough the wall of t he next room:“‘What in the world is the matter with you, Gontran?’“ He replied:“‘Come here, Catherine.’“And when she came in he told her, with tears in his eyes

from sheer laught er, t hat his idiot of a servant-man w as lovesick.“But my mother, instead of laughing, was deeply affected.

“‘Who is i t that you have fallen in love with, my poor fel-low?’ she asked.

“ He answered wit hout hesit ation:“ ‘Wit h Louise, Madame le Baron ne.’“My mother said with the utmost gravity: ‘We must try to

arrange thi s matt er the best w ay we can.’

“ So Louise was sent for and questioned by my mot her; ashe said in reply t hat she knew all about Jean’s liki ng f or t hat i n fact Jean had spoken to her about i t several ti mes, bthat she did not want him. She refused to say why.

“And two mont hs elapsed during which my fat her and monever ceased to urge this girl to marry Jean. As she declarshe was not in lo ve wit h any other man, she could not give serious reason for her refusal. My father at last overcame resistance by means of a big present of money, and started tpair of them on a farm— th is very farm. I did not see themthree years, and then I learned that Louise had died of cosumption. But my father and mother died, too, in their t uand it was two years more before I found myself face to fwit h Jean.

“At last one autumn day about the end of October the idcame into my head to go hunting on this part of my estawhich my father had told me was full of game.

“ So one evenin g, one wet evening, I arrived at t his houswas shocked t o fi nd my fat her’s old servant wi th perfectly whair, though he was not m ore t han fort y-fi ve or fort y-six yof age. I made him dine with me, at the very table whereare now sitting. It was raining hard. We could hear the rbatt ering at the roof, the walls, and the windows, flowi ng



12

perfect deluge into the farmyard; and my dog was howling inthe shed where the other dogs are howling to-night.

“All of a sudden, when the servant-maid had gone to bed,the man said in a timid voice:

“‘M’sieu le Baron.’“ ‘What is it , my dear Jean?’“ ‘I have something t o t ell you.’“‘Tell it, my dear Jean.’“ ‘You rememb er Louise, my wi fe.’“ ‘Certai nly, I remember her.’“‘Well, she left me a message for you.’“ ‘What was it ?’“ ‘A— a— well, i t was what you might call a confession.’“ ‘Ha— and what was it about?’“ ‘I t was— it was— I ’d rather, all the same, t ell you nothing

about i t — but I must— I must . Well, i t ’s this— it wasn’t con-sumption she died of at all . I t was grief— well, that ’s the long

and short of it. As soon as she came to live here after we weremarried, she grew t hin ; she changed so t hat you wouldn’t knowher, M’sieu l e Baron. She was just as I w as before I m arried her,but i t was just t he opposit e, just t he opposit e.

“‘I sent for the doctor. He said it was her liver that wasaffected— he said it was what he called a “ hepatic” complaint —

I don’t know these big words, M’sieu le Baron. Then I bomedicine for her, heaps on heaps of bottles that cost abot hree hundred francs. But she’d take none of t hem; she wouldhave them; she said: “ I t ’s no use, my poor Jean; i t wouldn’

me any good.” I saw well that she had some hidden trouband then I found her one ti me crying, and I didn’t know wto do, no, I didn’t know what to do. I bought her caps, dresses, and hair oil, and earrings. Nothing did her any goAnd I saw that she was going to die. And so one night at end of November, one snowy nigh t , aft er she had been in bt he whole day, she told me to send for t he cure. So I went him . As soon as he came— ’

“‘Jean,’ she said, ‘I am going to make a confession to yoowe it to you, Jean. I have never been false to you, nevenever, before or after you married me. M’sieu le Cure is thand can t ell you so; he knows my soul. Well, li sten, Jean. am dying, it is because I was not able to console myself

leaving the chateau, because I was too fond of the youBaron Monsieur Rene, t oo fond of hi m, m ind you , Jean, t hwas no harm in it! This is the thing that’s killing me. Whcould see him no more I felt t hat I should die. I f I could have seen him, I might have lived, only seen him, nothmore. I wish you’d tell him some day, by and by, when I am


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longer here. You wi ll t ell hi m, swear you, wi ll, Jean— swearit — in t he presence of M’sieu le Cure! It will console me toknow that he will know it one day, that this was the cause ofmy death! Swear it!’

“‘Well, I gave her my promise, M’sieu It Baron, and on thefaith of an honest man I have kept my word.’

“And t hen he ceased speaking, hi s eyes fi lli ng wi t h t ears.“Good God! my dear boy, you can’t form any idea of the

emotion that fi l led me when I heard this poor devil , whosewife I had killed wit hout suspecti ng it , tell ing me th is story onthat wet night in this very kitchen.

“I exclaimed: ‘Ah! my poor Jean! my poor Jean!’“ He murmured: ‘Well, t hat’s all, M’sieu le Baron. I could not

help it , one way or t he other— and now it ’s all over!’“I caught his hand across the table, and I began to weep.“He asked, ‘Will you come and see her grave?’ I nodded as-

sent, for I couldn’t speak. He rose, lighted a lantern, and we

walked through the blinding rain by t he light of t he lantern.“He opened a gate, and I saw some crosses of black wood.“Suddenly he stopped before a marble slab and said: ‘There

it is,’ and he flashed t he lantern close to it so that I could readthe inscript ion:

“ ‘TO LOUI SE HORTENSE MARI NET,“‘Wife of Jean-Francois Lebrument, Farmer,

“ ‘SHE WAS A FAI THFUL WI FE. GOD REST HER SOUL

“We fell on our knees in the damp grass, he and I, with lantern between us, and I saw the rain beati ng on t he whmarble slab. And I thought of the heart of her sleeping thin her grave. Ah! poor heart! poor heart! Since then I cohere every year. And I don’t know why, but I feel as if I wguilty of some crime in the presence of this man who alwlooks as if he forgave me.”

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THE DEVI L

The peasant and the doctor stood on opposite sides of thebed, beside the old, dying woman. She was calm and resignedand her mind quit e clear as she looked at t hem and listened t ot heir conversati on. She was going t o die, and she did not rebelat it, for her time was come, as she was ninety-two.

The July sun streamed in at the window and the open doorand cast it s hot fl ames on the uneven brown clay floor, whi ch

had been stamped down by four generations of clodhoppers.The smell of t he fields came in also, driven by t he sharp windand parched by the noontide heat. The grass-hoppers chirpedt hemselves hoarse, and fil led the count ry wit h t heir shrill noi se,which was like that of t he wooden toys which are sold to chil -dren at fair time.

The doctor raised his voice and said: “Honore, you cannotleave your mother in this state; she may die at any moment.”And the peasant, in great distress, replied: “But I must get inmy wheat, for it has been lying on t he ground a long t ime, andthe weather is just right for i t ; what do you say about i t ,mother?” And the dying old woman, sti l l tormented by her

Norman avariciousness, repli ed yes wit h her eyes and her fohead, and t hus urged her son t o get i n hi s wheat, and to l eaher to die alone.

But the doctor got angry, and, stamping his foot, he sa“You are no better than a brute, do you hear, and I will nallow you to do it, do you understand? And if you must geyour wheat t oday, go and fet ch Rapet’s wif e and make her laft er your mot her; I w ill h ave it , do you understand me? Ayou do not o bey me, I will let you di e like a dog, when youill in your turn; do you hear?”

The peasant, a tall, thin fellow with slow movements, w

was t ormented by indecision, by his fear of t he doctor andfierce love of saving, hesitated, calculated, and stammerout: “How much does La Rapet charge for attending speople?” “How should I know?” the doctor cried. “Thatpends upon how long she is needed. Settle it with her, Heaven! But I want her to be here within an hour, do y

hear?”So t he man decided. “ I will go for her,” he replied; “ don’

angry, doctor.” And the latt er left , calling out as he went:careful, be very careful, you know, for I do not joke when angry!” As soon as they were alone the peasant turned to mother and said in a resigned voice: “I will go and fetch

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Rapet, as the man will have it. Don’t worry till I get back.”And he went out in hi s turn.La Rapet, old was an old washerwoman, watched the dead

and the dying of the neighborhood, and then, as soon as shehad sewn her customers int o t hat l i nen cloth from whi ch t heywould emerge no more, she went and too k up her iron t o smoothout the linen of the living. Wrinkled like a last year ’s apple,spiteful , envious, avaricious wit h a phenomenal avarice, bentdouble, as if she had been broken in half across the loins bythe constant motion of passing the iron over the linen, onemight have said that she had a kind of abnormal and cynical

love of a death struggle. She never spoke of anything but ofthe people she had seen die, of the various kinds of deaths atwhich she had been present , and she related w it h t he great estmin ut eness details whi ch were always simi lar, just as a sport s-man recounts hi s luck.

When Honore Bontemps entered her cottage, he found her

preparing the starch for the collars of the women villagers,and he said: “ Good-evening; I hope you are pret t y well, Mot herRapet?”

She turned her head round to look at him, and said: “Asusual, as usual, and you?” “Oh! as for me, I am as well as Icould wish, but my mother is not well.” “Your mother?” “Yes,

my mother!” “ What is t he matt er with her?” “She is gointurn up her toes, t hat’s what’s the matt er with her!”

The old woman took her hands out of the water and askwit h sudden sympath y: “ I s she as bad as all t hat ?” “ The dosays she will not last t ill morning. ” “ Then she certai nly isbad!” Honore hesitat ed, for he wanted t o make a few prepat ory remarks before coming t o his proposition ; but as he cohit upon nothing, he made up his mind suddenly.

“How much will you ask to stay with her till the end? know th at I am not rich, and I can not even afford to keeservant girl . I t is just th at which has brought my poor mo

to th is stat e— too much worry and fatigue! She did the wof ten, in spite of her ninety-two years. You don’t find made of that stuff nowadays!”

La Rapet answered gravely: “ There are t wo pri ces: Forty sby day and t hree francs by night for t he rich, and tw enty sby day and forty by n ight for t he others. You shall pay me

twenty and forty.” But the, peasant reflected, for he knewmot her well. He knew how t enacious of li fe, how vigorousunyielding she was, and she might last anoth er week, in spof t he doctor ’s opini on; and so he said resolut ely: “ No, I wrather you would fi x a price for t he whole time unti l t he ewill take my chance, one way or the other. The doctor says

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will di e very soon. I f t hat happens, so much the bett er for you,and so much the worse for her, but if she holds out till to-morrow or longer, so much t he bett er for her and so much th eworse for you!”

The nurse looked at the man in astonishment, for she hadnever treated a death as a speculation, and she hesitated,tempted by the idea of the possible gain, but she suspectedth at he wanted to play her a trick. “ I can say nothi ng unti l Ihave seen your mother,” she replied.

“Then come with me and see her.”She washed her hands, and went wit h hi m i mmediately.

They did not speak on t he road; she walked wit h short, h ast ysteps, while he strode on with his long legs, as if he werecrossing a brook at every step.

The cows lying down in the fields, overcome by the heat,raised th eir heads heavily and lowed f eebly at t he t wo passers-by, as if to ask them for some green grass.

When t hey got near the ho use, Honore Bont emps murmured:“ Suppose it is all over?” And his unconscious wish t hat i t mightbe so showed itself i n t he sound of hi s voice.

But t he old woman w as not dead. She was lying on h er back,on her wretched bed, her hands covered with a purple cottoncounterpane, horribly thin, knotty hands, like the claws of

strange anim als, li ke crabs, h alf closed by rheumatism, fatiand t he work of nearly a century w hich she had accomplish

La Rapet went up t o t he bed and looked at t he dying womfelt her pulse, tapped her on the chest , li stened to her breating, and asked her questions, so as to hear her speak; anthen, having looked at her for some time, she went out of room, followed by Honore. Her decided opinion was thatold woman would not last t ill n ight . He asked: “Well?” Ansick-nurse replied: “ Well, she may last t wo days, perhaps thYou wi ll h ave to gi ve me six f rancs, everythi ng i ncluded.”

“Six francs! six francs!” he shouted. “Are you out of y

mind? I tell you she cannot last more than five or six houAnd t hey disputed angrily for some ti me, but as the nurse sshe must go home, as the t ime was going b y, and as his whewould not come to the farmyard of its own accord, he finagreed to her terms.

“ Very well, t hen, t hat i s sett led; six francs, includi ng ev

th ing, unt il t he corpse is taken out.”And he went away, wit h long strides, to hi s wheat whi ch

lying on t he ground under the hot sun which ripens t he grawhile the sick-nurse went in again to the house.

She had brought some work wi t h her, for she worked wit hceasing by t he side of t he dead and dying, somet imes for h

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self, sometimes for the family which employed her as seam-stress and paid her rather more in that capacity. Suddenly, sheasked: “Have you received the las t sacraments , MotherBontemps?”

The old peasant woman shook her head, and La Rapet, whowas very devout, got up quickly:

“ Good heavens, is it possible? I w ill go and fetch t he cure”;and she rushed off to the parsonage so quickly that the ur-chins in t he st reet th ought some accident had happened, whenthey saw her running.

The priest came immediately in his surplice, preceded by a

choir boy w ho rang a bell t o announce t he passage of t he Hostthrough the parched and quiet country. Some men who wereworking at a distance took off their large hats and remainedmotionless until the white vestment had disappeared behindsome farm buildings; the women who were making up thesheaves st ood up t o make the sign of t he cross; the fri ght ened

black hens ran away along t he dit ch unt il t hey reached a well-known hole, through which they suddenly disappeared, whilea foal which was tied in a meadow took fright at the sight oft he surplice and began t o gallop round and round, kicki ng cutevery now and then. The acolyte, in his red cassock, walkedquickly, and th e priest, wi t h hi s head inclined t oward one shoul-

der and his square biretta on his head, followed him, mutting some prayers; while last of all came La Rapet, bent almdouble as if she wished to prostrate herself, as she walkwith folded hands as they do in church.

Honore saw t hem pass in t he dist ance, and he asked: “ Wheis our priest going?” His man, who was more intelligent,plied: “ He is taking t he sacrament t o your mot her, of cour

The peasant was not surprised, and said: “That may be,” awent on wit h his work.

Mother Bont emps confessed, received absoluti on and comunion, and the priest took his departure, leaving the t

women alone in t he suffocat ing room, w hil e La Rapet begalook at the dying woman, and to ask herself whether it colast much longer.

The day was on the wane, and gusts of cooler air began blow, causing a view of Epinal, w hich w as fast ened to t he by tw o pins, to f lap up and down; t he scanty window curt a

which h ad formerly been whi t e, but were now yellow and ered wit h fly- specks, looked as if t hey were going to f ly ofif t hey were st ruggling t o get away, li ke the old woman’s s

Lying mot ionl ess, wi t h her eyes open, she seemed t o awwit h indi ff erence that deat h whi ch was so near and which delayed its coming. Her short breathing whistled in her c

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stricted th roat . It would st op altogether soon, and there wouldbe one woman less in t he world; no on e would regret her.

At nightfall Honore returned, and when he went up to thebed and saw th at hi s mother was stil l alive, he asked: “How i sshe?” j ust as he had done formerly when she had been ailing,and then he sent La Rapet away, saying to her: “To-morrowmorning at five o’clock, without fail.” And she replied: “To-morrow, at fi ve o’clock.”

She came at daybreak, and found Honore eating his soup,which h e had made him self before going t o work, and t he sick-nurse asked him: “Well, is your mother dead?” “She is rather

better, on the contrary,” he replied, with a sly look out of thecorner of h is eyes. And he went out .

La Rapet, seized wit h anxiety, went up t o t he dying woman,who remained in t he same st ate, leth argic and im passive, wi t hher eyes open and her hands clut ching t he count erpane. Thenurse perceived that this might go on thus for two days, four

days, eight days, and her avaricious mi nd was seized wit h f ear,while she was furious at the sly fellow who had tricked her,and at the woman who would not die.

Nevertheless, she began to work, and waited, looking in-t ently at t he wrinkled face of Mot her Bont emps. When Honoreret urned to breakfast he seemed quit e sati sfied and even i n a

bantering hum or. He was decidedly gett ing i n hi s wheat unvery favorable circumstances.

La Rapet was becoming exasperated; every minute noseemed to her so much time and money stolen from her. Sfelt a mad inclination to take thi s old woman, t his, headstrold fool, this obstinate old wretch, and to stop that shorapid breath, which w as robbing her of her t ime and moneysqueezing her throat a little. But then she reflected on tdanger of doing so, and ot her though t s came into her head;she went up to the bed and said: “Have you ever seen thDevil?” Mother Bont emps murmured: “ No.”

Then t he sick-nurse began to t alk and to t ell her tales whwere likely t o t errify t he weak mind of t he dying woman. Smi nut es before one dies the Devil appears, she said, t o all ware in t he deat h t hroes. He has a broom in his hand, a saucpan on his head, and he utters loud cries. When anybody sehim , all i s over, and t hat person has only a f ew moments lon

t o live. She then enumerat ed all those to w hom t he Devil appeared that year: Josephine Loisel, Eulalie Ratier, SophPadaknau, Seraphine Grospied.

Mother Bontemps, who had at l ast become disturbed in mimoved about, wrung her hands, and tried to turn her headlook toward the end of the room. Suddenly La Rapet dis

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y p

peared at the foot of the bed. She took a sheet out of thecupboard and wrapped herself up in it ; she put t he iron sauce-pan on her head, so that it s three short bent f eet rose up likehorns, and she t ook a broom in her right hand and a tin pail inher left , which she threw up suddenly, so that i t might fall tothe ground noisily.

When it came down, it cert ainly made a terrible noise. Then,climbing upon a chair, the nurse lifted up the curtain whichhung at the bottom of the bed, and showed herself, gesticu-lating and uttering shrill cries into the iron saucepan whichcovered her face, while she menaced the old peasant woman,

who was nearly dead, wi t h her broom.Terrified, with an insane expression on her face, the dying

woman made a superhuman effort to get up and escape; sheeven got her shoulders and chest out of bed; t hen she fell backwith a deep sigh. All was over, and La Rapet calmly put every-thing back into its place; the broom into the corner by the

cupboard t he sheet inside it , t he saucepan on the hearth, t hepail on the floor, and the chair against the wall. Then, withprofessional movements, she closed the dead woman’s largeeyes, put a plate on t he bed and poured some holy water int oit , placing in i t the twig of boxwood that had been nailed tothe chest of drawers, and kneeling down, she fervently re-

peated t he prayers for t he dead, whi ch she knew by h eart, amatt er of business.

And when Honore returned in t he evening he found her pring, and he calculated im mediately t hat she had made twensows out of him, for she had only spent three days and onight there, which made five francs altogether, instead of six which he owed her.

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THE SNI PE

Old Baron des Ravots had for forty years been the championsportsman of his province. But a stroke of paralysis had kepthim in his chair for the last five or six years. He could nowonly shoot pigeons from the window of his drawing-room orfrom the top of his high doorsteps.

He spent his time in reading.He was a good-natured business man, who had much of t he lit er-

ary spirit of a former century. He worshipped anecdotes, those littlerisque anecdotes, and also true stories of events that happened inhis neighborhood. As soon as a friend came to see him he asked:

“Well, anything new?”And he knew how to worm out information li ke an examining

lawyer.

On sunny days he had his large reclining chair, similar to abed, wheeled to t he hall door. A man servant behind h im heldhis guns, loaded t hem and handed them t o hi s mast er. Anot hervalet, hidden in the bushes, let f ly a pigeon from t ime to t imeat i rregular int ervals, so t hat t he baron should be un preparedand be always on t he watch.

And from morning till night he fired at the birds, muchnoyed if he were taken by surprise and laughing till he crwhen the animal fell straight to the earth or, turned oversome comical and unexpected manner. He would turn to tman who was loading the gun and say, almost choking wlaughter:

“ Did th at get him , Joseph? Did you see how he fell?” Josinvariably replied:

“Oh, monsieur le baron never misses them.”In autumn, when the shooting season opened, he invit

his friends as he had done formerly, and loved to hear th

firing in the distance. He counted the shots and was pleaswhen t hey followed each ot her rapidly. And in t he eveningmade each guest give a faithful account of his day. They mained three hours at table telling about their sport.

They were st range and imp robable adventures in wh ich tromancing spirit of the sportsmen delighted. Some of th

were memorable stori es and were repeated regularl y. The stoof a rabbit that l i t t le Vicomte de Bourril had missed invest ibule convulsed t hem wi t h l aughter each year anew. Evfive minutes a fresh speaker would say:

“I heard ‘birr! birr!’ and a magnificent covey rose at paces from me. I aimed. Pif! paf! and I saw a shower, a v

p

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table shower of birds. There were seven of them!”And they all went into raptures, amazed, but reciprocally

credulous.But t here was an old cust om in t he house called “The St ory

of t he Snipe.”Whenever this queen of birds was in season the same cer-

emony took place at each din ner. As t hey worshipped t his in -comparable bird, each guest ate one every evening, but theheads were all left in the dish.

Then the baron, acting the part of a bishop, had a platebrought t o him cont aining a lit t le fat, and he carefully anoint ed

the precious heads, holding them by the tip of their slender,needle-li ke beak. A l ight ed candle was placed beside him andeveryone was silent in an anxiety of expectation.

Then he took one of the heads thus prepared, stuck a pinthrough it and stuck the pin on a cork, keeping the wholecontrivance steady by means of little crossed sticks, and care-

fully placed t his object on t he neck of a bottl e in t he mannerof a tourniquet.

All the guests counted simultaneously in a loud tone—“One-two-three.”And the baron with a fi l l ip of t he finger made this t oy whirl

round.

The guest to whom the long beak pointed when the hestopped became the possessor of all t he heads, a f east fi t foking, which made his neighbors look askance.

He took t hem one by one and t oast ed them over t he candThe grease sputtered, the roasting flesh smoked and the lucwin ner at e the head, holdin g it by t he beak and utt ering exmations of enjoyment.

And at each head t he diners, raising t heir glasses, drank his health .

When he had finished the last head he was obliged, at tbaron’s orders, to tell an anecdote to compensate the disa

point ed ones.Here are some of the stories.

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THE WI LL

I knew that tall young fellow, Rene de Bourneval. He was anagreeable man, though rather melancholy and seemed preju-diced against everyth ing, was very skept ical, and he could wi t ha word t ear down social hypocrisy. He would oft en say:

“ There are no honorable men, or, at l east , t hey are onl y rela-tively so when compared with those lower than themselves.”

He had two brothers, whom he never saw, the Messieurs de

Courcils. I always supposed they were by another father, onaccount of the difference in the name. I had frequently heardthat the family had a strange history, but did not know thedetails. As I t ook a great li king t o Rene we soon became inti -mate friends, and one evening, when I had been dining withhim alone, I asked him, by chance: “Are you a son of t he fi rst

or second marriage?” He grew rather pale, and then flushed,and did not speak for a few moments; he was visibly embar-rassed. Then he smil ed in t he melancholy, gentle mann er, wh ichwas peculiar to h im, and said:

“ My dear friend, if i t w ill not weary you, I can give you somevery strange particulars about my life. I know that you are a

sensible man, so I do not fear that our friendship will suff emy I revelations; and should it suffer, I should not care abhaving you f or my fri end any longer.

“My mother, Madame de Courcils, was a poor little, tiwoman, whom her husband had married for the sake of hfort une, and her whole li fe was one of mart yrdom. Of a lovt imi d, sensit ive disposit ion, she was constantl y being ill-t reby the man who ought to have been my father, one of thoboors called country gentlemen. A month after their marrihe was livi ng a licentious life and carrying on liai sons wit hwives and daughters of his tenants. This did not prevent h

from having three children by hi s wife, t hat i s, if you counin. My mother said nothing, and lived in that noisy house a little mouse. Set aside, unnoticed, nervous, she looked people wi t h her brig ht , uneasy, restless eyes, t he eyes of soterrified creature which can never shake off its fear. And she was pretty, very pretty and fair, a pale blonde, as if h

hair had lost its color through her constant fear.“Among t he friends of Monsieur de Courcils who consta

came to her chateau, there was an ex-cavalry officer, a wower, a man who w as feared, wh o was at t he same t ime t enand violent, capable of the most determined resolves, Mosieur de Bourneval, whose name I bear. He was a tall, th

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man, wi t h a heavy black must ache. I am very like him. He wasa man who had read a great deal, and his ideas were not liket hose of mo st of his class. His great- grandmot her had been afriend of J. J. Rousseau’s, and one mi ght have said t hat he hadinh erited somet hing of t his ancest ral connection . He knew theCont rat Social, and t he Nouvell e Heloi se by heart, and all t hosephil osophical books which prepared in advance th e overthrowof our old usages, prejudices, superannuated laws and imbe-cile moralit y.

“It seems that he loved my mother, and she loved him, butt heir liaison w as carried on so secretly t hat no one guessed at

it s existence. The poor, neglect ed, unhappy w oman must haveclung to him in despair, and in her intimacy with him musthave imbi bed all hi s ways of t hin king, t heories of free t hought ,audacious ideas of independent love; but being so timid shenever vent ured to speak out , and it was all dri ven back, con-densed, shut up in her heart.

“My two brothers were very hard towards her, like their fa-ther, and never gave her a caress, and, accustomed to seeingher count f or noth ing i n t he house, t hey treat ed her rat her likea servant . I was the only on e of her sons who really loved herand whom she loved.

“When she died I was seventeen, and I must add, in order

th at you may understand what follows, t hat a lawsuit betwmy fat her and moth er had been decided in my mot her ’s fagivi ng her the bulk of th e property, and, t hanks to t he trickthe law, and the intelligent devotion of a lawyer to her inest s, t he right t o make her will in f avor of whom she plea

“ We were tol d t hat t here was a will at t he lawyer’s offi cewere invi t ed to be present at t he reading of it . I can rememit , as if i t were yest erday. I t was an i mposing scene, dramaburlesque and surprising, occasioned by the posthumous rvolt of that dead woman, by the cry for liberty, by the mands of that martyred one who had been crushed by o

oppression during her lif eti me and who, from her closed t outtered a despairing appeal for independence.

“The man who believed he was my father, a stout, ruddfaced man, who looked like a butcher, and my brothers, tgreat fellows of t wenty and twenty-t wo, were wait ing quin t heir chairs. Monsieur de Bourneval, who h ad been i nvi

t o be present, came in and stoo d behind me. He was very pand bit his mustache, whi ch was t urning gray. No doubt he prepared for what was going to happen. The lawyer doublocked the door and began t o read the wi ll, aft er having openin our presence, the envelope, sealed with red wax, of tcontents of which he was ignorant.”

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My friend st opped talking abrupt ly, and rising, to ok from hiswrit ing-t able an old paper, unfolded it , kissed it and then con-tinued: “This is the will of my beloved mother:

“ ‘I, t he undersigned, Anne Catherine-Genevieve-Mathi lde deCroixluce, the legitimate wife of Leopold-Joseph Gontran deCounci ls sound in body and m in d, here express my last w ishes.

“ I fi rst of all ask God, and t hen my dear son Rene to pardonme for the act I am about t o commit. I believe that my child’sheart is great enough t o underst and me, and t o forgive me. Ihave suff ered my whole li fe long. I was married out of calcula-

ti on, t hen despised, m isunderstood, op pressed and constant lydeceived by my husband.

“‘I forgive him, but I owe him nothing.“‘My elder sons never loved me, never petted me, scarcely

t reated me as a mother, but during my whol e life I did my dut ytowards them, and I owe them noth ing more aft er my death .

The ties of blood cannot exist without daily and constant af-fection. An ungrateful son is less than, a stranger; he is aculprit, for he has no right t o be indif ferent tow ards his mother.

“‘I have always trembled before men, before their unjustlaws, their inhuman customs, their shameful prejudices. Be-fore God, I have no longer any fear. Dead, I fling aside dis-

graceful hypocrisy; I dare to speak my thoughts, and to avand to sign the secret of my heart.

“‘I therefore leave t hat part of my fortune of which t heallows me to dispose, in trust to my dear lover, Pierre-GermSimo n de Bourneval, t o revert aft erwards t o our dear son Re

“‘(This bequest is specified more precisely in a deed draup by a not ary.)

“ ‘And I declare before t he Supreme Judge who hears me, tI should have cursed heaven and my own existence, if I hnot found t he deep, devoted, tender, unshaken affecti on of lover; if I had not felt in his arms that the Creator made

creatures to love, sustain and console each other, and to wet ogether in t he hours of sadness.

“‘Monsieur de Courcils is the father of my two eldest soRene, alone, owes his li fe t o Monsieur de Bourneval. I prayMaster of men and of t heir dest ini es, t o place father and sabove social prejudices, to make them love each other un

they die, and to love me also in my coffin.“ ‘These are my last t hought s, and my last wish.

“ ‘MATHI LDE DE CROI XLUCE.’”

“Monsieur de Courcils had risen and he cried:

Gu y de M aupassant



25

“‘It is the will of a madwoman.’“Then Monsieur de Bourneval stepped forward and said in a

loud, penetrati ng voice: ‘I, Simon de Bourneval, solemnly de-clare that this writing contains nothing but the strict truth,and I am ready t o prove it by let t ers which I possess.’

“ On hearing t hat, Monsieur de Courcils went up t o hi m, andI ‘thought that they were going to attack each other. Therethey stood, both of them tall , one stout and the other thin,bot h t rembli ng. My mot her ’s husband stammered out : ‘You area worth less wretch! ’ And the ot her replied i n a loud, dry voice:‘We wil l meet elsewhere, monsieur. I should h ave already slapped

your ugly face and challenged you long since if I had not,before everything else, thought of the peace of mind duringher lifet ime of t hat poor wom an whom you caused to suffer sogreatly.’

“Then, turning to me, he said: ‘You are my son; will youcome with me? I have no right to take you away, but I shall

assume it , if you are wil ling t o come wit h me: I shook his handwithout replying, and we went out together. I was certainlyt hree part s mad.

“Two days later Monsieur de Bourneval killed Monsieur deCourcils in a duel. My brothers, to avoid a terrible scandal,held their tongues. I offered them and they accepted half the

fortune which my mother had left me. I took my real fathname, renouncing that which the law gave me, but which not really mine. Monsieur de Bourneval died three years land I am still inconsolable.”

He rose from hi s chair, walked up and down t he room, astanding in front of me, said:

“ Well, I say t hat my mot her ’s will was one of t he most bt if ul, t he most loyal, as well as one of th e grandest acts thawoman could perform. Do you not think so?”

I held out bot h hands to h im, saying:“I most certainly do, my friend.”

Walter S chnaffs’ Adventu re



26

WALTER SCHNAFFS’ ADVENTURE

Ever since he entered France with the invading army WalterSchnaffs had considered hi mself t he most unfo rtun ate of men.He was large, had difficulty in walking, was short of breathand suffered frightfully with his feet, which were very flat andvery fat. But he was a peaceful, benevolent man, not warlikeor sanguinary, t he fath er of four children whom he adored, andmarried to a lit t le blonde whose lit t le tendernesses, att entions

and kisses he recalled with despair every evening. He liked torise late and retire early, to eat good things in a leisurelymanner and t o drin k beer in t he saloon. He reflect ed, besides,that all that is sweet in existence vanishes with life, and hemaint ained in hi s heart a fearful hatred, insti ncti ve as well aslogical, f or cannon, rifl es, revolvers and swords, bu t especially

for bayonets, feeling t hat he was unable to dodge t his danger-ous weapon rapidly enough to protect his big paunch.And when night fell and he lay on the ground, wrapped in

his cape beside his comrades who were snoring, he thoughtlong and deeply about those he had left behind and of thedangers in his path. “If he were killed what would become of

the little ones? Who would provide for them and bring thup?” Just at p resent t hey were not rich, although he had browed when he left so as to leave them some money. AWalter Schnaffs wept when he thought of all this.

At t he beginning of a batt le his legs became so weak thatwould have fallen if he had not reflected that the entire awould pass over his body. The whistling of the bullets ghim gooseflesh.

For mont hs he had lived t hus in t error and anguish.His company was marching on Normandy, and one day

was sent to reconnoitre with a small detachment, simply

explore a portion of the territory and to return at once. seemed quiet in the country; nothing indicated an armed sistance.

But as the Prussians were quietly descending into a litvalley traversed by deep ravines a sharp fusillade made thhalt suddenly, killing twenty of their men, and a company

sharpshooters, suddenly emerging from a lit t le wood as laas your hand, darted forward wit h bayonets at t he end of t hrifles.

Walter Schnaffs remained motionless at first, so surprisand bewildered that he did not even think of making his cape. Then he was seized with a wild desire to run away, b

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27

he remembered at once that he ran like a tortoise comparedwith those thin Frenchmen, who came bounding along like alot of goat s. Perceiving a l arge dit ch ful l of brushwood coveredwith dead leaves about six paces in front of him, he spranginto i t wi th both feet together, wit hout stopping to t hink ofits depth, just as one jumps from a bridge into the river.

He fell like an arrow t hrough a t hick layer of vines and th ornybrambles t hat t ore his face and hands and landed heavily in asitt ing posture on a bed of stones. Raising h is eyes, he saw t hesky through the hole he had made in falling through. Thisaperture might betray him, and he crawled along carefully on

hands and knees at the bottom of this ditch beneath the cov-ering of interlacing branches, going as fast as he could andgetting away from the scene of the skirmish. Presently hestopped and sat down, crouched like a hare amid the tall drygrass.

He heard fi ring and cries and groans going on f or some ti me.Then the noise of fighting grew fainter and ceased. All wasquiet and silent.

Suddenly something stirred, beside him. He was frightfullystartled. It was a little bird which had perched on a branchand was moving the dead leaves. For almost an hour WalterSchnaffs’ heart beat loud and rapidly.

Night fell, filling the ravine with its shadows. The solbegan to think. What was he to do? What was to becomehim ? Should he rejoin t he army? But how? By what road? he began over again the horrible life of anguish, of terrorfati gue and suff ering t hat he had led since th e commencemof the war. No! He no longer had the courage! He would have t he energy necessary to endure long marches and to f at he dangers to w hich o ne was exposed at every moment .

But what should he do? He could not stay in this ravineconcealment unt il t he end of hostil i t ies. No, indeed! I f i t not for having t o eat, th is prospect would not have daun

him greatly. But he had to eat, to eat every day.And here he was, alone, armed and in uni form, o n t he enem

territory, far from those who would protect him. A shiverover him.

All at once he thought : “ I f I were only a prisoner!” Anheart quivered with a longing, an intense desire to be takprisoner by the French. A prisoner, he would be saved, fhoused, shelt ered from bul lets and swords, wi t hout any apphension what ever, in a good, well -kept p rison. A prisoner! Wa dream:

His resolut ion was formed at once.“I will consti tut e myself a prisoner.”




28

He rose, determined to put th is plan int o execution wit houta moment’s delay. But he stood mot ionl ess, suddenly a prey todisturbi ng reflecti ons and fresh t errors.

Where would he make himself a prisoner and how? In Whatdirection? And frightful pictures, pictures of death came intohis mind.

He would run t errible danger in vent uring alone through t hecountry with h is pointed helmet.

Supposing he should meet some peasants. These peasantsseeing a Prussian who had lost his way, an unprotected Prus-sian, would kill him as if he were a stray dog! They would

murder him wi t h t heir forks, t heir picks, t heir scythes and th eirshovels. They would make a st ew of hi m, a pie, wit h t he frenzyof exasperated, conquered enemies.

If he should meet the sharpshooters! These sharpshooters,madmen without law or discipline, would shoot him just foramusement t o pass an hour; i t would make them laugh t o seehi s head. And he fancied he was already leani ng against a wallin-front of four rifles whose little black apertures seemed tobe gazing at him.

Supposing he should meet the French army itself. The van-guard would t ake him for a scout , for some bold and sly t rooperwho had set off alone to reconnoitre, and they would fire at

him. And he could already hear, in imagination, the irregshots of soldiers lying in t he brush, wh ile he himself, standin t he middle of t he field, was sinking t o t he earth , riddleda sieve with bullets which he felt piercing his flesh.

He sat down again in despair. His situation seemed hopless.

It was quite a dark, black and silent night. He no lonbudged, t rembling at all t he slight and unfamili ar sounds toccur at night . The sound of a rabbit crouching at t he edgehis burrow almost made him run. The cry of an owl caused positive anguish, giving him a nervous shock that pained

a wound. He opened h is big eyes as wide as possible t o t ry asee t hrough t he darkness, and he imagined every moment t hhe heard someone walking close beside him.

Aft er intermin able hours in wh ich he suff ered the t orturethe damned, he noticed through his leafy cover that the swas becoming bright. He at once felt an intense relief. lim bs st retched out , suddenly relaxed, hi s heart quiet ed dowhis eyes closed; he fell asleep.

When he awoke the sun appeared to be almost at t he meriian. It must be noon. No sound disturbed the gloomy silenWalter Schnaffs noticed that he was exceedingly hungry.

He yawned, his mouth watering at the thought of sausag

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29

t he good sausage the soldiers have, and he felt a gnawing athis stomach.

He rose from t he ground, walked a few steps, found t hat hislegs were weak and sat down t o reflect. For t wo or t hree hourshe again considered the pros and cons, changing his mindevery moment, baffled, unhappy, t orn by t he most conflictingmotives.

Finally he had an idea t hat seemed logical and practical. I twas to wat ch for a vi llager passing b y alone, unarmed and wit hno dangerous tools of his trade, and to run to him and givehimself up, makin g hi m underst and th at he was surrendering.

He took off hi s helmet, the point of which might betray him,and put his head out of his hiding place wit h t he utmost cau-t ion.

No solitary pedestrian could be perceived on the horizon.Yonder, to the right, smoke rose from the chimney of a littlevillage, smoke from kitchen fires! And yonder, to the left, hesaw at t he end of an avenue of t rees a large tu rret ed chateau.He waited till evening, suffering frightfully from hunger, see-ing nothing but fl ights of crows, hearing nothing but the si-lent expostulation of his empty stomach.

And darkness once more fell on him.He stretched himself out in his retreat and slept a feverish

sleep, haunt ed by nigh t mares, t he sleep of a starving man.Dawn again broke above his head and he began t o make h

observations. But the landscape was deserted as on the prevous day, and a new f ear came into Walter Schnaffs’ mind—fear of death by hunger! He pictured himself lying at full l eon his back at the bottom of his hiding place, with his eyes closed, and animals, lit t le creat ures of all k inds, approacand began to feed on his dead body, attacking it all over once, gliding beneath hi s clot hing t o bit e his cold flesh, anbig crow pecked out his eyes wit h i t s sharp beak.

He almost became crazy, t hin king he was going t o faint

would not be able to walk. And he was just preparing to roff to the village, determined to dare anything, to brave erything, when he perceived three peasants walking to tfields with their forks across their shoulders, and he divback into his hiding place.

But as soon as it grew dark he slowly emerged from t he diand started off, stooping and fearful, with beating heart, wards the distant chateau, preferring to go there rather thanthe village, which seemed to him as formidable as a dentigers.

The lower windows were brill iantl y light ed. One of t hemopen and from i t escaped a strong odor of roast meat, an od




30

which suddenly penetrated t o t he olfactories and to t he st om-ach of Walter Schnaffs, t ickling his nerves, making him breat hequickly, at tracting hi m irresistibly and inspiring his heart wit ht he boldness of desperat ion.

And abruptly, without reflection, he placed himself, helmeton head, in f ront of the window.

Eight servants were at dinner around a large table. But sud-denly one of the maids sat there, her mouth agape, her eyesfi xed and let t ing fall h er glass. They all foll owed the di recti onof her gaze.

They saw the enemy!

Good God! The Prussians were attacking the chateau!There was a shri ek, onl y one shriek made up of eig ht shrieks

uttered in eight different keys, a terrific screaming of terror,then a tumultuous rising from their seats, a jostling, a scrim-mage and a wild rush t o t he door at t he farther end. Chairs fellover, t he men knocked the women down and walked over t hem.In two seconds the room was empty, deserted, and the table,covered wit h eatables, st ood i n f ront of Walter Schnaffs, lostin amazement and still standing at the window.

After some moments of hesit ation he climbed in at t he win-dow and approached the table. His fierce hunger caused himt o t remble as if he were in a fever, but fear st ill held him back,

num bed hi m. He list ened. The enti re house seemed to shuddDoors closed, quick steps ran along the floor above. The ueasy Prussian li stened eagerly t o t hese conf used sound s. Thhe heard dull sounds, as though bodies were falling to tground at the foot of the walls, human beings jumping frthe fi rst floor.

Then all mot ion, all di sturbance ceased, and t he great chteau became as silent as the grave.

Walter Schnaffs sat down before a clean plate and began eat. He took great mouthfuls, as if he feared he might int errupted before he had swallowed enough. He shovelled

food into his mouth, open like a trap, with both hands, achunks of food went int o his stomach, swelling out his thas it passed down. Now and then he stopped, almost ready burst li ke a st opped-up pi pe. Then he would t ake t he cider and wash down his esophagus as one washes out a cloggerain pip e.

He empt ied all the plat es, all t he dishes and all t he bott lThen, intoxicated with drink and food, besotted, red in face, shaken by hiccoughs, his mind clouded and his speethick, he unbuttoned his uniform in order to breathe orcould not have taken a step. His eyes closed, hi s mind becat orpid; he leaned his heavy forehead on his folded arms on

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31

t able and gradually lost al l consciousness of t hi ngs and event s.The last quarter of the moon above the trees in the park

shed a faint light on the landscape. It was the chill hour thatprecedes the dawn.

Numerous silent shadows glided among the trees and occa-sionally a blade of steel gleamed in the shadow as a ray ofmoonlight struck it .

The quiet chateau st ood t here in dark out line. Only t wo win -dows were still lighted up on the ground floor.

Suddenly a voice thundered:“ Forward! nom d’un nom! To t he breach, my lads!”

And in an i nstant t he doors, shutt ers and window panes fellin beneath a wave of men who rushed in, breaking, dest royingeverything, and took the house by storm. In a moment fiftysoldiers, armed to the teeth, bounded into the kitchen, whereWalter Schnaffs was peacefully sleeping, and placing to hisbreast fifty loaded rifles, they overturned him, rolled him onthe floor, seized him and tied his head and feet together.

He gasped in amazement, t oo besot t ed to underst and, per-plexed, bruised and wild wi t h f ear.

Suddenly a b ig soldier, covered wi t h gol d lace, put his footon his stomach, shouting:

“ You are my pri soner. Surrender!”

The Prussian heard only the one word “prisoner” and sighed, “Ya, ya, ya.”

He was raised from the floor, tied in a chair and examinwit h li vely curiosity by h is victors, who were blowing li ke wSeveral of them sat down, done up wi t h excitement and fatig

He smil ed, act ually smiled, secure now th at he was at lasprisoner.

Another officer came into the room and said:“ Colon el, t he enemy has escaped; several seem t o have bee

woun ded. We are in possession .”The big officer, who was wiping his forehead, exclaim

“Victory!”And he wrote in a little business memorandum book wh

he took from his pocket:“After a desperate encounter the Prussians were obliged

beat a retreat, carrying with them their dead and woundethe number of whom is estimated at fifty men. Several wtaken prisoners.”

The young of ficer in quired:“ What steps shall I t ake, colonel?”“ We will reti re in good order,” replied the colonel, “ t o a

having to return and make another attack with artillery anlarger force of men.”

A d h h d H i d!




32

And he gave the command to set out.The column drew up in line in the darkness beneath the

walls of th e chateau and fi led out , a guard of six soldiers wit hrevolvers in their hands surrounding Walter Schnaffs, who wasfirmly bound.

Scouts were sent ahead to reconnoitre. They advanced cau-tiously, halting from t ime to t ime.

At daybreak they arrived at the district of La Roche-Oysel,whose nat ional guard had accomplished th is feat of arms.

The uneasy and excited inhabitants were expecting them.When t hey saw the pri soner’s helmet t remendous shout s arose.

The women raised their 10 arms in wonder, the old peoplewept. An old grandfather t hrew his crutch at t he Prussian andstruck the nose of one of t heir own defenders.

The colo nel roared:“ See that t he prisoner is secure!”At lengt h t hey reached t he tow n hall. The prison was opened

and Walter Schnaffs, freed from his bonds, cast into it. Twohundred armed men mounted guard outside the building.

Then, in spite of t he indigesti on t hat had been t roubling himfor some time, t he Prussian, wi ld wi t h j oy, began t o dance about,t o dance franti cally, t hrowing out his arms and legs and utt eringwild shouts until he fell down exhausted beside the wall.

He was a pri soner-saved!That was how the Chateau de Charnpignet was taken fro

the enemy after only six hours of occupation.Colonel Rat ier, a clot h merchant, who h ad led t he assault

the head of a body of the national guard of La Roche-Oyswas decorated with an order.

Gu y de M aupassant

Th t li g k i th id l fi hi g b t S lidl b



33

AT SEA

The following paragraphs recently appeared in the papers:“ Boulogne-Sur-Mer, January 22 .— Our correspondent writ es:“A fearful accident has thrown our sea-faring population,

which has suffered so much in the last two years, into thegreatest consternation. The fishing smack commanded by Cap-t ain Javel, on ent ering t he harbor was wrecked on t he rocks ofthe harbor breakwater.

“ I n spit e of t he efforts of the life boat and the shooting oflife lines from the shore four sailors and the cabin boy werelost.

“The rough weather continues. Fresh disasters are antici-pated.”

Who is this Captain Javel? Is he the brother of the one-armed man?

If the poor man tossed about in the waves and dead, per-haps, beneath his wrecked boat, is the one I am thinking of,he took part , just eighteen years ago, in anot her tragedy, t er-rible and simple as are all these fearful tragedies of the sea.

Javel, senior, was then mast er of a t rawling smack.

The t rawlin g smack is the ideal fishing boat. So solidly bthat it fears no weather, with a round bottom, tossed abounceasingly on the waves like a cork, always on top, alwthrashed by the harsh salt winds of the English Channel,ploughs the sea unweariedly wit h bellyi ng sail, dragging alat i t s side a huge t rawling net, which scours t he dept hs of ocean, and detaches and gathers in all t he animals asleep t he rocks, t he flat f ish glued to t he sand, the heavy crabs wtheir curved claws, and the lobsters with their pointed mtaches.

When the breeze is fresh and the sea choppy, the boat star

in to trawl. The net is fastened all along a big log of wclamped with iron and is let down by two ropes on pulleyeither end of t he boat . And the boat, driven by t he wind t he t ide, draws along t his apparat us which ransacks and pluders the depths of the sea.

Javel had on board his younger brother, four sailors andcabin boy. He had set sail f rom Boulogne on a beautif ul daygo t rawling.

But presentl y a wind sprang up, and a hurricane obliged smack to run to shore. She gained the English coast, but thigh sea broke against the rocks and dashed on the beachmaking it impossible to go into port, f i l l ing all the ha

entrances with foam and noise and danger t his net was worth m oney a great deal of money fi ft een h

At Sea



34

entrances with foam and noise and danger.The smack started off again, riding on the waves, tossed,

shaken, dripping, buffeted by masses of water, but game inspite of everything; accustomed to this boisterous weather,which someti mes kept i t roving between t he two neighboringcountries wit hout i t s being able to make port i n eit her.

At length the hurricane calmed down just as they were int he open, and altho ugh t he sea was stil l high t he capt ain gaveorders to cast the net.

So it was lif t ed overboard, and two men i n t he bows and twoin the stern began to unwind the ropes that held it . I t sud-

denly touched bott om, but a big wave made t he boat heel, andJavel, junior, who was in the bows directing the lowering oft he net, staggered, and his arm was caught i n t he rope whicht he shock had slipped f rom t he pulley for an instant. He madea desperate effort to raise the rope with the other hand, butthe net was down and the taut rope did not give.

The man cried out in agony. They all ran to his aid. Hisbrother left t he rudder. They all seized the rope, t rying t o freethe arm it was bruising. But i n vain. “ We must cut i t ,” said asailor, and he took from his pocket a big knife, which, withtwo strokes, could save young Javel’s arm.

But i f t he rope were cut t he trawling net would be lost, and

t his net was worth m oney, a great deal of money, fi ft een hdred francs. And it belonged to Javel, senior, who was tencious of h is property.

“No, do not cut , wait , I will luf f,” he cried, in great disAnd he ran to the helm and turned the rudder. But the boscarcely obeyed it, being impeded by the net which kepfrom going forward, and prevented also by t he force of t he and the wind.

Javel, j unior, had sunk on his knees, hi s teeth clenched, heyes haggard. He did not ut t er a word. His brot her came bto him, in dread of the sailor ’s knife.

“Wait, wait,” he said. “We will let down the anchor.”They cast anchor, and then began to turn the capstan t

loosen the moorings of the net. They loosened them at lengand disengaged the i mprisoned arm, in it s bloody woolen sle

Young Javel seemed like an idiot. They took off his jerand saw a horrible sight, a mass of f lesh f rom whi ch t he blspurted as if from a pump. Then the young man looked at arm and murmured: “Foutu” (done for).

Then, as the blood was making a pool on the deck of tboat, o ne of t he sailors cried: “ He will bleed to death, we mbind t he vein.”

So t hey took a cord, a t hick, brown, t arry cord, and t wist

Gu y de M aupassant

i t around the arm above the wound ti ghtened it wi th all theirthe English coast was again visible but as the weather h



35

i t around the arm above the wound, t i ghtened it wi th all theirmight. The blood ceased to spurt by slow degrees, and, pres-ently, stopped alt ogether.

Young Javel rose, his arm hanging at his side. He took holdof i t wit h t he other hand, raised it , t urned it over, shook it . I twas all mashed, the bones broken, the muscles alone holdingit together. He looked at it sadly, reflectively. Then he satdown on a folded sail and his comrades advised him to keepwett ing t he arm constant ly to prevent i t from mortifying.

They placed a pail of wat er beside him , and every few min -ut es he dipped a glass int o it and bat hed the fright ful wou nd,

lett ing t he clear water trickle on to i t .“You would be better in the cabin,” said his brother. He

went down, but came up again in an hour, not caring to bealone. And, besides, he preferred the fresh air. He sat downagain on his sail and began to bathe his arm.

They made a good haul. The broad fi sh wit h t heir whi t e bel-lies lay beside him, qui vering in t he th roes of death; he lookedat them as he continued to bathe his crushed flesh.

As they were about to return to Boulogne the wind sprangup anew, and t he lit t le boat resumed it s mad course, boundi ngand tumbling about, shaking up the poor wounded man.

Night came on. The sea ran h igh unt il dawn. As the sun rose

the English coast was again visible, but, as the weather habated a little, they turned back towards the French coatacking as they went.

Towards eveni ng Javel, j uni or, called his comrades and showt hem some black spot s, all th e horrible t okens of mort if icain the portion of the arm below the broken bones.

The sailors examined it, giving their opinion.“That might be the ‘Black,’” thought one.“He should put salt water on it,” said another.They brought some salt water and poured it on the woun

The inj ured man became livid, ground hi s teeth and writ he

lit t le, but did not exclaim.Then, as soon as the smarting had abated, he said to h

brother:“ Give me your knif e.”The brother handed it to him.“Hold my arm up, quite straight, and pull i t .”They did as he asked them.Then he began to cut off his arm. He cut gently, carefu

severing al the tendons with this blade that was sharp asrazor. And, presently, there was only a stump left. He gavdeep sigh and said:

“I t had to be done. I t was done for.”

He seemed relieved and breathed loud He then began again“I hope we do not sell i t at auction ”

At Sea



36

He seemed relieved and breathed loud. He then began againto pour water on the stump of arm t hat remained.

The sea was still rough and they could not make the shore.When t he day broke, Javel, jun ior, t ook t he severed port ion

of h is arm and examined i t for a long t ime. Gangrene had setin. His comrades also examined it and handed it from one tothe other, feeling it , t urning it over, and sniff ing at i t .

“ You must t hrow t hat i nt o t he sea at once,” said his brot her.But Javel, j unior, got angry.“ Oh, no! Oh, no! I don’t want t o. I t belongs to me, does it

not, as it is my arm?”

And he took and placed it between his feet.“It will putrefy, just the same,” said the older brother. Then

an idea came to t he inj ured man. I n order to preserve the fi shwhen the boat was long at sea, they packed it in salt, in bar-rels. He asked:

“ Why can I not put i t in pickle?”“Why, that’s a fact,” exclaimed the others.Then they emptied one of the barrels, which was full from

the haul of t he last few days; and right at t he bott om of t hebarrel they laid the detached arm. They covered it with salt,and then put back the fish one by one.

One of the sailors said by way of joke:

I hope we do not sell i t at auction.And everyone laughed, except the two Javels.The wind was still boisterous. They tacked within sigh

Boulogne until the following morning at ten o’clock. YoJavel conti nued to bat he his wound. From ti me to t ime he rand walked from one end to the other of the boat.

His brot her, who was at t he ti ller, foll owed him wi t h glanand shook his head.

At last they ran into harbor.The doctor examined the wound and pronounced it to be

good condit ion. He dressed it properly and ordered t he pati

to rest . But Javel would not go to bed until he got back severed arm, and he returned at once to the dock to look ft he barrel wh ich he had m arked wit h a cross.

I t was empt ied before him and he seized the arm, which wwell p reserved in t he pickle, had shrun k and was freshened.wrapped it up in a towel he had brought for the purpose atook it home.

His wife and children looked for a long t ime at t his fragmof t heir fath er, feeling t he fingers, and removing the grainsalt that were under the nails. Then they sent for a carpento make a l i t t le coffin.

The next day the ent ire crew of t he trawling smack follo

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the funeral of the detached arm. The two brothers, side by



37

the funeral of the detached arm. The two brothers, side byside, led the procession; the parish beadle carried the corpseunder his arm.

Javel, j unior, gave up the sea. He obt ained a small posit ionon t he dock, and when he subsequently t alked about his acci-dent, he would say confidentially to his auditors:

“ I f my brother had been willi ng to cut away the net, I shouldsti l l have my arm, t hat i s sure. But he was thin king only of hisproperty.”

MINUET

Great misfortunes do not affect me very much, said JoBridelle, an old bachelor who passed for a sceptic. I have sewar at quite close quarters; I walked across corpses withoany feeling of pity. The great brutal facts of nature, or of manity, may call forth cries of horror or indignation, bunot cause us that t ightening of the heart , that shudder thgoes down your spine at sight of certain little heartrend

episodes.The greatest sorrow that anyone can experience is certain

t he loss of a child, t o a mother; and the loss of his mot hera man. It is intense, terrible, it rends your heart and upseyour mind; but one is healed of these shocks, just as larbleeding wounds become healed. Certain meetings, certathings half perceived, or surmised, certain secret sorrows, ctain tricks of fate which awake in us a whole world of pait hought s, whi ch suddenly unclose to us th e myst erious doomoral suffering, complicated, incurable; all the deeper becathey appear benign, all the more bitter because they are itangible, all the more tenacious because they appear almo

facti t ious, leave in our souls a sort of t rail of sadness, a t ast efor a walk, companies of magnificent rose bushes, or re

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, ,of bit t erness, a feeling of di senchantment , from which i t t akesa long t ime t o f ree ourselves.

I have always present to my mind two or three things thatothers would surely not have noticed, but which penetrated

my being l ike fi ne, sharp incurable st ings.You might not perhaps understand the emotion that I re-

tained from these hasty impressions. I will tell you one oft hem. She was very old, but as lively as a young girl. I t may bethat my imagination alone is responsible for my emotion.

I am fifty. I was young then and studying law. I was rather

sad, somewhat of a dreamer, full of a pessimistic philosophyand did not care much for noisy cafes, boi sterous companions,or stupid girls. I rose early and one of my chief enjoymentswas to walk alone about eight o’clock in the morning in thenursery garden of the Luxembourg.

You people never knew that nursery garden. It was like aforgotten garden of the last century, as pretty as the gentlesmile of an old lady. Thick hedges divided the narrow regularpaths,— peaceful pat hs betw een t wo walls of carefully t rimmedfoliage. The gardener’s great shears were pruning unceasinglythese leafy partitions, and here and there one came acrossbeds of f lowers, li nes of li t t le t rees looking li ke schoolboys out

, p g ,ments of fruit trees.

An entire corner of this charming spot was in habited bees. Their straw hi ves skill full y arranged at distances on boahad t heir entrances— as large as t he opening of a t him ble

turned towards the sun, and all along the paths one encout ered t hese humming and gil ded flies, t he true mast ers of tpeaceful spot , t he real promenaders of t hese quiet paths.

I came there almost every morning. I sat down on a benand read. Someti mes I let my book fall on my knees, t o dreto listen t o t he life of Paris around me, and to enjoy t he i

nite repose of these old-fashioned hedges.But I soon perceived th at I was not t he only one to frequ

t his spot as soon as t he gates were opened, and I occasionalmet face to face, at a turn in the path, a strange li t t le oman.

He wore shoes with silver buckles, knee-breeches, a snucolored frock coat, a lace jabot, and an outlandish gray hwith wide brim and long-haired surface that might have coout of t he ark.

He was thin, very thin, angular, grimacing and smiling. bright eyes were restless beneath his eyelids which blinkcont inuously. He always carried in his hand a superb cane w

Gu y de M aupassant

a gold knob, which must have been for him some gloriousbegan anew his outlandish exercises.



39

g , gsouvenir.

This good man astonished me at first, then caused me theintensest interest. I watched him through the leafy walls, Ifollow ed him at a distance, stoppi ng at a tu rn in t he hedge so

as not t o be seen.And one morning when he thought he was quite alone, he

began to make the most remarkable motions. First he wouldgive some lit t le springs, th en make a bow; t hen, wit h hi s slimlegs, he would give a lively spring in t he air, clapping h is feetas he did so, and t hen t urn round cleverly, skipping and frisk-

ing about in a comical manner, smiling as if he had an audi-ence, twisting his poor l i t t le puppet-like body, bowing pa-thetic and ridiculous li t t le greetings into the empty air. Hewas dancing.

I stood petrified wit h amazement, asking myself which of uswas crazy, he or I.

He stopped suddenly, advanced as actors do on the stage,then bowed and retreated with gracious smiles, and kissinghis hand as actors do, his trembling hand, to the two rows oft rimmed bushes.

Then he cont inued hi s walk wit h a solemn demeanor.After that I never lost sight of him, and each morning he

gI was wildly anxious to speak to him. I decided to risk

and one day, after greeting him, I said:“It is a beautiful day, monsieur.”He bowed.

“ Yes, sir, t he weather is just as it used t o be.”A week later we were friends and I knew his hi story. He

been a dancing master at the opera, in the time of Louis XHis beautiful cane was a present from the Comte de ClermoAnd when we spoke about dancing he never stoppin g t alki

One day he said to me:

“ I married La Cast ris, monsieur. I wil l in t roduce you t o hyou wish it, but she does not get here till later. This gardyou see, is our delight and our life. It is all that remainsformer days. It seems as though we could not exist if we not have it . I t is old and distingue, is i t not ? I seem to breaan air here that has not changed since I was young. My wand I pass all our afternoons here, but I come in the mornbecause I get up early.”

As soon as I had fin ished luncheon I ret urned to t he Luxebourg, and presentl y perceived my friend of fering h is arm emoniously to a very old lit t le lady dressed in b lack, to whe introduced me. It was La Castris, the great dancer, belov

by princes, beloved by the king, beloved by all t hat century ofvery nice of you, would you like to show this gentleman w

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gallantry that seems to have left behind it in the world anatmosphere of love.

We sat down on a bench. It was the month of May. An odorof flowers floated in the neat paths; a hot sun glided its rays

between the branches and covered us with patches of light.The black dress of La Cast ris seemed t o be saturat ed wi t h sun-l ight .

The garden was empty. We heard the rattling of vehicles int he distance.

“Tell me,” I said to the old dancer, “what was the minuet?”

He gave a start.“ The minu et, monsieur, is t he queen of dances, and t he dance

of queens, do you understand? Since there is no longer anyroyalty, there is no longer any minuet.”

And he began i n a pompous manner a long dit hyrambic eu-logy which I could not underst and. I wanted to have the steps,the movements, the positions, explained to me. He becameconfused, was amazed at h is inabili t y t o make me underst and,became nervous and worried.

Then suddenly, turning to his old companion who had re-mained silent and serious, he said:

“ Elise, would you like— say— would you like, i t would be

it was?”She tu rned eyes uneasily in all direction s, t hen rose wit h

saying a word and took her position opposite him.Then I witnessed an unheard-of thing.

They advanced and retreated wit h chi ldli ke grimaces, sming, swinging each other, bowing, skipping about like twot omat on dolls moved by some old mechanical contri vance, sowhat damaged, but made by a clever workman accordingthe fashion of his time.

And I looked at them, my heart fi l led with extraordin

emoti ons, my soul t ouched wit h an i ndescribable melanchI seemed t o see before me a pathet ic and comical appariti othe out-of-date ghost of a former century.

They suddenly stopped. They had finished all the figuresthe dance. For some seconds they stood opposite each othesmili ng in an ast oni shing manner. Then t hey fell on each othnecks sobbing.

I left for the provinces three days later. I never saw thagain. When I returned to Paris, two years later, the nursehad been destroyed. What became of them, deprived of tdear garden of former days, with its mazes, its odor of past , and t he graceful wi ndings of i t s hedges?

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Are they dead? Are they wandering among modern streets



41

like hopeless exiles? Are they dancing— grotesque spectres— afantastic minuet in the moonlight, amid the cypresses of acemetery, along the pathways bordered by graves?

Their memo ry haunt s me, obsesses me, t orment s me, remains

with me like a wound. Why? I do not know.No doubt you think that very absurd?

THE SON

The two old friends were walking in th e garden in bloom , w

spring was bringing everything to life.One was a senator, the other a member of the French Aca

emy, both serious men, full of very logical but solemn arments, men of note and reputation.

They talked first of politics, exchanging opinions; notideas, but on men, personalit ies in t his regard taking t he p

dominance over ability. Then they recalled some memoriThen t hey walked along in silence, enervat ed by t he warmtht he air.

A large bed of wallflowers breathed out a delicate sweness. A mass of flowers of all species and color flung thfragrance to the breeze, while a cytisus covered with yelclusters scatt ered it s fine pollen abroad, a golden cloud, wan odor of h oney t hat bore it s balmy seed across space, simit o t he sachet-powders of perfumers.

The senator stopped, breathed in the cloud of floating plen, loo ked at t he ferti le shrub, yellow as the sun, whose swas floating in the air, and said:

“When one considers that these imperceptible fragrant at-be in counting up his descendants, should we not?

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42

oms will create existences at a hundred leagues from here, wi llsend a thrill through the fibres and sap of female trees andproduce beings with roots, growing from a germ, just as wedo, mortal like ourselves, and who will be replaced by other

beings of the same order, like ourselves again!”And, standing in front of the brilliant cytisus, whose live

poll en was shaken off by each breat h of air, t he senato r added:“Ah, old f ellow, if you had t o keep count of all your children

you woul d be might il y embarrassed. Here is one who generat esfreely, and then lets them go without a pang and troubles

himself no more about them.”“ We do t he same, my friend,” said t he academician.“ Yes, I do not deny it; we let t hem go somet imes,” resumed

the senator, “but we are aware that we do, and that consti-tutes our superiority.”

“No, that is not what I mean,” said the other, shaking hishead. “ You see, my fri end, t hat t here is scarcely a man who h asnot some chil dren t hat he does not know, children— ’fat herunknown’— whom he has generat ed almost unconsciously, justas this tree reproduces.

“ I f we had t o keep account of ou r amours, we should be justas embarrassed as this cytisus which you apostrophized would

“From eighteen to forty years, in fact, counting in evchance cursory acquaintanceship, we may well say that have been int imate wit h t wo or t hree hundred women.

“Well, then, my friend, among this number can you be s

that you have not had children by at least one of them, at hat you h ave not in t he st reet s, or in t he bagnio, some blaguard of a son who steals from and murders decent peopi.e., ourselves; or else a daughter in some disreputable placor, i f she has the good fort une t o be deserted by her mot has cook in some famil y?

“ Consider, also, t hat almost all t hose whom we call ‘protutes’ have one or two children of whose paternal parentathey are ignorant, generated by chance at the price of ten twenty francs. In every business there is profit and loss. Thwildings constitute the ‘loss’ in their profession. Who geated t hem? You— I — we all did, t he men called ‘gentlemThey are the consequences of our jovial little dinners, of gay evenings, of those hours when our comfortable physibeing i mpels us to chance liaisons.

“ Thi eves, marauders, all t hese wretch es, in f act, are our chdren. And that is better for us than if we were their childfor those scoundrels generate also!

Gu y de M aupassant

“ I have in my mind a very horrible story t hat I will relate t o“Do you know Pont Labbe? No? Well, then, it is the m



43

you. It has caused me incessant remorse, and, further thanthat, a continual doubt, a disquieting uncertainty, that, attimes, torments me frightfully.

“ When I was twent y-five I undertook a walking tour t hrough

Brit t any wit h one of my friends, now a member of t he cabinet .“After walking steadily for f ift een or t wenty days and visit -

ing the Cotes-du-Nord and par t of Finis tere we reachedDouarnenez. From there we went without halting to the wildpromont ory of Raz by t he bay of Les Trepaases, and p assed th enight in a village whose name ends in ‘of.’ The next morning a

strange lassitude kept my f riend in bed; I say bed from habit ,for our couch consist ed simpl y of t wo bundles of straw.

“ I t w ould never do to be ill in t his place. So I made him getup, and we reached Andierne about fo ur or fi ve o’clock in t heevening.

“The following day he felt a little better, and we set outagain. But on the road he was seized with intolerable pain,and we could scarcely get as far as Pont Labbe.

“ Here, at least , t here was an i nn. My friend went t o bed, andthe doctor, who had been sent for from Quimper, announcedth at he had a high fever, wit hout being able to determine itsnature.

Breton of all t his Breton Brit t any, whi ch extends from t he pont ory of Raz t o the Morbihan, of th is land which cont ainsessence of t he Breton manners, legends and cust oms. Even tday this corner of the country has scarcely changed. I s

‘even to-day,’ for I now go there every year, alas!“An old chat eau laves t he walls of i t s towers in a great m

ancholy pond, melancholy and frequented by flights of wbirds. It has an outlet in a river on which boats can navigas far as the town. In the narrow streets with their old-tihouses the men wear big hats, embroidered waistcoats an

four coats, one on t op of t he oth er; the i nside one, as largeyour hand, barely covering t he shoulder-blades, and t he oside one coming t o just above the seat of t he t rousers.

“ The girls, t all, h andsome and fresh have thei r bosoms crusin a clot h bodi ce which makes an armor, compresses them, allowing one even t o guess at t heir robust and tort ured neThey also wear a strange headdress. On t heir t emples t wo b anembroidered in colors frame t heir face, in closing t he hair, wfalls in a shower at t he back of t heir heads, and is th en t urnup and gathered on top of the head under a singular caoften woven with gold or silver thread.

“ The servant at our in n was eight een at most, wi t h very b

eyes, a pale blue with two tiny black pupils, short teeth closet he first ch ance she ran to t he door, drew back th e bolt and fl

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44

t ogether, wh ich she showed cont inually when she laughed, andwhich seemed strong enough to grind granite.

“ She did not know a word of French, speaking only Breton ,as did most of her companion s.

“As my friend did not improve much, and although he had nodefinite malady, the doctor forbade him to continue his jour-ney yet , ordering complet e rest . I spent my days wit h him , andthe little maid would come in incessantly, bringing either mydinn er or some herb t ea.

“ I t eased her a lit t le, which seemed to amuse her, but we did

not chat, of course, as we could not underst and each ot her.“ But one night, aft er I had stayed quit e lat e with my friend

and was going back to my room, I passed the girl, who wasgoing to her room. It was just opposite my open door, and,without reflection, and more for fun than anything else, Iabruptly seized her round the waist, and before she recoveredfrom her astonishment I had thrown her down and locked herin my room. She looked at me, amazed, excited, t errified, notdaring to cry out for fear of a scandal and of being probablydriven out, first by her employers and then, perhaps, by herfather.

“ I did i t as a joke at f irst. She defended herself bravely, and at

“I scarcely saw her for several days. She would not let come near her. But when my friend was cured and we wereget out on our travels again I saw her coming into my roabout midnight the night before our depart ure, just after I

retired.“She threw herself into my arms and embraced me passio

ately, giving me all the assurances of tenderness and despat hat a woman can give when she does not know a word of language.

“A week later I had forgotten this adventure, so comm

and frequent when one is travelling, the inn servants beigenerally dest ined t o amuse travellers in t his way.

“I was thirty before I thought of i t again, or returnedPont Labbe.

“But in 1876 I revisit ed it by chance during a trip int o tany, which I made in order to look up some data for a boand to become permeated with the atmosphere of the diffent places.

“Nothing seemed changed. The chateau still laved its grwall in t he pond outside the li t t le t own; t he inn was the sat hough i t had been repaired, renovated and looked more moern. As I entered it I was received by two you ng Bret on gir

Gu y de M aupassant

eighteen, fresh and prett y, bound up in t heir t ight cloth bod-“‘That is her son.’



45

ices, with their silver caps and wide embroidered bands ontheir ears.

“ I t was about six o’clock in the evening. I sat down t o din-ner, and as t he host was assiduous in w ait ing on m e himself,

fate, no doubt, impelled me to say:“ ‘Did you know t he former proprietors of t his house? I spent

about ten days here thirty years ago. I am talking old times.’“ ‘Those were my parents, monsieur,’ he repli ed.“ Then I t old him why we had st ayed over at t hat t ime, how

my comrade had been delayed by illness. He did not let me

finish.“‘Oh, I recollect perfectly. I was about fifteen or sixteen.

You slept in the room at the end and your friend in the one Ihave taken for myself, overlookin g t he street .’

“It was only then that the recollection of the li t t le maidcame vividly to my mind. I asked: ‘Do you remember a prettylittle servant who was then in your father ’s employ, and whohad, if my memory does not deceive me, prett y eyes and fresh-looking t eeth ?’

“ ‘Yes, m onsieur; she died i n chi ldbirt h some t ime aft er.’“And, pointing t o t he courtyard where a thin , lame man was

stirring up t he manure, he added:

“I began to laugh:“ ‘He is not handsome and does not look much l ike his mot

No doubt he looks like his father.’“‘That is very possible,’ replied the innkeeper; ‘but we n

knew whose child i t was. She died wit hout t elling any one,no one here knew of her having a beau. Every one was hugastonished when they heard she was enceinte, and no onwould believe it.’

“A sort of unpl easant chill came over me, one of t hose paful surface wounds that affect us like the shadow of an

pending sorrow. And I looked at the man in the yard. He h just drawn wat er for t he horses and was carry ing t wo bucklimping as he walked, with a painful effort of his shorter His clothes were ragged, he was hideously dirty, with loyellow hair, so t angled that it looked like strands of rope ing down at either side of his face.

“‘He is not worth much,’ continued the innkeeper; ‘we hkept him for charity’s sake. Perhaps he would have turned better if he had been brought up like other folks. But wcould one do, monsieur? No father, no mot her, no money!parents took pit y on him, but he was not their child, you derstand.’

“I said nothing.“ I l i ld d ll i h l I h h f hi

whose long yellow hair reminded me of a straw heap, and b b d b d l hi d h

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46

“ I slept in my old room, and all night long I t hought of t hisfright ful st ableman, saying t o myself: ‘Supposing it is my ownson? Could I have caused t hat girl’s death and procreated t hisbeing? It was quite possible!’

“I resolved to speak to this man and to find out the exactdate of his birth. A variation of two months would set mydoubts at rest.

“ I sent for hi m t he next day. But he could not speak French.He looked as if he could not underst and anythi ng, being abso-lutely ignorant of his age, which I had inquired of hi m t hrough

one of the maids. He st ood before me like an idiot , t wirli ng hishat i n ‘his knott ed, disgusti ng hands, laughing stupidly, wit hsomething of his mother ’s laugh in the corners of his mouthand of his eyes.

“The landlord, appearing on the scene, went to look for thebirth certificate of this wretched being. He was born eightmont hs and t wenty- six days aft er my st ay at Pont Labbe, for Irecollect perfectly that we reached Lorient on the fifteenth ofAugust . The certif icate cont ained th is descript ion: ‘Father un-know n.’ The mot her called herself Jeanne Kerradec.

“Then my heart began to beat rapidly. I could not utter aword, for I felt as if I were choking. I looked at this animal

beggar, embarrassed by my gaze, stopped laughing, turned hhead aside, and wanted to get away.

“All day long I wandered beside the li t t le river, givi ng wpainf ul reflections. But what was t he use of reflect ion? I c

be sure of not hin g. For hours and hours I weighed all t he pand cons in favor of or against t he probabili t y of my beingfather, growing nervous over inexplicable suppositions, ot o ret urn incessant ly t o th e same horrible uncert aint y, t henthe still more atrocious conviction that this man was my s

“I could eat no dinner, and went t o my room.

“ I lay awake for a long t ime, and when I f inally f ell aslewas haunted by horribl e visions. I saw t his laborer laughinmy face and calli ng me ‘papa.’ Then he ch anged int o a dog bit t he calves of my legs, and no matt er how fast I ran he sfollowed me, and instead of barking, talked and reviled Then he appeared before my colleagues at the Academy, whad assembled t o decide whether I was really his fat her; aone of them cried out: ‘There can be no doubt about it! Show he resembles him.’ And, in deed, I could see t hat t his mster looked like me. And I awoke with this idea fixed inmind and with an insane desire to see the man again anassure myself wheth er or not we had simi lar features.

Gu y de M aupassant

“ I joi ned him as he was going to mass (i t was Sunday) and Ihi f i f I d t hi i l H b t

pocket he would spend it in drink. The landlord added: ‘Gihi i lik t i t kil l hi ’ Th h d



47

gave him f ive francs as I gazed at him anxiously. He began tolaugh in an idi ot ic manner, t ook t he money, and then, embar-rassed afresh at my gaze, he ran off, after stammering an al-most inarticulate word t hat, no doubt, meant ‘th ank you.’

“ My day passed in t he same distress of mi nd as on t he previ-ous night. I sent for the landlord, and, with the greatest cau-tion, skill and tact, I told him that I was interested in thispoor creature, so abandoned by every one and deprived ofeverything, and I wished t o do something for h im.

“ But t he man replied: ‘Oh, do not th ink of i t , monsieur; he is

of no account; you will only cause yourself annoyance. I em-ploy him to clean out the stable, and that is all he can do. Igive hi m hi s board and let h im sleep wit h t he horses. He needsnothing more. If you have an old pair of trousers, you mightgive them to him, but they will be in rags in a week.’

“I did not insist , in tending to t hink i t over.“ The poor wretch came home th at evening fright full y drunk,

came near set t ing f ire to t he house, kill ed a horse by hit t ing i twith a pickaxe, and ended up by lying down to sleep in themud in t he midst of t he pouring rain, t hanks to my donati on.

“ They begged me next day not t o give hi m any more money.Brandy drove him crazy, and as soon as he had t wo sous in h is

him money is like t rying t o kil l hi m.’ The man had never, nin his l ife had more than a few centimes, thrown to himt ravellers, and he knew of no destinat ion for t his metal butwine shop.

“ I spent several hours in my room wi t h an open book befme which I pretended to read, but in reality looking at animal, my son! my son! trying to discover if he looked athing like me. After careful scrutiny I seemed to recognisimilarit y in t he lines of t he forehead and the root of t he nand I was soon convi nced th at t here was a resemblance, co

cealed by t he dif ference in garb and t he man’s hideous headhair.

“I could not stay here any longer without arousing suscion, and I went away, my heart crushed, leaving with inn keeper some money to soft en t he existence of hi s serva

“ For six years now I have lived wit h t his idea in my m indhorrible uncertainty, this abominable suspicion. And each yan irresistible force takes me back to Pont Labbe. Every yeacondemn myself t o t he tort ure of seeing t his animal rakingmanure, imagining that he resembles me, and endeavoring, ways vainly, to render him some assistance. And each yeareturn more uncertain, more tormented, more worried.

“I tried to have him taught, but he is a hopeless idiot. It ried t o make his lif e less hard He is an irreclaimable drunk

and I reflect t hat he came from myself, t hat he belongs to through the intimate bond that links father and son th

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48

t ried t o make his lif e less hard. He is an irreclaimable drunk-ard, and spends in drink all the money one gives him, andknows enough t o sell h is new cloth es in order to get brandy.

“ I t ried t o awaken his mast er ’s sympathy, so that he should

look after him, offering to pay him for doing so. The inn-keeper, f inally surprised, said, very wi sely: ‘All t hat you do forhim , monsieur, wil l only help t o dest roy him. He must be keptli ke a prisoner. As soon as he has any spare t ime, or any com-fort, he becomes wicked. If you wish to do good, there is nolack of abandoned children, but select one who wi ll appreciat e

your attention.’“ What could I say?“ I f I allowed the slightest suspicion of the doubts that tor-

tured me to escape, this idiot would assuredly become cun-nin g, in order t o blackmail me, to compromi se me and ruin me.He would call out ‘papa,’ as in my dream.

“And I said to myself t hat I had killed the mother and lostt hi s atroph ied creat ure, t hi s larva of the stable, born and raisedamid the manure, this man who, if brought up like others,would h ave been li ke others.

“And you cannot imagine what a strange, embarrassed andintolerable feeling comes over me when he stands before me

through the intimate bond that l inks father and son, ththanks to the terrible law of heredity, he is my own self thousand ways, in his blood and his flesh, and that he heven t he same germs of disease, th e same leaven of emot ion

“ I have an incessant restless, di stressing longi ng t o see hiand the sight of him causes me intense suffering, as I lodown from my window and watch him for hours removingcarting the horse manure, saying to myself: ‘That is my so

“And I sometimes feel an irresistible longing to embrhim. I have never even touched his dirty hand.”

The academician was silent. His companion, a tactful mmurmured: “ Yes, i ndeed, we ought t o t ake a closer int ereschildren who h ave no father.”

A gust of wind passing through the tree shook its yellclusters, enveloping in a fragrant and delicate mist the told men, who inhaled in the fragrance with deep breaths.

The senator added: “I t i s good t o be twent y-fi ve and evenhave children like that.”

Gu y de M aupassant

nearly within reach of one’s hands, without daring, or beable to touch them and one scarcely tastes food When o



49

THAT PI G OF A MORI N

“Here, my friend,” I said to Labarbe, “you have just repeated

t hose fi ve words, t hat pi g of a Morin. Why on earth do I neverhear Morin’s name mentioned wi t hout his being called a pig?”

Labarbe, who is a deputy, looked at me with his owl-likeeyes and said: “Do you mean to say that you do not knowMorin’s story and you come from La Rochelle?” I was obligedt o declare th at I did not know Morin’s st ory, so Labarbe rubbed

his hands and began h is recit al.“You knew Morin, did you not, and you remember his largelinen-draper’s shop on the Quai de la Rochelle?”

“Yes, perfectly.”“Well, then. You must know that in 1862 or ’63 Morin went

to spend a fortnight in Paris for pleasure; or for his pleasures,but under the pretext of renewing h is st ock, and you also knowwhat a fortnight in Paris means to a country shopkeeper; itfires his blood. The theatre every evening, women’s dressesrustling up against you and continual excitement; one goesalmost mad with it. One sees nothing but dancers in tights,actresses in very low dresses, round legs, fat shoulders, all

able, to touch them, and one scarcely tastes food. When oleaves the cit y one’s heart i s st ill all in a flut t er and one’s mstill exhilarated by a sort of longing for kisses which ticone’s lip s.

“ Morin was in t hat condit ion when he took his t icket foRochelle by the eight-forty night express. As he was walkup and down t he waiting-room at the station he stopped sdenly in front of a young l ady who was kissing an old on e.had her veil up, and Morin murmured with delight: ‘By what a prett y woman!’

“When she had said ‘good-by’ to the old lady she went ithe wait ing-room, and Morin followed her; t hen she wenthe platform and Morin sti l l followed her; t hen she got intempt y carriage, and he again fol low ed her. There were very travellers on the express. The engine whistled and the trastarted. They were alone. Morin devoured her with his eyShe appeared to be about nineteen or twenty and was fait all, wi t h a bold l ook. She wrapped a railway rug round herstretched herself on t he seat t o sleep.

“ Morin asked hi mself: ‘I wonder who she is?’ And a t houconjectures, a thousand projects went through his head. Hsaid t o h imself: ‘So many advent ures are t old as happening

railw ay journeys t hat t his may be one t hat i s going t o presentitself to me Who knows? A piece of good luck like that hap-

for him; it was discreet invitation, the signal which he wait ing for That smile meant t o say: ‘How stupid what a n

T hat Pig of a M orin



50

itself to me. Who knows? A piece of good luck like that hap-pens very suddenly, and perhaps I need only be a little ven-turesome. Was it not Danton who said: “Audacity, more audac-it y and always audacit y” ? If i t was not Danton it was Mirabeau,

but that does not matter. But then I have no audacity, andth at is t he difficult y. Oh! I f one only knew, if one could onlyread people’s minds! I will bet that every day one passes bymagnificent opportunities without knowing it , though a ges-ture would be enough to let me know her mind.’

“ Then he imagined to hi mself combi nations which conducted

him to triumph. He pictured some chivalrous deed or merelysome slight service which he rendered her, a lively, gallantconversatio n wh ich ended in a declaration .

“ But he could find no opening, h ad no pretext, and he waitedfor some fortunate circumstance, with his heart beating andhis mind t opsy-turvy. The night passed and the pret t y girl stil lslept, while Morin was meditating his own fall. The day brokeand soon t he first ray of sunlight appeared in t he sky, a long,clear ray which shone on t he face of t he sleeping girl and wokeher. She sat up, looked at t he count ry, t hen at Morin and smiled.She smiled like a happy woman, with an engaging and brightlook, and Morin trembled. Certainly that smile was intended

wait ing for. That smile meant t o say: How stupid, what a nwhat a dolt, what a donkey you are, t o have sat t here on yoseat like a post all night!

“ ‘Just look at me, am I not charming? And you have sat

that for the whole night, when you have been alone witprett y woman, you great simpleton! ’

“ She was st ill smiling as she looked at him ; she even begto laugh; and he lost his head t rying to f ind someth ing suable to say, no matter what. But he could think of nothinot hing, and t hen, seized wit h a coward’s courage, he said

himself:“ ‘So much t he worse, I will risk everyth ing,’ and suddenly, out the slightest warning, he went toward her, his arms tended, his lips protruding, and, seizing her in his arms, kissed her.

“ She sprang up immediately wit h a bound, crying out : ‘Hhelp!’ and screaming with terror; and then she opened tcarriage door and waved her arm out, mad with terror atrying to jump out, while Morin, who was almost distraand feeling sure that she would t hrow herself out , held hert he skirt and stammered: ‘Oh, madame! oh , madame!’

“The train slackened speed and then stopped. Two guar

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rushed up at the young woman’s frantic signals. She threwherself into their arms stammering: ‘That man wanted—

Rivet, a jocular but very sensible little man, to give us advice



51

herself into their arms, stammering: That man wantedwanted— to— to— ’ And then she fainted.

“ They were at Mauze st ation , and t he gendarme on dut y ar-rested Morin. When th e victi m of hi s indiscreet admiration h ad

regained her consciousness, she made her charge again st h im ,and th e police drew it up. The poor linen draper did n ot reachhome til l night, with a prosecution hanging over him for anout rage to morals in a public place.”

I I

“At that time I was editor of the Fanal des Charentes, and Iused to meet Morin every day at the Cafe du Commerce, andthe day after his adventure. he came to see me, as he did notknow what to do. I did not hide my opinion from him, but saidt o hi m: ‘You are no bet t er th an a pig. No decent man behaves

like that.’“ He cried. His wife had given h im a beati ng, and he foresaw

his t rade ruined, hi s name dragged th rough t he mire and dis-honored, his friends scandalized and taking no not ice of hi m.In the end he excited my pity, and I sent for my colleague,

advice.“He advised me to see the public prosecutor, who was

friend of mine, and so I sent Morin home and went to callthe magistrate. He told me that the woman who had be

insult ed was a young lady, Mademoiselle Henriet t e Bonnel, had j ust received her cert if icat e as governess in Paris and speher holidays wit h her uncle and aunt , wh o were very respeable tradespeople in Mauze. What made Morin’s case all more serious was that the uncle had lodged a complaint, bthe public official had consented to let the matt er drop if complaint were wit hdrawn, so we must try and get hi m t othis.

“I went back to Morin’s and found him in bed, i l l withcit ement and distress. His wife, a tall raw-boned woman wibeard, was abusing him continually, and she showed me int he room, shouting at me: ‘So you have come to see t hat piga Morin . Well, t here he is, t he darling !’ And she planted he

in f ront of t he bed, with her hands on her hips. I told h im matt ers stood, and he begged me to go and see t he girl’s uncand aunt. It was a delicate mission, but I undertook it , at he poor devil never ceased repeati ng: ‘I assure you I did even kiss her; no, not even t hat. I will t ake my oath to i t

“ I replied: ‘I t is all the same; you are nothi ng but a pig.’ AndI took a thousand francs which he gave me to employ as I

denly he utt ered an exclamat ion of t riumph : ‘Look here, I han excellent idea; I will keep you here to dine and sleep, a




52

I took a thousand francs which he gave me to employ as Ithought best, but as I did not care to venture to her uncle’shouse alone, I begged Rivet t o go wit h me, which he agreed todo on condition that we went immediately, for he had some

urgent business at La Rochelle that afternoon. So two hourslater we rang at t he door of a pret t y country house. An at t rac-t ive girl came and opened t he door t o us assuredly t he younglady in quest ion, and I said t o Rivet in a low voice: ‘Confoundit ! I begin to understand Morin! ’

“The uncle, Monsieur Tonnelet, subscribed to the Fanal, andwas a fervent political coreligionist of ours. He received uswith open arms and congratulated us and wished us joy; hewas delighted at having the two editors in his house, andRivet whi spered to me: ‘I t hin k we shall be able to arrange t hematt er of t hat pig of a Morin f or him.’

“The niece had left the room and I introduced the delicatesubject . I waved the spectre of scandal before his eyes; I ac-

centuated the inevitable depreciation which the young ladywould suffer if such an affair became known, for nobody woul dbelieve in a simple kiss, and the good man seemed undecided,but he could not make up his mind about anyth ing wit hout hi swife, who would not be in until late that evening. But sud-

an excellent idea; I will keep you here to dine and sleep, awhen my w if e comes home I hope we shall be able t o arranmatters:

“Rivet resisted at fi rst , but t he wish t o ext ricate t hat pi

a Morin decided him, and we accepted the invitation, and uncle got up radiant, called his niece and proposed that wshould take a stroll in his grounds, saying: ‘We will leave sous matters until the morning.’ Rivet and he began to tpolit ics, while I soon found myself lagging a l i t t le behind ‘t he girl who was really charming— charming— and withgreat est precaution I began to speak to her about her advet ure and try t o make her my ally. She did not , how ever, appthe least confused, and listened to me like a person who wenjoying t he whole thing very much.

“I said to her: ‘Just think, mademoiselle, how unpleasanwil l be for you. You will have to appear in court , t o encoumalicious looks, t o speak before everybody and t o recount t

unfortunate occurrence in the railway carriage in public.you not think, between ourselves, that it would have bemuch better for you to have put that dirty scoundrel backhis place wit hout calling fo r assist ance, and merely to chayour carriage?’ She began to laugh and replied: ‘What you

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is quite t rue, but what could I do? I was fright ened, and whenone is fright ened one does not stop t o reason wit h one’s self.

some Labarbe’— I was t hirt y years old in t hose days— buasked her: ‘And why, pray?’ She shrugged her shoulders a



53

g pAs soon as I realized the sit uation I was very sorry, t hat I hadcalled out, but then it was too late. You must also rememberth at t he idiot t hrew himself upon me like a madman, wit hout

saying a word and looking like a lunatic. I did not even knowwhat he wanted of me.’

“She looked me full in the face without being nervous orintimidated and I said to myself: ‘She is a queer sort of girl,that: I can quite see how that pig Morin came to make a mis-take,’ and I went on jokingly: ‘Come, mademoiselle, confesst hat he was excusable, for, aft er all, a man cannot fi nd hi mselfopposite such a prett y girl as you are wit hout feeling a naturaldesire to kiss her.’

“ She laughed more th an ever and showed her t eeth and said:‘Between the desire and the act, monsieur, there is room forrespect.’ It was an o dd expression t o use, alt hough it was notvery clear, and I asked abruptly: ‘Well, now, suppose I were to

kiss you, wh at wou ld you do?’ She st opped to look at me fromhead to foot and then said calmly: ‘Oh, you? That is quiteanother matter.’

“I knew perfectly well , by Jove, that i t was not the samet hi ng at all, as everybody in t he neighborhood called me ‘Hand-

y, p y ggreplied: ‘Well! because you are not so st upid as he is.’ And tshe added, loo king at me slyly: ‘Nor so ugly, eit her: And beshe could make a movement to avoid me I had implanted

hearty k iss on her cheek. She sprang aside, but it was too l aand t hen she said: ‘Well, you are not very bashfu l, eit her! don’t do th at sort of t hing again.’

“ I put on a humble look and said in a low voice: ‘Oh, mmoiselle! as for me, if I long for one thing more than anoit is t o be summoned before a magist rate for t he same reasas Morin.’

“‘Why?’ she asked. And, looking steadily at her, I repl‘Because you are one of the most beautiful creatures livibecause it woul d be an honor and a glory for me to h ave wisto offer you violence, and because people would have saafter seeing you: “Well, Labarbe has richly deserved whathas got, but he is a lucky fellow, all t he same.” ’

“ She began t o laugh heartil y again and said: ‘How funny are!’ And she had not finished the word ‘funny’ before Iher in my arms and was kissing her ardently wherever I cofind a place, on her forehead, on her eyes, on her lips occsionally, on her cheeks, all over her head, some part of wh

she was obliged to leave exposed, in spite of herself, to de-fend the others; but at last she managed to release herself,

“ She looked at m e to see if I was in earnest and was readysmile again. Then she murmured: ‘You humbug!’ But I ra




54

gblushing and angry. ‘You are very unmannerly, monsieur,’ shesaid, ‘and I am sorry I list ened t o you.’

“I took her hand in some confusion and stammered out: ‘I

beg your pardon. I beg your pardon, mademoiselle. I haveoffended you; I have acted like a brute! Do not be angry withme for what I have done. I f you knew— ’ I vainly sought forsome excuse, and i n a few moment s she said: ‘There is not hi ngfor me t o know, monsieur.’ But I had found somethi ng t o say,and I cried: ‘Mademoiselle, I love you!’

“She was really surprised and raised her eyes to look at me,and I went on: ‘Yes, mademoiselle, and pray listen to me. I donot know Morin, and I do not care anything about hi m. I t doesnot matter t o me the least if he is commit ted for t rial and lockedup meanwhil e. I saw you here last year, and I was so t aken wi t hyou that the t hought of you has never left me since, and it doesnot matt er to me whet her you believe me or not. I t hought you

adorable, and the remembrance of you took such a hold on meth at I longed t o see you again, and so I made use of t hat foolMorin as a pretext, and here I am. Circumstances have made meexceed the due limits of respect, and I can only beg you topardon me.’

g gmy hand and said in a sincere voice (and I really believe tI was sincere): ‘I swear to you that I am speaking the truand she replied quit e simply: ‘Don’t t alk nonsense!’

“We were alone, quite alone, as Rivet and her uncle hdisappeared down a sidewalk, and I made her a real declartion of love, while I squeezed and kissed her hands, and slistened to it as to something new and agreeable, withoexactly knowing how much of it she was to believe, whilt he end I felt agit ated, and at l ast really myself believed wI said. I was pale, anxious and t rembli ng, and I gently putarm round her waist and spoke to her softly, whispering ithe little curls over her ears. She seemed in a trance, so asorbed in t hought was she.

“Then her hand touched mine, and she pressed it, andgently squeezed her waist wit h a t rembli ng, and gradually f irgrasp. She did not move now, and I t ouched her cheek wit h

lips, and suddenly without seeking them my lips met herswas a long, long ki ss, and it would h ave last ed longer st illhad not heard a hm! hm! just behind me, at which she maher escape through t he bushes, and t urning round I saw Rivcoming t oward me, and, standing in t he middle of t he path

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said without even smiling: ‘So that is the way you settle theaffair of that pig of a Morin.’ And I replied conceitedly: ‘One

Then she took me to my room, and as soon as she was alonwith me I took her in my arms again and tried to arouse



55

does what one can, my dear fellow. But what about t he uncle?How have you got on wit h hi m? I w ill answer for t he niece.’ ‘Ihave not been so fortunate with him,’ he replied.

“Whereupon I took his arm and we went indoors.”

I I I

“Dinner made me lose my head altogether. I sat beside her,and my hand continually met hers under the tablecloth, myfoot t ouched hers and our glances met .

“After dinner we took a walk by moonlight, and I whisperedall the t ender things I could thin k of t o her. I held her close tome, kissed her every moment, while her uncle and Rivet werearguing as t hey walked in front of us. They went i n, and soona messenger brought a t elegram from her aunt , saying t hat she

would not return until the next morning at seven o’clock bythe first train.

“ ‘Very well, Henriet t e,’ her uncle said, ‘go and show the gentl e-men t heir rooms.’ She showed Rivet hi s first , and he wh isperedto me: ‘There was no danger of her taking us into yours first.’

emoti on, but when she saw t he danger she escaped out of troom, and I reti red very much put ou t and excit ed and feelrather foolish, for I knew that I should not sleep much, an

was wondering how I could have committed such a mistawhen t here was a gent le knock at my door, and on my askwho was there a low voice replied: ‘I ’

“ I dressed myself quickl y and opened t he door, and she cain. ‘I forgot t o ask you what you t ake in t he morning,’ she ‘chocolate, tea or coffee?’ I put my arms round her impeously and said, devouring her wit h kisses: ‘I wil l t ake— Itake— ’

“ But she freed herself from my arms, blew o ut my candledisappeared and left me alone in the dark, furious, tryingfind some matches, and not able to do so. At last I got soand I went int o th e passage, feeling half mad, wit h my canstick in my hand.

“What was I about to do? I did not stop to reason, I owanted to find her, and I would. I went a few steps withreflecti ng, but t hen I suddenly t hought : ‘Suppose I should winto the uncle’s room what should I say?’ And I stood swith my head a void and my heart beating. But in a few m

ments I t hought of an answer: ‘Of course, I shall say that I waslooking for Rivet’s room to speak to him about an important

some ruins. Henriette made signs to me to stay, behind hparent s’ back, and I accepted, but Rivet was determined t o




56

matter,’ and I began to inspect all the doors, trying to findhers, and at last I t ook hold of a handle at a venture, turned itand went i n. There was Henriett e, sit t ing on her bed and look-

ing at me in t ears. So I gently t urned the key, and going up t oher on ti ptoe I said: ‘I forgot to ask you for something to read,mademoiselle.’

“ I was stealt hily returning t o my room when a rough handseized me and a voice— it was Rivet ’s— whi spered in my ear:‘So you have not yet quite settled that affair of Morin’s?’

“At seven o’clock the next morning Henriet t e herself broughtme a cup of chocolate. I never have drunk anything like it,soft , velvety, perfumed, delicious. I could hardly t ake away mylips from t he cup, and she had hardly left t he room when Rivetcame in. He seemed nervous and i rrit able, li ke a man who h adnot slept , and he said to me crossly:

“ ‘I f you go on li ke this you will end by spoiling t he affair of

th at pig of a Morin!’“At eight o’clock the aunt arrived. Our discussion was very

short, for t hey withdrew t heir complaint, and I left f ive hun-dred francs for the poor of the town. They wanted to keep usfor the day, and they arranged an excursion to go and see

and though I t ook him aside and begged and prayed him t ot his for me, he appeared quit e exasperated and kept saying me: ‘I have had enough of that pig of a Morin’s affair, do

hear?’“ Of course I w as obliged t o leave also, and it was one of

hardest moments of my life. I could have gone on arrangthat business as long as I lived, and when we were in trailway carriage, aft er shaking h ands with her in silence, I to Rivet: ‘You are a mere brute!’ And he replied: ‘My dearlow, you were beginni ng t o annoy me confo undedly.’

“ On gett ing t o t he Fanal office, I saw a crowd waiti ng foand as soon as they saw us t hey all exclaimed: ‘Well, have ysettled the affair of that pig of a Morin?’ All La Rochelleexcit ed about i t , and Rivet , who had got over his ill -humoth e journey, had great di ff iculty i n keeping himself f rom laing as he said: ‘Yes, we have managed it, thanks to Labarb

And we went t o Morin’s.“ He was sitt ing i n an easy-chair wi t h mustard plast ers on

legs and cold bandages on his head, nearly dead with miserHe was coughing wit h t he short cough of a dying man, wout any one knowing how he had caught i t , and his wife loo

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at h im like a t igress ready t o eat h im, and as soon as he saw ushe t rembled so violent ly as to make his hands and knees shake,

“As soon as she had left me alone wit h her husband he t oboth my hands, and, squeezing them as if he meant to cru



57

so I said t o him i mmediately: ‘It is all set t led, you dirty scamp,but don’t do such a thing again.’

“He got up, choking, took my hands and kissed them as if

they had belonged to a prince, cried, nearly fainted, embracedRivet and even ki ssed Madame Morin, who g ave him such a pushas t o send hi m staggering back int o hi s chair; but he never gotover the blow; his mind had been too much upset. In all thecount ry round, moreover, he was called nothi ng but ‘that pig ofa Morin,’ and that epithet went th rough h im like a sword-t hrustevery t ime he heard it . When a street boy called aft er him ‘Pig!’he turned his head instinctively. His friends also overwhelmedhim with horrible jokes and used to ask him, whenever theywere eati ng ham, ‘Is it a bit of yourself?’ He died tw o years later.

“As for myself, when I was a candidate for the Chamber ofDeputies in 1875, I called on the new notary at Fousserre,Monsieur Belloncle, to solicit his vote, and a tall, handsome

and evidently w ealthy lady received me. ‘You do no t know meagain?’ she said. And I stammered out : ‘Why— no— madame.’‘Henriette Bonnel.’ ‘Ah!’ And I felt myself turning pale, whileshe seemed perfectly at her ease and looked at me with asmile.

t hem, he said: ‘I have been int ending t o go and see you folong t ime, my dear sir, for my wif e has very often t alked tabout you. I know— yes, I know under what painful circ

stances you made her acquaintance, and I know also how pfectl y you behaved, how ful l of delicacy, t act and devotionshowed yourself i n t he affair— ’ He hesitat ed and t hen saia lower tone, as if he had been saying something low acoarse, ‘in t he affair of t hat pig of a Morin.’”

glasses dance, and cried with the assumed wrath of a goofellow, with a flushed face and a sly look in his eye: “I s

Saint Anthony



58

SAI NT ANTHONY

They called hi m Saint Ant hony, because his name was Anthon y,

and also, perhaps, because he was a good fellow, jovial, alover of pract ical jo kes, a tremendous eat er and a heavy drinkerand a gay fellow, altho ugh he w as sixty years old.

He was a big peasant of t he district of Caux, wit h a red face,large chest and stomach, and perched on t wo l egs that seemedtoo slight for the bulk of his body.

He was a widower and lived alone wit h hi s two m en servantsand a maid on his farm, which he conducted with shrewdeconomy. He was careful o f hi s own int erest s, underst ood busi-ness and t he raising of catt le, and farming. Hi s two sons andhis three daughters, who had married well, were living in theneighborhood and came t o dine wit h t heir father once a month.His vigor of body was famous in all t he countryside. “ He is as

strong as Saint Anthony,” had become a kind of proverb.At the time of the Prussian invasion Saint Anthony, at the

wine shop, promi sed t o eat an army, for h e was a braggart, likea true Norman, a bit of a, coward and a blusterer. He bangedhis fist on the wooden table, making the cups and the brandy

have to eat some of t hem, nom de Dieu!” He reckoned th at Prussians would not come as far as Tanneville, but when heard t hey were at Rautot he never went out of t he house, a

constantly watched the road from the li t t le window of kitchen, expecting at any moment to see the bayonets go b

One morning as he was eating his luncheon with the sevants th e door opened and the mayor of t he commune, MaiChicot, appeared, followed by a soldier wearing a black cper-pointed helmet. Saint Anthony bounded to his feet ahis servants all looked at hi m, expecting t o see him slash Prussian. But he merely shook hands wi t h t he mayor, who s

“Here is one for you, Saint Anthony. They came last nigDon’t do anything foolish, above all things, for they talkeshooti ng and burning everything if there is the slight est pleasantness, I have given you warning. Give him somethto eat; he looks like a good fellow. Good-day. I am going

call on the rest. There are enough for all.” And he went ouFather Anthony, who had turned pale, looked at the Pru

sian. He was a big, young fellow with plump, white skin, eyes, f air hair, unshaven t o hi s cheek bones, who looked spid, timid and good. The shrewd Norman read him at on

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and, reassured, he made him a sign to sit down. Then he said:“Will you take some soup?”

The old fell ow was so pleased t hat he had th e brandy brougin, good stuf f, ‘fi l en di x’, and treated every one. They cli



59

The stranger did not underst and. Anthon y t hen became bolder,and pushing a plateful of soup right under his nose, he said:“Here, swallow t hat, bi g pig!”

The soldier answered “ Ya,” and began t o eat greedily, whi lethe farmer, triumphant, feeling he had regained his reputa-ti on, w inked his eye at t he servant s, who were making strangegrimaces, what with their terror and their desire to laugh.

When the Prussian had devoured his soup, Saint Anthonygave him anot her plateful, which disappeared in like manner;but he fli nched at t he thi rd which the farmer tried t o insist onhis eati ng, saying: “ Come, put th at i nto your stomach; ‘twillfatt en you or i t is your own fault , eh, pig!”

The soldier, understanding only that they wanted to makehim eat all his soup, laughed in a cont ented manner, making asign to show that he could not hold any more.

Then Saint Anthony, become quite familiar, tapped him on

the stomach, saying: “My, there is plenty in my pig’s belly!”But suddenly he began to wri t he wit h laught er, unable to speak.An idea had struck him which made him choke with mirth.“ That’s it, t hat ’s it , Saint Anthony and hi s pig. There’s my pig! ”And the three servants burst out laughing in their turn.

glasses with the Prussian, who clacked his tongue by wayflattery to show that he enjoyed it . And Saint Anthony claimed in his face: “Eh, is not that superfine? You don’t

anyth ing like th at in your home, pig!”From th at t ime Father Anthony never went out wit hout his P

sian. He had got what he wanted. This was his vengeance, tvengeance of an old rogue. And the whole countryside, whichin terror, laughed to split its sides at Saint Anthony’s joke. Tthere was no one like him when it came to humor. No one buwould have thought of a t hing li ke that. He was a born joke

He went t o see his neighbors every day, arm in arm wit h German, whom he introduced in a jovial manner, tapping on t he shoulder: “ See, here is my pig; look and see if he i s growing fat, the animal!”

And the peasants would beam with smiles. “He is so cocal, that reckless fellow, Antoine!”

“I will sell him to you, Cesaire, for three pistoles” (thfrancs).

“I will t ake him, Antoine, and I invit e you to eat some bpudding.”

“What I want is his feet.”

“Feel his belly; you will see that it is all fat.”And they all winked at each other, but dared not laugh too

pleasure of being with him.The weather was severe; it was freezing hard. The terrib

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60

loud, for f ear the Prussian mi ght fi nally suspect t hey were laugh-ing at him . Ant hony, alone growing bol der every day, pi nchedhis thighs, exclaiming, “Nothing but fat”; tapped him on the

back, shouti ng, “ That i s all bacon”; l i ft ed him up i n hi s armsas an old Colossus that could have lifted an anvil, declaring,“ He weighs six hundred and no wast e.”

He had got int o t he habit of making people offer his “pi g”something to eat wherever they went together. This was thechief pl easure, t he great diversion every day. “ Give hi m wh at-ever you please, he will swallow everyt hing. ” And they off eredthe man bread and butter, potatoes, cold meat, chitterlings,which caused t he remark, “ Some of you r own, and choice ones.”

The soldier, stupid and gentle, ate from politeness, charmedat t hese at t enti ons, making him self i ll rather th an refuse, andhe was actually growing fat and his uniform becoming tightfor him. This delighted Saint Anthony, who said: “You know,

my pig, that we shall have to have another cage made foryou.”

They had, however, become the best friends in the world,and when t he old fellow went t o att end to his business in theneighborhood the Prussian accompanied him for the simple

wint er of 1870 seemed to bring all t he scourges on Franceone time.

Father Antoine, who made provision beforehand, and to

advantage of every opportuni t y, foreseeing th at manure wobe scarce for th e spring f arming, bough t from a neighbor whappened to be in need of money all that he had, and it wagreed that he should go every evening with his cart to geload.

So every day at twilight he set out for the farm of Hauhalf a league distant, always accompanied by his “pig.” Aeach time it was a festival, feeding the animal. All the neibors ran over there as they would go to high mass on Sunda

But the soldier began to suspect something, be mistrustfand when t hey laughed too l oud he would roll his eyes uneily, and sometimes they lighted up with anger.

One evening when he h ad eat en hi s fill he refused t o sw

low another morsel, and attempted to rise to leave the tabBut Saint Anthony stopped him by a turn of the wrist aplacing his two powerful hands on his shoulders, he sat hdown again so roughly that the chair smashed under him.

A wild burst of laught er broke forth, and Ant hony, beam

Gu y de M aupassant

picked up hi s pig, acted as tho ugh he were dressing h is wounds,and exclaimed: “Since you wil l not eat , you shall drink, nom deDi !” A d h h i h b d

ot her would dodge backwards, and each ti me he did he ut t esome German expression in an angry tone, which made t

i h l h Fi ll h P i l hi



61

Dieu!” And they went to the wine shop to get some brandy.The soldier rolled his eyes, which had a wicked expression,

but he drank, nevertheless; he drank as long as they wanted

him, and Saint Anthony held his head to the great delight ofhis companion s.

The Norman, red as a tomato, his eyes ablaze, filled up theglasses and cli nked, saying: “ Here’s t o you! ”. And th e Prussian,wit hout speaking a word, poured down one after anot her glass-fuls of cognac.

It was a contest, a battle, a revenge! Who would drink themost, nom d’un nom! They could neither of them stand anymore when t he lit er was empti ed. But neit her was conquered.They were t ied, t hat was all. They would h ave to begin againt he next day.

They went out staggering and start ed for home, walking be-side t he dung cart wh ich was drawn along slowl y by t wo horses.

Snow began t o fall and t he moonless nigh t was sadly ligh t edby this dead whiteness on the plain. The men began to feelthe cold, and th is aggravat ed their int oxicat ion. Saint Anthony,annoyed at not being the victor, amused himself by shovinghis companion so as to make him fall over into the ditch. The

peasant roar with laughter. Finally the Prussian lost his teper, and j ust as Anthony was rolli ng t owards him he responwith such a terrific blow with his fist that the Colossus s

gered.Then, excited by t he brandy, t he old man seized t he pugi

round the waist, shook him for a few moments as he wohave done with a l i t t le child, and pitched him at randomthe other side of the road. Then, satisfied with this piecework, he crossed his arms and began to laugh afresh.

But t he soldier picked himself up in a hurry, hi s head bhis helmet having rolled of f, and drawing his sword he rusover to Father Ant hony.

When he saw him coming t he peasant seized his whip by top of the handle, his big holly wood whip, straight, strand supple as the sinew of an ox.

The Prussian approached, his head down, making a lun

wit h hi s sword, sure of killi ng hi s adversary. But t he old fesquarely hitt ing the blade, the point of which would hpierced his stomach, turned it aside, and with the butt endt he whip struck th e soldier a sharp blow on t he temple andfell to the ground.

Then he, gazed aghast, st upefi ed wit h amazement, at t he body,twi t ching convulsively at first and th en lying prone and motion-l H b t it t d it it b k d g d t it f

lying on t op of i t would fall into t he ditch and be buriedneath it , and he dumped t he cart .

A h h d f th b i d b th th

Saint Anthony



62

less. He bent over it, turned it on its back, and gazed at it forsome time. The man’s eyes were closed, and blood trickled froma wound at the side of his forehead. Although it was dark, Fa-

th er Anthony could disti nguish the bloodstain on t he whit e snow.He remained there, at his wit ’s end, while hi s cart cont inued

slowly on i t s way.What was he t o do? He would be shot! They would burn his

farm, ruin his dist rict! What should he do? What should he do?How could he hide the body, conceal the fact of his death,deceive the Prussians? He heard voices in the distance, amidthe utter stillness of the snow. All at once he roused himself,and picking up the helmet he placed it on his victim’s head.Then, seizing hi m round t he body, he lif t ed him up i n hi s arms,and thus running wit h him , he overtook his t eam, and threwthe body on top of the manure. Once in his own house hewould t hink up some plan.

He walked slowly, racking his brain, but without result. Hesaw, he felt, t hat he was lost. He entered his courtyard. A lightwas shining in one of the attic windows; his maid was notasleep. He hast ily backed his wagon t o t he edge of t he manurehollow. He thought th at by overturning t he manure the body

As he had foreseen, the man was buried beneath the manure. Anthony evened it down wit h his fork, which he st uct he ground beside it . He called his st ableman, t old him t o

up the horses, and went to his room.He went t o bed, sti l l t hinking of what he had best do, bu

ideas came to h im. His apprehension i ncreased in t he quiethis room. They would shoot him! He was bathed in persption from fear, his teeth chattered, he rose shivering, not bing able to stay in bed.

He went downst airs to t he kitchen, t ook the bot tl e of brafrom t he sideboard and carried it upstairs. He drank t wo laglasses, one after another, adding a fresh intoxication to tlate one, without quieting his mental anguish. He had donpretty stroke of work, nom de Dieu, idiot!

He paced up and down, trying to think of some stratagesome explanat ions, some cunning trick, and f rom t ime t o t im

rinsed his mouth with a swallow of “fil en dix” to give himage.

But no ideas came to him, not one.Towards midn ight his wat ch dog, a kind of cross wolf ca

“Devorant,” began to howl frantically. Father Anthony s

Gu y de M aupassant

dered to the marrow of his bones, and each time the beastbegan his long and lugubrious wail the old man’s skin turnedt o goose flesh

was sticking in the ground. He snatched it up and in onethose transports of fear that will make the greatest cowabrave he rushed forward t o see what i t was



63

t o goose flesh.He had sunk i nt o a chair, his legs weak, stupef ied, done up,

waiting anxiously for “ Devorant” to set up another howl, and

starting convulsively from nervousness caused by terror.The clock downstairs struck fi ve. The dog was still howli ng.

The peasant was almost insane. He rose to go and let the dogloose, so that he should not hear him. He went downstairs,opened the hall door, and stepped out int o t he darkness. Thesnow was stil l falli ng. The earth was all whi t e, t he farm build-ings standing ou t like black patches. He approached the ken-nel. The dog was dragging at his chain. He unfastened it.“Devorant” gave a bound, then stopped short, his hair bris-tling, his legs rigid, his muzzle in the air, his nose pointedt owards t he manure heap.

Saint Anthony, trembling from head to foot, faltered:“ What’s the mat ter wit h you, you di rty hound?” and he walked

a few steps forward, gazing at t he indisti nct out lines, t he sombreshadow of t he courtyard.

Then he saw a form, t he form of a man sitt ing on the manure heap!He gazed at it , paralyzed by fear, and breathi ng h ard. But all

at once he saw, close by, t he handle of t he manure fork which

brave he rushed forward t o see what i t was.I t w as he, hi s Prussian, come t o lif e, covered wit h fi lt h f

his bed of manure which h ad kept him warm. He had sat do

mechanically, and remained t here in t he snow wh ich sprinkdown, all covered with dirt and blood as he was, and sstupid from drinking, dazed by the blow and exhausted frhis wound.

He perceived Anthony, and too sodden to understand anthing, he made an attempt to rise. But the moment the oman recognized him, he foamed with rage like a wild anim

“Ah, pig! pig!” he sputtered. “You are not dead! You going t o denounce me now— wait— wait! ”

And rushing on t he German wit h all t he st rengt h of leis ahe flung t he raised fork like a lance and buried the four p rofull l ength i n hi s breast.

The soldier fell over on hi s back, ut t ering a long deat h mo

while the old peasant, drawing the fork out of his breaplunged it over and over again i nt o his abdomen, hi s st omahis throat, like a madman, piercing the body from headfoot , as it still quivered, and the blood gushed out in st rea

Finally he stopped, exhausted by his arduous work, swall

ing great mouthfuls of air, calmed down at the completion ofthe murder.

As t he cocks were beginni ng t o crow in t he poult ry yard and

Prussian w ent t o see the gi rls every evening.An old reti red gendarme who had an in n in t he next villa

and a prett y daughter was arrest ed and shot

Saint Anthony



64

As t he cocks were beginni ng t o crow in t he poult ry yard andit was near daybreak, he set to work to bury the man.

He dug a hole in the manure till he reached the earth, dug

down furt her, working wildl y, in a frenzy of strength wi t h fran-ti c mot ions of hi s arms and body.

When the pit was deep enough he rolled the corpse into itwit h t he fork, covered it wit h earth , which he stamped downfor some time, and t hen put back the manure, and he smiled ashe saw the thick snow finishing his work and covering up itstraces with a white sheet.

He then stuck the fork in the manure and went into thehouse. His bottle, still half full of brandy stood on the table.He empti ed it at a draught, t hrew himself on his bed and sleptheavily.

He woke up sober, his mind calm and clear, capable of judg-ment and thought.

At the end of an hour he was going about the country mak-ing inquiries everywhere for his soldier. He went to see thePrussian offi cer to fi nd out why t hey had taken away his man.

As everyone knew what good friends they were, no one sus-pected him . He even di rect ed the research, declaring t hat t he

and a prett y daughter, was arrest ed and shot.

Gu y de M aupassant

LASTI NG LOVE

themselves for love, to prove the impossibility of a secpassion. I wager that i f t hey had not foolishly commit ted cide and so destroyed the possibility of a second experien



65

I t was the end of t he dinner that o pened t he shoot ing season.

The Marquis de Bertrans with his guests sat around a brightlylight ed table, covered wit h frui t and flowers. The conversationdrifted to love. Immediately there arose an animated discus-sion, the same eternal discussion as to whether it were pos-sible to love more than once. Examples were given of personswho had l oved once; these were offset by t hose who h ad lovedviolent ly many t imes. The men agreed th at passion, like sick-ness, may att ack t he same person several t imes, unless it strikest o kill . This conclusion seemed quite i ncont est able. The women,however, who based their opinion on poetry rather than onpract ical observat ion, m aint ained th at love, th e great passion,may come only once to mortals. It resembles lightning, theysaid, this love. A heart once touched by it becomes forever

such a waste, so ruined, so consumed, that no other strongsent iment can t ake root t here, not even a dream. The marquis,who had indulged in many love affairs, disputed this belief.

“I tell you it is possible to love several times with all one’sheart and soul. You quot e examples of persons who h ave killed

cide, and so destroyed the possibility of a second experient hey would h ave found a new love, and sti ll anot her, and sotil l death. It is with love as with drink. He who has once

dulged is forever a slave. It is a thing of temperament.”They chose the old doctor as umpire. He thought it was

the marquis had said, a thing of temperament.“As for me,” he said, “I once knew of a love which la

fifty-five years without one day’s respite, and which enonly with death.” The wife of the marquis clasped her han

“That is beautiful! Ah, what a dream to be loved in sucway! What bliss to live for fifty-five years enveloped iint ense, unwavering aff ecti on! How t his happy being must hblessed hi s life t o be so adored!”

The doctor smiled.“ You are not mist aken, madame, on t his point t he loved

was a man. You even know h im; it is Monsieur Chouquet,

chemist. As to the woman, you also know her, the old chmender, who came every year to the chateau.” The enthusiaof t he women fell. Some expressed t heir contempt wit h “ Poufor the loves of common people did not interest them. Tdoctor conti nued: “Three months ago I was called t o t he dea

bed of the old chair-mender. The priest had preceded me. Shewished to make us the executors of her will. In order that wemight underst and her conduct, she tol d us the story of her li fe.

bourgeois, one of t hose much-envied mort als, who, she imined, never knew t rouble, complet ely upset her. She approachhi m and, as soon as she learned t he cause of hi s grief, she p

Lasting Love



66

might underst and her conduct, she tol d us the story of her li fe.It is most singular and touching: Her father and mother werebot h chair-menders. She had never lived in a house. As a litt le

child she wandered about with them, dirty, unkempt, hungry.They visit ed many tow ns, leaving t heir horse, wagon and dog just out side t he l imi t s, where t he ch i ld played in t he grassalone until her parents had repaired all the broken chairs inthe place. They seldom spoke, except to cry, ‘Chairs! Chairs!Chair-mender!’

“When the little one strayed too far away, she would becalled back by the harsh, angry voice of her father. She neverheard a word of affection. When she grew older, she fetchedand carried the broken chairs. Then it was she made friendswit h t he children in t he st reet , but t heir parents always calledthem away and scolded them for speaking to the barefootedchild. Oft en t he boys threw ston es at her. Once a kind w oman

gave her a few pennies. She saved them most carefully.“ One day— she was t hen eleven years old— as she was walk-

ing through a country town she met, behind the cemetery,lit tl e Chouquet, w eeping bi t t erly, because one of hi s playmateshad stolen two precious liards (mills). The tears of the small

hi m and, as soon as she learned t he cause of hi s grief, she pinto his hands all her savings. He took them without hest ion and dried hi s eyes. Wild wit h j oy, she kissed him. He

busy count ing hi s money, and did not object. Seeing th at was not repulsed, she t hrew her arms round h im and gave ha hug— t hen she ran away.

“What was going on in her poor little head? Was it becaushe had sacrificed all her fort une t hat she became madly fondthis youngster, or was it because she had given him the fitender kiss? The mystery is alike for children and for thoseriper years. For months she dreamed of that corner near tcemet ery and of t he lit t le chap. She stole a sou here and, t hfrom her parents on the chair money or groceries she was seto buy. When she returned to the spot near the cemetery shhad t wo francs in her pocket, but he was not t here. Passing fath er’s drug store, she caught sight of him behind t he coun

He was sitting between a large red globe and a blue one. Sonly loved him the more, quit e carried away at the sight ofbrill iant -colored globes. She cherished t he recollectio n of itever in her heart. The followi ng year she met him near the schplaying marbles. She rushed up to him, threw her arms rou

Gu y de M aupassant him, and kissed him so passionately that he screamed, in fear.To quiet him, she gave him all her money. Three francs andt went y cent imes! A real gold mi ne, at w hich he gazed wit h star-

suffered unceasingly.“ Every year he came home and she passed him , not daring

lif t her eyes. He never condescended t o t urn h is head tow



67

y g , ging eyes.

“Aft er th is he allowed her to kiss him as much as she wished.

During t he next fou r years she put int o hi s hands all her sav-ings, wh ich he pocket ed conscient iously i n exchange for kisses.At one time it was thirty sons, at another two francs. Again,she only had twelve sous. She wept with grief and shame,explaining brokenly that it had been a poor year. The nextt ime she brought fi ve francs, i n one whole piece, which madeher laugh with joy. She no longer thought of any one but theboy, and he watched for her with impatience; sometimes hewould run to meet her. This made her heart thump with joy.Suddenly h e disappeared. He had gone t o boardin g school. Shefound this out by careful investigation. Then she used greatdiplomacy to persuade her parents to change their route andpass by th is way again during vacation . Aft er a year of schem-

ing she succeeded. She had not seen him for two years, andscarcely recognized him, he was so changed, had grown taller,bett er looking and was imposing i n hi s uniform, wit h i ts brassbut t ons. He pretended not t o see her, and passed by wi t hout aglance. She wept for two days and from that time loved and

yher. She loved him madly, hopelessly. She said to me:

“‘He is the only man whom I have ever seen. I don’t e

know i f another exists.’ Her parents died. She cont inued t hwork.

“One day, on entering the village, where her heart alwaremained, she saw Chouquet coming o ut of h is pharmacy wa young lady leaning on h is arm. She was his wife. That nit he chair-mender threw herself int o t he river. A drun kard ping the spot pulled her out and took her to the drug stoYoung Chouquet came down in hi s dressing go wn t o revive Without seeming to know who she was he undressed her arubbed her; th en he said t o her, i n a harsh voice:

“‘You are mad! People must not do stupid things like thHis voice brought her to l if e again. He had spoken to h er! was happy for a long time. He refused remuneration for

trouble, although she insisted.“All her li fe passed in t his way. She worked, t hin king alw

of hi m. She began t o buy medicines at his pharmacy; thi s gher a chance to t alk to him and to see him closely. In t his wshe was st ill able to gi ve him money.

“As I said before, she died this spring. When she had closedher pathetic story she entreated me to take her earnings tot he man she loved. She had worked only t hat she might leave

give you her savings, which amount to three thousand fhundred francs. As what I have just t old you seems to be vdisagreeable, perhaps you would prefer to g ive t his money

Lasting Love



68

y ghim something to remind him of her after her death. I gavet he priest fi ft y f rancs for her funeral expenses. The next morn-

ing I went to see the Chouquets. They were finishing break-fast, sitting opposite each other, fat and red, important andself-satisfied. They welcomed me and offered me some coffee,which I accepted. Then I began my st ory in a t rembling voice,sure that they would be softened, even to tears. As soon asChouquet understood that he had been loved by ‘that vaga-bond! that chair-mender! that wanderer!’ he swore with indig-nation as t hough hi s reputat ion h ad been sullied, t he respectof decent people lost, his personal honor, someth ing preciousand dearer to him than life, gone. His exasperated wife keptrepeating : ‘That beggar! That beggar!’

“Seeming unable to find words suitable to the enormity, hestood up and began striding about. He muttered: ‘Can you

understand anything so horrible, doctor? Oh, if I had onlyknown it while she was alive, I should have had her thrownint o prison. I promise you she would not have escaped.’

“ I was dumfounded; I hardly knew what t o t hink or say, butI had t o fi nish my m ission. ‘She commissioned me,’ I said, ‘to

g , p p y p g yt he p oor.’

“ They looked at me, th at man and woman,’ speechless w

amazement. I took the few thousand francs from out of pocket . Wret ched-looking money from every count ry. Penand gold pieces all mixed together. Then I asked:

“ ‘What is your decision?’“Madame Chouquet spoke first. ‘Well, since it is the dy

woman’s wish, i t seems to me i mpossible t o refuse it.’“Her husband said, in a shamefaced manner: ‘We could b

something for our children with it.’“I answered dryly: ‘As you wish.’“ He replied: ‘Well, gi ve it t o us anyhow, since she comm

sioned you to do so; we will f ind a way to put i t to some gpurpose.’

“I gave them t he money, bowed and left .

“The next day Chouquet came to me and said brusquely:“ ‘That woman left her wagon here— what h ave you done w

it?’“‘Noth ing; t ake it if you wish.’“ ‘It ’s just w hat I wanted,’ he added, and walked off. I ca

Gu y de M aupassant him back and said:

“‘She also left her old horse and two dogs. Don’t you needthem?’



69

“He stared at me surprised: ‘Well, no! Really, what would Ido with t hem?’

“‘Dispose of them as you like.’“He laughed and held out his hand to me. I shook it. What

could I do? The doctor and the druggist in a country villagemust not be at enmity. I have kept the dogs. The priest tookthe old horse. The wagon is useful to Chouquet, and with themoney he has bought railroad stock. That is the only deep,sincere love that I have ever known in all my life.”

The doct or lo oked up. The marquise, w hose eyes were full oftears, sighed and said:

“There is no denying the fact, only women know how tolove.”

PI ERROT

Mme. Lefevre was a country dame, a widow, one of these hpeasants, with ribbons and bonnets with trimming on theone of t hose persons who clip ped her words and put on greairs in public, concealing t he soul of a pretent ious animal neath a comical and bedizened exterior, just as the countrfolks hide their coarse red hands in ecru silk gloves.

She had a servant, a good simple peasant, called Rose.The two w omen lived in a lit t le house wit h green shutt er

the side of the high road in Normandy, in the centre of count ry of Caux. As they had a narrow strip of garden in fof the house, they grew some vegetables.

One night someone stole twelve onions. As soon as Robecame aware of t he theft , she ran t o t ell madame, who ca

downstairs in her woolen pett icoat. I t was a shame and a dgrace! They had robbed her, Mme. Lefevre! As there were t hiin the country, they might come back.

And the two frightened women examined the foot tractalking, and supposing all sorts of things.

“See, they went that way! They stepped on the wall, they jumped int o t he garden! ”

And they became apprehensive for the future. How could

They began to look for one, but could find not hing but dogs, who would devour enough soup to make one shuddThe grocer of Rolleville had one, a tiny one, but he deman

Pierrot



70

t hey sleep in peace now!The news of the theft spread. The neighbor came, making

examinations and discussing the matter in their turn, whilethe two women explained to each newcomer what they hadobserved and their opinion.

A farmer who lived near said t o t hem:“You ought to have a dog.”That i s true, t hey ought t o have a dog, if i t were only to give

t he alarm. Not a big dog. Heavens! wh at woul d t hey do with abig dog? He would eat their heads off. But a little dog (inNormandy they say “ quin”) , a l i t t l e puppy who would bark.

As soon as everyone had left, Mme. Lefevre discussed thisidea of a dog for some time. On reflection she made a thou-sand objecti ons, terrified at t he idea of a bowl ful l of soup, forshe belonged to t hat race of parsimon ious country women who

always carry centimes in t heir pocket t o give alms in public t obeggars on the road and to put in t he Sunday collect ion pl ate.

Rose, wh o lo ved animals, gave her opinion and defended i tshrewdly. So it was decided that they should have a dog, avery small dog.

two francs to cover the cost of sending it. Mme. Lefevre clared t hat she would feed a “ quin,” but would not buy o

The baker, who knew all t hat occurred, brought i n hi s waone morning a strange little yellow animal, almost withpaws, with the body of a crocodile, the head of a fox, ancurly t ail— a true cockade, as big as all t he rest of h im. MLefevre thought this common cur that cost nothing was vhandsome. Rose hugged it and asked what its name was.

“ Pierrot ,” replied the baker.The dog was installed in an old soap box and they gave

some water which it drank. They then offered it a piecebread. He ate it. Mme. Lefevre, uneasy, had an idea.

“ When he is th oroughly accust omed t o t he house we can him run. He can find something to eat, roaming about country.”

They let him run, in fact, which did not prevent him fbeing fami shed. Also he never barked except t o beg for f oand t hen he barked furiously.

Anyone might come into the garden, and Pierrot would up and fawn on each one in turn and not utter a bark.

Gu y de M aupassant Mme. Lefevre, however, had become accustomed to the ani-

mal. She even went so far as t o like it and to gi ve it f rom t imet o t ime pieces of bread soaked in t he gravy on her plat e.

Sportsmen’s dogs and sheep dogs flee in terror from thmournful place, and when one leans over it one perceivesdisgusting odor of putrefaction.



71

But she had not once thought of t he dog tax, and when t heycame to collect eight f rancs— eight francs, madame— for t his

puppy who never even barked, she almost fainted from theshock.

I t was immediately decided that t hey must get rid of Pierrot .No one wanted him. Every one declined to take him for tenleagues around. Then t hey resolved, not knowing what else todo, to make him “piquer du mas.”

“ Piquer du mas” means t o eat chalk. When one want s to getrid of a dog t hey make him “ Piquer du mas.”

In the midst of an immense plain one sees a kind of hut, orrat her a very small roof standi ng above the ground. This is t heentrance to the clay pit. A big perpendicular hole is sunk fort wenty metres underground and ends in a series of long sub-t erranean t unnels.

Once a year they go down into the quarry at the time theyfertilize the ground. The rest of the year it serves as a cem-etery for condemned dogs, and as one passed by this holeplaintive howls, furious or despairing barks and lamentableappeals reach one’s ear.

Frightful dramas are enacted in the darkness.When an animal has suffered down there for ten or twe

days, nourished on the foul remains of his predecessors, aother animal, larger and more vigorous, is thrown into hole. There they are, alone, starving, w it h gli t t ering eyes. Twatch each other, follow each other, hesitate in doubt. Bhunger impels them; t hey at t ack each other, fight desperatfor some time, and the stronger eats the weaker, devours halive.

When it was decided to make Pierrot “piquer du mas” thlooked round for an executioner. The laborer who mended road demanded six sous to take the dog there. That seemewildly exorbitant to Mme. Lefevre. The neighbor ’s hiredwanted five sous; that was still too much. So Rose havobserved that t hey had bett er carry it t here t hemselves, as

th at way it would not be brutally t reated on the way and mto suspect i t s fate, t hey resolved to go t ogether at t wiligh

They offered the dog th at evening a good dish of soup wa piece of but t er in it . He swallowed every morsel of it , anhe wagged his tail with delight Rose put him in her apron

They walked quickl y, like t hi eves, across t he plain . They soonperceived t he chalk pit and walked up to i t . Mme. Lefevre leanedover to hear if any animal was moaning. No, there were none

t here, and t his basket fright ened her.She ended by opening it, and Pierrot, concealed in it, seiz

her hand and would not let go. She ran away in terror with

Pierrot



72

t here; Pierrot woul d be alone. Then Rose, who was crying, ki ssedthe dog and threw him int o t he chalk pit , and they both leaned

over, listening.First they heard a dull sound, then the sharp, bitter, dis-tracting cry of an animal in pain, then a succession of littlemournful cries, t hen despairing appeals, t he cries of a dog w hois entreating, his head raised toward the opening of the pit.

He yelped, oh, how he yelped!They were filled with remorse, with terror, with a wild inex-

plicable fear, and ran away from the spot. As Rose went fasterMme. Lefevre cried: “Wait for me, Rose, wait for me!”

At night they were haunted by frightful nightmares.Mme. Lefevre dreamed she was sit t ing down at t able to eat

her soup, but when she uncovered t he tureen Pierrot was in i t .He jumped out and bit her nose.

She awoke and t hought she heard hi m yelping still . She lis-t ened, but she was mistaken.

She fell asleep again and found herself on a high road, anendless road, which she followed. Suddenly in the middle ofthe road she perceived a basket, a large farmer’s basket, lying

dog hanging to the end of her arm, which he held between teeth.

At daybreak she arose, almost beside herself, and ran to tchalk pit .He was yelping, yelping still; he had yelped all night.

began to sob and called hi m by all sorts of endearing namHe answered her with all the tender inflections of his dovoice.

Then she wanted to see him again, promising herself thshe would give him a good home till he died.

She ran to the chalk digger, whose business it was to excvate for chalk, and told him the situation. The man listenbut said not hin g. When she had fin ished he said:

“ You want your dog? That wil l cost four f rancs.” She ga jump. Al l her gri ef was at an end at once.

“ Four francs!” she said. “ You would die of i t ! Four fran“ Do you suppose I am goi ng t o bring my ropes, my wi nd

and set i t up, and go down th ere wit h my boy and let myselbit t en, perhaps, by your cursed dog fo r t he pleasure of givit back to you? You should not have thrown it down there

Gu y de M aupassant She walked away, indignant. Four francs!As soon as she entered the house she called Rose and told

her of t he quarryman’s charges. Rose, alw ays resigned, repeat ed:

The two w omen, dumf ounded, looked at each oth er and MLefevre said in a sour tone:

“I could not feed all the dogs they throw in there! We m



73

“Four francs! That is a good deal of money, madame.” Thenshe added: “ I f we could throw him something t o eat, the poor

dog, so he will not die of hunger.”Mme. Lefevre approved of this and was quite delighted. Sothey set out again with a big piece of bread and butter.

They cut i t in mout hfuls, which they t hrew down one afterthe other, speaking by turns to Pierrot. As soon as the dogfinished one piece he yelped for the next.

They returned t hat evening and t he next day and every day.But they made only one trip.

One morning as they were just lett ing fall t he first mouthfulthey suddenly heard a tremendous barking in the pit. Therewere two dogs there. Anot her had been t hrown i n, a large dog.

“Pierrot!” cried Rose. And Pierrot yelped and yelped. Thenthey began to throw down some food. But each time they

noticed distinctly a t errible struggle going on, t hen plaintivecries from Pierrot, who had been bitten by his companion,who at e up everythi ng as he was t he stronger.

It was in vain t hat t hey specified, saying:“That is for you, Pierrot.” Pierrot evidently got nothing.

give it up.”And, suffocating at the t hought of all t he dogs living at

expense, she went away, even carrying back what remainedthe bread, which she ate as she walked along.Rose followed her, wiping her eyes on the corner of her b

apron.

A NORMANDY JOKE

fort y shot s resounded wit hout t heir seeing th ose who fi redt hey were hidden in t he dit ches. The noise seemed t o pleat he men, who were slouchin g along heavily in t heir best clot

A N orm an dy Joke



74

It was a wedding procession that was coming along the road

between the tall trees that bounded the farms and cast theirshadow on the road. At the head were the bride and groom,then the family, then the invited guests, and last of all thepoor of the neighborhood. The village urchins who hoveredabout t he narrow road like flies ran in and out of t he ranks orclimbed up the trees to see it better.

The bridegroom was a good- looki ng youn g fello w, Jean Patu ,the richest farmer in the neighborhood, but he was above allt hin gs, an ardent sportsman who seemed t o t ake leave of h issenses in order to satisfy that passion, and who spent largesums on his dogs, his keepers, his ferrets and his guns. Thebride, Rosalie Roussel, had been court ed by all t he li kely youngfellows in the district, for they all thought her handsome and

they knew that she would have a good dowry. But she hadchosen Patu; partly, perhaps, because she liked him bettert han she did t he oth ers, but stil l more, li ke a careful Normandygirl, because he had more crown pieces.

As they entered the white gateway of the husband’s farm,

and Patu left his wif e, and runni ng up t o a farm servant whhe perceived behind a t ree, t ook his gun and fi red a shot hi

self, as frisky as a young colt. Then th ey went on, beneat h apple trees which were heavy wit h f ruit , t hrough t he high gand through t he midst of t he calves, who looked at t hem wtheir great eyes, got up slowly and remained standing, wtheir muzzles turned toward the wedding party.

The men became serious when they came within measurabdistance of t he wedding di nner. Some of t hem, t he rich onhad on tall, shining silk hats, which seemed altogether ouplace there; others had old head-coverings with a long nawhich mi ght have been taken for moleskin, w hil e the humbamong them wore caps. All the women had on shawls, whthey wore loosely on their back, holding the tips ceremoously under th eir arms. They were red, p arti- colored, f lam

shawls, and t heir bright ness seemed to astoni sh the black fowon the dung-heap, the ducks on the side of the pond and tpigeons on the thatched roofs.

The extensive farm bui ldings seemed to be wait ing t herethe end of that archway of apple trees, and a sort of vap

Gu y de M aupassant came out of open door and windows and an almost overpower-ing odor of eat ables was exhaled from t he vast buil ding, fromall its openings and from its very walls. The string of guests

d d h h h d b h h f f h

jokes were exch anged acro ss t he t ab le unt i l t he whole arsenof peasant wit was exhausted. For t he last hundred years tsame broad stories had served for similar occasions, and, h h k h h ill h i h k d



75

extended through the yard; but when the foremost of themreached t he house, t hey broke the chain and dispersed, whi leth ose behind were still coming i n at t he open gate. The dit cheswere now li ned wit h urchins and curious poor people, and thefi ring di d not cease, but came from every side at once, and acloud of smoke, and th at odor whi ch has t he same int oxicatingeffect as absint he, bl ended wi t h t he atmosphere. The womenwere shaking their dresses outside the door, to get rid of thedust, were undoing their cap-strings and pulling their shawls

over t heir arms, and then t hey went i nt o th e house to lay themaside altogether for the time. The table was laid in the greatkitchen that would hold a hundred persons; they sat down todinner at two o’clock; and at eight o’clock they were still eat-ing, and t he men, i n t heir shirt -sleeves, wit h t heir waistcoatsunbut t oned and wit h red faces, were swallowing down t he food

and drink as if they had been whirlpools. The cider sparkledmerrily, clear and golden in the large glasses, by the side ofthe dark, blood-colored wine, and between every dish theymade a “ hole,” t he Normandy hole, wit h a glass of brandy whichinflamed the body and put foolish notions into the head. Low

t hough every one knew t hem, th ey st ill h it t he mark and mboth rows of guests roar with laughter.

At one end of t he table four young f ellows, who w ere nebors, were preparing some practical jokes for the newly mried couple, and they seemed to have got hold of a good oby t he way t hey whi spered and laughed, and suddenly o net hem, profit ing by a moment of silence, exclaimed: “ The poers will have a good time to-night, with this moon! I sJean, you will not be looking at the moon, will you?”

bridegroom turned to him quickly and replied: “Only let tcome, t hat’s all!” But t he other young fellow began to l aand said: “I do not t hink you will pay much attention t o th

The whole table was convulsed with laughter, so that tglasses shook, but the bridegroom became furious at tthought that anybody would profit by his wedding to c

and poach on hi s land, and repeated: “ I only say-just let t hcome!”

Then t here was a flood of t alk wit h a double meanin g whmade the bride blush somewhat, although she was trembliwit h expectat ion; and when t hey had empt ied the kegs of bra

they all went to bed. The young couple went into their ownroom, which was on the ground floor, as most rooms in farm-houses are. As it was very warm, they opened the window and

l d t h h tt A ll l i b d t t t f

He raised hi mself anxi ously, wi t h hi s heart beati ng, and rning to the window, he opened the shutters. The full moflooded the yard with yellow light, and the reflection of

l t d bl k h d t th i f t hil i t

A N orm an dy Joke



76

closed t he shutt ers. A small lamp i n bad t ast e, a present fromthe bride’s father, was burning on the chest of drawers, andt he bed st ood ready t o receive t he young people.

The young woman had already t aken off her wreat h and herdress, and she was in her pett icoat, unlacing her boot s, whi leJean was finishing his cigar and looking at her out of thecorners of his eyes. Suddenly, wit h a brusque movement, li ke aman who is about t o set t o work, he took off his coat. She hadalready taken off her boot s, and was now pull ing of f her stock-

ings, and then she said to him: “Go and hide yourself behindthe curtains while I get int o bed.”

He seemed as if he were about t o refuse; but at l ast he did asshe asked him, and i n a moment she unfastened her pet t icoat,which slipped down, f ell at her feet and lay on t he ground. Sheleft it t here, stepped over it in her loose chemise and slipped

into the bed, whose springs creaked beneath her weight. Heimmediately went up to the bed, and, stooping over his wife,he sought her lips, which she hid beneath the pillow, when ashot was heard in th e distance, in t he direct ion of t he forest ofRapees, as he thought.

apple trees made black shadows at their feet, while in tdistance the fields gleamed, covered wit h t he ripe corn. Buhe was leaning out , l i stening to every sound in the sti l l nigtwo bare arms were put round his neck, and his wife whpered, trying to pull him back: “Do leave them alone; it nothi ng to do wi th you. Come to bed.”

He turned round, put his arms round her, and drew her tward him, but just as he was laying her on the ‘bed, whyielded beneath her weight, they heard another report, co

siderably nearer th is ti me, and Jean, gi ving way t o hi s tumt uous rage, swore aloud: “ Damn it ! They will t hin k I do noout and see what it is because of you! Wait, wait a few mutes!” He put on his shoes again, took down his gun, whwas always hanging wi t hin reach against t he wall, and, as wife threw herself on her knees in her terror, imploring

not to go, he hastily freed himself, ran to the window a jumped int o t he yard.

She wait ed one hour, t wo hours, unt il daybreak, but her hband did n ot return . Then she lost h er head, aroused t he hourelat ed how angry Jean was, and said t hat he had gone aft

Gu y de M aupassant t he poachers, and im mediat ely all t he male farm-servants, eventhe boys, went in search of their master. They found him twoleagues from the farm, tied hand and foot, half dead withrage hi s gun broken h is trousers t urned inside out and wi t h

FATHER MATTHEW



77

rage, hi s gun broken, h is trousers t urned inside out, and wi t ht hree dead hares hanging round his neck, and a pl acard on hischest with these words: “Who goes on the chase loses hisplace.”

I n lat er years, when he used to t ell th is st ory of his weddingnight, he usually added: “Ah! as far as a joke went it was agood joke. They caught me in a snare, as if I had been a rabbit ,t he dirty brut es, and they shoved my head int o a bag. But i f Ican only catch them some day they had better look out for

themselves!”That is how they amuse themselves in Normandy on a wed-

ding day.

We had just left Rouen and were galloping along the roadJumieges. The light carriage flew along across the level cot ry. Present ly t he horse slackened his pace to walk up t he hof Cantelen.

One sees there one of the most magnificent views in tworld. Behind us lay Rouen, t he city of churches, wit h it s Gobelfries, sculptured like ivory trinkets; before us Saint Set he manufact uring suburb, whose t housands of smoking ch

neys rise amid the expanse of sky, opposite the thousand scred steeples of t he old ci t y.

On the one hand the spire of the cathedral, the highest human monuments, on the other the engine of the powehouse, its rival, and almost as high, and a metre higher ththe tallest pyramid in Egypt.

Before us wound the Seine, with its scattered islands abordered by white banks, covered with a forest on the riand on t he left immense meadows, bounded by another foryonder in the distance.

Here and there large ships lay at anchor along the banks

t he wide river. Three enormous st eam boat s were starti ng out ,one behind t he oth er, for Havre, and a chain of boats, a bark,t wo schooners and a brig, were going upst ream t o Rouen, drawnby a lit t le t ug t hat emit ted a cloud of black smoke

of unintentional irony, of Norman wit, in which jest is blewith fear of the saint and with the superstit ious fear of secret influence of something. He has not much faith in protectress but he believes in her a little through pruden

Father M atthew



78

by a l i t t le t ug t hat emit ted a cloud of black smoke.My companion, a native of the country, did not glance at

t hi s wonderfu l landscape, but he smil ed conti nually; he seemedt o be amused at his t hought s. Suddenly h e cried:

“Ah, you w ill soon see somethi ng comical— Father Mat th ew’schapel. That is a sweet morsel, my boy.”

I looked at him in surprise. He continued:“I will give you a whiff of Normandy that will stay by you.

Father Matt hew is t he handsomest Norman i n t he province and

his chapel is one of the wonders of the world, nothing morenor less. But I will first give you a few words of explanation.

“ Fat her Matt hew, who is also called Fat her ‘La Boisson,’ is anold sergeant -major who has come back t o hi s nat ive land. Hecombines in admirable proportions, making a perfect whole,th e humbug of t he old soldier and the sly roguery of t he Norman.

On hi s return t o Normandy, t hanks to i nfl uence and incrediblecleverness, he was made doorkeeper of a vot ive chapel , a chapeldedicated t o t he Virgin and frequented chiefly by young w omenwho have gone ast ray … . He composed and had paint ed aspecial prayer t o h is ‘Good Virgi n.’ Thi s prayer is a masterpi ece

protectress, but he believes in her a little through prudenand he is considerat e of her t hrough pol icy.

“ This is how t his wonderful prayer begins:“‘Our good Madame Virgin Mary, natural protectress of

mothers in this land and all over the world, protect your vant who erred in a moment of forgetf ulness … ’

“It ends thus:“‘Do not forget me, especially when you are with your

spouse, and i nt ercede with God t he Father t hat he may gra

me a good husband, like your own.’“This prayer, which was suppressed by the clergy of the d

t rict , is sold by hi m privat ely, and is said to be very efficacfor those who recite i t wit h unction.

“In fact he talks of the good Virgin as the valet de chamof a redoubt ed prince might t alk of his mast er who confide

him all hi s lit t le private secrets. He knows a number of aming anecdotes at his expense which he t ells confidentially amfriends as they sit over their glasses.

“But you will see for yourself.“As the fees coming from the Virgin did not appear suffic

Gu y de M aupassant

to him, he added t o t he main figure a litt le business in saint s.He has t hem all, or nearly all. There was not room enough in t hechapel, so he stored them in the wood-shed and brings themfort h as soon as t he fait hful ask for th em He carved t hese lit t le

are as precise as those of a mathematician. You may hear hirepeating incessantly: ‘Since Monday I have had more thforty-five,’ or else ‘I was between fifty-two and fifty-eighelse ‘I had at least sixty-six to seventy ’ or ‘Hullo chea



79

fort h as soon as t he fait hful ask for th em. He carved t hese lit t lewooden statues himself— th ey are comical in t he extreme— andpaint ed them all bright green one year when t hey were paint inghis house. You know that saints cure diseases, but each sainthas his specialty, and you must not confound t hem or make anyblunders. They are as jealous of each other as mountebanks.

“In order that they may make no mistake, the old womencome and consult Mat t hew.

“‘For diseases of the ear which saint is the best?’

“ ‘Why, Saint Osyme is good and Saint Pamphi li us is not bad.’But that is not all .

“As Mat t hew has some ti me to spare, he drinks; but he drinkslike a professional, with conviction, so much so that he isintoxicated regularly every evening. He is drunk, but he isaware of it . He is so well aware of i t t hat he noti ces each day

his exact degree of intoxication. That is his chief occupation;the chapel is a secondary matter.

“And he has invent ed— listen and cat ch on— he has inventedthe ‘Saoulometre.’

“There is no such instrument, but Matthew’s observations

else I had at least sixty-six to seventy, or Hullo, cheathought I was in t he fift ies and here I find I had had sevenfive!’

“He never makes a mistake.“He declares that he never reached his limit, but as he a

knowledges that his observations cease to be exact when has passed ninet y, one cannot depend absolut ely on t he truof that statement.

“When Matthew acknowledges that he has passed nine

you may rest assured t hat he is bli nd drunk.“On these occasions his wife, Melie, another marvel, f

int o a fury. She waits for hi m at t he door of t he house, andhe enters she roars at him:

“‘So there you are, slut, hog, giggling sot!’“ Then Mat t hew, who is not laughing any longer, plant s h

self opposite her and says in a severe tone:“‘Be sti l l , Melie; thi s is no time to t alk; wait t i l l t o-mo“ I f she keeps on shouti ng at h im, he goes up t o her and sa

in a shaky voice:“‘Don’t bawl any more. I have had about ninety; I am

counting any more. Look out, I am going to hi t you!’“Then Melie beats a retreat.“ I f, on the followi ng day, she reverts to t he subject, he laughs

in her face and says:

My friend shook him by the hand and introduced me, aMatthew took us into a clean kitchen, which served also adining-room. He said:

“I have no elegant apartment monsieur I do not like to

Father M atthew



80

in her face and says:“‘Come, come! We have said enough. It is past. As long as I

have not reached my limit there is no harm done. But if I go,past th at I will allow you to correct me, my word on it !’”

We had reached the top of the hill. The road entered thedelight ful forest of Roumare.

Autumn, marvellous autumn, blended its gold and purplewi t h t he remain ing t races of verdure. We passed t hrough Duclair.Then, instead of going on to Jumieges, my friend turned to

the left and, taking a crosscut, drove in among the trees.And presently from the top of a high hill we saw again the

magnif icent valley of t he Seine and the windi ng river beneathus.

At our right a very small slate-covered building, with a belltower as large as a sunshade, adjoined a pretty house with

green Venetian blinds, and all covered with honeysuckle androses.

“ Here are some friends!” cried a big voice, and Mat t hew ap-peared on the threshold. He was a man about sixty, thin andwith a goatee and long, white mustache.

I have no elegant apartment, monsieur. I do not like to too far away from the food. The saucepans, you see, keep company.” Then, turning to my friend:

“Why did you come on Thursday? You know quite well this is the day I consult my Guardian Saint. I cannot go th is aft ernoon.”

And running to the door, he uttered a terrific roar: “Mewhich must have startled the sailors in the ships along tstream i n t he valley below.

Melie did not reply.Then Matt hew win ked his eye knowingly.“She is not pleased with me, you see, because yesterday

was in the nineties.”My friend began to laugh. “In the nineties, Matthew! H

did you manage it ?”

“I will t ell you,” said Matt hew. “ Last year I found only trasieres (an old dry measure) of apricots. There are no mobut those are the only things to make cider of. So I masome, and yesterday I tapped the barrel. Talk of nectar! Thwas nectar. You shall tell me what you think of it. Polyte

Gu y de M aupassant

here, and we sat down and drank a glass and anot her wit houtbeing satisfied (one could go on drinking it unti l t o-morrow),and at last , wit h glass aft er glass, I felt a chill at m y stomach.I said t o Polyt e: ‘Supposing we drin k a glass of cognac t o warm

“I will get him for you.” And he disappeared in his wshed. He remained t here fu lly f ive mi nut es. Then he came bwit h an expression of consternati on. He raised his hands.

“I don’t know where he is. I cannot find hi m. I am quite



81

sa d t o o yt e: Suppos g we d a g ass o cog ac t o waourselves?’ He agreed. But this cognac, it sets you on fire, soth at we had t o go back to t he cider. But by going from chills toheat and heat t o chills, I saw that I was in the ninet ies. Polytewas not far from his l imit .”

The door opened and Melie appeared. At once, before bid-ding us good-day, she cried:

“Great hog, you have both of you reached your limit!”“Don’t say that, Melie; don’t say that,” said Matthew, get-

ting angry. “I have never reached my limit.”They gave us a delicious luncheon out side beneat h t wo li me

trees, beside the little chapel and overlooking the vast land-scape. And Matthew told us, with a mixture of humor and un-expected credulity, incredible stories of miracles.

We had drunk a good deal of delicious cider, sparkling and

sweet, fresh and intoxicating, which he preferred to all otherdrinks, and were smoking our pipes astride our chairs whent wo wo men appeared.

They were old, dried up and bent. After greeting us theyasked for Saint Blanc. Matthew winked at us as he replied:

do t ow w e e e s. ca ot d . a qu tet hat I had him. ” Then making a speaking t rumpet of hi s hahe roared once more:

“Meli-e-a!”“What’s the matter?” replied his wife from the end of

garden.“ Where’s Saint Blanc? I cannot f ind h im i n t he wood shThen Melie explained it t his way:“Was not that the one you took last week to stop up a ho

in t he rabbit hut ch?”Mat t hew gave a start.“By t hunder, t hat may be!” Then turning t o t he women

said:“ Follow me.”They followed him. We did the same, almost choking w

suppressed laugh t er.Saint Blanc was indeed stuck int o t he earth like an ordin

stake, covered wit h mud and dirt , and formi ng a corner forrabbit hutch.

As soon as t hey perceived him, t he two women fell on t h

knees, crossed t hemselves and began t o murmu r an “ Oremus.”But Matthew darted toward them.

“ Wait,” he said, “ you are in t he mud; I will get you a bundleof straw.”

Father M atthew



82

He went t o fet ch t he st raw and made them a priedieu. Then,looking at his muddy saint and doubtless afraid of bringingdiscredit on his business, he added:

“I will clean him off a l i t t le for you.”He took a pail of water and a brush and began to scrub the

wooden image vigorously, while the two old women kept onpraying.

When he had finished he said:

“Now he is all right.” And he took us back to the house todrink another glass.

As he was carrying the glass to his lips he stopped and saidin a rather confused manner:

“All the same, when I put Saint Blanc out with the rabbits It hought he would not make any more money. For two years no

one had asked for h im. But t he saint s, you see, t hey are neverout of date.”

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henrey albert rene guy de maupassant - vol 10

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