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diff --git a/3088-h/3088-h.htm b/3088-h/3088-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1305529 --- /dev/null +++ b/3088-h/3088-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,3754 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Original Short Stories, Volume 12 (of 13), by Guy de Maupassant + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd7; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Original Short Stories of Maupassant, +Volume 12, by Guy de Maupassant + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Original Short Stories, Volume 12 (of 13) + +Author: Guy de Maupassant + +Release Date: August 16, 2006 [EBook #3088] +Last Updated: February 23, 2018 +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MAUPASSANT SHORT STORIES *** + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <h1> + ORIGINAL SHORT STORIES<br />VOLUME 12 (of 13) + </h1> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + By Guy De Maupassant + </h1> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h4> + Translated by <br /><br /> ALBERT M. C. McMASTER, B.A.<br /> A. E. HENDERSON, + B.A.<br /> MME. QUESADA and Others + </h4> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto" cellpadding="4" border="3"> + <tbody> + <tr> + <td> + <a + href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/28076/28076-h/28076-h.htm"><b>INDEX + TO ALL VOLUMES</b> </a> + </td> + <td> + </td> + </tr> + </tbody> + </table> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> THE CHILD </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> A COUNTRY EXCURSION </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> ROSE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> ROSALIE PRUDENT </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> REGRET </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> A SISTER'S CONFESSION </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> COCO </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> DEAD WOMAN'S SECRET </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> A HUMBLE DRAMA </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> MADEMOISELLE COCOTTE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> THE CORSICAN BANDIT </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> THE GRAVE </a> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + THE CHILD + </h2> + <p> + Lemonnier had remained a widower with one child. He had loved his wife + devotedly, with a tender and exalted love, without a slip, during their + entire married life. He was a good, honest man, perfectly simple, sincere, + without suspicion or malice. + </p> + <p> + He fell in love with a poor neighbor, proposed and was accepted. He was + making a very comfortable living out of the wholesale cloth business, and + he did not for a minute suspect that the young girl might have accepted + him for anything else but himself. + </p> + <p> + She made him happy. She was everything to him; he only thought of her, + looked at her continually, with worshiping eyes. During meals he would + make any number of blunders, in order not to have to take his eyes from + the beloved face; he would pour the wine in his plate and the water in the + salt-cellar, then he would laugh like a child, repeating: + </p> + <p> + “You see, I love you too much; that makes me crazy.” + </p> + <p> + She would smile with a calm and resigned look; then she would look away, + as though embarrassed by the adoration of her husband, and try to make him + talk about something else; but he would take her hand under the table and + he would hold it in his, whispering: + </p> + <p> + “My little Jeanne, my darling little Jeanne!” + </p> + <p> + She sometimes lost patience and said: + </p> + <p> + “Come, come, be reasonable; eat and let me eat.” + </p> + <p> + He would sigh and break off a mouthful of bread, which he would then chew + slowly. + </p> + <p> + For five years they had no children. Then suddenly she announced to him + that this state of affairs would soon cease. He was wild with joy. He no + longer left her for a minute, until his old nurse, who had brought him up + and who often ruled the house, would push him out and close the door + behind him, in order to compel him to go out in the fresh air. + </p> + <p> + He had grown very intimate with a young man who had known his wife since + childhood, and who was one of the prefect's secretaries. M. Duretour would + dine three times a week with the Lemonniers, bringing flowers to madame, + and sometimes a box at the theater; and often, at the end of the dinner, + Lemonnier, growing tender, turning towards his wife, would explain: “With + a companion like you and a friend like him, a man is completely happy on + earth.” + </p> + <p> + She died in childbirth. The shock almost killed him. But the sight of the + child, a poor, moaning little creature, gave him courage. + </p> + <p> + He loved it with a passionate and sorrowful love, with a morbid love in + which stuck the memory of death, but in which lived something of his + worship for the dead mother. It was the flesh of his wife, her being + continued, a sort of quintessence of herself. This child was her very life + transferred to another body; she had disappeared that it might exist, and + the father would smother it in with kisses. But also, this child had + killed her; he had stolen this beloved creature, his life was at the cost + of hers. And M. Lemonnier would place his son in the cradle and would sit + down and watch him. He would sit this way by the hour, looking at him, + dreaming of thousands of things, sweet or sad. Then, when the little one + was asleep, he would bend over him and sob. + </p> + <p> + The child grew. The father could no longer spend an hour away from him; he + would stay near him, take him out for walks, and himself dress him, wash + him, make him eat. His friend, M. Duretour, also seemed to love the boy; + he would kiss him wildly, in those frenzies of tenderness which are + characteristic of parents. He would toss him in his arms, he would trot + him on his knees, by the hour, and M. Lemonnier, delighted, would mutter: + </p> + <p> + “Isn't he a darling? Isn't he a darling?” + </p> + <p> + And M. Duretour would hug the child in his arms and tickle his neck with + his mustache. + </p> + <p> + Celeste, the old nurse, alone, seemed to have no tenderness for the little + one. She would grow angry at his pranks, and seemed impatient at the + caresses of the two men. She would exclaim: + </p> + <p> + “How can you expect to bring a child up like that? You'll make a perfect + monkey out of him.” + </p> + <p> + Years went by, and Jean was nine years old. He hardly knew how to read; he + had been so spoiled, and only did as he saw fit. He was willful, stubborn + and quick-tempered. The father always gave in to him and let him have his + own way. M. Duretour would always buy him all the toys he wished, and he + fed him on cake and candies. Then Celeste would grow angry and exclaim: + </p> + <p> + “It's a shame, monsieur, a shame. You are spoiling this child. But it will + have to stop; yes, sir, I tell you it will have to stop, and before long, + too.” + </p> + <p> + M. Lemonnier would answer, smiling: + </p> + <p> + “What can you expect? I love him too much, I can't resist him; you must + get used to it.” + </p> + <p> + Jean was delicate, rather. The doctor said that he was anaemic, prescribed + iron, rare meat and broth. + </p> + <p> + But the little fellow loved only cake and refused all other nourishment; + and the father, in despair, stuffed him with cream-puffs and chocolate + eclairs. + </p> + <p> + One evening, as they were sitting down to supper, Celeste brought on the + soup with an air of authority and an assurance which she did not usually + have. She took off the cover and, dipping the ladle into the dish, she + declared: + </p> + <p> + “Here is some broth such as I have never made; the young one will have to + take some this time.” + </p> + <p> + M. Lemonnier, frightened, bent his head. He saw a storm brewing. + </p> + <p> + Celeste took his plate, filled it herself and placed it in front of him. + </p> + <p> + He tasted the soup and said: + </p> + <p> + “It is, indeed, excellent.” + </p> + <p> + The servant took the boy's plate and poured a spoonful of soup in it. Then + she retreated a few steps and waited. + </p> + <p> + Jean smelled the food and pushed his plate away with an expression of + disgust. Celeste, suddenly pale, quickly stepped forward and forcibly + poured a spoonful down the child's open mouth. + </p> + <p> + He choked, coughed, sneezed, spat; howling, he seized his glass and threw + it at his nurse. She received it full in the stomach. Then, exasperated, + she took the young shaver's head under her arm and began pouring spoonful + after spoonful of soup down his throat. He grew as red as a beet, and he + would cough it up, stamping, twisting, choking, beating the air with his + hands. + </p> + <p> + At first the father was so surprised that he could not move. Then, + suddenly, he rushed forward, wild with rage, seized the servant by the + throat and threw her up against the wall stammering: + </p> + <p> + “Out! Out! Out! you brute!” + </p> + <p> + But she shook him off, and, her hair streaming down her back, her eyes + snapping, she cried out: + </p> + <p> + “What's gettin' hold of you? You're trying to thrash me because I am + making this child eat soup when you are filling him with sweet stuff!” + </p> + <p> + He kept repeating, trembling from head to foot: + </p> + <p> + “Out! Get out-get out, you brute!” + </p> + <p> + Then, wild, she turned to him and, pushing her face up against his, her + voice trembling: + </p> + <p> + “Ah!—you think-you think that you can treat me like that? Oh! no. + And for whom?—for that brat who is not even yours. No, not yours! + No, not yours—not yours! Everybody knows it, except yourself! Ask + the grocer, the butcher, the baker, all of them, any one of them!” + </p> + <p> + She was growling and mumbling, choked with passion; then she stopped and + looked at him. + </p> + <p> + He was motionless livid, his arms hanging by his sides. After a short + pause, he murmured in a faint, shaky voice, instinct with deep feeling: + </p> + <p> + “You say? you say? What do you say?” + </p> + <p> + She remained silent, frightened by his appearance. Once more he stepped + forward, repeating: + </p> + <p> + “You say—what do you say?” + </p> + <p> + Then in a calm voice, she answered: + </p> + <p> + “I say what I know, what everybody knows.” + </p> + <p> + He seized her and, with the fury of a beast, he tried to throw her down. + But, although old, she was strong and nimble. She slipped under his arm, + and running around the table once more furious, she screamed: + </p> + <p> + “Look at him, just look at him, fool that you are! Isn't he the living + image of M. Durefour? just look at his nose and his eyes! Are yours like + that? And his hair! Is it like his mother's? I tell you that everyone + knows it, everyone except yourself! It's the joke of the town! Look at + him!” + </p> + <p> + She went to the door, opened it, and disappeared. + </p> + <p> + Jean, frightened, sat motionless before his plate of soup. + </p> + <p> + At the end of an hour, she returned gently, to see how matters stood. The + child, after doing away with all the cakes and a pitcher full of cream and + one of syrup, was now emptying the jam-pot with his soup-spoon. + </p> + <p> + The father had gone out. + </p> + <p> + Celeste took the child, kissed him, and gently carried him to his room and + put him to bed. She came back to the dining-room, cleared the table, put + everything in place, feeling very uneasy all the time. + </p> + <p> + Not a single sound could be heard throughout the house. She put her ear + against her master's door. He seemed to be perfectly still. She put her + eye to the keyhole. He was writing, and seemed very calm. + </p> + <p> + Then she returned to the kitchen and sat down, ready for any emergency. + She slept on a chair and awoke at daylight. + </p> + <p> + She did the rooms as she had been accustomed to every morning; she swept + and dusted, and, towards eight o'clock, prepared M. Lemonnier's breakfast. + </p> + <p> + But she did not dare bring it to her master, knowing too well how she + would be received; she waited for him to ring. But he did not ring. Nine + o'clock, then ten o'clock went by. + </p> + <p> + Celeste, not knowing what to think, prepared her tray and started up with + it, her heart beating fast. + </p> + <p> + She stopped before the door and listened. Everything was still. She + knocked; no answer. Then, gathering up all her courage, she opened the + door and entered. With a wild shriek, she dropped the breakfast tray which + she had been holding in her hand. + </p> + <p> + In the middle of the room, M. Lemonnier was hanging by a rope from a ring + in the ceiling. His tongue was sticking out horribly. His right slipper + was lying on the ground, his left one still on his foot. An upturned chair + had rolled over to the bed. + </p> + <p> + Celeste, dazed, ran away shrieking. All the neighbors crowded together. + The physician declared that he had died at about midnight. + </p> + <p> + A letter addressed to M. Duretdur was found on the table of the suicide. + It contained these words: + </p> + <p> + “I leave and entrust the child to you!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A COUNTRY EXCURSION + </h2> + <p> + For five months they had been talking of going to take luncheon in one of + the country suburbs of Paris on Madame Dufour's birthday, and as they were + looking forward very impatiently to the outing, they rose very early that + morning. Monsieur Dufour had borrowed the milkman's wagon and drove + himself. It was a very tidy, two-wheeled conveyance, with a cover + supported by four iron rods, with curtains that had been drawn up, except + the one at the back, which floated out like a sail. Madame Dufour, + resplendent in a wonderful, cherry colored silk dress, sat by the side of + her husband. + </p> + <p> + The old grandmother and a girl sat behind them on two chairs, and a boy + with yellow hair was lying at the bottom of the wagon, with nothing to be + seen of him except his head. + </p> + <p> + When they reached the bridge of Neuilly, Monsieur Dufour said: “Here we + are in the country at last!” and at that signal his wife grew sentimental + about the beauties of nature. When they got to the crossroads at + Courbevoie they were seized with admiration for the distant landscape. On + the right was Argenteuil with its bell tower, and above it rose the hills + of Sannois and the mill of Orgemont, while on the left the aqueduct of + Marly stood out against the clear morning sky, and in the distance they + could see the terrace of Saint-Germain; and opposite them, at the end of a + low chain of hills, the new fort of Cormeilles. Quite in the distance; a + very long way off, beyond the plains and village, one could see the sombre + green of the forests. + </p> + <p> + The sun was beginning to burn their faces, the dust got into their eyes, + and on either side of the road there stretched an interminable tract of + bare, ugly country with an unpleasant odor. One might have thought that it + had been ravaged by a pestilence, which had even attacked the buildings, + for skeletons of dilapidated and deserted houses, or small cottages, which + were left in an unfinished state, because the contractors had not been + paid, reared their four roofless walls on each side. + </p> + <p> + Here and there tall factory chimneys rose up from the barren soil. The + only vegetation on that putrid land, where the spring breezes wafted an + odor of petroleum and slate, blended with another odor that was even less + agreeable. At last, however, they crossed the Seine a second time, and the + bridge was a delight. The river sparkled in the sun, and they had a + feeling of quiet enjoyment, felt refreshed as they drank in the purer air + that was not impregnated by the black smoke of factories nor by the miasma + from the deposits of night soil. A man whom they met told them that the + name of the place was Bezons. Monsieur Dufour pulled up and read the + attractive announcement outside an eating house: Restaurant Poulin, + matelottes and fried fish, private rooms, arbors, and swings. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Madame Dufour, will this suit you? Will you make up your mind at + last?” + </p> + <p> + She read the announcement in her turn and then looked at the house for + some time. + </p> + <p> + It was a white country inn, built by the roadside, and through the open + door she could see the bright zinc of the counter, at which sat two + workmen in their Sunday clothes. At last she made up her mind and said: + </p> + <p> + “Yes, this will do; and, besides, there is a view.” + </p> + <p> + They drove into a large field behind the inn, separated from the river by + the towing path, and dismounted. The husband sprang out first and then + held out his arms for his wife, and as the step was very high Madame + Dufour, in order to reach him, had to show the lower part of her limbs, + whose former slenderness had disappeared in fat, and Monsieur Dufour, who + was already getting excited by the country air, pinched her calf, and + then, taking her in his arms, he set her on the ground, as if she had been + some enormous bundle. She shook the dust out of the silk dress and then + looked round to see in what sort of a place she was. + </p> + <p> + She was a stout woman, of about thirty-six, full-blown, and delightful to + look at. She could hardly breathe, as her corsets were laced too tightly, + and their pressure forced her superabundant bosom up to her double chin. + Next the girl placed her hand on her father's shoulder and jumped down + lightly. The boy with the yellow hair had got down by stepping on the + wheel, and he helped Monsieur Dufour to lift his grandmother out. Then + they unharnessed the horse, which they had tied to a tree, and the + carriage fell back, with both shafts in the air. The men took off their + coats and washed their hands in a pail of water and then went and joined + the ladies, who had already taken possession of the swings. + </p> + <p> + Mademoiselle Dufour was trying to swing herself standing up, but she could + not succeed in getting a start. She was a pretty girl of about eighteen, + one of those women who suddenly excite your desire when you meet them in + the street and who leave you with a vague feeling of uneasiness and of + excited senses. She was tall, had a small waist and large hips, with a + dark skin, very large eyes and very black hair. Her dress clearly marked + the outlines of her firm, full figure, which was accentuated by the motion + of her hips as she tried to swing herself higher. Her arms were stretched + upward to hold the rope, so that her bosom rose at every movement she + made. Her hat, which a gust of wind had blown off, was hanging behind her, + and as the swing gradually rose higher and higher, she showed her delicate + limbs up to the knees each time, and the breeze from her flying skirts, + which was more heady than the fumes of wine, blew into the faces of the + two men, who were looking at her and smiling. + </p> + <p> + Sitting in the other swing, Madame Dufour kept saying in a monotonous + voice: + </p> + <p> + “Cyprian, come and swing me; do come and swing me, Cyprian!” + </p> + <p> + At last he went, and turning up his shirt sleeves, as if undertaking a + hard piece of work, with much difficulty he set his wife in motion. She + clutched the two ropes and held her legs out straight, so as not to touch + the ground. She enjoyed feeling dizzy at the motion of the swing, and her + whole figure shook like a jelly on a dish, but as she went higher and + higher; she became too giddy and was frightened. Each time the swing came + down she uttered a piercing scream, which made all the little urchins in + the neighborhood come round, and down below, beneath the garden hedge, she + vaguely saw a row of mischievous heads making various grimaces as they + laughed. + </p> + <p> + When a servant girl came out they ordered luncheon. + </p> + <p> + “Some fried fish, a rabbit saute, salad and dessert,” Madame Dufour said, + with an important air. + </p> + <p> + “Bring two quarts of beer and a bottle of claret,” her husband said. + </p> + <p> + “We will have lunch on the grass,” the girl added. + </p> + <p> + The grandmother, who had an affection for cats, had been running after one + that belonged to the house, trying to coax it to come to her for the last + ten minutes. The animal, who was no doubt secretly flattered by her + attentions, kept close to the good woman, but just out of reach of her + hand, and quietly walked round the trees, against which she rubbed + herself, with her tail up, purring with pleasure. + </p> + <p> + “Hello!” suddenly exclaimed the young man with the yellow hair, who was + wandering about. “Here are two swell boats!” They all went to look at them + and saw two beautiful canoes in a wooden shed; they were as beautifully + finished as if they had been ornamental furniture. They hung side by side, + like two tall, slender girls, in their narrow shining length, and made one + wish to float in them on warm summer mornings and evenings along the + flower-covered banks of the river, where the trees dip their branches into + the water, where the rushes are continually rustling in the breeze and + where the swift kingfishers dart about like flashes of blue lightning. + </p> + <p> + The whole family looked at them with great respect. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, they are indeed swell boats!” Monsieur Dufour repeated gravely, as he + examined them like a connoiseur. He had been in the habit of rowing in his + younger days, he said, and when he had spat in his hands—and he went + through the action of pulling the oars—he did not care a fig for + anybody. He had beaten more than one Englishman formerly at the Joinville + regattas. He grew quite excited at last and offered to make a bet that in + a boat like that he could row six leagues an hour without exerting + himself. + </p> + <p> + “Luncheon is ready,” the waitress said, appearing at the entrance to the + boathouse, and they all hurried off. But two young men had taken the very + seats that Madame Dufour had selected and were eating their luncheon. No + doubt they were the owners of the sculls, for they were in boating + costume. They were stretched out, almost lying on the chairs; they were + sun-browned and their thin cotton jerseys, with short sleeves, showed + their bare arms, which were as strong as a blacksmith's. They were two + strong, athletic fellows, who showed in all their movements that + elasticity and grace of limb which can only be acquired by exercise and + which is so different to the deformity with which monotonous heavy work + stamps the mechanic. + </p> + <p> + They exchanged a rapid smile when they saw the mother and then a glance on + seeing the daughter. + </p> + <p> + “Let us give up our place,” one of them said; “it will make us acquainted + with them.” + </p> + <p> + The other got up immediately, and holding his black and red boating cap in + his hand, he politely offered the ladies the only shady place in the + garden. With many excuses they accepted, and that it might be more rural, + they sat on the grass, without either tables or chairs. + </p> + <p> + The two young men took their plates, knives, forks, etc., to a table a + little way off and began to eat again, and their bare arms, which they + showed continually, rather embarrassed the girl. She even pretended to + turn her head aside and not to see them, while Madame Dufour, who was + rather bolder, tempted by feminine curiosity, looked at them every moment, + and, no doubt, compared them with the secret unsightliness of her husband. + She had squatted herself on ground, with her legs tucked under her, after + the manner of tailors, and she kept moving about restlessly, saying that + ants were crawling about her somewhere. Monsieur Dufour, annoyed at the + presence of the polite strangers, was trying to find a comfortable + position which he did not, however, succeed in doing, and the young man + with the yellow hair was eating as silently as an ogre. + </p> + <p> + “It is lovely weather, monsieur,” the stout lady said to one of the + boating men. She wished to be friendly because they had given up their + place. + </p> + <p> + “It is, indeed, madame,” he replied. “Do you often go into the country?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, only once or twice a year to get a little fresh air. And you, + monsieur?” + </p> + <p> + “I come and sleep here every night.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that must be very nice!” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly it is, madame.” And he gave them such a practical account of + his daily life that it awakened afresh in the hearts of these shopkeepers + who were deprived of the meadows and who longed for country walks, to that + foolish love of nature which they all feel so strongly the whole year + round behind the counter in their shop. + </p> + <p> + The girl raised her eyes and looked at the oarsman with emotion and + Monsieur Dufour spoke for the first time. + </p> + <p> + “It is indeed a happy life,” he said. And then he added: “A little more + rabbit, my dear?” + </p> + <p> + “No, thank you,” she replied, and turning to the young men again, and + pointing to their arms, asked: “Do you never feel cold like that?” + </p> + <p> + They both began to laugh, and they astonished the family with an account + of the enormous fatigue they could endure, of their bathing while in a + state of tremendous perspiration, of their rowing in the fog at night; and + they struck their chests violently to show how hollow they sounded. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! You look very strong,” said the husband, who did not talk any more of + the time when he used to beat the English. The girl was looking at them + sideways now, and the young fellow with the yellow hair, who had swallowed + some wine the wrong way, was coughing violently and bespattering Madame + Dufour's cherry-colored silk dress. She got angry and sent for some water + to wash the spots. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile it had grown unbearably hot, the sparkling river looked like a + blaze of fire and the fumes of the wine were getting into their heads. + Monsieur Dufour, who had a violent hiccough, had unbuttoned his waistcoat + and the top button of his trousers, while his wife, who felt choking, was + gradually unfastening her dress. The apprentice was shaking his yellow wig + in a happy frame of mind, and kept helping himself to wine, and the old + grandmother, feeling the effects of the wine, was very stiff and + dignified. As for the girl, one noticed only a peculiar brightness in her + eyes, while the brown cheeks became more rosy. + </p> + <p> + The coffee finished, they suggested singing, and each of them sang or + repeated a couplet, which the others applauded frantically. Then they got + up with some difficulty, and while the two women, who were rather dizzy, + were trying to get a breath of air, the two men, who were altogether + drunk, were attempting gymnastics. Heavy, limp and with scarlet faces they + hung or, awkwardly to the iron rings, without being able to raise + themselves. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile the two boating men had got their boats into the water, and they + came back and politely asked the ladies whether they would like a row. + </p> + <p> + “Would you like one, Monsieur Dufour?” his wife exclaimed. “Please come!” + </p> + <p> + He merely gave her a drunken nod, without understanding what she said. + Then one of the rowers came up with two fishing rods in his hands, and the + hope of catching a gudgeon, that great vision of the Parisian shopkeeper, + made Dufour's dull eyes gleam, and he politely allowed them to do whatever + they liked, while he sat in the shade under the bridge, with his feet + dangling over the river, by the side of the young man with the yellow + hair, who was sleeping soundly. + </p> + <p> + One of the boating men made a martyr of himself and took the mother. + </p> + <p> + “Let us go to the little wood on the Ile aux Anglais!” he called out as he + rowed off. The other boat went more slowly, for the rower was looking at + his companion so intently that he thought of nothing else, and his emotion + seemed to paralyze his strength, while the girl, who was sitting in the + bow, gave herself up to the enjoyment of being on the water. She felt a + disinclination to think, a lassitude in her limbs and a total enervation, + as if she were intoxicated, and her face was flushed and her breathing + quickened. The effects of the wine, which were increased by the extreme + heat, made all the trees on the bank seem to bow as she passed. A vague + wish for enjoyment and a fermentation of her blood seemed to pervade her + whole body, which was excited by the heat of the day, and she was also + disturbed at this tete-a-tete on the water, in a place which seemed + depopulated by the heat, with this young man who thought her pretty, whose + ardent looks seemed to caress her skin and were as penetrating and + pervading as the sun's rays. + </p> + <p> + Their inability to speak increased their emotion, and they looked about + them. At last, however, he made an effort and asked her name. + </p> + <p> + “Henriette,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Why, my name is Henri,” he replied. The sound of their voices had calmed + them, and they looked at the banks. The other boat had passed them and + seemed to be waiting for them, and the rower called out: + </p> + <p> + “We will meet you in the wood; we are going as far as Robinson's, because + Madame Dufour is thirsty.” Then he bent over his oars again and rowed off + so quickly that he was soon out of sight. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile a continual roar, which they had heard for some time, came + nearer, and the river itself seemed to shiver, as if the dull noise were + rising from its depths. + </p> + <p> + “What is that noise?” she asked. It was the noise of the weir which cut + the river in two at the island, and he was explaining it to her, when, + above the noise of the waterfall, they heard the song of a bird, which + seemed a long way off. + </p> + <p> + “Listen!” he said; “the nightingales are singing during the day, so the + female birds must be sitting.” + </p> + <p> + A nightingale! She had never heard one before, and the idea of listening + to one roused visions of poetic tenderness in her heart. A nightingale! + That is to say, the invisible witness of her love trysts which Juliet + invoked on her balcony; that celestial music which it attuned to human + kisses, that eternal inspirer of all those languorous romances which open + an ideal sky to all the poor little tender hearts of sensitive girls! + </p> + <p> + She was going to hear a nightingale. + </p> + <p> + “We must not make a noise,” her companion said, “and then we can go into + the wood, and sit down close beside it.” + </p> + <p> + The boat seemed to glide. They saw the trees on the island, the banks of + which were so low that they could look into the depths of the thickets. + They stopped, he made the boat fast, Henriette took hold of Henri's arm, + and they went beneath the trees. + </p> + <p> + “Stoop,” he said, so she stooped down, and they went into an inextricable + thicket of creepers, leaves and reed grass, which formed an undiscoverable + retreat, and which the young man laughingly called “his private room.” + </p> + <p> + Just above their heads, perched in one of the trees which hid them, the + bird was still singing. He uttered trills and roulades, and then loud, + vibrating notes that filled the air and seemed to lose themselves on the + horizon, across the level country, through that burning silence which + weighed upon the whole landscape. They did not speak for fear of + frightening it away. They were sitting close together, and, slowly, + Henri's arm stole round the girl's waist and squeezed it gently. She took + that daring hand without any anger, and kept removing it whenever he put + it round her; without, however, feeling at all embarrassed by this caress, + just as if it had been something quite natural, which she was resisting + just as naturally. + </p> + <p> + She was listening to the bird in ecstasy. She felt an infinite longing for + happiness, for some sudden demonstration of tenderness, for the revelation + of superhuman poetry, and she felt such a softening at her heart, and + relaxation of her nerves, that she began to cry, without knowing why. The + young man was now straining her close to him, yet she did not remove his + arm; she did not think of it. Suddenly the nightingale stopped, and a + voice called out in the distance: + </p> + <p> + “Henriette!” + </p> + <p> + “Do not reply,” he said in a low voice; “you will drive the bird away.” + </p> + <p> + But she had no idea of doing so, and they remained in the same position + for some time. Madame Dufour had sat down somewhere or other, for from + time to time they heard the stout lady break out into little bursts of + laughter. + </p> + <p> + The girl was still crying; she was filled with strange sensations. Henri's + head was on her shoulder, and suddenly he kissed her on the lips. She was + surprised and angry, and, to avoid him, she stood up. + </p> + <p> + They were both very pale when they left their grassy retreat. The blue sky + appeared to them clouded and the ardent sun darkened; and they felt the + solitude and the silence. They walked rapidly, side by side, without + speaking or touching each other, for they seemed to have become + irreconcilable enemies, as if disgust and hatred had arisen between them, + and from time to time Henriette called out: “Mamma!” + </p> + <p> + By and by they heard a noise behind a bush, and the stout lady appeared, + looking rather confused, and her companion's face was wrinkled with smiles + which he could not check. + </p> + <p> + Madame Dufour took his arm, and they returned to the boats, and Henri, who + was ahead, walked in silence beside the young girl. At last they got back + to Bezons. Monsieur Dufour, who was now sober, was waiting for them very + impatiently, while the young man with the yellow hair was having a + mouthful of something to eat before leaving the inn. The carriage was + waiting in the yard, and the grandmother, who had already got in, was very + frightened at the thought of being overtaken by night before they reached + Paris, as the outskirts were not safe. + </p> + <p> + They all shook bands, and the Dufour family drove off. + </p> + <p> + “Good-by, until we meet again!” the oarsmen cried, and the answer they got + was a sigh and a tear. + </p> + <p> + Two months later, as Henri was going along the Rue des Martyrs, he saw + Dufour, Ironmonger, over a door, and so he went in, and saw the stout lady + sitting at the counter. They recognized each other immediately, and after + an interchange of polite greetings, he asked after them all. + </p> + <p> + “And how is Mademoiselle Henriette?” he inquired specially. + </p> + <p> + “Very well, thank you; she is married.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” He felt a certain emotion, but said: “Whom did she marry?” + </p> + <p> + “That young man who accompanied us, you know; he has joined us in + business.” + </p> + <p> + “I remember him perfectly.” + </p> + <p> + He was going out, feeling very unhappy, though scarcely knowing why, when + madame called him back. + </p> + <p> + “And how is your friend?” she asked rather shyly. + </p> + <p> + “He is very well, thank you.” + </p> + <p> + “Please give him our compliments, and beg him to come and call, when he is + in the neighborhood.” + </p> + <p> + She then added: “Tell him it will give me great pleasure.” + </p> + <p> + “I will be sure to do so. Adieu!” + </p> + <p> + “Do not say that; come again very soon.” + </p> + <p> + The next year, one very hot Sunday, all the details of that adventure, + which Henri had never forgotten, suddenly came back to him so clearly that + he returned alone to their room in the wood, and was overwhelmed with + astonishment when he went in. She was sitting on the grass, looking very + sad, while by her side, still in his shirt sleeves, the young man with the + yellow hair was sleeping soundly, like some animal. + </p> + <p> + She grew so pale when she saw Henri that at first he thought she was going + to faint; then, however, they began to talk quite naturally. But when he + told her that he was very fond of that spot, and went there frequently on + Sundays to indulge in memories, she looked into his eyes for a long time. + </p> + <p> + “I too, think of it,” she replied. + </p> + <p> + “Come, my dear,” her husband said, with a yawn. “I think it is time for us + to be going.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ROSE + </h2> + <p> + The two young women appear to be buried under a blanket of flowers. They + are alone in the immense landau, which is filled with flowers like a giant + basket. On the front seat are two small hampers of white satin filled with + violets, and on the bearskin by which their knees are covered there is a + mass of roses, mimosas, pinks, daisies, tuberoses and orange blossoms, + interwoven with silk ribbons; the two frail bodies seem buried under this + beautiful perfumed bed, which hides everything but the shoulders and arms + and a little of the dainty waists. + </p> + <p> + The coachman's whip is wound with a garland of anemones, the horses' + traces are dotted with carnations, the spokes of the wheels are clothed in + mignonette, and where the lanterns ought to be are two enormous round + bouquets which look as though they were the eyes of this strange, rolling, + flower-bedecked creature. + </p> + <p> + The landau drives rapidly along the road, through the Rue d'Antibes, + preceded, followed, accompanied, by a crowd of other carriages covered + with flowers, full of women almost hidden by a sea of violets. It is the + flower carnival at Cannes. + </p> + <p> + The carriage reaches the Boulevard de la Fonciere, where the battle is + waged. All along the immense avenue a double row of flower-bedecked + vehicles are going and coming like an endless ribbon. Flowers are thrown + from one to the other. They pass through the air like balls, striking + fresh faces, bouncing and falling into the dust, where an army of + youngsters pick them up. + </p> + <p> + A thick crowd is standing on the sidewalks looking on and held in check by + the mounted police, who pass brutally along pushing back the curious + pedestrians as though to prevent the common people from mingling with the + rich. + </p> + <p> + In the carriages, people call to each other, recognize each other and + bombard each other with roses. A chariot full of pretty women, dressed in + red, like devils, attracts the eyes of all. A gentleman, who looks like + the portraits of Henry IV., is throwing an immense bouquet which is held + back by an elastic. Fearing the shock, the women hide their eyes and the + men lower their heads, but the graceful, rapid and obedient missile + describes a curve and returns to its master, who immediately throws it at + some new face. + </p> + <p> + The two young women begin to throw their stock of flowers by handfuls, and + receive a perfect hail of bouquets; then, after an hour of warfare, a + little tired, they tell the coachman to drive along the road which follows + the seashore. + </p> + <p> + The sun disappears behind Esterel, outlining the dark, rugged mountain + against the sunset sky. The clear blue sea, as calm as a mill-pond, + stretches out as far as the horizon, where it blends with the sky; and the + fleet, anchored in the middle of the bay, looks like a herd of enormous + beasts, motionless on the water, apocalyptic animals, armored and + hump-backed, their frail masts looking like feathers, and with eyes which + light up when evening approaches. + </p> + <p> + The two young women, leaning back under the heavy robes, look out lazily + over the blue expanse of water. At last one of them says: + </p> + <p> + “How delightful the evenings are! How good everything seems! Don't you + think so, Margot?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it is good. But there is always something lacking.” + </p> + <p> + “What is lacking? I feel perfectly happy. I don't need anything else.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you do. You are not thinking of it. No matter how contented we may + be, physically, we always long for something more—for the heart.” + </p> + <p> + The other asked with a smile: + </p> + <p> + “A little love?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + They stopped talking, their eyes fastened on the distant horizon, then the + one called Marguerite murmured: “Life without that seems to me unbearable. + I need to be loved, if only by a dog. But we are all alike, no matter what + you may say, Simone.” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all, my dear. I had rather not be loved at all than to be loved by + the first comer. Do you think, for instance, that it would be pleasant to + be loved by—by—” + </p> + <p> + She was thinking by whom she might possibly be loved, glancing across the + wide landscape. Her eyes, after traveling around the horizon, fell on the + two bright buttons which were shining on the back of the coachman's + livery, and she continued, laughing: “by my coachman?” + </p> + <p> + Madame Margot barely smiled, and said in a low tone of voice: + </p> + <p> + “I assure you that it is very amusing to be loved by a servant. It has + happened to me two or three times. They roll their eyes in such a funny + manner—it's enough to make you die laughing! Naturally, the more in + love they are, the more severe one must be with them, and then, some day, + for some reason, you dismiss them, because, if anyone should notice it, + you would appear so ridiculous.” + </p> + <p> + Madame Simone was listening, staring straight ahead of her, then she + remarked: + </p> + <p> + “No, I'm afraid that my footman's heart would not satisfy me. Tell me how + you noticed that they loved you.” + </p> + <p> + “I noticed it the same way that I do with other men—when they get + stupid.” + </p> + <p> + “The others don't seem stupid to me, when they love me.” + </p> + <p> + “They are idiots, my dear, unable to talk, to answer, to understand + anything.” + </p> + <p> + “But how did you feel when you were loved by a servant? Were you—moved—flattered?” + </p> + <p> + “Moved? no, flattered—yes a little. One is always flattered to be + loved by a man, no matter who he may be.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Margot!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, indeed, my dear! For instance, I will tell you of a peculiar + incident which happened to me. You will see how curious and complex our + emotions are, in such cases. + </p> + <p> + “About four years ago I happened to be without a maid. I had tried five or + six, one right after the other, and I was about ready to give up in + despair, when I saw an advertisement in a newspaper of a young girl + knowing how to cook, embroider, dress hair, who was looking for a position + and who could furnish the best of references. Besides all these + accomplishments, she could speak English. + </p> + <p> + “I wrote to the given address, and the next day the person in question + presented herself. She was tall, slender, pale, shy-looking. She had + beautiful black eyes and a charming complexion; she pleased me + immediately. I asked for her certificates; she gave me one in English, for + she came, as she said, from Lady Rymwell's, where she had been for ten + years. + </p> + <p> + “The certificate showed that the young girl had left of her own free will, + in order to return to France, and the only thing which they had had to + find fault in her during her long period of service was a little French + coquettishness. + </p> + <p> + “This prudish English phrase even made me smile, and I immediately engaged + this maid. + </p> + <p> + “She came to me the same day. Her name was Rose. + </p> + <p> + “At the end of a month I would have been helpless without her. She was a + treasure, a pearl, a phenomenon. + </p> + <p> + “She could dress my hair with infinite taste; she could trim a hat better + than most milliners, and she could even make my dresses. + </p> + <p> + “I was astonished at her accomplishments. I had never before been waited + on in such a manner. + </p> + <p> + “She dressed me rapidly and with a surprisingly light touch. I never felt + her fingers on my skin, and nothing is so disagreeable to me as contact + with a servant's hand. I soon became excessively lazy; it was so pleasant + to be dressed from head to foot, and from lingerie to gloves, by this + tall, timid girl, always blushing a little, and never saying a word. After + my bath she would rub and massage me while I dozed a little on my couch; I + almost considered her more of a friend than a servant. + </p> + <p> + “One morning the janitor asked, mysteriously, to speak to me. I was + surprised, and told him to come in. He was a good, faithful man, an old + soldier, one of my husband's former orderlies. + </p> + <p> + “He seemed to be embarrassed by what he had to say to me. At last he + managed to mumble: + </p> + <p> + “'Madame, the superintendent of police is downstairs.' + </p> + <p> + “I asked quickly: + </p> + <p> + “'What does he wish?' + </p> + <p> + “'He wishes to search the house.' + </p> + <p> + “Of course the police are useful, but I hate them. I do not think that it + is a noble profession. I answered, angered and hurt: + </p> + <p> + “'Why this search? For what reason? He shall not come in.' + </p> + <p> + “The janitor continued: + </p> + <p> + “'He says that there is a criminal hidden in the house.' + </p> + <p> + “This time I was frightened and I told him to bring the inspector to me, + so that I might get some explanation. He was a man with good manners and + decorated with the Legion of Honor. He begged my pardon for disturbing me, + and then informed me that I had, among my domestics, a convict. + </p> + <p> + “I was shocked; and I answered that I could guarantee every servant in the + house, and I began to enumerate them. + </p> + <p> + “'The janitor, Pierre Courtin, an old soldier.' + </p> + <p> + “'It's not he.' + </p> + <p> + “'A stable-boy, son of farmers whom I know, and a groom whom you have just + seen.' + </p> + <p> + “'It's not he.' + </p> + <p> + “'Then, monsieur, you see that you must be mistaken.' + </p> + <p> + “'Excuse me, madame, but I am positive that I am not making a mistake. + </p> + <p> + “As the conviction of a notable criminal is at stake, would you be so kind + as to send for all your servants?” + </p> + <p> + “At first I refused, but I finally gave in, and sent downstairs for + everybody, men and women. + </p> + <p> + “The inspector glanced at them and then declared: + </p> + <p> + “'This isn't all.' + </p> + <p> + “'Excuse me, monsieur, there is no one left but my maid, a young girl whom + you could not possibly mistake for a convict.' + </p> + <p> + “He asked: + </p> + <p> + “'May I also see her?' + </p> + <p> + “'Certainly.' + </p> + <p> + “I rang for Rose, who immediately appeared. She had hardly entered the + room, when the inspector made a motion, and two men whom I had not seen, + hidden behind the door, sprang forward, seized her and tied her hands + behind her back. + </p> + <p> + “I cried out in anger and tried to rush forward to defend her. The + inspector stopped me: + </p> + <p> + “'This girl, madame, is a man whose name is Jean Nicolas Lecapet, + condemned to death in 1879 for assaulting a woman and injuring her so that + death resulted. His sentence was commuted to imprisonment for life. He + escaped four months ago. We have been looking for him ever since.' + </p> + <p> + “I was terrified, bewildered. I did not believe him. The commissioner + continued, laughing: + </p> + <p> + “'I can prove it to you. His right arm is tattooed.' + </p> + <p> + “'The sleeve was rolled up. It was true. The inspector added, with bad + taste: + </p> + <p> + “'You can trust us for the other proofs.' + </p> + <p> + “And they led my maid away! + </p> + <p> + “Well, would you believe me, the thing that moved me most was not anger at + having thus been played upon, deceived and made ridiculous, it was not the + shame of having thus been dressed and undressed, handled and touched by + this man—but a deep humiliation—a woman's humiliation. Do you + understand?” + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid I don't.” + </p> + <p> + “Just think—this man had been condemned for—for assaulting a + woman. Well! I thought of the one whom he had assaulted—and—and + I felt humiliated—There! Do you understand now?” + </p> + <p> + Madame Margot did not answer. She was looking straight ahead, her eyes + fastened on the two shining buttons of the livery, with that sphinx-like + smile which women sometimes have. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ROSALIE PRUDENT + </h2> + <p> + There was a real mystery in this affair which neither the jury, nor the + president, nor the public prosecutor himself could understand. + </p> + <p> + The girl Prudent (Rosalie), servant at the Varambots', of Nantes, having + become enceinte without the knowledge of her masters, had, during the + night, killed and buried her child in the garden. + </p> + <p> + It was the usual story of the infanticides committed by servant girls. But + there was one inexplicable circumstance about this one. When the police + searched the girl Prudent's room they discovered a complete infant's + outfit, made by Rosalie herself, who had spent her nights for the last + three months in cutting and sewing it. The grocer from whom she had bought + her candles, out of her own wages, for this long piece of work had come to + testify. It came out, moreover, that the sage-femme of the district, + informed by Rosalie of her condition, had given her all necessary + instructions and counsel in case the event should happen at a time when it + might not be possible to get help. She had also procured a place at Poissy + for the girl Prudent, who foresaw that her present employers would + discharge her, for the Varambot couple did not trifle with morality. + </p> + <p> + There were present at the trial both the man and the woman, a middle-class + pair from the provinces, living on their income. They were so exasperated + against this girl, who had sullied their house, that they would have liked + to see her guillotined on the spot without a trial. The spiteful + depositions they made against her became accusations in their mouths. + </p> + <p> + The defendant, a large, handsome girl of Lower Normandy, well educated for + her station in life, wept continuously and would not answer to anything. + </p> + <p> + The court and the spectators were forced to the opinion that she had + committed this barbarous act in a moment of despair and madness, since + there was every indication that she had expected to keep and bring up her + child. + </p> + <p> + The president tried for the last time to make her speak, to get some + confession, and, having urged her with much gentleness, he finally made + her understand that all these men gathered here to pass judgment upon her + were not anxious for her death and might even have pity on her. + </p> + <p> + Then she made up her mind to speak. + </p> + <p> + “Come, now, tell us, first, who is the father of this child?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + Until then she had obstinately refused to give his name. + </p> + <p> + But she replied suddenly, looking at her masters who had so cruelly + calumniated her: + </p> + <p> + “It is Monsieur Joseph, Monsieur Varambot's nephew.” + </p> + <p> + The couple started in their seats and cried with one voice—“That's + not true! She lies! This is infamous!” + </p> + <p> + The president had them silenced and continued, “Go on, please, and tell us + how it all happened.” + </p> + <p> + Then she suddenly began to talk freely, relieving her pent-up heart, that + poor, solitary, crushed heart—laying bare her sorrow, her whole + sorrow, before those severe men whom she had until now taken for enemies + and inflexible judges. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it was Monsieur Joseph Varambot, when he came on leave last year.” + </p> + <p> + “What does Mr. Joseph Varambot do?” + </p> + <p> + “He is a non-commissioned officer in the artillery, monsieur. Well, he + stayed two months at the house, two months of the summer. I thought + nothing about it when he began to look at me, and then flatter me, and + make love to me all day long. And I let myself be taken in, monsieur. He + kept saying to me that I was a handsome girl, that I was good company, + that I just suited him—and I, I liked him well enough. What could I + do? One listens to these things when one is alone—all alone—as + I was. I am alone in the world, monsieur. I have no one to talk to—no + one to tell my troubles to. I have no father, no mother, no brother, no + sister, nobody. And when he began to talk to me it was as if I had a + brother who had come back. And then he asked me to go with him to the + river one evening, so that we might talk without disturbing any one. I + went—I don't know—I don't know how it happened. He had his arm + around me. Really I didn't want to—no—no—I could not—I + felt like crying, the air was so soft—the moon was shining. No, I + swear to you—I could not—he did what he wanted. That went on + three weeks, as long as he stayed. I could have followed him to the ends + of the world. He went away. I did not know that I was enceinte. I did not + know it until the month after—” + </p> + <p> + She began to cry so bitterly that they had to give her time to collect + herself. + </p> + <p> + Then the president resumed with the tone of a priest at the confessional: + “Come, now, go on.” + </p> + <p> + She began to talk again: “When I realized my condition I went to see + Madame Boudin, who is there to tell you, and I asked her how it would be, + in case it should come if she were not there. Then I made the outfit, + sewing night after night, every evening until one o'clock in the morning; + and then I looked for another place, for I knew very well that I should be + sent away, but I wanted to stay in the house until the very last, so as to + save my pennies, for I have not got very much and I should need my money + for the little one.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you did not intend to kill him?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, certainly not, monsieur!” + </p> + <p> + “Why did you kill him, then?” + </p> + <p> + “It happened this way. It came sooner than I expected. It came upon me in + the kitchen, while I was doing the dishes. Monsieur and Madame Varambot + were already asleep, so I went up, not without difficulty, dragging myself + up by the banister, and I lay down on the bare floor. It lasted perhaps + one hour, or two, or three; I don't know, I had such pain; and then I + pushed him out with all my strength. I felt that he came out and I picked + him up. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! but I was glad, I assure you! I did all that Madame Boudin told me to + do. And then I laid him on my bed. And then such a pain griped me again + that I thought I should die. If you knew what it meant, you there, you + would not do so much of this. I fell on my knees, and then toppled over + backward on the floor; and it griped me again, perhaps one hour, perhaps + two. I lay there all alone—and then another one comes—another + little one—two, yes, two, like this. I took him up as I did the + first one, and then I put him on the bed, the two side by side. Is it + possible, tell me, two children, and I who get only twenty francs a month? + Say, is it possible? One, yes, that can be managed by going without + things, but not two. That turned my head. What do I know about it? Had I + any choice, tell me? + </p> + <p> + “What could I do? I felt as if my last hour had come. I put the pillow + over them, without knowing why. I could not keep them both; and then I + threw myself down, and I lay there, rolling over and over and crying until + I saw the daylight come into the window. Both of them were quite dead + under the pillow. Then I took them under my arms and went down the stairs + out in the vegetable garden. I took the gardener's spade and I buried them + under the earth, digging as deep a hole as I could, one here and the other + one there, not together, so that they might not talk of their mother if + these little dead bodies can talk. What do I know about it? + </p> + <p> + “And then, back in my bed, I felt so sick that I could not get up. They + sent for the doctor and he understood it all. I'm telling you the truth, + Your Honor. Do what you like with me; I'm ready.” + </p> + <p> + Half of the jury were blowing their noses violently to keep from crying. + The women in the courtroom were sobbing. + </p> + <p> + The president asked her: + </p> + <p> + “Where did you bury the other one?” + </p> + <p> + “The one that you have?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Why, this one—this one was in the artichokes.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, then the other one is among the strawberries, by the well.” + </p> + <p> + And she began to sob so piteously that no one could hear her unmoved. + </p> + <p> + The girl Rosalie Prudent was acquitted. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + REGRET + </h2> + <p> + Monsieur Saval, who was called in Mantes “Father Saval,” had just risen + from bed. He was weeping. It was a dull autumn day; the leaves were + falling. They fell slowly in the rain, like a heavier and slower rain. M. + Saval was not in good spirits. He walked from the fireplace to the window, + and from the window to the fireplace. Life has its sombre days. It would + no longer have any but sombre days for him, for he had reached the age of + sixty-two. He is alone, an old bachelor, with nobody about him. How sad it + is to die alone, all alone, without any one who is devoted to you! + </p> + <p> + He pondered over his life, so barren, so empty. He recalled former days, + the days of his childhood, the home, the house of his parents; his college + days, his follies; the time he studied law in Paris, his father's illness, + his death. He then returned to live with his mother. They lived together + very quietly, and desired nothing more. At last the mother died. How sad + life is! He lived alone since then, and now, in his turn, he, too, will + soon be dead. He will disappear, and that will be the end. There will be + no more of Paul Saval upon the earth. What a frightful thing! Other people + will love, will laugh. Yes, people will go on amusing themselves, and he + will no longer exist! Is it not strange that people can laugh, amuse + themselves, be joyful under that eternal certainty of death? If this death + were only probable, one could then have hope; but no, it is inevitable, as + inevitable as that night follows the day. + </p> + <p> + If, however, his life had been full! If he had done something; if he had + had adventures, great pleasures, success, satisfaction of some kind or + another. But no, nothing. He had done nothing, nothing but rise from bed, + eat, at the same hours, and go to bed again. And he had gone on like that + to the age of sixty-two years. He had not even taken unto himself a wife, + as other men do. Why? Yes, why was it that he had not married? He might + have done so, for he possessed considerable means. Had he lacked an + opportunity? Perhaps! But one can create opportunities. He was + indifferent; that was all. Indifference had been his greatest drawback, + his defect, his vice. How many men wreck their lives through indifference! + It is so difficult for some natures to get out of bed, to move about, to + take long walks, to speak, to study any question. + </p> + <p> + He had not even been loved. No woman had reposed on his bosom, in a + complete abandon of love. He knew nothing of the delicious anguish of + expectation, the divine vibration of a hand in yours, of the ecstasy of + triumphant passion. + </p> + <p> + What superhuman happiness must overflow your heart, when lips encounter + lips for the first time, when the grasp of four arms makes one being of + you, a being unutterably happy, two beings infatuated with one another. + </p> + <p> + M. Saval was sitting before the fire, his feet on the fender, in his + dressing gown. Assuredly his life had been spoiled, completely spoiled. He + had, however, loved. He had loved secretly, sadly, and indifferently, in a + manner characteristic of him in everything. Yes, he had loved his old + friend, Madame Sandres, the wife of his old companion, Sandres. Ah! if he + had known her as a young girl! But he had met her too late; she was + already married. Unquestionably, he would have asked her hand! How he had + loved her, nevertheless, without respite, since the first day he set eyes + on her! + </p> + <p> + He recalled his emotion every time he saw her, his grief on leaving her, + the many nights that he could not sleep, because he was thinking of her. + </p> + <p> + On rising in the morning he was somewhat more rational than on the + previous evening. + </p> + <p> + Why? + </p> + <p> + How pretty she was formerly, so dainty, with fair curly hair, and always + laughing. Sandres was not the man she should have chosen. She was now + fifty-two years of age. She seemed happy. Ah! if she had only loved him in + days gone by; yes, if she had only loved him! And why should she not have + loved him, he, Saval, seeing that he loved her so much, yes, she, Madame + Sandres! + </p> + <p> + If only she could have guessed. Had she not guessed anything, seen + anything, comprehended anything? What would she have thought? If he had + spoken, what would she have answered? + </p> + <p> + And Saval asked himself a thousand other things. He reviewed his whole + life, seeking to recall a multitude of details. + </p> + <p> + He recalled all the long evenings spent at the house of Sandres, when the + latter's wife was young, and so charming. + </p> + <p> + He recalled many things that she had said to him, the intonations of her + voice, the little significant smiles that meant so much. + </p> + <p> + He recalled their walks, the three of them together, along the banks of + the Seine, their luncheon on the grass on Sundays, for Sandres was + employed at the sub-prefecture. And all at once the distinct recollection + came to him of an afternoon spent with her in a little wood on the banks + of the river. + </p> + <p> + They had set out in the morning, carrying their provisions in baskets. It + was a bright spring morning, one of those days which intoxicate one. + Everything smells fresh, everything seems happy. The voices of the birds + sound more joyous, and they fly more swiftly. They had luncheon on the + grass, under the willow trees, quite close to the water, which glittered + in the sun's rays. The air was balmy, charged with the odors of fresh + vegetation; they drank it in with delight. How pleasant everything was on + that day! + </p> + <p> + After lunch, Sandres went to sleep on the broad of his back. “The best nap + he had in his life,” said he, when he woke up. + </p> + <p> + Madame Sandres had taken the arm of Saval, and they started to walk along + the river bank. + </p> + <p> + She leaned tenderly on his arm. She laughed and said to him: “I am + intoxicated, my friend, I am quite intoxicated.” He looked at her, his + heart going pit-a-pat. He felt himself grow pale, fearful that he might + have looked too boldly at her, and that the trembling of his hand had + revealed his passion. + </p> + <p> + She had made a wreath of wild flowers and water-lilies, and she asked him: + “Do I look pretty like that?” + </p> + <p> + As he did not answer—for he could find nothing to say, he would have + liked to go down on his knees—she burst out laughing, a sort of + annoyed, displeased laugh, as she said: “Great goose, what ails you? You + might at least say something.” + </p> + <p> + He felt like crying, but could not even yet find a word to say. + </p> + <p> + All these things came back to him now, as vividly as on the day when they + took place. Why had she said this to him, “Great goose, what ails you? You + might at least say something!” + </p> + <p> + And he recalled how tenderly she had leaned on his arm. And in passing + under a shady tree he had felt her ear brushing his cheek, and he had + moved his head abruptly, lest she should suppose he was too familiar. + </p> + <p> + When he had said to her: “Is it not time to return?” she darted a singular + look at him. “Certainly,” she said, “certainly,” regarding him at the same + time in a curious manner. He had not thought of it at the time, but now + the whole thing appeared to him quite plain. + </p> + <p> + “Just as you like, my friend. If you are tired let us go back.” + </p> + <p> + And he had answered: “I am not fatigued; but Sandres may be awake now.” + </p> + <p> + And she had said: “If you are afraid of my husband's being awake, that is + another thing. Let us return.” + </p> + <p> + On their way back she remained silent, and leaned no longer on his arm. + Why? + </p> + <p> + At that time it had never occurred to him, to ask himself “why.” Now he + seemed to apprehend something that he had not then understood. + </p> + <p> + Could it? + </p> + <p> + M. Saval felt himself blush, and he got up at a bound, as if he were + thirty years younger and had heard Madame Sandres say, “I love you.” + </p> + <p> + Was it possible? That idea which had just entered his mind tortured him. + Was it possible that he had not seen, had not guessed? + </p> + <p> + Oh! if that were true, if he had let this opportunity of happiness pass + without taking advantage of it! + </p> + <p> + He said to himself: “I must know. I cannot remain in this state of doubt. + I must know!” He thought: “I am sixty-two years of age, she is + fifty-eight; I may ask her that now without giving offense.” + </p> + <p> + He started out. + </p> + <p> + The Sandres' house was situated on the other side of the street, almost + directly opposite his own. He went across and knocked at the door, and a + little servant opened it. + </p> + <p> + “You here at this hour, Saval! Has some accident happened to you?” + </p> + <p> + “No, my girl,” he replied; “but go and tell your mistress that I want to + speak to her at once.” + </p> + <p> + “The fact is madame is preserving pears for the winter, and she is in the + preserving room. She is not dressed, you understand.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but go and tell her that I wish to see her on a very important + matter.” + </p> + <p> + The little servant went away, and Saval began to walk, with long, nervous + strides, up and down the drawing-room. He did not feel in the least + embarrassed, however. Oh! he was merely going to ask her something, as he + would have asked her about some cooking recipe. He was sixty-two years of + age! + </p> + <p> + The door opened and madame appeared. She was now a large woman, fat and + round, with full cheeks and a sonorous laugh. She walked with her arms + away from her sides and her sleeves tucked up, her bare arms all covered + with fruit juice. She asked anxiously: + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter with you, my friend? You are not ill, are you?” + </p> + <p> + “No, my dear friend; but I wish to ask you one thing, which to me is of + the first importance, something which is torturing my heart, and I want + you to promise that you will answer me frankly.” + </p> + <p> + She laughed, “I am always frank. Say on.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then. I have loved you from the first day I ever saw you. Can you + have any doubt of this?” + </p> + <p> + She responded, laughing, with something of her former tone of voice. + </p> + <p> + “Great goose! what ails you? I knew it from the very first day!” + </p> + <p> + Saval began to tremble. He stammered out: “You knew it? Then...” + </p> + <p> + He stopped. + </p> + <p> + She asked: + </p> + <p> + “Then?” + </p> + <p> + He answered: + </p> + <p> + “Then—what did you think? What—what—what would you have + answered?” + </p> + <p> + She broke into a peal of laughter. Some of the juice ran off the tips of + her fingers on to the carpet. + </p> + <p> + “What?” + </p> + <p> + “I? Why, you did not ask me anything. It was not for me to declare + myself!” + </p> + <p> + He then advanced a step toward her. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me—tell me.... You remember the day when Sandres went to sleep + on the grass after lunch... when we had walked together as far as the bend + of the river, below...” + </p> + <p> + He waited, expectantly. She had ceased to laugh, and looked at him, + straight in the eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, certainly, I remember it.” + </p> + <p> + He answered, trembling all over: + </p> + <p> + “Well—that day—if I had been—if I had been—venturesome—what + would you have done?” + </p> + <p> + She began to laugh as only a happy woman can laugh, who has nothing to + regret, and responded frankly, in a clear voice tinged with irony: + </p> + <p> + “I would have yielded, my friend.” + </p> + <p> + She then turned on her heels and went back to her jam-making. + </p> + <p> + Saval rushed into the street, cast down, as though he had met with some + disaster. He walked with giant strides through the rain, straight on, + until he reached the river bank, without thinking where he was going. He + then turned to the right and followed the river. He walked a long time, as + if urged on by some instinct. His clothes were running with water, his hat + was out of shape, as soft as a rag, and dripping like a roof. He walked + on, straight in front of him. At last, he came to the place where they had + lunched on that day so long ago, the recollection of which tortured his + heart. He sat down under the leafless trees, and wept. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A SISTER'S CONFESSION + </h2> + <p> + Marguerite de Therelles was dying. Although she was only fifty-six years + old she looked at least seventy-five. She gasped for breath, her face + whiter than the sheets, and had spasms of violent shivering, with her face + convulsed and her eyes haggard as though she saw a frightful vision. + </p> + <p> + Her elder sister, Suzanne, six years older than herself, was sobbing on + her knees beside the bed. A small table close to the dying woman's couch + bore, on a white cloth, two lighted candles, for the priest was expected + at any moment to administer extreme unction and the last communion. + </p> + <p> + The apartment wore that melancholy aspect common to death chambers; a look + of despairing farewell. Medicine bottles littered the furniture; linen lay + in the corners into which it had been kicked or swept. The very chairs + looked, in their disarray, as if they were terrified and had run in all + directions. Death—terrible Death—was in the room, hidden, + awaiting his prey. + </p> + <p> + This history of the two sisters was an affecting one. It was spoken of far + and wide; it had drawn tears from many eyes. + </p> + <p> + Suzanne, the elder, had once been passionately loved by a young man, whose + affection she returned. They were engaged to be married, and the wedding + day was at hand, when Henry de Sampierre suddenly died. + </p> + <p> + The young girl's despair was terrible, and she took an oath never to + marry. She faithfully kept her vow and adopted widow's weeds for the + remainder of her life. + </p> + <p> + But one morning her sister, her little sister Marguerite, then only twelve + years old, threw herself into Suzanne's arms, sobbing: “Sister, I don't + want you to be unhappy. I don't want you to mourn all your life. I'll + never leave you—never, never, never! I shall never marry, either. + I'll stay with you always—always!” + </p> + <p> + Suzanne kissed her, touched by the child's devotion, though not putting + any faith in her promise. + </p> + <p> + But the little one kept her word, and, despite her parents' remonstrances, + despite her elder sister's prayers, never married. She was remarkably + pretty and refused many offers. She never left her sister. + </p> + <p> + They spent their whole life together, without a single day's separation. + They went everywhere together and were inseparable. But Marguerite was + pensive, melancholy, sadder than her sister, as if her sublime sacrifice + had undermined her spirits. She grew older more quickly; her hair was + white at thirty; and she was often ill, apparently stricken with some + unknown, wasting malady. + </p> + <p> + And now she would be the first to die. + </p> + <p> + She had not spoken for twenty-four hours, except to whisper at daybreak: + </p> + <p> + “Send at once for the priest.” + </p> + <p> + And she had since remained lying on her back, convulsed with agony, her + lips moving as if unable to utter the dreadful words that rose in her + heart, her face expressive of a terror distressing to witness. + </p> + <p> + Suzanne, distracted with grief, her brow pressed against the bed, wept + bitterly, repeating over and over again the words: + </p> + <p> + “Margot, my poor Margot, my little one!” + </p> + <p> + She had always called her “my little one,” while Marguerite's name for the + elder was invariably “sister.” + </p> + <p> + A footstep sounded on the stairs. The door opened. An acolyte appeared, + followed by the aged priest in his surplice. As soon as she saw him the + dying woman sat up suddenly in bed, opened her lips, stammered a few words + and began to scratch the bed-clothes, as if she would have made hole in + them. + </p> + <p> + Father Simon approached, took her hand, kissed her on the forehead and + said in a gentle voice: + </p> + <p> + “May God pardon your sins, my daughter. Be of good courage. Now is the + moment to confess them—speak!” + </p> + <p> + Then Marguerite, shuddering from head to foot, so that the very bed shook + with her nervous movements, gasped: + </p> + <p> + “Sit down, sister, and listen.” + </p> + <p> + The priest stooped toward the prostrate Suzanne, raised her to her feet, + placed her in a chair, and, taking a hand of each of the sisters, + pronounced: + </p> + <p> + “Lord God! Send them strength! Shed Thy mercy upon them.” + </p> + <p> + And Marguerite began to speak. The words issued from her lips one by one—hoarse, + jerky, tremulous. + </p> + <p> + “Pardon, pardon, sister! pardon me! Oh, if only you knew how I have + dreaded this moment all my life!” + </p> + <p> + Suzanne faltered through her tears: + </p> + <p> + “But what have I to pardon, little one? You have given me everything, + sacrificed all to me. You are an angel.” + </p> + <p> + But Marguerite interrupted her: + </p> + <p> + “Be silent, be silent! Let me speak! Don't stop me! It is terrible. Let me + tell all, to the very end, without interruption. Listen. You remember—you + remember—Henry—” + </p> + <p> + Suzanne trembled and looked at her sister. The younger one went on: + </p> + <p> + “In order to understand you must hear everything. I was twelve years old—only + twelve—you remember, don't you? And I was spoilt; I did just as I + pleased. You remember how everybody spoilt me? Listen. The first time he + came he had on his riding boots; he dismounted, saying that he had a + message for father. You remember, don't you? Don't speak. Listen. When I + saw him I was struck with admiration. I thought him so handsome, and I + stayed in a corner of the drawing-room all the time he was talking. + Children are strange—and terrible. Yes, indeed, I dreamt of him. + </p> + <p> + “He came again—many times. I looked at him with all my eyes, all my + heart. I was large for my age and much more precocious than—any one + suspected. He came often. I thought only of him. I often whispered to + myself: + </p> + <p> + “'Henry-Henry de Sampierre!' + </p> + <p> + “Then I was told that he was going to marry you. That was a blow! Oh, + sister, a terrible blow—terrible! I wept all through three sleepless + nights. + </p> + <p> + “He came every afternoon after lunch. You remember, don't you? Don't + answer. Listen. You used to make cakes that he was very fond of—with + flour, butter and milk. Oh, I know how to make them. I could make them + still, if necessary. He would swallow them at one mouthful and wash them + down with a glass of wine, saying: 'Delicious!' Do you remember the way he + said it? + </p> + <p> + “I was jealous—jealous! Your wedding day was drawing near. It was + only a fortnight distant. I was distracted. I said to myself: 'He shall + not marry Suzanne—no, he shall not! He shall marry me when I am old + enough! I shall never love any one half so much.' But one evening, ten + days before the wedding, you went for a stroll with him in the moonlight + before the house—and yonder—under the pine tree, the big pine + tree—he kissed you—kissed you—and held you in his arms + so long—so long! You remember, don't you? It was probably the first + time. You were so pale when you came back to the drawing-room! + </p> + <p> + “I saw you. I was there in the shrubbery. I was mad with rage! I would + have killed you both if I could! + </p> + <p> + “I said to myself: 'He shall never marry Suzanne—never! He shall + marry no one! I could not bear it.' And all at once I began to hate him + intensely. + </p> + <p> + “Then do you know what I did? Listen. I had seen the gardener prepare + pellets for killing stray dogs. He would crush a bottle into small pieces + with a stone and put the ground glass into a ball of meat. + </p> + <p> + “I stole a small medicine bottle from mother's room. I ground it fine with + a hammer and hid the glass in my pocket. It was a glistening powder. The + next day, when you had made your little cakes; I opened them with a knife + and inserted the glass. He ate three. I ate one myself. I threw the six + others into the pond. The two swans died three days later. You remember? + Oh, don't speak! Listen, listen. I, I alone did not die. But I have always + been ill. Listen—he died—you know—listen—that was + not the worst. It was afterward, later—always—the most + terrible—listen. + </p> + <p> + “My life, all my life—such torture! I said to myself: 'I will never + leave my sister. And on my deathbed I will tell her all.' And now I have + told. And I have always thought of this moment—the moment when all + would be told. Now it has come. It is terrible—oh!—sister— + </p> + <p> + “I have always thought, morning and evening, day and night: 'I shall have + to tell her some day!' I waited. The horror of it! It is done. Say + nothing. Now I am afraid—I am afraid! Oh! Supposing I should see him + again, by and by, when I am dead! See him again! Only to think of it! I + dare not—yet I must. I am going to die. I want you to forgive me. I + insist on it. I cannot meet him without your forgiveness. Oh, tell her to + forgive me, Father! Tell her. I implore you! I cannot die without it.” + </p> + <p> + She was silent and lay back, gasping for breath, still plucking at the + sheets with her fingers. + </p> + <p> + Suzanne had hidden her face in her hands and did not move. She was + thinking of him whom she had loved so long. What a life of happiness they + might have had together! She saw him again in the dim and distant + past-that past forever lost. Beloved dead! how the thought of them rends + the heart! Oh! that kiss, his only kiss! She had retained the memory of it + in her soul. And, after that, nothing, nothing more throughout her whole + existence! + </p> + <p> + The priest rose suddenly and in a firm, compelling voice said: + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle Suzanne, your sister is dying!” + </p> + <p> + Then Suzanne, raising her tear-stained face, put her arms round her + sister, and kissing her fervently, exclaimed: + </p> + <p> + “I forgive you, I forgive you, little one!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + COCO + </h2> + <p> + Throughout the whole countryside the Lucas farm, was known as “the Manor.” + No one knew why. The peasants doubtless attached to this word, “Manor,” a + meaning of wealth and of splendor, for this farm was undoubtedly the + largest, richest and the best managed in the whole neighborhood. + </p> + <p> + The immense court, surrounded by five rows of magnificent trees, which + sheltered the delicate apple trees from the harsh wind of the plain, + inclosed in its confines long brick buildings used for storing fodder and + grain, beautiful stables built of hard stone and made to accommodate + thirty horses, and a red brick residence which looked like a little + chateau. + </p> + <p> + Thanks for the good care taken, the manure heaps were as little offensive + as such things can be; the watch-dogs lived in kennels, and countless + poultry paraded through the tall grass. + </p> + <p> + Every day, at noon, fifteen persons, masters, farmhands and the women + folks, seated themselves around the long kitchen table where the soup was + brought in steaming in a large, blue-flowered bowl. + </p> + <p> + The beasts-horses, cows, pigs and sheep-were fat, well fed and clean. + Maitre Lucas, a tall man who was getting stout, would go round three times + a day, overseeing everything and thinking of everything. + </p> + <p> + A very old white horse, which the mistress wished to keep until its + natural death, because she had brought it up and had always used it, and + also because it recalled many happy memories, was housed, through sheer + kindness of heart, at the end of the stable. + </p> + <p> + A young scamp about fifteen years old, Isidore Duval by name, and called, + for convenience, Zidore, took care of this pensioner, gave him his measure + of oats and fodder in winter, and in summer was supposed to change his + pasturing place four times a day, so that he might have plenty of fresh + grass. + </p> + <p> + The animal, almost crippled, lifted with difficulty his legs, large at the + knees and swollen above the hoofs. His coat, which was no longer curried, + looked like white hair, and his long eyelashes gave to his eyes a sad + expression. + </p> + <p> + When Zidore took the animal to pasture, he had to pull on the rope with + all his might, because it walked so slowly; and the youth, bent over and + out of breath, would swear at it, exasperated at having to care for this + old nag. + </p> + <p> + The farmhands, noticing the young rascal's anger against Coco, were amused + and would continually talk of the horse to Zidore, in order to exasperate + him. His comrades would make sport with him. In the village he was called + Coco-Zidore. + </p> + <p> + The boy would fume, feeling an unholy desire to revenge himself on the + horse. He was a thin, long-legged, dirty child, with thick, coarse, + bristly red hair. He seemed only half-witted, and stuttered as though + ideas were unable to form in his thick, brute-like mind. + </p> + <p> + For a long time he had been unable to understand why Coco should be kept, + indignant at seeing things wasted on this useless beast. Since the horse + could no longer work, it seemed to him unjust that he should be fed; he + revolted at the idea of wasting oats, oats which were so expensive, on + this paralyzed old plug. And often, in spite of the orders of Maitre + Lucas, he would economize on the nag's food, only giving him half measure. + Hatred grew in his confused, childlike mind, the hatred of a stingy, mean, + fierce, brutal and cowardly peasant. + </p> + <p> + When summer came he had to move the animal about in the pasture. It was + some distance away. The rascal, angrier every morning, would start, with + his dragging step, across the wheat fields. The men working in the fields + would shout to him, jokingly: + </p> + <p> + “Hey, Zidore, remember me to Coco.” + </p> + <p> + He would not answer; but on the way he would break off a switch, and, as + soon as he had moved the old horse, he would let it begin grazing; then, + treacherously sneaking up behind it, he would slash its legs. The animal + would try to escape, to kick, to get away from the blows, and run around + in a circle about its rope, as though it had been inclosed in a circus + ring. And the boy would slash away furiously, running along behind, his + teeth clenched in anger. + </p> + <p> + Then he would go away slowly, without turning round, while the horse + watched him disappear, his ribs sticking out, panting as a result of his + unusual exertions. Not until the blue blouse of the young peasant was out + of sight would he lower his thin white head to the grass. + </p> + <p> + As the nights were now warm, Coco was allowed to sleep out of doors, in + the field behind the little wood. Zidore alone went to see him. The boy + threw stones at him to amuse himself. He would sit down on an embankment + about ten feet away and would stay there about half an hour, from time to + time throwing a sharp stone at the old horse, which remained standing tied + before his enemy, watching him continually and not daring to eat before he + was gone. + </p> + <p> + This one thought persisted in the mind of the young scamp: “Why feed this + horse, which is no longer good for anything?” It seemed to him that this + old nag was stealing the food of the others, the goods of man and God, + that he was even robbing him, Zidore, who was working. + </p> + <p> + Then, little by little, each day, the boy began to shorten the length of + rope which allowed the horse to graze. + </p> + <p> + The hungry animal was growing thinner, and starving. Too feeble to break + his bonds, he would stretch his head out toward the tall, green, tempting + grass, so near that he could smell, and yet so far that he could not touch + it. + </p> + <p> + But one morning Zidore had an idea: it was, not to move Coco any more. He + was tired of walking so far for that old skeleton. He came, however, in + order to enjoy his vengeance. The beast watched him anxiously. He did not + beat him that day. He walked around him with his hands in his pockets. He + even pretended to change his place, but he sank the stake in exactly the + same hole, and went away overjoyed with his invention. + </p> + <p> + The horse, seeing him leave, neighed to call him back; but the rascal + began to run, leaving him alone, entirely alone in his field, well tied + down and without a blade of grass within reach. + </p> + <p> + Starving, he tried to reach the grass which he could touch with the end of + his nose. He got on his knees, stretching out his neck and his long, + drooling lips. All in vain. The old animal spent the whole day in useless, + terrible efforts. The sight of all that green food, which stretched out on + all sides of him, served to increase the gnawing pangs of hunger. + </p> + <p> + The scamp did not return that day. He wandered through the woods in search + of nests. + </p> + <p> + The next day he appeared upon the scene again. Coco, exhausted, had lain + down. When he saw the boy, he got up, expecting at last to have his place + changed. + </p> + <p> + But the little peasant did not even touch the mallet, which was lying on + the ground. He came nearer, looked at the animal, threw at his head a + clump of earth which flattened out against the white hair, and he started + off again, whistling. + </p> + <p> + The horse remained standing as long as he could see him; then, knowing + that his attempts to reach the near-by grass would be hopeless, he once + more lay down on his side and closed his eyes. + </p> + <p> + The following day Zidore did not come. + </p> + <p> + When he did come at last, he found Coco still stretched out; he saw that + he was dead. + </p> + <p> + Then he remained standing, looking at him, pleased with what he had done, + surprised that it should already be all over. He touched him with his + foot, lifted one of his legs and then let it drop, sat on him and remained + there, his eyes fixed on the grass, thinking of nothing. He returned to + the farm, but did not mention the accident, because he wished to wander + about at the hours when he used to change the horse's pasture. He went to + see him the next day. At his approach some crows flew away. Countless + flies were walking over the body and were buzzing around it. When he + returned home, he announced the event. The animal was so old that nobody + was surprised. The master said to two of the men: + </p> + <p> + “Take your shovels and dig a hole right where he is.” + </p> + <p> + The men buried the horse at the place where he had died of hunger. And the + grass grew thick, green and vigorous, fed by the poor body. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + DEAD WOMAN'S SECRET + </h2> + <p> + The woman had died without pain, quietly, as a woman should whose life had + been blameless. Now she was resting in her bed, lying on her back, her + eyes closed, her features calm, her long white hair carefully arranged as + though she had done it up ten minutes before dying. The whole pale + countenance of the dead woman was so collected, so calm, so resigned that + one could feel what a sweet soul had lived in that body, what a quiet + existence this old soul had led, how easy and pure the death of this + parent had been. + </p> + <p> + Kneeling beside the bed, her son, a magistrate with inflexible principles, + and her daughter, Marguerite, known as Sister Eulalie, were weeping as + though their hearts would break. She had, from childhood up, armed them + with a strict moral code, teaching them religion, without weakness, and + duty, without compromise. He, the man, had become a judge and handled the + law as a weapon with which he smote the weak ones without pity. She, the + girl, influenced by the virtue which had bathed her in this austere + family, had become the bride of the Church through her loathing for man. + </p> + <p> + They had hardly known their father, knowing only that he had made their + mother most unhappy, without being told any other details. + </p> + <p> + The nun was wildly-kissing the dead woman's hand, an ivory hand as white + as the large crucifix lying across the bed. On the other side of the long + body the other hand seemed still to be holding the sheet in the death + grasp; and the sheet had preserved the little creases as a memory of those + last movements which precede eternal immobility. + </p> + <p> + A few light taps on the door caused the two sobbing heads to look up, and + the priest, who had just come from dinner, returned. He was red and out of + breath from his interrupted digestion, for he had made himself a strong + mixture of coffee and brandy in order to combat the fatigue of the last + few nights and of the wake which was beginning. + </p> + <p> + He looked sad, with that assumed sadness of the priest for whom death is a + bread winner. He crossed himself and approaching with his professional + gesture: “Well, my poor children! I have come to help you pass these last + sad hours.” But Sister Eulalie suddenly arose. “Thank you, father, but my + brother and I prefer to remain alone with her. This is our last chance to + see her, and we wish to be together, all three of us, as we—we—used + to be when we were small and our poor mo—mother——” + </p> + <p> + Grief and tears stopped her; she could not continue. + </p> + <p> + Once more serene, the priest bowed, thinking of his bed. “As you wish, my + children.” He kneeled, crossed himself, prayed, arose and went out + quietly, murmuring: “She was a saint!” + </p> + <p> + They remained alone, the dead woman and her children. The ticking of the + clock, hidden in the shadow, could be heard distinctly, and through the + open window drifted in the sweet smell of hay and of woods, together with + the soft moonlight. No other noise could be heard over the land except the + occasional croaking of the frog or the chirping of some belated insect. An + infinite peace, a divine melancholy, a silent serenity surrounded this + dead woman, seemed to be breathed out from her and to appease nature + itself. + </p> + <p> + Then the judge, still kneeling, his head buried in the bed clothes, cried + in a voice altered by grief and deadened by the sheets and blankets: + “Mamma, mamma, mamma!” And his sister, frantically striking her forehead + against the woodwork, convulsed, twitching and trembling as in an + epileptic fit, moaned: “Jesus, Jesus, mamma, Jesus!” And both of them, + shaken by a storm of grief, gasped and choked. + </p> + <p> + The crisis slowly calmed down and they began to weep quietly, just as on + the sea when a calm follows a squall. + </p> + <p> + A rather long time passed and they arose and looked at their dead. And the + memories, those distant memories, yesterday so dear, to-day so torturing, + came to their minds with all the little forgotten details, those little + intimate familiar details which bring back to life the one who has left. + They recalled to each other circumstances, words, smiles, intonations of + the mother who was no longer to speak to them. They saw her again happy + and calm. They remembered things which she had said, and a little motion + of the hand, like beating time, which she often used when emphasizing + something important. + </p> + <p> + And they loved her as they never had loved her before. They measured the + depth of their grief, and thus they discovered how lonely they would find + themselves. + </p> + <p> + It was their prop, their guide, their whole youth, all the best part of + their lives which was disappearing. It was their bond with life, their + mother, their mamma, the connecting link with their forefathers which they + would thenceforth miss. They now became solitary, lonely beings; they + could no longer look back. + </p> + <p> + The nun said to her brother: “You remember how mamma used always to read + her old letters; they are all there in that drawer. Let us, in turn, read + them; let us live her whole life through tonight beside her! It would be + like a road to the cross, like making the acquaintance of her mother, of + our grandparents, whom we never knew, but whose letters are there and of + whom she so often spoke, do you remember?” + </p> + <p> + Out of the drawer they took about ten little packages of yellow paper, + tied with care and arranged one beside the other. They threw these relics + on the bed and chose one of them on which the word “Father” was written. + They opened and read it. + </p> + <p> + It was one of those old-fashioned letters which one finds in old family + desk drawers, those epistles which smell of another century. The first one + started: “My dear,” another one: “My beautiful little girl,” others: “My + dear child,” or: “My dear (laughter).” And suddenly the nun began to read + aloud, to read over to the dead woman her whole history, all her tender + memories. The judge, resting his elbow on the bed, was listening with his + eyes fastened on his mother. The motionless body seemed happy. + </p> + <p> + Sister Eulalie, interrupting herself, said suddenly: + </p> + <p> + “These ought to be put in the grave with her; they ought to be used as a + shroud and she ought to be buried in it.” She took another package, on + which no name was written. She began to read in a firm voice: “My adored + one, I love you wildly. Since yesterday I have been suffering the tortures + of the damned, haunted by our memory. I feel your lips against mine, your + eyes in mine, your breast against mine. I love you, I love you! You have + driven me mad. My arms open, I gasp, moved by a wild desire to hold you + again. My whole soul and body cries out for you, wants you. I have kept in + my mouth the taste of your kisses—” + </p> + <p> + The judge had straightened himself up. The nun stopped reading. He + snatched the letter from her and looked for the signature. There was none, + but only under the words, “The man who adores you,” the name “Henry.” + Their father's name was Rene. Therefore this was not from him. The son + then quickly rummaged through the package of letters, took one out and + read: “I can no longer live without your caresses.” Standing erect, severe + as when sitting on the bench, he looked unmoved at the dead woman. The + nun, straight as a statue, tears trembling in the corners of her eyes, was + watching her brother, waiting. Then he crossed the room slowly, went to + the window and stood there, gazing out into the dark night. + </p> + <p> + When he turned around again Sister Eulalie, her eyes dry now, was still + standing near the bed, her head bent down. + </p> + <p> + He stepped forward, quickly picked up the letters and threw them pell-mell + back into the drawer. Then he closed the curtains of the bed. + </p> + <p> + When daylight made the candles on the table turn pale the son slowly left + his armchair, and without looking again at the mother upon whom he had + passed sentence, severing the tie that united her to son and daughter, he + said slowly: “Let us now retire, sister.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A HUMBLE DRAMA + </h2> + <p> + Meetings that are unexpected constitute the charm of traveling. Who has + not experienced the joy of suddenly coming across a Parisian, a college + friend, or a neighbor, five hundred miles from home? Who has not passed a + night awake in one of those small, rattling country stage-coaches, in + regions where steam is still a thing unknown, beside a strange young + woman, of whom one has caught only a glimpse in the dim light of the + lantern, as she entered the carriage in front of a white house in some + small country town? + </p> + <p> + And the next morning, when one's head and ears feel numb with the + continuous tinkling of the bells and the loud rattling of the windows, + what a charming sensation it is to see your pretty neighbor open her eyes, + startled, glance around her, arrange her rebellious hair with her slender + fingers, adjust her hat, feel with sure hand whether her corset is still + in place, her waist straight, and her skirt not too wrinkled. + </p> + <p> + She glances at you coldly and curiously. Then she leans back and no longer + seems interested in anything but the country. + </p> + <p> + In spite of yourself, you watch her; and in spite of yourself you keep on + thinking of her. Who is she? Whence does she come? Where is she going? In + spite of yourself you spin a little romance around her. She is pretty; she + seems charming! Happy he who... Life might be delightful with her. Who + knows? She is perhaps the woman of our dreams, the one suited to our + disposition, the one for whom our heart calls. + </p> + <p> + And how delicious even the disappointment at seeing her get out at the + gate of a country house! A man stands there, who is awaiting her, with two + children and two maids. He takes her in his arms and kisses as he lifts + her out. Then she stoops over the little ones, who hold up their hands to + her; she kisses them tenderly; and then they all go away together, down a + path, while the maids catch the packages which the driver throws down to + them from the coach. + </p> + <p> + Adieu! It is all over. You never will see her again! Adieu to the young + woman who has passed the night by your side. You know her no more, you + have not spoken to her; all the same, you feel a little sad to see her go. + Adieu! + </p> + <p> + I have had many of these souvenirs of travel, some joyous and some sad. + </p> + <p> + Once I was in Auvergne, tramping through those delightful French + mountains, that are not too high, not too steep, but friendly and + familiar. I had climbed the Sancy, and entered a little inn, near a + pilgrim's chapel called Notre-Dame de Vassiviere, when I saw a queer, + ridiculous-looking old woman breakfasting alone at the end table. + </p> + <p> + She was at least seventy years old, tall, skinny, and angular, and her + white hair was puffed around her temples in the old-fashioned style. She + was dressed like a traveling Englishwoman, in awkward, queer clothing, + like a person who is indifferent to dress. She was eating an omelet and + drinking water. + </p> + <p> + Her face was peculiar, with restless eyes and the expression of one with + whom fate has dealt unkindly. I watched her, in spite of myself, thinking: + “Who is she? What is the life of this woman? Why is she wandering alone + through these mountains?” + </p> + <p> + She paid and rose to leave, drawing up over her shoulders an astonishing + little shawl, the two ends of which hung over her arms. From a corner of + the room she took an alpenstock, which was covered with names traced with + a hot iron; then she went out, straight, erect, with the long steps of a + letter-carrier who is setting out on his route. + </p> + <p> + A guide was waiting for her at the door, and both went away. I watched + them go down the valley, along the road marked by a line of high wooden + crosses. She was taller than her companion, and seemed to walk faster than + he. + </p> + <p> + Two hours later I was climbing the edge of the deep funnel that incloses + Lake Pavin in a marvelous and enormous basin of verdure, full of trees, + bushes, rocks, and flowers. This lake is so round that it seems as if the + outline had been drawn with a pair of compasses, so clear and blue that + one might deem it a flood of azure come down from the sky, so charming + that one would like to live in a hut on the wooded slope which dominates + this crater, where the cold, still water is sleeping. The Englishwoman was + standing there like a statue, gazing upon the transparent sheet down in + the dead volcano. She was straining her eyes to penetrate below the + surface down to the unknown depths, where monstrous trout which have + devoured all the other fish are said to live. As I was passing close by + her, it seemed to me that two big tears were brimming her eyes. But she + departed at a great pace, to rejoin her guide, who had stayed behind in an + inn at the foot of the path leading to the lake. + </p> + <p> + I did not see her again that day. + </p> + <p> + The next day, at nightfall, I came to the chateau of Murol. The old + fortress, an enormous tower standing on a peak in the midst of a large + valley, where three valleys intersect, rears its brown, uneven, cracked + surface into the sky; it is round, from its large circular base to the + crumbling turrets on its pinnacles. + </p> + <p> + It astonishes the eye more than any other ruin by its simple mass, its + majesty, its grave and imposing air of antiquity. It stands there, alone, + high as a mountain, a dead queen, but still the queen of the valleys + stretched out beneath it. You go up by a slope planted with firs, then you + enter a narrow gate, and stop at the foot of the walls, in the first + inclosure, in full view of the entire country. + </p> + <p> + Inside there are ruined halls, crumbling stairways, unknown cavities, + dungeons, walls cut through in the middle, vaulted roofs held up one knows + not how, and a mass of stones and crevices, overgrown with grass, where + animals glide in and out. + </p> + <p> + I was exploring this ruin alone. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly I perceived behind a bit of wall a being, a kind of phantom, like + the spirit of this ancient and crumbling habitation. + </p> + <p> + I was taken aback with surprise, almost with fear, when I recognized the + old lady whom I had seen twice. + </p> + <p> + She was weeping, with big tears in her eyes, and held her handkerchief in + her hand. + </p> + <p> + I turned around to go away, when she spoke to me, apparently ashamed to + have been surprised in her grief. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, monsieur, I am crying. That does not happen often to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me, madame, for having disturbed you,” I stammered, confused, not + knowing what to say. “Some misfortune has doubtless come to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. No—I am like a lost dog,” she murmured, and began to sob, with + her handkerchief over her eyes. + </p> + <p> + Moved by these contagious tears, I took her hand, trying to calm her. Then + brusquely she told me her history, as if no longer ably to bear her grief + alone. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Oh! Monsieur—if you knew—the sorrow in which I live—in + what sorrow. + </p> + <p> + “Once I was happy. I have a house down there—a home. I cannot go + back to it any more; I shall never go back to it again, it is too hard to + bear. + </p> + <p> + “I have a son. It is he! it is he! Children don't know. Oh, one has such a + short time to live! If I should see him now I should perhaps not recognize + him. How I loved him? How I loved him! Even before he was born, when I + felt him move. And after that! How I have kissed and caressed and + cherished him! If you knew how many nights I have passed in watching him + sleep, and how many in thinking of him. I was crazy about him. When he was + eight years old his father sent him to boarding-school. That was the end. + He no longer belonged to me. Oh, heavens! He came to see me every Sunday. + That was all! + </p> + <p> + “He went to college in Paris. Then he came only four times a year, and + every time I was astonished to see how he had changed, to find him taller + without having seen him grow. They stole his childhood from me, his + confidence, and his love which otherwise would not have gone away from me; + they stole my joy in seeing him grow, in seeing him become a little man. + </p> + <p> + “I saw him four times a year. Think of it! And at every one of his visits + his body, his eye, his movements, his voice his laugh, were no longer the + same, were no longer mine. All these things change so quickly in a child; + and it is so sad if one is not there to see them change; one no longer + recognizes him. + </p> + <p> + “One year he came with down on his cheek! He! my son! I was dumfounded + —would you believe it? I hardly dared to kiss him. Was it really he, + my little, little curly head of old, my dear; dear child, whom I had held + in his diapers or my knee, and who had nursed at my breast with his little + greedy lips—was it he, this tall, brown boy, who no longer knew how + to kiss me, who seemed to love me as a matter of duty, who called me + 'mother' for the sake of politeness, and who kissed me on the forehead, + when I felt like crushing him in my arms? + </p> + <p> + “My husband died. Then my parents, and then my two sisters. When Death + enters a house it seems as if he were hurrying to do his utmost, so as not + to have to return for a long time after that. He spares only one or two to + mourn the others. + </p> + <p> + “I remained alone. My tall son was then studying law. I was hoping to live + and die near him, and I went to him so that we could live together. But he + had fallen into the ways of young men, and he gave me to understand that I + was in his way. So I left. I was wrong in doing so, but I suffered too + much in feeling myself in his way, I, his mother! And I came back home. + </p> + <p> + “I hardly ever saw him again. + </p> + <p> + “He married. What a joy! At last we should be together for good. I should + have grandchildren. His wife was an Englishwoman, who took a dislike to + me. Why? Perhaps she thought that I loved him too much. + </p> + <p> + “Again I was obliged to go away. And I was alone. Yes, monsieur. + </p> + <p> + “Then he went to England, to live with them, with his wife's parents. Do + you understand? They have him—they have my son for themselves. They + have stolen him from me. He writes to me once a month. At first he came to + see me. But now he no longer comes. + </p> + <p> + “It is now four years since I saw him last. His face then was wrinkled and + his hair white. Was that possible? This man, my son, almost an old man? My + little rosy child of old? No doubt I shall never see him again. + </p> + <p> + “And so I travel about all the year. I go east and west, as you see, with + no companion. + </p> + <p> + “I am like a lost dog. Adieu, monsieur! don't stay here with me for it + hurts me to have told you all this.” + </p> + <p> + I went down the hill, and on turning round to glance back, I saw the old + woman standing on a broken wall, looking out upon the mountains, the long + valley and Lake Chambon in the distance. + </p> + <p> + And her skirt and the queer little shawl which she wore around her thin + shoulders were fluttering tike a flag in the wind. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + MADEMOISELLE COCOTTE + </h2> + <p> + We were just leaving the asylum when I saw a tall, thin man in a corner of + the court who kept on calling an imaginary dog. He was crying in a soft, + tender voice: “Cocotte! Come here, Cocotte, my beauty!” and slapping his + thigh as one does when calling an animal. I asked the physician, “Who is + that man?” He answered: “Oh! he is not at all interesting. He is a + coachman named Francois, who became insane after drowning his dog.” + </p> + <p> + I insisted: “Tell me his story. The most simple and humble things are + sometimes those which touch our hearts most deeply.” + </p> + <p> + Here is this man's adventure, which was obtained from a friend of his, a + groom: + </p> + <p> + There was a family of rich bourgeois who lived in a suburb of Paris. They + had a villa in the middle of a park, at the edge of the Seine. Their + coachman was this Francois, a country fellow, somewhat dull, kind-hearted, + simple and easy to deceive. + </p> + <p> + One evening, as he was returning home, a dog began to follow him. At first + he paid no attention to it, but the creature's obstinacy at last made him + turn round. He looked to see if he knew this dog. No, he had never seen + it. It was a female dog and frightfully thin. She was trotting behind him + with a mournful and famished look, her tail between her legs, her ears + flattened against her head and stopping and starting whenever he did. + </p> + <p> + He tried to chase this skeleton away and cried: + </p> + <p> + “Run along! Get out! Kss! kss!” She retreated a few steps, then sat down + and waited. And when the coachman started to walk again she followed along + behind him. + </p> + <p> + He pretended to pick up some stones. The animal ran a little farther away, + but came back again as soon as the man's back was turned. + </p> + <p> + Then the coachman Francois took pity on the beast and called her. The dog + approached timidly. The man patted her protruding ribs, moved by the + beast's misery, and he cried: “Come! come here!” Immediately she began to + wag her tail, and, feeling herself taken in, adopted, she began to run + along ahead of her new master. + </p> + <p> + He made her a bed on the straw in the stable, then he ran to the kitchen + for some bread. When she had eaten all she could she curled up and went to + sleep. + </p> + <p> + When his employers heard of this the next day they allowed the coachman to + keep the animal. It was a good beast, caressing and faithful, intelligent + and gentle. + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless Francois adored Cocotte, and he kept repeating: “That beast + is human. She only lacks speech.” + </p> + <p> + He had a magnificent red leather collar made for her which bore these + words engraved on a copper plate: “Mademoiselle Cocotte, belonging to the + coachman Francois.” + </p> + <p> + She was remarkably prolific and four times a year would give birth to a + batch of little animals belonging to every variety of the canine race. + Francois would pick out one which he would leave her and then he would + unmercifully throw the others into the river. But soon the cook joined her + complaints to those of the gardener. She would find dogs under the stove, + in the ice box, in the coal bin, and they would steal everything they came + across. + </p> + <p> + Finally the master, tired of complaints, impatiently ordered Francois to + get rid of Cocotte. In despair the man tried to give her away. Nobody + wanted her. Then he decided to lose her, and he gave her to a teamster, + who was to drop her on the other side of Paris, near Joinville-le-Pont. + </p> + <p> + Cocotte returned the same day. Some decision had to be taken. Five francs + was given to a train conductor to take her to Havre. He was to drop her + there. + </p> + <p> + Three days later she returned to the stable, thin, footsore and tired out. + </p> + <p> + The master took pity on her and let her stay. But other dogs were + attracted as before, and one evening, when a big dinner party was on, a + stuffed turkey was carried away by one of them right under the cook's + nose, and she did not dare to stop him. + </p> + <p> + This time the master completely lost his temper and said angrily to + Francois: “If you don't throw this beast into the water before—to-morrow + morning, I'll put you out, do you hear?” + </p> + <p> + The man was dumbfounded, and he returned to his room to pack his trunk, + preferring to leave the place. Then he bethought himself that he could + find no other situation as long as he dragged this animal about with him. + He thought of his good position, where he was well paid and well fed, and + he decided that a dog was really not worth all that. At last he decided to + rid himself of Cocotte at daybreak. + </p> + <p> + He slept badly. He rose at dawn, and taking a strong rope, went to get the + dog. She stood up slowly, shook herself, stretched and came to welcome her + master. + </p> + <p> + Then his courage forsook him, and he began to pet her affectionately, + stroking her long ears, kissing her muzzle and calling her tender names. + </p> + <p> + But a neighboring clock struck six. He could no longer hesitate. He opened + the door, calling: “Come!” The beast wagged her tail, understanding that + she was to be taken out. + </p> + <p> + They reached the beach, and he chose a place where the water seemed deep. + Then he knotted the rope round the leather collar and tied a heavy stone + to the other end. He seized Cocotte in his arms and kissed her madly, as + though he were taking leave of some human being. He held her to his + breast, rocked her and called her “my dear little Cocotte, my sweet little + Cocotte,” and she grunted with pleasure. + </p> + <p> + Ten times he tried to throw her into the water and each time he lost + courage. + </p> + <p> + But suddenly he made up his mind and threw her as far from him as he + could. At first she tried to swim, as she did when he gave her a bath, but + her head, dragged down by the stone, kept going under, and she looked at + her master with wild, human glances as she struggled like a drowning + person. Then the front part of her body sank, while her hind legs waved + wildly out of the water. Finally those also disappeared. + </p> + <p> + Then, for five minutes, bubbles rose to the surface as though the river + were boiling, and Francois, haggard, his heart beating, thought that he + saw Cocotte struggling in the mud, and, with the simplicity of a peasant, + he kept saying to himself: “What does the poor beast think of me now?” + </p> + <p> + He almost lost his mind. He was ill for a month and every night he dreamed + of his dog. He could feel her licking his hands and hear her barking. It + was necessary to call in a physician. At last he recovered, and toward the + 2nd of June his employers took him to their estate at Biesard, near Rouen. + </p> + <p> + There again he was near the Seine. He began to take baths. Each morning he + would go down with the groom and they would swim across the river. + </p> + <p> + One day, as they were disporting themselves in the water, Francois + suddenly cried to his companion: “Look what's coming! I'm going to give + you a chop!” + </p> + <p> + It was an enormous, swollen corpse that was floating down with its feet + sticking straight up in the air. + </p> + <p> + Francois swam up to it, still joking: “Whew! it's not fresh. What a catch, + old man! It isn't thin, either!” He kept swimming about at a distance from + the animal that was in a state of decomposition. Then, suddenly, he was + silent and looked at it: attentively. This time he came near enough to + touch, it. He looked fixedly at the collar, then he stretched out his arm, + seized the neck, swung the corpse round and drew it up close to him and + read on the copper which had turned green and which still stuck to the + discolored leather: “Mademoiselle Cocotte, belonging to the coachman + Francois.” + </p> + <p> + The dead dog had come more than a hundred miles to find its master. + </p> + <p> + He let out a frightful shriek and began to swim for the beach with all his + might, still howling; and as soon as he touched land he ran away wildly, + stark naked, through the country. He was insane! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE CORSICAN BANDIT + </h2> + <p> + The road ascended gently through the forest of Aitone. The large pines + formed a solemn dome above our heads, and that mysterious sound made by + the wind in the trees sounded like the notes of an organ. + </p> + <p> + After walking for three hours, there was a clearing, and then at intervals + an enormous pine umbrella, and then we suddenly came to the edge of the + forest, some hundred meters below, the pass leading to the wild valley of + Niolo. + </p> + <p> + On the two projecting heights which commanded a view of this pass, some + old trees, grotesquely twisted, seemed to have mounted with painful + efforts, like scouts sent in advance of the multitude in the rear. When we + turned round, we saw the entire forest stretched beneath our feet, like a + gigantic basin of verdure, inclosed by bare rocks whose summits seemed to + reach the sky. + </p> + <p> + We resumed our walk, and, ten minutes later, found ourselves in the pass. + </p> + <p> + Then I beheld a remarkable landscape. Beyond another forest stretched a + valley, but a valley such as I had never seen before; a solitude of stone, + ten leagues long, hollowed out between two high mountains, without a field + or a tree to be seen. This was the Niolo valley, the fatherland of + Corsican liberty, the inaccessible citadel, from which the invaders had + never been able to drive out the mountaineers. + </p> + <p> + My companion said to me: “This is where all our bandits have taken + refuge?” + </p> + <p> + Ere long we were at the further end of this gorge, so wild, so + inconceivably beautiful. + </p> + <p> + Not a blade of grass, not a plant-nothing but granite. As far as our eyes + could reach, we saw in front of us a desert of glittering stone, heated + like an oven by a burning sun, which seemed to hang for that very purpose + right above the gorge. When we raised our eyes towards the crests, we + stood dazzled and stupefied by what we saw. They looked like a festoon of + coral; all the summits are of porphyry; and the sky overhead was violet, + purple, tinged with the coloring of these strange mountains. Lower down, + the granite was of scintillating gray, and seemed ground to powder beneath + our feet. At our right, along a long and irregular course, roared a + tumultuous torrent. And we staggered along under this heat, in this light, + in this burning, arid, desolate valley cut by this torrent of turbulent + water which seemed to be ever hurrying onward, without fertilizing the + rocks, lost in this furnace which greedily drank it up without being + saturated or refreshed by it. + </p> + <p> + But, suddenly, there was visible at our right a little wooden cross sunk + in a little heap of stones. A man had been killed there; and I said to my + companion. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me about your bandits.” + </p> + <p> + He replied: + </p> + <p> + “I knew the most celebrated of them, the terrible St. Lucia. I will tell + you his history. + </p> + <p> + “His father was killed in a quarrel by a young man of the district, it is + said; and St. Lucia was left alone with his sister. He was a weak, timid + youth, small, often ill, without any energy. He did not proclaim vengeance + against the assassin of his father. All his relatives came to see him, and + implored of him to avenge his death; he remained deaf to their menaces and + their supplications. + </p> + <p> + “Then, following the old Corsican custom, his sister, in her indignation + carried away his black clothes, in order that he might not wear mourning + for a dead man who had not been avenged. He was insensible to even this + affront, and rather than take down from the rack his father's gun, which + was still loaded, he shut himself up, not daring to brave the looks of the + young men of the district. + </p> + <p> + “He seemed to have even forgotten the crime, and lived with his sister in + the seclusion of their dwelling. + </p> + <p> + “But, one day, the man who was suspected of having committed the murder, + was about to get married. St. Lucia did not appear to be moved by this + news, but, out of sheer bravado, doubtless, the bridegroom, on his way to + the church, passed before the house of the two orphans. + </p> + <p> + “The brother and the sister, at their window, were eating frijoles, when + the young man saw the bridal procession going by. Suddenly he began to + tremble, rose to his feet without uttering a word, made the sign of the + cross, took the gun which was hanging over the fireplace, and went out. + </p> + <p> + “When he spoke of this later on, he said: 'I don't know what was the + matter with me; it was like fire in my blood; I felt that I must do it, + that, in spite of everything, I could not resist, and I concealed the gun + in a cave on the road to Corte. + </p> + <p> + “An hour later, he came back, with nothing in his hand, and with his + habitual air of sad weariness. His sister believed that there was nothing + further in his thoughts. + </p> + <p> + “But when night fell he disappeared. + </p> + <p> + “His enemy had, the same evening, to repair to Corte on foot, accompanied + by his two groomsmen. + </p> + <p> + “He was walking along, singing as he went, when St. Lucia stood before + him, and looking straight in the murderer's face, exclaimed: 'Now is the + time!' and shot him point-blank in the chest. + </p> + <p> + “One of the men fled; the other stared at, the young man, saying: + </p> + <p> + “'What have you done, St. Lucia?' and he was about to hasten to Corte for + help, when St. Lucia said in a stern tone: + </p> + <p> + “'If you move another step, I'll shoot you in the leg.' + </p> + <p> + “The other, aware of his timidity hitherto, replied: 'You would not dare + to do it!' and was hurrying off when he fell instantaneously, his thigh + shattered by a bullet. + </p> + <p> + “And St. Lucia, coming over to where he lay, said: + </p> + <p> + “'I am going to look at your wound; if it is not serious, I'll leave you + there; if it is mortal I'll finish you off.” + </p> + <p> + “He inspected the wound, considered it mortal, and slowly reloading his + gun, told the wounded man to say a prayer, and shot him through the head. + </p> + <p> + “Next day he was in the mountains. + </p> + <p> + “And do you know what this St. Lucia did after this? + </p> + <p> + “All his family were arrested by the gendarmes. His uncle, the cure, who + was suspected of having incited him to this deed of vengeance, was himself + put in prison, and accused by the dead man's relatives. But he escaped, + took a gun in his turn, and went to join his nephew in the brush. + </p> + <p> + “Next, St. Lucia killed, one after the other, his uncle's accusers, and + tore out their eyes to teach the others never to state what they had seen + with their eyes. + </p> + <p> + “He killed all the relatives, all the connections of his enemy's family. + He slew during his life fourteen gendarmes, burned down the houses of his + adversaries, and was, up to the day of his death, the most terrible of all + the bandits whose memory we have preserved.” + </p> + <p> + The sun disappeared behind Monte Cinto and the tall shadow of the granite + mountain went to sleep on the granite of the valley. We quickened our pace + in order to reach before night the little village of Albertaccio, nothing + but a pile of stones welded into the stone flanks of a wild gorge. And I + said as I thought of the bandit: + </p> + <p> + “What a terrible custom your vendetta is!” + </p> + <p> + My companion answered with an air of resignation: + </p> + <p> + “What would you have? A man must do his duty!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE GRAVE + </h2> + <p> + The seventeenth of July, one thousand eight hundred and eighty-three, at + half-past two in the morning, the watchman in the cemetery of Besiers, who + lived in a small cottage on the edge of this field of the dead, was + awakened by the barking of his dog, which was shut up in the kitchen. + </p> + <p> + Going down quickly, he saw the animal sniffing at the crack of the door + and barking furiously, as if some tramp had been sneaking about the house. + The keeper, Vincent, therefore took his gun and went out. + </p> + <p> + His dog, preceding him, at once ran in the direction of the Avenue General + Bonnet, stopping short at the monument of Madame Tomoiseau. + </p> + <p> + The keeper, advancing cautiously, soon saw a faint light on the side of + the Avenue Malenvers, and stealing in among the graves, he came upon a + horrible act of profanation. + </p> + <p> + A man had dug up the coffin of a young woman who had been buried the + evening before and was dragging the corpse out of it. + </p> + <p> + A small dark lantern, standing on a pile of earth, lighted up this hideous + scene. + </p> + <p> + Vincent sprang upon the wretch, threw him to the ground, bound his hands + and took him to the police station. + </p> + <p> + It was a young, wealthy and respected lawyer in town, named Courbataille. + </p> + <p> + He was brought into court. The public prosecutor opened the case by + referring to the monstrous deeds of the Sergeant Bertrand. + </p> + <p> + A wave of indignation swept over the courtroom. When the magistrate sat + down the crowd assembled cried: “Death! death!” With difficulty the + presiding judge established silence. + </p> + <p> + Then he said gravely: + </p> + <p> + “Defendant, what have you to say in your defense?” + </p> + <p> + Courbataille, who had refused counsel, rose. He was a handsome fellow, + tall, brown, with a frank face, energetic manner and a fearless eye. + </p> + <p> + Paying no attention to the whistlings in the room, he began to speak in a + voice that was low and veiled at first, but that grew more firm as he + proceeded. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur le President, gentlemen of the jury: I have very little to say. + The woman whose grave I violated was my sweetheart. I loved her. + </p> + <p> + “I loved her, not with a sensual love and not with mere tenderness of + heart and soul, but with an absolute, complete love, with an overpowering + passion. + </p> + <p> + “Hear me: + </p> + <p> + “When I met her for the first time I felt a strange sensation. It was not + astonishment nor admiration, nor yet that which is called love at first + sight, but a feeling of delicious well-being, as if I had been plunged + into a warm bath. Her gestures seduced me, her voice enchanted me, and it + was with infinite pleasure that I looked upon her person. It seemed to me + as if I had seen her before and as if I had known her a long time. She had + within her something of my spirit. + </p> + <p> + “She seemed to me like an answer to a cry uttered by my soul, to that + vague and unceasing cry with which we call upon Hope during our whole + life. + </p> + <p> + “When I knew her a little better, the mere thought of seeing her again + filled me with exquisite and profound uneasiness; the touch of her hand in + mine was more delightful to me than anything that I had imagined; her + smile filled me with a mad joy, with the desire to run, to dance, to fling + myself upon the ground. + </p> + <p> + “So we became lovers. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, more than that: she was my very life. I looked for nothing further + on earth, and had no further desires. I longed for nothing further. + </p> + <p> + “One evening, when we had gone on a somewhat long walk by the river, we + were overtaken by the rain, and she caught cold. It developed into + pneumonia the next day, and a week later she was dead. + </p> + <p> + “During the hours of her suffering astonishment and consternation + prevented my understanding and reflecting upon it, but when she was dead I + was so overwhelmed by blank despair that I had no thoughts left. I wept. + </p> + <p> + “During all the horrible details of the interment my keen and wild grief + was like a madness, a kind of sensual, physical grief. + </p> + <p> + “Then when she was gone, when she was under the earth, my mind at once + found itself again, and I passed through a series of moral sufferings so + terrible that even the love she had vouchsafed to me was dear at that + price. + </p> + <p> + “Then the fixed idea came to me: I shall not see her again. + </p> + <p> + “When one dwells on this thought for a whole day one feels as if he were + going mad. Just think of it! There is a woman whom you adore, a unique + woman, for in the whole universe there is not a second one like her. This + woman has given herself to you and has created with you the mysterious + union that is called Love. Her eye seems to you more vast than space, more + charming than the world, that clear eye smiling with her tenderness. This + woman loves you. When she speaks to you her voice floods you with joy. + </p> + <p> + “And suddenly she disappears! Think of it! She disappears, not only for + you, but forever. She is dead. Do you understand what that means? Never, + never, never, not anywhere will she exist any more. Nevermore will that + eye look upon anything again; nevermore will that voice, nor any voice + like it, utter a word in the same way as she uttered it. + </p> + <p> + “Nevermore will a face be born that is like hers. Never, never! The molds + of statues are kept; casts are kept by which one can make objects with the + same outlines and forms. But that one body and that one face will never + more be born again upon the earth. And yet millions and millions of + creatures will be born, and more than that, and this one woman will not + reappear among all the women of the future. Is it possible? It drives one + mad to think of it. + </p> + <p> + “She lived for twenty years, not more, and she has disappeared forever, + forever, forever! She thought, she smiled, she loved me. And now nothing! + The flies that die in the autumn are as much as we are in this world. And + now nothing! And I thought that her body, her fresh body, so warm, so + sweet, so white, so lovely, would rot down there in that box under the + earth. And her soul, her thought, her love—where is it? + </p> + <p> + “Not to see her again! The idea of this decomposing body, that I might yet + recognize, haunted me. I wanted to look at it once more. + </p> + <p> + “I went out with a spade, a lantern and a hammer; I jumped over the + cemetery wall and I found the grave, which had not yet been closed + entirely; I uncovered the coffin and took up a board. An abominable odor, + the stench of putrefaction, greeted my nostrils. Oh, her bed perfumed with + orris! + </p> + <p> + “Yet I opened the coffin, and, holding my lighted lantern down into it I + saw her. Her face was blue, swollen, frightful. A black liquid had oozed + out of her mouth. + </p> + <p> + “She! That was she! Horror seized me. But I stretched out my arm to draw + this monstrous face toward me. And then I was caught. + </p> + <p> + “All night I have retained the foul odor of this putrid body, the odor of + my well beloved, as one retains the perfume of a woman after a love + embrace. + </p> + <p> + “Do with me what you will.” + </p> + <p> + A strange silence seemed to oppress the room. They seemed to be waiting + for something more. The jury retired to deliberate. + </p> + <p> + When they came back a few minutes later the accused showed no fear and did + not even seem to think. + </p> + <p> + The president announced with the usual formalities that his judges + declared him to be not guilty. + </p> + <p> + He did not move and the room applauded. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The Grave appeared in Gil Blas, July 29, 1883, under the signature + of “Maufrigneuse.” + </pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Original Short Stories of Maupassant, +Volume 12, by Guy de Maupassant + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MAUPASSANT SHORT STORIES *** + +***** This file should be named 3088-h.htm or 3088-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/0/8/3088/ + +Produced by David Widger + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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