initial commit of ebook 3089HEADmain

11 files changed, 18799 insertions, 0 deletions

diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6833f05
--- /dev/null
+++ b/.gitattributes
@@ -0,0 +1,3 @@
+* text=auto
+*.txt text
+*.md text
diff --git a/3089-0.txt b/3089-0.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..611b54d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/3089-0.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,4452 @@
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Original Short Stories of Maupassant,
+Volume 13, 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 13 (of 13)
+
+Author: Guy de Maupassant
+
+Release Date: August 16, 2006 [EBook #3089]
+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
+
+
+
+
+
+ORIGINAL SHORT STORIES
+
+
+By Guy De Maupassant
+
+
+Translated by:
+
+     ALBERT M. C. McMASTER, B.A.
+     A. E. HENDERSON, B.A.
+     MME. QUESADA and Others
+
+
+
+VOLUME XIII.
+
+     OLD JUDAS
+     THE LITTLE CASK
+     BOITELLE
+     A WIDOW
+     THE ENGLISHMEN OF ETRETAT
+     MAGNETISM
+     A FATHERS CONFESSION
+     A MOTHER OF MONSTERS
+     AN UNCOMFORTABLE BED
+     A PORTRAIT
+     THE DRUNKARD
+     THE WARDROBE
+     THE MOUNTAIN POOL
+     A CREMATION
+     MISTI
+     MADAME HERMET
+     THE MAGIC COUCH
+
+
+
+
+OLD JUDAS
+
+This entire stretch of country was amazing; it was characterized by a
+grandeur that was almost religious, and yet it had an air of sinister
+desolation.
+
+A great, wild lake, filled with stagnant, black water, in which
+thousands of reeds were waving to and fro, lay in the midst of a vast
+circle of naked hills, where nothing grew but broom, or here and there
+an oak curiously twisted by the wind.
+
+Just one house stood on the banks of that dark lake, a small, low house
+inhabited by Uncle Joseph, an old boatman, who lived on what he could
+make by his fishing. Once a week he carried the fish he caught into the
+surrounding villages, returning with the few provisions that he needed
+for his sustenance.
+
+I went to see this old hermit, who offered to take me with him to his
+nets, and I accepted.
+
+His boat was old, worm-eaten and clumsy, and the skinny old man rowed
+with a gentle and monotonous stroke that was soothing to the soul,
+already oppressed by the sadness of the land round about.
+
+It seemed to me as if I were transported to olden times, in the midst of
+that ancient country, in that primitive boat, which was propelled by a
+man of another age.
+
+He took up his nets and threw the fish into the bottom of the boat, as
+the fishermen of the Bible might have done. Then he took me down to the
+end of the lake, where I suddenly perceived a ruin on the other side of
+the bank a dilapidated hut, with an enormous red cross on the wall that
+looked as if it might have been traced with blood, as it gleamed in the
+last rays of the setting sun.
+
+“What is that?” I asked.
+
+“That is where Judas died,” the man replied, crossing himself.
+
+I was not surprised, being almost prepared for this strange answer.
+
+Still I asked:
+
+“Judas? What Judas?”
+
+“The Wandering Jew, monsieur,” he added.
+
+I asked him to tell me this legend.
+
+But it was better than a legend, being a true story, and quite a recent
+one, since Uncle Joseph had known the man.
+
+This hut had formerly been occupied by a large woman, a kind of beggar,
+who lived on public charity.
+
+Uncle Joseph did not remember from whom she had this hut. One evening an
+old man with a white beard, who seemed to be at least two hundred years
+old, and who could hardly drag himself along, asked alms of this forlorn
+woman, as he passed her dwelling.
+
+“Sit down, father,” she replied; “everything here belongs to all the
+world, since it comes from all the world.”
+
+He sat down on a stone before the door. He shared the woman's bread, her
+bed of leaves, and her house.
+
+He did not leave her again, for he had come to the end of his travels.
+
+“It was Our Lady the Virgin who permitted this, monsieur,” Joseph added,
+“it being a woman who had opened her door to a Judas, for this old
+vagabond was the Wandering Jew. It was not known at first in the
+country, but the people suspected it very soon, because he was always
+walking; it had become a sort of second nature to him.”
+
+And suspicion had been aroused by still another thing. This woman, who
+kept that stranger with her, was thought to be a Jewess, for no one had
+ever seen her at church. For ten miles around no one ever called her
+anything else but the Jewess.
+
+When the little country children saw her come to beg they cried out:
+“Mamma, mamma, here is the Jewess!”
+
+The old man and she began to go out together into the neighboring
+districts, holding out their hands at all the doors, stammering
+supplications into the ears of all the passers. They could be seen at
+all hours of the day, on by-paths, in the villages, or again eating
+bread, sitting in the noon heat under the shadow of some solitary tree.
+And the country people began to call the beggar Old Judas.
+
+One day he brought home in his sack two little live pigs, which a farmer
+had given him after he had cured the farmer of some sickness.
+
+Soon he stopped begging, and devoted himself entirely to his pigs. He
+took them out to feed by the lake, or under isolated oaks, or in the
+near-by valleys. The woman, however, went about all day begging, but she
+always came back to him in the evening.
+
+He also did not go to church, and no one ever had seen him cross himself
+before the wayside crucifixes. All this gave rise to much gossip:
+
+One night his companion was attacked by a fever and began to tremble
+like a leaf in the wind. He went to the nearest town to get some
+medicine, and then he shut himself up with her, and was not seen for six
+days.
+
+The priest, having heard that the “Jewess” was about to die, came to
+offer the consolation of his religion and administer the last sacrament.
+Was she a Jewess? He did not know. But in any case, he wished to try to
+save her soul.
+
+Hardly had he knocked at the door when old Judas appeared on the
+threshold, breathing hard, his eyes aflame, his long beard agitated,
+like rippling water, and he hurled blasphemies in an unknown language,
+extending his skinny arms in order to prevent the priest from entering.
+
+The priest attempted to speak, offered his purse and his aid, but
+the old man kept on abusing him, making gestures with his hands as if
+throwing; stones at him.
+
+Then the priest retired, followed by the curses of the beggar.
+
+The companion of old Judas died the following day. He buried her
+himself, in front of her door. They were people of so little account
+that no one took any interest in them.
+
+Then they saw the man take his pigs out again to the lake and up the
+hillsides. And he also began begging again to get food. But the people
+gave him hardly anything, as there was so much gossip about him. Every
+one knew, moreover, how he had treated the priest.
+
+Then he disappeared. That was during Holy Week, but no one paid any
+attention to him.
+
+But on Easter Sunday the boys and girls who had gone walking out to the
+lake heard a great noise in the hut. The door was locked; but the boys
+broke it in, and the two pigs ran out, jumping like gnats. No one ever
+saw them again.
+
+The whole crowd went in; they saw some old rags on the floor, the
+beggar's hat, some bones, clots of dried blood and bits of flesh in the
+hollows of the skull.
+
+His pigs had devoured him.
+
+“This happened on Good Friday, monsieur.” Joseph concluded his story,
+“three hours after noon.”
+
+“How do you know that?” I asked him.
+
+“There is no doubt about that,” he replied.
+
+I did not attempt to make him understand that it could easily happen
+that the famished animals had eaten their master, after he had died
+suddenly in his hut.
+
+As for the cross on the wall, it had appeared one morning, and no one
+knew what hand traced it in that strange color.
+
+Since then no one doubted any longer that the Wandering Jew had died on
+this spot.
+
+I myself believed it for one hour.
+
+
+
+
+THE LITTLE CASK
+
+He was a tall man of forty or thereabout, this Jules Chicot, the
+innkeeper of Spreville, with a red face and a round stomach, and said by
+those who knew him to be a smart business man. He stopped his buggy in
+front of Mother Magloire's farmhouse, and, hitching the horse to the
+gatepost, went in at the gate.
+
+Chicot owned some land adjoining that of the old woman, which he had
+been coveting for a long while, and had tried in vain to buy a score of
+times, but she had always obstinately refused to part with it.
+
+“I was born here, and here I mean to die,” was all she said.
+
+He found her peeling potatoes outside the farmhouse door. She was a
+woman of about seventy-two, very thin, shriveled and wrinkled, almost
+dried up in fact and much bent but as active and untiring as a girl.
+Chicot patted her on the back in a friendly fashion and then sat down by
+her on a stool.
+
+“Well mother, you are always pretty well and hearty, I am glad to see.”
+
+“Nothing to complain of, considering, thank you. And how are you,
+Monsieur Chicot?”
+
+“Oh, pretty well, thank you, except a few rheumatic pains occasionally;
+otherwise I have nothing to complain of.”
+
+“So much the better.”
+
+And she said no more, while Chicot watched her going on with her work.
+Her crooked, knotted fingers, hard as a lobster's claws, seized the
+tubers, which were lying in a pail, as if they had been a pair of
+pincers, and she peeled them rapidly, cutting off long strips of
+skin with an old knife which she held in the other hand, throwing the
+potatoes into the water as they were done. Three daring fowls jumped one
+after the other into her lap, seized a bit of peel and then ran away as
+fast as their legs would carry them with it in their beak.
+
+Chicot seemed embarrassed, anxious, with something on the tip of his
+tongue which he could not say. At last he said hurriedly:
+
+“Listen, Mother Magloire--”
+
+“Well, what is it?”
+
+“You are quite sure that you do not want to sell your land?”
+
+“Certainly not; you may make up your mind to that. What I have said I
+have said, so don't refer to it again.”
+
+“Very well; only I think I know of an arrangement that might suit us
+both very well.”
+
+“What is it?”
+
+“Just this. You shall sell it to me and keep it all the same. You don't
+understand? Very well, then follow me in what I am going to say.”
+
+The old woman left off peeling potatoes and looked at the innkeeper
+attentively from under her heavy eyebrows, and he went on:
+
+“Let me explain myself. Every month I will give you a hundred and fifty
+francs. You understand me! suppose! Every month I will come and bring
+you thirty crowns, and it will not make the slightest difference in your
+life--not the very slightest. You will have your own home just as you
+have now, need not trouble yourself about me, and will owe me nothing;
+all you will have to do will be to take my money. Will that arrangement
+suit you?”
+
+He looked at her good-humoredly, one might almost have said
+benevolently, and the old woman returned his looks distrustfully, as if
+she suspected a trap, and said:
+
+“It seems all right as far as I am concerned, but it will not give you
+the farm.”
+
+“Never mind about that,” he said; “you may remain here as long as it
+pleases God Almighty to let you live; it will be your home. Only you
+will sign a deed before a lawyer making it over to me; after your death.
+You have no children, only nephews and nieces for whom you don't care
+a straw. Will that suit you? You will keep everything during your life,
+and I will give you the thirty crowns a month. It is pure gain as far as
+you are concerned.”
+
+The old woman was surprised, rather uneasy, but, nevertheless, very much
+tempted to agree, and answered:
+
+“I don't say that I will not agree to it, but I must think about it.
+Come back in a week, and we will talk it over again, and I will then
+give you my definite answer.”
+
+And Chicot went off as happy as a king who had conquered an empire.
+
+Mother Magloire was thoughtful, and did not sleep at all that night; in
+fact, for four days she was in a fever of hesitation. She suspected that
+there was something underneath the offer which was not to her advantage;
+but then the thought of thirty crowns a month, of all those coins
+clinking in her apron, falling to her, as it were, from the skies,
+without her doing anything for it, aroused her covetousness.
+
+She went to the notary and told him about it. He advised her to accept
+Chicot's offer, but said she ought to ask for an annuity of fifty
+instead of thirty, as her farm was worth sixty thousand francs at the
+lowest calculation.
+
+“If you live for fifteen years longer,” he said, “even then he will only
+have paid forty-five thousand francs for it.”
+
+The old woman trembled with joy at this prospect of getting fifty crowns
+a month, but she was still suspicious, fearing some trick, and she
+remained a long time with the lawyer asking questions without being able
+to make up her mind to go. At last she gave him instructions to draw up
+the deed and returned home with her head in a whirl, just as if she had
+drunk four jugs of new cider.
+
+When Chicot came again to receive her answer she declared, after a
+lot of persuading, that she could not make up her mind to agree to
+his proposal, though she was all the time trembling lest he should not
+consent to give the fifty crowns, but at last, when he grew urgent, she
+told him what she expected for her farm.
+
+He looked surprised and disappointed and refused.
+
+Then, in order to convince him, she began to talk about the probable
+duration of her life.
+
+“I am certainly not likely to live more than five or six years longer.
+I am nearly seventy-three, and far from strong, even considering my age.
+The other evening I thought I was going to die, and could hardly manage
+to crawl into bed.”
+
+But Chicot was not going to be taken in.
+
+“Come, come, old lady, you are as strong as the church tower, and will
+live till you are a hundred at least; you will no doubt see me put under
+ground first.”
+
+The whole day was spent in discussing the money, and as the old woman
+would not give in, the innkeeper consented to give the fifty crowns,
+and she insisted upon having ten crowns over and above to strike the
+bargain.
+
+Three years passed and the old dame did not seem to have grown a day
+older. Chicot was in despair, and it seemed to him as if he had been
+paying that annuity for fifty years, that he had been taken in, done,
+ruined. From time to time he went to see the old lady, just as one goes
+in July to see when the harvest is likely to begin. She always met
+him with a cunning look, and one might have supposed that she was
+congratulating herself on the trick she had played him. Seeing how well
+and hearty she seemed he very soon got into his buggy again, growling to
+himself:
+
+“Will you never die, you old hag?”
+
+He did not know what to do, and he felt inclined to strangle her when he
+saw her. He hated her with a ferocious, cunning hatred, the hatred of a
+peasant who has been robbed, and began to cast about for some means of
+getting rid of her.
+
+One day he came to see her again, rubbing his hands as he did the
+first time he proposed the bargain, and, after having chatted for a few
+minutes, he said:
+
+“Why do you never come and have a bit of dinner at my place when you are
+in Spreville? The people are talking about it, and saying we are not on
+friendly terms, and that pains me. You know it will cost you nothing if
+you come, for I don't look at the price of a dinner. Come whenever you
+feel inclined; I shall be very glad to see you.”
+
+Old Mother Magloire did not need to be asked twice, and the next day but
+one, as she had to go to the town in any case, it being market day, she
+let her man drive her to Chicot's place, where the buggy was put in the
+barn while she went into the house to get her dinner.
+
+The innkeeper was delighted and treated her like a lady, giving her
+roast fowl, black pudding, leg of mutton and bacon and cabbage. But
+she ate next to nothing. She had always been a small eater, and had
+generally lived on a little soup and a crust of bread and butter.
+
+Chicot was disappointed and pressed her to eat more, but she refused,
+and she would drink little, and declined coffee, so he asked her:
+
+“But surely you will take a little drop of brandy or liqueur?”
+
+“Well, as to that, I don't know that I will refuse.” Whereupon he
+shouted out:
+
+“Rosalie, bring the superfine brandy--the special--you know.”
+
+The servant appeared, carrying a long bottle ornamented with a paper
+vine-leaf, and he filled two liqueur glasses.
+
+“Just try that; you will find it first rate.”
+
+The good woman drank it slowly in sips, so as to make the pleasure last
+all the longer, and when she had finished her glass, she said:
+
+“Yes, that is first rate!”
+
+Almost before she had said it Chicot had poured her out another
+glassful. She wished to refuse, but it was too late, and she drank
+it very slowly, as she had done the first, and he asked her to have a
+third. She objected, but he persisted.
+
+“It is as mild as milk, you know; I can drink ten or a dozen glasses
+without any ill effects; it goes down like sugar and does not go to the
+head; one would think that it evaporated on the tongue: It is the most
+wholesome thing you can drink.”
+
+She took it, for she really enjoyed it, but she left half the glass.
+
+Then Chicot, in an excess of generosity, said:
+
+“Look here, as it is so much to your taste, I will give you a small keg
+of it, just to show that you and I are still excellent friends.” So she
+took one away with her, feeling slightly overcome by the effects of what
+she had drunk.
+
+The next day the innkeeper drove into her yard and took a little
+iron-hooped keg out of his gig. He insisted on her tasting the contents,
+to make sure it was the same delicious article, and, when they had each
+of them drunk three more glasses, he said as he was going away:
+
+“Well, you know when it is all gone there is more left; don't be modest,
+for I shall not mind. The sooner it is finished the better pleased I
+shall be.”
+
+Four days later he came again. The old woman was outside her door
+cutting up the bread for her soup.
+
+He went up to her and put his face close to hers, so that he might smell
+her breath; and when he smelt the alcohol he felt pleased.
+
+“I suppose you will give me a glass of the Special?” he said. And they
+had three glasses each.
+
+Soon, however, it began to be whispered abroad that Mother Magloire was
+in the habit of getting drunk all by herself. She was picked up in her
+kitchen, then in her yard, then in the roads in the neighborhood, and
+she was often brought home like a log.
+
+The innkeeper did not go near her any more, and, when people spoke to
+him about her, he used to say, putting on a distressed look:
+
+“It is a great pity that she should have taken to drink at her age, but
+when people get old there is no remedy. It will be the death of her in
+the long run.”
+
+And it certainly was the death of her. She died the next winter. About
+Christmas time she fell down, unconscious, in the snow, and was found
+dead the next morning.
+
+And when Chicot came in for the farm, he said:
+
+“It was very stupid of her; if she had not taken to drink she would
+probably have lived ten years longer.”
+
+
+
+
+BOITELLE
+
+Father Boitelle (Antoine) made a specialty of undertaking dirty jobs all
+through the countryside. Whenever there was a ditch or a cesspool to
+be cleaned out, a dunghill removed, a sewer cleansed, or any dirt hole
+whatever, he way always employed to do it.
+
+He would come with the instruments of his trade, his sabots covered with
+dirt, and set to work, complaining incessantly about his occupation.
+When people asked him then why he did this loathsome work, he would
+reply resignedly:
+
+“Faith, 'tis for my children, whom I must support. This brings me in
+more than anything else.”
+
+He had, indeed, fourteen children. If any one asked him what had become
+of them, he would say with an air of indifference:
+
+“There are only eight of them left in the house. One is out at service
+and five are married.”
+
+When the questioner wanted to know whether they were well married, he
+replied vivaciously:
+
+“I did not oppose them. I opposed them in nothing. They married just
+as they pleased. We shouldn't go against people's likings, it turns
+out badly. I am a night scavenger because my parents went against my
+likings. But for that I would have become a workman like the others.”
+
+Here is the way his parents had thwarted him in his likings:
+
+He was at the time a soldier stationed at Havre, not more stupid than
+another, or sharper either, a rather simple fellow, however. When he was
+not on duty, his greatest pleasure was to walk along the quay, where the
+bird dealers congregate. Sometimes alone, sometimes with a soldier from
+his own part of the country, he would slowly saunter along by cages
+containing parrots with green backs and yellow heads from the banks of
+the Amazon, or parrots with gray backs and red heads from Senegal, or
+enormous macaws, which look like birds reared in hot-houses, with their
+flower-like feathers, their plumes and their tufts. Parrots of every
+size, who seem painted with minute care by the miniaturist, God
+Almighty, and the little birds, all the smaller birds hopped about,
+yellow, blue and variegated, mingling their cries with the noise of the
+quay; and adding to the din caused by unloading the vessels, as well
+as by passengers and vehicles, a violent clamor, loud, shrill and
+deafening, as if from some distant forest of monsters.
+
+Boitelle would pause, with wondering eyes, wide-open mouth, laughing and
+enraptured, showing his teeth to the captive cockatoos, who kept nodding
+their white or yellow topknots toward the glaring red of his breeches
+and the copper buckle of his belt. When he found a bird that could talk
+he put questions to it, and if it happened at the time to be disposed
+to reply and to hold a conversation with him he would carry away enough
+amusement to last him till evening. He also found heaps of amusement in
+looking at the monkeys, and could conceive no greater luxury for a rich
+man than to own these animals as one owns cats and dogs. This kind of
+taste for the exotic he had in his blood, as people have a taste for
+the chase, or for medicine, or for the priesthood. He could not help
+returning to the quay every time the gates of the barracks opened, drawn
+toward it by an irresistible longing.
+
+On one occasion, having stopped almost in ecstasy before an enormous
+macaw, which was swelling out its plumes, bending forward and bridling
+up again as if making the court curtseys of parrot-land, he saw the
+door of a little cafe adjoining the bird dealer's shop open, and a young
+negress appeared, wearing on her head a red silk handkerchief. She was
+sweeping into the street the corks and sand of the establishment.
+
+Boitelle's attention was soon divided between the bird and the woman,
+and he really could not tell which of these two beings he contemplated
+with the greater astonishment and delight.
+
+The negress, having swept the rubbish into the street, raised her eyes,
+and, in her turn, was dazzled by the soldier's uniform. There she stood
+facing him with her broom in her hands as if she were bringing him a
+rifle, while the macaw continued bowing. But at the end of a few seconds
+the soldier began to feel embarrassed at this attention, and he walked
+away quietly so as not to look as if he were beating a retreat.
+
+But he came back. Almost every day he passed before the Cafe des
+Colonies, and often he could distinguish through the window the figure
+of the little black-skinned maid serving “bocks” or glasses of brandy to
+the sailors of the port. Frequently, too, she would come out to the door
+on seeing him; soon, without even having exchanged a word, they smiled
+at one another like acquaintances; and Boitelle felt his heart touched
+when he suddenly saw, glittering between the dark lips of the girl, a
+shining row of white teeth. At length, one day he ventured to enter, and
+was quite surprised to find that she could speak French like every one
+else. The bottle of lemonade, of which she was good enough to accept a
+glassful, remained in the soldier's recollection memorably delicious,
+and it became a custom with him to come and absorb in this little tavern
+on the quay all the agreeable drinks which he could afford.
+
+For him it was a treat, a happiness, on which his thoughts dwelt
+constantly, to watch the black hand of the little maid pouring something
+into his glass while her teeth laughed more than her eyes. At the end
+of two months they became fast friends, and Boitelle, after his first
+astonishment at discovering that this negress had as good principles as
+honest French girls, that she exhibited a regard for economy, industry,
+religion and good conduct, loved her more on that account, and was so
+charmed with her that he wanted to marry her.
+
+He told her his intentions, which made her dance with joy. She had also
+a little money, left her by, a female oyster dealer, who had picked her
+up when she had been left on the quay at Havre by an American captain.
+This captain had found her, when she was only about six years old,
+lying on bales of cotton in the hold of his ship, some hours after his
+departure from New York. On his arrival in Havre he abandoned to the
+care of this compassionate oyster dealer the little black creature, who
+had been hidden on board his vessel, he knew not why or by whom.
+
+The oyster woman having died, the young negress became a servant at the
+Colonial Tavern.
+
+Antoine Boitelle added: “This will be all right if my parents don't
+oppose it. I will never go against them, you understand, never! I'm
+going to say a word or two to them the first time I go back to the
+country.”
+
+On the following week, in fact, having obtained twenty-four hours'
+leave, he went to see his family, who cultivated a little farm at
+Tourteville, near Yvetot.
+
+He waited till the meal was finished, the hour when the coffee baptized
+with brandy makes people more open-hearted, before informing his parents
+that he had found a girl who satisfied his tastes, all his tastes, so
+completely that there could not exist any other in all the world so
+perfectly suited to him.
+
+The old people, on hearing this, immediately assumed a cautious manner
+and wanted explanations. He had concealed nothing from them except the
+color of her skin.
+
+She was a servant, without much means, but strong, thrifty, clean,
+well-conducted and sensible. All these things were better than money
+would be in the hands of a bad housewife. Moreover, she had a few sous,
+left her by a woman who had reared her, a good number of sous, almost
+a little dowry, fifteen hundred francs in the savings bank. The old
+people, persuaded by his talk, and relying also on their own judgment,
+were gradually weakening, when he came to the delicate point. Laughing
+in rather a constrained fashion, he said:
+
+“There's only one thing you may not like. She is not a white slip.”
+
+They did not understand, and he had to explain at some length and very
+cautiously, to avoid shocking them, that she belonged to the dusky race
+of which they had only seen samples in pictures at Epinal. Then they
+became restless, perplexed, alarmed, as if he had proposed a union with
+the devil.
+
+The mother said: “Black? How much of her is black? Is the whole of her?”
+
+He replied: “Certainly. Everywhere, just as you are white everywhere.”
+
+The father interposed: “Black? Is it as black as the pot?”
+
+The son answered: “Perhaps a little less than that. She is black, but
+not disgustingly black. The cure's cassock is black, but it is not
+uglier than a surplice which is white.”
+
+The father said: “Are there more black people besides her in her
+country?”
+
+And the son, with an air of conviction, exclaimed: “Certainly!”
+
+But the old man shook his head.
+
+“That must be unpleasant.”
+
+And the son:
+
+“It isn't more disagreeable than anything else when you get accustomed
+to it.”
+
+The mother asked:
+
+“It doesn't soil the underwear more than other skins, this black skin?”
+
+“Not more than your own, as it is her proper color.”
+
+Then, after many other questions, it was agreed that the parents should
+see this girl before coming; to any decision, and that the young fellow,
+whose term of military service would be over in a month, should bring
+her to the house in order that they might examine her and decide by
+talking the matter over whether or not she was too dark to enter the
+Boitelle family.
+
+Antoine accordingly announced that on Sunday, the 22d of May, the day of
+his discharge, he would start for Tourteville with his sweetheart.
+
+She had put on, for this journey to the house of her lover's parents,
+her most beautiful and most gaudy clothes, in which yellow, red and blue
+were the prevailing colors, so that she looked as if she were adorned
+for a national festival.
+
+At the terminus, as they were leaving Havre, people stared at her, and
+Boitelle was proud of giving his arm to a person who commanded so much
+attention. Then, in the third-class carriage, in which she took a seat
+by his side, she aroused so much astonishment among the country folks
+that the people in the adjoining compartments stood up on their benches
+to look at her over the wooden partition which divides the compartments.
+A child, at sight of her, began to cry with terror, another concealed
+his face in his mother's apron. Everything went off well, however, up
+to their arrival at their destination. But when the train slackened its
+rate of motion as they drew near Yvetot, Antoine felt: ill at ease, as
+he would have done at a review when; he did not know his drill practice.
+Then, as he; leaned his head out, he recognized in the distance: his
+father, holding the bridle of the horse harnessed to a carryall, and his
+mother, who had come forward to the grating, behind which stood those
+who were expecting friends.
+
+He alighted first, gave his hand to his sweetheart, and holding himself
+erect, as if he were escorting a general, he went to meet his family.
+
+The mother, on seeing this black lady in variegated costume in her son's
+company, remained so stupefied that she could not open her mouth; and
+the father found it hard to hold the horse, which the engine or the
+negress caused to rear continuously. But Antoine, suddenly filled with
+unmixed joy at seeing once more the old people, rushed forward with open
+arms, embraced his mother, embraced his father, in spite of the nag's
+fright, and then turning toward his companion, at whom the passengers on
+the platform stopped to stare with amazement, he proceeded to explain:
+
+“Here she is! I told you that, at first sight, she is not attractive;
+but as soon as you know her, I can assure you there's not a better sort
+in the whole world. Say good-morning to her so that she may not feel
+badly.”
+
+Thereupon Mere Boitelle, almost frightened out of her wits, made a sort
+of curtsy, while the father took off his cap, murmuring:
+
+“I wish you good luck!”
+
+Then, without further delay, they climbed into the carryall, the two
+women at the back, on seats which made them jump up and down as the
+vehicle went jolting along the road, and the two men in front on the
+front seat.
+
+Nobody spoke. Antoine, ill at ease, whistled a barrack-room air; his
+father whipped the nag; and his mother, from where she sat in the
+corner, kept casting sly glances at the negress, whose forehead and
+cheekbones shone in the sunlight like well-polished shoes.
+
+Wishing to break the ice, Antoine turned round.
+
+“Well,” said he, “we don't seem inclined to talk.”
+
+“We must have time,” replied the old woman.
+
+He went on:
+
+“Come! Tell us the little story about that hen of yours that laid eight
+eggs.”
+
+It was a funny anecdote of long standing in the family. But, as his
+mother still remained silent, paralyzed by her emotion, he undertook
+himself to tell the story, laughing as he did so at the memorable
+incident. The father, who knew it by heart brightened at the opening
+words of the narrative; his wife soon followed his example; and the
+negress herself, when he reached the drollest part of it, suddenly
+gave vent to a laugh, such a loud, rolling torrent of laughter that the
+horse, becoming excited, broke into a gallop for a while.
+
+This served to cement their acquaintance. They all began to chat.
+
+They had scarcely reached the house and had all alighted, when Antoine
+conducted his sweetheart to a room, so that she might take off her
+dress, to avoid staining it, as she was going to prepare a nice dish,
+intended to win the old people's affections through their stomachs. He
+drew his parents outside the house, and, with beating heart, asked:
+
+“Well, what do you say now?”
+
+The father said nothing. The mother, less timid, exclaimed:
+
+“She is too black. No, indeed, this is too much for me. It turns my
+blood.”
+
+“You will get used to it,” said Antoine.
+
+“Perhaps so, but not at first.”
+
+They went into the house, where the good woman was somewhat affected at
+the spectacle of the negress engaged in cooking. She at once proceeded
+to assist her, with petticoats tucked up, active in spite of her age.
+
+The meal was an excellent one, very long, very enjoyable. When they were
+taking a turn after dinner, Antoine took his father aside.
+
+“Well, dad, what do you say about it?”
+
+The peasant took care never to compromise himself.
+
+“I have no opinion about it. Ask your mother.”
+
+So Antoine went back to his mother, and, detaining her behind the rest,
+said:
+
+“Well, mother, what do you think of her?”
+
+“My poor lad, she is really too black. If she were only a little less
+black, I would not go against you, but this is too much. One would think
+it was Satan!”
+
+He did not press her, knowing how obstinate the old woman had always
+been, but he felt a tempest of disappointment sweeping over his heart.
+He was turning over in his mind what he ought to do, what plan he could
+devise, surprised, moreover, that she had not conquered them already as
+she had captivated himself. And they, all four, walked along through
+the wheat fields, having gradually relapsed into silence. Whenever they
+passed a fence they saw a countryman sitting on the stile, and a group
+of brats climbed up to stare at them, and every one rushed out into the
+road to see the “black” whore young Boitelle had brought home with him.
+At a distance they noticed people scampering across the fields just as
+when the drum beats to draw public attention to some living phenomenon.
+Pere and Mere Boitelle, alarmed at this curiosity, which was exhibited
+everywhere through the country at their approach, quickened their
+pace, walking side by side, and leaving their son far behind. His dark
+companion asked what his parents thought of her.
+
+He hesitatingly replied that they had not yet made up their minds.
+
+But on the village green people rushed out of all the houses in a
+flutter of excitement; and, at the sight of the gathering crowd, old
+Boitelle took to his heels, and regained his abode, while Antoine;
+swelling with rage, his sweetheart on his arm, advanced majestically
+under the staring eyes, which opened wide in amazement.
+
+He understood that it was at an end, and there was no hope for him, that
+he could not marry his negress. She also understood it; and as they drew
+near the farmhouse they both began to weep. As soon as they had got back
+to the house, she once more took off her dress to aid the mother in
+the household duties, and followed her everywhere, to the dairy, to
+the stable, to the hen house, taking on herself the hardest part of the
+work, repeating always: “Let me do it, Madame Boitelle,” so that, when
+night came on, the old woman, touched but inexorable, said to her son:
+“She is a good girl, all the same. It's a pity she is so black; but
+indeed she is too black. I could not get used to it. She must go back
+again. She is too, too black!”
+
+And young Boitelle said to his sweetheart:
+
+“She will not consent. She thinks you are too black. You must go back
+again. I will go with you to the train. No matter--don't fret. I am
+going to talk to them after you have started.”
+
+He then took her to the railway station, still cheering her with hope,
+and, when he had kissed her, he put her into the train, which he watched
+as it passed out of sight, his eyes swollen with tears.
+
+In vain did he appeal to the old people. They would never give their
+consent.
+
+And when he had told this story, which was known all over the country,
+Antoine Boitelle would always add:
+
+“From that time forward I have had no heart for anything--for anything
+at all. No trade suited me any longer, and so I became what I am--a
+night scavenger.”
+
+People would say to him:
+
+“Yet you got married.”
+
+“Yes, and I can't say that my wife didn't please me, seeing that I have
+fourteen children; but she is not the other one, oh, no--certainly not!
+The other one, mark you, my negress, she had only to give me one glance,
+and I felt as if I were in Heaven.”
+
+
+
+
+A WIDOW
+
+This story was told during the hunting season at the Chateau Baneville.
+The autumn had been rainy and sad. The red leaves, instead of rustling
+under the feet, were rotting under the heavy downfalls.
+
+The forest was as damp as it could be. From it came an odor of must,
+of rain, of soaked grass and wet earth; and the sportsmen, their backs
+hunched under the downpour, mournful dogs, with tails between their
+legs and hairs sticking to their sides, and the young women, with their
+clothes drenched, returned every evening, tired in body and in mind.
+
+After dinner, in the large drawing-room, everybody played lotto, without
+enjoyment, while the wind whistled madly around the house. Then they
+tried telling stories like those they read in books, but no one was able
+to invent anything amusing. The hunters told tales of wonderful shots
+and of the butchery of rabbits; and the women racked their brains for
+ideas without revealing the imagination of Scheherezade. They were about
+to give up this diversion when a young woman, who was idly caressing the
+hand of an old maiden aunt, noticed a little ring made of blond hair,
+which she had often seen, without paying any attention to it.
+
+She fingered it gently and asked, “Auntie, what is this ring? It looks
+as if it were made from the hair of a child.”
+
+The old lady blushed, grew pale, then answered in a trembling voice: “It
+is sad, so sad that I never wish to speak of it. All the unhappiness
+of my life comes from that. I was very young then, and the memory has
+remained so painful that I weep every time I think of it.”
+
+Immediately everybody wished to know the story, but the old lady refused
+to tell it. Finally, after they had coaxed her for a long time, she
+yielded. Here is the story:
+
+“You have often heard me speak of the Santeze family, now extinct. I
+knew the last three male members of this family. They all died in the
+same manner; this hair belongs to the last one. He was thirteen when he
+killed himself for me. That seems strange to you, doesn't it?
+
+“Oh! it was a strange family--mad, if you will, but a charming madness,
+the madness of love. From father to son, all had violent passions which
+filled their whole being, which impelled them to do wild things, drove
+them to frantic enthusiasm, even to crime. This was born in them, just
+as burning devotion is in certain souls. Trappers have not the
+same nature as minions of the drawing-room. There was a saying: 'As
+passionate as a Santeze.' This could be noticed by looking at them. They
+all had wavy hair, falling over their brows, curly beards and large eyes
+whose glance pierced and moved one, though one could not say why.
+
+“The grandfather of the owner of this hair, of whom it is the last
+souvenir, after many adventures, duels and elopements, at about
+sixty-five fell madly in love with his farmer's daughter. I knew them
+both. She was blond, pale, distinguished-looking, with a slow manner of
+talking, a quiet voice and a look so gentle that one might have taken
+her for a Madonna. The old nobleman took her to his home and was soon so
+captivated with her that he could not live without her for a minute.
+His daughter and daughter-in-law, who lived in the chateau, found this
+perfectly natural, love was such a tradition in the family. Nothing
+in regard to a passion surprised them, and if one spoke before them of
+parted lovers, even of vengeance after treachery, both said in the same
+sad tone: 'Oh, how he must have suffered to come to that point!' That
+was all. They grew sad over tragedies of love, but never indignant, even
+when they were criminal.
+
+“Now, one day a young man named Monsieur de Gradelle, who had been
+invited for the shooting, eloped with the young girl.
+
+“Monsieur de Santeze remained calm as if nothing had happened, but one
+morning he was found hanging in the kennels, among his dogs.
+
+“His son died in the same manner in a hotel in Paris during a journey
+which he made there in 1841, after being deceived by a singer from the
+opera.
+
+“He left a twelve-year-old child and a widow, my mother's sister.
+She came to my father's house with the boy, while we were living at
+Bertillon. I was then seventeen.
+
+“You have no idea how wonderful and precocious this Santeze child was.
+One might have thought that all the tenderness and exaltation of the
+whole race had been stored up in this last one. He was always dreaming
+and walking about alone in a great alley of elms leading from the
+chateau to the forest. I watched from my window this sentimental boy,
+who walked with thoughtful steps, his hands behind his back, his head
+bent, and at times stopping to raise his eyes as if he could see and
+understand things that were not comprehensible at his age.
+
+“Often, after dinner on clear evenings, he would say to me: 'Let us
+go outside and dream, cousin.' And we would go outside together in the
+park. He would stop quickly before a clearing where the white vapor of
+the moon lights the woods, and he would press my hand, saying: 'Look!
+look! but you don't understand me; I feel it. If you understood me, we
+should be happy. One must love to know! I would laugh and then kiss this
+child, who loved me madly.
+
+“Often, after dinner, he would sit on my mother's knees. 'Come, auntie,'
+he would say, 'tell me some love-stories.' And my mother, as a joke,
+would tell him all the old legends of the family, all the passionate
+adventures of his forefathers, for thousands of them were current, some
+true and some false. It was their reputation for love and gallantry
+which was the ruin of every one of these-men; they gloried in it and
+then thought that they had to live up to the renown of their house.
+
+“The little fellow became exalted by these tender or terrible stories,
+and at times he would clap his hands, crying: 'I, too, I, too, know how
+to love, better than all of them!'
+
+“Then, he began to court me in a timid and tender manner, at which every
+one laughed, it was, so amusing. Every morning I had some flowers picked
+by him, and every evening before going to his room he would kiss my hand
+and murmur: 'I love you!'
+
+“I was guilty, very guilty, and I grieved continually about it, and I
+have been doing penance all my life; I have remained an old maid--or,
+rather, I have lived as a widowed fiancee, his widow.
+
+“I was amused at this childish tenderness, and I even encouraged him.
+I was coquettish, as charming as with a man, alternately caressing
+and severe. I maddened this child. It was a game for me and a joyous
+diversion for his mother and mine. He was twelve! think of it! Who would
+have taken this atom's passion seriously? I kissed him as often as he
+wished; I even wrote him little notes, which were read by our respective
+mothers; and he answered me by passionate letters, which I have kept.
+Judging himself as a man, he thought that our loving intimacy was
+secret. We had forgotten that he was a Santeze.
+
+“This lasted for about a year. One evening in the park he fell at my
+feet and, as he madly kissed the hem of my dress, he kept repeating: 'I
+love you! I love you! I love you! If ever you deceive me, if ever you
+leave me for another, I'll do as my father did.' And he added in a
+hoarse voice, which gave me a shiver: 'You know what he did!'
+
+“I stood there astonished. He arose, and standing on the tips of his
+toes in order to reach my ear, for I was taller than he, he pronounced
+my first name: 'Genevieve!' in such a gentle, sweet, tender tone that I
+trembled all over. I stammered: 'Let us return! let us return!' He said
+no more and followed me; but as we were going up the steps of the
+porch, he stopped me, saying: 'You know, if ever you leave me, I'll kill
+myself.'
+
+“This time I understood that I had gone too far, and I became quite
+reserved. One day, as he was reproaching me for this, I answered: 'You
+are now too old for jesting and too young for serious love. I'll wait.'
+
+“I thought that this would end the matter. In the autumn he was sent to
+a boarding-school. When he returned the following summer I was engaged
+to be married. He understood immediately, and for a week he became so
+pensive that I was quite anxious.
+
+“On the morning of the ninth day I saw a little paper under my door as
+I got up. I seized it, opened it and read: 'You have deserted me and you
+know what I said. It is death to which you have condemned me. As I do
+not wish to be found by another than you, come to the park just where I
+told you last year that I loved you and look in the air.'
+
+“I thought that I should go mad. I dressed as quickly as I could and
+ran wildly to the place that he had mentioned. His little cap was on the
+ground in the mud. It had been raining all night. I raised my eyes and
+saw something swinging among the leaves, for the wind was blowing a
+gale.
+
+“I don't know what I did after that. I must have screamed at first, then
+fainted and fallen, and finally have run to the chateau. The next thing
+that I remember I was in bed, with my mother sitting beside me.
+
+“I thought that I had dreamed all this in a frightful nightmare. I
+stammered: 'And what of him, what of him, Gontran?' There was no answer.
+It was true!
+
+“I did not dare see him again, but I asked for a lock of his blond hair.
+Here--here it is!”
+
+And the old maid stretched out her trembling hand in a despairing
+gesture. Then she blew her nose several times, wiped her eyes and
+continued:
+
+“I broke off my marriage--without saying why. And I--I always have
+remained the--the widow of this thirteen-year-old boy.” Then her head
+fell on her breast and she wept for a long time.
+
+As the guests were retiring for the night a large man, whose quiet she
+had disturbed, whispered in his neighbor's ear: “Isn't it unfortunate
+to, be so sentimental?”
+
+
+
+
+THE ENGLISHMAN OF ETRETAT
+
+A great English poet has just crossed over to France in order to greet
+Victor Hugo. All the newspapers are full of his name and he is the great
+topic of conversation in all drawing-rooms. Fifteen years ago I had
+occasion several times to meet Algernon Charles Swinburne. I will
+attempt to show him just as I saw him and to give an idea of the strange
+impression he made on me, which will remain with me throughout time.
+
+I believe it was in 1867 or in 1868 that an unknown young Englishman
+came to Etretat and bought a little but hidden under great trees. It
+was said that he lived there, always alone, in a strange manner; and he
+aroused the inimical surprise of the natives, for the inhabitants were
+sullen and foolishly malicious, as they always are in little towns.
+
+They declared that this whimsical Englishman ate nothing but boiled.
+roasted or stewed monkey; that he would see no one; that he talked
+to himself hours at a time and many other surprising things that made
+people think that he was different from other men. They were surprised
+that he should live alone with a monkey. Had it been a cat or a dog
+they would have said nothing. But a monkey! Was that not frightful? What
+savage tastes the man must have!
+
+I knew this young man only from seeing him in the streets. He was short,
+plump, without being fat, mild-looking, and he wore a little blond
+mustache, which was almost invisible.
+
+Chance brought us together. This savage had amiable and pleasing
+manners, but he was one of those strange Englishmen that one meets here
+and there throughout the world.
+
+Endowed with remarkable intelligence, he seemed to live in a fantastic
+dream, as Edgar Poe must have lived. He had translated into English a
+volume of strange Icelandic legends, which I ardently desired to see
+translated into French. He loved the supernatural, the dismal and
+grewsome, but he spoke of the most marvellous things with a calmness
+that was typically English, to which his gentle and quiet voice gave a
+semblance of reality that was maddening.
+
+Full of a haughty disdain for the world, with its conventions,
+prejudices and code of morality, he had nailed to his house a name that
+was boldly impudent. The keeper of a lonely inn who should write on his
+door: “Travellers murdered here!” could not make a more sinister jest. I
+never had entered his dwelling, when one day I received an invitation to
+luncheon, following an accident that had occurred to one of his friends,
+who had been almost drowned and whom I had attempted to rescue.
+
+Although I was unable to reach the man until he had already been
+rescued, I received the hearty thanks of the two Englishmen, and the
+following day I called upon them.
+
+The friend was a man about thirty years old. He bore an enormous head on
+a child's body--a body without chest or shoulders. An immense forehead,
+which seemed to have engulfed the rest of the man, expanded like a dome
+above a thin face which ended in a little pointed beard. Two sharp eyes
+and a peculiar mouth gave one the impression of the head of a reptile,
+while the magnificent brow suggested a genius.
+
+A nervous twitching shook this peculiar being, who walked, moved, acted
+by jerks like a broken spring.
+
+This was Algernon Charles Swinburne, son of an English admiral and
+grandson, on the maternal side, of the Earl of Ashburnham.
+
+He strange countenance was transfigured when he spoke. I have seldom
+seen a man more impressive, more eloquent, incisive or charming in
+conversation. His rapid, clear, piercing and fantastic imagination
+seemed to creep into his voice and to lend life to his words. His
+brusque gestures enlivened his speech, which penetrated one like a
+dagger, and he had bursts of thought, just as lighthouses throw out
+flashes of fire, great, genial lights that seemed to illuminate a whole
+world of ideas.
+
+The home of the two friends was pretty and by no means commonplace.
+Everywhere were paintings, some superb, some strange, representing
+different conceptions of insanity. Unless I am mistaken, there was
+a water-color which represented the head of a dead man floating in a
+rose-colored shell on a boundless ocean, under a moon with a human face.
+
+Here and there I came across bones. I clearly remember a flayed hand
+on which was hanging some dried skin and black muscles, and on the
+snow-white bones could be seen the traces of dried blood.
+
+The food was a riddle which I could not solve. Was it good? Was it bad?
+I could not say. Some roast monkey took away all desire to make a steady
+diet of this animal, and the great monkey who roamed about among us at
+large and playfully pushed his head into my glass when I wished to drink
+cured me of any desire I might have to take one of his brothers as a
+companion for the rest of my days.
+
+As for the two men, they gave me the impression of two strange,
+original, remarkable minds, belonging to that peculiar race of talented
+madmen from among whom have arisen Poe, Hoffmann and many others.
+
+If genius is, as is commonly believed, a sort of aberration of great
+minds, then Algernon Charles Swinburne is undoubtedly a genius.
+
+Great minds that are healthy are never considered geniuses, while this
+sublime qualification is lavished on brains that are often inferior but
+are slightly touched by madness.
+
+At any rate, this poet remains one of the first of his time, through
+his originality and polished form. He is an exalted lyrical singer who
+seldom bothers about the good and humble truth, which French poets
+are now seeking so persistently and patiently. He strives to set down
+dreams, subtle thoughts, sometimes great, sometimes visibly forced, but
+sometimes magnificent.
+
+Two years later I found the house closed and its tenants gone. The
+furniture was being sold. In memory of them I bought the hideous flayed
+hand. On the grass an enormous square block of granite bore this simple
+word: “Nip.” Above this a hollow stone offered water to the birds. It
+was the grave of the monkey, who had been hanged by a young, vindictive
+negro servant. It was said that this violent domestic had been forced to
+flee at the point of his exasperated master's revolver. After wandering
+about without home or food for several days, he returned and began to
+peddle barley-sugar in the streets. He was expelled from the country
+after he had almost strangled a displeased customer.
+
+The world would be gayer if one could often meet homes like that.
+
+   This story appeared in the “Gaulois,” November 29, 1882. It was the
+   original sketch for the introductory study of Swinburne, written by
+   Maupassant for the French translation by Gabriel Mourey of “Poems
+   and Ballads.”
+
+
+
+
+MAGNETISM
+
+It was a men's dinner party, and they were sitting over their cigars
+and brandy and discussing magnetism. Donato's tricks and Charcot's
+experiments. Presently, the sceptical, easy-going men, who cared nothing
+for religion of any sort, began telling stories of strange occurrences,
+incredible things which, nevertheless, had really occurred, so they
+said, falling back into superstitious beliefs, clinging to these
+last remnants of the marvellous, becoming devotees of this mystery
+of magnetism, defending it in the name of science. There was only one
+person who smiled, a vigorous young fellow, a great ladies' man who was
+so incredulous that he would not even enter upon a discussion of such
+matters.
+
+He repeated with a sneer:
+
+“Humbug! humbug! humbug! We need not discuss Donato, who is merely a
+very smart juggler. As for M. Charcot, who is said to be a remarkable
+man of science, he produces on me the effect of those story-tellers
+of the school of Edgar Poe, who end by going mad through constantly
+reflecting on queer cases of insanity. He has authenticated some cases
+of unexplained and inexplicable nervous phenomena; he makes his way into
+that unknown region which men are exploring every day, and unable always
+to understand what he sees, he recalls, perhaps, the ecclesiastical
+interpretation of these mysteries. I should like to hear what he says
+himself.”
+
+The words of the unbeliever were listened to with a kind of pity, as if
+he had blasphemed in an assembly of monks.
+
+One of these gentlemen exclaimed:
+
+“And yet miracles were performed in olden times.”
+
+“I deny it,” replied the other: “Why cannot they be performed now?”
+
+Then, each mentioned some fact, some fantastic presentiment some
+instance of souls communicating with each other across space, or some
+case of the secret influence of one being over another. They asserted
+and maintained that these things had actually occurred, while the
+sceptic angrily repeated:
+
+“Humbug! humbug! humbug!”
+
+At last he rose, threw away his cigar, and with his hands in his
+pockets, said: “Well, I also have two stories to tell you, which I will
+afterwards explain. Here they are:
+
+“In the little village of Etretat, the men, who are all seafaring folk,
+go every year to Newfoundland to fish for cod. One night the little
+son of one of these fishermen woke up with a start, crying out that his
+father was dead. The child was quieted, and again he woke up exclaiming
+that his father was drowned. A month later the news came that his father
+had, in fact, been swept off the deck of his smack by a billow. The
+widow then remembered how her son had woke up and spoken of his father's
+death. Everyone said it was a miracle, and the affair caused a great
+sensation. The dates were compared, and it was found that the accident
+and the dream were almost coincident, whence they concluded that they
+had happened on the same night and at the same hour. And there is a
+mystery of magnetism.”
+
+The story-teller stopped suddenly.
+
+Thereupon, one of those who had heard him, much affected by the
+narrative, asked:
+
+“And can you explain this?”
+
+“Perfectly, monsieur. I have discovered the secret. The circumstance
+surprised me and even perplexed me very much; but you see, I do not
+believe on principle. Just as others begin by believing, I begin by
+doubting; and when I cannot understand, I continue to deny that there
+can be any telepathic communication between souls; certain that my own
+intelligence will be able to explain it. Well, I kept on inquiring
+into the matter, and by dint of questioning all the wives of the absent
+seamen, I was convinced that not a week passed without one of them, or
+one of their children dreaming and declaring when they woke up that the
+father was drowned. The horrible and continual fear of this accident
+makes them always talk about it. Now, if one of these frequent
+predictions coincides, by a very simple chance, with the death of the
+person referred to, people at once declare it to be a miracle; for they
+suddenly lose sight of all the other predictions of misfortune that have
+remained unfulfilled. I have myself known fifty cases where the persons
+who made the prediction forgot all about it a week after wards. But,
+if, then one happens to die, then the recollection of the thing is
+immediately revived, and people are ready to believe in the intervention
+of God, according to some, and magnetism, according to others.”
+
+One of the smokers remarked:
+
+“What you say is right enough; but what about your second story?”
+
+“Oh! my second story is a very delicate matter to relate. It happened
+to myself, and so I don't place any great value on my own view of
+the matter. An interested party can never give an impartial opinion.
+However, here it is:
+
+“Among my acquaintances was a young woman on whom I had never bestowed
+a thought, whom I had never even looked at attentively, never taken any
+notice of.
+
+“I classed her among the women of no importance, though she was not
+bad-looking; she appeared, in fact, to possess eyes, a nose, a mouth,
+some sort of hair--just a colorless type of countenance. She was one of
+those beings who awaken only a chance, passing thought, but no special
+interest, no desire.
+
+“Well, one night, as I was writing some letters by my fireside before
+going to bed, I was conscious, in the midst of that train of sensuous
+visions that sometimes pass through one's brain in moments of idle
+reverie, of a kind of slight influence, passing over me, a little
+flutter of the heart, and immediately, without any cause, without any
+logical connection of thought, I saw distinctly, as if I were touching
+her, saw from head to foot, and disrobed, this young woman to whom I
+had never given more that three seconds' thought at a time. I suddenly
+discovered in her a number of qualities which I had never before
+observed, a sweet charm, a languorous fascination; she awakened in me
+that sort of restless emotion that causes one to pursue a woman. But
+I did not think of her long. I went to bed and was soon asleep. And I
+dreamed.
+
+“You have all had these strange dreams which make you overcome the
+impossible, which open to you double-locked doors, unexpected joys,
+tightly folded arms?
+
+“Which of us in these troubled, excising, breathless slumbers, has
+not held, clasped, embraced with rapture, the woman who occupied his
+thoughts? And have you ever noticed what superhuman delight these happy
+dreams give us? Into what mad intoxication they cast you! with what
+passionate spasms they shake you! and with what infinite, caressing,
+penetrating tenderness they fill your heart for her whom you hold
+clasped in your arms in that adorable illusion that is so like reality!
+
+“All this I felt with unforgettable violence. This woman was mine, so
+much mine that the pleasant warmth of her skin remained in my fingers,
+the odor of her skin, in my brain, the taste of her kisses, on my lips,
+the sound of her voice lingered in my ears, the touch of her clasp still
+clung to me, and the burning charm of her tenderness still gratified my
+senses long after the delight but disillusion of my awakening.
+
+“And three times that night I had the same dream.
+
+“When the day dawned she haunted me, possessed me, filled my senses to
+such an extent that I was not one second without thinking of her.
+
+“At last, not knowing what to do, I dressed myself and went to call on
+her. As I went upstairs to her apartment, I was so overcome by emotion
+that I trembled, and my heart beat rapidly.
+
+“I entered the apartment. She rose the moment she heard my name
+mentioned; and suddenly our eyes met in a peculiar fixed gaze.
+
+“I sat down. I stammered out some commonplaces which she seemed not to
+hear. I did not know what to say or do. Then, abruptly, clasping my
+arms round her, my dream was realized so suddenly that I began to doubt
+whether I was really awake. We were friends after this for two years.”
+
+“What conclusion do you draw from it?” said a voice.
+
+The story-teller seemed to hesitate.
+
+“The conclusion I draw from it--well, by Jove, the conclusion is that
+it was just a coincidence! And then--who can tell? Perhaps it was some
+glance of hers which I had not noticed and which came back that night to
+me through one of those mysterious and unconscious--recollections
+that often bring before us things ignored by our own consciousness,
+unperceived by our minds!”
+
+“Call it whatever you like,” said one of his table companions, when the
+story was finished; “but if you don't believe in magnetism after that,
+my dear boy, you are an ungrateful fellow!”
+
+
+
+
+A FATHER'S CONFESSION
+
+All Veziers-le-Rethel had followed the funeral procession of M.
+Badon-Leremince to the grave, and the last words of the funeral oration
+pronounced by the delegate of the district remained in the minds of all:
+“He was an honest man, at least!”
+
+An honest man he had been in all the known acts of his life, in his
+words, in his examples, his attitude, his behavior, his enterprises, in
+the cut of his beard and the shape of his hats. He never had said a word
+that did not set an example, never had given an alms without adding a
+word of advice, never had extended his hand without appearing to bestow
+a benediction.
+
+He left two children, a boy and a girl. His son was counselor general,
+and his daughter, having married a lawyer, M. Poirel de la Voulte, moved
+in the best society of Veziers.
+
+They were inconsolable at the death of their father, for they loved him
+sincerely.
+
+As soon as the ceremony was over, the son, daughter and son-in-law
+returned to the house of mourning, and, shutting themselves in the
+library, they opened the will, the seals of which were to be broken by
+them alone and only after the coffin had been placed in the ground. This
+wish was expressed by a notice on the envelope.
+
+M. Poirel de la Voulte tore open the envelope, in his character of a
+lawyer used to such operations, and having adjusted his spectacles, he
+read in a monotonous voice, made for reading the details of contracts:
+
+   My children, my dear children, I could not sleep the eternal sleep
+   in peace if I did not make to you from the tomb a confession, the
+   confession of a crime, remorse for which has ruined my life. Yes,
+   I committed a crime, a frightful, abominable crime.
+
+   I was twenty-six years old, and I had just been called to the bar in
+   Paris, and was living the life off young men from the provinces who
+   are stranded in this town without acquaintances, relatives, or
+   friends.
+
+   I took a sweetheart. There are beings who cannot live alone. I was
+   one of those. Solitude fills me with horrible anguish, the solitude
+   of my room beside my fire in the evening. I feel then as if I were
+   alone on earth, alone, but surrounded by vague dangers, unknown and
+   terrible things; and the partition that separates me from my
+   neighbor, my neighbor whom I do not know, keeps me at as great a
+   distance from him as the stars that I see through my window. A sort
+   of fever pervades me, a fever of impatience and of fear, and the
+   silence of the walls terrifies me. The silence of a room where one
+   lives alone is so intense and so melancholy It is not only a silence
+   of the mind; when a piece of furniture cracks a shudder goes through
+   you for you expect no noise in this melancholy abode.
+
+   How many times, nervous and timid from this motionless silence, I
+   have begun to talk, to repeat words without rhyme or reason, only to
+   make some sound. My voice at those times sounds so strange that I
+   am afraid of that, too. Is there anything more dreadful than
+   talking to one's self in an empty house? One's voice sounds like
+   that of another, an unknown voice talking aimlessly, to no one, into
+   the empty air, with no ear to listen to it, for one knows before
+   they escape into the solitude of the room exactly what words will be
+   uttered. And when they resound lugubriously in the silence, they
+   seem no more than an echo, the peculiar echo of words whispered by
+   ones thought.
+
+   My sweetheart was a young girl like other young girls who live in
+   Paris on wages that are insufficient to keep them. She was gentle,
+   good, simple. Her parents lived at Poissy. She went to spend
+   several days with them from time to time.
+
+   For a year I lived quietly with her, fully decided to leave her when
+   I should find some one whom I liked well enough to marry. I would
+   make a little provision for this one, for it is an understood thing
+   in our social set that a woman's love should be paid for, in money
+   if she is poor, in presents if she is rich.
+
+   But one day she told me she was enceinte. I was thunderstruck, and
+   saw in a second that my life would be ruined. I saw the fetter that
+   I should wear until my death, everywhere, in my future family life,
+   in my old age, forever; the fetter of a woman bound to my life
+   through a child; the fetter of the child whom I must bring up, watch
+   over, protect, while keeping myself unknown to him, and keeping him
+   hidden from the world.
+
+   I was greatly disturbed at this news, and a confused longing, a
+   criminal desire, surged through my mind; I did not formulate it, but
+   I felt it in my heart, ready to come to the surface, as if some one
+   hidden behind a portiere should await the signal to come out. If
+   some accident might only happen! So many of these little beings die
+   before they are born!
+
+   Oh! I did not wish my sweetheart to die! The poor girl, I loved
+   her very much! But I wished, possibly, that the child might die
+   before I saw it.
+
+   He was born. I set up housekeeping in my little bachelor apartment,
+   an imitation home, with a horrible child. He looked like all
+   children; I did not care for him. Fathers, you see, do not show
+   affection until later. They have not the instinctive and passionate
+   tenderness of mothers; their affection has to be awakened gradually,
+   their mind must become attached by bonds formed each day between
+   beings that live in each other's society.
+
+   A year passed. I now avoided my home, which was too small, where
+   soiled linen, baby-clothes and stockings the size of gloves were
+   lying round, where a thousand articles of all descriptions lay on
+   the furniture, on the arm of an easy-chair, everywhere. I went out
+   chiefly that I might not hear the child cry, for he cried on the
+   slightest pretext, when he was bathed, when he was touched, when he
+   was put to bed, when he was taken up in the morning, incessantly.
+
+   I had made a few acquaintances, and I met at a reception the woman
+   who was to be your mother. I fell in love with her and became
+   desirous to marry her. I courted her; I asked her parents' consent
+   to our marriage and it was granted.
+
+   I found myself in this dilemma: I must either marry this young girl
+   whom I adored, having a child already, or else tell the truth and
+   renounce her, and happiness, my future, everything; for her parents,
+   who were people of rigid principles, would not give her to me if
+   they knew.
+
+   I passed a month of horrible anguish, of mortal torture, a month
+   haunted by a thousand frightful thoughts; and I felt developing in
+   me a hatred toward my son, toward that little morsel of living,
+   screaming flesh, who blocked my path, interrupted my life, condemned
+   me to an existence without hope, without all those vague
+   expectations that make the charm of youth.
+
+   But just then my companion's mother became ill, and I was left alone
+   with the child.
+
+   It was in December, and the weather was terribly cold. What a
+   night!
+
+   My companion had just left. I had dined alone in my little
+   dining-room and I went gently into the room where the little one was
+   asleep.
+
+   I sat down in an armchair before the fire. The wind was blowing,
+   making the windows rattle, a dry, frosty wind; and I saw trough the
+   window the stars shining with that piercing brightness that they
+   have on frosty nights.
+
+   Then the idea that had obsessed me for a month rose again to the
+   surface. As soon as I was quiet it came to me and harassed me. It
+   ate into my mind like a fixed idea, just as cancers must eat into
+   the flesh. It was there, in my head, in my heart, in my whole body,
+   it seemed to me; and it swallowed me up as a wild beast might have.
+   I endeavored to drive it away, to repulse it, to open my mind to
+   other thoughts, as one opens a window to the fresh morning breeze to
+   drive out the vitiated air; but I could not drive it from my brain,
+   not even for a second. I do not know how to express this torture.
+   It gnawed at my soul, and I felt a frightful pain, a real physical
+   and moral pain.
+
+   My life was ruined! How could I escape from this situation? How
+   could I draw back, and how could I confess?
+
+   And I loved the one who was to become your mother with a mad
+   passion, which this insurmountable obstacle only aggravated.
+
+   A terrible rage was taking possession of me, choking me, a rage that
+   verged on madness! Surely I was crazy that evening!
+
+   The child was sleeping. I got up and looked at it as it slept. It
+   was he, this abortion, this spawn, this nothing, that condemned me
+   to irremediable unhappiness!
+
+   He was asleep, his mouth open, wrapped in his bed-clothes in a crib
+   beside my bed, where I could not sleep.
+
+   How did I ever do what I did? How do I know? What force urged me
+   on? What malevolent power took possession of me? Oh! the
+   temptation to crime came to me without any forewarning. All I
+   recall is that my heart beat tumultuously. It beat so hard that I
+   could hear it, as one hears the strokes of a hammer behind a
+   partition. That is all I can recall--the beating of my heart!
+   In my head there was a strange confusion, a tumult, a senseless
+   disorder, a lack of presence of mind. It was one of those hours of
+   bewilderment and hallucination when a man is neither conscious of
+   his actions nor able to guide his will.
+
+   I gently raised the coverings from the body of the child; I turned
+   them down to the foot of the crib, and he lay there uncovered and
+   naked.
+
+   He did not wake. Then I went toward the window, softly, quite
+   softly, and I opened it.
+
+   A breath of icy air glided in like an assassin; it was so cold that
+   I drew aside, and the two candles flickered. I remained standing
+   near the window, not daring to turn round, as if for fear of seeing
+   what was doing on behind me, and feeling the icy air continually
+   across my forehead, my cheeks, my hands, the deadly air which kept
+   streaming in. I stood there a long time.
+
+   I was not thinking, I was not reflecting. All at once a little
+   cough caused me to shudder frightfully from head to foot, a shudder
+   that I feel still to the roots of my hair. And with a frantic
+   movement I abruptly closed both sides of the window and, turning
+   round, ran over to the crib.
+
+   He was still asleep, his mouth open, quite naked. I touched his
+   legs; they were icy cold and I covered them up.
+
+   My heart was suddenly touched, grieved, filled with pity,
+   tenderness, love for this poor innocent being that I had wished to
+   kill. I kissed his fine, soft hair long and tenderly; then I went
+   and sat down before the fire.
+
+   I reflected with amazement with horror on what I had done, asking
+   myself whence come those tempests of the soul in which a man loses
+   all perspective of things, all command over himself and acts as in a
+   condition of mad intoxication, not knowing whither he is
+   going--like a vessel in a hurricane.
+
+   The child coughed again, and it gave my heart a wrench. Suppose it
+   should die! O God! O God! What would become of me?
+
+   I rose from my chair to go and look at him, and with a candle in my
+   hand I leaned over him. Seeing him breathing quietly I felt
+   reassured, when he coughed a third time. It gave me such a shock
+   tat I started backward, just as one does at sight of something
+   horrible, and let my candle fall.
+
+   As I stood erect after picking it up, I noticed that my temples were
+   bathed in perspiration, that cold sweat which is the result of
+   anguish of soul. And I remained until daylight bending over my son,
+   becoming calm when he remained quiet for some time, and filled with
+   atrocious pain when a weak cough came from his mouth.
+
+   He awoke with his eyes red, his throat choked, and with an air of
+   suffering.
+
+   When the woman came in to arrange my room I sent her at once for a
+   doctor. He came at the end of an hour, and said, after examining
+   the child:
+
+   “Did he not catch cold?”
+
+   I began to tremble like a person with palsy, and I faltered:
+
+   “No, I do not think so.”
+
+   And then I said:
+
+   “What is the matter? Is it serious?”
+
+   “I do not know yet,” he replied. “I will come again this evening.”
+
+   He came that evening. My son had remained almost all day in a
+   condition of drowsiness, coughing from time to time. During the
+   night inflammation of the lungs set in.
+
+   That lasted ten days. I cannot express what I suffered in those
+   interminable hours that divide morning from night, right from
+   morning.
+
+   He died.
+
+   And since--since that moment, I have not passed one hour, not a
+   single hour, without the frightful burning recollection, a gnawing
+   recollection, a memory that seems to wring my heart, awaking in me
+   like a savage beast imprisoned in the depth of my soul.
+
+   Oh! if I could have gone mad!
+
+M. Poirel de la Voulte raised his spectacles with a motion that was
+peculiar to him whenever he finished reading a contract; and the three
+heirs of the defunct looked at one another without speaking, pale and
+motionless.
+
+At the end of a minute the lawyer resumed:
+
+“That must be destroyed.”
+
+The other two bent their heads in sign of assent. He lighted a candle,
+carefully separated the pages containing the damaging confession from
+those relating to the disposition of money, then he held them over the
+candle and threw them into the fireplace.
+
+And they watched the white sheets as they burned, till they were
+presently reduced to little crumbling black heaps. And as some words
+were still visible in white tracing, the daughter, with little strokes
+of the toe of her shoe, crushed the burning paper, mixing it with the
+old ashes in the fireplace.
+
+Then all three stood there watching it for some time, as if they feared
+that the destroyed secret might escape from the fireplace.
+
+
+
+
+A MOTHER OF MONSTERS
+
+I recalled this horrible story, the events of which occurred long ago,
+and this horrible woman, the other day at a fashionable seaside resort,
+where I saw on the beach a well-known young, elegant and charming
+Parisienne, adored and respected by everyone.
+
+I had been invited by a friend to pay him a visit in a little provincial
+town. He took me about in all directions to do the honors of the place,
+showed me noted scenes, chateaux, industries, ruins. He pointed out
+monuments, churches, old carved doorways, enormous or distorted trees,
+the oak of St. Andrew, and the yew tree of Roqueboise.
+
+When I had exhausted my admiration and enthusiasm over all the sights,
+my friend said with a distressed expression on his face, that there was
+nothing left to look at. I breathed freely. I would now be able to
+rest under the shade of the trees. But, all at once, he uttered an
+exclamation:
+
+“Oh, yes! We have the 'Mother of Monsters'; I must take you to see her.”
+
+“Who is that, the 'Mother of Monsters'?” I asked.
+
+“She is an abominable woman,” he replied, “a regular demon, a being who
+voluntarily brings into the world deformed, hideous, frightful children,
+monstrosities, in fact, and then sells them to showmen who exhibit such
+things.
+
+“These exploiters of freaks come from time to time to find out if she
+has any fresh monstrosity, and if it meets with their approval they
+carry it away with them, paying the mother a compensation.
+
+“She has eleven of this description. She is rich.
+
+“You think I am joking, romancing, exaggerating. No, my friend; I am
+telling you the truth, the exact truth.
+
+“Let us go and see this woman. Then I will tell you her history.”
+
+He took me into one of the suburbs. The woman lived in a pretty little
+house by the side of the road. It was attractive and well kept. The
+garden was filled with fragrant flowers. One might have supposed it to
+be the residence of a retired lawyer.
+
+A maid ushered us into a sort of little country parlor, and the wretch
+appeared. She was about forty. She was a tall, big woman with hard
+features, but well formed, vigorous and healthy, the true type of a
+robust peasant woman, half animal, and half woman.
+
+She was aware of her reputation and received everyone with a humility
+that smacked of hatred.
+
+“What do the gentlemen wish?” she asked.
+
+“They tell me that your last child is just like an ordinary child, that
+he does not resemble his brothers at all,” replied my friend. “I wanted
+to be sure of that. Is it true?”
+
+She cast on us a malicious and furious look as she said:
+
+“Oh, no, oh, no, my poor sir! He is perhaps even uglier than the rest. I
+have no luck, no luck!
+
+“They are all like that, it is heartbreaking! How can the good God be
+so hard on a poor woman who is all alone in the world, how can He?” She
+spoke hurriedly, her eyes cast down, with a deprecating air as of a wild
+beast who is afraid. Her harsh voice became soft, and it seemed strange
+to hear those tearful falsetto tones issuing from that big, bony frame,
+of unusual strength and with coarse outlines, which seemed fitted for
+violent action, and made to utter howls like a wolf.
+
+“We should like to see your little one,” said my friend.
+
+I fancied she colored up. I may have been deceived. After a few moments
+of silence, she said in a louder tone:
+
+“What good will that do you?”
+
+“Why do you not wish to show it to us?” replied my friend. “There are
+many people to whom you will show it; you know whom I mean.”
+
+She gave a start, and resuming her natural voice, and giving free play
+to her anger, she screamed:
+
+“Was that why you came here? To insult me? Because my children are like
+animals, tell me? You shall not see him, no, no, you shall not see
+him! Go away, go away! I do not know why you all try to torment me like
+that.”
+
+She walked over toward us, her hands on her hips. At the brutal tone of
+her voice, a sort of moaning, or rather a mewing, the lamentable cry of
+an idiot, came from the adjoining room. I shivered to the marrow of my
+bones. We retreated before her.
+
+“Take care, Devil,” (they called her the Devil), said my friend, “take
+care; some day you will get yourself into trouble through this.”
+
+She began to tremble, beside herself with fury, shaking her fist and
+roaring:
+
+“Be off with you! What will get me into trouble? Be off with you,
+miscreants!”
+
+She was about to attack us, but we fled, saddened at what we had seen.
+When we got outside, my friend said:
+
+“Well, you have seen her, what do you think of her?”
+
+“Tell me the story of this brute,” I replied.
+
+And this is what he told me as we walked along the white high road, with
+ripe crops on either side of it which rippled like the sea in the light
+breeze that passed over them.
+
+“This woman was one a servant on a farm. She was an honest girl, steady
+and economical. She was never known to have an admirer, and never
+suspected of any frailty. But she went astray, as so many do.
+
+“She soon found herself in trouble, and was tortured with fear and
+shame. Wishing to conceal her misfortune, she bound her body tightly
+with a corset of her own invention, made of boards and cord. The more
+she developed, the more she bound herself with this instrument of
+torture, suffering martyrdom, but brave in her sorrow, not allowing
+anyone to see, or suspect, anything. She maimed the little unborn being,
+cramping it with that frightful corset, and made a monster of it. Its
+head was squeezed and elongated to a point, and its large eyes seemed
+popping out of its head. Its limbs, exaggeratedly long, and twisted like
+the stalk of a vine, terminated in fingers like the claws of a spider.
+Its trunk was tiny, and round as a nut.
+
+“The child was born in an open field, and when the weeders saw it, they
+fled away, screaming, and the report spread that she had given birth to
+a demon. From that time on, she was called 'the Devil.'
+
+“She was driven from the farm, and lived on charity, under a cloud. She
+brought up the monster, whom she hated with a savage hatred, and would
+have strangled, perhaps, if the priest had not threatened her with
+arrest.
+
+“One day some travelling showmen heard about the frightful creature,
+and asked to see it, so that if it pleased them they might take it away.
+They were pleased, and counted out five hundred francs to the mother.
+At first, she had refused to let them see the little animal, as she was
+ashamed; but when she discovered it had a money value, and that these
+people were anxious to get it, she began to haggle with them, raising
+her price with all a peasant's persistence.
+
+“She made them draw up a paper, in which they promised to pay her four
+hundred francs a year besides, as though they had taken this deformity
+into their employ.
+
+“Incited by the greed of gain, she continued to produce these phenomena,
+so as to have an assured income like a bourgeoise.
+
+“Some of them were long, some short, some like crabs-all bodies-others
+like lizards. Several died, and she was heartbroken.
+
+“The law tried to interfere, but as they had no proof they let her
+continue to produce her freaks.
+
+“She has at this moment eleven alive, and they bring in, on an average,
+counting good and bad years, from five to six thousand francs a year.
+One, alone, is not placed, the one she was unwilling to show us. But she
+will not keep it long, for she is known to all the showmen in the world,
+who come from time to time to see if she has anything new.
+
+“She even gets bids from them when the monster is valuable.”
+
+My friend was silent. A profound disgust stirred my heart, and a feeling
+of rage, of regret, to think that I had not strangled this brute when I
+had the opportunity.
+
+I had forgotten this story, when I saw on the beach of a fashionable
+resort the other day, an elegant, charming, dainty woman, surrounded by
+men who paid her respect as well as admiration.
+
+I was walking along the beach, arm in arm with a friend, the resident
+physician. Ten minutes later, I saw a nursemaid with three children, who
+were rolling in the sand. A pair of little crutches lay on the ground,
+and touched my sympathy. I then noticed that these three children were
+all deformed, humpbacked, or crooked; and hideous.
+
+“Those are the offspring of that charming woman you saw just now,” said
+the doctor.
+
+I was filled with pity for her, as well as for them, and exclaimed: “Oh,
+the poor mother! How can she ever laugh!”
+
+“Do not pity her, my friend. Pity the poor children,” replied the
+doctor. “This is the consequence of preserving a slender figure up to
+the last. These little deformities were made by the corset. She knows
+very well that she is risking her life at this game. But what does she
+care, as long as he can be beautiful and have admirers!”
+
+And then I recalled that other woman, the peasant, the “Devil,” who sold
+her children, her monsters.
+
+
+
+
+AN UNCOMFORTABLE BED
+
+One autumn I went to spend the hunting season with some friends in a
+chateau in Picardy.
+
+My friends were fond of practical jokes. I do not care to know people
+who are not.
+
+When I arrived, they gave me a princely reception, which at once
+awakened suspicion in my mind. They fired off rifles, embraced me, made
+much of me, as if they expected to have great fun at my expense.
+
+I said to myself:
+
+“Look out, old ferret! They have something in store for you.”
+
+During the dinner the mirth was excessive, exaggerated, in fact. I
+thought: “Here are people who have more than their share of amusement,
+and apparently without reason. They must have planned some good joke.
+Assuredly I am to be the victim of the joke. Attention!”
+
+During the entire evening every one laughed in an exaggerated fashion. I
+scented a practical joke in the air, as a dog scents game. But what was
+it? I was watchful, restless. I did not let a word, or a meaning, or a
+gesture escape me. Every one seemed to me an object of suspicion, and I
+even looked distrustfully at the faces of the servants.
+
+The hour struck for retiring; and the whole household came to escort me
+to my room. Why?
+
+They called to me: “Good-night.” I entered the apartment, shut the door,
+and remained standing, without moving a single step, holding the wax
+candle in my hand.
+
+I heard laughter and whispering in the corridor. Without doubt they
+were spying on me. I cast a glance round the walls, the furniture, the
+ceiling, the hangings, the floor. I saw nothing to justify suspicion.
+I heard persons moving about outside my door. I had no doubt they were
+looking through the keyhole.
+
+An idea came into my head: “My candle may suddenly go out and leave me
+in darkness.”
+
+Then I went across to the mantelpiece and lighted all the wax candles
+that were on it. After that I cast another glance around me without
+discovering anything. I advanced with short steps, carefully examining
+the apartment. Nothing. I inspected every article, one after the other.
+Still nothing. I went over to the window. The shutters, large wooden
+shutters, were open. I shut them with great care, and then drew the
+curtains, enormous velvet curtains, and placed a chair in front of them,
+so as to have nothing to fear from outside.
+
+Then I cautiously sat down. The armchair was solid. I did not venture
+to get into the bed. However, the night was advancing; and I ended by
+coming to the conclusion that I was foolish. If they were spying on me,
+as I supposed, they must, while waiting for the success of the joke they
+had been preparing for me, have been laughing immoderately at my
+terror. So I made up my mind to go to bed. But the bed was particularly
+suspicious-looking. I pulled at the curtains. They seemed to be secure.
+
+All the same, there was danger. I was going perhaps to receive a cold
+shower both from overhead, or perhaps, the moment I stretched myself
+out, to find myself sinking to the floor with my mattress. I searched
+in my memory for all the practical jokes of which I ever had experience.
+And I did not want to be caught. Ah! certainly not! certainly not! Then
+I suddenly bethought myself of a precaution which I considered insured
+safety. I caught hold of the side of the mattress gingerly, and very
+slowly drew it toward me. It came away, followed by the sheet and the
+rest of the bedclothes. I dragged all these objects into the very middle
+of the room, facing the entrance door. I made my bed over again as best
+I could at some distance from the suspected bedstead and the corner
+which had filled me with such anxiety. Then I extinguished all the
+candles, and, groping my way, I slipped under the bed clothes.
+
+For at least another hour I remained awake, starting at the slightest
+sound. Everything seemed quiet in the chateau. I fell asleep.
+
+I must have been in a deep sleep for a long time, but all of a sudden I
+was awakened with a start by the fall of a heavy body tumbling right on
+top of my own, and, at the same time, I received on my face, on my neck,
+and on my chest a burning liquid which made me utter a howl of pain.
+And a dreadful noise, as if a sideboard laden with plates and dishes had
+fallen down, almost deafened me.
+
+I was smothering beneath the weight that was crushing me and preventing
+me from moving. I stretched out my hand to find out what was the nature
+of this object. I felt a face, a nose, and whiskers. Then, with all my
+strength, I launched out a blow at this face. But I immediately received
+a hail of cuffings which made me jump straight out of the soaked sheets,
+and rush in my nightshirt into the corridor, the door of which I found
+open.
+
+Oh, heavens! it was broad daylight. The noise brought my friends
+hurrying into my apartment, and we found, sprawling over my improvised
+bed, the dismayed valet, who, while bringing me my morning cup of tea,
+had tripped over this obstacle in the middle of the floor and fallen on
+his stomach, spilling my breakfast over my face in spite of himself.
+
+The precautions I had taken in closing the shutters and going to sleep
+in the middle of the room had only brought about the practical joke I
+had been trying to avoid.
+
+Oh, how they all laughed that day!
+
+
+
+
+A PORTRAIT
+
+“Hello! there's Milial!” said somebody near me. I looked at the man who
+had been pointed out as I had been wishing for a long time to meet this
+Don Juan.
+
+He was no longer young. His gray hair looked a little like those fur
+bonnets worn by certain Northern peoples, and his long beard, which fell
+down over his chest, had also somewhat the appearance of fur. He was
+talking to a lady, leaning toward her, speaking in a low voice and
+looking at her with an expression full of respect and tenderness.
+
+I knew his life, or at least as much as was known of it. He had loved
+madly several times, and there had been certain tragedies with which his
+name had been connected. When I spoke to women who were the loudest in
+his praise, and asked them whence came this power, they always answered,
+after thinking for a while: “I don't know--he has a certain charm about
+him.”
+
+He was certainly not handsome. He had none of the elegance that we
+ascribe to conquerors of feminine hearts. I wondered what might be his
+hid den charm. Was it mental? I never had heard of a clever saying of
+his. In his glance? Perhaps. Or in his voice? The voices of some beings
+have a certain irresistible attraction, almost suggesting the flavor of
+things good to eat. One is hungry for them, and the sound of their words
+penetrates us like a dainty morsel. A friend was passing. I asked him:
+“Do you know Monsieur Milial?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Introduce us.”
+
+A minute later we were shaking hands and talking in the doorway. What he
+said was correct, agreeable to hear; it contained no irritable thought.
+The voice was sweet, soft, caressing, musical; but I had heard others
+much more attractive, much more moving. One listened to him with
+pleasure, just as one would look at a pretty little brook. No tension of
+the mind was necessary in order to follow him, no hidden meaning aroused
+curiosity, no expectation awoke interest. His conversation was rather
+restful, but it did not awaken in one either a desire to answer, to
+contradict or to approve, and it was as easy to answer him as it was to
+listen to him. The response came to the lips of its own accord, as soon
+as he had finished talking, and phrases turned toward him as if he had
+naturally aroused them.
+
+One thought soon struck me. I had known him for a quarter of an hour,
+and it seemed as if he were already one of my old friends, that I had
+known all about him for a long time; his face, his gestures, his voice,
+his ideas. Suddenly, after a few minutes of conversation, he seemed
+already to be installed in my intimacy. All constraint disappeared
+between us, and, had he so desired, I might have confided in him as one
+confides only in old friends.
+
+Certainly there was some mystery about him. Those barriers that are
+closed between most people and that are lowered with time when sympathy,
+similar tastes, equal intellectual culture and constant intercourse
+remove constraint--those barriers seemed not to exist between him and
+me, and no doubt this was the case between him and all people, both men
+and women, whom fate threw in his path.
+
+After half an hour we parted, promising to see each other often, and he
+gave me his address after inviting me to take luncheon with him in two
+days.
+
+I forgot what hour he had stated, and I arrived too soon; he was not yet
+home. A correct and silent domestic showed me into a beautiful, quiet,
+softly lighted parlor. I felt comfortable there, at home. How often I
+have noticed the influence of apartments on the character and on the
+mind! There are some which make one feel foolish; in others, on the
+contrary, one always feels lively. Some make us sad, although well
+lighted and decorated in light-colored furniture; others cheer us up,
+although hung with sombre material. Our eye, like our heart, has
+its likes and dislikes, of which it does not inform us, and which it
+secretly imposes on our temperament. The harmony of furniture, walls,
+the style of an ensemble, act immediately on our mental state, just as
+the air from the woods, the sea or the mountains modifies our physical
+natures.
+
+I sat down on a cushion-covered divan and felt myself suddenly carried
+and supported by these little silk bags of feathers, as if the outline
+of my body had been marked out beforehand on this couch.
+
+Then I looked about. There was nothing striking about the room;
+every-where were beautiful and modest things, simple and rare furniture,
+Oriental curtains which did not seem to come from a department store but
+from the interior of a harem; and exactly opposite me hung the portrait
+of a woman. It was a portrait of medium size, showing the head and the
+upper part of the body, and the hands, which were holding a book. She
+was young, bareheaded; ribbons were woven in her hair; she was smiling
+sadly. Was it because she was bareheaded, was it merely her natural
+expression? I never have seen a portrait of a lady which seemed so much
+in its place as that one in that dwelling. Of all those I knew I have
+seen nothing like that one. All those that I know are on exhibition,
+whether the lady be dressed in her gaudiest gown, with an attractive
+headdress and a look which shows that she is posing first of all before
+the artist and then before those who will look at her or whether they
+have taken a comfortable attitude in an ordinary gown. Some are standing
+majestically in all their beauty, which is not at all natural to them in
+life. All of them have something, a flower or, a jewel, a crease in the
+dress or a curve of the lip, which one feels to have been placed there
+for effect by the artist. Whether they wear a hat or merely their hair
+one can immediately notice that they are not entirely natural. Why? One
+cannot say without knowing them, but the effect is there. They seem to
+be calling somewhere, on people whom they wish to please and to whom
+they wish to appear at their best advantage; and they have studied their
+attitudes, sometimes modest, Sometimes haughty.
+
+What could one say about this one? She was at home and alone. Yes, she
+was alone, for she was smiling as one smiles when thinking in solitude
+of something sad or sweet, and not as one smiles when one is being
+watched. She seemed so much alone and so much at home that she made
+the whole large apartment seem absolutely empty. She alone lived in it,
+filled it, gave it life. Many people might come in and converse, laugh,
+even sing; she would still be alone with a solitary smile, and she alone
+would give it life with her pictured gaze.
+
+That look also was unique. It fell directly on me, fixed and caressing,
+without seeing me. All portraits know that they are being watched, and
+they answer with their eyes, which see, think, follow us without leaving
+us, from the very moment we enter the apartment they inhabit. This one
+did not see me; it saw nothing, although its look was fixed directly on
+me. I remembered the surprising verse of Baudelaire:
+
+And your eyes, attractive as those of a portrait.
+
+They did indeed attract me in an irresistible manner; those painted eyes
+which had lived, or which were perhaps still living, threw over me a
+strange, powerful spell. Oh, what an infinite and tender charm, like a
+passing breeze, like a dying sunset of lilac rose and blue, a little sad
+like the approaching night, which comes behind the sombre frame and out
+of those impenetrable eyes! Those eyes, created by a few strokes from a
+brush, hide behind them the mystery of that which seems to be and which
+does not exist, which can appear in the eyes of a woman, which can make
+love blossom within us.
+
+The door opened and M. Milial entered. He excused himself for being
+late. I excused myself for being ahead of time. Then I said: “Might I
+ask you who is this lady?”
+
+He answered: “That is my mother. She died very young.”
+
+Then I understood whence came the inexplicable attraction of this man.
+
+
+
+
+THE DRUNKARD
+
+The north wind was blowing a hurricane, driving through the sky big,
+black, heavy clouds from which the rain poured down on the earth with
+terrific violence.
+
+A high sea was raging and dashing its huge, slow, foamy waves along the
+coast with the rumbling sound of thunder. The waves followed each other
+close, rolling in as high as mountains, scattering the foam as they
+broke.
+
+The storm engulfed itself in the little valley of Yport, whistling and
+moaning, tearing the shingles from the roofs, smashing the shutters,
+knocking down the chimneys, rushing through the narrow streets in such
+gusts that one could walk only by holding on to the walls, and children
+would have been lifted up like leaves and carried over the houses into
+the fields.
+
+The fishing smacks had been hauled high up on land, because at high tide
+the sea would sweep the beach. Several sailors, sheltered behind the
+curved bottoms of their boats, were watching this battle of the sky and
+the sea.
+
+Then, one by one, they went away, for night was falling on the storm,
+wrapping in shadows the raging ocean and all the battling elements.
+
+Just two men remained, their hands plunged deep into their pockets,
+bending their backs beneath the squall, their woolen caps pulled down
+over their ears; two big Normandy fishermen, bearded, their skin tanned
+through exposure, with the piercing black eyes of the sailor who looks
+over the horizon like a bird of prey.
+
+One of them was saying:
+
+“Come on, Jeremie, let's go play dominoes. It's my treat.”
+
+The other hesitated a while, tempted on one hand by the game and the
+thought of brandy, knowing well that, if he went to Paumelle's, he would
+return home drunk; held back, on the other hand, by the idea of his wife
+remaining alone in the house.
+
+He asked:
+
+“Any one might think that you had made a bet to get me drunk every
+night. Say, what good is it doing you, since it's always you that's
+treating?”
+
+Nevertheless he was smiling at the idea of all this brandy drunk at the
+expense of another. He was smiling the contented smirk of an avaricious
+Norman.
+
+Mathurin, his friend, kept pulling him by the sleeve.
+
+“Come on, Jeremie. This isn't the kind of a night to go home without
+anything to warm you up. What are you afraid of? Isn't your wife going
+to warm your bed for you?”
+
+Jeremie answered:
+
+“The other night I couldn't find the door--I had to be fished out of the
+ditch in front of the house!”
+
+He was still laughing at this drunkard's recollection, and he was
+unconsciously going toward Paumelle's Cafe, where a light was shining
+in the window; he was going, pulled by Mathurin and pushed by the wind,
+unable to resist these combined forces.
+
+The low room was full of sailors, smoke and noise. All these men, clad
+in woolens, their elbows on the tables, were shouting to make themselves
+heard. The more people came in, the more one had to shout in order to
+overcome the noise of voices and the rattling of dominoes on the marble
+tables.
+
+Jeremie and Mathurin sat down in a corner and began a game, and the
+glasses were emptied in rapid succession into their thirsty throats.
+
+Then they played more games and drank more glasses. Mathurin kept
+pouring and winking to the saloon keeper, a big, red-faced man, who
+chuckled as though at the thought of some fine joke; and Jeremie
+kept absorbing alcohol and wagging his head, giving vent to a roar
+of laughter and looking at his comrade with a stupid and contented
+expression.
+
+All the customers were going away. Every time that one of them would
+open the door to leave a gust of wind would blow into the cafe, making
+the tobacco smoke swirl around, swinging the lamps at the end of their
+chains and making their flames flicker, and suddenly one could hear the
+deep booming of a breaking wave and the moaning of the wind.
+
+Jeremie, his collar unbuttoned, was taking drunkard's poses, one leg
+outstretched, one arm hanging down and in the other hand holding a
+domino.
+
+They were alone now with the owner, who had come up to them, interested.
+
+He asked:
+
+“Well, Jeremie, how goes it inside? Feel less thirsty after wetting your
+throat?”
+
+Jeremie muttered:
+
+“The more I wet it, the drier it gets inside.”
+
+The innkeeper cast a sly glance at Mathurin. He said:
+
+“And your brother, Mathurin, where's he now?”
+
+The sailor laughed silently:
+
+“Don't worry; he's warm, all right.”
+
+And both of them looked toward Jeremie, who was triumphantly putting
+down the double six and announcing:
+
+“Game!”
+
+Then the owner declared:
+
+“Well, boys, I'm goin' to bed. I will leave you the lamp and the bottle;
+there's twenty cents' worth in it. Lock the door when you go, Mathurin,
+and slip the key under the mat the way you did the other night.”
+
+Mathurin answered:
+
+“Don't worry; it'll be all right.”
+
+Paumelle shook hands with his two customers and slowly went up the
+wooden stairs. For several minutes his heavy step echoed through the
+little house. Then a loud creaking announced that he had got into bed.
+
+The two men continued to play. From time to time a more violent gust of
+wind would shake the whole house, and the two drinkers would look up, as
+though some one were about to enter. Then Mathurin would take the bottle
+and fill Jeremie's glass. But suddenly the clock over the bar struck
+twelve. Its hoarse clang sounded like the rattling of saucepans. Then
+Mathurin got up like a sailor whose watch is over.
+
+“Come on, Jeremie, we've got to get out.”
+
+The other man rose to his feet with difficulty, got his balance by
+leaning on the table, reached the door and opened it while his companion
+was putting out the light.
+
+As soon as they were in the street Mathurin locked the door and then
+said:
+
+“Well, so long. See you to-morrow night!”
+
+And he disappeared in the darkness.
+
+Jeremie took a few steps, staggered, stretched out his hands, met a wall
+which supported him and began to stumble along. From time to time a gust
+of wind would sweep through the street, pushing him forward, making him
+run for a few steps; then, when the wind would die down, he would stop
+short, having lost his impetus, and once more he would begin to stagger
+on his unsteady drunkard's legs.
+
+He went instinctively toward his home, just as birds go to their nests.
+Finally he recognized his door, and began to feel about for the keyhole
+and tried to put the key in it. Not finding the hole, he began to swear.
+Then he began to beat on the door with his fists, calling for his wife
+to come and help him:
+
+“Melina! Oh, Melina!”
+
+As he leaned against the door for support, it gave way and opened, and
+Jeremie, losing his prop, fell inside, rolling on his face into the
+middle of his room, and he felt something heavy pass over him and escape
+in the night.
+
+He was no longer moving, dazed by fright, bewildered, fearing the devil,
+ghosts, all the mysterious beings of darkness, and he waited a long
+time without daring to move. But when he found out that nothing else was
+moving, a little reason returned to him, the reason of a drunkard.
+
+Gently he sat up. Again he waited a long time, and at last, growing
+bolder, he called:
+
+“Melina!”
+
+His wife did not answer.
+
+Then, suddenly, a suspicion crossed his darkened mind, an indistinct,
+vague suspicion. He was not moving; he was sitting there in the dark,
+trying to gather together his scattered wits, his mind stumbling over
+incomplete ideas, just as his feet stumbled along.
+
+Once more he asked:
+
+“Who was it, Melina? Tell me who it was. I won't hurt you!”
+
+He waited, no voice was raised in the darkness. He was now reasoning
+with himself out loud.
+
+“I'm drunk, all right! I'm drunk! And he filled me up, the dog; he did
+it, to stop my goin' home. I'm drunk!”
+
+And he would continue:
+
+“Tell me who it was, Melina, or somethin'll happen to you.”
+
+After having waited again, he went on with the slow and obstinate logic
+of a drunkard:
+
+“He's been keeping me at that loafer Paumelle's place every night, so as
+to stop my going home. It's some trick. Oh, you damned carrion!”
+
+Slowly he got on his knees. A blind fury was gaining possession of him,
+mingling with the fumes of alcohol.
+
+He continued:
+
+“Tell me who it was, Melina, or you'll get a licking--I warn you!”
+
+He was now standing, trembling with a wild fury, as though the alcohol
+had set his blood on fire. He took a step, knocked against a chair,
+seized it, went on, reached the bed, ran his hands over it and felt the
+warm body of his wife.
+
+Then, maddened, he roared:
+
+“So! You were there, you piece of dirt, and you wouldn't answer!”
+
+And, lifting the chair, which he was holding in his strong sailor's
+grip, he swung it down before him with an exasperated fury. A cry burst
+from the bed, an agonizing, piercing cry. Then he began to thrash around
+like a thresher in a barn. And soon nothing more moved. The chair was
+broken to pieces, but he still held one leg and beat away with it,
+panting.
+
+At last he stopped to ask:
+
+“Well, are you ready to tell me who it was?”
+
+Melina did not answer.
+
+Then tired out, stupefied from his exertion, he stretched himself out on
+the ground and slept.
+
+When day came a neighbor, seeing the door open, entered. He saw Jeremie
+snoring on the floor, amid the broken pieces of a chair, and on the bed
+a pulp of flesh and blood.
+
+
+
+
+THE WARDROBE
+
+As we sat chatting after dinner, a party of men, the conversation turned
+on women, for lack of something else.
+
+One of us said:
+
+“Here's a funny thing that happened to me on, that very subject.” And he
+told us the following story:
+
+One evening last winter I suddenly felt overcome by that overpowering
+sense of misery and languor that takes possession of one from time to
+time. I was in my own apartment, all alone, and I was convinced that if
+I gave in to my feelings I should have a terrible attack of melancholia,
+one of those attacks that lead to suicide when they recur too often.
+
+I put on my overcoat and went out without the slightest idea of what I
+was going to do. Having gone as far as the boulevards, I began to
+wander along by the almost empty cafes. It was raining, a fine rain
+that affects your mind as it does your clothing, not one of those good
+downpours which come down in torrents, driving breathless passers-by
+into doorways, but a rain without drops that deposits on your clothing
+an imperceptible spray and soon covers you with a sort of iced foam that
+chills you through.
+
+What should I do? I walked in one direction and then came back, looking
+for some place where I could spend two hours, and discovering for the
+first time that there is no place of amusement in Paris in the evening.
+At last I decided to go to the Folies-Bergere, that entertaining resort
+for gay women.
+
+There were very few people in the main hall. In the long horseshoe curve
+there were only a few ordinary looking people, whose plebeian origin
+was apparent in their manners, their clothes, the cut of their hair and
+beard, their hats, their complexion. It was rarely that one saw
+from time to time a man whom you suspected of having washed himself
+thoroughly, and his whole make-up seemed to match. As for the women,
+they were always the same, those frightful women you all know, ugly,
+tired looking, drooping, and walking along in their lackadaisical
+manner, with that air of foolish superciliousness which they assume, I
+do not know why.
+
+I thought to myself that, in truth, not one of those languid creatures,
+greasy rather than fat, puffed out here and thin there, with the contour
+of a monk and the lower extremities of a bow-legged snipe, was worth the
+louis that they would get with great difficulty after asking five.
+
+But all at once I saw a little creature whom I thought attractive, not
+in her first youth, but fresh, comical and tantalizing. I stopped her,
+and stupidly, without thinking, I made an appointment with her for that
+night. I did not want to go back to my own home alone, all alone; I
+preferred the company and the caresses of this hussy.
+
+And I followed her. She lived in a great big house in the Rue des
+Martyrs. The gas was already extinguished on the stairway. I ascended
+the steps slowly, lighting a candle match every few seconds, stubbing my
+foot against the steps, stumbling and angry as I followed the rustle of
+the skirt ahead of me.
+
+She stopped on the fourth floor, and having closed the outer door she
+said:
+
+“Then you will stay till to-morrow?”
+
+“Why, yes. You know that that was the agreement.”
+
+“All right, my dear, I just wanted to know. Wait for me here a minute, I
+will be right back.”
+
+And she left me in the darkness. I heard her shutting two doors and then
+I thought I heard her talking. I was surprised and uneasy. The thought
+that she had a protector staggered me. But I have good fists and a solid
+back. “We shall see,” I said to myself.
+
+I listened attentively with ear and mind. Some one was stirring about,
+walking quietly and very carefully. Then another door was opened and I
+thought I again heard some one talking, but in a very low tone.
+
+She came back carrying a lighted candle.
+
+“You may come in,” she said.
+
+She said “thou” in speaking to me, which was an indication of
+possession. I went in and after passing through a dining room in which
+it was very evident that no one ever ate, I entered a typical room
+of all these women, a furnished room with red curtains and a soiled
+eiderdown bed covering.
+
+“Make yourself at home, 'mon chat',” she said.
+
+I gave a suspicious glance at the room, but there seemed no reason for
+uneasiness.
+
+As she took off her wraps she began to laugh.
+
+“Well, what ails you? Are you changed into a pillar of salt? Come, hurry
+up.”
+
+I did as she suggested.
+
+Five minutes later I longed to put on my things and get away. But this
+terrible languor that had overcome me at home took possession of me
+again, and deprived me of energy enough to move and I stayed in spite of
+the disgust that I felt for this association. The unusual attractiveness
+that I supposed I had discovered in this creature over there under
+the chandeliers of the theater had altogether vanished on closer
+acquaintance, and she was nothing more to me now than a common woman,
+like all the others, whose indifferent and complaisant kiss smacked of
+garlic.
+
+I thought I would say something.
+
+“Have you lived here long?” I asked.
+
+“Over six months on the fifteenth of January.”
+
+“Where were you before that?”
+
+“In the Rue Clauzel. But the janitor made me very uncomfortable and I
+left.”
+
+And she began to tell me an interminable story of a janitor who had
+talked scandal about her.
+
+But, suddenly, I heard something moving quite close to us. First there
+was a sigh, then a slight, but distinct, sound as if some one had turned
+round on a chair.
+
+I sat up abruptly and asked.
+
+“What was that noise?”
+
+She answered quietly and confidently:
+
+“Do not be uneasy, my dear boy, it is my neighbor. The partition is so
+thin that one can hear everything as if it were in the room. These are
+wretched rooms, just like pasteboard.”
+
+I felt so lazy that I paid no further attention to it. We resumed our
+conversation. Driven by the stupid curiosity that prompts all men to
+question these creatures about their first experiences, to attempt to
+lift the veil of their first folly, as though to find in them a trace
+of pristine innocence, to love them, possibly, in a fleeting memory of
+their candor and modesty of former days, evoked by a word, I insistently
+asked her about her earlier lovers.
+
+I knew she was telling me lies. What did it matter? Among all these lies
+I might, perhaps, discover something sincere and pathetic.
+
+“Come,” said I, “tell me who he was.”
+
+“He was a boating man, my dear.”
+
+“Ah! Tell me about it. Where were you?”
+
+“I was at Argenteuil.”
+
+“What were you doing?”
+
+“I was waitress in a restaurant.”
+
+“What restaurant?”
+
+“'The Freshwater Sailor.' Do you know it?”
+
+“I should say so, kept by Bonanfan.”
+
+“Yes, that's it.”
+
+“And how did he make love to you, this boating man?”
+
+“While I was doing his room. He took advantage of me.”
+
+But I suddenly recalled the theory of a friend of mine, an observant
+and philosophical physician whom constant attendance in hospitals has
+brought into daily contact with girl-mothers and prostitutes, with all
+the shame and all the misery of women, of those poor women who have
+become the frightful prey of the wandering male with money in his
+pocket.
+
+“A woman,” he said, “is always debauched by a man of her own class and
+position. I have volumes of statistics on that subject. We accuse the
+rich of plucking the flower of innocence among the girls of the people.
+This is not correct. The rich pay for what they want. They may gather
+some, but never for the first time.”
+
+Then, turning to my companion, I began to laugh.
+
+“You know that I am aware of your history. The boating man was not the
+first.”
+
+“Oh, yes, my dear, I swear it:”
+
+“You are lying, my dear.”
+
+“Oh, no, I assure you.”
+
+“You are lying; come, tell me all.”
+
+She seemed to hesitate in astonishment. I continued:
+
+“I am a sorcerer, my dear girl, I am a clairvoyant. If you do not tell
+me the truth, I will go into a trance sleep and then I can find out.”
+
+She was afraid, being as stupid as all her kind. She faltered:
+
+“How did you guess?”
+
+“Come, go on telling me,” I said.
+
+“Oh, the first time didn't amount to anything.
+
+“There was a festival in the country. They had sent for a special chef,
+M. Alexandre. As soon as he came he did just as he pleased in the house.
+He bossed every one, even the proprietor and his wife, as if he had
+been a king. He was a big handsome man, who did not seem fitted to stand
+beside a kitchen range. He was always calling out, 'Come, some butter
+--some eggs--some Madeira!' And it had to be brought to him at once in a
+hurry, or he would get cross and say things that would make us blush all
+over.
+
+“When the day was over he would smoke a pipe outside the door. And as
+I was passing by him with a pile of plates he said to me, like that:
+'Come, girlie, come down to the water with me and show me the country.'
+I went with him like a fool, and we had hardly got down to the bank of
+the river when he took advantage of me so suddenly that I did not even
+know what he was doing. And then he went away on the nine o'clock train.
+I never saw him again.”
+
+“Is that all?” I asked.
+
+She hesitated.
+
+“Oh, I think Florentin belongs to him.”
+
+“Who is Florentin?”
+
+“My little boy.”
+
+“Oh! Well, then, you made the boating man believe that he was the
+father, did you not?”
+
+“You bet!”
+
+“Did he have any money, this boating man?”
+
+“Yes, he left me an income of three hundred francs, settled on
+Florentin.”
+
+I was beginning to be amused and resumed:
+
+“All right, my girl, all right. You are all of you less stupid than one
+would imagine, all the same. And how old is he now, Florentin?”
+
+She replied:
+
+“He is now twelve. He will make his first communion in the spring.”
+
+“That is splendid. And since then you have carried on your business
+conscientiously?”
+
+She sighed in a resigned manner.
+
+“I must do what I can.”
+
+But a loud noise just then coming from the room itself made me start up
+with a bound. It sounded like some one falling and picking themselves up
+again by feeling along the wall with their hands.
+
+I had seized the candle and was looking about me, terrified and furious.
+She had risen also and was trying to hold me back to stop me, murmuring:
+
+“That's nothing, my dear, I assure you it's nothing.”
+
+But I had discovered what direction the strange noise came from. I
+walked straight towards a door hidden at the head of the bed and I
+opened it abruptly and saw before me, trembling, his bright, terrified
+eyes opened wide at sight of me, a little pale, thin boy seated beside a
+large wicker chair off which he had fallen.
+
+As soon as he saw me he began to cry. Stretching out his arms to his
+mother, he cried:
+
+“It was not my fault, mamma, it was not my fault. I was asleep, and I
+fell off. Do not scold me, it was not my fault.”
+
+I turned to the woman and said:
+
+“What does this mean?”
+
+She seemed confused and worried, and said in a broken voice:
+
+“What do you want me to do? I do not earn enough to put him to school!
+I have to keep him with me, and I cannot afford to pay for another room,
+by heavens! He sleeps with me when I am alone. If any one comes for one
+hour or two he can stay in the wardrobe; he keeps quiet, he understands
+it. But when people stay all night, as you have done, it tires the poor
+child to sleep on a chair.
+
+“It is not his fault. I should like to see you sleep all night on a
+chair--you would have something to say.”
+
+She was getting angry and excited and was talking loud.
+
+The child was still crying. A poor delicate timid little fellow, a
+veritable child of the wardrobe, of the cold, dark closet, a child who
+from time to time was allowed to get a little warmth in the bed if it
+chanced to be unoccupied.
+
+I also felt inclined to cry.
+
+And I went home to my own bed.
+
+
+
+
+THE MOUNTAIN POOL
+
+                  Saint Agnes, May 6.
+MY DEAR FRIEND: You asked me to write to you often and to tell you in
+particular about the things I might see. You also begged me to rummage
+among my recollections of travels for some of those little anecdotes
+gathered from a chance peasant, from an innkeeper, from some strange
+traveling acquaintance, which remain as landmarks in the memory. With
+a landscape depicted in a few lines, and a little story told in a few
+sentences you think one can give the true characteristics of a country,
+make it living, visible, dramatic. I will try to do as you wish. I will,
+therefore, send you from time to time letters in which I will mention
+neither you nor myself, but only the landscape and the people who move
+about in it. And now I will begin.
+
+Spring is a season in which one ought, it seems to me, to drink and eat
+the landscape. It is the season of chills, just as autumn is the season
+of reflection. In spring the country rouses the physical senses, in
+autumn it enters into the soul.
+
+I desired this year to breathe the odor of orange blossoms and I set
+out for the South of France just at the time that every one else was
+returning home. I visited Monaco, the shrine of pilgrims, rival of Mecca
+and Jerusalem, without leaving any gold in any one else's pockets, and I
+climbed the high mountain beneath a covering of lemon, orange and olive
+branches.
+
+Have you ever slept, my friend, in a grove of orange trees in flower?
+The air that one inhales with delight is a quintessence of perfumes. The
+strong yet sweet odor, delicious as some dainty, seems to blend with our
+being, to saturate us, to intoxicate us, to enervate us, to plunge us
+into a sleepy, dreamy torpor. As though it were an opium prepared by the
+hands of fairies and not by those of druggists.
+
+This is a country of ravines. The surface of the mountains is cleft,
+hollowed out in all directions, and in these sinuous crevices grow
+veritable forests of lemon trees. Here and there where the steep gorge
+is interrupted by a sort of step, a kind of reservoir has been built
+which holds the water of the rain storms.
+
+They are large holes with slippery walls with nothing for any one to
+grasp hold of should they fall in.
+
+I was walking slowly in one of these ascending valleys or gorges,
+glancing through the foliage at the vivid-hued fruit that remained on
+the branches. The narrow gorge made the heavy odor of the flowers still
+more penetrating; the air seemed to be dense with it. A feeling of
+lassitude came over me and I looked for a place to sit down. A few drops
+of water glistened in the grass. I thought that there was a spring near
+by and I climbed a little further to look for it. But I only reached the
+edge of one of these large, deep reservoirs.
+
+I sat down tailor fashion, with my legs crossed under me, and remained
+there in a reverie before this hole, which looked as if it were filled
+with ink, so black and stagnant was the liquid it contained. Down
+yonder, through the branches, I saw, like patches, bits of the
+Mediterranean gleaming so that they fairly dazzled my eyes. But my
+glance always returned to the immense somber well that appeared to be
+inhabited by no aquatic animals, so motionless was its surface. Suddenly
+a voice made me tremble. An old gentleman who was picking flowers--this
+country is the richest in Europe for herbalists--asked me:
+
+“Are you a relation of those poor children, monsieur?”
+
+I looked at him in astonishment.
+
+“What children, monsieur?”
+
+He seemed embarrassed and answered with a bow:
+
+“I beg your pardon. On seeing you sitting thus absorbed in front of
+this reservoir I thought you were recalling the frightful tragedy that
+occurred here.”
+
+Now I wanted to know about it, and I begged him to tell me the story.
+
+It is very dismal and very heart-rending, my dear friend, and very
+trivial at the same time. It is a simple news item. I do not know
+whether to attribute my emotion to the dramatic manner in which the
+story was told to me, to the setting of the mountains, to the contrast
+between the joy of the sunlight and the flowers and this black,
+murderous hole, but my heart was wrung, all my nerves unstrung by this
+tale which, perhaps, may not appear so terribly harrowing to you as you
+read it in your room without having the scene of the tragedy before your
+eyes.
+
+It was one spring in recent years. Two little boys frequently came to
+play on the edge of this cistern while their tutor lay under a tree
+reading a book. One warm afternoon a piercing cry awoke the tutor who
+was dozing and the sound of splashing caused by something falling
+into the water made him jump to his feet abruptly. The younger of the
+children, eight years of age, was shouting, as he stood beside the
+reservoir, the surface of which was stirred and eddying at the spot
+where the older boy had fallen in as he ran along the stone coping.
+
+Distracted, without waiting or stopping to think what was best to do,
+the tutor jumped into the black water and did not rise again, having
+struck his head at the bottom of the cistern.
+
+At the same moment the young boy who had risen to the surface was waving
+his stretched-out arms toward his brother. The little fellow on land lay
+down full length, while the other tried to swim, to approach the wall,
+and presently the four little hands clasped each other, tightened in
+each other's grasp, contracted as though they were fastened together.
+They both felt the intense joy of an escape from death, a shudder at the
+danger past.
+
+The older boy tried to climb up to the edge, but could not manage it,
+as the wall was perpendicular, and his brother, who was too weak, was
+sliding slowly towards the hole.
+
+Then they remained motionless, filled anew with terror. And they waited.
+
+The little fellow squeezed his brother's hands with all his might and
+wept from nervousness as he repeated: “I cannot drag you out, I cannot
+drag you out.” And all at once he began to shout, “Help! Help!” But his
+light voice scarcely penetrated beyond the dome of foliage above their
+heads.
+
+They remained thus a long time, hours and hours, facing each other,
+these two children, with one thought, one anguish of heart and the
+horrible dread that one of them, exhausted, might let go the hands of
+the other. And they kept on calling, but all in vain.
+
+At length the older boy, who was shivering with cold, said to the little
+one: “I cannot hold out any longer. I am going to fall. Good-by, little
+brother.” And the other, gasping, replied: “Not yet, not yet, wait.”
+
+Evening came on, the still evening with its stars mirrored in the water.
+The older lad, his endurance giving out, said: “Let go my hand, I am
+going to give you my watch.” He had received it as a present a few days
+before, and ever since it had been his chief amusement. He was able to
+get hold of it, and held it out to the little fellow who was sobbing and
+who laid it down on the grass beside him.
+
+It was night now. The two unhappy beings, exhausted, had almost loosened
+their grasp. The elder, at last, feeling that he was lost, murmured once
+more: “Good-by, little brother, kiss mamma and papa.” And his numbed
+fingers relaxed their hold. He sank and did not rise again.... The
+little fellow, left alone, began to shout wildly: “Paul! Paul!” But the
+other did not come to the surface.
+
+Then he darted across the mountain, falling among the stones, overcome
+by the most frightful anguish that can wring a child's heart, and with
+a face like death reached the sitting-room, where his parents were
+waiting. He became bewildered again as he led them to the gloomy
+reservoir. He could not find his way. At last he reached the spot. “It
+is there; yes, it is there!”
+
+But the cistern had to be emptied, and the proprietor would not permit
+it as he needed the water for his lemon trees.
+
+The two bodies were found, however, but not until the next day.
+
+You see, my dear friend, that this is a simple news item. But if you had
+seen the hole itself your heart would have been wrung, as mine was, at
+the thought of the agony of that child hanging to his brother's hands,
+of the long suspense of those little chaps who were accustomed only
+to laugh and to play, and at the simple incident of the giving of the
+watch.
+
+I said to myself: “May Fate preserve me from ever receiving a similar
+relic!” I know of nothing more terrible than such a recollection
+connected with a familiar object that one cannot dispose of. Only think
+of it; each time that he handles this sacred watch the survivor will
+picture once more the horrible scene; the pool, the wall, the still
+water, and the distracted face of his brother-alive, and yet as lost as
+though he were already dead. And all through his life, at any moment,
+the vision will be there, awakened the instant even the tip of his
+finger touches his watch pocket.
+
+And I was sad until evening. I left the spot and kept on climbing,
+leaving the region of orange trees for the region of olive trees, and
+the region of olive trees for the region of pines; then I came to a
+valley of stones, and finally reached the ruins of an ancient castle,
+built, they say, in the tenth century by a Saracen chief, a good man,
+who was baptized a Christian through love for a young girl. Everywhere
+around me were mountains, and before me the sea, the sea with an almost
+imperceptible patch on it: Corsica, or, rather, the shadow of Corsica.
+But on the mountain summits, blood-red in the glow of the sunset, in the
+boundless sky and on the sea, in all this superb landscape that I had
+come here to admire I saw only two poor children, one lying prone on the
+edge of a hole filled with black water, the other submerged to his neck,
+their hands intertwined, weeping opposite each other, in despair. And
+it seemed as though I continually heard a weak, exhausted voice saying:
+“Good-by, little brother, I am going to give you my watch.”
+
+This letter may seem rather melancholy, dear friend. I will try to be
+more cheerful some other day.
+
+
+
+
+A CREMATION
+
+Last Monday an Indian prince died at Etretat, Bapu Sahib Khanderao
+Ghatay, a relation of His Highness, the Maharajah Gaikwar, prince of
+Baroda, in the province of Guzerat, Presidency of Bombay.
+
+For about three weeks there had been seen walking in the streets about
+ten young East Indians, small, lithe, with dark skins, dressed all in
+gray and wearing on their heads caps such as English grooms wear. They
+were men of high rank who had come to Europe to study the military
+institutions of the principal Western nations. The little band consisted
+of three princes, a nobleman, an interpreter and three servants.
+
+The head of the commission had just died, an old man of forty-two and
+father-in-law of Sampatro Kashivao Gaikwar, brother of His Highness, the
+Gaikwar of Baroda.
+
+The son-in-law accompanied his father-in-law.
+
+The other East Indians were called Ganpatrao Shravanrao Gaikwar, cousin
+of His Highness Khasherao Gadhav; Vasudev Madhav Samarth, interpreter
+and secretary; the slaves: Ramchandra Bajaji, Ganu bin Pukiram Kokate,
+Rhambhaji bin Fabji.
+
+On leaving his native land the one who died recently was overcome with
+terrible grief, and feeling convinced that he would never return he
+wished to give up the journey, but he had to obey the wishes of his
+noble relative, the Prince of Baroda, and he set out.
+
+They came to spend the latter part of the summer at Etretat, and people
+would go out of curiosity every morning to see them taking their bath at
+the Etablissment des Roches-Blanches.
+
+Five or six days ago Bapu Sahib Khanderao Ghatay was taken with pains
+in his gums; then the inflammation spread to the throat and became
+ulceration. Gangrene set in and, on Monday, the doctors told his young
+friends that their relative was dying. The final struggle was already
+beginning, and the breath had almost left the unfortunate man's body
+when his friends seized him, snatched him from his bed and laid him on
+the stone floor of the room, so that, stretched out on the earth, our
+mother, he should yield up his soul, according to the command of Brahma.
+
+They then sent to ask the mayor, M. Boissaye, for a permit to burn the
+body that very day so as to fulfill the prescribed ceremonial of the
+Hindoo religion. The mayor hesitated, telegraphed to the prefecture to
+demand instructions, at the same time sending word that a failure to
+reply would be considered by him tantamount to a consent. As he had
+received no reply at 9 o'clock that evening, he decided, in view of the
+infectious character of the disease of which the East Indian had died,
+that the cremation of the body should take place that very night,
+beneath the cliff, on the beach, at ebb tide.
+
+The mayor is being criticized now for this decision, though he acted as
+an intelligent, liberal and determined man, and was upheld and advised
+by the three physicians who had watched the case and reported the death.
+
+They were dancing at the Casino that evening. It was an early autumn
+evening, rather chilly. A pretty strong wind was blowing from the ocean,
+although as yet there was no sea on, and swift, light, ragged clouds
+were driving across the sky. They came from the edge of the horizon,
+looking dark against the background of the sky, but as they approached
+the moon they grew whiter and passed hurriedly across her face, veiling
+it for a few seconds without completely hiding it.
+
+The tall straight cliffs that inclose the rounded beach of Etretat and
+terminate in two celebrated arches, called “the Gates,” lay in shadow,
+and made two great black patches in the softly lighted landscape.
+
+It had rained all day.
+
+The Casino orchestra was playing waltzes, polkas and quadrilles. A rumor
+was presently circulated among the groups of dancers. It was said that
+an East Indian prince had just died at the Hotel des Bains and that the
+ministry had been approached for permission to burn the body. No one
+believed it, or at least no one supposed that such a thing could occur
+so foreign was the custom as yet to our customs, and as the night was
+far advanced every one went home.
+
+At midnight, the lamplighter, running from street to street,
+extinguished, one after another, the yellow jets of flame that lighted
+up the sleeping houses, the mud and the puddles of water. We waited,
+watching for the hour when the little town should be quiet and deserted.
+
+Ever since noon a carpenter had been cutting up wood and asking himself
+with amazement what was going to be done with all these planks sawn up
+into little bits, and why one should destroy so much good merchandise.
+This wood was piled up in a cart which went along through side streets
+as far as the beach, without arousing the suspicion of belated persons
+who might meet it. It went along on the shingle at the foot of the
+cliff, and having dumped its contents on the beach the three Indian
+servants began to build a funeral pile, a little longer than it was
+wide. They worked alone, for no profane hand must aid in this solemn
+duty.
+
+It was one o'clock in the morning when the relations of the deceased
+were informed that they might accomplish their part of the work.
+
+The door of the little house they occupied was open, and we perceived,
+lying on a stretcher in the small, dimly lighted vestibule the corpse
+covered with white silk. We could see him plainly as he lay stretched
+out on his back, his outline clearly defined beneath this white veil.
+
+The East Indians, standing at his feet, remained motionless, while one
+of them performed the prescribed rites, murmuring unfamiliar words in a
+low, monotonous tone. He walked round and round the corpse; touching it
+occasionally, then, taking an urn suspended from three slender chains,
+he sprinkled it for some time with the sacred water of the Ganges, that
+East Indians must always carry with them wherever they go.
+
+Then the stretcher was lifted by four of them who started off at a slow
+march. The moon had gone down, leaving the muddy, deserted streets in
+darkness, but the body on the stretcher appeared to be luminous, so
+dazzlingly white was the silk, and it was a weird sight to see, passing
+along through the night, the semi-luminous form of this corpse, borne
+by those men, the dusky skin of whose faces and hands could scarcely be
+distinguished from their clothing in the darkness.
+
+Behind the corpse came three Indians, and then, a full head taller than
+themselves and wrapped in an ample traveling coat of a soft gray color,
+appeared the outline of an Englishman, a kind and superior man, a friend
+of theirs, who was their guide and counselor in their European travels.
+
+Beneath the cold, misty sky of this little northern beach I felt as if
+I were taking part in a sort of symbolical drama. It seemed to me that
+they were carrying there, before me, the conquered genius of India,
+followed, as in a funeral procession, by the victorious genius of
+England robed in a gray ulster.
+
+On the shingly beach the four bearers halted a few moments to take
+breath, and then proceeded on their way. They now walked quickly,
+bending beneath the weight of their burden. At length they reached the
+funeral pile. It was erected in an indentation, at the very foot of
+the cliff, which rose above it perpendicularly a hundred meters high,
+perfectly white but looking gray in the night.
+
+The funeral pile was about three and a half feet high. The corpse was
+placed on it and then one of the Indians asked to have the pole star
+pointed out to him. This was done, and the dead Rajah was laid with his
+feet turned towards his native country. Then twelve bottles of kerosene
+were poured over him and he was covered completely with thin slabs
+of pine wood. For almost another hour the relations and servants kept
+piling up the funeral pyre which looked like one of those piles of wood
+that carpenters keep in their yards. Then on top of this was poured the
+contents of twenty bottles of oil, and on top of all they emptied a bag
+of fine shavings. A few steps further on, a flame was glimmering in a
+little bronze brazier, which had remained lighted since the arrival of
+the corpse.
+
+The moment had arrived. The relations went to fetch the fire. As it was
+barely alight, some oil was poured on it, and suddenly a flame arose
+lighting up the great wall of rock from summit to base. An Indian who
+was leaning over the brazier rose upright, his two hands in the air, his
+elbows bent, and all at once we saw arising, all black on the immense
+white cliff, a colossal shadow, the shadow of Buddha in his hieratic
+posture. And the little pointed toque that the man wore on his head even
+looked like the head-dress of the god.
+
+The effect was so striking and unexpected that I felt my heart beat as
+though some supernatural apparition had risen up before me.
+
+That was just what it was--the ancient and sacred image, come from the
+heart of the East to the ends of Europe, and watching over its son whom
+they were going to cremate there.
+
+It vanished. They brought fire. The shavings on top of the pyre were
+lighted and then the wood caught fire and a brilliant light illumined
+the cliff, the shingle and the foam of the waves as they broke on the
+beach.
+
+It grew brighter from second to second, lighting up on the sea in the
+distance the dancing crest of the waves.
+
+The breeze from the ocean blew in gusts, increasing the heat of the
+flame which flattened down, twisted, then shot up again, throwing out
+millions of sparks. They mounted with wild rapidity along the cliff and
+were lost in the sky, mingling with the stars, increasing their number.
+Some sea birds who had awakened uttered their plaintive cry, and,
+describing long curves, flew, with their white wings extended, through
+the gleam from the funeral pyre and then disappeared in the night.
+
+Before long the pile of wood was nothing but a mass of flame, not
+red but yellow, a blinding yellow, a furnace lashed by the wind. And,
+suddenly, beneath a stronger gust, it tottered, partially crumbling as
+it leaned towards the sea, and the corpse came to view, full length,
+blackened on his couch of flame and burning with long blue flames:
+
+The pile of wood having crumbled further on the right the corpse turned
+over as a man does in bed. They immediately covered him with fresh wood
+and the fire started up again more furiously than ever.
+
+The East Indians, seated in a semi-circle on the shingle, looked out
+with sad, serious faces. And the rest of us, as it was very cold, had
+drawn nearer to the fire until the smoke and sparks came in our faces.
+There was no odor save that of burning pine and petroleum.
+
+Hours passed; day began to break. Toward five o'clock in the morning
+nothing remained but a heap of ashes. The relations gathered them up,
+cast some of them to the winds, some in the sea, and kept some in a
+brass vase that they had brought from India. They then retired to their
+home to give utterance to lamentations.
+
+These young princes and their servants, by the employment of the most
+inadequate appliances succeeded in carrying out the cremation of their
+relation in the most perfect manner, with singular skill and remarkable
+dignity. Everything was done according to ritual, according to the rigid
+ordinances of their religion. Their dead one rests in peace.
+
+The following morning at daybreak there was an indescribable commotion
+in Etretat. Some insisted that they had burned a man alive, others that
+they were trying to hide a crime, some that the mayor would be put
+in jail, others that the Indian prince had succumbed to an attack of
+cholera.
+
+The men were amazed, the women indignant. A crowd of people spent the
+day on the site of the funeral pile, looking for fragments of bone in
+the shingle that was still warm. They found enough bones to reconstruct
+ten skeletons, for the farmers on shore frequently throw their dead
+sheep into the sea. The finders carefully placed these various fragments
+in their pocketbooks. But not one of them possesses a true particle of
+the Indian prince.
+
+That very night a deputy sent by the government came to hold an inquest.
+He, however, formed an estimate of this singular case like a man of
+intelligence and good sense. But what should he say in his report?
+
+The East Indians declared that if they had been prevented in France from
+cremating their dead they would have taken him to a freer country where
+they could have carried out their customs.
+
+Thus, I have seen a man cremated on a funeral pile, and it has given me
+a wish to disappear in the same manner.
+
+In this way everything ends at once. Man expedites the slow work of
+nature, instead of delaying it by the hideous coffin in which one
+decomposes for months. The flesh is dead, the spirit has fled. Fire
+which purifies disperses in a few hours all that was a human being; it
+casts it to the winds, converting it into air and ashes, and not into
+ignominious corruption.
+
+This is clean and hygienic. Putrefaction beneath the ground in a closed
+box where the body becomes like pap, a blackened, stinking pap, has
+about it something repugnant and disgusting. The sight of the coffin as
+it descends into this muddy hole wrings one's heart with anguish. But
+the funeral pyre which flames up beneath the sky has about it something
+grand, beautiful and solemn.
+
+
+
+
+MISTI
+
+I was very much interested at that time in a droll little woman. She
+was married, of course, as I have a horror of unmarried flirts. What
+enjoyment is there in making love to a woman who belongs to nobody
+and yet belongs to any one? And, besides, morality aside, I do not
+understand love as a trade. That disgusts me somewhat.
+
+The especial attraction in a married woman to a bachelor is that she
+gives him a home, a sweet, pleasant home where every one takes care
+of you and spoils you, from the husband to the servants. One finds
+everything combined there, love, friendship, even fatherly interest, bed
+and board, all, in fact, that constitutes the happiness of life, with
+this incalculable advantage, that one can change one's family from time
+to time, take up one's abode in all kinds of society in turn: in summer,
+in the country with the workman who rents you a room in his house;
+in winter with the townsfolk, or even with the nobility, if one is
+ambitious.
+
+I have another weakness; it is that I become attached to the husband
+as well as the wife. I acknowledge even that some husbands, ordinary
+or coarse as they may be, give me a feeling of disgust for their wives,
+however charming they may be. But when the husband is intellectual or
+charming I invariably become very much attached to him. I am careful if
+I quarrel with the wife not to quarrel with the husband. In this way I
+have made some of my best friends, and have also proved in many cases
+the incontestable superiority of the male over the female in the human
+species. The latter makes all sorts of trouble-scenes, reproaches, etc.;
+while the former, who has just as good a right to complain, treats
+you, on the contrary, as though you were the special Providence of his
+hearth.
+
+Well, my friend was a quaint little woman, a brunette, fanciful,
+capricious, pious, superstitious, credulous as a monk, but charming. She
+had a way of kissing one that I never saw in any one else--but that was
+not the attraction--and such a soft skin! It gave me intense delight
+merely to hold her hands. And an eye--her glance was like a slow caress,
+delicious and unending. Sometimes I would lean my head on her knee
+and we would remain motionless, she leaning over me with that subtle,
+enigmatic, disturbing smile that women have, while my eyes would be
+raised to hers, drinking sweetly and deliciously into my heart, like
+a form of intoxication, the glance of her limpid blue eyes, limpid as
+though they were full of thoughts of love, and blue as though they were
+a heaven of delights.
+
+Her husband, inspector of some large public works, was frequently away
+from home and left us our evenings free. Sometimes I spent them with her
+lounging on the divan with my forehead on one of her knees; while on
+the other lay an enormous black cat called “Misti,” whom she adored. Our
+fingers would meet on the cat's back and would intertwine in her soft
+silky fur. I felt its warm body against my cheek, trembling with its
+eternal purring, and occasionally a paw would reach out and place on my
+mouth, or my eyelid, five unsheathed claws which would prick my eyelids,
+and then be immediately withdrawn.
+
+Sometimes we would go out on what we called our escapades. They were
+very innocent, however. They consisted in taking supper at some inn in
+the suburbs, or else, after dining at her house or at mine, in making
+the round of the cheap cafes, like students out for a lark.
+
+We would go into the common drinking places and take our seats at the
+end of the smoky den on two rickety chairs, at an old wooden table. A
+cloud of pungent smoke, with which blended an odor of fried fish from
+dinner, filled the room. Men in smocks were talking in loud tones as
+they drank their petits verres, and the astonished waiter placed before
+us two cherry brandies.
+
+She, trembling, charmingly afraid, would raise her double black veil as
+far as her nose, and then take up her glass with the enjoyment that one
+feels at doing something delightfully naughty. Each cherry she swallowed
+made her feel as if she had done something wrong, each swallow of
+the burning liquor had on her the affect of a delicate and forbidden
+enjoyment.
+
+Then she would say to me in a low tone: “Let us go.” And we would leave,
+she walking quickly with lowered head between the drinkers who watched
+her going by with a look of displeasure. And as soon as we got into the
+street she would give a great sigh of relief, as if we had escaped some
+terrible danger.
+
+Sometimes she would ask me with a shudder:
+
+“Suppose they, should say something rude to me in those places, what
+would you do?” “Why, I would defend you, parbleu!” I would reply in a
+resolute manner. And she would squeeze my arm for happiness, perhaps
+with a vague wish that she might be insulted and protected, that she
+might see men fight on her account, even those men, with me!
+
+One evening as we sat at a table in a tavern at Montmartre, we saw an
+old woman in tattered garments come in, holding in her hand a pack of
+dirty cards. Perceiving a lady, the old woman at once approached us and
+offered to tell my friend's fortune. Emma, who in her heart believed in
+everything, was trembling with longing and anxiety, and she made a place
+beside her for the old woman.
+
+The latter, old, wrinkled, her eyes with red inflamed rings round them,
+and her mouth without a single tooth in it, began to deal her dirty
+cards on the table. She dealt them in piles, then gathered them up,
+and then dealt them out again, murmuring indistinguishable words. Emma,
+turning pale, listened with bated breath, gasping with anxiety and
+curiosity.
+
+The fortune-teller broke silence. She predicted vague happenings:
+happiness and children, a fair young man, a voyage, money, a lawsuit, a
+dark man, the return of some one, success, a death. The mention of this
+death attracted the younger woman's attention. “Whose death? When? In
+what manner?”
+
+The old woman replied: “Oh, as to that, these cards are not certain
+enough. You must come to my place to-morrow; I will tell you about it
+with coffee grounds which never make a mistake.”
+
+Emma turned anxiously to me:
+
+“Say, let us go there to-morrow. Oh, please say yes. If not, you cannot
+imagine how worried I shall be.”
+
+I began to laugh.
+
+“We will go if you wish it, dearie.”
+
+The old woman gave us her address. She lived on the sixth floor, in a
+wretched house behind the Buttes-Chaumont. We went there the following
+day.
+
+Her room, an attic containing two chairs and a bed, was filled with
+strange objects, bunches of herbs hanging from nails, skins of animals,
+flasks and phials containing liquids of various colors. On the table a
+stuffed black cat looked out of eyes of glass. He seemed like the demon
+of this sinister dwelling.
+
+Emma, almost fainting with emotion, sat down on a chair and exclaimed:
+
+“Oh, dear, look at that cat; how like it is to Misti.”
+
+And she explained to the old woman that she had a cat “exactly like
+that, exactly like that!”
+
+The old woman replied gravely:
+
+“If you are in love with a man, you must not keep it.”
+
+Emma, suddenly filled with fear, asked:
+
+“Why not?”
+
+The old woman sat down familiarly beside her and took her hand.
+
+“It was the undoing of my life,” she said.
+
+My friend wanted to hear about it. She leaned against the old woman,
+questioned her, begged her to tell. At length the woman agreed to do so.
+
+“I loved that cat,” she said, “as one would love a brother. I was young
+then and all alone, a seamstress. I had only him, Mouton. One of the
+tenants had given it to me. He was as intelligent as a child, and gentle
+as well, and he worshiped me, my dear lady, he worshiped me more than
+one does a fetish. All day long he would sit on my lap purring, and all
+night long on my pillow; I could feel his heart beating, in fact.
+
+“Well, I happened to make an acquaintance, a fine young man who was
+working in a white-goods house. That went on for about three months on a
+footing of mere friendship. But you know one is liable to weaken, it may
+happen to any one, and, besides, I had really begun to love him. He
+was so nice, so nice, and so good. He wanted us to live together, for
+economy's sake. I finally allowed him to come and see me one evening. I
+had not made up my mind to anything definite; oh, no! But I was pleased
+at the idea that we should spend an hour together.
+
+“At first he behaved very well, said nice things to me that made my
+heart go pit-a-pat. And then he kissed me, madame, kissed me as one does
+when they love. I remained motionless, my eyes closed, in a paroxysm
+of happiness. But, suddenly, I felt him start violently and he gave a
+scream, a scream that I shall never forget. I opened my eyes and saw
+that Mouton had sprung at his face and was tearing the skin with his
+claws as if it had been a linen rag. And the blood was streaming down
+like rain, madame.
+
+“I tried to take the cat away, but he held on tight, scratching all the
+time; and he bit me, he was so crazy. I finally got him and threw him
+out of the window, which was open, for it was summer.
+
+“When I began to bathe my poor friend's face, I noticed that his eyes
+were destroyed, both his eyes!
+
+“He had to go to the hospital. He died of grief at the end of a year. I
+wanted to keep him with me and provide for him, but he would not agree
+to it. One would have supposed that he hated me after the occurrence.
+
+“As for Mouton, his back was broken by the fall, The janitor picked up
+his body. I had him stuffed, for in spite of all I was fond of him. If
+he acted as he did it was because he loved me, was it not?”
+
+The old woman was silent and began to stroke the lifeless animal whose
+body trembled on its iron framework.
+
+Emma, with sorrowful heart, had forgotten about the predicted death--or,
+at least, she did not allude to it again, and she left, giving the woman
+five francs.
+
+As her husband was to return the following day, I did not go to the
+house for several days. When I did go I was surprised at not seeing
+Misti. I asked where he was.
+
+She blushed and replied:
+
+“I gave him away. I was uneasy.”
+
+I was astonished.
+
+“Uneasy? Uneasy? What about?”
+
+She gave me a long kiss and said in a low tone:
+
+“I was uneasy about your eyes, my dear.”
+
+   Misti appeared in. Gil Blas of January 22, 1884, over the signature
+   of “MAUFRIGNEUSE.”
+
+
+
+
+MADAME HERMET
+
+Crazy people attract me. They live in a mysterious land of weird
+dreams, in that impenetrable cloud of dementia where all that they have
+witnessed in their previous life, all they have loved, is reproduced
+for them in an imaginary existence, outside of all laws that govern the
+things of this life and control human thought.
+
+For them there is no such thing as the impossible, nothing is
+improbable; fairyland is a constant quantity and the supernatural quite
+familiar. The old rampart, logic; the old wall, reason; the old main
+stay of thought, good sense, break down, fall and crumble before their
+imagination, set free and escaped into the limitless realm of fancy,
+and advancing with fabulous bounds, and nothing can check it. For them
+everything happens, and anything may happen. They make no effort to
+conquer events, to overcome resistance, to overturn obstacles. By
+a sudden caprice of their flighty imagination they become princes,
+emperors, or gods, are possessed of all the wealth of the world, all
+the delightful things of life, enjoy all pleasures, are always strong,
+always beautiful, always young, always beloved! They, alone, can be
+happy in this world; for, as far as they are concerned, reality does
+not exist. I love to look into their wandering intelligence as one leans
+over an abyss at the bottom of which seethes a foaming torrent whose
+source and destination are both unknown.
+
+But it is in vain that we lean over these abysses, for we shall never
+discover the source nor the destination of this water. After all, it
+is only water, just like what is flowing in the sunlight, and we shall
+learn nothing by looking at it.
+
+It is likewise of no use to ponder over the intelligence of crazy
+people, for their most weird notions are, in fact, only ideas that are
+already known, which appear strange simply because they are no longer
+under the restraint of reason. Their whimsical source surprises us
+because we do not see it bubbling up. Doubtless the dropping of a
+little stone into the current was sufficient to cause these ebullitions.
+Nevertheless crazy people attract me and I always return to them, drawn
+in spite of myself by this trivial mystery of dementia.
+
+One day as I was visiting one of the asylums the physician who was my
+guide said:
+
+“Come, I will show you an interesting case.”
+
+And he opened the door of a cell where a woman of about forty, still
+handsome, was seated in a large armchair, looking persistently at her
+face in a little hand mirror.
+
+As soon as she saw us she rose to her feet, ran to the other end of the
+room, picked up a veil that lay on a chair, wrapped it carefully round
+her face, then came back, nodding her head in reply to our greeting.
+
+“Well,” said the doctor, “how are you this morning?”
+
+She gave a deep sigh.
+
+“Oh, ill, monsieur, very ill. The marks are increasing every day.”
+
+He replied in a tone of conviction:
+
+“Oh, no; oh, no; I assure you that you are mistaken.”
+
+She drew near to him and murmured:
+
+“No. I am certain of it. I counted ten pittings more this morning, three
+on the right cheek, four on the left cheek, and three on the forehead.
+It is frightful, frightful! I shall never dare to let any one see me,
+not even my son; no, not even him! I am lost, I am disfigured forever.”
+
+She fell back in her armchair and began to sob.
+
+The doctor took a chair, sat down beside her, and said soothingly in a
+gentle tone:
+
+“Come, let me see; I assure you it is nothing. With a slight
+cauterization I will make it all disappear.”
+
+She shook her head in denial, without speaking. He tried to touch her
+veil, but she seized it with both hands so violently that her fingers
+went through it.
+
+He continued to reason with her and reassure her.
+
+“Come, you know very well that I remove those horrid pits every time and
+that there is no trace of them after I have treated them. If you do not
+let me see them I cannot cure you.”
+
+“I do not mind your seeing them,” she murmured, “but I do not know that
+gentleman who is with you.”
+
+“He is a doctor also, who can give you better care than I can.”
+
+She then allowed her face to be uncovered, but her dread, her emotion,
+her shame at being seen brought a rosy flush to her face and her neck,
+down to the collar of her dress. She cast down her eyes, turned her
+face aside, first to the right; then to the left, to avoid our gaze and
+stammered out:
+
+“Oh, it is torture to me to let myself be seen like this! It is
+horrible, is it not? Is it not horrible?”
+
+I looked at her in much surprise, for there was nothing on her face, not
+a mark, not a spot, not a sign of one, nor a scar.
+
+She turned towards me, her eyes still lowered, and said:
+
+“It was while taking care of my son that I caught this fearful disease,
+monsieur. I saved him, but I am disfigured. I sacrificed my beauty to
+him, to my poor child. However, I did my duty, my conscience is at rest.
+If I suffer it is known only to God.”
+
+The doctor had drawn from his coat pocket a fine water-color paint
+brush.
+
+“Let me attend to it,” he said, “I will put it all right.”
+
+She held out her right cheek, and he began by touching it lightly with
+the brush here and there, as though he were putting little points of
+paint on it. He did the same with the left cheek, then with the chin,
+and the forehead, and then exclaimed:
+
+“See, there is nothing there now, nothing at all!”
+
+She took up the mirror, gazed at her reflection with profound, eager
+attention, with a strong mental effort to discover something, then she
+sighed:
+
+“No. It hardly shows at all. I am infinitely obliged to you.”
+
+The doctor had risen. He bowed to her, ushered me out and followed me,
+and, as soon as he had locked the door, said:
+
+“Here is the history of this unhappy woman.”
+
+Her name is Mme. Hermet. She was once very beautiful, a great coquette,
+very much beloved and very much in-love with life.
+
+She was one of those women who have nothing but their beauty and their
+love of admiration to sustain, guide or comfort them in this life. The
+constant anxiety to retain her freshness, the care of her complexion,
+of her hands, her teeth, of every portion of body that was visible,
+occupied all her time and all her attention.
+
+She became a widow, with one son. The boy was brought up as are all
+children of society beauties. She was, however, very fond of him.
+
+He grew up, and she grew older. Whether she saw the fatal crisis
+approaching, I cannot say. Did she, like so many others, gaze for
+hours and hours at her skin, once so fine, so transparent and free
+from blemish, now beginning to shrivel slightly, to be crossed with a
+thousand little lines, as yet imperceptible, that will grow deeper day
+by day, month by month? Did she also see slowly, but surely, increasing
+traces of those long wrinkles on the forehead, those slender serpents
+that nothing can check? Did she suffer the torture, the abominable
+torture of the mirror, the little mirror with the silver handle which
+one cannot make up one's mind to lay down on the table, but then throws
+down in disgust only to take it up again in order to look more closely,
+and still more closely at the hateful and insidious approaches of old
+age? Did she shut herself up ten times, twenty times a day, leaving her
+friends chatting in the drawing-room, and go up to her room where, under
+the protection of bolts and bars, she would again contemplate the work
+of time on her ripe beauty, now beginning to wither, and recognize with
+despair the gradual progress of the process which no one else had as yet
+seemed to perceive, but of which she, herself, was well aware. She
+knows where to seek the most serious, the gravest traces of age. And the
+mirror, the little round hand-glass in its carved silver frame, tells
+her horrible things; for it speaks, it seems to laugh, it jeers and
+tells her all that is going to occur, all the physical discomforts and
+the atrocious mental anguish she will suffer until the day of her death,
+which will be the day of her deliverance.
+
+Did she weep, distractedly, on her knees, her forehead to the ground,
+and pray, pray, pray to Him who thus slays his creatures and gives them
+youth only that he may render old age more unendurable, and lends them
+beauty only that he may withdraw it almost immediately? Did she pray to
+Him, imploring Him to do for her what He has never yet done for any one,
+to let her retain until her last day her charm, her freshness and her
+gracefulness? Then, finding that she was imploring in vain an inflexible
+Unknown who drives on the years, one after another, did she roll on the
+carpet in her room, knocking her head against the furniture and stifling
+in her throat shrieks of despair?
+
+Doubtless she suffered these tortures, for this is what occurred:
+
+One day (she was then thirty-five) her son aged fifteen, fell ill.
+
+He took to his bed without any one being able to determine the cause or
+nature of his illness.
+
+His tutor, a priest, watched beside him and hardly ever left him, while
+Mme. Hermet came morning and evening to inquire how he was.
+
+She would come into the room in the morning in her night wrapper,
+smiling, all powdered and perfumed, and would ask as she entered the
+door:
+
+“Well, George, are you better?”
+
+The big boy, his face red, swollen and showing the ravages of fever,
+would reply:
+
+“Yes, little mother, a little better.”
+
+She would stay in the room a few seconds, look at the bottles of
+medicine, and purse her lips as if she were saying “phew,” and then
+would suddenly exclaim: “Oh, I forgot something very important,” and
+would run out of the room leaving behind her a fragrance of choice
+toilet perfumes.
+
+In the evening she would appear in a decollete dress, in a still greater
+hurry, for she was always late, and she had just time to inquire:
+
+“Well, what does the doctor say?”
+
+The priest would reply:
+
+“He has not yet given an opinion, madame.”
+
+But one evening the abbe replied: “Madame, your son has got the
+small-pox.”
+
+She uttered a scream of terror and fled from the room.
+
+When her maid came to her room the following morning she noticed at once
+a strong odor of burnt sugar, and she found her mistress, with wide-open
+eyes, her face pale from lack of sleep, and shivering with terror in her
+bed.
+
+As soon as the shutters were opened Mme. Herrnet asked:
+
+“How is George?”
+
+“Oh, not at all well to-day, madame.”
+
+She did not rise until noon, when she ate two eggs with a cup of tea,
+as if she herself had been ill, and then she went out to a druggist's to
+inquire about prophylactic measures against the contagion of small-pox.
+
+She did not come home until dinner time, laden with medicine bottles,
+and shut herself up at once in her room, where she saturated herself
+with disinfectants.
+
+The priest was waiting for her in the dining-room. As soon as she saw
+him she exclaimed in a voice full of emotion:
+
+“Well?”
+
+“No improvement. The doctor is very anxious:”
+
+She began to cry and could eat nothing, she was so worried.
+
+The next day, as soon as it was light, she sent to inquire for her son,
+but there was no improvement and she spent the whole day in her room,
+where little braziers were giving out pungent odors. Her maid said also
+that you could hear her sighing all the evening.
+
+She spent a whole week in this manner, only going out for an hour or two
+during the afternoon to breathe the air.
+
+She now sent to make inquiries every hour, and would sob when the
+reports were unfavorable.
+
+On the morning of the eleventh day the priest, having been announced,
+entered her room, his face grave and pale, and said, without taking the
+chair she offered him:
+
+“Madame, your son is very ill and wishes to see you.”
+
+She fell on her knees, exclaiming:
+
+“Oh, my God! Oh, my God! I would never dare! My God! My God! Help me!”
+
+The priest continued:
+
+“The doctor holds out little hope, madame, and George is expecting you!”
+
+And he left the room.
+
+Two hours later as the young lad, feeling himself dying, again asked for
+his mother, the abbe went to her again and found her still on her knees,
+still weeping and repeating:
+
+“I will not.... I will not.... I am too much afraid.... I will not....”
+
+He tried to persuade her, to strengthen her, to lead her. He only
+succeeded in bringing on an attack of “nerves” that lasted some time and
+caused her to shriek.
+
+The doctor when he came in the evening was told of this cowardice and
+declared that he would bring her in himself, of her own volition, or by
+force. But after trying all manner of argument and just as he seized her
+round the waist to carry her into her son's room, she caught hold of the
+door and clung to it so firmly that they could not drag her away. Then
+when they let go of her she fell at the feet of the doctor, begging his
+forgiveness and acknowledging that she was a wretched creature. And then
+she exclaimed: “Oh, he is not going to die; tell me that he is not going
+to die, I beg of you; tell him that I love him, that I worship him...”
+
+The young lad was dying. Feeling that he had only a few moments more to
+live, he entreated that his mother be persuaded to come and bid him a
+last farewell. With that sort of presentiment that the dying sometimes
+have, he had understood, had guessed all, and he said: “If she is afraid
+to come into the room, beg her just to come on the balcony as far as my
+window so that I may see her, at least, so that I may take a farewell
+look at her, as I cannot kiss her.”
+
+The doctor and the abbe, once more, went together to this woman and
+assured her: “You will run no risk, for there will be a pane of glass
+between you and him.”
+
+She consented, covered up her head, and took with her a bottle of
+smelling salts. She took three steps on the balcony; then, all at once,
+hiding her face in her hands, she moaned: “No... no... I would never
+dare to look at him... never.... I am too much ashamed... too much
+afraid.... No... I cannot.”
+
+They endeavored to drag her along, but she held on with both hands to
+the railings and uttered such plaints that the passers-by in the street
+raised their heads. And the dying boy waited, his eyes turned towards
+that window, waited to die until he could see for the last time the
+sweet, beloved face, the worshiped face of his mother.
+
+He waited long, and night came on. Then he turned over with his face to
+the wall and was silent.
+
+When day broke he was dead. The day following she was crazy.
+
+
+
+
+THE MAGIC COUCH
+
+The Seine flowed past my house, without a ripple on its surface, and
+gleaming in the bright morning sunlight. It was a beautiful, broad,
+indolent silver stream, with crimson lights here and there; and on the
+opposite side of the river were rows of tall trees that covered all the
+bank with an immense wall of verdure.
+
+The sensation of life which is renewed each day, of fresh, happy, loving
+life trembled in the leaves, palpitated in the air, was mirrored in the
+water.
+
+The postman had just brought my papers, which were handed to me, and I
+walked slowly to the river bank in order to read them.
+
+In the first paper I opened I noticed this headline, “Statistics of
+Suicides,” and I read that more than 8,500 persons had killed themselves
+in that year.
+
+In a moment I seemed to see them! I saw this voluntary and hideous
+massacre of the despairing who were weary of life. I saw men bleeding,
+their jaws fractured, their skulls cloven, their breasts pierced by
+a bullet, slowly dying, alone in a little room in a hotel, giving no
+thought to their wound, but thinking only of their misfortunes.
+
+I saw others seated before a tumbler in which some matches were soaking,
+or before a little bottle with a red label.
+
+They would look at it fixedly without moving; then they would drink
+and await the result; then a spasm would convulse their cheeks and draw
+their lips together; their eyes would grow wild with terror, for they
+did not know that the end would be preceded by so much suffering.
+
+They rose to their feet, paused, fell over and with their hands pressed
+to their stomachs they felt their internal organs on fire, their
+entrails devoured by the fiery liquid, before their minds began to grow
+dim.
+
+I saw others hanging from a nail in the wall, from the fastening of the
+window, from a hook in the ceiling, from a beam in the garret, from
+a branch of a tree amid the evening rain. And I surmised all that had
+happened before they hung there motionless, their tongues hanging out
+of their mouths. I imagined the anguish of their heart, their final
+hesitation, their attempts to fasten the rope, to determine that it was
+secure, then to pass the noose round their neck and to let themselves
+fall.
+
+I saw others lying on wretched beds, mothers with their little children,
+old men dying of hunger, young girls dying for love, all rigid,
+suffocated, asphyxiated, while in the center of the room the brasier
+still gave forth the fumes of charcoal.
+
+And I saw others walking at night along the deserted bridges. These were
+the most sinister. The water flowed under the arches with a low sound.
+They did not see it... they guessed at it from its cool breath! They
+longed for it and they feared it. They dared not do it! And yet, they
+must. A distant clock sounded the hour and, suddenly, in the vast
+silence of the night, there was heard the splash of a body falling into
+the river, a scream or two, the sound of hands beating the water, and
+all was still. Sometimes, even, there was only the sound of the falling
+body when they had tied their arms down or fastened a stone to their
+feet. Oh, the poor things, the poor things, the poor things, how I
+felt their anguish, how I died in their death! I went through all their
+wretchedness; I endured in one hour all their tortures. I knew all the
+sorrows that had led them to this, for I know the deceitful infamy of
+life, and no one has felt it more than I have.
+
+How I understood them, these who weak, harassed by misfortune, having
+lost those they loved, awakened from the dream of a tardy compensation,
+from the illusion of another existence where God will finally be just,
+after having been ferocious, and their minds disabused of the mirages
+of happiness, have given up the fight and desire to put an end to this
+ceaseless tragedy, or this shameful comedy.
+
+Suicide! Why, it is the strength of those whose strength is exhausted,
+the hope of those who no longer believe, the sublime courage of the
+conquered! Yes, there is at least one door to this life we can always
+open and pass through to the other side. Nature had an impulse of pity;
+she did not shut us up in prison. Mercy for the despairing!
+
+As for those who are simply disillusioned, let them march ahead with
+free soul and quiet heart. They have nothing to fear since they may take
+their leave; for behind them there is always this door that the gods of
+our illusions cannot even lock.
+
+I thought of this crowd of suicides: more than eight thousand five
+hundred in one year. And it seemed to me that they had combined to send
+to the world a prayer, to utter a cry of appeal, to demand something
+that should come into effect later when we understood things better. It
+seemed to me that all these victims, their throats cut, poisoned, hung,
+asphyxiated, or drowned, all came together, a frightful horde, like
+citizens to the polls, to say to society:
+
+“Grant us, at least, a gentle death! Help us to die, you who will not
+help us to live! See, we are numerous, we have the right to speak
+in these days of freedom, of philosophic independence and of popular
+suffrage. Give to those who renounce life the charity of a death that
+will not be repugnant nor terrible.”
+
+I began to dream, allowing my fancy to roam at will in weird and
+mysterious fashion on this subject.
+
+I seemed to be all at once in a beautiful city. It was Paris; but at
+what period? I walked about the streets, looking at the houses, the
+theaters, the public buildings, and presently found myself in a square
+where I remarked a large building; very handsome, dainty and attractive.
+I was surprised on reading on the facade this inscription in letters of
+gold, “Suicide Bureau.”
+
+Oh, the weirdness of waking dreams where the spirit soars into a world
+of unrealities and possibilities! Nothing astonishes one, nothing shocks
+one; and the unbridled fancy makes no distinction between the comic and
+the tragic.
+
+I approached the building where footmen in knee-breeches were seated in
+the vestibule in front of a cloak-room as they do at the entrance of a
+club.
+
+I entered out of curiosity. One of the men rose and said:
+
+“What does monsieur wish?”
+
+“I wish to know what building this is.”
+
+“Nothing more?”
+
+“Why, no.”
+
+“Then would monsieur like me to take him to the Secretary of the
+Bureau?”
+
+I hesitated, and asked:
+
+“But will not that disturb him?”
+
+“Oh, no, monsieur, he is here to receive those who desire information.”
+
+“Well, lead the way.”
+
+He took me through corridors where old gentlemen were chatting, and
+finally led me into a beautiful office, somewhat somber, furnished
+throughout in black wood. A stout young man with a corporation was
+writing a letter as he smoked a cigar, the fragrance of which gave
+evidence of its quality.
+
+He rose. We bowed to each other, and as soon as the footman had retired
+he asked:
+
+“What can I do for you?”
+
+“Monsieur,” I replied, “pardon my curiosity. I had never seen this
+establishment. The few words inscribed on the facade filled me with
+astonishment, and I wanted to know what was going on here.”
+
+He smiled before replying, then said in a low tone with a complacent
+air:
+
+“Mon Dieu, monsieur, we put to death in a cleanly and gentle--I do not
+venture to say agreeable manner those persons who desire to die.”
+
+I did not feel very shocked, for it really seemed to me natural and
+right. What particularly surprised me was that on this planet, with its
+low, utilitarian, humanitarian ideals, selfish and coercive of all true
+freedom, any one should venture on a similar enterprise, worthy of an
+emancipated humanity.
+
+“How did you get the idea?” I asked.
+
+“Monsieur,” he replied, “the number of suicides increased so enormously
+during the five years succeeding the world exposition of 1889 that some
+measures were urgently needed. People killed themselves in the streets,
+at fetes, in restaurants, at the theater, in railway carriages, at the
+receptions held by the President of the Republic, everywhere. It was
+not only a horrid sight for those who love life, as I do, but also a bad
+example for children. Hence it became necessary to centralize suicides.”
+
+“What caused this suicidal epidemic?”
+
+“I do not know. The fact is, I believe, the world is growing old. People
+begin to see things clearly and they are getting disgruntled. It is the
+same to-day with destiny as with the government, we have found out what
+it is; people find that they are swindled in every direction, and they
+just get out of it all. When one discovers that Providence lies,
+cheats, robs, deceives human beings just as a plain Deputy deceives
+his constituents, one gets angry, and as one cannot nominate a
+fresh Providence every three months as we do with our privileged
+representatives, one just gets out of the whole thing, which is
+decidedly bad.”
+
+“Really!”
+
+“Oh, as for me, I am not complaining.”
+
+“Will you inform me how you carry on this establishment?”
+
+“With pleasure. You may become a member when you please. It is a club.”
+
+“A club!”
+
+“Yes, monsieur, founded by the most eminent men in the country, by men
+of the highest intellect and brightest intelligence. And,” he added,
+laughing heartily, “I swear to you that every one gets a great deal of
+enjoyment out of it.”
+
+“In this place?”
+
+“Yes, in this place.”
+
+“You surprise me.”
+
+“Mon Dieu, they enjoy themselves because they have not that fear of
+death which is the great killjoy in all our earthly pleasures.”
+
+“But why should they be members of this club if they do not kill
+themselves?”
+
+“One may be a member of the club without being obliged for that reason
+to commit suicide.”
+
+“But then?”
+
+“I will explain. In view of the enormous increase in suicides, and of
+the hideous spectacle they presented, a purely benevolent society was
+formed for the protection of those in despair, which placed at their
+disposal the facilities for a peaceful, painless, if not unforeseen
+death.”
+
+“Who can have authorized such an institution?”
+
+“General Boulanger during his brief tenure of power. He could never
+refuse anything. However, that was the only good thing he did. Hence, a
+society was formed of clear-sighted, disillusioned skeptics who desired
+to erect in the heart of Paris a kind of temple dedicated to the
+contempt for death. This place was formerly a dreaded spot that no one
+ventured to approach. Then its founders, who met together here, gave a
+grand inaugural entertainment with Mmes. Sarah Bernhardt, Judic, Theo,
+Granier, and twenty others, and Mme. de Reske, Coquelin, Mounet-Sully,
+Paulus, etc., present, followed by concerts, the comedies of Dumas, of
+Meilhac, Halevy and Sardon. We had only one thing to mar it, one drama
+by Becque which seemed sad, but which subsequently had a great success
+at the Comedie-Francaise. In fact all Paris came. The enterprise was
+launched.”
+
+“In the midst of the festivities! What a funereal joke!”
+
+“Not at all. Death need not be sad, it should be a matter of
+indifference. We made death cheerful, crowned it with flowers, covered
+it with perfume, made it easy. One learns to aid others through example;
+one can see that it is nothing.”
+
+“I can well understand that they should come to the entertainments; but
+did they come to... Death?”
+
+“Not at first; they were afraid.”
+
+“And later?”
+
+“They came.”
+
+“Many of them?”
+
+“In crowds. We have had more than forty in a day. One finds hardly any
+more drowned bodies in the Seine.”
+
+“Who was the first?”
+
+“A club member.”
+
+“As a sacrifice to the cause?”
+
+“I don't think so. A man who was sick of everything, a 'down and out'
+who had lost heavily at baccarat for three months.”
+
+“Indeed?”
+
+“The second was an Englishman, an eccentric. We then advertised in the
+papers, we gave an account of our methods, we invented some attractive
+instances. But the great impetus was given by poor people.”
+
+“How do you go to work?”
+
+“Would you like to see? I can explain at the same time.”
+
+“Yes, indeed.”
+
+He took his hat, opened the door, allowed me to precede him, and we
+entered a card room, where men sat playing as they, play in all gambling
+places. They were chatting cheerfully, eagerly. I have seldom seen such
+a jolly, lively, mirthful club.
+
+As I seemed surprised, the secretary said:
+
+“Oh, the establishment has an unheard of prestige. All the smart people
+all over the world belong to it so as to appear as though they held
+death in scorn. Then, once they get here, they feel obliged to be
+cheerful that they may not appear to be afraid. So they joke and laugh
+and talk flippantly, they are witty and they become so. At present it is
+certainly the most frequented and the most entertaining place in Paris.
+The women are even thinking of building an annex for themselves.”
+
+“And, in spite of all this, you have many suicides in the house?”
+
+“As I said, about forty or fifty a day. Society people are rare, but
+poor devils abound. The middle class has also a large contingent.
+
+“And how... do they do?”
+
+“They are asphyxiated... very slowly.”
+
+“In what manner?”
+
+“A gas of our own invention. We have the patent. On the other side of
+the building are the public entrances--three little doors opening
+on small streets. When a man or a woman present themselves they are
+interrogated. Then they are offered assistance, aid, protection. If a
+client accepts, inquiries are made; and sometimes we have saved their
+lives.”
+
+“Where do you get your money?”
+
+“We have a great deal. There are a large number of shareholders. Besides
+it is fashionable to contribute to the establishment. The names of the
+donors are published in Figaro. Then the suicide of every rich man costs
+a thousand francs. And they look as if they were lying in state. It
+costs the poor nothing.”
+
+“How can you tell who is poor?”
+
+“Oh, oh, monsieur, we can guess! And, besides, they must bring a
+certificate of indigency from the commissary of police of their
+district. If you knew how distressing it is to see them come in! I
+visited their part of our building once only, and I will never go again.
+The place itself is almost as good as this part, almost as luxurious and
+comfortable; but they themselves... they themselves!!! If you could see
+them arriving, the old men in rags coming to die; persons who have been
+dying of misery for months, picking up their food at the edges of the
+curbstone like dogs in the street; women in rags, emaciated, sick,
+paralyzed, incapable of making a living, who say to us after they have
+told us their story: 'You see that things cannot go on like that, as
+I cannot work any longer or earn anything.' I saw one woman of
+eighty-seven who had lost all her children and grandchildren, and who
+for the last six weeks had been sleeping out of doors. It made me ill to
+hear of it. Then we have so many different cases, without counting those
+who say nothing, but simply ask: 'Where is it?' These are admitted at
+once and it is all over in a minute.”
+
+With a pang at my heart I repeated:
+
+“And... where is it?”
+
+“Here,” and he opened a door, adding:
+
+“Go in; this is the part specially reserved for club members, and the
+one least used. We have so far had only eleven annihilations here.”
+
+“Ah! You call that an... annihilation!”
+
+“Yes, monsieur. Go in.”
+
+I hesitated. At length I went in. It was a wide corridor, a sort
+of greenhouse in which panes of glass of pale blue, tender pink and
+delicate green gave the poetic charm of landscapes to the inclosing
+walls. In this pretty salon there were divans, magnificent palms,
+flowers, especially roses of balmy fragrance, books on the tables, the
+Revue des Deuxmondes, cigars in government boxes, and, what surprised
+me, Vichy pastilles in a bonbonniere.
+
+As I expressed my surprise, my guide said:
+
+“Oh, they often come here to chat.” He continued: “The public corridors
+are similar, but more simply furnished.”
+
+In reply to a question of mine, he pointed to a couch covered with
+creamy crepe de Chine with white embroidery, beneath a large shrub of
+unknown variety at the foot of which was a circular bed of mignonette.
+
+The secretary added in a lower tone:
+
+“We change the flower and the perfume at will, for our gas, which is
+quite imperceptible, gives death the fragrance of the suicide's favorite
+flower. It is volatilized with essences. Would you like to inhale it for
+a second?”
+
+“'No, thank you,” I said hastily, “not yet....”
+
+He began to laugh.
+
+“Oh, monsieur, there is no danger. I have tried it myself several
+times.”
+
+I was afraid he would think me a coward, and I said:
+
+“Well, I'll try it.”
+
+“Stretch yourself out on the 'endormeuse.”'
+
+A little uneasy I seated myself on the low couch covered with crepe
+de Chine and stretched myself full length, and was at once bathed in a
+delicious odor of mignonette. I opened my mouth in order to breathe it
+in, for my mind had already become stupefied and forgetful of the past
+and was a prey, in the first stages of asphyxia, to the enchanting
+intoxication of a destroying and magic opium.
+
+Some one shook me by the arm.
+
+“Oh, oh, monsieur,” said the secretary, laughing, “it looks to me as if
+you were almost caught.”
+
+But a voice, a real voice, and no longer a dream voice, greeted me with
+the peasant intonation:
+
+“Good morning, m'sieu. How goes it?”
+
+My dream was over. I saw the Seine distinctly in the sunlight, and,
+coming along a path, the garde champetre of the district, who with his
+right hand touched his kepi braided in silver. I replied:
+
+“Good morning, Marinel. Where are you going?”
+
+“I am going to look at a drowned man whom they fished up near the
+Morillons. Another who has thrown himself into the soup. He even took
+off his trousers in order to tie his legs together with them.”
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Original Short Stories of Maupassant,
+Volume 13, by Guy de Maupassant
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MAUPASSANT SHORT STORIES ***
+
+***** This file should be named 3089-0.txt or 3089-0.zip *****
+This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
+        https://www.gutenberg.org/3/0/8/3089/
+
+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.  Special rules,
+set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to
+copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to
+protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark.  Project
+Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you
+charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission.  If you
+do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the
+rules is very easy.  You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose
+such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and
+research.  They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do
+practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks.  Redistribution is
+subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
+redistribution.
+
+
+
+*** START: FULL LICENSE ***
+
+THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
+PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
+
+To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
+distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
+(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project
+Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at
+https://gutenberg.org/license).
+
+
+Section 1.  General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic works
+
+1.A.  By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
+and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
+(trademark/copyright) agreement.  If you do not agree to abide by all
+the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
+all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.
+If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the
+terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or
+entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
+
+1.B.  “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark.  It may only be
+used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
+agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement.  There are a few
+things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
+even without complying with the full terms of this agreement.  See
+paragraph 1.C below.  There are a lot of things you can do with Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
+and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.  See paragraph 1.E below.
+
+1.C.  The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the Foundation”
+ or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works.  Nearly all the individual works in the
+collection are in the public domain in the United States.  If an
+individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are
+located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from
+copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative
+works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg
+are removed.  Of course, we hope that you will support the Project
+Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by
+freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of
+this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with
+the work.  You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by
+keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.
+
+1.D.  The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
+what you can do with this work.  Copyright laws in most countries are in
+a constant state of change.  If you are outside the United States, check
+the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement
+before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or
+creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project
+Gutenberg-tm work.  The Foundation makes no representations concerning
+the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
+States.
+
+1.E.  Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
+
+1.E.1.  The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
+access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently
+whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the
+phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the phrase “Project
+Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed,
+copied or distributed:
+
+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
+
+1.E.2.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived
+from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is
+posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied
+and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees
+or charges.  If you are redistributing or providing access to a work
+with the phrase “Project Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the
+work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1
+through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the
+Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or
+1.E.9.
+
+1.E.3.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
+with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
+must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional
+terms imposed by the copyright holder.  Additional terms will be linked
+to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the
+permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.
+
+1.E.4.  Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
+work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.
+
+1.E.5.  Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
+electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
+prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
+active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm License.
+
+1.E.6.  You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
+compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any
+word processing or hypertext form.  However, if you provide access to or
+distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than
+“Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official version
+posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org),
+you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a
+copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon
+request, of the work in its original “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other
+form.  Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
+
+1.E.7.  Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
+performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
+unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
+
+1.E.8.  You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
+access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided
+that
+
+- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
+     the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
+     you already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  The fee is
+     owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he
+     has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the
+     Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.  Royalty payments
+     must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you
+     prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax
+     returns.  Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and
+     sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the
+     address specified in Section 4, “Information about donations to
+     the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.”
+
+- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
+     you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
+     does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+     License.  You must require such a user to return or
+     destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
+     and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
+     Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
+     money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
+     electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days
+     of receipt of the work.
+
+- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
+     distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+1.E.9.  If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set
+forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from
+both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael
+Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark.  Contact the
+Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.
+
+1.F.
+
+1.F.1.  Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
+effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
+public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm
+collection.  Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain
+“Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or
+corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual
+property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a
+computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by
+your equipment.
+
+1.F.2.  LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right
+of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
+liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
+fees.  YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
+LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
+PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3.  YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
+TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
+LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
+INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
+DAMAGE.
+
+1.F.3.  LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
+defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
+receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
+written explanation to the person you received the work from.  If you
+received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with
+your written explanation.  The person or entity that provided you with
+the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a
+refund.  If you received the work electronically, the person or entity
+providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to
+receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund.  If the second copy
+is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further
+opportunities to fix the problem.
+
+1.F.4.  Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
+in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER
+WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO
+WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
+
+1.F.5.  Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
+warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
+If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
+law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
+interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
+the applicable state law.  The invalidity or unenforceability of any
+provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.
+
+1.F.6.  INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
+trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
+providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance
+with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,
+promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works,
+harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees,
+that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do
+or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm
+work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any
+Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.
+
+
+Section  2.  Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
+electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers
+including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers.  It exists
+because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from
+people in all walks of life.
+
+Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
+assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
+goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
+remain freely available for generations to come.  In 2001, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
+and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.
+To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
+and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4
+and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org.
+
+
+Section 3.  Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
+Foundation
+
+The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
+501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
+state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
+Revenue Service.  The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
+number is 64-6221541.  Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at
+https://pglaf.org/fundraising.  Contributions to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent
+permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.
+
+The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.
+Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered
+throughout numerous locations.  Its business office is located at
+809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email
+business@pglaf.org.  Email contact links and up to date contact
+information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official
+page at https://pglaf.org
+
+For additional contact information:
+     Dr. Gregory B. Newby
+     Chief Executive and Director
+     gbnewby@pglaf.org
+
+
+Section 4.  Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
+spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
+increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
+freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
+array of equipment including outdated equipment.  Many small donations
+($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
+status with the IRS.
+
+The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
+charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
+States.  Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
+considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
+with these requirements.  We do not solicit donations in locations
+where we have not received written confirmation of compliance.  To
+SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any
+particular state visit https://pglaf.org
+
+While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
+have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
+against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
+approach us with offers to donate.
+
+International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
+any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
+outside the United States.  U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
+
+Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
+methods and addresses.  Donations are accepted in a number of other
+ways including including checks, online payments and credit card
+donations.  To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate
+
+
+Section 5.  General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.
+
+Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm
+concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
+with anyone.  For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
+Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.
+
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
+editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.
+unless a copyright notice is included.  Thus, we do not necessarily
+keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.
+
+
+Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:
+
+     https://www.gutenberg.org
+
+This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
+including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
+Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
+subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
diff --git a/3089-0.zip b/3089-0.zip
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..37d2cb3
--- /dev/null
+++ b/3089-0.zip
diff --git a/3089-h.zip b/3089-h.zip
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5cdb403
--- /dev/null
+++ b/3089-h.zip
diff --git a/3089-h/3089-h.htm b/3089-h/3089-h.htm
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..cd25f12
--- /dev/null
+++ b/3089-h/3089-h.htm
@@ -0,0 +1,5468 @@
+<?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 13 (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 13, 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 13 (of 13)
+
+Author: Guy de Maupassant
+
+Release Date: August 16, 2006 [EBook #3089]
+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 13 (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>
+            &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a
+            href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/28076/28076-h/28076-h.htm"><b>INDEX
+            TO ALL VOLUMES</b>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</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"> OLD JUDAS </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> THE LITTLE CASK </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> BOITELLE </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> A WIDOW </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> THE ENGLISHMAN OF ETRETAT </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> MAGNETISM </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> A FATHER&rsquo;S CONFESSION </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> A MOTHER OF MONSTERS </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> AN UNCOMFORTABLE BED </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> A PORTRAIT </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> THE DRUNKARD </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> THE WARDROBE </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> THE MOUNTAIN POOL </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> A CREMATION </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> MISTI </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2H_4_0016"> MADAME HERMET </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> THE MAGIC COUCH </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>
+      OLD JUDAS
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      This entire stretch of country was amazing; it was characterized by a
+      grandeur that was almost religious, and yet it had an air of sinister
+      desolation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A great, wild lake, filled with stagnant, black water, in which thousands
+      of reeds were waving to and fro, lay in the midst of a vast circle of
+      naked hills, where nothing grew but broom, or here and there an oak
+      curiously twisted by the wind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Just one house stood on the banks of that dark lake, a small, low house
+      inhabited by Uncle Joseph, an old boatman, who lived on what he could make
+      by his fishing. Once a week he carried the fish he caught into the
+      surrounding villages, returning with the few provisions that he needed for
+      his sustenance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I went to see this old hermit, who offered to take me with him to his
+      nets, and I accepted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His boat was old, worm-eaten and clumsy, and the skinny old man rowed with
+      a gentle and monotonous stroke that was soothing to the soul, already
+      oppressed by the sadness of the land round about.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It seemed to me as if I were transported to olden times, in the midst of
+      that ancient country, in that primitive boat, which was propelled by a man
+      of another age.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He took up his nets and threw the fish into the bottom of the boat, as the
+      fishermen of the Bible might have done. Then he took me down to the end of
+      the lake, where I suddenly perceived a ruin on the other side of the bank
+      a dilapidated hut, with an enormous red cross on the wall that looked as
+      if it might have been traced with blood, as it gleamed in the last rays of
+      the setting sun.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is that?&rdquo; I asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is where Judas died,&rdquo; the man replied, crossing himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I was not surprised, being almost prepared for this strange answer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Still I asked:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Judas? What Judas?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Wandering Jew, monsieur,&rdquo; he added.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I asked him to tell me this legend.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But it was better than a legend, being a true story, and quite a recent
+      one, since Uncle Joseph had known the man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This hut had formerly been occupied by a large woman, a kind of beggar,
+      who lived on public charity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Uncle Joseph did not remember from whom she had this hut. One evening an
+      old man with a white beard, who seemed to be at least two hundred years
+      old, and who could hardly drag himself along, asked alms of this forlorn
+      woman, as he passed her dwelling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sit down, father,&rdquo; she replied; &ldquo;everything here belongs to all the
+      world, since it comes from all the world.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He sat down on a stone before the door. He shared the woman&rsquo;s bread, her
+      bed of leaves, and her house.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He did not leave her again, for he had come to the end of his travels.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It was Our Lady the Virgin who permitted this, monsieur,&rdquo; Joseph added,
+      &ldquo;it being a woman who had opened her door to a Judas, for this old
+      vagabond was the Wandering Jew. It was not known at first in the country,
+      but the people suspected it very soon, because he was always walking; it
+      had become a sort of second nature to him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And suspicion had been aroused by still another thing. This woman, who
+      kept that stranger with her, was thought to be a Jewess, for no one had
+      ever seen her at church. For ten miles around no one ever called her
+      anything else but the Jewess.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When the little country children saw her come to beg they cried out:
+      &ldquo;Mamma, mamma, here is the Jewess!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The old man and she began to go out together into the neighboring
+      districts, holding out their hands at all the doors, stammering
+      supplications into the ears of all the passers. They could be seen at all
+      hours of the day, on by-paths, in the villages, or again eating bread,
+      sitting in the noon heat under the shadow of some solitary tree. And the
+      country people began to call the beggar Old Judas.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One day he brought home in his sack two little live pigs, which a farmer
+      had given him after he had cured the farmer of some sickness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Soon he stopped begging, and devoted himself entirely to his pigs. He took
+      them out to feed by the lake, or under isolated oaks, or in the near-by
+      valleys. The woman, however, went about all day begging, but she always
+      came back to him in the evening.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He also did not go to church, and no one ever had seen him cross himself
+      before the wayside crucifixes. All this gave rise to much gossip:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One night his companion was attacked by a fever and began to tremble like
+      a leaf in the wind. He went to the nearest town to get some medicine, and
+      then he shut himself up with her, and was not seen for six days.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The priest, having heard that the &ldquo;Jewess&rdquo; was about to die, came to offer
+      the consolation of his religion and administer the last sacrament. Was she
+      a Jewess? He did not know. But in any case, he wished to try to save her
+      soul.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Hardly had he knocked at the door when old Judas appeared on the
+      threshold, breathing hard, his eyes aflame, his long beard agitated, like
+      rippling water, and he hurled blasphemies in an unknown language,
+      extending his skinny arms in order to prevent the priest from entering.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The priest attempted to speak, offered his purse and his aid, but the old
+      man kept on abusing him, making gestures with his hands as if throwing;
+      stones at him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then the priest retired, followed by the curses of the beggar.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The companion of old Judas died the following day. He buried her himself,
+      in front of her door. They were people of so little account that no one
+      took any interest in them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then they saw the man take his pigs out again to the lake and up the
+      hillsides. And he also began begging again to get food. But the people
+      gave him hardly anything, as there was so much gossip about him. Every one
+      knew, moreover, how he had treated the priest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then he disappeared. That was during Holy Week, but no one paid any
+      attention to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But on Easter Sunday the boys and girls who had gone walking out to the
+      lake heard a great noise in the hut. The door was locked; but the boys
+      broke it in, and the two pigs ran out, jumping like gnats. No one ever saw
+      them again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The whole crowd went in; they saw some old rags on the floor, the beggar&rsquo;s
+      hat, some bones, clots of dried blood and bits of flesh in the hollows of
+      the skull.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His pigs had devoured him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This happened on Good Friday, monsieur.&rdquo; Joseph concluded his story,
+      &ldquo;three hours after noon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How do you know that?&rdquo; I asked him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There is no doubt about that,&rdquo; he replied.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I did not attempt to make him understand that it could easily happen that
+      the famished animals had eaten their master, after he had died suddenly in
+      his hut.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As for the cross on the wall, it had appeared one morning, and no one knew
+      what hand traced it in that strange color.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Since then no one doubted any longer that the Wandering Jew had died on
+      this spot.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I myself believed it for one hour.
+    </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>
+      THE LITTLE CASK
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      He was a tall man of forty or thereabout, this Jules Chicot, the innkeeper
+      of Spreville, with a red face and a round stomach, and said by those who
+      knew him to be a smart business man. He stopped his buggy in front of
+      Mother Magloire&rsquo;s farmhouse, and, hitching the horse to the gatepost, went
+      in at the gate.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Chicot owned some land adjoining that of the old woman, which he had been
+      coveting for a long while, and had tried in vain to buy a score of times,
+      but she had always obstinately refused to part with it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I was born here, and here I mean to die,&rdquo; was all she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He found her peeling potatoes outside the farmhouse door. She was a woman
+      of about seventy-two, very thin, shriveled and wrinkled, almost dried up
+      in fact and much bent but as active and untiring as a girl. Chicot patted
+      her on the back in a friendly fashion and then sat down by her on a stool.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well mother, you are always pretty well and hearty, I am glad to see.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nothing to complain of, considering, thank you. And how are you, Monsieur
+      Chicot?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, pretty well, thank you, except a few rheumatic pains occasionally;
+      otherwise I have nothing to complain of.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So much the better.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And she said no more, while Chicot watched her going on with her work. Her
+      crooked, knotted fingers, hard as a lobster&rsquo;s claws, seized the tubers,
+      which were lying in a pail, as if they had been a pair of pincers, and she
+      peeled them rapidly, cutting off long strips of skin with an old knife
+      which she held in the other hand, throwing the potatoes into the water as
+      they were done. Three daring fowls jumped one after the other into her
+      lap, seized a bit of peel and then ran away as fast as their legs would
+      carry them with it in their beak.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Chicot seemed embarrassed, anxious, with something on the tip of his
+      tongue which he could not say. At last he said hurriedly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Listen, Mother Magloire&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, what is it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are quite sure that you do not want to sell your land?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Certainly not; you may make up your mind to that. What I have said I have
+      said, so don&rsquo;t refer to it again.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very well; only I think I know of an arrangement that might suit us both
+      very well.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Just this. You shall sell it to me and keep it all the same. You don&rsquo;t
+      understand? Very well, then follow me in what I am going to say.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The old woman left off peeling potatoes and looked at the innkeeper
+      attentively from under her heavy eyebrows, and he went on:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let me explain myself. Every month I will give you a hundred and fifty
+      francs. You understand me! suppose! Every month I will come and bring you
+      thirty crowns, and it will not make the slightest difference in your life&mdash;not
+      the very slightest. You will have your own home just as you have now, need
+      not trouble yourself about me, and will owe me nothing; all you will have
+      to do will be to take my money. Will that arrangement suit you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He looked at her good-humoredly, one might almost have said benevolently,
+      and the old woman returned his looks distrustfully, as if she suspected a
+      trap, and said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It seems all right as far as I am concerned, but it will not give you the
+      farm.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never mind about that,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;you may remain here as long as it
+      pleases God Almighty to let you live; it will be your home. Only you will
+      sign a deed before a lawyer making it over to me; after your death. You
+      have no children, only nephews and nieces for whom you don&rsquo;t care a straw.
+      Will that suit you? You will keep everything during your life, and I will
+      give you the thirty crowns a month. It is pure gain as far as you are
+      concerned.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The old woman was surprised, rather uneasy, but, nevertheless, very much
+      tempted to agree, and answered:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t say that I will not agree to it, but I must think about it. Come
+      back in a week, and we will talk it over again, and I will then give you
+      my definite answer.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And Chicot went off as happy as a king who had conquered an empire.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mother Magloire was thoughtful, and did not sleep at all that night; in
+      fact, for four days she was in a fever of hesitation. She suspected that
+      there was something underneath the offer which was not to her advantage;
+      but then the thought of thirty crowns a month, of all those coins clinking
+      in her apron, falling to her, as it were, from the skies, without her
+      doing anything for it, aroused her covetousness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She went to the notary and told him about it. He advised her to accept
+      Chicot&rsquo;s offer, but said she ought to ask for an annuity of fifty instead
+      of thirty, as her farm was worth sixty thousand francs at the lowest
+      calculation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you live for fifteen years longer,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;even then he will only
+      have paid forty-five thousand francs for it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The old woman trembled with joy at this prospect of getting fifty crowns a
+      month, but she was still suspicious, fearing some trick, and she remained
+      a long time with the lawyer asking questions without being able to make up
+      her mind to go. At last she gave him instructions to draw up the deed and
+      returned home with her head in a whirl, just as if she had drunk four jugs
+      of new cider.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When Chicot came again to receive her answer she declared, after a lot of
+      persuading, that she could not make up her mind to agree to his proposal,
+      though she was all the time trembling lest he should not consent to give
+      the fifty crowns, but at last, when he grew urgent, she told him what she
+      expected for her farm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He looked surprised and disappointed and refused.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then, in order to convince him, she began to talk about the probable
+      duration of her life.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am certainly not likely to live more than five or six years longer. I
+      am nearly seventy-three, and far from strong, even considering my age. The
+      other evening I thought I was going to die, and could hardly manage to
+      crawl into bed.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But Chicot was not going to be taken in.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come, come, old lady, you are as strong as the church tower, and will
+      live till you are a hundred at least; you will no doubt see me put under
+      ground first.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The whole day was spent in discussing the money, and as the old woman
+      would not give in, the innkeeper consented to give the fifty crowns, and
+      she insisted upon having ten crowns over and above to strike the bargain.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Three years passed and the old dame did not seem to have grown a day
+      older. Chicot was in despair, and it seemed to him as if he had been
+      paying that annuity for fifty years, that he had been taken in, done,
+      ruined. From time to time he went to see the old lady, just as one goes in
+      July to see when the harvest is likely to begin. She always met him with a
+      cunning look, and one might have supposed that she was congratulating
+      herself on the trick she had played him. Seeing how well and hearty she
+      seemed he very soon got into his buggy again, growling to himself:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Will you never die, you old hag?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He did not know what to do, and he felt inclined to strangle her when he
+      saw her. He hated her with a ferocious, cunning hatred, the hatred of a
+      peasant who has been robbed, and began to cast about for some means of
+      getting rid of her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One day he came to see her again, rubbing his hands as he did the first
+      time he proposed the bargain, and, after having chatted for a few minutes,
+      he said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why do you never come and have a bit of dinner at my place when you are
+      in Spreville? The people are talking about it, and saying we are not on
+      friendly terms, and that pains me. You know it will cost you nothing if
+      you come, for I don&rsquo;t look at the price of a dinner. Come whenever you
+      feel inclined; I shall be very glad to see you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Old Mother Magloire did not need to be asked twice, and the next day but
+      one, as she had to go to the town in any case, it being market day, she
+      let her man drive her to Chicot&rsquo;s place, where the buggy was put in the
+      barn while she went into the house to get her dinner.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The innkeeper was delighted and treated her like a lady, giving her roast
+      fowl, black pudding, leg of mutton and bacon and cabbage. But she ate next
+      to nothing. She had always been a small eater, and had generally lived on
+      a little soup and a crust of bread and butter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Chicot was disappointed and pressed her to eat more, but she refused, and
+      she would drink little, and declined coffee, so he asked her:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But surely you will take a little drop of brandy or liqueur?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, as to that, I don&rsquo;t know that I will refuse.&rdquo; Whereupon he shouted
+      out:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Rosalie, bring the superfine brandy&mdash;the special&mdash;you know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The servant appeared, carrying a long bottle ornamented with a paper
+      vine-leaf, and he filled two liqueur glasses.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Just try that; you will find it first rate.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The good woman drank it slowly in sips, so as to make the pleasure last
+      all the longer, and when she had finished her glass, she said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, that is first rate!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Almost before she had said it Chicot had poured her out another glassful.
+      She wished to refuse, but it was too late, and she drank it very slowly,
+      as she had done the first, and he asked her to have a third. She objected,
+      but he persisted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is as mild as milk, you know; I can drink ten or a dozen glasses
+      without any ill effects; it goes down like sugar and does not go to the
+      head; one would think that it evaporated on the tongue: It is the most
+      wholesome thing you can drink.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She took it, for she really enjoyed it, but she left half the glass.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then Chicot, in an excess of generosity, said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Look here, as it is so much to your taste, I will give you a small keg of
+      it, just to show that you and I are still excellent friends.&rdquo; So she took
+      one away with her, feeling slightly overcome by the effects of what she
+      had drunk.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The next day the innkeeper drove into her yard and took a little
+      iron-hooped keg out of his gig. He insisted on her tasting the contents,
+      to make sure it was the same delicious article, and, when they had each of
+      them drunk three more glasses, he said as he was going away:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, you know when it is all gone there is more left; don&rsquo;t be modest,
+      for I shall not mind. The sooner it is finished the better pleased I shall
+      be.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Four days later he came again. The old woman was outside her door cutting
+      up the bread for her soup.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He went up to her and put his face close to hers, so that he might smell
+      her breath; and when he smelt the alcohol he felt pleased.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I suppose you will give me a glass of the Special?&rdquo; he said. And they had
+      three glasses each.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Soon, however, it began to be whispered abroad that Mother Magloire was in
+      the habit of getting drunk all by herself. She was picked up in her
+      kitchen, then in her yard, then in the roads in the neighborhood, and she
+      was often brought home like a log.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The innkeeper did not go near her any more, and, when people spoke to him
+      about her, he used to say, putting on a distressed look:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is a great pity that she should have taken to drink at her age, but
+      when people get old there is no remedy. It will be the death of her in the
+      long run.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And it certainly was the death of her. She died the next winter. About
+      Christmas time she fell down, unconscious, in the snow, and was found dead
+      the next morning.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And when Chicot came in for the farm, he said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It was very stupid of her; if she had not taken to drink she would
+      probably have lived ten years longer.&rdquo;
+     </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>
+      BOITELLE
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Father Boitelle (Antoine) made a specialty of undertaking dirty jobs all
+      through the countryside. Whenever there was a ditch or a cesspool to be
+      cleaned out, a dunghill removed, a sewer cleansed, or any dirt hole
+      whatever, he was always employed to do it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He would come with the instruments of his trade, his sabots covered with
+      dirt, and set to work, complaining incessantly about his occupation. When
+      people asked him then why he did this loathsome work, he would reply
+      resignedly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Faith, &lsquo;tis for my children, whom I must support. This brings me in more
+      than anything else.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He had, indeed, fourteen children. If any one asked him what had become of
+      them, he would say with an air of indifference:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There are only eight of them left in the house. One is out at service and
+      five are married.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      When the questioner wanted to know whether they were well married, he
+      replied vivaciously:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I did not oppose them. I opposed them in nothing. They married just as
+      they pleased. We shouldn&rsquo;t go against people&rsquo;s likings, it turns out
+      badly. I am a night scavenger because my parents went against my likings.
+      But for that I would have become a workman like the others.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Here is the way his parents had thwarted him in his likings:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was at the time a soldier stationed at Havre, not more stupid than
+      another, or sharper either, a rather simple fellow, however. When he was
+      not on duty, his greatest pleasure was to walk along the quay, where the
+      bird dealers congregate. Sometimes alone, sometimes with a soldier from
+      his own part of the country, he would slowly saunter along by cages
+      containing parrots with green backs and yellow heads from the banks of the
+      Amazon, or parrots with gray backs and red heads from Senegal, or enormous
+      macaws, which look like birds reared in hot-houses, with their flower-like
+      feathers, their plumes and their tufts. Parrots of every size, who seem
+      painted with minute care by the miniaturist, God Almighty, and the little
+      birds, all the smaller birds hopped about, yellow, blue and variegated,
+      mingling their cries with the noise of the quay; and adding to the din
+      caused by unloading the vessels, as well as by passengers and vehicles, a
+      violent clamor, loud, shrill and deafening, as if from some distant forest
+      of monsters.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Boitelle would pause, with wondering eyes, wide-open mouth, laughing and
+      enraptured, showing his teeth to the captive cockatoos, who kept nodding
+      their white or yellow topknots toward the glaring red of his breeches and
+      the copper buckle of his belt. When he found a bird that could talk he put
+      questions to it, and if it happened at the time to be disposed to reply
+      and to hold a conversation with him he would carry away enough amusement
+      to last him till evening. He also found heaps of amusement in looking at
+      the monkeys, and could conceive no greater luxury for a rich man than to
+      own these animals as one owns cats and dogs. This kind of taste for the
+      exotic he had in his blood, as people have a taste for the chase, or for
+      medicine, or for the priesthood. He could not help returning to the quay
+      every time the gates of the barracks opened, drawn toward it by an
+      irresistible longing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On one occasion, having stopped almost in ecstasy before an enormous
+      macaw, which was swelling out its plumes, bending forward and bridling up
+      again as if making the court curtseys of parrot-land, he saw the door of a
+      little cafe adjoining the bird dealer&rsquo;s shop open, and a young negress
+      appeared, wearing on her head a red silk handkerchief. She was sweeping
+      into the street the corks and sand of the establishment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Boitelle&rsquo;s attention was soon divided between the bird and the woman, and
+      he really could not tell which of these two beings he contemplated with
+      the greater astonishment and delight.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The negress, having swept the rubbish into the street, raised her eyes,
+      and, in her turn, was dazzled by the soldier&rsquo;s uniform. There she stood
+      facing him with her broom in her hands as if she were bringing him a
+      rifle, while the macaw continued bowing. But at the end of a few seconds
+      the soldier began to feel embarrassed at this attention, and he walked
+      away quietly so as not to look as if he were beating a retreat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But he came back. Almost every day he passed before the Cafe des Colonies,
+      and often he could distinguish through the window the figure of the little
+      black-skinned maid serving &ldquo;bocks&rdquo; or glasses of brandy to the sailors of
+      the port. Frequently, too, she would come out to the door on seeing him;
+      soon, without even having exchanged a word, they smiled at one another
+      like acquaintances; and Boitelle felt his heart touched when he suddenly
+      saw, glittering between the dark lips of the girl, a shining row of white
+      teeth. At length, one day he ventured to enter, and was quite surprised to
+      find that she could speak French like every one else. The bottle of
+      lemonade, of which she was good enough to accept a glassful, remained in
+      the soldier&rsquo;s recollection memorably delicious, and it became a custom
+      with him to come and absorb in this little tavern on the quay all the
+      agreeable drinks which he could afford.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For him it was a treat, a happiness, on which his thoughts dwelt
+      constantly, to watch the black hand of the little maid pouring something
+      into his glass while her teeth laughed more than her eyes. At the end of
+      two months they became fast friends, and Boitelle, after his first
+      astonishment at discovering that this negress had as good principles as
+      honest French girls, that she exhibited a regard for economy, industry,
+      religion and good conduct, loved her more on that account, and was so
+      charmed with her that he wanted to marry her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He told her his intentions, which made her dance with joy. She had also a
+      little money, left her by a female oyster dealer, who had picked her up
+      when she had been left on the quay at Havre by an American captain. This
+      captain had found her, when she was only about six years old, lying on
+      bales of cotton in the hold of his ship, some hours after his departure
+      from New York. On his arrival in Havre he abandoned to the care of this
+      compassionate oyster dealer the little black creature, who had been hidden
+      on board his vessel, he knew not why or by whom.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The oyster woman having died, the young negress became a servant at the
+      Colonial Tavern.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Antoine Boitelle added: &ldquo;This will be all right if my parents don&rsquo;t oppose
+      it. I will never go against them, you understand, never! I&rsquo;m going to say
+      a word or two to them the first time I go back to the country.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      On the following week, in fact, having obtained twenty-four hours&rsquo; leave,
+      he went to see his family, who cultivated a little farm at Tourteville,
+      near Yvetot.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He waited till the meal was finished, the hour when the coffee baptized
+      with brandy makes people more open-hearted, before informing his parents
+      that he had found a girl who satisfied his tastes, all his tastes, so
+      completely that there could not exist any other in all the world so
+      perfectly suited to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The old people, on hearing this, immediately assumed a cautious manner and
+      wanted explanations. He had concealed nothing from them except the color
+      of her skin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She was a servant, without much means, but strong, thrifty, clean,
+      well-conducted and sensible. All these things were better than money would
+      be in the hands of a bad housewife. Moreover, she had a few sous, left her
+      by a woman who had reared her, a good number of sous, almost a little
+      dowry, fifteen hundred francs in the savings bank. The old people,
+      persuaded by his talk, and relying also on their own judgment, were
+      gradually weakening, when he came to the delicate point. Laughing in
+      rather a constrained fashion, he said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There&rsquo;s only one thing you may not like. She is not a white slip.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They did not understand, and he had to explain at some length and very
+      cautiously, to avoid shocking them, that she belonged to the dusky race of
+      which they had only seen samples in pictures at Epinal. Then they became
+      restless, perplexed, alarmed, as if he had proposed a union with the
+      devil.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The mother said: &ldquo;Black? How much of her is black? Is the whole of her?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He replied: &ldquo;Certainly. Everywhere, just as you are white everywhere.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The father interposed: &ldquo;Black? Is it as black as the pot?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The son answered: &ldquo;Perhaps a little less than that. She is black, but not
+      disgustingly black. The cure&rsquo;s cassock is black, but it is not uglier than
+      a surplice which is white.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The father said: &ldquo;Are there more black people besides her in her country?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And the son, with an air of conviction, exclaimed: &ldquo;Certainly!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But the old man shook his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That must be unpleasant.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And the son:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It isn&rsquo;t more disagreeable than anything else when you get accustomed to
+      it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The mother asked:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It doesn&rsquo;t soil the underwear more than other skins, this black skin?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not more than your own, as it is her proper color.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then, after many other questions, it was agreed that the parents should
+      see this girl before coming; to any decision, and that the young fellow,
+      whose term of military service would be over in a month, should bring her
+      to the house in order that they might examine her and decide by talking
+      the matter over whether or not she was too dark to enter the Boitelle
+      family.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Antoine accordingly announced that on Sunday, the 22d of May, the day of
+      his discharge, he would start for Tourteville with his sweetheart.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She had put on, for this journey to the house of her lover&rsquo;s parents, her
+      most beautiful and most gaudy clothes, in which yellow, red and blue were
+      the prevailing colors, so that she looked as if she were adorned for a
+      national festival.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the terminus, as they were leaving Havre, people stared at her, and
+      Boitelle was proud of giving his arm to a person who commanded so much
+      attention. Then, in the third-class carriage, in which she took a seat by
+      his side, she aroused so much astonishment among the country folks that
+      the people in the adjoining compartments stood up on their benches to look
+      at her over the wooden partition which divides the compartments. A child,
+      at sight of her, began to cry with terror, another concealed his face in
+      his mother&rsquo;s apron. Everything went off well, however, up to their arrival
+      at their destination. But when the train slackened its rate of motion as
+      they drew near Yvetot, Antoine felt ill at ease, as he would have done at
+      a review when he did not know his drill practice. Then, as he; leaned his
+      head out, he recognized in the distance: his father, holding the bridle of
+      the horse harnessed to a carryall, and his mother, who had come forward to
+      the grating, behind which stood those who were expecting friends.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He alighted first, gave his hand to his sweetheart, and holding himself
+      erect, as if he were escorting a general, he went to meet his family.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The mother, on seeing this black lady in variegated costume in her son&rsquo;s
+      company, remained so stupefied that she could not open her mouth; and the
+      father found it hard to hold the horse, which the engine or the negress
+      caused to rear continuously. But Antoine, suddenly filled with unmixed joy
+      at seeing once more the old people, rushed forward with open arms,
+      embraced his mother, embraced his father, in spite of the nag&rsquo;s fright,
+      and then turning toward his companion, at whom the passengers on the
+      platform stopped to stare with amazement, he proceeded to explain:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here she is! I told you that, at first sight, she is not attractive; but
+      as soon as you know her, I can assure you there&rsquo;s not a better sort in the
+      whole world. Say good-morning to her so that she may not feel badly.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Thereupon Mere Boitelle, almost frightened out of her wits, made a sort of
+      curtsy, while the father took off his cap, murmuring:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wish you good luck!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then, without further delay, they climbed into the carryall, the two women
+      at the back, on seats which made them jump up and down as the vehicle went
+      jolting along the road, and the two men in front on the front seat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Nobody spoke. Antoine, ill at ease, whistled a barrack-room air; his
+      father whipped the nag; and his mother, from where she sat in the corner,
+      kept casting sly glances at the negress, whose forehead and cheekbones
+      shone in the sunlight like well-polished shoes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Wishing to break the ice, Antoine turned round.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;we don&rsquo;t seem inclined to talk.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We must have time,&rdquo; replied the old woman.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He went on:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come! Tell us the little story about that hen of yours that laid eight
+      eggs.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a funny anecdote of long standing in the family. But, as his mother
+      still remained silent, paralyzed by her emotion, he undertook himself to
+      tell the story, laughing as he did so at the memorable incident. The
+      father, who knew it by heart brightened at the opening words of the
+      narrative; his wife soon followed his example; and the negress herself,
+      when he reached the drollest part of it, suddenly gave vent to a laugh,
+      such a loud, rolling torrent of laughter that the horse, becoming excited,
+      broke into a gallop for a while.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This served to cement their acquaintance. They all began to chat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They had scarcely reached the house and had all alighted, when Antoine
+      conducted his sweetheart to a room, so that she might take off her dress,
+      to avoid staining it, as she was going to prepare a nice dish, intended to
+      win the old people&rsquo;s affections through their stomachs. He drew his
+      parents outside the house, and, with beating heart, asked:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, what do you say now?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The father said nothing. The mother, less timid, exclaimed:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She is too black. No, indeed, this is too much for me. It turns my
+      blood.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You will get used to it,&rdquo; said Antoine.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps so, but not at first.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They went into the house, where the good woman was somewhat affected at
+      the spectacle of the negress engaged in cooking. She at once proceeded to
+      assist her, with petticoats tucked up, active in spite of her age.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The meal was an excellent one, very long, very enjoyable. When they were
+      taking a turn after dinner, Antoine took his father aside.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, dad, what do you say about it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The peasant took care never to compromise himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have no opinion about it. Ask your mother.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So Antoine went back to his mother, and, detaining her behind the rest,
+      said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, mother, what do you think of her?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My poor lad, she is really too black. If she were only a little less
+      black, I would not go against you, but this is too much. One would think
+      it was Satan!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He did not press her, knowing how obstinate the old woman had always been,
+      but he felt a tempest of disappointment sweeping over his heart. He was
+      turning over in his mind what he ought to do, what plan he could devise,
+      surprised, moreover, that she had not conquered them already as she had
+      captivated himself. And they, all four, walked along through the wheat
+      fields, having gradually relapsed into silence. Whenever they passed a
+      fence they saw a countryman sitting on the stile, and a group of brats
+      climbed up to stare at them, and every one rushed out into the road to see
+      the &ldquo;black&rdquo; whore young Boitelle had brought home with him. At a distance
+      they noticed people scampering across the fields just as when the drum
+      beats to draw public attention to some living phenomenon. Pere and Mere
+      Boitelle, alarmed at this curiosity, which was exhibited everywhere
+      through the country at their approach, quickened their pace, walking side
+      by side, and leaving their son far behind. His dark companion asked what
+      his parents thought of her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He hesitatingly replied that they had not yet made up their minds.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But on the village green people rushed out of all the houses in a flutter
+      of excitement; and, at the sight of the gathering crowd, old Boitelle took
+      to his heels, and regained his abode, while Antoine; swelling with rage,
+      his sweetheart on his arm, advanced majestically under the staring eyes,
+      which opened wide in amazement.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He understood that it was at an end, and there was no hope for him, that
+      he could not marry his negress. She also understood it; and as they drew
+      near the farmhouse they both began to weep. As soon as they had got back
+      to the house, she once more took off her dress to aid the mother in the
+      household duties, and followed her everywhere, to the dairy, to the
+      stable, to the hen house, taking on herself the hardest part of the work,
+      repeating always: &ldquo;Let me do it, Madame Boitelle,&rdquo; so that, when night
+      came on, the old woman, touched but inexorable, said to her son: &ldquo;She is a
+      good girl, all the same. It&rsquo;s a pity she is so black; but indeed she is
+      too black. I could not get used to it. She must go back again. She is too,
+      too black!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And young Boitelle said to his sweetheart:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She will not consent. She thinks you are too black. You must go back
+      again. I will go with you to the train. No matter&mdash;don&rsquo;t fret. I am
+      going to talk to them after you have started.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He then took her to the railway station, still cheering her with hope,
+      and, when he had kissed her, he put her into the train, which he watched
+      as it passed out of sight, his eyes swollen with tears.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In vain did he appeal to the old people. They would never give their
+      consent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And when he had told this story, which was known all over the country,
+      Antoine Boitelle would always add:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;From that time forward I have had no heart for anything&mdash;for
+      anything at all. No trade suited me any longer, and so I became what I am&mdash;a
+      night scavenger.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      People would say to him:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yet you got married.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, and I can&rsquo;t say that my wife didn&rsquo;t please me, seeing that I have
+      fourteen children; but she is not the other one, oh, no&mdash;certainly
+      not! The other one, mark you, my negress, she had only to give me one
+      glance, and I felt as if I were in Heaven.&rdquo;
+     </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>
+      A WIDOW
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      This story was told during the hunting season at the Chateau Baneville.
+      The autumn had been rainy and sad. The red leaves, instead of rustling
+      under the feet, were rotting under the heavy downfalls.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The forest was as damp as it could be. From it came an odor of must, of
+      rain, of soaked grass and wet earth; and the sportsmen, their backs
+      hunched under the downpour, mournful dogs, with tails between their legs
+      and hairs sticking to their sides, and the young women, with their clothes
+      drenched, returned every evening, tired in body and in mind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After dinner, in the large drawing-room, everybody played lotto, without
+      enjoyment, while the wind whistled madly around the house. Then they tried
+      telling stories like those they read in books, but no one was able to
+      invent anything amusing. The hunters told tales of wonderful shots and of
+      the butchery of rabbits; and the women racked their brains for ideas
+      without revealing the imagination of Scheherezade. They were about to give
+      up this diversion when a young woman, who was idly caressing the hand of
+      an old maiden aunt, noticed a little ring made of blond hair, which she
+      had often seen, without paying any attention to it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She fingered it gently and asked, &ldquo;Auntie, what is this ring? It looks as
+      if it were made from the hair of a child.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The old lady blushed, grew pale, then answered in a trembling voice: &ldquo;It
+      is sad, so sad that I never wish to speak of it. All the unhappiness of my
+      life comes from that. I was very young then, and the memory has remained
+      so painful that I weep every time I think of it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Immediately everybody wished to know the story, but the old lady refused
+      to tell it. Finally, after they had coaxed her for a long time, she
+      yielded. Here is the story:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You have often heard me speak of the Santeze family, now extinct. I knew
+      the last three male members of this family. They all died in the same
+      manner; this hair belongs to the last one. He was thirteen when he killed
+      himself for me. That seems strange to you, doesn&rsquo;t it?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! it was a strange family&mdash;mad, if you will, but a charming
+      madness, the madness of love. From father to son, all had violent passions
+      which filled their whole being, which impelled them to do wild things,
+      drove them to frantic enthusiasm, even to crime. This was born in them,
+      just as burning devotion is in certain souls. Trappers have not the same
+      nature as minions of the drawing-room. There was a saying: &lsquo;As passionate
+      as a Santeze.&rsquo; This could be noticed by looking at them. They all had wavy
+      hair, falling over their brows, curly beards and large eyes whose glance
+      pierced and moved one, though one could not say why.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The grandfather of the owner of this hair, of whom it is the last
+      souvenir, after many adventures, duels and elopements, at about sixty-five
+      fell madly in love with his farmer&rsquo;s daughter. I knew them both. She was
+      blond, pale, distinguished-looking, with a slow manner of talking, a quiet
+      voice and a look so gentle that one might have taken her for a Madonna.
+      The old nobleman took her to his home and was soon so captivated with her
+      that he could not live without her for a minute. His daughter and
+      daughter-in-law, who lived in the chateau, found this perfectly natural,
+      love was such a tradition in the family. Nothing in regard to a passion
+      surprised them, and if one spoke before them of parted lovers, even of
+      vengeance after treachery, both said in the same sad tone: &lsquo;Oh, how he
+      must have suffered to come to that point!&rsquo; That was all. They grew sad
+      over tragedies of love, but never indignant, even when they were criminal.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now, one day a young man named Monsieur de Gradelle, who had been invited
+      for the shooting, eloped with the young girl.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Monsieur de Santeze remained calm as if nothing had happened, but one
+      morning he was found hanging in the kennels, among his dogs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;His son died in the same manner in a hotel in Paris during a journey
+      which he made there in 1841, after being deceived by a singer from the
+      opera.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He left a twelve-year-old child and a widow, my mother&rsquo;s sister. She came
+      to my father&rsquo;s house with the boy, while we were living at Bertillon. I
+      was then seventeen.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You have no idea how wonderful and precocious this Santeze child was. One
+      might have thought that all the tenderness and exaltation of the whole
+      race had been stored up in this last one. He was always dreaming and
+      walking about alone in a great alley of elms leading from the chateau to
+      the forest. I watched from my window this sentimental boy, who walked with
+      thoughtful steps, his hands behind his back, his head bent, and at times
+      stopping to raise his eyes as if he could see and understand things that
+      were not comprehensible at his age.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Often, after dinner on clear evenings, he would say to me: &lsquo;Let us go
+      outside and dream, cousin.&rsquo; And we would go outside together in the park.
+      He would stop quickly before a clearing where the white vapor of the moon
+      lights the woods, and he would press my hand, saying: &lsquo;Look! look! but you
+      don&rsquo;t understand me; I feel it. If you understood me, we should be happy.
+      One must love to know! I would laugh and then kiss this child, who loved
+      me madly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Often, after dinner, he would sit on my mother&rsquo;s knees. &lsquo;Come, auntie,&rsquo;
+      he would say, &lsquo;tell me some love-stories.&rsquo; And my mother, as a joke, would
+      tell him all the old legends of the family, all the passionate adventures
+      of his forefathers, for thousands of them were current, some true and some
+      false. It was their reputation for love and gallantry which was the ruin
+      of every one of these men; they gloried in it and then thought that they
+      had to live up to the renown of their house.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The little fellow became exalted by these tender or terrible stories, and
+      at times he would clap his hands, crying: &lsquo;I, too, I, too, know how to
+      love, better than all of them!&rsquo;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then, he began to court me in a timid and tender manner, at which every
+      one laughed, it was, so amusing. Every morning I had some flowers picked
+      by him, and every evening before going to his room he would kiss my hand
+      and murmur: &lsquo;I love you!&rsquo;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I was guilty, very guilty, and I grieved continually about it, and I have
+      been doing penance all my life; I have remained an old maid&mdash;or,
+      rather, I have lived as a widowed fiancee, his widow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I was amused at this childish tenderness, and I even encouraged him. I
+      was coquettish, as charming as with a man, alternately caressing and
+      severe. I maddened this child. It was a game for me and a joyous diversion
+      for his mother and mine. He was twelve! think of it! Who would have taken
+      this atom&rsquo;s passion seriously? I kissed him as often as he wished; I even
+      wrote him little notes, which were read by our respective mothers; and he
+      answered me by passionate letters, which I have kept. Judging himself as a
+      man, he thought that our loving intimacy was secret. We had forgotten that
+      he was a Santeze.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This lasted for about a year. One evening in the park he fell at my feet
+      and, as he madly kissed the hem of my dress, he kept repeating: &lsquo;I love
+      you! I love you! I love you! If ever you deceive me, if ever you leave me
+      for another, I&rsquo;ll do as my father did.&rsquo; And he added in a hoarse voice,
+      which gave me a shiver: &lsquo;You know what he did!&rsquo;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I stood there astonished. He arose, and standing on the tips of his toes
+      in order to reach my ear, for I was taller than he, he pronounced my first
+      name: &lsquo;Genevieve!&rsquo; in such a gentle, sweet, tender tone that I trembled
+      all over. I stammered: &lsquo;Let us return! let us return!&rsquo; He said no more and
+      followed me; but as we were going up the steps of the porch, he stopped
+      me, saying: &lsquo;You know, if ever you leave me, I&rsquo;ll kill myself.&rsquo;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This time I understood that I had gone too far, and I became quite
+      reserved. One day, as he was reproaching me for this, I answered: &lsquo;You are
+      now too old for jesting and too young for serious love. I&rsquo;ll wait.&rsquo;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I thought that this would end the matter. In the autumn he was sent to a
+      boarding-school. When he returned the following summer I was engaged to be
+      married. He understood immediately, and for a week he became so pensive
+      that I was quite anxious.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;On the morning of the ninth day I saw a little paper under my door as I
+      got up. I seized it, opened it and read: &lsquo;You have deserted me and you
+      know what I said. It is death to which you have condemned me. As I do not
+      wish to be found by another than you, come to the park just where I told
+      you last year that I loved you and look in the air.&rsquo;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I thought that I should go mad. I dressed as quickly as I could and ran
+      wildly to the place that he had mentioned. His little cap was on the
+      ground in the mud. It had been raining all night. I raised my eyes and saw
+      something swinging among the leaves, for the wind was blowing a gale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know what I did after that. I must have screamed at first, then
+      fainted and fallen, and finally have run to the chateau. The next thing
+      that I remember I was in bed, with my mother sitting beside me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I thought that I had dreamed all this in a frightful nightmare. I
+      stammered: &lsquo;And what of him, what of him, Gontran?&rsquo; There was no answer.
+      It was true!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I did not dare see him again, but I asked for a lock of his blond hair.
+      Here&mdash;here it is!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And the old maid stretched out her trembling hand in a despairing gesture.
+      Then she blew her nose several times, wiped her eyes and continued:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I broke off my marriage&mdash;without saying why. And I&mdash;I always
+      have remained the&mdash;the widow of this thirteen-year-old boy.&rdquo; Then her
+      head fell on her breast and she wept for a long time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As the guests were retiring for the night a large man, whose quiet she had
+      disturbed, whispered in his neighbor&rsquo;s ear: &ldquo;Isn&rsquo;t it unfortunate to, be
+      so sentimental?&rdquo;
+     </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>
+      THE ENGLISHMAN OF ETRETAT
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      A great English poet has just crossed over to France in order to greet
+      Victor Hugo. All the newspapers are full of his name and he is the great
+      topic of conversation in all drawing-rooms. Fifteen years ago I had
+      occasion several times to meet Algernon Charles Swinburne. I will attempt
+      to show him just as I saw him and to give an idea of the strange
+      impression he made on me, which will remain with me throughout time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I believe it was in 1867 or in 1868 that an unknown young Englishman came
+      to Etretat and bought a little hut hidden under great trees. It was said
+      that he lived there, always alone, in a strange manner; and he aroused the
+      inimical surprise of the natives, for the inhabitants were sullen and
+      foolishly malicious, as they always are in little towns.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They declared that this whimsical Englishman ate nothing but boiled,
+      roasted or stewed monkey; that he would see no one; that he talked to
+      himself hours at a time and many other surprising things that made people
+      think that he was different from other men. They were surprised that he
+      should live alone with a monkey. Had it been a cat or a dog they would
+      have said nothing. But a monkey! Was that not frightful? What savage
+      tastes the man must have!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I knew this young man only from seeing him in the streets. He was short,
+      plump, without being fat, mild-looking, and he wore a little blond
+      mustache, which was almost invisible.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Chance brought us together. This savage had amiable and pleasing manners,
+      but he was one of those strange Englishmen that one meets here and there
+      throughout the world.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Endowed with remarkable intelligence, he seemed to live in a fantastic
+      dream, as Edgar Poe must have lived. He had translated into English a
+      volume of strange Icelandic legends, which I ardently desired to see
+      translated into French. He loved the supernatural, the dismal and
+      grewsome, but he spoke of the most marvellous things with a calmness that
+      was typically English, to which his gentle and quiet voice gave a
+      semblance of reality that was maddening.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Full of a haughty disdain for the world, with its conventions, prejudices
+      and code of morality, he had nailed to his house a name that was boldly
+      impudent. The keeper of a lonely inn who should write on his door:
+      &ldquo;Travellers murdered here!&rdquo; could not make a more sinister jest. I never
+      had entered his dwelling, when one day I received an invitation to
+      luncheon, following an accident that had occurred to one of his friends,
+      who had been almost drowned and whom I had attempted to rescue.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Although I was unable to reach the man until he had already been rescued,
+      I received the hearty thanks of the two Englishmen, and the following day
+      I called upon them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The friend was a man about thirty years old. He bore an enormous head on a
+      child&rsquo;s body&mdash;a body without chest or shoulders. An immense forehead,
+      which seemed to have engulfed the rest of the man, expanded like a dome
+      above a thin face which ended in a little pointed beard. Two sharp eyes
+      and a peculiar mouth gave one the impression of the head of a reptile,
+      while the magnificent brow suggested a genius.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A nervous twitching shook this peculiar being, who walked, moved, acted by
+      jerks like a broken spring.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This was Algernon Charles Swinburne, son of an English admiral and
+      grandson, on the maternal side, of the Earl of Ashburnham.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He strange countenance was transfigured when he spoke. I have seldom seen
+      a man more impressive, more eloquent, incisive or charming in
+      conversation. His rapid, clear, piercing and fantastic imagination seemed
+      to creep into his voice and to lend life to his words. His brusque
+      gestures enlivened his speech, which penetrated one like a dagger, and he
+      had bursts of thought, just as lighthouses throw out flashes of fire,
+      great, genial lights that seemed to illuminate a whole world of ideas.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The home of the two friends was pretty and by no means commonplace.
+      Everywhere were paintings, some superb, some strange, representing
+      different conceptions of insanity. Unless I am mistaken, there was a
+      water-color which represented the head of a dead man floating in a
+      rose-colored shell on a boundless ocean, under a moon with a human face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Here and there I came across bones. I clearly remember a flayed hand on
+      which was hanging some dried skin and black muscles, and on the snow-white
+      bones could be seen the traces of dried blood.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The food was a riddle which I could not solve. Was it good? Was it bad? I
+      could not say. Some roast monkey took away all desire to make a steady
+      diet of this animal, and the great monkey who roamed about among us at
+      large and playfully pushed his head into my glass when I wished to drink
+      cured me of any desire I might have to take one of his brothers as a
+      companion for the rest of my days.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As for the two men, they gave me the impression of two strange, original,
+      remarkable minds, belonging to that peculiar race of talented madmen from
+      among whom have arisen Poe, Hoffmann and many others.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      If genius is, as is commonly believed, a sort of aberration of great
+      minds, then Algernon Charles Swinburne is undoubtedly a genius.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Great minds that are healthy are never considered geniuses, while this
+      sublime qualification is lavished on brains that are often inferior but
+      are slightly touched by madness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At any rate, this poet remains one of the first of his time, through his
+      originality and polished form. He is an exalted lyrical singer who seldom
+      bothers about the good and humble truth, which French poets are now
+      seeking so persistently and patiently. He strives to set down dreams,
+      subtle thoughts, sometimes great, sometimes visibly forced, but sometimes
+      magnificent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Two years later I found the house closed and its tenants gone. The
+      furniture was being sold. In memory of them I bought the hideous flayed
+      hand. On the grass an enormous square block of granite bore this simple
+      word: &ldquo;Nip.&rdquo; Above this a hollow stone offered water to the birds. It was
+      the grave of the monkey, who had been hanged by a young, vindictive negro
+      servant. It was said that this violent domestic had been forced to flee at
+      the point of his exasperated master&rsquo;s revolver. After wandering about
+      without home or food for several days, he returned and began to peddle
+      barley-sugar in the streets. He was expelled from the country after he had
+      almost strangled a displeased customer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The world would be gayer if one could often meet homes like that.
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+   This story appeared in the &ldquo;Gaulois,&rdquo; November 29, 1882. It was the
+   original sketch for the introductory study of Swinburne, written by
+   Maupassant for the French translation by Gabriel Mourey of &ldquo;Poems
+   and Ballads.&rdquo;
+ </pre>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      MAGNETISM
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      It was a men&rsquo;s dinner party, and they were sitting over their cigars and
+      brandy and discussing magnetism. Donato&rsquo;s tricks and Charcot&rsquo;s
+      experiments. Presently, the sceptical, easy-going men, who cared nothing
+      for religion of any sort, began telling stories of strange occurrences,
+      incredible things which, nevertheless, had really occurred, so they said,
+      falling back into superstitious beliefs, clinging to these last remnants
+      of the marvellous, becoming devotees of this mystery of magnetism,
+      defending it in the name of science. There was only one person who smiled,
+      a vigorous young fellow, a great ladies&rsquo; man who was so incredulous that
+      he would not even enter upon a discussion of such matters.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He repeated with a sneer:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humbug! humbug! humbug! We need not discuss Donato, who is merely a very
+      smart juggler. As for M. Charcot, who is said to be a remarkable man of
+      science, he produces on me the effect of those story-tellers of the school
+      of Edgar Poe, who end by going mad through constantly reflecting on queer
+      cases of insanity. He has authenticated some cases of unexplained and
+      inexplicable nervous phenomena; he makes his way into that unknown region
+      which men are exploring every day, and unable always to understand what he
+      sees, he recalls, perhaps, the ecclesiastical interpretation of these
+      mysteries. I should like to hear what he says himself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The words of the unbeliever were listened to with a kind of pity, as if he
+      had blasphemed in an assembly of monks.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One of these gentlemen exclaimed:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And yet miracles were performed in olden times.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I deny it,&rdquo; replied the other: &ldquo;Why cannot they be performed now?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then, each mentioned some fact, some fantastic presentiment some instance
+      of souls communicating with each other across space, or some case of the
+      secret influence of one being over another. They asserted and maintained
+      that these things had actually occurred, while the sceptic angrily
+      repeated:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humbug! humbug! humbug!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At last he rose, threw away his cigar, and with his hands in his pockets,
+      said: &ldquo;Well, I also have two stories to tell you, which I will afterwards
+      explain. Here they are:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In the little village of Etretat, the men, who are all seafaring folk, go
+      every year to Newfoundland to fish for cod. One night the little son of
+      one of these fishermen woke up with a start, crying out that his father
+      was dead. The child was quieted, and again he woke up exclaiming that his
+      father was drowned. A month later the news came that his father had, in
+      fact, been swept off the deck of his smack by a billow. The widow then
+      remembered how her son had woke up and spoken of his father&rsquo;s death.
+      Everyone said it was a miracle, and the affair caused a great sensation.
+      The dates were compared, and it was found that the accident and the dream
+      were almost coincident, whence they concluded that they had happened on
+      the same night and at the same hour. And there is a mystery of magnetism.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The story-teller stopped suddenly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thereupon, one of those who had heard him, much affected by the narrative,
+      asked:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And can you explain this?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perfectly, monsieur. I have discovered the secret. The circumstance
+      surprised me and even perplexed me very much; but you see, I do not
+      believe on principle. Just as others begin by believing, I begin by
+      doubting; and when I cannot understand, I continue to deny that there can
+      be any telepathic communication between souls; certain that my own
+      intelligence will be able to explain it. Well, I kept on inquiring into
+      the matter, and by dint of questioning all the wives of the absent seamen,
+      I was convinced that not a week passed without one of them, or one of
+      their children dreaming and declaring when they woke up that the father
+      was drowned. The horrible and continual fear of this accident makes them
+      always talk about it. Now, if one of these frequent predictions coincides,
+      by a very simple chance, with the death of the person referred to, people
+      at once declare it to be a miracle; for they suddenly lose sight of all
+      the other predictions of misfortune that have remained unfulfilled. I have
+      myself known fifty cases where the persons who made the prediction forgot
+      all about it a week afterwards. But, if, then one happens to die, then
+      the recollection of the thing is immediately revived, and people are ready
+      to believe in the intervention of God, according to some, and magnetism,
+      according to others.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      One of the smokers remarked:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What you say is right enough; but what about your second story?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! my second story is a very delicate matter to relate. It happened to
+      myself, and so I don&rsquo;t place any great value on my own view of the matter.
+      An interested party can never give an impartial opinion. However, here it
+      is:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Among my acquaintances was a young woman on whom I had never bestowed a
+      thought, whom I had never even looked at attentively, never taken any
+      notice of.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I classed her among the women of no importance, though she was not
+      bad-looking; she appeared, in fact, to possess eyes, a nose, a mouth, some
+      sort of hair&mdash;just a colorless type of countenance. She was one of
+      those beings who awaken only a chance, passing thought, but no special
+      interest, no desire.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, one night, as I was writing some letters by my fireside before
+      going to bed, I was conscious, in the midst of that train of sensuous
+      visions that sometimes pass through one&rsquo;s brain in moments of idle
+      reverie, of a kind of slight influence, passing over me, a little flutter
+      of the heart, and immediately, without any cause, without any logical
+      connection of thought, I saw distinctly, as if I were touching her, saw
+      from head to foot, and disrobed, this young woman to whom I had never
+      given more than three seconds&rsquo; thought at a time. I suddenly discovered in
+      her a number of qualities which I had never before observed, a sweet
+      charm, a languorous fascination; she awakened in me that sort of restless
+      emotion that causes one to pursue a woman. But I did not think of her
+      long. I went to bed and was soon asleep. And I dreamed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You have all had these strange dreams which make you overcome the
+      impossible, which open to you double-locked doors, unexpected joys,
+      tightly folded arms?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Which of us in these troubled, excising, breathless slumbers, has not
+      held, clasped, embraced with rapture, the woman who occupied his thoughts?
+      And have you ever noticed what superhuman delight these happy dreams give
+      us? Into what mad intoxication they cast you! with what passionate spasms
+      they shake you! and with what infinite, caressing, penetrating tenderness
+      they fill your heart for her whom you hold clasped in your arms in that
+      adorable illusion that is so like reality!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All this I felt with unforgettable violence. This woman was mine, so much
+      mine that the pleasant warmth of her skin remained in my fingers, the odor
+      of her skin, in my brain, the taste of her kisses, on my lips, the sound
+      of her voice lingered in my ears, the touch of her clasp still clung to
+      me, and the burning charm of her tenderness still gratified my senses long
+      after the delight but disillusion of my awakening.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And three times that night I had the same dream.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When the day dawned she haunted me, possessed me, filled my senses to
+      such an extent that I was not one second without thinking of her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;At last, not knowing what to do, I dressed myself and went to call on
+      her. As I went upstairs to her apartment, I was so overcome by emotion
+      that I trembled, and my heart beat rapidly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I entered the apartment. She rose the moment she heard my name mentioned;
+      and suddenly our eyes met in a peculiar fixed gaze.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I sat down. I stammered out some commonplaces which she seemed not to
+      hear. I did not know what to say or do. Then, abruptly, clasping my arms
+      round her, my dream was realized so suddenly that I began to doubt whether
+      I was really awake. We were friends after this for two years.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What conclusion do you draw from it?&rdquo; said a voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The story-teller seemed to hesitate.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The conclusion I draw from it&mdash;well, by Jove, the conclusion is that
+      it was just a coincidence! And then&mdash;who can tell? Perhaps it was
+      some glance of hers which I had not noticed and which came back that night
+      to me through one of those mysterious and unconscious&mdash;recollections
+      that often bring before us things ignored by our own consciousness,
+      unperceived by our minds!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Call it whatever you like,&rdquo; said one of his table companions, when the
+      story was finished; &ldquo;but if you don&rsquo;t believe in magnetism after that, my
+      dear boy, you are an ungrateful fellow!&rdquo;
+     </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>
+      A FATHER&rsquo;S CONFESSION
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      All Veziers-le-Rethel had followed the funeral procession of M.
+      Badon-Leremince to the grave, and the last words of the funeral oration
+      pronounced by the delegate of the district remained in the minds of all:
+      &ldquo;He was an honest man, at least!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      An honest man he had been in all the known acts of his life, in his words,
+      in his examples, his attitude, his behavior, his enterprises, in the cut
+      of his beard and the shape of his hats. He never had said a word that did
+      not set an example, never had given an alms without adding a word of
+      advice, never had extended his hand without appearing to bestow a
+      benediction.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He left two children, a boy and a girl. His son was counselor general, and
+      his daughter, having married a lawyer, M. Poirel de la Voulte, moved in
+      the best society of Veziers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They were inconsolable at the death of their father, for they loved him
+      sincerely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As soon as the ceremony was over, the son, daughter and son-in-law
+      returned to the house of mourning, and, shutting themselves in the
+      library, they opened the will, the seals of which were to be broken by
+      them alone and only after the coffin had been placed in the ground. This
+      wish was expressed by a notice on the envelope.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      M. Poirel de la Voulte tore open the envelope, in his character of a
+      lawyer used to such operations, and having adjusted his spectacles, he
+      read in a monotonous voice, made for reading the details of contracts:
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+   My children, my dear children, I could not sleep the eternal sleep
+   in peace if I did not make to you from the tomb a confession, the
+   confession of a crime, remorse for which has ruined my life. Yes,
+   I committed a crime, a frightful, abominable crime.
+
+   I was twenty-six years old, and I had just been called to the bar in
+   Paris, and was living the life off young men from the provinces who
+   are stranded in this town without acquaintances, relatives, or
+   friends.
+
+   I took a sweetheart. There are beings who cannot live alone. I was
+   one of those. Solitude fills me with horrible anguish, the solitude
+   of my room beside my fire in the evening. I feel then as if I were
+   alone on earth, alone, but surrounded by vague dangers, unknown and
+   terrible things; and the partition that separates me from my
+   neighbor, my neighbor whom I do not know, keeps me at as great a
+   distance from him as the stars that I see through my window. A sort
+   of fever pervades me, a fever of impatience and of fear, and the
+   silence of the walls terrifies me. The silence of a room where one
+   lives alone is so intense and so melancholy. It is not only a silence
+   of the mind; when a piece of furniture cracks a shudder goes through
+   you for you expect no noise in this melancholy abode.
+
+   How many times, nervous and timid from this motionless silence, I
+   have begun to talk, to repeat words without rhyme or reason, only to
+   make some sound. My voice at those times sounds so strange that I
+   am afraid of that, too. Is there anything more dreadful than
+   talking to one&rsquo;s self in an empty house? One&rsquo;s voice sounds like
+   that of another, an unknown voice talking aimlessly, to no one, into
+   the empty air, with no ear to listen to it, for one knows before
+   they escape into the solitude of the room exactly what words will be
+   uttered. And when they resound lugubriously in the silence, they
+   seem no more than an echo, the peculiar echo of words whispered by
+   ones thought.
+
+   My sweetheart was a young girl like other young girls who live in
+   Paris on wages that are insufficient to keep them. She was gentle,
+   good, simple. Her parents lived at Poissy. She went to spend
+   several days with them from time to time.
+
+   For a year I lived quietly with her, fully decided to leave her when
+   I should find some one whom I liked well enough to marry. I would
+   make a little provision for this one, for it is an understood thing
+   in our social set that a woman&rsquo;s love should be paid for, in money
+   if she is poor, in presents if she is rich.
+
+   But one day she told me she was enceinte. I was thunderstruck, and
+   saw in a second that my life would be ruined. I saw the fetter that
+   I should wear until my death, everywhere, in my future family life,
+   in my old age, forever; the fetter of a woman bound to my life
+   through a child; the fetter of the child whom I must bring up, watch
+   over, protect, while keeping myself unknown to him, and keeping him
+   hidden from the world.
+
+   I was greatly disturbed at this news, and a confused longing, a
+   criminal desire, surged through my mind; I did not formulate it, but
+   I felt it in my heart, ready to come to the surface, as if some one
+   hidden behind a portiere should await the signal to come out. If
+   some accident might only happen! So many of these little beings die
+   before they are born!
+
+   Oh! I did not wish my sweetheart to die! The poor girl, I loved
+   her very much! But I wished, possibly, that the child might die
+   before I saw it.
+
+   He was born. I set up housekeeping in my little bachelor apartment,
+   an imitation home, with a horrible child. He looked like all
+   children; I did not care for him. Fathers, you see, do not show
+   affection until later. They have not the instinctive and passionate
+   tenderness of mothers; their affection has to be awakened gradually,
+   their mind must become attached by bonds formed each day between
+   beings that live in each other&rsquo;s society.
+
+   A year passed. I now avoided my home, which was too small, where
+   soiled linen, baby-clothes and stockings the size of gloves were
+   lying round, where a thousand articles of all descriptions lay on
+   the furniture, on the arm of an easy-chair, everywhere. I went out
+   chiefly that I might not hear the child cry, for he cried on the
+   slightest pretext, when he was bathed, when he was touched, when he
+   was put to bed, when he was taken up in the morning, incessantly.
+
+   I had made a few acquaintances, and I met at a reception the woman
+   who was to be your mother. I fell in love with her and became
+   desirous to marry her. I courted her; I asked her parents&rsquo; consent
+   to our marriage and it was granted.
+
+   I found myself in this dilemma: I must either marry this young girl
+   whom I adored, having a child already, or else tell the truth and
+   renounce her, and happiness, my future, everything; for her parents,
+   who were people of rigid principles, would not give her to me if
+   they knew.
+
+   I passed a month of horrible anguish, of mortal torture, a month
+   haunted by a thousand frightful thoughts; and I felt developing in
+   me a hatred toward my son, toward that little morsel of living,
+   screaming flesh, who blocked my path, interrupted my life, condemned
+   me to an existence without hope, without all those vague
+   expectations that make the charm of youth.
+
+   But just then my companion&rsquo;s mother became ill, and I was left alone
+   with the child.
+
+   It was in December, and the weather was terribly cold. What a
+   night!
+
+   My companion had just left. I had dined alone in my little
+   dining-room and I went gently into the room where the little one was
+   asleep.
+
+   I sat down in an armchair before the fire. The wind was blowing,
+   making the windows rattle, a dry, frosty wind; and I saw trough the
+   window the stars shining with that piercing brightness that they
+   have on frosty nights.
+
+   Then the idea that had obsessed me for a month rose again to the
+   surface. As soon as I was quiet it came to me and harassed me. It
+   ate into my mind like a fixed idea, just as cancers must eat into
+   the flesh. It was there, in my head, in my heart, in my whole body,
+   it seemed to me; and it swallowed me up as a wild beast might have.
+   I endeavored to drive it away, to repulse it, to open my mind to
+   other thoughts, as one opens a window to the fresh morning breeze to
+   drive out the vitiated air; but I could not drive it from my brain,
+   not even for a second. I do not know how to express this torture.
+   It gnawed at my soul, and I felt a frightful pain, a real physical
+   and moral pain.
+
+   My life was ruined! How could I escape from this situation? How
+   could I draw back, and how could I confess?
+
+   And I loved the one who was to become your mother with a mad
+   passion, which this insurmountable obstacle only aggravated.
+
+   A terrible rage was taking possession of me, choking me, a rage that
+   verged on madness! Surely I was crazy that evening!
+
+   The child was sleeping. I got up and looked at it as it slept. It
+   was he, this abortion, this spawn, this nothing, that condemned me
+   to irremediable unhappiness!
+
+   He was asleep, his mouth open, wrapped in his bed-clothes in a crib
+   beside my bed, where I could not sleep.
+
+   How did I ever do what I did? How do I know? What force urged me
+   on? What malevolent power took possession of me? Oh! the
+   temptation to crime came to me without any forewarning. All I
+   recall is that my heart beat tumultuously. It beat so hard that I
+   could hear it, as one hears the strokes of a hammer behind a
+   partition. That is all I can recall&mdash;the beating of my heart!
+   In my head there was a strange confusion, a tumult, a senseless
+   disorder, a lack of presence of mind. It was one of those hours of
+   bewilderment and hallucination when a man is neither conscious of
+   his actions nor able to guide his will.
+
+   I gently raised the coverings from the body of the child; I turned
+   them down to the foot of the crib, and he lay there uncovered and
+   naked.
+
+   He did not wake. Then I went toward the window, softly, quite
+   softly, and I opened it.
+
+   A breath of icy air glided in like an assassin; it was so cold that
+   I drew aside, and the two candles flickered. I remained standing
+   near the window, not daring to turn round, as if for fear of seeing
+   what was doing on behind me, and feeling the icy air continually
+   across my forehead, my cheeks, my hands, the deadly air which kept
+   streaming in. I stood there a long time.
+
+   I was not thinking, I was not reflecting. All at once a little
+   cough caused me to shudder frightfully from head to foot, a shudder
+   that I feel still to the roots of my hair. And with a frantic
+   movement I abruptly closed both sides of the window and, turning
+   round, ran over to the crib.
+
+   He was still asleep, his mouth open, quite naked. I touched his
+   legs; they were icy cold and I covered them up.
+
+   My heart was suddenly touched, grieved, filled with pity,
+   tenderness, love for this poor innocent being that I had wished to
+   kill. I kissed his fine, soft hair long and tenderly; then I went
+   and sat down before the fire.
+
+   I reflected with amazement with horror on what I had done, asking
+   myself whence come those tempests of the soul in which a man loses
+   all perspective of things, all command over himself and acts as in a
+   condition of mad intoxication, not knowing whither he is
+   going&mdash;like a vessel in a hurricane.
+
+   The child coughed again, and it gave my heart a wrench. Suppose it
+   should die! O God! O God! What would become of me?
+
+   I rose from my chair to go and look at him, and with a candle in my
+   hand I leaned over him. Seeing him breathing quietly I felt
+   reassured, when he coughed a third time. It gave me such a shock
+   tat I started backward, just as one does at sight of something
+   horrible, and let my candle fall.
+
+   As I stood erect after picking it up, I noticed that my temples were
+   bathed in perspiration, that cold sweat which is the result of
+   anguish of soul. And I remained until daylight bending over my son,
+   becoming calm when he remained quiet for some time, and filled with
+   atrocious pain when a weak cough came from his mouth.
+
+   He awoke with his eyes red, his throat choked, and with an air of
+   suffering.
+
+   When the woman came in to arrange my room I sent her at once for a
+   doctor. He came at the end of an hour, and said, after examining
+   the child:
+
+   &ldquo;Did he not catch cold?&rdquo;
+
+   I began to tremble like a person with palsy, and I faltered:
+
+   &ldquo;No, I do not think so.&rdquo;
+
+   And then I said:
+
+   &ldquo;What is the matter? Is it serious?&rdquo;
+
+   &ldquo;I do not know yet,&rdquo; he replied. &ldquo;I will come again this evening.&rdquo;
+
+   He came that evening. My son had remained almost all day in a
+   condition of drowsiness, coughing from time to time. During the
+   night inflammation of the lungs set in.
+
+   That lasted ten days. I cannot express what I suffered in those
+   interminable hours that divide morning from night, right from
+   morning.
+
+   He died.
+
+   And since&mdash;since that moment, I have not passed one hour, not a
+   single hour, without the frightful burning recollection, a gnawing
+   recollection, a memory that seems to wring my heart, awaking in me
+   like a savage beast imprisoned in the depth of my soul.
+
+   Oh! if I could have gone mad!
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      M. Poirel de la Voulte raised his spectacles with a motion that was
+      peculiar to him whenever he finished reading a contract; and the three
+      heirs of the defunct looked at one another without speaking, pale and
+      motionless.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the end of a minute the lawyer resumed:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That must be destroyed.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The other two bent their heads in sign of assent. He lighted a candle,
+      carefully separated the pages containing the damaging confession from
+      those relating to the disposition of money, then he held them over the
+      candle and threw them into the fireplace.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And they watched the white sheets as they burned, till they were presently
+      reduced to little crumbling black heaps. And as some words were still
+      visible in white tracing, the daughter, with little strokes of the toe of
+      her shoe, crushed the burning paper, mixing it with the old ashes in the
+      fireplace.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then all three stood there watching it for some time, as if they feared
+      that the destroyed secret might escape from the fireplace.
+    </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>
+      A MOTHER OF MONSTERS
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      I recalled this horrible story, the events of which occurred long ago, and
+      this horrible woman, the other day at a fashionable seaside resort, where
+      I saw on the beach a well-known young, elegant and charming Parisienne,
+      adored and respected by everyone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I had been invited by a friend to pay him a visit in a little provincial
+      town. He took me about in all directions to do the honors of the place,
+      showed me noted scenes, chateaux, industries, ruins. He pointed out
+      monuments, churches, old carved doorways, enormous or distorted trees, the
+      oak of St. Andrew, and the yew tree of Roqueboise.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When I had exhausted my admiration and enthusiasm over all the sights, my
+      friend said with a distressed expression on his face, that there was
+      nothing left to look at. I breathed freely. I would now be able to rest
+      under the shade of the trees. But, all at once, he uttered an exclamation:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes! We have the &lsquo;Mother of Monsters&rsquo;; I must take you to see her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who is that, the &lsquo;Mother of Monsters&rsquo;?&rdquo; I asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She is an abominable woman,&rdquo; he replied, &ldquo;a regular demon, a being who
+      voluntarily brings into the world deformed, hideous, frightful children,
+      monstrosities, in fact, and then sells them to showmen who exhibit such
+      things.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;These exploiters of freaks come from time to time to find out if she has
+      any fresh monstrosity, and if it meets with their approval they carry it
+      away with them, paying the mother a compensation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She has eleven of this description. She is rich.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You think I am joking, romancing, exaggerating. No, my friend; I am
+      telling you the truth, the exact truth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let us go and see this woman. Then I will tell you her history.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He took me into one of the suburbs. The woman lived in a pretty little
+      house by the side of the road. It was attractive and well kept. The garden
+      was filled with fragrant flowers. One might have supposed it to be the
+      residence of a retired lawyer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A maid ushered us into a sort of little country parlor, and the wretch
+      appeared. She was about forty. She was a tall, big woman with hard
+      features, but well formed, vigorous and healthy, the true type of a robust
+      peasant woman, half animal, and half woman.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She was aware of her reputation and received everyone with a humility that
+      smacked of hatred.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do the gentlemen wish?&rdquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They tell me that your last child is just like an ordinary child, that he
+      does not resemble his brothers at all,&rdquo; replied my friend. &ldquo;I wanted to be
+      sure of that. Is it true?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She cast on us a malicious and furious look as she said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no, oh, no, my poor sir! He is perhaps even uglier than the rest. I
+      have no luck, no luck!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They are all like that, it is heartbreaking! How can the good God be so
+      hard on a poor woman who is all alone in the world, how can He?&rdquo; She spoke
+      hurriedly, her eyes cast down, with a deprecating air as of a wild beast
+      who is afraid. Her harsh voice became soft, and it seemed strange to hear
+      those tearful falsetto tones issuing from that big, bony frame, of unusual
+      strength and with coarse outlines, which seemed fitted for violent action,
+      and made to utter howls like a wolf.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We should like to see your little one,&rdquo; said my friend.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I fancied she colored up. I may have been deceived. After a few moments of
+      silence, she said in a louder tone:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What good will that do you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why do you not wish to show it to us?&rdquo; replied my friend. &ldquo;There are many
+      people to whom you will show it; you know whom I mean.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She gave a start, and resuming her natural voice, and giving free play to
+      her anger, she screamed:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Was that why you came here? To insult me? Because my children are like
+      animals, tell me? You shall not see him, no, no, you shall not see him! Go
+      away, go away! I do not know why you all try to torment me like that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She walked over toward us, her hands on her hips. At the brutal tone of
+      her voice, a sort of moaning, or rather a mewing, the lamentable cry of an
+      idiot, came from the adjoining room. I shivered to the marrow of my bones.
+      We retreated before her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Take care, Devil,&rdquo; (they called her the Devil), said my friend, &ldquo;take
+      care; some day you will get yourself into trouble through this.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She began to tremble, beside herself with fury, shaking her fist and
+      roaring:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Be off with you! What will get me into trouble? Be off with you,
+      miscreants!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She was about to attack us, but we fled, saddened at what we had seen.
+      When we got outside, my friend said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, you have seen her, what do you think of her?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tell me the story of this brute,&rdquo; I replied.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And this is what he told me as we walked along the white high road, with
+      ripe crops on either side of it which rippled like the sea in the light
+      breeze that passed over them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This woman was once a servant on a farm. She was an honest girl, steady
+      and economical. She was never known to have an admirer, and never
+      suspected of any frailty. But she went astray, as so many do.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She soon found herself in trouble, and was tortured with fear and shame.
+      Wishing to conceal her misfortune, she bound her body tightly with a
+      corset of her own invention, made of boards and cord. The more she
+      developed, the more she bound herself with this instrument of torture,
+      suffering martyrdom, but brave in her sorrow, not allowing anyone to see,
+      or suspect, anything. She maimed the little unborn being, cramping it with
+      that frightful corset, and made a monster of it. Its head was squeezed and
+      elongated to a point, and its large eyes seemed popping out of its head.
+      Its limbs, exaggeratedly long, and twisted like the stalk of a vine,
+      terminated in fingers like the claws of a spider. Its trunk was tiny, and
+      round as a nut.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The child was born in an open field, and when the weeders saw it, they
+      fled away, screaming, and the report spread that she had given birth to a
+      demon. From that time on, she was called &lsquo;the Devil.&rsquo;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She was driven from the farm, and lived on charity, under a cloud. She
+      brought up the monster, whom she hated with a savage hatred, and would
+      have strangled, perhaps, if the priest had not threatened her with arrest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;One day some travelling showmen heard about the frightful creature, and
+      asked to see it, so that if it pleased them they might take it away. They
+      were pleased, and counted out five hundred francs to the mother. At first,
+      she had refused to let them see the little animal, as she was ashamed; but
+      when she discovered it had a money value, and that these people were
+      anxious to get it, she began to haggle with them, raising her price with
+      all a peasant&rsquo;s persistence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She made them draw up a paper, in which they promised to pay her four
+      hundred francs a year besides, as though they had taken this deformity
+      into their employ.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Incited by the greed of gain, she continued to produce these phenomena,
+      so as to have an assured income like a bourgeoise.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Some of them were long, some short, some like crabs-all bodies-others
+      like lizards. Several died, and she was heartbroken.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The law tried to interfere, but as they had no proof they let her
+      continue to produce her freaks.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She has at this moment eleven alive, and they bring in, on an average,
+      counting good and bad years, from five to six thousand francs a year. One,
+      alone, is not placed, the one she was unwilling to show us. But she will
+      not keep it long, for she is known to all the showmen in the world, who
+      come from time to time to see if she has anything new.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She even gets bids from them when the monster is valuable.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      My friend was silent. A profound disgust stirred my heart, and a feeling
+      of rage, of regret, to think that I had not strangled this brute when I
+      had the opportunity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I had forgotten this story, when I saw on the beach of a fashionable
+      resort the other day, an elegant, charming, dainty woman, surrounded by
+      men who paid her respect as well as admiration.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I was walking along the beach, arm in arm with a friend, the resident
+      physician. Ten minutes later, I saw a nursemaid with three children, who
+      were rolling in the sand. A pair of little crutches lay on the ground, and
+      touched my sympathy. I then noticed that these three children were all
+      deformed, humpbacked, or crooked; and hideous.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Those are the offspring of that charming woman you saw just now,&rdquo; said
+      the doctor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I was filled with pity for her, as well as for them, and exclaimed: &ldquo;Oh,
+      the poor mother! How can she ever laugh!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do not pity her, my friend. Pity the poor children,&rdquo; replied the doctor.
+      &ldquo;This is the consequence of preserving a slender figure up to the last.
+      These little deformities were made by the corset. She knows very well that
+      she is risking her life at this game. But what does she care, as long as
+      he can be beautiful and have admirers!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And then I recalled that other woman, the peasant, the &ldquo;Devil,&rdquo; who sold
+      her children, her monsters.
+    </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>
+      AN UNCOMFORTABLE BED
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      One autumn I went to spend the hunting season with some friends in a
+      chateau in Picardy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      My friends were fond of practical jokes. I do not care to know people who
+      are not.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When I arrived, they gave me a princely reception, which at once awakened
+      suspicion in my mind. They fired off rifles, embraced me, made much of me,
+      as if they expected to have great fun at my expense.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I said to myself:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Look out, old ferret! They have something in store for you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      During the dinner the mirth was excessive, exaggerated, in fact. I
+      thought: &ldquo;Here are people who have more than their share of amusement, and
+      apparently without reason. They must have planned some good joke.
+      Assuredly I am to be the victim of the joke. Attention!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      During the entire evening every one laughed in an exaggerated fashion. I
+      scented a practical joke in the air, as a dog scents game. But what was
+      it? I was watchful, restless. I did not let a word, or a meaning, or a
+      gesture escape me. Every one seemed to me an object of suspicion, and I
+      even looked distrustfully at the faces of the servants.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The hour struck for retiring; and the whole household came to escort me to
+      my room. Why?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They called to me: &ldquo;Good-night.&rdquo; I entered the apartment, shut the door,
+      and remained standing, without moving a single step, holding the wax
+      candle in my hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I heard laughter and whispering in the corridor. Without doubt they were
+      spying on me. I cast a glance round the walls, the furniture, the ceiling,
+      the hangings, the floor. I saw nothing to justify suspicion. I heard
+      persons moving about outside my door. I had no doubt they were looking
+      through the keyhole.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      An idea came into my head: &ldquo;My candle may suddenly go out and leave me in
+      darkness.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then I went across to the mantelpiece and lighted all the wax candles that
+      were on it. After that I cast another glance around me without discovering
+      anything. I advanced with short steps, carefully examining the apartment.
+      Nothing. I inspected every article, one after the other. Still nothing. I
+      went over to the window. The shutters, large wooden shutters, were open. I
+      shut them with great care, and then drew the curtains, enormous velvet
+      curtains, and placed a chair in front of them, so as to have nothing to
+      fear from outside.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then I cautiously sat down. The armchair was solid. I did not venture to
+      get into the bed. However, the night was advancing; and I ended by coming
+      to the conclusion that I was foolish. If they were spying on me, as I
+      supposed, they must, while waiting for the success of the joke they had
+      been preparing for me, have been laughing immoderately at my terror. So I
+      made up my mind to go to bed. But the bed was particularly
+      suspicious-looking. I pulled at the curtains. They seemed to be secure.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All the same, there was danger. I was going perhaps to receive a cold
+      shower both from overhead, or perhaps, the moment I stretched myself out,
+      to find myself sinking to the floor with my mattress. I searched in my
+      memory for all the practical jokes of which I ever had experience. And I
+      did not want to be caught. Ah! certainly not! certainly not! Then I
+      suddenly bethought myself of a precaution which I considered insured
+      safety. I caught hold of the side of the mattress gingerly, and very
+      slowly drew it toward me. It came away, followed by the sheet and the rest
+      of the bedclothes. I dragged all these objects into the very middle of the
+      room, facing the entrance door. I made my bed over again as best I could
+      at some distance from the suspected bedstead and the corner which had
+      filled me with such anxiety. Then I extinguished all the candles, and,
+      groping my way, I slipped under the bed clothes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For at least another hour I remained awake, starting at the slightest
+      sound. Everything seemed quiet in the chateau. I fell asleep.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I must have been in a deep sleep for a long time, but all of a sudden I
+      was awakened with a start by the fall of a heavy body tumbling right on
+      top of my own, and, at the same time, I received on my face, on my neck,
+      and on my chest a burning liquid which made me utter a howl of pain. And a
+      dreadful noise, as if a sideboard laden with plates and dishes had fallen
+      down, almost deafened me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I was smothering beneath the weight that was crushing me and preventing me
+      from moving. I stretched out my hand to find out what was the nature of
+      this object. I felt a face, a nose, and whiskers. Then, with all my
+      strength, I launched out a blow at this face. But I immediately received a
+      hail of cuffings which made me jump straight out of the soaked sheets, and
+      rush in my nightshirt into the corridor, the door of which I found open.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Oh, heavens! it was broad daylight. The noise brought my friends hurrying
+      into my apartment, and we found, sprawling over my improvised bed, the
+      dismayed valet, who, while bringing me my morning cup of tea, had tripped
+      over this obstacle in the middle of the floor and fallen on his stomach,
+      spilling my breakfast over my face in spite of himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The precautions I had taken in closing the shutters and going to sleep in
+      the middle of the room had only brought about the practical joke I had
+      been trying to avoid.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Oh, how they all laughed that day!
+    </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>
+      A PORTRAIT
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hello! there&rsquo;s Milial!&rdquo; said somebody near me. I looked at the man who
+      had been pointed out as I had been wishing for a long time to meet this
+      Don Juan.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was no longer young. His gray hair looked a little like those fur
+      bonnets worn by certain Northern peoples, and his long beard, which fell
+      down over his chest, had also somewhat the appearance of fur. He was
+      talking to a lady, leaning toward her, speaking in a low voice and looking
+      at her with an expression full of respect and tenderness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I knew his life, or at least as much as was known of it. He had loved
+      madly several times, and there had been certain tragedies with which his
+      name had been connected. When I spoke to women who were the loudest in his
+      praise, and asked them whence came this power, they always answered, after
+      thinking for a while: &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know&mdash;he has a certain charm about
+      him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He was certainly not handsome. He had none of the elegance that we ascribe
+      to conquerors of feminine hearts. I wondered what might be his hidden
+      charm. Was it mental? I never had heard of a clever saying of his. In his
+      glance? Perhaps. Or in his voice? The voices of some beings have a certain
+      irresistible attraction, almost suggesting the flavor of things good to
+      eat. One is hungry for them, and the sound of their words penetrates us
+      like a dainty morsel. A friend was passing. I asked him: &ldquo;Do you know
+      Monsieur Milial?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Introduce us.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A minute later we were shaking hands and talking in the doorway. What he
+      said was correct, agreeable to hear; it contained no irritable thought.
+      The voice was sweet, soft, caressing, musical; but I had heard others much
+      more attractive, much more moving. One listened to him with pleasure, just
+      as one would look at a pretty little brook. No tension of the mind was
+      necessary in order to follow him, no hidden meaning aroused curiosity, no
+      expectation awoke interest. His conversation was rather restful, but it
+      did not awaken in one either a desire to answer, to contradict or to
+      approve, and it was as easy to answer him as it was to listen to him. The
+      response came to the lips of its own accord, as soon as he had finished
+      talking, and phrases turned toward him as if he had naturally aroused
+      them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One thought soon struck me. I had known him for a quarter of an hour, and
+      it seemed as if he were already one of my old friends, that I had known
+      all about him for a long time; his face, his gestures, his voice, his
+      ideas. Suddenly, after a few minutes of conversation, he seemed already to
+      be installed in my intimacy. All constraint disappeared between us, and,
+      had he so desired, I might have confided in him as one confides only in
+      old friends.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Certainly there was some mystery about him. Those barriers that are closed
+      between most people and that are lowered with time when sympathy, similar
+      tastes, equal intellectual culture and constant intercourse remove
+      constraint&mdash;those barriers seemed not to exist between him and me,
+      and no doubt this was the case between him and all people, both men and
+      women, whom fate threw in his path.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After half an hour we parted, promising to see each other often, and he
+      gave me his address after inviting me to take luncheon with him in two
+      days.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I forgot what hour he had stated, and I arrived too soon; he was not yet
+      home. A correct and silent domestic showed me into a beautiful, quiet,
+      softly lighted parlor. I felt comfortable there, at home. How often I have
+      noticed the influence of apartments on the character and on the mind!
+      There are some which make one feel foolish; in others, on the contrary,
+      one always feels lively. Some make us sad, although well lighted and
+      decorated in light-colored furniture; others cheer us up, although hung
+      with sombre material. Our eye, like our heart, has its likes and dislikes,
+      of which it does not inform us, and which it secretly imposes on our
+      temperament. The harmony of furniture, walls, the style of an ensemble,
+      act immediately on our mental state, just as the air from the woods, the
+      sea or the mountains modifies our physical natures.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I sat down on a cushion-covered divan and felt myself suddenly carried and
+      supported by these little silk bags of feathers, as if the outline of my
+      body had been marked out beforehand on this couch.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then I looked about. There was nothing striking about the room;
+      every-where were beautiful and modest things, simple and rare furniture,
+      Oriental curtains which did not seem to come from a department store but
+      from the interior of a harem; and exactly opposite me hung the portrait of
+      a woman. It was a portrait of medium size, showing the head and the upper
+      part of the body, and the hands, which were holding a book. She was young,
+      bareheaded; ribbons were woven in her hair; she was smiling sadly. Was it
+      because she was bareheaded, was it merely her natural expression? I never
+      have seen a portrait of a lady which seemed so much in its place as that
+      one in that dwelling. Of all those I knew I have seen nothing like that
+      one. All those that I know are on exhibition, whether the lady be dressed
+      in her gaudiest gown, with an attractive headdress and a look which shows
+      that she is posing first of all before the artist and then before those
+      who will look at her or whether they have taken a comfortable attitude in
+      an ordinary gown. Some are standing majestically in all their beauty,
+      which is not at all natural to them in life. All of them have something, a
+      flower or, a jewel, a crease in the dress or a curve of the lip, which one
+      feels to have been placed there for effect by the artist. Whether they
+      wear a hat or merely their hair one can immediately notice that they are
+      not entirely natural. Why? One cannot say without knowing them, but the
+      effect is there. They seem to be calling somewhere, on people whom they
+      wish to please and to whom they wish to appear at their best advantage;
+      and they have studied their attitudes, sometimes modest, Sometimes
+      haughty.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What could one say about this one? She was at home and alone. Yes, she was
+      alone, for she was smiling as one smiles when thinking in solitude of
+      something sad or sweet, and not as one smiles when one is being watched.
+      She seemed so much alone and so much at home that she made the whole large
+      apartment seem absolutely empty. She alone lived in it, filled it, gave it
+      life. Many people might come in and converse, laugh, even sing; she would
+      still be alone with a solitary smile, and she alone would give it life
+      with her pictured gaze.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That look also was unique. It fell directly on me, fixed and caressing,
+      without seeing me. All portraits know that they are being watched, and
+      they answer with their eyes, which see, think, follow us without leaving
+      us, from the very moment we enter the apartment they inhabit. This one did
+      not see me; it saw nothing, although its look was fixed directly on me. I
+      remembered the surprising verse of Baudelaire:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And your eyes, attractive as those of a portrait.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They did indeed attract me in an irresistible manner; those painted eyes
+      which had lived, or which were perhaps still living, threw over me a
+      strange, powerful spell. Oh, what an infinite and tender charm, like a
+      passing breeze, like a dying sunset of lilac rose and blue, a little sad
+      like the approaching night, which comes behind the sombre frame and out of
+      those impenetrable eyes! Those eyes, created by a few strokes from a
+      brush, hide behind them the mystery of that which seems to be and which
+      does not exist, which can appear in the eyes of a woman, which can make
+      love blossom within us.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The door opened and M. Milial entered. He excused himself for being late.
+      I excused myself for being ahead of time. Then I said: &ldquo;Might I ask you
+      who is this lady?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He answered: &ldquo;That is my mother. She died very young.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then I understood whence came the inexplicable attraction of this man.
+    </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 DRUNKARD
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      The north wind was blowing a hurricane, driving through the sky big,
+      black, heavy clouds from which the rain poured down on the earth with
+      terrific violence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A high sea was raging and dashing its huge, slow, foamy waves along the
+      coast with the rumbling sound of thunder. The waves followed each other
+      close, rolling in as high as mountains, scattering the foam as they broke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The storm engulfed itself in the little valley of Yport, whistling and
+      moaning, tearing the shingles from the roofs, smashing the shutters,
+      knocking down the chimneys, rushing through the narrow streets in such
+      gusts that one could walk only by holding on to the walls, and children
+      would have been lifted up like leaves and carried over the houses into the
+      fields.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The fishing smacks had been hauled high up on land, because at high tide
+      the sea would sweep the beach. Several sailors, sheltered behind the
+      curved bottoms of their boats, were watching this battle of the sky and
+      the sea.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then, one by one, they went away, for night was falling on the storm,
+      wrapping in shadows the raging ocean and all the battling elements.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Just two men remained, their hands plunged deep into their pockets,
+      bending their backs beneath the squall, their woolen caps pulled down over
+      their ears; two big Normandy fishermen, bearded, their skin tanned through
+      exposure, with the piercing black eyes of the sailor who looks over the
+      horizon like a bird of prey.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One of them was saying:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come on, Jeremie, let&rsquo;s go play dominoes. It&rsquo;s my treat.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The other hesitated a while, tempted on one hand by the game and the
+      thought of brandy, knowing well that, if he went to Paumelle&rsquo;s, he would
+      return home drunk; held back, on the other hand, by the idea of his wife
+      remaining alone in the house.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He asked:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Any one might think that you had made a bet to get me drunk every night.
+      Say, what good is it doing you, since it&rsquo;s always you that&rsquo;s treating?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Nevertheless he was smiling at the idea of all this brandy drunk at the
+      expense of another. He was smiling the contented smirk of an avaricious
+      Norman.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mathurin, his friend, kept pulling him by the sleeve.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come on, Jeremie. This isn&rsquo;t the kind of a night to go home without
+      anything to warm you up. What are you afraid of? Isn&rsquo;t your wife going to
+      warm your bed for you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jeremie answered:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The other night I couldn&rsquo;t find the door&mdash;I had to be fished out of
+      the ditch in front of the house!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He was still laughing at this drunkard&rsquo;s recollection, and he was
+      unconsciously going toward Paumelle&rsquo;s Cafe, where a light was shining in
+      the window; he was going, pulled by Mathurin and pushed by the wind,
+      unable to resist these combined forces.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The low room was full of sailors, smoke and noise. All these men, clad in
+      woolens, their elbows on the tables, were shouting to make themselves
+      heard. The more people came in, the more one had to shout in order to
+      overcome the noise of voices and the rattling of dominoes on the marble
+      tables.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jeremie and Mathurin sat down in a corner and began a game, and the
+      glasses were emptied in rapid succession into their thirsty throats.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then they played more games and drank more glasses. Mathurin kept pouring
+      and winking to the saloon keeper, a big, red-faced man, who chuckled as
+      though at the thought of some fine joke; and Jeremie kept absorbing
+      alcohol and wagging his head, giving vent to a roar of laughter and
+      looking at his comrade with a stupid and contented expression.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All the customers were going away. Every time that one of them would open
+      the door to leave a gust of wind would blow into the cafe, making the
+      tobacco smoke swirl around, swinging the lamps at the end of their chains
+      and making their flames flicker, and suddenly one could hear the deep
+      booming of a breaking wave and the moaning of the wind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jeremie, his collar unbuttoned, was taking drunkard&rsquo;s poses, one leg
+      outstretched, one arm hanging down and in the other hand holding a domino.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They were alone now with the owner, who had come up to them, interested.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He asked:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, Jeremie, how goes it inside? Feel less thirsty after wetting your
+      throat?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jeremie muttered:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The more I wet it, the drier it gets inside.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The innkeeper cast a sly glance at Mathurin. He said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And your brother, Mathurin, where&rsquo;s he now?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The sailor laughed silently:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t worry; he&rsquo;s warm, all right.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And both of them looked toward Jeremie, who was triumphantly putting down
+      the double six and announcing:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Game!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then the owner declared:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, boys, I&rsquo;m goin&rsquo; to bed. I will leave you the lamp and the bottle;
+      there&rsquo;s twenty cents&rsquo; worth in it. Lock the door when you go, Mathurin,
+      and slip the key under the mat the way you did the other night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mathurin answered:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t worry; it&rsquo;ll be all right.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Paumelle shook hands with his two customers and slowly went up the wooden
+      stairs. For several minutes his heavy step echoed through the little
+      house. Then a loud creaking announced that he had got into bed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The two men continued to play. From time to time a more violent gust of
+      wind would shake the whole house, and the two drinkers would look up, as
+      though some one were about to enter. Then Mathurin would take the bottle
+      and fill Jeremie&rsquo;s glass. But suddenly the clock over the bar struck
+      twelve. Its hoarse clang sounded like the rattling of saucepans. Then
+      Mathurin got up like a sailor whose watch is over.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come on, Jeremie, we&rsquo;ve got to get out.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The other man rose to his feet with difficulty, got his balance by leaning
+      on the table, reached the door and opened it while his companion was
+      putting out the light.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As soon as they were in the street Mathurin locked the door and then said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, so long. See you to-morrow night!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And he disappeared in the darkness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jeremie took a few steps, staggered, stretched out his hands, met a wall
+      which supported him and began to stumble along. From time to time a gust
+      of wind would sweep through the street, pushing him forward, making him
+      run for a few steps; then, when the wind would die down, he would stop
+      short, having lost his impetus, and once more he would begin to stagger on
+      his unsteady drunkard&rsquo;s legs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He went instinctively toward his home, just as birds go to their nests.
+      Finally he recognized his door, and began to feel about for the keyhole
+      and tried to put the key in it. Not finding the hole, he began to swear.
+      Then he began to beat on the door with his fists, calling for his wife to
+      come and help him:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Melina! Oh, Melina!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      As he leaned against the door for support, it gave way and opened, and
+      Jeremie, losing his prop, fell inside, rolling on his face into the middle
+      of his room, and he felt something heavy pass over him and escape in the
+      night.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was no longer moving, dazed by fright, bewildered, fearing the devil,
+      ghosts, all the mysterious beings of darkness, and he waited a long time
+      without daring to move. But when he found out that nothing else was
+      moving, a little reason returned to him, the reason of a drunkard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Gently he sat up. Again he waited a long time, and at last, growing
+      bolder, he called:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Melina!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His wife did not answer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then, suddenly, a suspicion crossed his darkened mind, an indistinct,
+      vague suspicion. He was not moving; he was sitting there in the dark,
+      trying to gather together his scattered wits, his mind stumbling over
+      incomplete ideas, just as his feet stumbled along.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Once more he asked:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who was it, Melina? Tell me who it was. I won&rsquo;t hurt you!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He waited, no voice was raised in the darkness. He was now reasoning with
+      himself out loud.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&rsquo;m drunk, all right! I&rsquo;m drunk! And he filled me up, the dog; he did it,
+      to stop my goin&rsquo; home. I&rsquo;m drunk!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And he would continue:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tell me who it was, Melina, or somethin&rsquo;ll happen to you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      After having waited again, he went on with the slow and obstinate logic of
+      a drunkard:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He&rsquo;s been keeping me at that loafer Paumelle&rsquo;s place every night, so as
+      to stop my going home. It&rsquo;s some trick. Oh, you damned carrion!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Slowly he got on his knees. A blind fury was gaining possession of him,
+      mingling with the fumes of alcohol.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He continued:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tell me who it was, Melina, or you&rsquo;ll get a licking&mdash;I warn you!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He was now standing, trembling with a wild fury, as though the alcohol had
+      set his blood on fire. He took a step, knocked against a chair, seized it,
+      went on, reached the bed, ran his hands over it and felt the warm body of
+      his wife.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then, maddened, he roared:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So! You were there, you piece of dirt, and you wouldn&rsquo;t answer!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And, lifting the chair, which he was holding in his strong sailor&rsquo;s grip,
+      he swung it down before him with an exasperated fury. A cry burst from the
+      bed, an agonizing, piercing cry. Then he began to thrash around like a
+      thresher in a barn. And soon nothing more moved. The chair was broken to
+      pieces, but he still held one leg and beat away with it, panting.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At last he stopped to ask:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, are you ready to tell me who it was?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Melina did not answer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then tired out, stupefied from his exertion, he stretched himself out on
+      the ground and slept.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When day came a neighbor, seeing the door open, entered. He saw Jeremie
+      snoring on the floor, amid the broken pieces of a chair, and on the bed a
+      pulp of flesh and blood.
+    </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 WARDROBE
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      As we sat chatting after dinner, a party of men, the conversation turned
+      on women, for lack of something else.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One of us said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here&rsquo;s a funny thing that happened to me on, that very subject.&rdquo; And he
+      told us the following story:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One evening last winter I suddenly felt overcome by that overpowering
+      sense of misery and languor that takes possession of one from time to
+      time. I was in my own apartment, all alone, and I was convinced that if I
+      gave in to my feelings I should have a terrible attack of melancholia, one
+      of those attacks that lead to suicide when they recur too often.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I put on my overcoat and went out without the slightest idea of what I was
+      going to do. Having gone as far as the boulevards, I began to wander along
+      by the almost empty cafes. It was raining, a fine rain that affects your
+      mind as it does your clothing, not one of those good downpours which come
+      down in torrents, driving breathless passers-by into doorways, but a rain
+      without drops that deposits on your clothing an imperceptible spray and
+      soon covers you with a sort of iced foam that chills you through.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What should I do? I walked in one direction and then came back, looking
+      for some place where I could spend two hours, and discovering for the
+      first time that there is no place of amusement in Paris in the evening. At
+      last I decided to go to the Folies-Bergere, that entertaining resort for
+      gay women.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There were very few people in the main hall. In the long horseshoe curve
+      there were only a few ordinary looking people, whose plebeian origin was
+      apparent in their manners, their clothes, the cut of their hair and beard,
+      their hats, their complexion. It was rarely that one saw from time to time
+      a man whom you suspected of having washed himself thoroughly, and his
+      whole make-up seemed to match. As for the women, they were always the
+      same, those frightful women you all know, ugly, tired looking, drooping,
+      and walking along in their lackadaisical manner, with that air of foolish
+      superciliousness which they assume, I do not know why.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I thought to myself that, in truth, not one of those languid creatures,
+      greasy rather than fat, puffed out here and thin there, with the contour
+      of a monk and the lower extremities of a bow-legged snipe, was worth the
+      louis that they would get with great difficulty after asking five.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But all at once I saw a little creature whom I thought attractive, not in
+      her first youth, but fresh, comical and tantalizing. I stopped her, and
+      stupidly, without thinking, I made an appointment with her for that night.
+      I did not want to go back to my own home alone, all alone; I preferred the
+      company and the caresses of this hussy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And I followed her. She lived in a great big house in the Rue des Martyrs.
+      The gas was already extinguished on the stairway. I ascended the steps
+      slowly, lighting a candle match every few seconds, stubbing my foot
+      against the steps, stumbling and angry as I followed the rustle of the
+      skirt ahead of me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She stopped on the fourth floor, and having closed the outer door she
+      said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then you will stay till to-morrow?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, yes. You know that that was the agreement.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right, my dear, I just wanted to know. Wait for me here a minute, I
+      will be right back.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And she left me in the darkness. I heard her shutting two doors and then I
+      thought I heard her talking. I was surprised and uneasy. The thought that
+      she had a protector staggered me. But I have good fists and a solid back.
+      &ldquo;We shall see,&rdquo; I said to myself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I listened attentively with ear and mind. Some one was stirring about,
+      walking quietly and very carefully. Then another door was opened and I
+      thought I again heard some one talking, but in a very low tone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She came back carrying a lighted candle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You may come in,&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She said &ldquo;thou&rdquo; in speaking to me, which was an indication of possession.
+      I went in and after passing through a dining room in which it was very
+      evident that no one ever ate, I entered a typical room of all these women,
+      a furnished room with red curtains and a soiled eiderdown bed covering.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Make yourself at home, &lsquo;mon chat&rsquo;,&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I gave a suspicious glance at the room, but there seemed no reason for
+      uneasiness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As she took off her wraps she began to laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, what ails you? Are you changed into a pillar of salt? Come, hurry
+      up.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I did as she suggested.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Five minutes later I longed to put on my things and get away. But this
+      terrible languor that had overcome me at home took possession of me again,
+      and deprived me of energy enough to move and I stayed in spite of the
+      disgust that I felt for this association. The unusual attractiveness that
+      I supposed I had discovered in this creature over there under the
+      chandeliers of the theater had altogether vanished on closer acquaintance,
+      and she was nothing more to me now than a common woman, like all the
+      others, whose indifferent and complaisant kiss smacked of garlic.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I thought I would say something.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you lived here long?&rdquo; I asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Over six months on the fifteenth of January.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where were you before that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In the Rue Clauzel. But the janitor made me very uncomfortable and I
+      left.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And she began to tell me an interminable story of a janitor who had talked
+      scandal about her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But, suddenly, I heard something moving quite close to us. First there was
+      a sigh, then a slight, but distinct, sound as if some one had turned round
+      on a chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I sat up abruptly and asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What was that noise?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She answered quietly and confidently:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do not be uneasy, my dear boy, it is my neighbor. The partition is so
+      thin that one can hear everything as if it were in the room. These are
+      wretched rooms, just like pasteboard.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I felt so lazy that I paid no further attention to it. We resumed our
+      conversation. Driven by the stupid curiosity that prompts all men to
+      question these creatures about their first experiences, to attempt to lift
+      the veil of their first folly, as though to find in them a trace of
+      pristine innocence, to love them, possibly, in a fleeting memory of their
+      candor and modesty of former days, evoked by a word, I insistently asked
+      her about her earlier lovers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I knew she was telling me lies. What did it matter? Among all these lies I
+      might, perhaps, discover something sincere and pathetic.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come,&rdquo; said I, &ldquo;tell me who he was.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He was a boating man, my dear.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah! Tell me about it. Where were you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I was at Argenteuil.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What were you doing?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I was waitress in a restaurant.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What restaurant?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;The Freshwater Sailor.&rsquo; Do you know it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I should say so, kept by Bonanfan.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, that&rsquo;s it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And how did he make love to you, this boating man?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;While I was doing his room. He took advantage of me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But I suddenly recalled the theory of a friend of mine, an observant and
+      philosophical physician whom constant attendance in hospitals has brought
+      into daily contact with girl-mothers and prostitutes, with all the shame
+      and all the misery of women, of those poor women who have become the
+      frightful prey of the wandering male with money in his pocket.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A woman,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;is always debauched by a man of her own class and
+      position. I have volumes of statistics on that subject. We accuse the rich
+      of plucking the flower of innocence among the girls of the people. This is
+      not correct. The rich pay for what they want. They may gather some, but
+      never for the first time.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then, turning to my companion, I began to laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You know that I am aware of your history. The boating man was not the
+      first.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes, my dear, I swear it:&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are lying, my dear.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no, I assure you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are lying; come, tell me all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She seemed to hesitate in astonishment. I continued:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am a sorcerer, my dear girl, I am a clairvoyant. If you do not tell me
+      the truth, I will go into a trance sleep and then I can find out.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She was afraid, being as stupid as all her kind. She faltered:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How did you guess?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come, go on telling me,&rdquo; I said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, the first time didn&rsquo;t amount to anything.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There was a festival in the country. They had sent for a special chef, M.
+      Alexandre. As soon as he came he did just as he pleased in the house. He
+      bossed every one, even the proprietor and his wife, as if he had been a
+      king. He was a big handsome man, who did not seem fitted to stand beside a
+      kitchen range. He was always calling out, &lsquo;Come, some butter &mdash;some
+      eggs&mdash;some Madeira!&rsquo; And it had to be brought to him at once in a
+      hurry, or he would get cross and say things that would make us blush all
+      over.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When the day was over he would smoke a pipe outside the door. And as I
+      was passing by him with a pile of plates he said to me, like that: &lsquo;Come,
+      girlie, come down to the water with me and show me the country.&rsquo; I went
+      with him like a fool, and we had hardly got down to the bank of the river
+      when he took advantage of me so suddenly that I did not even know what he
+      was doing. And then he went away on the nine o&rsquo;clock train. I never saw
+      him again.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is that all?&rdquo; I asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She hesitated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I think Florentin belongs to him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who is Florentin?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My little boy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! Well, then, you made the boating man believe that he was the father,
+      did you not?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You bet!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did he have any money, this boating man?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, he left me an income of three hundred francs, settled on Florentin.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I was beginning to be amused and resumed:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right, my girl, all right. You are all of you less stupid than one
+      would imagine, all the same. And how old is he now, Florentin?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She replied:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He is now twelve. He will make his first communion in the spring.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is splendid. And since then you have carried on your business
+      conscientiously?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She sighed in a resigned manner.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I must do what I can.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But a loud noise just then coming from the room itself made me start up
+      with a bound. It sounded like some one falling and picking themselves up
+      again by feeling along the wall with their hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I had seized the candle and was looking about me, terrified and furious.
+      She had risen also and was trying to hold me back to stop me, murmuring:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s nothing, my dear, I assure you it&rsquo;s nothing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But I had discovered what direction the strange noise came from. I walked
+      straight towards a door hidden at the head of the bed and I opened it
+      abruptly and saw before me, trembling, his bright, terrified eyes opened
+      wide at sight of me, a little pale, thin boy seated beside a large wicker
+      chair off which he had fallen.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As soon as he saw me he began to cry. Stretching out his arms to his
+      mother, he cried:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It was not my fault, mamma, it was not my fault. I was asleep, and I fell
+      off. Do not scold me, it was not my fault.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I turned to the woman and said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What does this mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She seemed confused and worried, and said in a broken voice:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you want me to do? I do not earn enough to put him to school! I
+      have to keep him with me, and I cannot afford to pay for another room, by
+      heavens! He sleeps with me when I am alone. If any one comes for one hour
+      or two he can stay in the wardrobe; he keeps quiet, he understands it. But
+      when people stay all night, as you have done, it tires the poor child to
+      sleep on a chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is not his fault. I should like to see you sleep all night on a chair&mdash;you
+      would have something to say.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She was getting angry and excited and was talking loud.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The child was still crying. A poor delicate timid little fellow, a
+      veritable child of the wardrobe, of the cold, dark closet, a child who
+      from time to time was allowed to get a little warmth in the bed if it
+      chanced to be unoccupied.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I also felt inclined to cry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And I went home to my own bed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      THE MOUNTAIN POOL
+    </h2>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+                  Saint Agnes, May 6.
+MY DEAR FRIEND: You asked me to write to you often and to tell you in
+particular about the things I might see. You also begged me to rummage
+among my recollections of travels for some of those little anecdotes
+gathered from a chance peasant, from an innkeeper, from some strange
+traveling acquaintance, which remain as landmarks in the memory. With
+a landscape depicted in a few lines, and a little story told in a few
+sentences you think one can give the true characteristics of a country,
+make it living, visible, dramatic. I will try to do as you wish. I will,
+therefore, send you from time to time letters in which I will mention
+neither you nor myself, but only the landscape and the people who move
+about in it. And now I will begin.
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      Spring is a season in which one ought, it seems to me, to drink and eat
+      the landscape. It is the season of chills, just as autumn is the season of
+      reflection. In spring the country rouses the physical senses, in autumn it
+      enters into the soul.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I desired this year to breathe the odor of orange blossoms and I set out
+      for the South of France just at the time that every one else was returning
+      home. I visited Monaco, the shrine of pilgrims, rival of Mecca and
+      Jerusalem, without leaving any gold in any one else&rsquo;s pockets, and I
+      climbed the high mountain beneath a covering of lemon, orange and olive
+      branches.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Have you ever slept, my friend, in a grove of orange trees in flower? The
+      air that one inhales with delight is a quintessence of perfumes. The
+      strong yet sweet odor, delicious as some dainty, seems to blend with our
+      being, to saturate us, to intoxicate us, to enervate us, to plunge us into
+      a sleepy, dreamy torpor. As though it were an opium prepared by the hands
+      of fairies and not by those of druggists.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This is a country of ravines. The surface of the mountains is cleft,
+      hollowed out in all directions, and in these sinuous crevices grow
+      veritable forests of lemon trees. Here and there where the steep gorge is
+      interrupted by a sort of step, a kind of reservoir has been built which
+      holds the water of the rain storms.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They are large holes with slippery walls with nothing for any one to grasp
+      hold of should they fall in.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I was walking slowly in one of these ascending valleys or gorges, glancing
+      through the foliage at the vivid-hued fruit that remained on the branches.
+      The narrow gorge made the heavy odor of the flowers still more
+      penetrating; the air seemed to be dense with it. A feeling of lassitude
+      came over me and I looked for a place to sit down. A few drops of water
+      glistened in the grass. I thought that there was a spring near by and I
+      climbed a little further to look for it. But I only reached the edge of
+      one of these large, deep reservoirs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I sat down tailor fashion, with my legs crossed under me, and remained
+      there in a reverie before this hole, which looked as if it were filled
+      with ink, so black and stagnant was the liquid it contained. Down yonder,
+      through the branches, I saw, like patches, bits of the Mediterranean
+      gleaming so that they fairly dazzled my eyes. But my glance always
+      returned to the immense somber well that appeared to be inhabited by no
+      aquatic animals, so motionless was its surface. Suddenly a voice made me
+      tremble. An old gentleman who was picking flowers&mdash;this country is
+      the richest in Europe for herbalists&mdash;asked me:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you a relation of those poor children, monsieur?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I looked at him in astonishment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What children, monsieur?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He seemed embarrassed and answered with a bow:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I beg your pardon. On seeing you sitting thus absorbed in front of this
+      reservoir I thought you were recalling the frightful tragedy that occurred
+      here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Now I wanted to know about it, and I begged him to tell me the story.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It is very dismal and very heart-rending, my dear friend, and very trivial
+      at the same time. It is a simple news item. I do not know whether to
+      attribute my emotion to the dramatic manner in which the story was told to
+      me, to the setting of the mountains, to the contrast between the joy of
+      the sunlight and the flowers and this black, murderous hole, but my heart
+      was wrung, all my nerves unstrung by this tale which, perhaps, may not
+      appear so terribly harrowing to you as you read it in your room without
+      having the scene of the tragedy before your eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was one spring in recent years. Two little boys frequently came to play
+      on the edge of this cistern while their tutor lay under a tree reading a
+      book. One warm afternoon a piercing cry awoke the tutor who was dozing and
+      the sound of splashing caused by something falling into the water made him
+      jump to his feet abruptly. The younger of the children, eight years of
+      age, was shouting, as he stood beside the reservoir, the surface of which
+      was stirred and eddying at the spot where the older boy had fallen in as
+      he ran along the stone coping.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Distracted, without waiting or stopping to think what was best to do, the
+      tutor jumped into the black water and did not rise again, having struck
+      his head at the bottom of the cistern.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the same moment the young boy who had risen to the surface was waving
+      his stretched-out arms toward his brother. The little fellow on land lay
+      down full length, while the other tried to swim, to approach the wall, and
+      presently the four little hands clasped each other, tightened in each
+      other&rsquo;s grasp, contracted as though they were fastened together. They both
+      felt the intense joy of an escape from death, a shudder at the danger
+      past.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The older boy tried to climb up to the edge, but could not manage it, as
+      the wall was perpendicular, and his brother, who was too weak, was sliding
+      slowly towards the hole.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then they remained motionless, filled anew with terror. And they waited.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little fellow squeezed his brother&rsquo;s hands with all his might and wept
+      from nervousness as he repeated: &ldquo;I cannot drag you out, I cannot drag you
+      out.&rdquo; And all at once he began to shout, &ldquo;Help! Help!&rdquo; But his light voice
+      scarcely penetrated beyond the dome of foliage above their heads.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They remained thus a long time, hours and hours, facing each other, these
+      two children, with one thought, one anguish of heart and the horrible
+      dread that one of them, exhausted, might let go the hands of the other.
+      And they kept on calling, but all in vain.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At length the older boy, who was shivering with cold, said to the little
+      one: &ldquo;I cannot hold out any longer. I am going to fall. Good-by, little
+      brother.&rdquo; And the other, gasping, replied: &ldquo;Not yet, not yet, wait.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Evening came on, the still evening with its stars mirrored in the water.
+      The older lad, his endurance giving out, said: &ldquo;Let go my hand, I am going
+      to give you my watch.&rdquo; He had received it as a present a few days before,
+      and ever since it had been his chief amusement. He was able to get hold of
+      it, and held it out to the little fellow who was sobbing and who laid it
+      down on the grass beside him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was night now. The two unhappy beings, exhausted, had almost loosened
+      their grasp. The elder, at last, feeling that he was lost, murmured once
+      more: &ldquo;Good-by, little brother, kiss mamma and papa.&rdquo; And his numbed
+      fingers relaxed their hold. He sank and did not rise again.... The little
+      fellow, left alone, began to shout wildly: &ldquo;Paul! Paul!&rdquo; But the other did
+      not come to the surface.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then he darted across the mountain, falling among the stones, overcome by
+      the most frightful anguish that can wring a child&rsquo;s heart, and with a face
+      like death reached the sitting-room, where his parents were waiting. He
+      became bewildered again as he led them to the gloomy reservoir. He could
+      not find his way. At last he reached the spot. &ldquo;It is there; yes, it is
+      there!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But the cistern had to be emptied, and the proprietor would not permit it
+      as he needed the water for his lemon trees.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The two bodies were found, however, but not until the next day.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      You see, my dear friend, that this is a simple news item. But if you had
+      seen the hole itself your heart would have been wrung, as mine was, at the
+      thought of the agony of that child hanging to his brother&rsquo;s hands, of the
+      long suspense of those little chaps who were accustomed only to laugh and
+      to play, and at the simple incident of the giving of the watch.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I said to myself: &ldquo;May Fate preserve me from ever receiving a similar
+      relic!&rdquo; I know of nothing more terrible than such a recollection connected
+      with a familiar object that one cannot dispose of. Only think of it; each
+      time that he handles this sacred watch the survivor will picture once more
+      the horrible scene; the pool, the wall, the still water, and the
+      distracted face of his brother-alive, and yet as lost as though he were
+      already dead. And all through his life, at any moment, the vision will be
+      there, awakened the instant even the tip of his finger touches his watch
+      pocket.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And I was sad until evening. I left the spot and kept on climbing, leaving
+      the region of orange trees for the region of olive trees, and the region
+      of olive trees for the region of pines; then I came to a valley of stones,
+      and finally reached the ruins of an ancient castle, built, they say, in
+      the tenth century by a Saracen chief, a good man, who was baptized a
+      Christian through love for a young girl. Everywhere around me were
+      mountains, and before me the sea, the sea with an almost imperceptible
+      patch on it: Corsica, or, rather, the shadow of Corsica. But on the
+      mountain summits, blood-red in the glow of the sunset, in the boundless
+      sky and on the sea, in all this superb landscape that I had come here to
+      admire I saw only two poor children, one lying prone on the edge of a hole
+      filled with black water, the other submerged to his neck, their hands
+      intertwined, weeping opposite each other, in despair. And it seemed as
+      though I continually heard a weak, exhausted voice saying: &ldquo;Good-by,
+      little brother, I am going to give you my watch.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This letter may seem rather melancholy, dear friend. I will try to be more
+      cheerful some other day.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      A CREMATION
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Last Monday an Indian prince died at Etretat, Bapu Sahib Khanderao Ghatay,
+      a relation of His Highness, the Maharajah Gaikwar, prince of Baroda, in
+      the province of Guzerat, Presidency of Bombay.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For about three weeks there had been seen walking in the streets about ten
+      young East Indians, small, lithe, with dark skins, dressed all in gray and
+      wearing on their heads caps such as English grooms wear. They were men of
+      high rank who had come to Europe to study the military institutions of the
+      principal Western nations. The little band consisted of three princes, a
+      nobleman, an interpreter and three servants.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The head of the commission had just died, an old man of forty-two and
+      father-in-law of Sampatro Kashivao Gaikwar, brother of His Highness, the
+      Gaikwar of Baroda.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The son-in-law accompanied his father-in-law.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The other East Indians were called Ganpatrao Shravanrao Gaikwar, cousin of
+      His Highness Khasherao Gadhav; Vasudev Madhav Samarth, interpreter and
+      secretary; the slaves: Ramchandra Bajaji, Ganu bin Pukiram Kokate,
+      Rhambhaji bin Fabji.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On leaving his native land the one who died recently was overcome with
+      terrible grief, and feeling convinced that he would never return he wished
+      to give up the journey, but he had to obey the wishes of his noble
+      relative, the Prince of Baroda, and he set out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They came to spend the latter part of the summer at Etretat, and people
+      would go out of curiosity every morning to see them taking their bath at
+      the Etablissment des Roches-Blanches.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Five or six days ago Bapu Sahib Khanderao Ghatay was taken with pains in
+      his gums; then the inflammation spread to the throat and became
+      ulceration. Gangrene set in and, on Monday, the doctors told his young
+      friends that their relative was dying. The final struggle was already
+      beginning, and the breath had almost left the unfortunate man&rsquo;s body when
+      his friends seized him, snatched him from his bed and laid him on the
+      stone floor of the room, so that, stretched out on the earth, our mother,
+      he should yield up his soul, according to the command of Brahma.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They then sent to ask the mayor, M. Boissaye, for a permit to burn the
+      body that very day so as to fulfill the prescribed ceremonial of the
+      Hindoo religion. The mayor hesitated, telegraphed to the prefecture to
+      demand instructions, at the same time sending word that a failure to reply
+      would be considered by him tantamount to a consent. As he had received no
+      reply at 9 o&rsquo;clock that evening, he decided, in view of the infectious
+      character of the disease of which the East Indian had died, that the
+      cremation of the body should take place that very night, beneath the
+      cliff, on the beach, at ebb tide.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The mayor is being criticized now for this decision, though he acted as an
+      intelligent, liberal and determined man, and was upheld and advised by the
+      three physicians who had watched the case and reported the death.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They were dancing at the Casino that evening. It was an early autumn
+      evening, rather chilly. A pretty strong wind was blowing from the ocean,
+      although as yet there was no sea on, and swift, light, ragged clouds were
+      driving across the sky. They came from the edge of the horizon, looking
+      dark against the background of the sky, but as they approached the moon
+      they grew whiter and passed hurriedly across her face, veiling it for a
+      few seconds without completely hiding it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The tall straight cliffs that inclose the rounded beach of Etretat and
+      terminate in two celebrated arches, called &ldquo;the Gates,&rdquo; lay in shadow, and
+      made two great black patches in the softly lighted landscape.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It had rained all day.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Casino orchestra was playing waltzes, polkas and quadrilles. A rumor
+      was presently circulated among the groups of dancers. It was said that an
+      East Indian prince had just died at the Hotel des Bains and that the
+      ministry had been approached for permission to burn the body. No one
+      believed it, or at least no one supposed that such a thing could occur so
+      foreign was the custom as yet to our customs, and as the night was far
+      advanced every one went home.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At midnight, the lamplighter, running from street to street, extinguished,
+      one after another, the yellow jets of flame that lighted up the sleeping
+      houses, the mud and the puddles of water. We waited, watching for the hour
+      when the little town should be quiet and deserted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ever since noon a carpenter had been cutting up wood and asking himself
+      with amazement what was going to be done with all these planks sawn up
+      into little bits, and why one should destroy so much good merchandise.
+      This wood was piled up in a cart which went along through side streets as
+      far as the beach, without arousing the suspicion of belated persons who
+      might meet it. It went along on the shingle at the foot of the cliff, and
+      having dumped its contents on the beach the three Indian servants began to
+      build a funeral pile, a little longer than it was wide. They worked alone,
+      for no profane hand must aid in this solemn duty.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was one o&rsquo;clock in the morning when the relations of the deceased were
+      informed that they might accomplish their part of the work.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The door of the little house they occupied was open, and we perceived,
+      lying on a stretcher in the small, dimly lighted vestibule the corpse
+      covered with white silk. We could see him plainly as he lay stretched out
+      on his back, his outline clearly defined beneath this white veil.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The East Indians, standing at his feet, remained motionless, while one of
+      them performed the prescribed rites, murmuring unfamiliar words in a low,
+      monotonous tone. He walked round and round the corpse; touching it
+      occasionally, then, taking an urn suspended from three slender chains, he
+      sprinkled it for some time with the sacred water of the Ganges, that East
+      Indians must always carry with them wherever they go.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then the stretcher was lifted by four of them who started off at a slow
+      march. The moon had gone down, leaving the muddy, deserted streets in
+      darkness, but the body on the stretcher appeared to be luminous, so
+      dazzlingly white was the silk, and it was a weird sight to see, passing
+      along through the night, the semi-luminous form of this corpse, borne by
+      those men, the dusky skin of whose faces and hands could scarcely be
+      distinguished from their clothing in the darkness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Behind the corpse came three Indians, and then, a full head taller than
+      themselves and wrapped in an ample traveling coat of a soft gray color,
+      appeared the outline of an Englishman, a kind and superior man, a friend
+      of theirs, who was their guide and counselor in their European travels.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Beneath the cold, misty sky of this little northern beach I felt as if I
+      were taking part in a sort of symbolical drama. It seemed to me that they
+      were carrying there, before me, the conquered genius of India, followed,
+      as in a funeral procession, by the victorious genius of England robed in a
+      gray ulster.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the shingly beach the four bearers halted a few moments to take breath,
+      and then proceeded on their way. They now walked quickly, bending beneath
+      the weight of their burden. At length they reached the funeral pile. It
+      was erected in an indentation, at the very foot of the cliff, which rose
+      above it perpendicularly a hundred meters high, perfectly white but
+      looking gray in the night.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The funeral pile was about three and a half feet high. The corpse was
+      placed on it and then one of the Indians asked to have the pole star
+      pointed out to him. This was done, and the dead Rajah was laid with his
+      feet turned towards his native country. Then twelve bottles of kerosene
+      were poured over him and he was covered completely with thin slabs of pine
+      wood. For almost another hour the relations and servants kept piling up
+      the funeral pyre which looked like one of those piles of wood that
+      carpenters keep in their yards. Then on top of this was poured the
+      contents of twenty bottles of oil, and on top of all they emptied a bag of
+      fine shavings. A few steps further on, a flame was glimmering in a little
+      bronze brazier, which had remained lighted since the arrival of the
+      corpse.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The moment had arrived. The relations went to fetch the fire. As it was
+      barely alight, some oil was poured on it, and suddenly a flame arose
+      lighting up the great wall of rock from summit to base. An Indian who was
+      leaning over the brazier rose upright, his two hands in the air, his
+      elbows bent, and all at once we saw arising, all black on the immense
+      white cliff, a colossal shadow, the shadow of Buddha in his hieratic
+      posture. And the little pointed toque that the man wore on his head even
+      looked like the head-dress of the god.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The effect was so striking and unexpected that I felt my heart beat as
+      though some supernatural apparition had risen up before me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That was just what it was&mdash;the ancient and sacred image, come from
+      the heart of the East to the ends of Europe, and watching over its son
+      whom they were going to cremate there.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It vanished. They brought fire. The shavings on top of the pyre were
+      lighted and then the wood caught fire and a brilliant light illumined the
+      cliff, the shingle and the foam of the waves as they broke on the beach.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It grew brighter from second to second, lighting up on the sea in the
+      distance the dancing crest of the waves.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The breeze from the ocean blew in gusts, increasing the heat of the flame
+      which flattened down, twisted, then shot up again, throwing out millions
+      of sparks. They mounted with wild rapidity along the cliff and were lost
+      in the sky, mingling with the stars, increasing their number. Some sea
+      birds who had awakened uttered their plaintive cry, and, describing long
+      curves, flew, with their white wings extended, through the gleam from the
+      funeral pyre and then disappeared in the night.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Before long the pile of wood was nothing but a mass of flame, not red but
+      yellow, a blinding yellow, a furnace lashed by the wind. And, suddenly,
+      beneath a stronger gust, it tottered, partially crumbling as it leaned
+      towards the sea, and the corpse came to view, full length, blackened on
+      his couch of flame and burning with long blue flames:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The pile of wood having crumbled further on the right the corpse turned
+      over as a man does in bed. They immediately covered him with fresh wood
+      and the fire started up again more furiously than ever.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The East Indians, seated in a semi-circle on the shingle, looked out with
+      sad, serious faces. And the rest of us, as it was very cold, had drawn
+      nearer to the fire until the smoke and sparks came in our faces. There was
+      no odor save that of burning pine and petroleum.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Hours passed; day began to break. Toward five o&rsquo;clock in the morning
+      nothing remained but a heap of ashes. The relations gathered them up, cast
+      some of them to the winds, some in the sea, and kept some in a brass vase
+      that they had brought from India. They then retired to their home to give
+      utterance to lamentations.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      These young princes and their servants, by the employment of the most
+      inadequate appliances succeeded in carrying out the cremation of their
+      relation in the most perfect manner, with singular skill and remarkable
+      dignity. Everything was done according to ritual, according to the rigid
+      ordinances of their religion. Their dead one rests in peace.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The following morning at daybreak there was an indescribable commotion in
+      Etretat. Some insisted that they had burned a man alive, others that they
+      were trying to hide a crime, some that the mayor would be put in jail,
+      others that the Indian prince had succumbed to an attack of cholera.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The men were amazed, the women indignant. A crowd of people spent the day
+      on the site of the funeral pile, looking for fragments of bone in the
+      shingle that was still warm. They found enough bones to reconstruct ten
+      skeletons, for the farmers on shore frequently throw their dead sheep into
+      the sea. The finders carefully placed these various fragments in their
+      pocketbooks. But not one of them possesses a true particle of the Indian
+      prince.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That very night a deputy sent by the government came to hold an inquest.
+      He, however, formed an estimate of this singular case like a man of
+      intelligence and good sense. But what should he say in his report?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The East Indians declared that if they had been prevented in France from
+      cremating their dead they would have taken him to a freer country where
+      they could have carried out their customs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus, I have seen a man cremated on a funeral pile, and it has given me a
+      wish to disappear in the same manner.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In this way everything ends at once. Man expedites the slow work of
+      nature, instead of delaying it by the hideous coffin in which one
+      decomposes for months. The flesh is dead, the spirit has fled. Fire which
+      purifies disperses in a few hours all that was a human being; it casts it
+      to the winds, converting it into air and ashes, and not into ignominious
+      corruption.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This is clean and hygienic. Putrefaction beneath the ground in a closed
+      box where the body becomes like pap, a blackened, stinking pap, has about
+      it something repugnant and disgusting. The sight of the coffin as it
+      descends into this muddy hole wrings one&rsquo;s heart with anguish. But the
+      funeral pyre which flames up beneath the sky has about it something grand,
+      beautiful and solemn.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      MISTI
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      I was very much interested at that time in a droll little woman. She was
+      married, of course, as I have a horror of unmarried flirts. What enjoyment
+      is there in making love to a woman who belongs to nobody and yet belongs
+      to any one? And, besides, morality aside, I do not understand love as a
+      trade. That disgusts me somewhat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The especial attraction in a married woman to a bachelor is that she gives
+      him a home, a sweet, pleasant home where every one takes care of you and
+      spoils you, from the husband to the servants. One finds everything
+      combined there, love, friendship, even fatherly interest, bed and board,
+      all, in fact, that constitutes the happiness of life, with this
+      incalculable advantage, that one can change one&rsquo;s family from time to
+      time, take up one&rsquo;s abode in all kinds of society in turn: in summer, in
+      the country with the workman who rents you a room in his house; in winter
+      with the townsfolk, or even with the nobility, if one is ambitious.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I have another weakness; it is that I become attached to the husband as
+      well as the wife. I acknowledge even that some husbands, ordinary or
+      coarse as they may be, give me a feeling of disgust for their wives,
+      however charming they may be. But when the husband is intellectual or
+      charming I invariably become very much attached to him. I am careful if I
+      quarrel with the wife not to quarrel with the husband. In this way I have
+      made some of my best friends, and have also proved in many cases the
+      incontestable superiority of the male over the female in the human
+      species. The latter makes all sorts of trouble-scenes, reproaches, etc.;
+      while the former, who has just as good a right to complain, treats you, on
+      the contrary, as though you were the special Providence of his hearth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Well, my friend was a quaint little woman, a brunette, fanciful,
+      capricious, pious, superstitious, credulous as a monk, but charming. She
+      had a way of kissing one that I never saw in any one else&mdash;but that
+      was not the attraction&mdash;and such a soft skin! It gave me intense
+      delight merely to hold her hands. And an eye&mdash;her glance was like a
+      slow caress, delicious and unending. Sometimes I would lean my head on her
+      knee and we would remain motionless, she leaning over me with that subtle,
+      enigmatic, disturbing smile that women have, while my eyes would be raised
+      to hers, drinking sweetly and deliciously into my heart, like a form of
+      intoxication, the glance of her limpid blue eyes, limpid as though they
+      were full of thoughts of love, and blue as though they were a heaven of
+      delights.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Her husband, inspector of some large public works, was frequently away
+      from home and left us our evenings free. Sometimes I spent them with her
+      lounging on the divan with my forehead on one of her knees; while on the
+      other lay an enormous black cat called &ldquo;Misti,&rdquo; whom she adored. Our
+      fingers would meet on the cat&rsquo;s back and would intertwine in her soft
+      silky fur. I felt its warm body against my cheek, trembling with its
+      eternal purring, and occasionally a paw would reach out and place on my
+      mouth, or my eyelid, five unsheathed claws which would prick my eyelids,
+      and then be immediately withdrawn.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Sometimes we would go out on what we called our escapades. They were very
+      innocent, however. They consisted in taking supper at some inn in the
+      suburbs, or else, after dining at her house or at mine, in making the
+      round of the cheap cafes, like students out for a lark.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      We would go into the common drinking places and take our seats at the end
+      of the smoky den on two rickety chairs, at an old wooden table. A cloud of
+      pungent smoke, with which blended an odor of fried fish from dinner,
+      filled the room. Men in smocks were talking in loud tones as they drank
+      their petits verres, and the astonished waiter placed before us two cherry
+      brandies.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She, trembling, charmingly afraid, would raise her double black veil as
+      far as her nose, and then take up her glass with the enjoyment that one
+      feels at doing something delightfully naughty. Each cherry she swallowed
+      made her feel as if she had done something wrong, each swallow of the
+      burning liquor had on her the affect of a delicate and forbidden
+      enjoyment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then she would say to me in a low tone: &ldquo;Let us go.&rdquo; And we would leave,
+      she walking quickly with lowered head between the drinkers who watched her
+      going by with a look of displeasure. And as soon as we got into the street
+      she would give a great sigh of relief, as if we had escaped some terrible
+      danger.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Sometimes she would ask me with a shudder:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Suppose they, should say something rude to me in those places, what would
+      you do?&rdquo; &ldquo;Why, I would defend you, parbleu!&rdquo; I would reply in a resolute
+      manner. And she would squeeze my arm for happiness, perhaps with a vague
+      wish that she might be insulted and protected, that she might see men
+      fight on her account, even those men, with me!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One evening as we sat at a table in a tavern at Montmartre, we saw an old
+      woman in tattered garments come in, holding in her hand a pack of dirty
+      cards. Perceiving a lady, the old woman at once approached us and offered
+      to tell my friend&rsquo;s fortune. Emma, who in her heart believed in
+      everything, was trembling with longing and anxiety, and she made a place
+      beside her for the old woman.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The latter, old, wrinkled, her eyes with red inflamed rings round them,
+      and her mouth without a single tooth in it, began to deal her dirty cards
+      on the table. She dealt them in piles, then gathered them up, and then
+      dealt them out again, murmuring indistinguishable words. Emma, turning
+      pale, listened with bated breath, gasping with anxiety and curiosity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The fortune-teller broke silence. She predicted vague happenings:
+      happiness and children, a fair young man, a voyage, money, a lawsuit, a
+      dark man, the return of some one, success, a death. The mention of this
+      death attracted the younger woman&rsquo;s attention. &ldquo;Whose death? When? In what
+      manner?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The old woman replied: &ldquo;Oh, as to that, these cards are not certain
+      enough. You must come to my place to-morrow; I will tell you about it with
+      coffee grounds which never make a mistake.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Emma turned anxiously to me:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Say, let us go there to-morrow. Oh, please say yes. If not, you cannot
+      imagine how worried I shall be.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I began to laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We will go if you wish it, dearie.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The old woman gave us her address. She lived on the sixth floor, in a
+      wretched house behind the Buttes-Chaumont. We went there the following
+      day.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Her room, an attic containing two chairs and a bed, was filled with
+      strange objects, bunches of herbs hanging from nails, skins of animals,
+      flasks and phials containing liquids of various colors. On the table a
+      stuffed black cat looked out of eyes of glass. He seemed like the demon of
+      this sinister dwelling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Emma, almost fainting with emotion, sat down on a chair and exclaimed:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, dear, look at that cat; how like it is to Misti.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And she explained to the old woman that she had a cat &ldquo;exactly like that,
+      exactly like that!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The old woman replied gravely:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you are in love with a man, you must not keep it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Emma, suddenly filled with fear, asked:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why not?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The old woman sat down familiarly beside her and took her hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It was the undoing of my life,&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      My friend wanted to hear about it. She leaned against the old woman,
+      questioned her, begged her to tell. At length the woman agreed to do so.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I loved that cat,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;as one would love a brother. I was young
+      then and all alone, a seamstress. I had only him, Mouton. One of the
+      tenants had given it to me. He was as intelligent as a child, and gentle
+      as well, and he worshiped me, my dear lady, he worshiped me more than one
+      does a fetish. All day long he would sit on my lap purring, and all night
+      long on my pillow; I could feel his heart beating, in fact.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I happened to make an acquaintance, a fine young man who was
+      working in a white-goods house. That went on for about three months on a
+      footing of mere friendship. But you know one is liable to weaken, it may
+      happen to any one, and, besides, I had really begun to love him. He was so
+      nice, so nice, and so good. He wanted us to live together, for economy&rsquo;s
+      sake. I finally allowed him to come and see me one evening. I had not made
+      up my mind to anything definite; oh, no! But I was pleased at the idea
+      that we should spend an hour together.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;At first he behaved very well, said nice things to me that made my heart
+      go pit-a-pat. And then he kissed me, madame, kissed me as one does when
+      they love. I remained motionless, my eyes closed, in a paroxysm of
+      happiness. But, suddenly, I felt him start violently and he gave a scream,
+      a scream that I shall never forget. I opened my eyes and saw that Mouton
+      had sprung at his face and was tearing the skin with his claws as if it
+      had been a linen rag. And the blood was streaming down like rain, madame.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I tried to take the cat away, but he held on tight, scratching all the
+      time; and he bit me, he was so crazy. I finally got him and threw him out
+      of the window, which was open, for it was summer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When I began to bathe my poor friend&rsquo;s face, I noticed that his eyes were
+      destroyed, both his eyes!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He had to go to the hospital. He died of grief at the end of a year. I
+      wanted to keep him with me and provide for him, but he would not agree to
+      it. One would have supposed that he hated me after the occurrence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As for Mouton, his back was broken by the fall, The janitor picked up his
+      body. I had him stuffed, for in spite of all I was fond of him. If he
+      acted as he did it was because he loved me, was it not?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The old woman was silent and began to stroke the lifeless animal whose
+      body trembled on its iron framework.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Emma, with sorrowful heart, had forgotten about the predicted death&mdash;or,
+      at least, she did not allude to it again, and she left, giving the woman
+      five francs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As her husband was to return the following day, I did not go to the house
+      for several days. When I did go I was surprised at not seeing Misti. I
+      asked where he was.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She blushed and replied:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I gave him away. I was uneasy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I was astonished.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Uneasy? Uneasy? What about?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She gave me a long kiss and said in a low tone:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I was uneasy about your eyes, my dear.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+   Misti appeared in. Gil Blas of January 22, 1884, over the signature
+   of &ldquo;MAUFRIGNEUSE.&rdquo;
+ </pre>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      MADAME HERMET
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Crazy people attract me. They live in a mysterious land of weird dreams,
+      in that impenetrable cloud of dementia where all that they have witnessed
+      in their previous life, all they have loved, is reproduced for them in an
+      imaginary existence, outside of all laws that govern the things of this
+      life and control human thought.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For them there is no such thing as the impossible, nothing is improbable;
+      fairyland is a constant quantity and the supernatural quite familiar. The
+      old rampart, logic; the old wall, reason; the old main stay of thought,
+      good sense, break down, fall and crumble before their imagination, set
+      free and escaped into the limitless realm of fancy, and advancing with
+      fabulous bounds, and nothing can check it. For them everything happens,
+      and anything may happen. They make no effort to conquer events, to
+      overcome resistance, to overturn obstacles. By a sudden caprice of their
+      flighty imagination they become princes, emperors, or gods, are possessed
+      of all the wealth of the world, all the delightful things of life, enjoy
+      all pleasures, are always strong, always beautiful, always young, always
+      beloved! They, alone, can be happy in this world; for, as far as they are
+      concerned, reality does not exist. I love to look into their wandering
+      intelligence as one leans over an abyss at the bottom of which seethes a
+      foaming torrent whose source and destination are both unknown.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But it is in vain that we lean over these abysses, for we shall never
+      discover the source nor the destination of this water. After all, it is
+      only water, just like what is flowing in the sunlight, and we shall learn
+      nothing by looking at it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It is likewise of no use to ponder over the intelligence of crazy people,
+      for their most weird notions are, in fact, only ideas that are already
+      known, which appear strange simply because they are no longer under the
+      restraint of reason. Their whimsical source surprises us because we do not
+      see it bubbling up. Doubtless the dropping of a little stone into the
+      current was sufficient to cause these ebullitions. Nevertheless crazy
+      people attract me and I always return to them, drawn in spite of myself by
+      this trivial mystery of dementia.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One day as I was visiting one of the asylums the physician who was my
+      guide said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come, I will show you an interesting case.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And he opened the door of a cell where a woman of about forty, still
+      handsome, was seated in a large armchair, looking persistently at her face
+      in a little hand mirror.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As soon as she saw us she rose to her feet, ran to the other end of the
+      room, picked up a veil that lay on a chair, wrapped it carefully round her
+      face, then came back, nodding her head in reply to our greeting.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; said the doctor, &ldquo;how are you this morning?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She gave a deep sigh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, ill, monsieur, very ill. The marks are increasing every day.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He replied in a tone of conviction:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no; oh, no; I assure you that you are mistaken.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She drew near to him and murmured:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. I am certain of it. I counted ten pittings more this morning, three
+      on the right cheek, four on the left cheek, and three on the forehead. It
+      is frightful, frightful! I shall never dare to let any one see me, not
+      even my son; no, not even him! I am lost, I am disfigured forever.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She fell back in her armchair and began to sob.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The doctor took a chair, sat down beside her, and said soothingly in a
+      gentle tone:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come, let me see; I assure you it is nothing. With a slight cauterization
+      I will make it all disappear.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She shook her head in denial, without speaking. He tried to touch her
+      veil, but she seized it with both hands so violently that her fingers went
+      through it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He continued to reason with her and reassure her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come, you know very well that I remove those horrid pits every time and
+      that there is no trace of them after I have treated them. If you do not
+      let me see them I cannot cure you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I do not mind your seeing them,&rdquo; she murmured, &ldquo;but I do not know that
+      gentleman who is with you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He is a doctor also, who can give you better care than I can.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She then allowed her face to be uncovered, but her dread, her emotion, her
+      shame at being seen brought a rosy flush to her face and her neck, down to
+      the collar of her dress. She cast down her eyes, turned her face aside,
+      first to the right; then to the left, to avoid our gaze and stammered out:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, it is torture to me to let myself be seen like this! It is horrible,
+      is it not? Is it not horrible?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I looked at her in much surprise, for there was nothing on her face, not a
+      mark, not a spot, not a sign of one, nor a scar.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She turned towards me, her eyes still lowered, and said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It was while taking care of my son that I caught this fearful disease,
+      monsieur. I saved him, but I am disfigured. I sacrificed my beauty to him,
+      to my poor child. However, I did my duty, my conscience is at rest. If I
+      suffer it is known only to God.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The doctor had drawn from his coat pocket a fine water-color paint brush.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let me attend to it,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I will put it all right.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She held out her right cheek, and he began by touching it lightly with the
+      brush here and there, as though he were putting little points of paint on
+      it. He did the same with the left cheek, then with the chin, and the
+      forehead, and then exclaimed:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;See, there is nothing there now, nothing at all!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She took up the mirror, gazed at her reflection with profound, eager
+      attention, with a strong mental effort to discover something, then she
+      sighed:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. It hardly shows at all. I am infinitely obliged to you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The doctor had risen. He bowed to her, ushered me out and followed me,
+      and, as soon as he had locked the door, said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here is the history of this unhappy woman.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Her name is Mme. Hermet. She was once very beautiful, a great coquette,
+      very much beloved and very much in-love with life.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She was one of those women who have nothing but their beauty and their
+      love of admiration to sustain, guide or comfort them in this life. The
+      constant anxiety to retain her freshness, the care of her complexion, of
+      her hands, her teeth, of every portion of body that was visible, occupied
+      all her time and all her attention.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She became a widow, with one son. The boy was brought up as are all
+      children of society beauties. She was, however, very fond of him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He grew up, and she grew older. Whether she saw the fatal crisis
+      approaching, I cannot say. Did she, like so many others, gaze for hours
+      and hours at her skin, once so fine, so transparent and free from blemish,
+      now beginning to shrivel slightly, to be crossed with a thousand little
+      lines, as yet imperceptible, that will grow deeper day by day, month by
+      month? Did she also see slowly, but surely, increasing traces of those
+      long wrinkles on the forehead, those slender serpents that nothing can
+      check? Did she suffer the torture, the abominable torture of the mirror,
+      the little mirror with the silver handle which one cannot make up one&rsquo;s
+      mind to lay down on the table, but then throws down in disgust only to
+      take it up again in order to look more closely, and still more closely at
+      the hateful and insidious approaches of old age? Did she shut herself up
+      ten times, twenty times a day, leaving her friends chatting in the
+      drawing-room, and go up to her room where, under the protection of bolts
+      and bars, she would again contemplate the work of time on her ripe beauty,
+      now beginning to wither, and recognize with despair the gradual progress
+      of the process which no one else had as yet seemed to perceive, but of
+      which she, herself, was well aware. She knows where to seek the most
+      serious, the gravest traces of age. And the mirror, the little round
+      hand-glass in its carved silver frame, tells her horrible things; for it
+      speaks, it seems to laugh, it jeers and tells her all that is going to
+      occur, all the physical discomforts and the atrocious mental anguish she
+      will suffer until the day of her death, which will be the day of her
+      deliverance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Did she weep, distractedly, on her knees, her forehead to the ground, and
+      pray, pray, pray to Him who thus slays his creatures and gives them youth
+      only that he may render old age more unendurable, and lends them beauty
+      only that he may withdraw it almost immediately? Did she pray to Him,
+      imploring Him to do for her what He has never yet done for any one, to let
+      her retain until her last day her charm, her freshness and her
+      gracefulness? Then, finding that she was imploring in vain an inflexible
+      Unknown who drives on the years, one after another, did she roll on the
+      carpet in her room, knocking her head against the furniture and stifling
+      in her throat shrieks of despair?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Doubtless she suffered these tortures, for this is what occurred:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One day (she was then thirty-five) her son aged fifteen, fell ill.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He took to his bed without any one being able to determine the cause or
+      nature of his illness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His tutor, a priest, watched beside him and hardly ever left him, while
+      Mme. Hermet came morning and evening to inquire how he was.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She would come into the room in the morning in her night wrapper, smiling,
+      all powdered and perfumed, and would ask as she entered the door:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, George, are you better?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The big boy, his face red, swollen and showing the ravages of fever, would
+      reply:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, little mother, a little better.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She would stay in the room a few seconds, look at the bottles of medicine,
+      and purse her lips as if she were saying &ldquo;phew,&rdquo; and then would suddenly
+      exclaim: &ldquo;Oh, I forgot something very important,&rdquo; and would run out of the
+      room leaving behind her a fragrance of choice toilet perfumes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the evening she would appear in a decollete dress, in a still greater
+      hurry, for she was always late, and she had just time to inquire:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, what does the doctor say?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The priest would reply:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He has not yet given an opinion, madame.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But one evening the abbe replied: &ldquo;Madame, your son has got the
+      small-pox.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She uttered a scream of terror and fled from the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When her maid came to her room the following morning she noticed at once a
+      strong odor of burnt sugar, and she found her mistress, with wide-open
+      eyes, her face pale from lack of sleep, and shivering with terror in her
+      bed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As soon as the shutters were opened Mme. Herrnet asked:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How is George?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, not at all well to-day, madame.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She did not rise until noon, when she ate two eggs with a cup of tea, as
+      if she herself had been ill, and then she went out to a druggist&rsquo;s to
+      inquire about prophylactic measures against the contagion of small-pox.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She did not come home until dinner time, laden with medicine bottles, and
+      shut herself up at once in her room, where she saturated herself with
+      disinfectants.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The priest was waiting for her in the dining-room. As soon as she saw him
+      she exclaimed in a voice full of emotion:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No improvement. The doctor is very anxious:&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She began to cry and could eat nothing, she was so worried.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The next day, as soon as it was light, she sent to inquire for her son,
+      but there was no improvement and she spent the whole day in her room,
+      where little braziers were giving out pungent odors. Her maid said also
+      that you could hear her sighing all the evening.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She spent a whole week in this manner, only going out for an hour or two
+      during the afternoon to breathe the air.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She now sent to make inquiries every hour, and would sob when the reports
+      were unfavorable.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the morning of the eleventh day the priest, having been announced,
+      entered her room, his face grave and pale, and said, without taking the
+      chair she offered him:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Madame, your son is very ill and wishes to see you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She fell on her knees, exclaiming:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, my God! Oh, my God! I would never dare! My God! My God! Help me!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The priest continued:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The doctor holds out little hope, madame, and George is expecting you!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And he left the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Two hours later as the young lad, feeling himself dying, again asked for
+      his mother, the abbe went to her again and found her still on her knees,
+      still weeping and repeating:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will not.... I will not.... I am too much afraid.... I will not....&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He tried to persuade her, to strengthen her, to lead her. He only
+      succeeded in bringing on an attack of &ldquo;nerves&rdquo; that lasted some time and
+      caused her to shriek.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The doctor when he came in the evening was told of this cowardice and
+      declared that he would bring her in himself, of her own volition, or by
+      force. But after trying all manner of argument and just as he seized her
+      round the waist to carry her into her son&rsquo;s room, she caught hold of the
+      door and clung to it so firmly that they could not drag her away. Then
+      when they let go of her she fell at the feet of the doctor, begging his
+      forgiveness and acknowledging that she was a wretched creature. And then
+      she exclaimed: &ldquo;Oh, he is not going to die; tell me that he is not going
+      to die, I beg of you; tell him that I love him, that I worship him...&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The young lad was dying. Feeling that he had only a few moments more to
+      live, he entreated that his mother be persuaded to come and bid him a last
+      farewell. With that sort of presentiment that the dying sometimes have, he
+      had understood, had guessed all, and he said: &ldquo;If she is afraid to come
+      into the room, beg her just to come on the balcony as far as my window so
+      that I may see her, at least, so that I may take a farewell look at her,
+      as I cannot kiss her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The doctor and the abbe, once more, went together to this woman and
+      assured her: &ldquo;You will run no risk, for there will be a pane of glass
+      between you and him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She consented, covered up her head, and took with her a bottle of smelling
+      salts. She took three steps on the balcony; then, all at once, hiding her
+      face in her hands, she moaned: &ldquo;No... no... I would never dare to look at
+      him... never.... I am too much ashamed... too much afraid.... No... I
+      cannot.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They endeavored to drag her along, but she held on with both hands to the
+      railings and uttered such plaints that the passers-by in the street raised
+      their heads. And the dying boy waited, his eyes turned towards that
+      window, waited to die until he could see for the last time the sweet,
+      beloved face, the worshiped face of his mother.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He waited long, and night came on. Then he turned over with his face to
+      the wall and was silent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When day broke he was dead. The day following she was crazy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      THE MAGIC COUCH
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      The Seine flowed past my house, without a ripple on its surface, and
+      gleaming in the bright morning sunlight. It was a beautiful, broad,
+      indolent silver stream, with crimson lights here and there; and on the
+      opposite side of the river were rows of tall trees that covered all the
+      bank with an immense wall of verdure.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The sensation of life which is renewed each day, of fresh, happy, loving
+      life trembled in the leaves, palpitated in the air, was mirrored in the
+      water.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The postman had just brought my papers, which were handed to me, and I
+      walked slowly to the river bank in order to read them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the first paper I opened I noticed this headline, &ldquo;Statistics of
+      Suicides,&rdquo; and I read that more than 8,500 persons had killed themselves
+      in that year.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In a moment I seemed to see them! I saw this voluntary and hideous
+      massacre of the despairing who were weary of life. I saw men bleeding,
+      their jaws fractured, their skulls cloven, their breasts pierced by a
+      bullet, slowly dying, alone in a little room in a hotel, giving no thought
+      to their wound, but thinking only of their misfortunes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I saw others seated before a tumbler in which some matches were soaking,
+      or before a little bottle with a red label.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They would look at it fixedly without moving; then they would drink and
+      await the result; then a spasm would convulse their cheeks and draw their
+      lips together; their eyes would grow wild with terror, for they did not
+      know that the end would be preceded by so much suffering.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They rose to their feet, paused, fell over and with their hands pressed to
+      their stomachs they felt their internal organs on fire, their entrails
+      devoured by the fiery liquid, before their minds began to grow dim.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I saw others hanging from a nail in the wall, from the fastening of the
+      window, from a hook in the ceiling, from a beam in the garret, from a
+      branch of a tree amid the evening rain. And I surmised all that had
+      happened before they hung there motionless, their tongues hanging out of
+      their mouths. I imagined the anguish of their heart, their final
+      hesitation, their attempts to fasten the rope, to determine that it was
+      secure, then to pass the noose round their neck and to let themselves
+      fall.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I saw others lying on wretched beds, mothers with their little children,
+      old men dying of hunger, young girls dying for love, all rigid,
+      suffocated, asphyxiated, while in the center of the room the brasier still
+      gave forth the fumes of charcoal.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And I saw others walking at night along the deserted bridges. These were
+      the most sinister. The water flowed under the arches with a low sound.
+      They did not see it... they guessed at it from its cool breath! They
+      longed for it and they feared it. They dared not do it! And yet, they
+      must. A distant clock sounded the hour and, suddenly, in the vast silence
+      of the night, there was heard the splash of a body falling into the river,
+      a scream or two, the sound of hands beating the water, and all was still.
+      Sometimes, even, there was only the sound of the falling body when they
+      had tied their arms down or fastened a stone to their feet. Oh, the poor
+      things, the poor things, the poor things, how I felt their anguish, how I
+      died in their death! I went through all their wretchedness; I endured in
+      one hour all their tortures. I knew all the sorrows that had led them to
+      this, for I know the deceitful infamy of life, and no one has felt it more
+      than I have.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      How I understood them, these who weak, harassed by misfortune, having lost
+      those they loved, awakened from the dream of a tardy compensation, from
+      the illusion of another existence where God will finally be just, after
+      having been ferocious, and their minds disabused of the mirages of
+      happiness, have given up the fight and desire to put an end to this
+      ceaseless tragedy, or this shameful comedy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Suicide! Why, it is the strength of those whose strength is exhausted, the
+      hope of those who no longer believe, the sublime courage of the conquered!
+      Yes, there is at least one door to this life we can always open and pass
+      through to the other side. Nature had an impulse of pity; she did not shut
+      us up in prison. Mercy for the despairing!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As for those who are simply disillusioned, let them march ahead with free
+      soul and quiet heart. They have nothing to fear since they may take their
+      leave; for behind them there is always this door that the gods of our
+      illusions cannot even lock.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I thought of this crowd of suicides: more than eight thousand five hundred
+      in one year. And it seemed to me that they had combined to send to the
+      world a prayer, to utter a cry of appeal, to demand something that should
+      come into effect later when we understood things better. It seemed to me
+      that all these victims, their throats cut, poisoned, hung, asphyxiated, or
+      drowned, all came together, a frightful horde, like citizens to the polls,
+      to say to society:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Grant us, at least, a gentle death! Help us to die, you who will not help
+      us to live! See, we are numerous, we have the right to speak in these days
+      of freedom, of philosophic independence and of popular suffrage. Give to
+      those who renounce life the charity of a death that will not be repugnant
+      nor terrible.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I began to dream, allowing my fancy to roam at will in weird and
+      mysterious fashion on this subject.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I seemed to be all at once in a beautiful city. It was Paris; but at what
+      period? I walked about the streets, looking at the houses, the theaters,
+      the public buildings, and presently found myself in a square where I
+      remarked a large building; very handsome, dainty and attractive. I was
+      surprised on reading on the facade this inscription in letters of gold,
+      &ldquo;Suicide Bureau.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Oh, the weirdness of waking dreams where the spirit soars into a world of
+      unrealities and possibilities! Nothing astonishes one, nothing shocks one;
+      and the unbridled fancy makes no distinction between the comic and the
+      tragic.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I approached the building where footmen in knee-breeches were seated in
+      the vestibule in front of a cloak-room as they do at the entrance of a
+      club.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I entered out of curiosity. One of the men rose and said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What does monsieur wish?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wish to know what building this is.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nothing more?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, no.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then would monsieur like me to take him to the Secretary of the Bureau?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I hesitated, and asked:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But will not that disturb him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no, monsieur, he is here to receive those who desire information.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, lead the way.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He took me through corridors where old gentlemen were chatting, and
+      finally led me into a beautiful office, somewhat somber, furnished
+      throughout in black wood. A stout young man with a corporation was writing
+      a letter as he smoked a cigar, the fragrance of which gave evidence of its
+      quality.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He rose. We bowed to each other, and as soon as the footman had retired he
+      asked:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What can I do for you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Monsieur,&rdquo; I replied, &ldquo;pardon my curiosity. I had never seen this
+      establishment. The few words inscribed on the facade filled me with
+      astonishment, and I wanted to know what was going on here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He smiled before replying, then said in a low tone with a complacent air:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mon Dieu, monsieur, we put to death in a cleanly and gentle&mdash;I do
+      not venture to say agreeable manner those persons who desire to die.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I did not feel very shocked, for it really seemed to me natural and right.
+      What particularly surprised me was that on this planet, with its low,
+      utilitarian, humanitarian ideals, selfish and coercive of all true
+      freedom, any one should venture on a similar enterprise, worthy of an
+      emancipated humanity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How did you get the idea?&rdquo; I asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Monsieur,&rdquo; he replied, &ldquo;the number of suicides increased so enormously
+      during the five years succeeding the world exposition of 1889 that some
+      measures were urgently needed. People killed themselves in the streets, at
+      fetes, in restaurants, at the theater, in railway carriages, at the
+      receptions held by the President of the Republic, everywhere. It was not
+      only a horrid sight for those who love life, as I do, but also a bad
+      example for children. Hence it became necessary to centralize suicides.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What caused this suicidal epidemic?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I do not know. The fact is, I believe, the world is growing old. People
+      begin to see things clearly and they are getting disgruntled. It is the
+      same to-day with destiny as with the government, we have found out what it
+      is; people find that they are swindled in every direction, and they just
+      get out of it all. When one discovers that Providence lies, cheats, robs,
+      deceives human beings just as a plain Deputy deceives his constituents,
+      one gets angry, and as one cannot nominate a fresh Providence every three
+      months as we do with our privileged representatives, one just gets out of
+      the whole thing, which is decidedly bad.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Really!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, as for me, I am not complaining.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Will you inform me how you carry on this establishment?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;With pleasure. You may become a member when you please. It is a club.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A club!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, monsieur, founded by the most eminent men in the country, by men of
+      the highest intellect and brightest intelligence. And,&rdquo; he added, laughing
+      heartily, &ldquo;I swear to you that every one gets a great deal of enjoyment
+      out of it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In this place?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, in this place.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You surprise me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mon Dieu, they enjoy themselves because they have not that fear of death
+      which is the great killjoy in all our earthly pleasures.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But why should they be members of this club if they do not kill
+      themselves?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;One may be a member of the club without being obliged for that reason to
+      commit suicide.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But then?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will explain. In view of the enormous increase in suicides, and of the
+      hideous spectacle they presented, a purely benevolent society was formed
+      for the protection of those in despair, which placed at their disposal the
+      facilities for a peaceful, painless, if not unforeseen death.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who can have authorized such an institution?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;General Boulanger during his brief tenure of power. He could never refuse
+      anything. However, that was the only good thing he did. Hence, a society
+      was formed of clear-sighted, disillusioned skeptics who desired to erect
+      in the heart of Paris a kind of temple dedicated to the contempt for
+      death. This place was formerly a dreaded spot that no one ventured to
+      approach. Then its founders, who met together here, gave a grand inaugural
+      entertainment with Mmes. Sarah Bernhardt, Judic, Theo, Granier, and twenty
+      others, and Mme. de Reske, Coquelin, Mounet-Sully, Paulus, etc., present,
+      followed by concerts, the comedies of Dumas, of Meilhac, Halevy and
+      Sardon. We had only one thing to mar it, one drama by Becque which seemed
+      sad, but which subsequently had a great success at the Comedie-Francaise.
+      In fact all Paris came. The enterprise was launched.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In the midst of the festivities! What a funereal joke!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not at all. Death need not be sad, it should be a matter of indifference.
+      We made death cheerful, crowned it with flowers, covered it with perfume,
+      made it easy. One learns to aid others through example; one can see that
+      it is nothing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can well understand that they should come to the entertainments; but
+      did they come to... Death?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not at first; they were afraid.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And later?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They came.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Many of them?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In crowds. We have had more than forty in a day. One finds hardly any
+      more drowned bodies in the Seine.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who was the first?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A club member.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As a sacrifice to the cause?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t think so. A man who was sick of everything, a &lsquo;down and out&rsquo; who
+      had lost heavily at baccarat for three months.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The second was an Englishman, an eccentric. We then advertised in the
+      papers, we gave an account of our methods, we invented some attractive
+      instances. But the great impetus was given by poor people.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How do you go to work?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Would you like to see? I can explain at the same time.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, indeed.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He took his hat, opened the door, allowed me to precede him, and we
+      entered a card room, where men sat playing as they, play in all gambling
+      places. They were chatting cheerfully, eagerly. I have seldom seen such a
+      jolly, lively, mirthful club.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As I seemed surprised, the secretary said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, the establishment has an unheard of prestige. All the smart people
+      all over the world belong to it so as to appear as though they held death
+      in scorn. Then, once they get here, they feel obliged to be cheerful that
+      they may not appear to be afraid. So they joke and laugh and talk
+      flippantly, they are witty and they become so. At present it is certainly
+      the most frequented and the most entertaining place in Paris. The women
+      are even thinking of building an annex for themselves.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And, in spite of all this, you have many suicides in the house?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As I said, about forty or fifty a day. Society people are rare, but poor
+      devils abound. The middle class has also a large contingent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And how... do they do?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They are asphyxiated... very slowly.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In what manner?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A gas of our own invention. We have the patent. On the other side of the
+      building are the public entrances&mdash;three little doors opening on
+      small streets. When a man or a woman present themselves they are
+      interrogated. Then they are offered assistance, aid, protection. If a
+      client accepts, inquiries are made; and sometimes we have saved their
+      lives.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where do you get your money?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We have a great deal. There are a large number of shareholders. Besides
+      it is fashionable to contribute to the establishment. The names of the
+      donors are published in Figaro. Then the suicide of every rich man costs a
+      thousand francs. And they look as if they were lying in state. It costs
+      the poor nothing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How can you tell who is poor?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, oh, monsieur, we can guess! And, besides, they must bring a
+      certificate of indigency from the commissary of police of their district.
+      If you knew how distressing it is to see them come in! I visited their
+      part of our building once only, and I will never go again. The place
+      itself is almost as good as this part, almost as luxurious and
+      comfortable; but they themselves... they themselves!!! If you could see
+      them arriving, the old men in rags coming to die; persons who have been
+      dying of misery for months, picking up their food at the edges of the
+      curbstone like dogs in the street; women in rags, emaciated, sick,
+      paralyzed, incapable of making a living, who say to us after they have
+      told us their story: &lsquo;You see that things cannot go on like that, as I
+      cannot work any longer or earn anything.&rsquo; I saw one woman of eighty-seven
+      who had lost all her children and grandchildren, and who for the last six
+      weeks had been sleeping out of doors. It made me ill to hear of it. Then
+      we have so many different cases, without counting those who say nothing,
+      but simply ask: &lsquo;Where is it?&rsquo; These are admitted at once and it is all
+      over in a minute.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      With a pang at my heart I repeated:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And... where is it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here,&rdquo; and he opened a door, adding:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Go in; this is the part specially reserved for club members, and the one
+      least used. We have so far had only eleven annihilations here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah! You call that an... annihilation!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, monsieur. Go in.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I hesitated. At length I went in. It was a wide corridor, a sort of
+      greenhouse in which panes of glass of pale blue, tender pink and delicate
+      green gave the poetic charm of landscapes to the inclosing walls. In this
+      pretty salon there were divans, magnificent palms, flowers, especially
+      roses of balmy fragrance, books on the tables, the Revue des Deuxmondes,
+      cigars in government boxes, and, what surprised me, Vichy pastilles in a
+      bonbonniere.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As I expressed my surprise, my guide said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, they often come here to chat.&rdquo; He continued: &ldquo;The public corridors
+      are similar, but more simply furnished.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In reply to a question of mine, he pointed to a couch covered with creamy
+      crepe de Chine with white embroidery, beneath a large shrub of unknown
+      variety at the foot of which was a circular bed of mignonette.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The secretary added in a lower tone:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We change the flower and the perfume at will, for our gas, which is quite
+      imperceptible, gives death the fragrance of the suicide&rsquo;s favorite flower.
+      It is volatilized with essences. Would you like to inhale it for a
+      second?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;No, thank you,&rdquo; I said hastily, &ldquo;not yet....&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He began to laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, monsieur, there is no danger. I have tried it myself several times.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I was afraid he would think me a coward, and I said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I&rsquo;ll try it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stretch yourself out on the &lsquo;endormeuse.&rdquo;&rsquo;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A little uneasy I seated myself on the low couch covered with crepe de
+      Chine and stretched myself full length, and was at once bathed in a
+      delicious odor of mignonette. I opened my mouth in order to breathe it in,
+      for my mind had already become stupefied and forgetful of the past and was
+      a prey, in the first stages of asphyxia, to the enchanting intoxication of
+      a destroying and magic opium.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Some one shook me by the arm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, oh, monsieur,&rdquo; said the secretary, laughing, &ldquo;it looks to me as if
+      you were almost caught.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But a voice, a real voice, and no longer a dream voice, greeted me with
+      the peasant intonation:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good morning, m&rsquo;sieu. How goes it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      My dream was over. I saw the Seine distinctly in the sunlight, and, coming
+      along a path, the garde champetre of the district, who with his right hand
+      touched his kepi braided in silver. I replied:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good morning, Marinel. Where are you going?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am going to look at a drowned man whom they fished up near the
+      Morillons. Another who has thrown himself into the soup. He even took off
+      his trousers in order to tie his legs together with them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <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 13, by Guy de Maupassant
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MAUPASSANT SHORT STORIES ***
+
+***** This file should be named 3089-h.htm or 3089-h.zip *****
+This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
+        https://www.gutenberg.org/3/0/8/3089/
+
+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.  Special rules,
+set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to
+copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to
+protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark.  Project
+Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you
+charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission.  If you
+do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the
+rules is very easy.  You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose
+such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and
+research.  They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do
+practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks.  Redistribution is
+subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
+redistribution.
+
+
+
+*** START: FULL LICENSE ***
+
+THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
+PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
+
+To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
+distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
+(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase &ldquo;Project
+Gutenberg&rdquo;), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at
+https://gutenberg.org/license).
+
+
+Section 1.  General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic works
+
+1.A.  By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
+and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
+(trademark/copyright) agreement.  If you do not agree to abide by all
+the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
+all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.
+If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the
+terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or
+entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
+
+1.B.  &ldquo;Project Gutenberg&rdquo; is a registered trademark.  It may only be
+used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
+agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement.  There are a few
+things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
+even without complying with the full terms of this agreement.  See
+paragraph 1.C below.  There are a lot of things you can do with Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
+and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.  See paragraph 1.E below.
+
+1.C.  The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (&ldquo;the Foundation&rdquo;
+ or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works.  Nearly all the individual works in the
+collection are in the public domain in the United States.  If an
+individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are
+located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from
+copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative
+works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg
+are removed.  Of course, we hope that you will support the Project
+Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by
+freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of
+this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with
+the work.  You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by
+keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.
+
+1.D.  The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
+what you can do with this work.  Copyright laws in most countries are in
+a constant state of change.  If you are outside the United States, check
+the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement
+before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or
+creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project
+Gutenberg-tm work.  The Foundation makes no representations concerning
+the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
+States.
+
+1.E.  Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
+
+1.E.1.  The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
+access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently
+whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the
+phrase &ldquo;Project Gutenberg&rdquo; appears, or with which the phrase &ldquo;Project
+Gutenberg&rdquo; is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed,
+copied or distributed:
+
+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
+
+1.E.2.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived
+from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is
+posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied
+and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees
+or charges.  If you are redistributing or providing access to a work
+with the phrase &ldquo;Project Gutenberg&rdquo; associated with or appearing on the
+work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1
+through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the
+Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or
+1.E.9.
+
+1.E.3.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
+with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
+must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional
+terms imposed by the copyright holder.  Additional terms will be linked
+to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the
+permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.
+
+1.E.4.  Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
+work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.
+
+1.E.5.  Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
+electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
+prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
+active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm License.
+
+1.E.6.  You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
+compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any
+word processing or hypertext form.  However, if you provide access to or
+distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than
+&ldquo;Plain Vanilla ASCII&rdquo; or other format used in the official version
+posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org),
+you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a
+copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon
+request, of the work in its original &ldquo;Plain Vanilla ASCII&rdquo; or other
+form.  Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
+
+1.E.7.  Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
+performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
+unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
+
+1.E.8.  You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
+access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided
+that
+
+- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
+     the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
+     you already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  The fee is
+     owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he
+     has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the
+     Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.  Royalty payments
+     must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you
+     prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax
+     returns.  Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and
+     sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the
+     address specified in Section 4, &ldquo;Information about donations to
+     the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.&rdquo;
+
+- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
+     you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
+     does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+     License.  You must require such a user to return or
+     destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
+     and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
+     Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
+     money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
+     electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days
+     of receipt of the work.
+
+- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
+     distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+1.E.9.  If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set
+forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from
+both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael
+Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark.  Contact the
+Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.
+
+1.F.
+
+1.F.1.  Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
+effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
+public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm
+collection.  Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain
+&ldquo;Defects,&rdquo; such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or
+corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual
+property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a
+computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by
+your equipment.
+
+1.F.2.  LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the &ldquo;Right
+of Replacement or Refund&rdquo; described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
+liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
+fees.  YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
+LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
+PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3.  YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
+TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
+LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
+INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
+DAMAGE.
+
+1.F.3.  LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
+defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
+receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
+written explanation to the person you received the work from.  If you
+received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with
+your written explanation.  The person or entity that provided you with
+the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a
+refund.  If you received the work electronically, the person or entity
+providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to
+receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund.  If the second copy
+is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further
+opportunities to fix the problem.
+
+1.F.4.  Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
+in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you &lsquo;AS-IS&rsquo; WITH NO OTHER
+WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO
+WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
+
+1.F.5.  Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
+warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
+If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
+law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
+interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
+the applicable state law.  The invalidity or unenforceability of any
+provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.
+
+1.F.6.  INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
+trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
+providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance
+with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,
+promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works,
+harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees,
+that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do
+or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm
+work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any
+Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.
+
+
+Section  2.  Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
+electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers
+including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers.  It exists
+because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from
+people in all walks of life.
+
+Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
+assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm&rsquo;s
+goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
+remain freely available for generations to come.  In 2001, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
+and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.
+To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
+and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4
+and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org.
+
+
+Section 3.  Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
+Foundation
+
+The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
+501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
+state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
+Revenue Service.  The Foundation&rsquo;s EIN or federal tax identification
+number is 64-6221541.  Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at
+https://pglaf.org/fundraising.  Contributions to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent
+permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state&rsquo;s laws.
+
+The Foundation&rsquo;s principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.
+Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered
+throughout numerous locations.  Its business office is located at
+809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email
+business@pglaf.org.  Email contact links and up to date contact
+information can be found at the Foundation&rsquo;s web site and official
+page at https://pglaf.org
+
+For additional contact information:
+     Dr. Gregory B. Newby
+     Chief Executive and Director
+     gbnewby@pglaf.org
+
+
+Section 4.  Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
+spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
+increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
+freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
+array of equipment including outdated equipment.  Many small donations
+($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
+status with the IRS.
+
+The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
+charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
+States.  Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
+considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
+with these requirements.  We do not solicit donations in locations
+where we have not received written confirmation of compliance.  To
+SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any
+particular state visit https://pglaf.org
+
+While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
+have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
+against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
+approach us with offers to donate.
+
+International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
+any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
+outside the United States.  U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
+
+Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
+methods and addresses.  Donations are accepted in a number of other
+ways including including checks, online payments and credit card
+donations.  To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate
+
+
+Section 5.  General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.
+
+Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm
+concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
+with anyone.  For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
+Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.
+
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
+editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.
+unless a copyright notice is included.  Thus, we do not necessarily
+keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.
+
+
+Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:
+
+     https://www.gutenberg.org
+
+This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
+including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
+Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
+subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
+
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </p>
+  </body>
+</html>
diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6312041
--- /dev/null
+++ b/LICENSE.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,11 @@
+This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements,
+metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be
+in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES.
+
+Procedures for determining public domain status are described in
+the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org.
+
+No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in
+jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize
+this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright
+status under the laws that apply to them.
diff --git a/README.md b/README.md
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..788713c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/README.md
@@ -0,0 +1,2 @@
+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for
+eBook #3089 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/3089)
diff --git a/old/gm13v10.txt b/old/gm13v10.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..850eedc
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/gm13v10.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,4418 @@
+Project Gutenberg's Original Maupassant Short Stories, Vol. 13.
+by Guy de Maupassant (#14 in our series by Guy de Maupassant)
+
+Copyright laws are changing all over the world, be sure to check
+the laws for your country before redistributing these files!!!
+
+Please take a look at the important information in this header.
+We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an
+electronic path open for the next readers.
+
+Please do not remove this.
+
+This should be the first thing seen when anyone opens the book.
+Do not change or edit it without written permission.  The words
+are carefully chosen to provide users with the information they
+need about what they can legally do with the texts.
+
+
+**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts**
+
+**Etexts Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971**
+
+*These Etexts Prepared By Hundreds of Volunteers and Donations*
+
+Information on contacting Project Gutenberg to get Etexts, and
+further information is included below.  We need your donations.
+The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a 501(c)(3).
+
+As of 12/12/00 contributions are only being solicited from people in:
+Colorado, Connecticut, Idaho, Indiana, Iowa,
+Kentucky, Louisiana, Massachusetts, Montana,
+Nevada, Oklahoma, South Carolina, South Dakota,
+Texas, Vermont, and Wyoming.
+
+As the requirements for other states are met,
+additions to this list will be made and fund raising
+will begin in the additional states.  Please feel
+free to ask to check the status of your state.
+
+These donations should be made to:
+
+Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
+PMB 113
+1739 University Ave.
+Oxford, MS 38655
+
+Title: Original Short Stories, Vol. 13.
+
+Author: Guy de Maupassant
+
+Release Date: February, 2002  [Etext #3089]
+[Yes, we are about one year ahead of schedule]
+[The actual date this file first posted = 12/24/00]
+
+Edition: 10
+
+Language: English
+
+Project Gutenberg's Original Maupassant Short Stories, Vol. 13.
+*****This file should be named gm13v10.txt or gm13v10.zip******
+
+Corrected EDITIONS of our etexts get a new NUMBER, gm13v11.txt
+VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, gm13v10a.txt
+
+This etext was produced by David Widger <widger@cecomet.net>
+
+Project Gutenberg Etexts are usually created from multiple editions,
+all of which are in the Public Domain in the United States, unless a
+copyright notice is included.  Therefore, we usually do NOT keep any
+of these books in compliance with any particular paper edition.
+
+We are now trying to release all our books one year in advance
+of the official release dates, leaving time for better editing.
+Please be encouraged to send us error messages even years after
+the official publication date.
+
+Please note:  neither this list nor its contents are final till
+midnight of the last day of the month of any such announcement.
+The official release date of all Project Gutenberg Etexts is at
+Midnight, Central Time, of the last day of the stated month.  A
+preliminary version may often be posted for suggestion, comment
+and editing by those who wish to do so.
+
+Most people start at our sites at:
+http://gutenberg.net
+http://promo.net/pg
+
+
+Those of you who want to download any Etext before announcement
+can surf to them as follows, and just download by date; this is
+also a good way to get them instantly upon announcement, as the
+indexes our cataloguers produce obviously take a while after an
+announcement goes out in the Project Gutenberg Newsletter.
+
+http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/etext02
+or
+ftp://ftp.ibiblio.org/pub/docs/books/gutenberg/etext02
+
+Or /etext01, 00, 99, 98, 97, 96, 95, 94, 93, 92, 92, 91 or 90
+
+Just search by the first five letters of the filename you want,
+as it appears in our Newsletters.
+
+
+Information about Project Gutenberg (one page)
+
+We produce about two million dollars for each hour we work.  The
+time it takes us, a rather conservative estimate, is fifty hours
+to get any etext selected, entered, proofread, edited, copyright
+searched and analyzed, the copyright letters written, etc.  This
+projected audience is one hundred million readers.  If our value
+per text is nominally estimated at one dollar then we produce $2
+million dollars per hour this year as we release fifty new Etext
+files per month, or 500 more Etexts in 2000 for a total of 3000+
+If they reach just 1-2% of the world's population then the total
+should reach over 300 billion Etexts given away by year's end.
+
+The Goal of Project Gutenberg is to Give Away One Trillion Etext
+Files by December 31, 2001.  [10,000 x 100,000,000 = 1 Trillion]
+This is ten thousand titles each to one hundred million readers,
+which is only about 4% of the present number of computer users.
+
+At our revised rates of production, we will reach only one-third
+of that goal by the end of 2001, or about 3,333 Etexts unless we
+manage to get some real funding.
+
+Something is needed to create a future for Project Gutenberg for
+the next 100 years.
+
+We need your donations more than ever!
+
+Presently, contributions are only being solicited from people in:
+Colorado, Connecticut, Idaho, Indiana, Iowa,
+Kentucky, Louisiana, Massachusetts, Nevada,
+Montana, Nevada, Oklahoma, South Carolina,
+South Dakota, Texas, Vermont, and Wyoming.
+
+As the requirements for other states are met,
+additions to this list will be made and fund raising
+will begin in the additional states.
+
+These donations should be made to:
+
+Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
+PMB 113
+1739 University Ave.
+Oxford, MS 38655
+
+
+Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
+has been approved as a 501(c)(3) organization by the US Internal
+Revenue Service (IRS).  Donations are tax-deductible to the extent
+permitted by law.  As the requirements for other states are met,
+additions to this list will be made and fund raising will begin in the
+additional states.
+
+All donations should be made to the Project Gutenberg Literary
+Archive Foundation.  Mail to:
+
+Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
+PMB 113
+1739 University Avenue
+Oxford, MS 38655  [USA]
+
+
+We need your donations more than ever!
+
+You can get up to date donation information at:
+
+http://www.gutenberg.net/donation.html
+
+
+***
+
+You can always email directly to:
+
+Michael S. Hart <hart@pobox.com>
+
+hart@pobox.com forwards to hart@prairienet.org and archive.org
+if your mail bounces from archive.org, I will still see it, if
+it bounces from prairienet.org, better resend later on. . . .
+
+We would prefer to send you this information by email.
+
+
+Example command-line FTP session:
+
+ftp ftp.ibiblio.org
+login: anonymous
+password: your@login
+cd pub/docs/books/gutenberg
+cd etext90 through etext99 or etext00 through etext02, etc.
+dir [to see files]
+get or mget [to get files. . .set bin for zip files]
+GET GUTINDEX.??  [to get a year's listing of books, e.g., GUTINDEX.99]
+GET GUTINDEX.ALL [to get a listing of ALL books]
+
+
+**The Legal Small Print**
+
+
+(Three Pages)
+
+***START**THE SMALL PRINT!**FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS**START***
+Why is this "Small Print!" statement here?  You know: lawyers.
+They tell us you might sue us if there is something wrong with
+your copy of this etext, even if you got it for free from
+someone other than us, and even if what's wrong is not our
+fault.  So, among other things, this "Small Print!" statement
+disclaims most of our liability to you.  It also tells you how
+you can distribute copies of this etext if you want to.
+
+*BEFORE!* YOU USE OR READ THIS ETEXT
+By using or reading any part of this PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm
+etext, you indicate that you understand, agree to and accept
+this "Small Print!" statement.  If you do not, you can receive
+a refund of the money (if any) you paid for this etext by
+sending a request within 30 days of receiving it to the person
+you got it from.  If you received this etext on a physical
+medium (such as a disk), you must return it with your request.
+
+ABOUT PROJECT GUTENBERG-TM ETEXTS
+This PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etext, like most PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etexts,
+is a "public domain" work distributed by Professor Michael S. Hart
+through the Project Gutenberg Association (the "Project").
+Among other things, this means that no one owns a United States copyright
+on or for this work, so the Project (and you!) can copy and
+distribute it in the United States without permission and
+without paying copyright royalties.  Special rules, set forth
+below, apply if you wish to copy and distribute this etext
+under the Project's "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark.
+
+Please do not use the "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark to market
+any commercial products without permission.
+
+To create these etexts, the Project expends considerable
+efforts to identify, transcribe and proofread public domain
+works.  Despite these efforts, the Project's etexts and any
+medium they may be on may contain "Defects".  Among other
+things, Defects may take the form of incomplete, inaccurate or
+corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other
+intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged
+disk or other etext medium, a computer virus, or computer
+codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment.
+
+LIMITED WARRANTY; DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES
+But for the "Right of Replacement or Refund" described below,
+[1] the Project (and any other party you may receive this
+etext from as a PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etext) disclaims all
+liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including
+legal fees, and [2] YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE OR
+UNDER STRICT LIABILITY, OR FOR BREACH OF WARRANTY OR CONTRACT,
+INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE
+OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES, EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE
+POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGES.
+
+If you discover a Defect in this etext within 90 days of
+receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any)
+you paid for it by sending an explanatory note within that
+time to the person you received it from.  If you received it
+on a physical medium, you must return it with your note, and
+such person may choose to alternatively give you a replacement
+copy.  If you received it electronically, such person may
+choose to alternatively give you a second opportunity to
+receive it electronically.
+
+THIS ETEXT IS OTHERWISE PROVIDED TO YOU "AS-IS".  NO OTHER
+WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, ARE MADE TO YOU AS
+TO THE ETEXT OR ANY MEDIUM IT MAY BE ON, INCLUDING BUT NOT
+LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR A
+PARTICULAR PURPOSE.
+
+Some states do not allow disclaimers of implied warranties or
+the exclusion or limitation of consequential damages, so the
+above disclaimers and exclusions may not apply to you, and you
+may have other legal rights.
+
+INDEMNITY
+You will indemnify and hold the Project, its directors,
+officers, members and agents harmless from all liability, cost
+and expense, including legal fees, that arise directly or
+indirectly from any of the following that you do or cause:
+[1] distribution of this etext, [2] alteration, modification,
+or addition to the etext, or [3] any Defect.
+
+DISTRIBUTION UNDER "PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm"
+You may distribute copies of this etext electronically, or by
+disk, book or any other medium if you either delete this
+"Small Print!" and all other references to Project Gutenberg,
+or:
+
+[1]  Only give exact copies of it.  Among other things, this
+     requires that you do not remove, alter or modify the
+     etext or this "small print!" statement.  You may however,
+     if you wish, distribute this etext in machine readable
+     binary, compressed, mark-up, or proprietary form,
+     including any form resulting from conversion by word
+     processing or hypertext software, but only so long as
+     *EITHER*:
+
+     [*]  The etext, when displayed, is clearly readable, and
+          does *not* contain characters other than those
+          intended by the author of the work, although tilde
+          (~), asterisk (*) and underline (_) characters may
+          be used to convey punctuation intended by the
+          author, and additional characters may be used to
+          indicate hypertext links; OR
+
+     [*]  The etext may be readily converted by the reader at
+          no expense into plain ASCII, EBCDIC or equivalent
+          form by the program that displays the etext (as is
+          the case, for instance, with most word processors);
+          OR
+
+     [*]  You provide, or agree to also provide on request at
+          no additional cost, fee or expense, a copy of the
+          etext in its original plain ASCII form (or in EBCDIC
+          or other equivalent proprietary form).
+
+[2]  Honor the etext refund and replacement provisions of this
+     "Small Print!" statement.
+
+[3]  Pay a trademark license fee to the Project of 20% of the
+     gross profits you derive calculated using the method you
+     already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  If you
+     don't derive profits, no royalty is due.  Royalties are
+     payable to "Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation"
+     the 60 days following each date you prepare (or were
+     legally required to prepare) your annual (or equivalent
+     periodic) tax return.  Please contact us beforehand to
+     let us know your plans and to work out the details.
+
+WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO?
+The Project gratefully accepts contributions of money, time,
+public domain etexts, and royalty free copyright licenses.
+If you are interested in contributing scanning equipment or
+software or other items, please contact Michael Hart at:
+hart@pobox.com
+
+*END THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.12.12.00*END*
+
+
+
+This etext was produced by David Widger <widger@cecomet.net>
+
+
+
+Original Short Stories, Vol. 13.
+By Guy de Maupassant
+
+
+
+
+     VOLUME XIII.
+
+OLD JUDAS
+THE LITTLE CASK
+BOITELLE
+A WIDOW
+THE ENGLISHMEN OF ETRETAT
+MAGNETISM
+A FATHERS CONFESSION
+A MOTHER OF MONSTERS
+AN UNCOMFORTABLE BED
+A PORTRAIT
+THE DRUNKARD
+THE WARDROBE
+THE MOUNTAIN POOL
+A CREMATION
+MISTI
+MADAME HERMET
+THE MAGIC COUCH
+
+
+
+
+OLD JUDAS
+
+This entire stretch of country was amazing; it was characterized by a
+grandeur that was almost religious, and yet it had an air of sinister
+desolation.
+
+A great, wild lake, filled with stagnant, black water, in which thousands
+of reeds were waving to and fro, lay in the midst of a vast circle of
+naked hills, where nothing grew but broom, or here and there an oak
+curiously twisted by the wind.
+
+Just one house stood on the banks of that dark lake, a small, low house
+inhabited by Uncle Joseph, an old boatman, who lived on what he could
+make by his fishing.  Once a week he carried the fish he caught into the
+surrounding villages, returning with the few provisions that he needed
+for his sustenance.
+
+I went to see this old hermit, who offered to take me with him to his
+nets, and I accepted.
+
+His boat was old, worm-eaten and clumsy, and the skinny old man rowed
+with a gentle and monotonous stroke that was soothing to the soul,
+already oppressed by the sadness of the land round about.
+
+It seemed to me as if I were transported to olden times, in the midst of
+that ancient country, in that primitive boat, which was propelled by a
+man of another age.
+
+He took up his nets and threw the fish into the bottom of the boat, as
+the fishermen of the Bible might have done.  Then he took me down to the
+end of the lake, where I suddenly perceived a ruin on the other side of
+the bank a dilapidated hut, with an enormous red cross on the wall that
+looked as if it might have been traced with blood, as it gleamed in the
+last rays of the setting sun.
+
+"What is that?" I asked.
+
+"That is where Judas died," the man replied, crossing himself.
+
+I was not surprised, being almost prepared for this strange answer.
+
+Still I asked:
+
+"Judas?  What Judas?"
+
+"The Wandering Jew, monsieur," he added.
+
+I asked him to tell me this legend.
+
+But it was better than a legend, being a true story, and quite a recent
+one, since Uncle Joseph had known the man.
+
+This hut had formerly been occupied by a large woman, a kind of beggar,
+who lived on public charity.
+
+Uncle Joseph did not remember from whom she had this hut.  One evening an
+old man with a white beard, who seemed to be at least two hundred years
+old, and who could hardly drag himself along, asked alms of this forlorn
+woman, as he passed her dwelling.
+
+"Sit down, father," she replied; "everything here belongs to all the
+world, since it comes from all the world."
+
+He sat down on a stone before the door.  He shared the woman's bread, her
+bed of leaves, and her house.
+
+He did not leave her again, for he had come to the end of his travels.
+
+"It was Our Lady the Virgin who permitted this, monsieur," Joseph added,
+"it being a woman who had opened her door to a Judas, for this old
+vagabond was the Wandering Jew.  It was not known at first in the
+country, but the people suspected it very soon, because he was always
+walking; it had become a sort of second nature to him."
+
+And suspicion had been aroused by still another thing.  This woman, who
+kept that stranger with her, was thought to be a Jewess, for no one had
+ever seen her at church.  For ten miles around no one ever called her
+anything else but the Jewess.
+
+When the little country children saw her come to beg they cried out:
+"Mamma, mamma, here is the Jewess!"
+
+The old man and she began to go out together into the neighboring
+districts, holding out their hands at all the doors, stammering
+supplications into the ears of all the passers.  They could be seen at
+all hours of the day, on by-paths, in the villages, or again eating
+bread, sitting in the noon heat under the shadow of some solitary tree.
+And the country people began to call the beggar Old Judas.
+
+One day he brought home in his sack two little live pigs, which a farmer
+had given him after he had cured the farmer of some sickness.
+
+Soon he stopped begging, and devoted himself entirely to his pigs.
+He took them out to feed by the lake, or under isolated oaks, or in the
+near-by valleys.  The woman, however, went about all day begging, but she
+always came back to him in the evening.
+
+He also did not go to church, and no one ever had seen him cross himself
+before the wayside crucifixes.  All this gave rise to much gossip:
+
+One night his companion was attacked by a fever and began to tremble like
+a leaf in the wind.  He went to the nearest town to get some medicine,
+and then he shut himself up with her, and was not seen for six days.
+
+The priest, having heard that the "Jewess" was about to die, came to
+offer the consolation of his religion and administer the last sacrament.
+Was she a Jewess?  He did not know.  But in any case, he wished to try to
+save her soul.
+
+Hardly had he knocked at the door when old Judas appeared on the
+threshold, breathing hard, his eyes aflame, his long beard agitated,
+like rippling water, and he hurled blasphemies in an unknown language,
+extending his skinny arms in order to prevent the priest from entering.
+
+The priest attempted to speak, offered his purse and his aid, but the old
+man kept on abusing him, making gestures with his hands as if throwing;
+stones at him.
+
+Then the priest retired, followed by the curses of the beggar.
+
+The companion of old Judas died the following day.  He buried her
+himself, in front of her door.  They were people of so little account
+that no one took any interest in them.
+
+Then they saw the man take his pigs out again to the lake and up the
+hillsides.  And he also began begging again to get food.  But the people
+gave him hardly anything, as there was so much gossip about him.  Every
+one knew, moreover, how he had treated the priest.
+
+Then he disappeared.  That was during Holy Week, but no one paid any
+attention to him.
+
+But on Easter Sunday the boys and girls who had gone walking out to the
+lake heard a great noise in the hut.  The door was locked; but the boys
+broke it in, and the two pigs ran out, jumping like gnats.  No one ever
+saw them again.
+
+The whole crowd went in; they saw some old rags on the floor, the
+beggar's hat, some bones, clots of dried blood and bits of flesh in the
+hollows of the skull.
+
+His pigs had devoured him.
+
+"This happened on Good Friday, monsieur."  Joseph concluded his story,
+"three hours after noon."
+
+"How do you know that?" I asked him.
+
+"There is no doubt about that," he replied.
+
+I did not attempt to make him understand that it could easily happen that
+the famished animals had eaten their master, after he had died suddenly
+in his hut.
+
+As for the cross on the wall, it had appeared one morning, and no one
+knew what hand traced it in that strange color.
+
+Since then no one doubted any longer that the Wandering Jew had died on
+this spot.
+
+I myself believed it for one hour.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE LITTLE CASK
+
+He was a tall man of forty or thereabout, this Jules Chicot, the
+innkeeper of Spreville, with a red face and a round stomach, and said by
+those who knew him to be a smart business man.  He stopped his buggy in
+front of Mother Magloire's farmhouse, and, hitching the horse to the
+gatepost, went in at the gate.
+
+Chicot owned some land adjoining that of the old woman, which he had been
+coveting for a long while, and had tried in vain to buy a score of times,
+but she had always obstinately refused to part with it.
+
+"I was born here, and here I mean to die," was all she said.
+
+He found her peeling potatoes outside the farmhouse door.  She was a
+woman of about seventy-two, very thin, shriveled and wrinkled, almost
+dried up in fact and much bent but as active and untiring as a girl.
+Chicot patted her on the back in a friendly fashion and then sat down by
+her on a stool.
+
+"Well mother, you are always pretty well and hearty, I am glad to see."
+
+"Nothing to complain of, considering, thank you.  And how are you,
+Monsieur Chicot?"
+
+"Oh, pretty well, thank you, except a few rheumatic pains occasionally;
+otherwise I have nothing to complain of."
+
+"So much the better."
+
+And she said no more, while Chicot watched her going on with her work.
+Her crooked, knotted fingers, hard as a lobster's claws, seized the
+tubers, which were lying in a pail, as if they had been a pair of
+pincers, and she peeled them rapidly, cutting off long strips of skin
+with an old knife which she held in the other hand, throwing the potatoes
+into the water as they were done.  Three daring fowls jumped one after
+the other into her lap, seized a bit of peel and then ran away as fast as
+their legs would carry them with it in their beak.
+
+Chicot seemed embarrassed, anxious, with something on the tip of his
+tongue which he could not say.  At last he said hurriedly:
+
+"Listen, Mother Magloire--"
+
+"Well, what is it?"
+
+"You are quite sure that you do not want to sell your land?"
+
+"Certainly not; you may make up your mind to that.  What I have said I
+have said, so don't refer to it again."
+
+"Very well; only I think I know of an arrangement that might suit us both
+very well."
+
+"What is it?"
+
+"Just this.  You shall sell it to me and keep it all the same.  You don't
+understand?  Very well, then follow me in what I am going to say."
+
+The old woman left off peeling potatoes and looked at the innkeeper
+attentively from under her heavy eyebrows, and he went on:
+
+"Let me explain myself.  Every month I will give you a hundred and fifty
+francs.  You understand me! suppose!  Every month I will come and bring
+you thirty crowns,  and it will not make the slightest difference in your
+life--not the very slightest.  You will have your own home just as you
+have now, need not trouble yourself about me, and will owe me nothing;
+all you will have to do will be to take my money.  Will that arrangement
+suit you?"
+
+He looked at her good-humoredly, one might almost have said benevolently,
+and the old woman returned his looks distrustfully, as if she suspected a
+trap, and said:
+
+"It seems all right as far as I am concerned, but it will not give you
+the farm."
+
+"Never mind about that," he said; "you may remain here as long as it
+pleases God Almighty to let you live; it will be your home.  Only you
+will sign a deed before a lawyer making it over to me; after your death.
+You have no children, only nephews and nieces for whom you don't care a
+straw.  Will that suit you?  You will keep everything during your life,
+and I will give you the thirty crowns a month.  It is pure gain as far as
+you are concerned."
+
+The old woman was surprised, rather uneasy, but, nevertheless, very much
+tempted to agree, and answered:
+
+"I don't say that I will not agree to it, but I must think about it.
+Come back in a week, and we will talk it over again, and I will then give
+you my definite answer."
+
+And Chicot went off as happy as a king who had conquered an empire.
+
+Mother Magloire was thoughtful, and did not sleep at all that night; in
+fact, for four days she was in a fever of hesitation.  She suspected that
+there was something underneath the offer which was not to her advantage;
+but then the thought of thirty crowns a month, of all those coins
+clinking in her apron, falling to her, as it were, from the skies,
+without her doing anything for it, aroused her covetousness.
+
+She went to the notary and told him about it.  He advised her to accept
+Chicot's offer, but said she ought to ask for an annuity of fifty instead
+of thirty, as her farm was worth sixty thousand francs at the lowest
+calculation.
+
+"If you live for fifteen years longer," he said, "even then he will only
+have paid forty-five thousand francs for it."
+
+The old woman trembled with joy at this prospect of getting fifty crowns
+a month, but she was still suspicious, fearing some trick, and she
+remained a long time with the lawyer asking questions without being able
+to make up her mind to go.  At last she gave him instructions to draw up
+the deed and returned home with her head in a whirl, just as if she had
+drunk four jugs of new cider.
+
+When Chicot came again to receive her answer she declared, after a lot of
+persuading, that she could not make up her mind to agree to his proposal,
+though she was all the time trembling lest he should not consent to give
+the fifty crowns, but at last, when he grew urgent, she told him what she
+expected for her farm.
+
+He looked surprised and disappointed and refused.
+
+Then, in order to convince him, she began to talk about the probable
+duration of her life.
+
+"I am certainly not likely to live more than five or six years longer.
+I am nearly seventy-three, and far from strong, even considering my age.
+The other evening I thought I was going to die, and could hardly manage
+to crawl into bed."
+
+But Chicot was not going to be taken in.
+
+"Come, come, old lady, you are as strong as the church tower, and will
+live till you are a hundred at least; you will no doubt see me put under
+ground first."
+
+The whole day was spent in discussing the money, and as the old woman
+would not give in, the innkeeper consented to give the fifty crowns, and
+she insisted upon having ten crowns over and above to strike the bargain.
+
+Three years passed and the old dame did not seem to have grown a day
+older.  Chicot was in despair, and it seemed to him as if he had been
+paying that annuity for fifty years, that he had been taken in, done,
+ruined.  From time to time he went to see the old lady, just as one goes
+in July to see when the harvest is likely to begin.  She always met him
+with a cunning look, and one might have supposed that she was
+congratulating herself on the trick she had played him.  Seeing how well
+and hearty she seemed he very soon got into his buggy again, growling to
+himself:
+
+"Will you never die, you old hag?"
+
+He did not know what to do, and he felt inclined to strangle her when he
+saw her.  He hated her with a ferocious, cunning hatred, the hatred of a
+peasant who has been robbed, and began to cast about for some means of
+getting rid of her.
+
+One day he came to see her again, rubbing his hands as he did the first
+time he proposed the bargain, and, after having chatted for a few
+minutes, he said:
+
+"Why do you never come and have a bit of dinner at my place when you are
+in Spreville?  The people are talking about it, and saying we are not on
+friendly terms, and that pains me.  You know it will cost you nothing if
+you come, for I don't look at the price of a dinner.  Come whenever you
+feel inclined; I shall be very glad to see you."
+
+Old Mother Magloire did not need to be asked twice, and the next day but
+one, as she had to go to the town in any case, it being market day, she
+let her man drive her to Chicot's place, where the buggy was put in the
+barn while she went into the house to get her dinner.
+
+The innkeeper was delighted and treated her like a lady, giving her roast
+fowl, black pudding, leg of mutton and bacon and cabbage.  But she ate
+next to nothing.  She had always been a small eater, and had generally
+lived on a little soup and a crust of bread and butter.
+
+Chicot was disappointed and pressed her to eat more, but she refused, and
+she would drink little, and declined coffee, so he asked her:
+
+"But surely you will take a little drop of brandy or liqueur?"
+
+"Well, as to that, I don't know that I will refuse."  Whereupon he
+shouted out:
+
+"Rosalie, bring the superfine brandy--the special--you know."
+
+The servant appeared, carrying a long bottle ornamented with a paper
+vine-leaf, and he filled two liqueur glasses.
+
+"Just try that; you will find it first rate."
+
+The good woman drank it slowly in sips, so as to make the pleasure last
+all the longer, and when she had finished her glass, she said:
+
+"Yes, that is first rate!"
+
+Almost before she had said it Chicot had poured her out another glassful.
+She wished to refuse, but it was too late, and she drank it very slowly,
+as she had done the first, and he asked her to have a third.  She
+objected, but he persisted.
+
+"It is as mild as milk, you know; I can drink ten or a dozen glasses
+without any ill effects; it goes down like sugar and does not go to the
+head; one would think that it evaporated on the tongue: It is the most
+wholesome thing you can drink."
+
+She took it, for she really enjoyed it, but she left half the glass.
+
+Then Chicot, in an excess of generosity, said:
+
+"Look here, as it is so much to your taste, I will give you a small keg
+of it, just to show that you and I are still excellent friends."  So she
+took one away with her, feeling slightly overcome by the effects of what
+she had drunk.
+
+The next day the innkeeper drove into her yard and took a little iron-
+hooped keg out of his gig.  He insisted on her tasting the contents, to
+make sure it was the same delicious article, and, when they had each of
+them drunk three more glasses, he said as he was going away:
+
+"Well, you know when it is all gone there is more left; don't be modest,
+for I shall not mind.  The sooner it is finished the better pleased I
+shall be."
+
+Four days later he came again.  The old woman was outside her door
+cutting up the bread for her soup.
+
+He went up to her and put his face close to hers, so that he might smell
+her breath; and when he smelt the alcohol he felt pleased.
+
+"I suppose you will give me a glass of the Special?" he said.  And they
+had three glasses each.
+
+Soon, however, it began to be whispered abroad that Mother Magloire was
+in the habit of getting drunk all by herself.  She was picked up in her
+kitchen, then in her yard, then in the roads in the neighborhood, and she
+was often brought home like a log.
+
+The innkeeper did not go near her any more, and, when people spoke to him
+about her, he used to say, putting on a distressed look:
+
+"It is a great pity that she should have taken to drink at her age, but
+when people get old there is no remedy.  It will be the death of her in
+the long run."
+
+And it certainly was the death of her.  She died the next winter.  About
+Christmas time she fell down, unconscious, in the snow, and was found
+dead the next morning.
+
+And when Chicot came in for the farm, he said:
+
+"It was very stupid of her; if she had not taken to drink she would
+probably have lived ten years longer."
+
+
+
+
+
+
+BOITELLE
+
+Father Boitelle (Antoine) made a specialty of undertaking dirty jobs all
+through the countryside.  Whenever there was a ditch or a cesspool to be
+cleaned out, a dunghill removed, a sewer cleansed, or any dirt hole
+whatever, he way always employed to do it.
+
+He would come with the instruments of his trade, his sabots covered with
+dirt, and set to work, complaining incessantly about his occupation.
+When people asked him then why he did this loathsome work, he would reply
+resignedly:
+
+"Faith, 'tis for my children, whom I must support.  This brings me in
+more than anything else:'
+
+He had, indeed, fourteen children.  If any one asked him what had become
+of them, he would say with an air of indifference:
+
+"There are only eight of them left in the house.  One is out at service
+and five are married."
+
+When the questioner wanted to know whether they were well married, he
+replied vivaciously:
+
+"I did not oppose them.  I opposed them in nothing.  They married just as
+they pleased.  We shouldn't go against people's likings, it turns out
+badly.  I am a night scavenger because my parents went against my
+likings.  But for that I would have become a workman like the others."
+
+Here is the way his parents had thwarted him in his likings:
+
+He was at the time a soldier stationed at Havre, not more stupid than
+another, or sharper either, a rather simple fellow, however.  When he was
+not on duty, his greatest pleasure was to walk along the quay, where the
+bird dealers congregate.  Sometimes alone, sometimes with a soldier from
+his own part of the country, he would slowly saunter along by cages
+containing parrots with green backs and yellow heads from the banks of
+the Amazon, or parrots with gray backs and red heads from Senegal, or
+enormous macaws, which look like birds reared in hot-houses, with their
+flower-like feathers, their plumes and their tufts.  Parrots of every
+size, who seem painted with minute care by the miniaturist, God Almighty,
+and the little birds, all the smaller birds hopped about, yellow, blue
+and variegated, mingling their cries with the noise of the quay; and
+adding to the din caused by unloading the vessels, as well as by
+passengers and vehicles, a violent clamor, loud, shrill and deafening, as
+if from some distant forest of monsters.
+
+Boitelle would pause, with wondering eyes, wide-open mouth, laughing and
+enraptured, showing his teeth to the captive cockatoos, who kept nodding
+their white or yellow topknots toward the glaring red of his breeches and
+the copper buckle of his belt.  When he found a bird that could talk he
+put questions to it, and if it happened at the time to be disposed to
+reply and to hold a conversation with him he would carry away enough
+amusement to last him till evening.  He also found heaps of amusement in
+looking at the monkeys, and could conceive no greater luxury for a rich
+man than to own these animals as one owns cats and dogs.  This kind of
+taste for the exotic he had in his blood, as people have a taste for the
+chase, or for medicine, or for the priesthood.  He could not help
+returning to the quay every time the gates of the barracks opened, drawn
+toward it by an irresistible longing.
+
+On one occasion, having stopped almost in ecstasy before an enormous
+macaw, which was swelling out its plumes, bending forward and bridling up
+again as if making the court curtseys of parrot-land, he saw the door of
+a little cafe adjoining the bird dealer's shop open, and a young negress
+appeared, wearing on her head a red silk handkerchief.  She was sweeping
+into the street the corks and sand of the establishment.
+
+Boitelle's attention was soon divided between the bird and the woman, and
+he really could not tell which of these two beings he contemplated with
+the greater astonishment and delight.
+
+The negress, having swept the rubbish into the street, raised her eyes,
+and, in her turn, was dazzled by the soldier's uniform.  There she stood
+facing him with her broom in her hands as if she were bringing him a
+rifle, while the macaw continued bowing.  But at the end of a few seconds
+the soldier began to feel embarrassed at this attention, and he walked
+away quietly so as not to look as if he were beating a retreat.
+
+But he came back.  Almost every day he passed before the Cafe des
+Colonies, and often he could distinguish through the window the figure of
+the little black-skinned maid serving "bocks" or glasses of brandy to the
+sailors of the port.  Frequently, too, she would come out to the door on
+seeing him; soon, without even having exchanged a word, they smiled at
+one another like acquaintances; and Boitelle felt his heart touched when
+he suddenly saw, glittering between the dark lips of the girl, a shining
+row of white teeth.  At length, one day he ventured to enter, and was
+quite surprised to find that she could speak French like every one else.
+The bottle of lemonade, of which she was good enough to accept a
+glassful, remained in the soldier's recollection memorably delicious, and
+it became a custom with him to come and absorb in this little tavern on
+the quay all the agreeable drinks which he could afford.
+
+For him it was a treat, a happiness, on which his thoughts dwelt
+constantly, to watch the black hand of the little maid pouring something
+into his glass while her teeth laughed more than her eyes.  At the end of
+two months they became fast friends, and Boitelle, after his first
+astonishment at discovering that this negress had as good principles as
+honest French girls, that she exhibited a regard for economy, industry,
+religion and good conduct, loved her more on that account, and was so
+charmed with her that he wanted to marry her.
+
+He told her his intentions, which made her dance with joy.  She had also
+a little money, left her by, a female oyster dealer, who had picked her
+up when she had been left on the quay at Havre by an American captain.
+This captain had found her, when she was only about six years old, lying
+on bales of cotton in the hold of his ship, some hours after his
+departure from New York.  On his arrival in Havre he abandoned to the
+care of this compassionate oyster dealer the little black creature, who
+had been hidden on board his vessel, he knew not why or by whom.
+
+The oyster woman having died, the young negress became a servant at the
+Colonial Tavern.
+
+Antoine Boitelle added: "This will be all right if my parents don't
+oppose it.  I will never go against them, you understand, never!  I'm
+going to say a word or two to them the first time I go back to the
+country."
+
+On the following week, in fact, having obtained twenty-four hours' leave,
+he went to see his family, who cultivated a little farm at Tourteville,
+near Yvetot.
+
+He waited till the meal was finished, the hour when the coffee baptized
+with brandy makes people more open-hearted, before informing his parents
+that he had found a girl who satisfied his tastes, all his tastes, so
+completely that there could not exist any other in all the world so
+perfectly suited to him.
+
+The old people, on hearing this, immediately assumed a cautious manner
+and wanted explanations.  He had concealed nothing from them except the
+color of her skin.
+
+She was a servant, without much means, but strong, thrifty, clean, well-
+conducted and sensible.  All these things were better than money would be
+in the hands of a bad housewife.  Moreover, she had a few sous, left her
+by a woman who had reared her, a good number of sous, almost a little
+dowry, fifteen hundred francs in the savings bank.  The old people,
+persuaded by his talk, and relying also on their own judgment, were
+gradually weakening, when he came to the delicate point.  Laughing in
+rather a constrained fashion, he said:
+
+"There's only one thing you may not like.  She is not a white slip."
+
+They did not understand, and he had to explain at some length and very
+cautiously, to avoid shocking them, that she belonged to the dusky race
+of which they had only seen samples in pictures at Epinal.  Then they
+became restless, perplexed, alarmed, as if he had proposed a union with
+the devil.
+
+The mother said: "Black?  How much of her is black?  Is the whole of
+her?"
+
+He replied: "Certainly.  Everywhere, just as you are white everywhere."
+
+The father interposed: "Black?  Is it as black as the pot?"
+
+The son answered: "Perhaps a little less than that.  She is black, but
+not disgustingly black.  The cure's cassock is black, but it is not
+uglier than a surplice which is white."
+
+The father said: "Are there more black people besides her in her
+country?"
+
+And the son, with an air of conviction, exclaimed: "Certainly!"
+
+But the old man shook his head.
+
+"That must be unpleasant."
+
+And the son:
+
+"It isn't more disagreeable than anything else when you get accustomed to
+it."
+
+The mother asked:
+
+"It doesn't soil the underwear more than other skins, this black skin?"
+
+"Not more than your own, as it is her proper color."
+
+Then, after many other questions, it was agreed that the parents should
+see this girl before coming; to any decision, and that the young fellow,
+whose, term of military service would be over in a month, should bring
+her to the house in order that they might examine her and decide by
+talking the matter over whether or not she was too dark to enter the
+Boitelle family.
+
+Antoine accordingly announced that on Sunday, the 22d of May, the day of
+his discharge, he would start for Tourteville with his sweetheart.
+
+She had put on, for this journey to the house of her lover's parents, her
+most beautiful and most gaudy clothes, in which yellow, red and blue were
+the prevailing colors, so that she looked as if she were adorned for a
+national festival.
+
+At the terminus, as they were leaving Havre, people stared at her, and
+Boitelle was proud of giving his arm to a person who commanded so much
+attention.  Then, in the third-class carriage, in which she took a seat
+by his side, she aroused so much astonishment among the country folks
+that the people in the adjoining compartments stood up on their benches
+to look at her over the wooden partition which divides the compartments.
+A child, at sight of her, began to cry with terror, another concealed his
+face in his mother's apron.  Everything went off well, however, up to
+their arrival at their destination.  But when the train slackened its
+rate of motion as they drew near Yvetot, Antoine felt: ill at ease, as he
+would have done at a review when; he did not know his drill practice.
+Then, as he; leaned his head out, he recognized in the distance: his
+father, holding the bridle of the horse harnessed to a carryall, and his
+mother, who had come forward to the grating, behind which stood those who
+were expecting friends.
+
+He alighted first, gave his hand to his sweetheart, and holding himself
+erect, as if he were escorting a general, he went to meet his family.
+
+The mother, on seeing this black lady in variegated costume in her son's
+company, remained so stupefied that she could not open her mouth; and the
+father found it hard to hold the horse, which the engine or the negress
+caused to rear continuously.  But Antoine, suddenly filled with unmixed
+joy at seeing once more the old people, rushed forward with open arms,
+embraced his mother, embraced his father, in spite of the nag's fright,
+and then turning toward his companion, at whom the passengers on the
+platform stopped to stare with amazement, he proceeded to explain:
+
+"Here she is!  I told you that, at first sight, she is not attractive;
+but as soon as you know her, I can assure you there's not a better sort
+in the whole world.  Say good-morning to her so that she may not feel
+badly."
+
+Thereupon Mere Boitelle, almost frightened out of her wits, made a sort
+of curtsy, while the father took off his cap, murmuring:
+
+"I wish you good luck!"
+
+Then, without further delay, they climbed into the carryall, the two
+women at the back, on seats which made them jump up and down as the
+vehicle went jolting along the road, and the two men in front on the
+front seat.
+
+Nobody spoke.  Antoine, ill at ease, whistled a barrack-room air; his
+father whipped the nag; and his mother, from where she sat in the corner,
+kept casting sly glances at the negress, whose forehead and cheekbones
+shone in the sunlight like well-polished shoes.
+
+Wishing to break the ice, Antoine turned round.
+
+"Well," said he, "we don't seem inclined to talk."
+
+"We must have time," replied the old woman.
+
+He went on:
+
+"Come!  Tell us the little story about that hen of yours that laid eight
+eggs."
+
+It was a funny anecdote of long standing in the family.  But, as his
+mother still remained silent, paralyzed by her emotion, he undertook
+himself to tell the story, laughing as he did so at the memorable
+incident.  The father, who knew it by heart brightened at the opening
+words of the narrative; his wife soon followed his example; and the
+negress herself, when he reached the drollest part of it, suddenly gave
+vent to a laugh, such a loud, rolling torrent of laughter that the horse,
+becoming excited, broke into a gallop for a while.
+
+This served to cement their acquaintance.  They all began to chat.
+
+They had scarcely reached the house and had all alighted, when Antoine
+conducted his sweetheart to a room, so that she might take off her dress,
+to avoid staining it, as she was going to prepare a nice dish, intended
+to win the old people's affections through their stomachs.  He drew his
+parents outside the house, and, with beating heart, asked:
+
+"Well, what do you say now?"
+
+The father said nothing.  The mother, less timid, exclaimed:
+
+"She is too black.  No, indeed, this is too much for me.  It turns my
+blood."
+
+"You will get used to it," said Antoine.
+
+"Perhaps so, but not at first."
+
+They went into the house, where the good woman was somewhat affected at
+the spectacle of the negress engaged in cooking.  She at once proceeded
+to assist her, with petticoats tucked up, active in spite of her age.
+
+The meal was an excellent one, very long, very enjoyable.  When they were
+taking a turn after dinner, Antoine took his father aside.
+
+"Well, dad, what do you say about it?"
+
+The peasant took care never to compromise himself.
+
+"I have no opinion about it.  Ask your mother."
+
+So Antoine went back to his mother, and, detaining her behind the rest,
+said:
+
+"Well, mother, what do you think of her?"
+
+"My poor lad, she is really too black.  If she were only a little less
+black, I would not go against you, but this is too much.  One would think
+it was Satan!"
+
+He did not press her, knowing how obstinate the old woman had always
+been, but he felt a tempest of disappointment sweeping over his heart.
+He was turning over in his mind what he ought to do, what plan he could
+devise, surprised, moreover, that she had not conquered them already as
+she had captivated himself.  And they, all four, walked along through the
+wheat fields, having gradually relapsed into silence.  Whenever they
+passed a fence they saw a countryman sitting on the stile, and a group of
+brats climbed up to stare at them, and every one rushed out into the road
+to see the "black" whore young Boitelle had brought home with him.  At a
+distance they noticed people scampering across the fields just as when
+the drum beats to draw public attention to some living phenomenon.  Pere
+and Mere Boitelle, alarmed at this curiosity, which was exhibited
+everywhere through the country at their approach, quickened their pace,
+walking side by side, and leaving their son far behind.  His dark
+companion asked what his parents thought of her.
+
+He hesitatingly replied that they had not yet made up their minds.
+
+But on the village green people rushed out of all the houses in a flutter
+of excitement; and, at the sight of the gathering crowd, old Boitelle
+took to his heels, and regained his abode, while Antoine; swelling with
+rage, his sweetheart on his arm, advanced majestically under the staring
+eyes, which opened wide in amazement.
+
+He understood that it was at an end, and there was no hope for him, that
+he could not marry his negress.  She also understood it; and as they drew
+near the farmhouse they both began to weep.  As soon as they had got back
+to the house, she once more took off her dress to aid the mother in the
+household duties, and followed her everywhere, to the dairy, to the
+stable, to the hen house, taking on herself the hardest part of the work,
+repeating always: "Let me do it, Madame Boitelle," so that, when night
+came on, the old woman, touched but inexorable, said to her son: "She is
+a good girl, all the same.  It's a pity she is so black; but indeed she
+is too black.  I could not get used to it.  She must go back again.  She
+is too, too black!"
+
+And young Boitelle said to his sweetheart:
+
+"She will not consent.  She thinks you are too black.  You must go back
+again.  I will go with you to the train.  No matter--don't fret.  I am
+going to talk to them after you have started."
+
+He then took her to the railway station, still cheering her with hope,
+and, when he had kissed her, he put her into the train, which he watched
+as it passed out of sight, his eyes swollen with tears.
+
+In vain did he appeal to the old people.  They would never give their
+consent.
+
+And when he had told this story, which was known all over the country,
+Antoine Boitelle would always add:
+
+"From that time forward I have had no heart for anything--for anything at
+all.  No trade suited me any longer, and so I became what I am--a night
+scavenger."
+
+People would say to him:
+
+"Yet you got married."
+
+"Yes, and I can't say that my wife didn't please me, seeing that I have
+fourteen children; but she is not the other one, oh, no--certainly not!
+The other one, mark you, my negress, she had only to give me one glance,
+and I felt as if I were in Heaven."
+
+
+
+
+
+
+A WIDOW
+
+This story was told during the hunting season at the Chateau Baneville.
+The autumn had been rainy and sad.  The red leaves, instead of rustling
+under the feet, were rotting under the heavy downfalls.
+
+The forest was as damp as it could be.  From it came an odor of must, of
+rain, of soaked grass and wet earth; and the sportsmen, their backs
+hunched under the downpour, mournful dogs, with tails between their legs
+and hairs sticking to their sides, and the young women, with their
+clothes drenched, returned every evening, tired in body and in mind.
+
+After dinner, in the large drawing-room, everybody played lotto, without
+enjoyment, while the wind whistled madly around the house.  Then they
+tried telling stories like those they read in books, but no one was able
+to invent anything amusing.  The hunters told tales of wonderful shots
+and of the butchery of rabbits; and the women racked their brains for
+ideas without revealing the imagination of Scheherezade.  They were about
+to give up this diversion when a young woman, who was idly caressing the
+hand of an old maiden aunt, noticed a little ring made of blond hair,
+which she had often seen, without paying any attention to it.
+
+She fingered it gently and asked, "Auntie, what is this ring?  It looks
+as if it were made from the hair of a child."
+
+The old lady blushed, grew pale, then answered in a trembling voice: "It
+is sad, so sad that I never wish to speak of it.  All the unhappiness of
+my life comes from that.  I was very young then, and the memory has
+remained so painful that I weep every time I think of it."
+
+Immediately everybody wished to know the story, but the old lady refused
+to tell it.  Finally, after they had coaxed her for a long time, she
+yielded.  Here is the story:
+
+"You have often heard me speak of the Santeze family, now extinct.  I
+knew the last three male members of this family.  They all died in the
+same manner; this hair belongs to the last one.  He was thirteen when he
+killed himself for me.  That seems strange to you, doesn't it?
+
+"Oh! it was a strange family--mad, if you will, but a charming madness,
+the madness of love.  From father to son, all had violent passions which
+filled their whole being, which impelled them to do wild things, drove
+them to frantic enthusiasm, even to crime.  This was born in them, just
+as burning devotion is in certain souls.  Trappers have not the same
+nature as minions of the drawing-room.  There was a saying: 'As
+passionate as a Santeze.'  This could be noticed by looking at them.
+They all had wavy hair, falling over their brows, curly beards and large
+eyes whose glance pierced and moved one, though one could not say why.
+
+"The grandfather of the owner of this hair, of whom it is the last
+souvenir, after many adventures, duels and elopements, at about sixty-
+five fell madly in love with his farmer's daughter.  I knew them both.
+She was blond, pale, distinguished-looking, with a slow manner of
+talking, a quiet voice and a look so gentle that one might have taken her
+for a Madonna.  The old nobleman took her to his home and was soon so
+captivated with her that he could not live without her for a minute.
+His daughter and daughter-in-law, who lived in the chateau, found this
+perfectly natural, love was such a tradition in the family.  Nothing in
+regard to a passion surprised them, and if one spoke before them of
+parted lovers, even of vengeance after treachery, both said in the same
+sad tone: 'Oh, how he must have suffered to come to that point!' That was
+all.  They grew sad over tragedies of love, but never indignant, even
+when they were criminal.
+
+"Now, one day a young man named Monsieur de Gradelle, who had been
+invited for the shooting, eloped with the young girl.
+
+"Monsieur de Santeze remained calm as if nothing had happened, but one
+morning he was found hanging in the kennels, among his dogs.
+
+"His son died in the same manner in a hotel in Paris during a journey
+which he made there in 1841, after being deceived by a singer from the
+opera.
+
+"He left a twelve-year-old child and a widow, my mother's sister.  She
+came to my father's house with the boy, while we were living at
+Bertillon.  I was then seventeen.
+
+"You have no idea how wonderful and precocious this Santeze child was.
+One might have thought that all the tenderness and exaltation of the
+whole race had been stored up in this last one.  He was always dreaming
+and walking about alone in a great alley of elms leading from the chateau
+to the forest.  I watched from my window this sentimental boy, who walked
+with thoughtful steps, his hands behind his back, his head bent, and at
+times stopping to raise his eyes as if he could see and understand things
+that were not comprehensible at his age.
+
+"Often, after dinner on clear evenings, he would say to me: 'Let us go
+outside and dream, cousin.'  And we would go outside together in the
+park.  He would stop quickly before a clearing where the white vapor of
+the moon lights the woods, and he would press my hand, saying: 'Look!
+look! but you don't understand me; I feel it.  If you understood me, we
+should be happy.  One must love to know!  I would laugh and then kiss
+this child, who loved me madly.
+
+"Often, after dinner, he would sit on my mother's knees.  'Come, auntie,'
+he would say, 'tell me some love-stories.'  And my mother, as a joke,
+would tell him all the old legends of the family, all the passionate
+adventures of his forefathers, for thousands of them were current, some
+true and some false.  It was their reputation for love and gallantry
+which was the ruin of every one of these-men; they gloried in it and then
+thought that they had to live up to the renown of their house.
+
+"The little fellow became exalted by these tender or terrible stories,
+and at times he would clap his hands, crying: 'I, too, I, too, know how
+to love, better than all of them!'
+
+"Then, he began to court me in a timid and tender manner, at which every
+one laughed, it was, so amusing.  Every morning I had some flowers picked
+by him, and every evening before going to his room he would kiss my hand
+and murmur: 'I love you!'
+
+"I was guilty, very guilty, and I grieved continually about it, and I
+have been doing penance all my life; I have remained an old maid--or,
+rather, I have lived as a widowed fiancee, his widow.
+
+"I was amused at this childish tenderness, and I even encouraged him.
+I was coquettish, as charming as with a man, alternately caressing and
+severe.  I maddened this child.  It was a game for me and a joyous
+diversion for his mother and mine.  He was twelve!  think of it!  Who
+would have taken this atom's passion seriously?  I kissed him as often as
+he wished; I even wrote him little notes, which were read by our
+respective mothers; and he answered me by passionate letters, which I
+have kept.  Judging himself as a man, he thought that our loving intimacy
+was secret.  We had forgotten that he was a Santeze.
+
+"This lasted for about a year.  One evening in the park he fell at my
+feet and, as he madly kissed the hem of my dress, he kept repeating: 'I
+love you!  I love you!  I love you!  If ever you deceive me, if ever you
+leave me for another, I'll do as my father did.'  And he added in a
+hoarse voice, which gave me a shiver: 'You know what he did!'
+
+"I stood there astonished.  He arose, and standing on the tips of his
+toes in order to reach my ear, for I was taller than he, he pronounced my
+first name: 'Genevieve!' in such a gentle, sweet, tender tone that I
+trembled all over.  I stammered: 'Let us return! let us return!'  He said
+no more and followed me; but as we were going up the steps of the porch,
+he stopped me, saying: 'You know, if ever you leave me, I'll kill
+myself.'
+
+"This time I understood that I had gone too far, and I became quite
+reserved.  One day, as he was reproaching me for this, I answered: 'You
+are now too old for jesting and too young for serious love.  I'll wait.'
+
+"I thought that this would end the matter.  In the autumn he was sent to
+a boarding-school.  When he returned the following summer I was engaged
+to be married.  He understood immediately, and for a week he became so
+pensive that I was quite anxious.
+
+"On the morning of the ninth day I saw a little paper under my door as I
+got up.  I seized it, opened it and read: 'You have deserted me and you
+know what I said.  It is death to which you have condemned me.  As I do
+not wish to be found by another than you, come to the park just where I
+told you last year that I loved you and look in the air.'
+
+"I thought that I should go mad.  I dressed as quickly as I could and ran
+wildly to the place that he had mentioned.  His little cap was on the
+ground in the mud.  It had been raining all night.  I raised my eyes and
+saw something swinging among the leaves, for the wind was blowing a gale.
+
+"I don't know what I did after that.  I must have screamed at first, then
+fainted and fallen, and finally have run to the chateau.  The next thing
+that I remember I was in bed, with my mother sitting beside me.
+
+"I thought that I had dreamed all this in a frightful nightmare.
+I stammered: 'And what of him, what of him, Gontran?'  There was no
+answer.  It was true!
+
+"I did not dare see him again, but I asked for a lock of his blond hair.
+Here--here it is!"
+
+And the old maid stretched out her trembling hand in a despairing
+gesture.  Then she blew her nose several times, wiped her eyes and
+continued:
+
+"I broke off my marriage--without saying why.  And I--I always have
+remained the--the widow of this thirteen-year-old boy."  Then her head
+fell on her breast and she wept for a long time.
+
+As the guests were retiring for the night a large man, whose quiet she
+had disturbed, whispered in his neighbor's ear: "Isn't it unfortunate to,
+be so sentimental?"
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE ENGLISHMAN OF ETRETAT
+
+A great English poet has just crossed over to France in order to greet
+Victor Hugo.  All the newspapers are full of his name and he is the great
+topic of conversation in all drawing-rooms.  Fifteen years ago I had
+occasion several times to meet Algernon Charles Swinburne.  I will
+attempt to show him just as I saw him and to give an idea of the strange
+impression he made on me, which will remain with me throughout time.
+
+I believe it was in 1867 or in 1868 that an unknown young Englishman came
+to Etretat and bought a little but hidden under great trees.  It was said
+that he lived there, always alone, in a strange manner; and he aroused
+the inimical surprise of the natives, for the inhabitants were sullen and
+foolishly malicious, as they always are in little towns.
+
+They declared that this whimsical Englishman ate nothing but boiled.
+roasted or stewed monkey; that he would see no one; that he talked to
+himself hours at a time and many other surprising things that made people
+think that he was different from other men.  They were surprised that he
+should live alone with a monkey.  Had it been a cat or a dog they would
+have said nothing.  But a monkey!  Was that not frightful?  What savage
+tastes the man must have!
+
+I knew this young man only from seeing him in the streets.  He was short,
+plump, without being fat, mild-looking, and he wore a little blond
+mustache, which was almost invisible.
+
+Chance brought us together.  This savage had amiable and pleasing
+manners, but he was one of those strange Englishmen that one meets here
+and there throughout the world.
+
+Endowed with remarkable intelligence, he seemed to live in a fantastic
+dream, as Edgar Poe must have lived.  He had translated into English a
+volume of strange Icelandic legends, which I ardently desired to see
+translated into French.  He loved the supernatural, the dismal and
+grewsome, but he spoke of the most marvellous things with a calmness that
+was typically English, to which his gentle and quiet voice gave a
+semblance of reality that was maddening.
+
+Full of a haughty disdain for the world, with its conventions, prejudices
+and code of morality, he had nailed to his house a name that was boldly
+impudent.  The keeper of a lonely inn who should write on his door:
+"Travellers murdered here!" could not make a more sinister jest.  I never
+had entered his dwelling, when one day I received an invitation to
+luncheon, following an accident that had occurred to one of his friends,
+who had been almost drowned and whom I had attempted to rescue.
+
+Although I was unable to reach the man until he had already been rescued,
+I received the hearty thanks of the two Englishmen, and the following day
+I called upon them.
+
+The friend was a man about thirty years old.  He bore an enormous head on
+a child's body--a body without chest or shoulders.  An immense forehead,
+which seemed to have engulfed the rest of the man, expanded like a dome
+above a thin face which ended in a little pointed beard.  Two sharp eyes
+and a peculiar mouth gave one the impression of the head of a reptile,
+while the magnificent brow suggested a genius.
+
+A nervous twitching shook this peculiar being, who walked, moved, acted
+by jerks like a broken spring.
+
+This was Algernon Charles Swinburne, son of an English admiral and
+grandson, on the maternal side, of the Earl of Ashburnham.
+
+He strange countenance was transfigured when he spoke.  I have seldom
+seen a man more impressive, more eloquent, incisive or charming in
+conversation.  His rapid, clear, piercing and fantastic imagination
+seemed to creep into his voice and to lend life to his words.  His
+brusque gestures enlivened his speech, which penetrated one like a
+dagger, and he had bursts of thought, just as lighthouses throw out
+flashes of fire, great, genial lights that seemed to illuminate a whole
+world of ideas.
+
+The home of the two friends was pretty and by no means commonplace.
+Everywhere were paintings, some superb, some strange, representing
+different conceptions of insanity.  Unless I am mistaken, there was a
+water-color which represented the head of a dead man floating in a rose-
+colored shell on a boundless ocean, under a moon with a human face.
+
+Here and there I came across bones.  I clearly remember a flayed hand on
+which was hanging some dried skin and black muscles, and on the snow-
+white bones could be seen the traces of dried blood.
+
+The food was a riddle which I could not solve.  Was it good?  Was it bad?
+I could not say.  Some roast monkey took away all desire to make a steady
+diet of this animal, and the great monkey who roamed about among us at
+large and playfully pushed his head into my glass when I wished to drink
+cured me of any desire I might have to take one of his brothers as a
+companion for the rest of my days.
+
+As for the two men, they gave me the impression of two strange, original,
+remarkable minds, belonging to that peculiar race of talented madmen from
+among whom have arisen Poe, Hoffmann and many others.
+
+If genius is, as is commonly believed, a sort of aberration of great
+minds, then Algernon Charles Swinburne is undoubtedly a genius.
+
+Great minds that are healthy are never considered geniuses, while this
+sublime qualification is lavished on brains that are often inferior but
+are slightly touched by madness.
+
+At any rate, this poet remains one of the first of his time, through his
+originality and polished form.  He is an exalted lyrical singer who
+seldom bothers about the good and humble truth, which French poets are
+now seeking so persistently and patiently.  He strives to set down
+dreams, subtle thoughts, sometimes great, sometimes visibly forced, but
+sometimes magnificent.
+
+
+Two years later I found the house closed and its tenants gone.  The
+furniture was being sold.  In memory of them I bought the hideous flayed
+hand.  On the grass an enormous square block of granite bore this simple
+word: "Nip."  Above this a hollow stone offered water to the birds.  It
+was the grave of the monkey, who had been hanged by a young, vindictive
+negro servant.  It was said that this violent domestic had been forced to
+flee at the point of his exasperated master's revolver.  After wandering
+about without home or food for several days, he returned and began to
+peddle barley-sugar in the streets.  He was expelled from the country
+after he had almost strangled a displeased customer.
+
+The world would be gayer if one could often meet homes like that.
+
+     This story appeared in the "Gaulois," November 29, 1882.  It was the
+     original sketch for the introductory study of Swinburne, written by
+     Maupassant for the French translation by Gabriel Mourey of "Poems
+     and Ballads."
+
+
+
+
+
+
+MAGNETISM
+
+It was a men's dinner party, and they were sitting over their cigars and
+brandy and discussing magnetism.  Donato's tricks and Charcot's
+experiments.  Presently, the sceptical, easy-going men, who cared nothing
+for religion of any sort, began telling stories of strange occurrences,
+incredible things which, nevertheless, had really occurred, so they said,
+falling back into superstitious beliefs, clinging to these last remnants
+of the marvellous, becoming devotees of this mystery of magnetism,
+defending it in the name of science.  There was only one person who
+smiled, a vigorous young fellow, a great ladies' man who was so
+incredulous that he would not even enter upon a discussion of such
+matters.
+
+He repeated with a sneer:
+
+"Humbug! humbug! humbug!  We need not discuss Donato, who is merely a
+very smart juggler.  As for M. Charcot, who is said to be a remarkable
+man of science, he produces on me the effect of those story-tellers of
+the school of Edgar Poe, who end by going mad through constantly
+reflecting on queer cases of insanity.  He has authenticated some cases
+of unexplained and inexplicable nervous phenomena; he makes his way into
+that unknown region which men are exploring every day, and unable always
+to understand what he sees, he recalls, perhaps, the ecclesiastical
+interpretation of these mysteries.  I should like to hear what he says
+himself."
+
+The words of the unbeliever were listened to with a kind of pity, as if
+he had blasphemed in an assembly of monks.
+
+One of these gentlemen exclaimed:
+
+"And yet miracles were performed in olden times."
+
+"I deny it," replied the other: "Why cannot they be performed now?"
+
+Then, each mentioned some fact, some fantastic presentiment some instance
+of souls communicating with each other across space, or some case of the
+secret influence of one being over another.  They asserted and maintained
+that these things had actually occurred, while the sceptic angrily
+repeated:
+
+"Humbug! humbug! humbug!"
+
+At last he rose, threw away his cigar, and with his hands in his pockets,
+said: "Well, I also have two stories to tell you, which I will afterwards
+explain.  Here they are:
+
+"In the little village of Etretat, the men, who are all seafaring folk,
+go every year to Newfoundland to fish for cod.  One night the little son
+of one of these fishermen woke up with a start, crying out that his
+father was dead.  The child was quieted, and again he woke up exclaiming
+that his father was drowned.  A month later the news came that his father
+had, in fact, been swept off the deck of his smack by a billow.  The
+widow then remembered how her son had woke up and spoken of his father's
+death.  Everyone said it was a miracle, and the affair caused a great
+sensation.  The dates were compared, and it was found that the accident
+and the dream were almost coincident, whence they concluded that they had
+happened on the same night and at the same hour.  And there is a mystery
+of magnetism."
+
+The story-teller stopped suddenly.
+
+Thereupon, one of those who had heard him, much affected by the
+narrative, asked:
+
+"And can you explain this?"
+
+"Perfectly, monsieur.  I have discovered the secret.  The circumstance
+surprised me and even perplexed me very much; but you see, I do not
+believe on principle.  Just as others begin by believing, I begin by
+doubting; and when I cannot understand, I continue to deny that there can
+be any telepathic communication between souls; certain that my own
+intelligence will be able to explain it.  Well, I kept on inquiring into
+the matter, and by dint of questioning all the wives of the absent
+seamen, I was convinced that not a week passed without one of them, or
+one of their children dreaming and declaring when they woke up that the
+father was drowned.  The horrible and continual fear of this accident
+makes them always talk about it.  Now, if one of these frequent
+predictions coincides, by a very simple chance, with the death of the
+person referred to, people at once declare it to be a miracle; for they
+suddenly lose sight of all the other predictions of misfortune that have
+remained unfulfilled.  I have myself known fifty cases where the persons
+who made the prediction forgot all about it a week after wards.  But, if,
+then one happens to die, then the recollection of the thing is
+immediately revived, and people are ready to believe in the intervention
+of God, according to some, and magnetism, according to others."
+
+One of the smokers remarked:
+
+"What you say is right enough; but what about your second story?"
+
+"Oh!  my second story is a very delicate matter to relate.  It happened
+to myself, and so I don't place any great value on my own view of the
+matter.  An interested party can never give an impartial opinion.
+However, here it is:
+
+"Among my acquaintances was a young woman on whom I had never bestowed a
+thought, whom I had never even looked at attentively, never taken any
+notice of.
+
+"I classed her among the women of no importance, though she was not bad-
+looking; she appeared, in fact, to possess eyes, a nose, a mouth, some
+sort of hair--just a colorless type of countenance.  She was one of those
+beings who awaken only a chance, passing thought, but no special
+interest, no desire.
+
+"Well, one night, as I was writing some letters by my fireside before
+going to bed, I was conscious, in the midst of that train of sensuous
+visions that sometimes pass through one's brain in moments of idle
+reverie, of a kind of slight influence, passing over me, a little flutter
+of the heart, and immediately, without any cause, without any logical
+connection of thought, I saw distinctly, as if I were touching her, saw
+from head to foot, and disrobed, this young woman to whom I had never
+given more that three seconds' thought at a time.  I suddenly discovered
+in her a number of qualities which I had never before observed, a sweet
+charm, a languorous fascination; she awakened in me that sort of restless
+emotion that causes one to pursue a woman.  But I did not think of her
+long.  I went to bed and was soon asleep.  And I dreamed.
+
+"You have all had these strange dreams which make you overcome the
+impossible, which open to you double-locked doors, unexpected joys,
+tightly folded arms?
+
+"Which of us in these troubled, excising, breathless slumbers, has not
+held, clasped, embraced with rapture, the woman who occupied his
+thoughts?  And have you ever noticed what superhuman delight these happy
+dreams give us?  Into what mad intoxication they cast you! with what
+passionate spasms they shake you! and with what infinite, caressing,
+penetrating tenderness they fill your heart for her whom you hold clasped
+in your arms in that adorable illusion that is so like reality!
+
+"All this I felt with unforgettable violence.  This woman was mine, so
+much mine that the pleasant warmth of her skin remained in my fingers,
+the odor of her skin, in my brain, the taste of her kisses, on my lips,
+the sound of her voice lingered in my ears, the touch of her clasp still
+clung to me, and the burning charm of her tenderness still gratified my
+senses long after the delight but disillusion of my awakening.
+
+"And three times that night I had the same dream.
+
+"When the day dawned she haunted me, possessed me, filled my senses to
+such an extent that I was not one second without thinking of her.
+
+"At last, not knowing what to do, I dressed myself and went to call on
+her.  As I went upstairs to her apartment, I was so overcome by emotion
+that I trembled, and my heart beat rapidly.
+
+"I entered the apartment.  She rose the moment she heard my name
+mentioned; and suddenly our eyes met in a peculiar fixed gaze.
+
+"I sat down.  I stammered out some commonplaces which she seemed not to
+hear.  I did not know what to say or do.  Then, abruptly, clasping my
+arms round her, my dream was realized so suddenly that I began to doubt
+whether I was really awake.  We were friends after this for two years."
+
+"What conclusion do you draw from it?" said a voice.
+
+The story-teller seemed to hesitate.
+
+"The conclusion I draw from it--well, by Jove, the conclusion is that it
+was just a coincidence!  And then--who can tell?  Perhaps it was some
+glance of hers which I had not noticed and which came back that night to
+me through one of those mysterious and unconscious--recollections that
+often bring before us things ignored by our own consciousness,
+unperceived by our minds!"
+
+"Call it whatever you like," said one of his table companions, when the
+story was finished; "but if you don't believe in magnetism after that, my
+dear boy, you are an ungrateful fellow!"
+
+
+
+
+
+
+A FATHER'S CONFESSION
+
+All Veziers-le-Rethel had followed the funeral procession of M. Badon-
+Leremince to the grave, and the last words of the funeral oration
+pronounced by the delegate of the district remained in the minds of all:
+"He was an honest man, at least!"
+
+An honest man he had been in all the known acts of his life, in his
+words, in his examples, his attitude, his behavior, his enterprises, in
+the cut of his beard and the shape of his hats.  He never had said a word
+that did not set an example, never had given an alms without adding a
+word of advice, never had extended his hand without appearing to bestow a
+benediction.
+
+He left two children, a boy and a girl.  His son was counselor general,
+and his daughter, having married a lawyer, M. Poirel de la Voulte, moved
+in the best society of Veziers.
+
+They were inconsolable at the death of their father, for they loved him
+sincerely.
+
+As soon as the ceremony was over, the son, daughter and son-in-law
+returned to the house of mourning, and, shutting themselves in the
+library, they opened the will, the seals of which were to be broken by
+them alone and only after the coffin had been placed in the ground.
+This wish was expressed by a notice on the envelope.
+
+M. Poirel de la Voulte tore open the envelope, in his character of a
+lawyer used to such operations, and having adjusted his spectacles, he
+read in a monotonous voice, made for reading the details of contracts:
+
+     My children, my dear children, I could not sleep the eternal sleep
+     in peace if I did not make to you from the tomb a confession, the
+     confession of a crime, remorse for which has ruined my life.  Yes,
+     I committed a crime, a frightful, abominable crime.
+
+     I was twenty-six years old, and I had just been called to the bar in
+     Paris, and was living the life off young men from the provinces who
+     are stranded in this town without acquaintances, relatives, or
+     friends.
+
+     I took a sweetheart.  There are beings who cannot live alone.  I was
+     one of those.  Solitude fills me with horrible anguish, the solitude
+     of my room beside my fire in the evening.  I feel then as if I were
+     alone on earth, alone, but surrounded by vague dangers, unknown and
+     terrible things; and the partition that separates me from my
+     neighbor, my neighbor whom I do not know, keeps me at as great a
+     distance from him as the stars that I see through my window.  A sort
+     of fever pervades me, a fever of impatience and of fear, and the
+     silence of the walls terrifies me.  The silence of a room where one
+     lives alone is so intense and so melancholy It is not only a silence
+     of the mind; when a piece of furniture cracks a shudder goes through
+     you for you expect no noise in this melancholy abode.
+
+     How many times, nervous and timid from this motionless silence, I
+     have begun to talk, to repeat words without rhyme or reason, only to
+     make some sound.  My voice at those times sounds so strange that I
+     am afraid of that, too.  Is there anything more dreadful than
+     talking to one's self in an empty house?  One's voice sounds like
+     that of another, an unknown voice talking aimlessly, to no one, into
+     the empty air, with no ear to listen to it, for one knows before
+     they escape into the solitude of the room exactly what words will be
+     uttered.  And when they resound lugubriously in the silence, they
+     seem no more than an echo, the peculiar echo of words whispered by
+     ones thought.
+
+     My sweetheart was a young girl like other young girls who live in
+     Paris on wages that are insufficient to keep them.  She was gentle,
+     good, simple.  Her parents lived at Poissy.  She went to spend
+     several days with them from time to time.
+
+     For a year I lived quietly with her, fully decided to leave her when
+     I should find some one whom I liked well enough to marry.  I would
+     make a little provision for this one, for it is an understood thing
+     in our social set that a woman's love should be paid for, in money
+     if she is poor, in presents if she is rich.
+
+     But one day she told me she was enceinte.  I was thunderstruck, and
+     saw in a second that my life would be ruined.  I saw the fetter that
+     I should wear until my death, everywhere, in my future family life,
+     in my old age, forever; the fetter of a woman bound to my life
+     through a child; the fetter of the child whom I must bring up, watch
+     over, protect, while keeping myself unknown to him, and keeping him
+     hidden from the world.
+
+     I was greatly disturbed at this news, and a confused longing, a
+     criminal desire, surged through my mind; I did not formulate it, but
+     I felt it in my heart, ready to come to the surface, as if some one
+     hidden behind a portiere should await the signal to come out.  If
+     some accident might only happen!  So many of these little beings die
+     before they are born!
+
+     Oh!  I did not wish my sweetheart to die!  The poor girl, I loved
+     her very much!  But I wished, possibly, that the child might die
+     before I saw it.
+
+     He was born.  I set up housekeeping in my little bachelor apartment,
+     an imitation home, with a horrible child.  He looked like all
+     children; I did not care for him.  Fathers, you see, do not show
+     affection until later.  They have not the instinctive and passionate
+     tenderness of mothers; their affection has to be awakened gradually,
+     their mind must become attached by bonds formed each day between
+     beings that live in each other's society.
+
+     A year passed.  I now avoided my home, which was too small, where
+     soiled linen, baby-clothes and stockings the size of gloves were
+     lying round, where a thousand articles of all descriptions lay on
+     the furniture, on the arm of an easy-chair, everywhere.  I went out
+     chiefly that I might not hear the child cry, for he cried on the
+     slightest pretext, when he was bathed, when he was touched, when he
+     was put to bed, when he was taken up in the morning, incessantly.
+
+     I had made a few acquaintances, and I met at a reception the woman
+     who was to be your mother.  I fell in love with her and became
+     desirous to marry her.  I courted her; I asked her parents' consent
+     to our marriage and it was granted.
+
+     I found myself in this dilemma: I must either marry this young girl
+     whom I adored, having a child already, or else tell the truth and
+     renounce her, and happiness, my future, everything; for her parents,
+     who were people of rigid principles, would not give her to me if
+     they knew.
+
+     I passed a month of horrible anguish, of mortal torture, a month
+     haunted by a thousand frightful thoughts; and I felt developing in
+     me a hatred toward my son, toward that little morsel of living,
+     screaming flesh, who blocked my path, interrupted my life, condemned
+     me to an existence without hope, without all those vague
+     expectations that make the charm of youth.
+
+     But just then my companion's mother became ill, and I was left alone
+     with the child.
+
+     It was in December, and the weather was terribly cold.  What a
+     night!
+
+     My companion had just left.  I had dined alone in my little dining-
+     room and I went gently into the room where the little one was
+     asleep.
+
+     I sat down in an armchair before the fire.  The wind was blowing,
+     making the windows rattle, a dry, frosty wind; and I saw trough the
+     window the stars shining with that piercing brightness that they
+     have on frosty nights.
+
+     Then the idea that had obsessed me for a month rose again to the
+     surface.  As soon as I was quiet it came to me and harassed me.  It
+     ate into my mind like a fixed idea, just as cancers must eat into
+     the flesh.  It was there, in my head, in my heart, in my whole body,
+     it seemed to me; and it swallowed me up as a wild beast might have.
+     I endeavored to drive it away, to repulse it, to open my mind to
+     other thoughts, as one opens a window to the fresh morning breeze to
+     drive out the vitiated air; but I could not drive it from my brain,
+     not even for a second.  I do not know how to express this torture.
+     It gnawed at my soul, and I felt a frightful pain, a real physical
+     and moral pain.
+
+     My life was ruined!  How could I escape from this situation?  How
+     could I draw back, and how could I confess?
+
+     And I loved the one who was to become your mother with a mad
+     passion, which this insurmountable obstacle only aggravated.
+
+     A terrible rage was taking possession of me, choking me, a rage that
+     verged on madness!  Surely I was crazy that evening!
+
+     The child was sleeping.  I got up and looked at it as it slept.  It
+     was he, this abortion, this spawn, this nothing, that condemned me
+     to irremediable unhappiness!
+
+     He was asleep, his mouth open, wrapped in his bed-clothes in a crib
+     beside my bed, where I could not sleep.
+
+     How did I ever do what I did?  How do I know?  What force urged me
+     on?  What malevolent power took possession of me?  Oh! the
+     temptation to crime came to me without any forewarning.  All I
+     recall is that my heart beat tumultuously.  It beat so hard that I
+     could hear it, as one hears the strokes of a hammer behind a
+     partition.  That is all I can recall--the beating of my heart!
+     In my head there was a strange confusion, a tumult, a senseless
+     disorder, a lack of presence of mind.  It was one of those hours of
+     bewilderment and hallucination when a man is neither conscious of
+     his actions nor able to guide his will.
+
+     I gently raised the coverings from the body of the child; I turned
+     them down to the foot of the crib, and he lay there uncovered and
+     naked.
+
+     He did not wake.  Then I went toward the window, softly, quite
+     softly, and I opened it.
+
+     A breath of icy air glided in like an assassin; it was so cold that
+     I drew aside, and the two candles flickered.  I remained standing
+     near the window, not daring to turn round, as if for fear of seeing
+     what was doing on behind me, and feeling the icy air continually
+     across my forehead, my cheeks, my hands, the deadly air which kept
+     streaming in.  I stood there a long time.
+
+     I was not thinking, I was not reflecting.  All at once a little
+     cough caused me to shudder frightfully from head to foot, a shudder
+     that I feel still to the roots of my hair.  And with a frantic
+     movement I abruptly closed both sides of the window and, turning
+     round, ran over to the crib.
+
+     He was still asleep, his mouth open, quite naked.  I touched his
+     legs; they were icy cold and I covered them up.
+
+     My heart was suddenly touched, grieved, filled with pity,
+     tenderness, love for this poor innocent being that I had wished to
+     kill.  I kissed his fine, soft hair long and tenderly; then I went
+     and sat down before the fire.
+
+     I reflected with amazement with horror on what I had done, asking
+     myself whence come those tempests of the soul in which a man loses
+     all perspective of things, all command over himself and acts as in a
+     condition of mad intoxication, not knowing whither he is going--like
+     a vessel in a hurricane.
+
+     The child coughed again, and it gave my heart a wrench.  Suppose it
+     should die!  O God!  O God!  What would become of me?
+
+     I rose from my chair to go and look at him, and with a candle in my
+     hand I leaned over him.  Seeing him breathing quietly I felt
+     reassured, when he coughed a third time.  It gave me such a shock
+     tat I started backward, just as one does at sight of something
+     horrible, and let my candle fall.
+
+     As I stood erect after picking it up, I noticed that my temples were
+     bathed in perspiration, that cold sweat which is the result of
+     anguish of soul.  And I remained until daylight bending over my son,
+     becoming calm when he remained quiet for some time, and filled with
+     atrocious pain when a weak cough came from his mouth.
+
+     He awoke with his eyes red, his throat choked, and with an air of
+     suffering.
+
+     When the woman came in to arrange my room I sent her at once for a
+     doctor.  He came at the end of an hour, and said, after examining
+     the child:
+
+     "Did he not catch cold?"
+
+     I began to tremble like a person with palsy, and I faltered:
+
+     "No, I do not think so."
+
+     And then I said:
+
+     "What is the matter?  Is it serious?"
+
+     "I do not know yet," he replied.  "I will come again this evening."
+
+     He came that evening.  My son had remained almost all day in a
+     condition of drowsiness, coughing from time to time.  During the
+     night inflammation of the lungs set in.
+
+     That lasted ten days.  I cannot express what I suffered in those
+     interminable hours that divide morning from night, right from
+     morning.
+
+     He died.
+
+     And since--since that moment, I have not passed one hour, not a
+     single hour, without the frightful burning recollection, a gnawing
+     recollection, a memory that seems to wring my heart, awaking in me
+     like a savage beast imprisoned in the depth of my soul.
+
+     Oh! if I could have gone mad!
+
+
+M. Poirel de la Voulte raised his spectacles with a motion that was
+peculiar to him whenever he finished reading a contract; and the three
+heirs of the defunct looked at one another without speaking, pale and
+motionless.
+
+At the end of a minute the lawyer resumed:
+
+"That must be destroyed."
+
+The other two bent their heads in sign of assent.  He lighted a candle,
+carefully separated the pages containing the damaging confession from
+those relating to the disposition of money, then he held them over the
+candle and threw them into the fireplace.
+
+And they watched the white sheets as they burned, till they were
+presently reduced to little crumbling black heaps.  And as some words
+were still visible in white tracing, the daughter, with little strokes of
+the toe of her shoe, crushed the burning paper, mixing it with the old
+ashes in the fireplace.
+
+Then all three stood there watching it for some time, as if they feared
+that the destroyed secret might escape from the fireplace.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+A MOTHER OF MONSTERS
+
+I recalled this horrible story, the events of which occurred long ago,
+and this horrible woman, the other day at a fashionable seaside resort,
+where I saw on the beach a well-known young, elegant and charming
+Parisienne, adored and respected by everyone.
+
+I had been invited by a friend to pay him a visit in a little provincial
+town.  He took me about in all directions to do the honors of the place,
+showed me noted scenes, chateaux, industries, ruins.  He pointed out
+monuments, churches, old carved doorways, enormous or distorted trees,
+the oak of St. Andrew, and the yew tree of Roqueboise.
+
+When I had exhausted my admiration and enthusiasm over all the sights,
+my friend said with a distressed expression on his face, that there was
+nothing left to look at.  I breathed freely.  I would now be able to rest
+under the shade of the trees.  But, all at once, he uttered an
+exclamation:
+
+"Oh, yes!  We have the 'Mother of Monsters'; I must take you to see her."
+
+"Who is that, the 'Mother of Monsters'?" I asked.
+
+"She is an abominable woman," he replied, "a regular demon, a being who
+voluntarily brings into the world deformed, hideous, frightful children,
+monstrosities, in fact, and then sells them to showmen who exhibit such
+things.
+
+"These exploiters of freaks come from time to time to find out if she has
+any fresh monstrosity, and if it meets with their approval they carry it
+away with them, paying the mother a compensation.
+
+"She has eleven of this description.  She is rich.
+
+"You think I am joking, romancing, exaggerating.  No, my friend; I am
+telling you the truth, the exact truth.
+
+"Let us go and see this woman.  Then I will tell you her history."
+
+He took me into one of the suburbs.  The woman lived in a pretty little
+house by the side of the road.  It was attractive and well kept.  The
+garden was filled with fragrant flowers.  One might have supposed it to
+be the residence of a retired lawyer.
+
+A maid ushered us into a sort of little country parlor, and the wretch
+appeared.  She was about forty.  She was a tall, big woman with hard
+features, but well formed, vigorous and healthy, the true type of a
+robust peasant woman, half animal, and half woman.
+
+She was aware of her reputation and received everyone with a humility
+that smacked of hatred.
+
+"What do the gentlemen wish?" she asked.
+
+"They tell me that your last child is just like an ordinary child, that
+he does not resemble his brothers at all," replied my friend.  "I wanted
+to be sure of that.  Is it true?"
+
+She cast on us a malicious and furious look as she said:
+
+"Oh, no, oh, no, my poor sir!  He is perhaps even uglier than the rest.
+I have no luck, no luck!
+
+They are all like that, it is heartbreaking!  How can the good God be so
+hard on a poor woman who is all alone in the world, how can He?"
+She spoke hurriedly, her eyes cast down, with a deprecating air as of a
+wild beast who is afraid.  Her harsh voice became soft, and it seemed
+strange to hear those tearful falsetto tones issuing from that big, bony
+frame, of unusual strength and with coarse outlines, which seemed fitted
+for violent action, and made to utter howls like a wolf.
+
+"We should like to see your little one," said my friend.
+
+I fancied she colored up.  I may have been deceived.  After a few moments
+of silence, she said in a louder tone:
+
+"What good will that do you?"
+
+"Why do you not wish to show it to us?" replied my friend.  "There are
+many people to whom you will show it; you know whom I mean."
+
+She gave a start, and resuming her natural voice, and giving free play to
+her anger, she screamed:
+
+"Was that why you came here?  To insult me?  Because my children are like
+animals, tell me?  You shall not see him, no, no, you shall not see him!
+Go away, go away!  I do not know why you all try to torment me like
+that."
+
+She walked over toward us, her hands on her hips.  At the brutal tone of
+her voice, a sort of moaning, or rather a mewing, the lamentable cry of
+an idiot, came from the adjoining room.  I shivered to the marrow of my
+bones.  We retreated before her.
+
+"Take care, Devil" (they called her the Devil); said my friend, "take
+care; some day you will get yourself into trouble through this."
+
+She began to tremble, beside herself with fury, shaking her fist and
+roaring:
+
+"Be off with you!  What will get me into trouble?  Be off with you,
+miscreants!"
+
+She was about to attack us, but we fled, saddened at what we had seen.
+When we got outside, my friend said:
+
+"Well, you have seen her, what do you think of her?"
+
+"Tell me the story of this brute," I replied.
+
+And this is what he told me as we walked along the white high road, with
+ripe crops on either side of it which rippled like the sea in the light
+breeze that passed over them.
+
+"This woman was one a servant on a farm.  She was an honest girl, steady
+and economical.  She was never known to have an admirer, and never
+suspected of any frailty.  But she went astray, as so many do.
+
+"She soon found herself in trouble, and was tortured with fear and shame.
+Wishing to conceal her misfortune, she bound her body tightly with a
+corset of her own invention, made of boards and cord.  The more she
+developed, the more she bound herself with this instrument of torture,
+suffering martyrdom, but brave in her sorrow, not allowing anyone to see,
+or suspect, anything.  She maimed the little unborn being, cramping it
+with that frightful corset, and made a monster of it.  Its head was
+squeezed and elongated to a point, and its large eyes seemed popping out
+of its head.  Its limbs, exaggeratedly long, and twisted like the stalk
+of a vine, terminated in fingers like the claws of a spider.  Its trunk
+was tiny, and round as a nut.
+
+"The child was born in an open field, and when the weeders saw it, they
+fled away, screaming, and the report spread that she had given birth to a
+demon.  From that time on, she was called 'the Devil.'
+
+"She was driven from the farm, and lived on charity, under a cloud.  She
+brought up the monster, whom she hated with a savage hatred, and would
+have strangled, perhaps, if the priest had not threatened her with
+arrest.
+
+"One day some travelling showmen heard about the frightful creature, and
+asked to see it, so that if it pleased them they might take it away.
+They were pleased, and counted out five hundred francs to the mother.
+At first, she had refused to let them see the little animal, as she was
+ashamed; but when she discovered it had a money value, and that these
+people were anxious to get it, she began to haggle with them, raising her
+price with all a peasant's persistence.
+
+"She made them draw up a paper, in which they promised to pay her four
+hundred francs a year besides, as though they had taken this deformity
+into their employ.
+
+"Incited by the greed of gain, she continued to produce these phenomena,
+so as to have an assured income like a bourgeoise.
+
+"Some of them were long, some short, some like crabs-all bodies-others
+like lizards.  Several died, and she was heartbroken.
+
+"The law tried to interfere, but as they had no proof they let her
+continue to produce her freaks.
+
+She has at this moment eleven alive, and they bring in, on an average,
+counting good and bad years, from five to six thousand francs a year.
+One, alone, is not placed, the one she was unwilling to show us.  But she
+will not keep it long, for she is known to all the showmen in the world,
+who come from time to time to see if she has anything new.
+
+"She even gets bids from them when the monster is valuable."
+
+My friend was silent.  A profound disgust stirred my heart, and a feeling
+of rage, of regret, to think that I had not strangled this brute when I
+had the opportunity.
+
+I had forgotten this story, when I saw on the beach of a fashionable
+resort the other day, an elegant, charming, dainty woman, surrounded by
+men who paid her respect as well as admiration.
+
+I was walking along the beach, arm in arm with a friend, the resident
+physician.  Ten minutes later, I saw a nursemaid with three children, who
+were rolling in the sand.  A pair of little crutches lay on the ground,
+and touched my sympathy.  I then noticed that these three children were
+all deformed, humpbacked, or crooked; and hideous.
+
+"Those are the offspring of that charming woman you saw just now," said
+the doctor.
+
+I was filled with pity for her, as well as for them, and exclaimed:
+"Oh, the poor mother!  How can she ever laugh!"
+
+"Do not pity her, my friend.  Pity the poor children," replied the
+doctor.  "This is the consequence of preserving a slender figure up to
+the last.  These little deformities were made by the corset.  She knows
+very well that she is risking her life at this game.  But what does she
+care, as long as lie can be beautiful and have admirers!"
+
+And then I recalled that other woman, the peasant, the "Devil," who sold
+her children, her monsters.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+AN UNCOMFORTABLE BED
+
+One autumn I went to spend the hunting season with some friends in a
+chateau in Picardy.
+
+My friends were fond of practical jokes.  I do not care to know people
+who are not.
+
+When I arrived, they gave me a princely reception, which at once awakened
+suspicion in my mind.  They fired off rifles, embraced me, made much of
+me, as if they expected to have great fun at my expense.
+
+I said to myself:
+
+"Look out, old ferret!  They have something in store for you."
+
+During the dinner the mirth was excessive, exaggerated, in fact.
+I thought: "Here are people who have more than their share of amusement,
+and apparently without reason.  They must have planned some good joke.
+Assuredly I am to be the victim of the joke.  Attention!"
+
+During the entire evening every one laughed in an exaggerated fashion.
+I scented a practical joke in the air, as a dog scents game.  But what
+was it?  I was watchful, restless.  I did not let a word, or a meaning,
+or a gesture escape me.  Every one seemed to me an object of suspicion,
+and I even looked distrustfully at the faces of the servants.
+
+The hour struck for retiring; and the whole household came to escort me
+to my room.  Why?
+
+They called to me: "Good-night."  I entered the apartment, shut the door,
+and remained standing, without moving a single step, holding the wax
+candle in my hand.
+
+I heard laughter and whispering in the corridor.  Without doubt they were
+spying on me.  I cast a glance round the walls, the furniture, the
+ceiling, the hangings, the floor.  I saw nothing to justify suspicion.
+I heard persons moving about outside my door.  I had no doubt they were
+looking through the keyhole.
+
+An idea came into my head: "My candle may suddenly go out and leave me in
+darkness."
+
+Then I went across to the mantelpiece and lighted all the wax candles
+that were on it.  After that I cast another glance around me without
+discovering anything.  I advanced with short steps, carefully examining
+the apartment.  Nothing.  I inspected every article, one after the other.
+Still nothing.  I went over to the window.  The shutters, large wooden
+shutters, were open.  I shut them with great care, and then drew the
+curtains, enormous velvet curtains, and placed a chair in front of them,
+so as to have nothing to fear from outside.
+
+Then I cautiously sat down.  The armchair was solid.  I did not venture
+to get into the bed.  However, the night was advancing; and I ended by
+coming to the conclusion that I was foolish.  If they were spying on me,
+as I supposed, they must, while waiting for the success of the joke they
+had been preparing for me, have been laughing immoderately at my terror.
+So I made up my mind to go to bed.  But the bed was particularly
+suspicious-looking.  I pulled at the curtains.  They seemed to be secure.
+
+All the same, there was danger.  I was going perhaps to receive a cold
+shower both from overhead, or perhaps, the moment I stretched myself out,
+to find myself sinking to the floor with my mattress.  I searched in my
+memory for all the practical jokes of which I ever had experience.  And I
+did not want to be caught.  Ah! certainly not! certainly not!  Then I
+suddenly bethought myself of a precaution which I considered insured
+safety.  I caught hold of the side of the mattress gingerly, and very
+slowly drew it toward me.  It came away, followed by the sheet and the
+rest of the bedclothes.  I dragged all these objects into the very middle
+of the room, facing the entrance door.  I made my bed over again as best
+I could at some distance from the suspected bedstead and the corner which
+had filled me with such anxiety.  Then I extinguished all the candles,
+and, groping my way, I slipped under the bed clothes.
+
+For at least another hour I remained awake, starting at the slightest
+sound.  Everything seemed quiet in the chateau.  I fell asleep.
+
+I must have been in a deep sleep for a long time, but all of a sudden I
+was awakened with a start by the fall of a heavy body tumbling right on
+top of my own, and, at the same time, I received on my face, on my neck,
+and on my chest a burning liquid which made me utter a howl of pain.  And
+a dreadful noise, as if a sideboard laden with plates and dishes had
+fallen down, almost deafened me.
+
+I was smothering beneath the weight that was crushing me and preventing
+me from moving.  I stretched out my hand to find out what was the nature
+of this object.  I felt a face, a nose, and whiskers.  Then, with all my
+strength, I launched out a blow at this face.  But I immediately received
+a hail of cuffings which made me jump straight out of the soaked sheets,
+and rush in my nightshirt into the corridor, the door of which I found
+open.
+
+Oh, heavens!  it was broad daylight.  The noise brought my friends
+hurrying into my apartment, and we found, sprawling over my improvised
+bed, the dismayed valet, who, while bringing me my morning cup of tea,
+had tripped over this obstacle in the middle of the floor and fallen on
+his stomach, spilling my breakfast over my face in spite of himself.
+
+The precautions I had taken in closing the shutters and going to sleep in
+the middle of the room had only brought about the practical joke I had
+been trying to avoid.
+
+Oh, how they all laughed that day!
+
+
+
+
+
+
+A PORTRAIT
+
+Hello! there's Milial!" said somebody near me.  I looked at the man who
+had been pointed out as I had been wishing for a long time to meet this
+Don Juan.
+
+He was no longer young.  His gray hair looked a little like those fur
+bonnets worn by certain Northern peoples, and his long beard, which fell
+down over his chest, had also somewhat the appearance of fur.  He was
+talking to a lady, leaning toward her, speaking in a low voice and
+looking at her with an expression full of respect and tenderness.
+
+I knew his life, or at least as much as was known of it.  He had loved
+madly several times, and there had been certain tragedies with which his
+name had been connected.  When I spoke to women who were the loudest in
+his praise, and asked them whence came this power, they always answered,
+after thinking for a while: "I don't know--he has a certain charm about
+him."
+
+He was certainly not handsome.  He had none of the elegance that we
+ascribe to conquerors of feminine hearts.  I wondered what might be his
+hid den charm.  Was it mental?  I never had heard of a clever saying of
+his.  In his glance?  Perhaps.  Or in his voice?  The voices of some
+beings have a certain irresistible attraction, almost suggesting the
+flavor of things good to eat.  One is hungry for them, and the sound of
+their words penetrates us like a dainty morsel.  A friend was passing.
+I asked him: "Do you know Monsieur Milial?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Introduce us."
+
+A minute later we were shaking hands and talking in the doorway.  What he
+said was correct, agreeable to hear; it contained no irritable thought.
+The voice was sweet, soft, caressing, musical; but I had heard others
+much more attractive, much more moving.  One listened to him with
+pleasure, just as one would look at a pretty little brook.  No tension of
+the mind was necessary in order to follow him, no hidden meaning aroused
+curiosity, no expectation awoke interest.  His conversation was rather
+restful, but it did not awaken in one either a desire to answer, to
+contradict or to approve, and it was as easy to answer him as it was to
+listen to him.  The response came to the lips of its own accord, as soon
+as he had finished talking, and phrases turned toward him as if he had
+naturally aroused them.
+
+One thought soon struck me.  I had known him for a quarter of an hour,
+and it seemed as if he were already one of my old friends, that I had
+known all about him for a long time; his face, his gestures, his voice,
+his ideas.  Suddenly, after a few minutes of conversation, he seemed
+already to be installed in my intimacy.  All constraint disappeared
+between us, and, had he so desired, I might have confided in him as one
+confides only in old friends.
+
+Certainly there was some mystery about him.  Those barriers that are
+closed between most people and that are lowered with time when sympathy,
+similar tastes, equal intellectual culture and constant intercourse
+remove constraint--those barriers seemed not to exist between him and me,
+and no doubt this was the case between him and all people, both men and
+women, whom fate threw in his path.
+
+After half an hour we parted, promising to see each other often, and he
+gave me his address after inviting me to take luncheon with him in two
+days.
+
+I forgot what hour he had stated, and I arrived too soon; he was not yet
+home.  A correct and silent domestic showed me into a beautiful, quiet,
+softly lighted parlor.  I felt comfortable there, at home.  How often I
+have noticed the influence of apartments on the character and on the
+mind!  There are some which make one feel foolish; in others, on the
+contrary, one always feels lively.  Some make us sad, although well
+lighted and decorated in light-colored furniture; others cheer us up,
+although hung with sombre material.  Our eye, like our heart, has its
+likes and dislikes, of which it does not inform us, and which it secretly
+imposes on our temperament.  The harmony of furniture, walls, the style
+of an ensemble, act immediately on our mental state, just as the air from
+the woods, the sea or the mountains modifies our physical natures.
+
+I sat down on a cushion-covered divan and felt myself suddenly carried
+and supported by these little silk bags of feathers, as if the outline of
+my body had been marked out beforehand on this couch.
+
+Then I looked about.  There was nothing striking about the room; every-
+where were beautiful and modest things, simple and rare furniture,
+Oriental curtains which did not seem to come from a department store but
+from the interior of a harem; and exactly opposite me hung the portrait
+of a woman.  It was a portrait of medium size, showing the head and the
+upper part of the body, and the hands, which were holding a book.  She
+was young, bareheaded; ribbons were woven in her hair; she was smiling
+sadly.  Was it because she was bareheaded, was it merely her natural
+expression?  I never have seen a portrait of a lady which seemed so much
+in its place as that one in that dwelling.  Of all those I knew I have
+seen nothing like that one.  All those that I know are on exhibition,
+whether the lady be dressed in her gaudiest gown, with an attractive
+headdress and a look which shows that she is posing first of all before
+the artist and then before those who will look at her or whether they
+have taken a comfortable attitude in an ordinary gown.  Some are standing
+majestically in all their beauty, which is not at all natural to them in
+life.  All of them have something, a flower or, a jewel, a crease in the
+dress or a curve of the lip, which one feels to have been placed there
+for effect by the artist.  Whether they wear a hat or merely their hair
+one can immediately notice that they are not entirely natural.  Why?
+One cannot say without knowing them, but the effect is there.  They seem
+to be calling somewhere, on people whom they wish to please and to whom
+they wish to appear at their best advantage; and they have studied their
+attitudes, sometimes modest, Sometimes haughty.
+
+What could one say about this one?  She was at home and alone.  Yes, she
+was alone, for she was smiling as one smiles when thinking in solitude of
+something sad or sweet, and not as one smiles when one is being watched.
+She seemed so much alone and so much at home that she made the whole
+large apartment seem absolutely empty.  She alone lived in it, filled it,
+gave it life.  Many people might come in and converse, laugh, even sing;
+she would still be alone with a solitary smile, and she alone would give
+it life with her pictured gaze.
+
+That look also was unique.  It fell directly on me, fixed and caressing,
+without seeing me.  All portraits know that they are being watched, and
+they answer with their eyes, which see, think, follow us without leaving
+us, from the very moment we enter the apartment they inhabit.  This one
+did not see me; it saw nothing, although its look was fixed directly on
+me.  I remembered the surprising verse of Baudelaire:
+
+And your eyes, attractive as those of a portrait.
+
+They did indeed attract me in an irresistible manner; those painted eyes
+which had lived, or which were perhaps still living, threw over me a
+strange, powerful spell.  Oh, what an infinite and tender charm, like a
+passing breeze, like a dying sunset of lilac rose and blue, a little sad
+like the approaching night, which comes behind the sombre frame and out
+of those impenetrable eyes!  Those eyes, created by a few strokes from a
+brush, hide behind them the mystery of that which seems to be and which
+does not exist, which can appear in the eyes of a woman, which can make
+love blossom within us.
+
+The door opened and M. Milial entered.  He excused himself for being
+late.  I excused myself for being ahead of time.  Then I said: "Might I
+ask you who is this lady?"
+
+He answered: "That is my mother.  She died very young."
+
+Then I understood whence came the inexplicable attraction of this man.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE DRUNKARD
+
+The north wind was blowing a hurricane, driving through the sky big,
+black, heavy clouds from which the rain poured down on the earth with
+terrific violence.
+
+A high sea was raging and dashing its huge, slow, foamy waves along the
+coast with the rumbling sound of thunder.  The waves followed each other
+close, rolling in as high as mountains, scattering the foam as they
+broke.
+
+The storm engulfed itself in the little valley of Yport, whistling and
+moaning, tearing the shingles from the roofs, smashing the shutters,
+knocking down the chimneys, rushing through the narrow streets in such
+gusts that one could walk only by holding on to the walls, and children
+would have been lifted up like leaves and carried over the houses into
+the fields.
+
+The fishing smacks had been hauled high up on land, because at high tide
+the sea would sweep the beach.  Several sailors, sheltered behind the
+curved bottoms of their boats, were watching this battle of the sky and
+the sea.
+
+Then, one by one, they went away, for night was falling on the storm,
+wrapping in shadows the raging ocean and all the battling elements.
+
+Just two men remained, their hands plunged deep into their pockets,
+bending their backs beneath the squall, their woolen caps pulled down
+over their ears; two big Normandy fishermen, bearded, their skin tanned
+through exposure, with the piercing black eyes of the sailor who looks
+over the horizon like a bird of prey.
+
+One of them was saying:
+
+"Come on, Jeremie, let's go play dominoes.  It's my treat."
+
+The other hesitated a while, tempted on one hand by the game and the
+thought of brandy, knowing well that, if he went to Paumelle's, he would
+return home drunk; held back, on the other hand, by the idea of his wife
+remaining alone in the house.
+
+He asked:
+
+"Any one might think that you had made a bet to get me drunk every night.
+Say, what good is it doing you, since it's always you that's treating?"
+
+Nevertheless he was smiling at the idea of all this brandy drunk at the
+expense of another.  He was smiling the contented smirk of an avaricious
+Norman.
+
+Mathurin, his friend, kept pulling him by the sleeve.
+
+"Come on, Jeremie.  This isn't the kind of a night to go home without
+anything to warm you up.  What are you afraid of?  Isn't your wife going
+to warm your bed for you?"
+
+Jeremie answered:
+
+"The other night I couldn't find the door--I had to be fished out of the
+ditch in front of the house!"
+
+He was still laughing at this drunkard's recollection, and he was
+unconsciously going toward Paumelle's Cafe, where a light was shining in
+the window; he was going, pulled by Mathurin and pushed by the wind,
+unable to resist these combined forces.
+
+The low room was full of sailors, smoke and noise.  All these men, clad
+in woolens, their elbows on the tables, were shouting to make themselves
+heard.  The more people came in, the more one had to shout in order to
+overcome the noise of voices and the rattling of dominoes on the marble
+tables.
+
+Jeremie and Mathurin sat down in a corner and began a game, and the
+glasses were emptied in rapid succession into their thirsty throats.
+
+Then they played more games and drank more glasses.  Mathurin kept
+pouring and winking to the saloon keeper, a big, red-faced man, who
+chuckled as though at the thought of some fine joke; and Jeremie kept
+absorbing alcohol and wagging his head, giving vent to a roar of laughter
+and looking at his comrade with a stupid and contented expression.
+
+All the customers were going away.  Every time that one of them would
+open the door to leave a gust of wind would blow into the cafe, making
+the tobacco smoke swirl around, swinging the lamps at the end of their
+chains and making their flames flicker, and suddenly one could hear the
+deep booming of a breaking wave and the moaning of the wind.
+
+Jeremie, his collar unbuttoned, was taking drunkard's poses, one leg
+outstretched, one arm hanging down and in the other hand holding a
+domino.
+
+They were alone now with the owner, who had come up to them, interested.
+
+He asked:
+
+"Well, Jeremie, how goes it inside?  Feel less thirsty after wetting your
+throat?"
+
+Jeremie muttered:
+
+"The more I wet it, the drier it gets inside."
+
+The innkeeper cast a sly glance at Mathurin.  He said:
+
+"And your brother, Mathurin, where's he now?"
+
+The sailor laughed silently:
+
+"Don't worry; he's warm, all right."
+
+And both of them looked toward Jeremie, who was triumphantly putting down
+the double six and announcing:
+
+"Game!"
+
+Then the owner declared:
+
+"Well, boys, I'm goin' to bed.  I will leave you the lamp and the bottle;
+there's twenty cents' worth in it.  Lock the door when you go, Mathurin,
+and slip the key under the mat the way you did the other night."
+
+Mathurin answered:
+
+"Don't worry; it'll be all right."
+
+Paumelle shook hands with his two customers and slowly went up the wooden
+stairs.  For several minutes his heavy step echoed through the little
+house.  Then a loud creaking announced that he had got into bed.
+
+The two men continued to play.  From time to time a more violent gust of
+wind would shake the whole house, and the two drinkers would look up, as
+though some one were about to enter.  Then Mathurin would take the bottle
+and fill Jeremie's glass.  But suddenly the clock over the bar struck
+twelve.  Its hoarse clang sounded like the rattling of saucepans.  Then
+Mathurin got up like a sailor whose watch is over.
+
+"Come on, Jeremie, we've got to get out."
+
+The other man rose to his feet with difficulty, got his balance by
+leaning on the table, reached the door and opened it while his companion
+was putting out the light.
+
+As soon as they were in the street Mathurin locked the door and then
+said:
+
+"Well, so long.  See you to-morrow night!"
+
+And he disappeared in the darkness.
+
+Jeremie took a few steps, staggered, stretched out his hands, met a wall
+which supported him and began to stumble along.  From time to time a gust
+of wind would sweep through the street, pushing him forward, making him
+run for a few steps; then, when the wind would die down, he would stop
+short, having lost his impetus, and once more he would begin to stagger
+on his unsteady drunkard's legs.
+
+He went instinctively toward his home, just as birds go to their nests.
+Finally he recognized his door, and began to feel about for the keyhole
+and tried to put the key in it.  Not finding the hole, he began to swear.
+Then he began to beat on the door with his fists, calling for his wife to
+come and help him:
+
+"Melina!  Oh, Melina!"
+
+As he leaned against the door for support, it gave way and opened, and
+Jeremie, losing his prop, fell inside, rolling on his face into the
+middle of his room, and he felt something heavy pass over him and escape
+in the night.
+
+He was no longer moving, dazed by fright, bewildered, fearing the devil,
+ghosts, all the mysterious beings of darkness, and he waited a long time
+without daring to move.  But when he found out that nothing else was
+moving, a little reason returned to him, the reason of a drunkard.
+
+Gently he sat up.  Again he waited a long time, and at last, growing
+bolder, he called:
+
+"Melina!"
+
+His wife did not answer.
+
+Then, suddenly, a suspicion crossed his darkened mind, an indistinct,
+vague suspicion.  He was not moving; he was sitting there in the dark,
+trying to gather together his scattered wits, his mind stumbling over
+incomplete ideas, just as his feet stumbled along.
+
+Once more he asked:
+
+"Who was it, Melina?  Tell me who it was.  I won't hurt you!"
+
+He waited, no voice was raised in the darkness.  He was now reasoning
+with himself out loud.
+
+"I'm drunk, all right!  I'm drunk!  And he filled me up, the dog; he did
+it, to stop my goin' home.  I'm drunk!"
+
+And he would continue:
+
+"Tell me who it was, Melina, or somethin'll happen to you."
+
+After having waited again, he went on with the slow and obstinate logic
+of a drunkard:
+
+"He's been keeping me at that loafer Paumelle's place every night, so as
+to stop my going home.  It's some trick.  Oh, you damned carrion!"
+
+Slowly he got on his knees.  A blind fury was gaining possession of him,
+mingling with the fumes of alcohol.
+
+He continued:
+
+"Tell me who it was, Melina, or you'll get a licking--I warn you!"
+
+He was now standing, trembling with a wild fury, as though the alcohol
+had set his blood on fire.  He took a step, knocked against a chair,
+seized it, went on, reached the bed, ran his hands over it and felt the
+warm body of his wife.
+
+Then, maddened, he roared:
+
+"So!  You were there, you piece of dirt, and you wouldn't answer!"
+
+And, lifting the chair, which he was holding in his strong sailor's grip,
+he swung it down before him with an exasperated fury.  A cry burst from
+the bed, an agonizing, piercing cry.  Then he began to thrash around like
+a thresher in a barn.  And soon nothing more moved.  The chair was broken
+to pieces, but he still held one leg and beat away with it, panting.
+
+At last he stopped to ask:
+
+"Well, are you ready to tell me who it was?"
+
+Melina did not answer.
+
+Then tired out, stupefied from his exertion, he stretched himself out on
+the ground and slept.
+
+When day came a neighbor, seeing the door open, entered.  He saw Jeremie
+snoring on the floor, amid the broken pieces of a chair, and on the bed a
+pulp of flesh and blood.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE WARDROBE
+
+As we sat chatting after dinner, a party of men, the conversation turned
+on women, for lack of something else.
+
+One of us said:
+
+"Here's a funny thing that happened to me on, that very subject."  And he
+told us the following story:
+
+One evening last winter I suddenly felt overcome by that overpowering
+sense of misery and languor that takes possession of one from time to
+time.  I was in my own apartment, all alone, and I was convinced that if
+I gave in to my feelings I should have a terrible attack of melancholia,
+one of those attacks that lead to suicide when they recur too often.
+
+I put on my overcoat and went out without the slightest idea of what I
+was going to do.  Having gone as far as the boulevards, I began to wander
+along by the almost empty cafes.  It was raining, a fine rain that
+affects your mind as it does your clothing, not one of those good
+downpours which come down in torrents, driving breathless passers-by into
+doorways, but a rain without drops that deposits on your clothing an
+imperceptible spray and soon covers you with a sort of iced foam that
+chills you through.
+
+What should I do?  I walked in one direction and then came back, looking
+for some place where I could spend two hours, and discovering for the
+first time that there is no place of amusement in Paris in the evening.
+At last I decided to go to the Folies-Bergere, that entertaining resort
+for gay women.
+
+There were very few people in the main hall.  In the long horseshoe curve
+there were only a few ordinary looking people, whose plebeian origin was
+apparent in their manners, their clothes, the cut of their hair and
+beard, their hats, their complexion.  It was rarely that one saw from
+time to time a man whom you suspected of having washed himself
+thoroughly, and his whole make-up seemed to match.  As for the women,
+they were always the same, those frightful women you all know, ugly,
+tired looking, drooping, and walking along in their lackadaisical manner,
+with that air of foolish superciliousness which they assume, I do not
+know why.
+
+I thought to myself that, in truth, not one of those languid creatures,
+greasy rather than fat, puffed out here and thin there, with the contour
+of a monk and the lower extremities of a bow-legged snipe, was worth the
+louis that they would get with great difficulty after asking five.
+
+But all at once I saw a little creature whom I thought attractive, not in
+her first youth, but fresh, comical and tantalizing.  I stopped her, and
+stupidly, without thinking, I made an appointment with her for that
+night.  I did not want to go back to my own home alone, all alone;
+I preferred the company and the caresses of this hussy.
+
+And I followed her.  She lived in a great big house in the Rue des
+Martyrs.  The gas was already extinguished on the stairway.  I ascended
+the steps slowly, lighting a candle match every few seconds, stubbing my
+foot against the steps, stumbling and angry as I followed the rustle of
+the skirt ahead of me.
+
+She stopped on the fourth floor, and having closed the outer door she
+said:
+
+"Then you will stay till to-morrow?"
+
+"Why, yes.  You know that that was the agreement."
+
+"All right, my dear, I just wanted to know.  Wait for me here a minute, I
+will be right back."
+
+And she left me in the darkness.  I heard her shutting two doors and then
+I thought I heard her talking.  I was surprised and uneasy.  The thought
+that she had a protector staggered me.  But I have good fists and a solid
+back.  "We shall see," I said to myself.
+
+I listened attentively with ear and mind.  Some one was stirring about,
+walking quietly and very carefully.  Then another door was opened and I
+thought I again heard some one talking, but in a very low tone.
+
+She came back carrying a lighted candle.
+
+"You may come in," she said.
+
+She said "thou" in speaking to me, which was an indication of possession.
+I went in and after passing through a dining room in which it was very
+evident that no one ever ate, I entered a typical room of all these
+women, a furnished room with red curtains and a soiled eiderdown bed
+covering.
+
+"Make yourself at home, 'mon chat'," she said.
+
+I gave a suspicious glance at the room, but there seemed no reason for
+uneasiness.
+
+As she took off her wraps she began to laugh.
+
+"Well, what ails you?  Are you changed into a pillar of salt?  Come,
+hurry up."
+
+I did as she suggested.
+
+Five minutes later I longed to put on my things and get away.  But this
+terrible languor that had overcome me at home took possession of me
+again, and deprived me of energy enough to move and I stayed in spite of
+the disgust that I felt for this association.  The unusual attractiveness
+that I supposed I had discovered in this creature over there under the
+chandeliers of the theater had altogether vanished on closer
+acquaintance, and she was nothing more to me now than a common woman,
+like all the others, whose indifferent and complaisant kiss smacked of
+garlic.
+
+I thought I would say something.
+
+"Have you lived here long?" I asked.
+
+"Over six months on the fifteenth of January."
+
+"Where were you before that?"
+
+"In the Rue Clauzel.  But the janitor made me very uncomfortable and I
+left."
+
+And she began to tell me an interminable story of a janitor who had
+talked scandal about her.
+
+But, suddenly, I heard something moving quite close to us.  First there
+was a sigh, then a slight, but distinct, sound as if some one had turned
+round on a chair.
+
+I sat up abruptly and asked.
+
+"What was that noise?"
+
+She answered quietly and confidently:
+
+"Do not be uneasy, my dear boy, it is my neighbor.  The partition is so
+thin that one can hear everything as if it were in the room.  These are
+wretched rooms, just like pasteboard."
+
+I felt so lazy that I paid no further attention to it.  We resumed our
+conversation.  Driven by the stupid curiosity that prompts all men to
+question these creatures about their first experiences, to attempt to
+lift the veil of their first folly, as though to find in them a trace of
+pristine innocence, to love them, possibly, in a fleeting memory of their
+candor and modesty of former days, evoked by a word, I insistently asked
+her about her earlier lovers.
+
+I knew she was telling me lies.  What did it matter?  Among all these
+lies I might, perhaps, discover something sincere and pathetic.
+
+"Come," said I, "tell me who he was."
+
+"He was a boating man, my dear."
+
+"Ah!  Tell me about it.  Where were you?"
+
+"I was at Argenteuil."
+
+"What were you doing?"
+
+"I was waitress in a restaurant."
+
+"What restaurant?"
+
+"'The Freshwater Sailor.' Do you know it?"
+
+"I should say so, kept by Bonanfan."
+
+"Yes, that's it."
+
+"And how did he make love to you, this boating man?"
+
+"While I was doing his room.  He took advantage of me."
+
+But I suddenly recalled the theory of a friend of mine, an observant and
+philosophical physician whom constant attendance in hospitals has brought
+into daily contact with girl-mothers and prostitutes, with all the shame
+and all the misery of women, of those poor women who have become the
+frightful prey of the wandering male with money in his pocket.
+
+"A woman," he said, "is always debauched by a man of her own class and
+position.  I have volumes of statistics on that subject.  We accuse the
+rich of plucking the flower of innocence among the girls of the people.
+This is not correct.  The rich pay for what they want.  They may gather
+some, but never for the first time."
+
+Then, turning to my companion, I began to laugh.
+
+"You know that I am aware of your history.  The boating man was not the
+first."
+
+"Oh, yes, my dear, I swear it:"
+
+"You are lying, my dear."
+
+"Oh, no, I assure you."
+
+"You are lying; come, tell me all."
+
+She seemed to hesitate in astonishment.  I continued:
+
+"I am a sorcerer, my dear girl, I am a clairvoyant.  If you do not tell
+me the truth, I will go into a trance sleep and then I can find out."
+
+She was afraid, being as stupid as all her kind.  She faltered:
+
+"How did you guess?"
+
+"Come, go on telling me," I said.
+
+"Oh, the first time didn't amount to anything.
+
+There was a festival in the country.  They had sent for a special chef,
+M. Alexandre.  As soon as he came he did just as he pleased in the house.
+He bossed every one, even the proprietor and his wife, as if he had been
+a king.  He was a big handsome man, who did not seem fitted to stand
+beside a kitchen range.  He was always calling out, 'Come, some butter-
+some eggs--some Madeira!'  And it had to be brought to him at once in a
+hurry, or he would get cross and say things that would make us blush all
+over.
+
+"When the day was over he would smoke a pipe outside the door.  And as I
+was passing by him with a pile of plates he said to me, like that: 'Come,
+girlie, come down to the water with me and show me the country.'  I went
+with him like a fool, and we had hardly got down to the bank of the river
+when he took advantage of me so suddenly that I did not even know what he
+was doing.  And then he went away on the nine o'clock train.  I never saw
+him again."
+
+"Is that all?" I asked.
+
+She hesitated.
+
+"Oh, I think Florentin belongs to him."
+
+"Who is Florentin?"
+
+"My little boy."
+
+"Oh!  Well, then, you made the boating man believe that he was the
+father, did you not?"
+
+"You bet!"
+
+"Did he have any money, this boating man?"
+
+"Yes, he left me an income of three hundred francs, settled on
+Florentin."
+
+I was beginning to be amused and resumed:
+
+"All right, my girl, all right.  You are all of you less stupid than one
+would imagine, all the same.  And how old is he now, Florentin?"
+
+She replied:
+
+"He is now twelve.  He will make his first communion in the spring."
+
+"That is splendid.  And since then you have carried on your business
+conscientiously?"
+
+She sighed in a resigned manner.
+
+"I must do what I can."
+
+But a loud noise just then coming from the room itself made me start up
+with a bound.  It sounded like some one falling and picking themselves up
+again by feeling along the wall with their hands.
+
+I had seized the candle and was looking about me, terrified and furious.
+She had risen also and was trying to hold me back to stop me, murmuring:
+
+"That's nothing, my dear, I assure you it's nothing."
+
+But I had discovered what direction the strange noise came from.  I
+walked straight towards a door hidden at the head of the bed and I opened
+it abruptly and saw before me, trembling, his bright, terrified eyes
+opened wide at sight of me, a little pale, thin boy seated beside a large
+wicker chair off which he had fallen.
+
+As soon as he saw me he began to cry.  Stretching out his arms to his
+mother, he cried:
+
+"It was not my fault, mamma, it was not my fault.  I was asleep, and I
+fell off.  Do not scold me, it was not my fault."
+
+I turned to the woman and said:
+
+"What does this mean?"
+
+She seemed confused and worried, and said in a broken voice:
+
+"What do you want me to do?  I do not earn enough to put him to school!
+I have to keep him with me, and I cannot afford to pay for another room,
+by heavens!  He sleeps with me when I am alone.  If any one comes for one
+hour or two he can stay in the wardrobe; he keeps quiet, he understands
+it.  But when people stay all night, as you have done, it tires the poor
+child to sleep on a chair.
+
+It is not his fault.  I should like to see you sleep all night on a
+chair--you would have something to say."
+
+She was getting angry and excited and was talking loud.
+
+The child was still crying.  A poor delicate timid little fellow, a
+veritable child of the wardrobe, of the cold, dark closet, a child who
+from time to time was allowed to get a little warmth in the bed if it
+chanced to be unoccupied.
+
+I also felt inclined to cry.
+
+And I went home to my own bed.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE MOUNTAIN POOL
+
+                                   Saint Agnes, May 6.
+MY DEAR FRIEND:
+You asked me to write to you often and to tell you in particular about
+the things I might see.  You also begged me to rummage among my
+recollections of travels for some of those little anecdotes gathered from
+a chance peasant, from an innkeeper, from some strange traveling
+acquaintance, which remain as landmarks in the memory.  With a landscape
+depicted in a few lines, and a little story told in a few sentences you
+think one can give the true characteristics of a country, make it living,
+visible, dramatic.  I will try to do as you wish.  I will, therefore,
+send you from time to time letters in which I will mention neither you
+nor myself, but only the landscape and the people who move about in it.
+And now I will begin.
+
+Spring is a season in which one ought, it seems to me, to drink and eat
+the landscape.  It is the season of chills, just as autumn is the season
+of reflection.  In spring the country rouses the physical senses, in
+autumn it enters into the soul.
+
+I desired this year to breathe the odor of orange blossoms and I set out
+for the South of France just at the time that every one else was
+returning home.  I visited Monaco, the shrine of pilgrims, rival of Mecca
+and Jerusalem, without leaving any gold in any one else's pockets, and I
+climbed the high mountain beneath a covering of lemon, orange and olive
+branches.
+
+Have you ever slept, my friend, in a grove of orange trees in flower?
+The air that one inhales with delight is a quintessence of perfumes.  The
+strong yet sweet odor, delicious as some dainty, seems to blend with our
+being, to saturate us, to intoxicate us, to enervate us, to plunge us
+into a sleepy, dreamy torpor.  As though it were an opium prepared by the
+hands of fairies and not by those of druggists.
+
+This is a country of ravines.  The surface of the mountains is cleft,
+hollowed out in all directions, and in these sinuous crevices grow
+veritable forests of lemon trees.  Here and there where the steep gorge
+is interrupted by a sort of step, a kind of reservoir has been built
+which holds the water of the rain storms.
+
+They are large holes with slippery walls with nothing for any one to
+grasp hold of should they fall in.
+
+I was walking slowly in one of these ascending valleys or gorges,
+glancing through the foliage at the vivid-hued fruit that remained on the
+branches.  The narrow gorge made the heavy odor of the flowers still more
+penetrating; the air seemed to be dense with it.  A feeling of lassitude
+came over me and I looked for a place to sit down.  A few drops of water
+glistened in the grass.  I thought that there was a spring near by and I
+climbed a little further to look for it.  But I only reached the edge of
+one of these large, deep reservoirs.
+
+I sat down tailor fashion, with my legs crossed under me, and remained
+there in a reverie before this hole, which looked as if it were filled
+with ink, so black and stagnant was the liquid it contained.  Down
+yonder, through the branches, I saw, like patches, bits of the
+Mediterranean gleaming so that they fairly dazzled my eyes.  But my
+glance always returned to the immense somber well that appeared to be
+inhabited by no aquatic animals, so motionless was its surface.
+Suddenly a voice made me tremble.  An old gentleman who was picking
+flowers--this country is the richest in Europe for herbalists--asked me:
+
+"Are you a relation of those poor children, monsieur?"
+
+I looked at him in astonishment.
+
+"What children, monsieur?"
+
+He seemed embarrassed and answered with a bow:
+
+"I beg your pardon.  On seeing you sitting thus absorbed in front of this
+reservoir I thought you were recalling the frightful tragedy that
+occurred here."
+
+Now I wanted to know about it, and I begged him to tell me the story.
+
+It is very dismal and very heart-rending, my dear friend, and very
+trivial at the same time.  It is a simple news item.  I do not know
+whether to attribute my emotion to the dramatic manner in which the story
+was told to me, to the setting of the mountains, to the contrast between
+the joy of the sunlight and the flowers and this black, murderous hole,
+but my heart was wrung, all my nerves unstrung by this tale which,
+perhaps, may not appear so terribly harrowing to you as you read it in
+your room without having the scene of the tragedy before your eyes.
+
+It was one spring in recent years.  Two little boys frequently came to
+play on the edge of this cistern while their tutor lay under a tree
+reading a book.  One warm afternoon a piercing cry awoke the tutor who
+was dozing and the sound of splashing caused by something falling into
+the water made him jump to his feet abruptly.  The younger of the
+children, eight years of age, was shouting, as he stood beside the
+reservoir, the surface of which was stirred and eddying at the spot where
+the older boy had fallen in as he ran along the stone coping.
+
+Distracted, without waiting or stopping to think what was best to do, the
+tutor jumped into the black water and did not rise again, having struck
+his head at the bottom of the cistern.
+
+At the same moment the young boy who had risen to the surface was waving
+his stretched-out arms toward his brother.  The little fellow on land lay
+down full length, while the other tried to swim, to approach the wall,
+and presently the four little hands clasped each other, tightened in each
+other's grasp, contracted as though they were fastened together.  They
+both felt the intense joy of an escape from death, a shudder at the
+danger past.
+
+The older boy tried to climb up to the edge, but could not manage it, as
+the wall was perpendicular, and his brother, who was too weak, was
+sliding slowly towards the hole.
+
+Then they remained motionless, filled anew with terror.  And they waited.
+
+The little fellow squeezed his brother's hands with all his might and
+wept from nervousness as he repeated: "I cannot drag you out, I cannot
+drag you out."  And all at once he began to shout, "Help!  Help!" But his
+light voice scarcely penetrated beyond the dome of foliage above their
+heads.
+
+They remained thus a long time, hours and hours, facing each other, these
+two children, with one thought, one anguish of heart and the horrible
+dread that one of them, exhausted, might let go the hands of the other.
+And they kept on calling, but all in vain.
+
+At length the older boy, who was shivering with cold, said to the little
+one: "I cannot hold out any longer.  I am going to fall.  Good-by, little
+brother."  And the other, gasping, replied: "Not yet, not yet, wait."
+
+Evening came on, the still evening with its stars mirrored in the water.
+The older lad, his endurance giving out, said: "Let go my hand, I am
+going to give you my watch."  He had received it as a present a few days
+before, and ever since it had been his chief amusement.  He was able to
+get hold of it, and held it out to the little fellow who was sobbing and
+who laid it down on the grass beside him.
+
+It was night now.  The two unhappy beings, exhausted, had almost loosened
+their grasp.  The elder, at last, feeling that he was lost, murmured once
+more: "Good-by, little brother, kiss mamma and papa."  And his numbed
+fingers relaxed their hold.  He sank and did not rise again .  .  .  .
+The little fellow, left alone, began to shout wildly: "Paul! Paul!"  But
+the other did not come to the surface.
+
+Then he darted across the mountain, falling among the stones, overcome by
+the most frightful anguish that can wring a child's heart, and with a
+face like death reached the sitting-room, where his parents were waiting.
+He became bewildered again as he led them to the gloomy reservoir.  He
+could not find his way.  At last he reached the spot.  "It is there; yes,
+it is there!"
+
+But the cistern had to be emptied, and the proprietor would not permit it
+as he needed the water for his lemon trees.
+
+The two bodies were found, however, but not until the next day.
+
+You see, my dear friend, that this is a simple news item.  But if you had
+seen the hole itself your heart would have been wrung, as mine was, at
+the thought of the agony of that child hanging to his brother's hands, of
+the long suspense of those little chaps who were accustomed only to laugh
+and to play, and at the simple incident of the giving of the watch.
+
+I said to myself: "May Fate preserve me from ever receiving a similar
+relic!"  I know of nothing more terrible than such a recollection
+connected with a familiar object that one cannot dispose of.  Only think
+of it; each time that he handles this sacred watch the survivor will
+picture once more the horrible scene; the pool, the wall, the still
+water, and the distracted face of his brother-alive, and yet as lost as
+though he were already dead.  And all through his life, at any moment,
+the vision will be there, awakened the instant even the tip of his finger
+touches his watch pocket.
+
+And I was sad until evening.  I left the spot and kept on climbing,
+leaving the region of orange trees for the region of olive trees, and the
+region of olive trees for the region of pines; then I came to a valley of
+stones, and finally reached the ruins of an ancient castle, built, they
+say, in the tenth century by a Saracen chief, a good man, who was
+baptized a Christian through love for a young girl.  Everywhere around me
+were mountains, and before me the sea, the sea with an almost
+imperceptible patch on it: Corsica, or, rather, the shadow of Corsica.
+But on the mountain summits, blood-red in the glow of the sunset, in the
+boundless sky and on the sea, in all this superb landscape that I had
+come here to admire I saw only two poor children, one lying prone on the
+edge of a hole filled with black water, the other submerged to his neck,
+their hands intertwined, weeping opposite each other, in despair.
+And it seemed as though I continually heard a weak, exhausted voice
+saying: "Good-by, little brother, I am going to give you my watch."
+
+This letter may seem rather melancholy, dear friend.  I will try to be
+more cheerful some other day.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+A CREMATION
+
+Last Monday an Indian prince died at Etretat, Bapu Sahib Khanderao
+Ghatay, a relation of His Highness, the Maharajah Gaikwar, prince of
+Baroda, in the province of Guzerat, Presidency of Bombay.
+
+For about three weeks there had been seen walking in the streets about
+ten young East Indians, small, lithe, with dark skins, dressed all in
+gray and wearing on their heads caps such as English grooms wear.  They
+were men of high rank who had come to Europe to study the military
+institutions of the principal Western nations.  The little band consisted
+of three princes, a nobleman, an interpreter and three servants.
+
+The head of the commission had just died, an old man of forty-two and
+father-in-law of Sampatro Kashivao Gaikwar, brother of His Highness, the
+Gaikwar of Baroda.
+
+The son-in-law accompanied his father-in-law.
+
+The other East Indians were called Ganpatrao Shravanrao Gaikwar, cousin
+of His Highness Khasherao Gadhav; Vasudev Madhav Samarth, interpreter and
+secretary; the slaves: Ramchandra Bajaji, Ganu bin Pukiram Kokate,
+Rhambhaji bin Fabji.
+
+On leaving his native land the one who died recently was overcome with
+terrible grief, and feeling convinced that he would never return he
+wished to give up the journey, but he had to obey the wishes of his noble
+relative, the Prince of Baroda, and he set out.
+
+They came to spend the latter part of the summer at Etretat, and people
+would go out of curiosity every morning to see them taking their bath at
+the Etablissment des Roches-Blanches.
+
+Five or six days ago Bapu Sahib Khanderao Ghatay was taken with pains in
+his gums; then the inflammation spread to the throat and became
+ulceration.  Gangrene set in and, on Monday, the doctors told his young
+friends that their relative was dying.  The final struggle was already
+beginning, and the breath had almost left the unfortunate man's body when
+his friends seized him, snatched him from his bed and laid him on the
+stone floor of the room, so that, stretched out on the earth, our mother,
+he should yield up his soul, according to the command of Brahma.
+
+They then sent to ask the mayor, M. Boissaye, for a permit to burn the
+body that very day so as to fulfill the prescribed ceremonial of the
+Hindoo religion.  The mayor hesitated, telegraphed to the prefecture to
+demand instructions, at the same time sending word that a failure to
+reply would be considered by him tantamount to a consent.  As he had
+received no reply at 9 o'clock that evening, he decided, in view of the
+infectious character of the disease of which the East Indian had died,
+that the cremation of the body should take place that very night, beneath
+the cliff, on the beach, at ebb tide.
+
+The mayor is being criticized now for this decision, though he acted as
+an intelligent, liberal and determined man, and was upheld and advised by
+the three physicians who had watched the case and reported the death.
+
+They were dancing at the Casino that evening.  It was an early autumn
+evening, rather chilly.  A pretty strong wind was blowing from the ocean,
+although as yet there was no sea on, and swift, light, ragged clouds were
+driving across the sky.  They came from the edge of the horizon, looking
+dark against the background of the sky, but as they approached the moon
+they grew whiter and passed hurriedly across her face, veiling it for a
+few seconds without completely hiding it.
+
+The tall,, straight cliffs that inclose the rounded beach of Etretat and
+terminate in two celebrated arches, called "the Gates," lay in shadow,
+and made two great black patches in the softly lighted landscape.
+
+It had rained all day.
+
+The Casino orchestra was playing waltzes, polkas and quadrilles.  A rumor
+was presently circulated among the groups of dancers.  It was said that
+an East Indian prince had just died at the Hotel des Bains and that the
+ministry had been approached for permission to burn the body.  No one
+believed it, or at least no one supposed that such a thing could occur so
+foreign was the custom as yet to our customs, and as the night was far
+advanced every one went home.
+
+At midnight, the lamplighter, running from street to street,
+extinguished, one after another, the yellow jets of flame that lighted up
+the sleeping houses, the mud and the puddles of water.  We waited,
+watching for the hour when the little town should be quiet and deserted.
+
+Ever since noon a carpenter had been cutting up wood and asking himself
+with amazement what was going to be done with all these planks sawn up
+into little bits, and why one should destroy so much good merchandise.
+This wood was piled up in a cart which went along through side streets as
+far as the beach, without arousing the suspicion of belated persons who
+might meet it.  It went along on the shingle at the foot of the cliff,
+and having dumped its contents on the beach the three Indian servants
+began to build a funeral pile, a little longer than it was wide.  They
+worked alone, for no profane hand must aid in this solemn duty.
+
+It was one o'clock in the morning when the relations of the deceased were
+informed that they might accomplish their part of the work.
+
+The door of the little house they occupied was open, and we perceived,
+lying on a stretcher in the small, dimly lighted vestibule the corpse
+covered with white silk.  We could see him plainly as he lay stretched
+out on his back, his outline clearly defined beneath this white veil.
+
+The East Indians, standing at his feet, remained motionless, while one of
+them performed the prescribed rites, murmuring unfamiliar words in a low,
+monotonous tone.  He walked round and round the corpse; touching it
+occasionally, then, taking an urn suspended from three slender chains, he
+sprinkled it for some time with the sacred water of the Ganges, that East
+Indians must always carry with them wherever they go.
+
+Then the stretcher was lifted by four of them who started off at a slow
+march.  The moon had gone down, leaving the muddy, deserted streets in
+darkness, but the body on the stretcher appeared to be luminous, so
+dazzlingly white was the silk, and it was a weird sight to see, passing
+along through the night, the semi-luminous form of this corpse, borne by
+those men, the dusky skin of whose faces and hands could scarcely be
+distinguished from their clothing in the darkness.
+
+Behind the corpse came three Indians, and then, a full head taller than
+themselves and wrapped in an ample traveling coat of a soft gray color,
+appeared the outline of an Englishman, a kind and superior man, a friend
+of theirs, who was their guide and counselor in their European travels.
+
+Beneath the cold, misty sky of this little northern beach I felt as if I
+were taking part in a sort of symbolical drama.  It seemed to me that
+they were carrying there, before me, the conquered genius of India,
+followed, as in a funeral procession, by the victorious genius of England
+robed in a gray ulster.
+
+On the shingly beach the four bearers halted a few moments to take
+breath, and then proceeded on their way.  They now walked quickly,
+bending beneath the weight of their burden.  At length they reached the
+funeral pile.  It was erected in an indentation, at the very foot of the
+cliff, which rose above it perpendicularly a hundred meters high,
+perfectly white but looking gray in the night.
+
+The funeral pile was about three and a half feet high.  The corpse was
+placed on it and then one of the Indians asked to have the pole star
+pointed out to him.  This was done, and the dead Rajah was laid with his
+feet turned towards his native country.  Then twelve bottles of kerosene
+were poured over him and he was covered completely with thin slabs of
+pine wood.  For almost another hour the relations and servants kept
+piling up the funeral pyre which looked like one of those piles of wood
+that carpenters keep in their yards.  Then on top of this was poured the
+contents of twenty bottles of oil, and on top of all they emptied a bag
+of fine shavings.  A few steps further on, a flame was glimmering in a
+little bronze brazier, which had remained lighted since the arrival of
+the corpse.
+
+The moment had arrived.  The relations went to fetch the fire.  As it was
+barely alight, some oil was poured on it, and suddenly a flame arose
+lighting up the great wall of rock from summit to base.  An Indian who
+was leaning over the brazier rose upright, his two hands in the air, his
+elbows bent, and all at once we saw arising, all black on the immense
+white cliff, a colossal shadow, the shadow of Buddha in his hieratic
+posture.  And the little pointed toque that the man wore on his head even
+looked like the head-dress of the god.
+
+The effect was so striking and unexpected that I felt my heart beat as
+though some supernatural apparition had risen up before me.
+
+That was just what it was--the ancient and sacred image, come from the
+heart of the East to the ends of Europe, and watching over its son whom
+they were going to cremate there.
+
+It vanished.  They brought fire.  The shavings on top of the pyre were
+lighted and then the wood caught fire and a brilliant light illumined the
+cliff, the shingle and the foam of the waves as they broke on the beach.
+
+It grew brighter from second to second, lighting up on the sea in the
+distance the dancing crest of the waves.
+
+The breeze from the ocean blew in gusts, increasing the heat of the flame
+which flattened down, twisted, then shot up again, throwing out millions
+of sparks.  They mounted with wild rapidity along the cliff and were lost
+in the sky, mingling with the stars, increasing their number.  Some sea
+birds who had awakened uttered their plaintive cry, and, describing long
+curves, flew, with their white wings extended, through the gleam from the
+funeral pyre and then disappeared in the night.
+
+Before long the pile of wood was nothing but a mass of flame, not red but
+yellow, a blinding yellow, a furnace lashed by the wind.  And, suddenly,
+beneath a stronger gust, it tottered, partially crumbling as it leaned
+towards the sea, and the corpse came to view, full length, blackened on
+his couch of flame and burning with long blue flames:
+
+The pile of wood having crumbled further on the right the corpse turned
+over as a man does in bed.  They immediately covered him with fresh wood
+and the fire started up again more furiously than ever.
+
+The East Indians, seated in a semi-circle on the shingle, looked out with
+sad, serious faces.  And the rest of us, as it was very cold, had drawn
+nearer to the fire until the smoke and sparks came in our faces.  There
+was no odor save that of burning pine and petroleum.
+
+Hours passed; day began to break.  Toward five o'clock in the morning
+nothing remained but a heap of ashes.  The relations gathered them up,
+cast some of them to the winds, some in the sea, and kept some in a brass
+vase that they had brought from India.  They then retired to their home
+to give utterance to lamentations.
+
+These young princes and their servants, by the employment of the most
+inadequate appliances succeeded in carrying out the cremation of their
+relation in the most perfect manner, with singular skill and remarkable
+dignity.  Everything was done according to ritual, according to the rigid
+ordinances of their religion.  Their dead one rests in peace.
+
+The following morning at daybreak there was an indescribable commotion in
+Etretat.  Some insisted that they had burned a man alive, others that
+they were trying to hide a crime, some that the mayor would be put in
+jail, others that the Indian prince had succumbed to an attack of
+cholera.
+
+The men were amazed, the women indignant.  A crowd of people spent the
+day on the site of the funeral pile, looking for fragments of bone in the
+shingle that was still warm.  They found enough bones to reconstruct ten
+skeletons, for the farmers on shore frequently throw their dead sheep
+into the sea.  The finders carefully placed these various fragments in
+their pocketbooks.  But not one of them possesses a true particle of the
+Indian prince.
+
+That very night a deputy sent by the government came to hold an inquest.
+He, however, formed an estimate of this singular case like a man of
+intelligence and good sense.  But what should he say in his report?
+
+The East Indians declared that if they had been prevented in France from
+cremating their dead they would have taken him to a freer country where
+they could have carried out their customs.
+
+Thus, I have seen a man cremated on a funeral pile, and it has given me a
+wish to disappear in the same manner.
+
+In this way everything ends at once.  Man expedites the slow work of
+nature, instead of delaying it by the hideous coffin in which one
+decomposes for months.  The flesh is dead, the spirit has fled.  Fire
+which purifies disperses in a few hours all that was a human being; it
+casts it to the winds, converting it into air and ashes, and not into
+ignominious corruption.
+
+This is clean and hygienic.  Putrefaction beneath the ground in a closed
+box where the body becomes like pap, a blackened, stinking pap, has about
+it something repugnant and disgusting.  The sight of the coffin as it
+descends into this muddy hole wrings one's heart with anguish.  But the
+funeral pyre which flames up beneath the sky has about it something
+grand, beautiful and solemn.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+MISTI
+
+I was very much interested at that time in a droll little woman.  She was
+married, of course, as I have a horror of unmarried flirts.  What
+enjoyment is there in making love to a woman who belongs to nobody and
+yet belongs to any one?  And, besides, morality aside, I do not
+understand love as a trade.  That disgusts me somewhat.
+
+The especial attraction in a married woman to a bachelor is that she
+gives him a home, a sweet, pleasant home where every one takes care of
+you and spoils you, from the husband to the servants.  One finds
+everything combined there, love, friendship, even fatherly interest, bed
+and board, all, in fact, that constitutes the happiness of life, with
+this incalculable advantage, that one can change one's family from time
+to time, take up one's abode in all kinds of society in turn: in summer,
+in the country with the workman who rents you a room in his house; in
+winter with the townsfolk, or even with the nobility, if one is
+ambitious.
+
+I have another weakness; it is that I become attached to the husband as
+well as the wife.  I acknowledge even that some husbands, ordinary or
+coarse as they may be, give me a feeling of disgust for their wives,
+however charming they may be.  But when the husband is intellectual or
+charming I invariably become very much attached to him.  I am careful if
+I quarrel with the wife not to quarrel with the husband.  In this way I
+have made some of my best friends, and have also proved in many cases the
+incontestable superiority of the male over the female in the human
+species.  The latter makes all sorts of trouble-scenes, reproaches, etc.;
+while the former, who has just as good a right to complain, treats you,
+on the contrary, as though you were the special Providence of his hearth.
+
+Well, my friend was a quaint little woman, a brunette, fanciful,
+capricious, pious, superstitious, credulous as a monk, but charming.
+She had a way of kissing one that I never saw in any one else--but that
+was not the attraction--and such a soft skin!  It gave me intense delight
+merely to hold her hands.  And an eye--her glance was like a slow caress,
+delicious and unending.  Sometimes I would lean my head on her knee and
+we would remain motionless, she leaning over me with that subtle,
+enigmatic, disturbing smile that women have, while my eyes would be
+raised to hers, drinking sweetly and deliciously into my heart, like a
+form of intoxication, the glance of her limpid blue eyes, limpid as
+though they were full of thoughts of love, and blue as though they were a
+heaven of delights.
+
+Her husband, inspector of some large public works, was frequently away
+from home and left us our evenings free.  Sometimes I spent them with her
+lounging on the divan with my forehead on one of her knees; while on the
+other lay an enormous black cat called "Misti," whom she adored.  Our
+fingers would meet on the cat's back and would intertwine in her soft
+silky fur.  I felt its warm body against my cheek, trembling with its
+eternal purring, and occasionally a paw would reach out and place on my
+mouth, or my eyelid, five unsheathed claws which would prick my eyelids,
+and then be immediately withdrawn.
+
+Sometimes we would go out on what we called our escapades.  They were
+very innocent, however.  They consisted in taking supper at some inn in
+the suburbs, or else, after dining at her house or at mine, in making the
+round of the cheap cafes, like students out for a lark.
+
+We would go into the common drinking places and take our seats at the end
+of the smoky den on two rickety chairs, at an old wooden table.  A cloud
+of pungent smoke, with which blended an odor of fried fish from dinner,
+filled the room.  Men in smocks were talking in loud tones as they drank
+their petits verres, and the astonished waiter placed before us two
+cherry brandies.
+
+She, trembling, charmingly afraid, would raise her double black veil as
+far as her nose, and then take up her glass with the enjoyment that one
+feels at doing something delightfully naughty.  Each cherry she swallowed
+made her feel as if she had done something wrong, each swallow of the
+burning liquor had on her the affect of a delicate and forbidden
+enjoyment.
+
+Then she would say to me in a low tone: "Let us go."  And we would leave,
+she walking quickly with lowered head between the drinkers who watched
+her going by with a look of displeasure.  And as soon as we got into the
+street she would give a great sigh of relief, as if we had escaped some
+terrible danger.
+
+Sometimes she would ask me with a shudder:
+
+"Suppose they, should say something rude to me in those places, what
+would you do?"  "Why, I would defend you, parbleu!"  I would reply in a
+resolute manner.  And she would squeeze my arm for happiness, perhaps
+with a vague wish that she might be insulted and protected, that she
+might see men fight on her account, even those men, with me!
+
+One evening as we sat at a table in a tavern at Montmartre, we saw an old
+woman in tattered garments come in, holding in her hand a pack of dirty
+cards.  Perceiving a lady, the old woman at once approached us and
+offered to tell my friend's fortune.  Emma, who in her heart believed in
+everything, was trembling with longing and anxiety, and she made a place
+beside her for the old woman.
+
+The latter, old, wrinkled, her eyes with red inflamed rings round them,
+and her mouth without a single tooth in it, began to deal her dirty cards
+on the table.  She dealt them in piles, then gathered them up, and then
+dealt them out again, murmuring indistinguishable words.  Emma, turning
+pale, listened with bated breath, gasping with anxiety and curiosity.
+
+The fortune-teller broke silence.  She predicted vague happenings:
+happiness and children, a fair young man, a voyage, money, a lawsuit, a
+dark man, the return of some one, success, a death.  The mention of this
+death attracted the younger woman's attention.  "Whose death?  When?  In
+what manner?"
+
+The old woman replied: "Oh, as to that, these cards are not certain
+enough.  You must come to my place to-morrow; I will tell you about it
+with coffee grounds which never make a mistake."
+
+Emma turned anxiously to me:
+
+"Say, let us go there to-morrow.  Oh, please say yes.  If not, you cannot
+imagine how worried I shall be."
+
+I began to laugh.
+
+"We will go if you wish it, dearie."
+
+The old woman gave us her address.  She lived on the sixth floor, in a
+wretched house behind the Buttes-Chaumont.  We went there the following
+day.
+
+Her room, an attic containing two chairs and a bed, was filled with
+strange objects, bunches of herbs hanging from nails, skins of animals,
+flasks and phials containing liquids of various colors.  On the table a
+stuffed black cat looked out of eyes of glass.  He seemed like the demon
+of this sinister dwelling.
+
+Emma, almost fainting with emotion, sat down on a chair and exclaimed:
+
+"Oh, dear, look at that cat; how like it is to Misti."
+
+And she explained to the old woman that she had a cat "exactly like that,
+exactly like that!"
+
+The old woman replied gravely:
+
+"If you are in love with a man, you must not keep it."
+
+Emma, suddenly filled with fear, asked:
+
+"Why not?"
+
+The old woman sat down familiarly beside her and took her hand.
+
+"It was the undoing of my life," she said.
+
+My friend wanted to hear about it.  She leaned against the old woman,
+questioned her, begged her to tell.  At length the woman agreed to do so.
+
+"I loved that cat," she said, "as one would love a brother.  I was young
+then and all alone, a seamstress.  I had only him, Mouton.  One of the
+tenants had given it to me.  He was as intelligent as a child, and gentle
+as well, and he worshiped me, my dear lady, he worshiped me more than one
+does a fetish.  All day long he would sit on my lap purring, and all
+night long on my pillow; I could feel his heart beating, in fact.
+
+"Well, I happened to make an acquaintance, a fine young man who was
+working in a white-goods house.  That went on for about three months on a
+footing of mere friendship.  But you know one is liable to weaken, it may
+happen to any one, and, besides, I had really begun to love him.  He was
+so nice, so nice, and so good.  He wanted us to live together, for
+economy's sake.  I finally allowed him to come and see me one evening.  I
+had not made up my mind to anything definite; oh, no!  But I was pleased
+at the idea that we should spend an hour together.
+
+"At first he behaved very well, said nice things to me that made my heart
+go pit-a-pat.  And then he kissed me, madame, kissed me as one does when
+they love.  I remained motionless, my eyes closed, in a paroxysm of
+happiness.  But, suddenly, I felt him start violently and he gave a
+scream, a scream that I shall never forget.  I opened my eyes and saw
+that Mouton had sprung at his face and was tearing the skin with his
+claws as if it had been a linen rag.  And the blood was streaming down
+like rain, madame.
+
+"I tried to take the cat away, but he held on tight, scratching all the
+time; and he bit me, he was so crazy.  I finally got him and threw him
+out of the window, which was open, for it was summer.
+
+"When I began to bathe my poor friend's face, I noticed that his eyes
+were destroyed, both his eyes!
+
+"He had to go to the hospital.  He died of grief at the end of a year.
+I wanted to keep him with me and provide for him, but he would not agree
+to it.  One would have supposed that he hated me after the occurrence.
+
+"As for Mouton, his back was broken by the fall, The janitor picked up
+his body.  I had him stuffed, for in spite of all I was fond of him.
+If he acted as he did it was because he loved me, was it not?"
+
+The old woman was silent and began to stroke the lifeless animal whose
+body trembled on its iron framework.
+
+Emma, with sorrowful heart, had forgotten about the predicted death--or,
+at least, she did not allude to it again, and she left, giving the woman
+five francs.
+
+As her husband was to return the following day, I did not go to the house
+for several days.  When I did go I was surprised at not seeing Misti.
+I asked where he was.
+
+She blushed and replied:
+
+"I gave him away.  I was uneasy."
+
+I was astonished.
+
+"Uneasy?  Uneasy?  What about?"
+
+She gave me a long kiss and said in a low tone:
+
+"I was uneasy about your eyes, my dear."
+
+     Misti appeared in.  Gil Blas of January 22, 1884, over the signature
+     of "MAUFRIGNEUSE."
+
+
+
+
+
+
+MADAME HERMET
+
+Crazy people attract me.  They live in a mysterious land of weird dreams,
+in that impenetrable cloud of dementia where all that they have witnessed
+in their previous life, all they have loved, is reproduced for them in an
+imaginary existence, outside of all laws that govern the things of this
+life and control human thought.
+
+For them there is no such thing as the impossible, nothing is improbable;
+fairyland is a constant quantity and the supernatural quite familiar.
+The old rampart, logic; the old wall, reason; the old main stay of
+thought, good sense, break down, fall and crumble before their
+imagination, set free and escaped into the limitless realm of fancy, and
+advancing with fabulous bounds, and nothing can check it.  For them
+everything happens, and anything may happen.  They make no effort to
+conquer events, to overcome resistance, to overturn obstacles.  By a
+sudden caprice of their flighty imagination they become princes,
+emperors, or gods, are possessed of all the wealth of the world, all the
+delightful things of life, enjoy all pleasures, are always strong, always
+beautiful, always young, always beloved!  They, alone, can be happy in
+this world; for, as far as they are concerned, reality does not exist.
+I love to look into their wandering intelligence as one leans over an
+abyss at the bottom of which seethes a foaming torrent whose source and
+destination are both unknown.
+
+But it is in vain that we lean over these abysses, for we shall never
+discover the source nor the destination of this water.  After all, it is
+only water, just like what is flowing in the sunlight, and we shall learn
+nothing by looking at it.
+
+It is likewise of no use to ponder over the intelligence of crazy people,
+for their most weird notions are, in fact, only ideas that are already
+known, which appear strange simply because they are no longer under the
+restraint of reason.  Their whimsical source surprises us because we do
+not see it bubbling up.  Doubtless the dropping of a little stone into
+the current was sufficient to cause these ebullitions.  Nevertheless
+crazy people attract me and I always return to them, drawn in spite of
+myself by this trivial mystery of dementia.
+
+One day as I was visiting one of the asylums the physician who was my
+guide said:
+
+"Come, I will show you an interesting case."
+
+And he opened the door of a cell where a woman of about forty, still
+handsome, was seated in a large armchair, looking persistently at her
+face in a little hand mirror.
+
+As soon as she saw us she rose to her feet, ran to the other end of the
+room, picked up a veil that lay on a chair, wrapped it carefully round
+her face, then came back, nodding her head in reply to our greeting.
+
+"Well," said the doctor, "how are you this morning?"
+
+She gave a deep sigh.
+
+"Oh, ill, monsieur, very ill.  The marks are increasing every day."
+
+He replied in a tone of conviction:
+
+"Oh, no; oh, no; I assure you that you are mistaken."
+
+She drew near to him and murmured:
+
+"No.  I am certain of it.  I counted ten pittings more this morning,
+three on the right cheek, four on the left cheek, and three on the
+forehead.  It is frightful, frightful!  I shall never dare to let any one
+see me, not even my son; no, not even him!  I am lost, I am disfigured
+forever."
+
+She fell back in her armchair and began to sob.
+
+The doctor took a chair, sat down beside her, and said soothingly in a
+gentle tone:
+
+"Come, let me see; I assure you it is nothing.  With a slight
+cauterization I will make it all disappear."
+
+She shook her head in denial, without speaking.  He tried to touch her
+veil, but she seized it with both hands so violently that her fingers
+went through it.
+
+He continued to reason with her and reassure her.
+
+"Come, you know very well that I remove those horrid pits every time and
+that there is no trace of them after I have treated them.  If you do not
+let me see them I cannot cure you."
+
+"I do not mind your seeing them," she murmured, "but I do not know that
+gentleman who is with you."
+
+"He is a doctor also, who can give you better care than I can."
+
+She then allowed her face to be uncovered, but her dread, her emotion,
+her shame at being seen brought a rosy flush to her face and her neck,
+down to the collar of her dress.  She cast down her eyes, turned her face
+aside, first to the right; then to the left, to avoid our gaze and
+stammered out:
+
+"Oh, it is torture to me to let myself be seen like this!  It is
+horrible, is it not?  Is it not horrible?"
+
+I looked at her in much surprise, for there was nothing on her face, not
+a mark, not a spot, not a sign of one, nor a scar.
+
+She turned towards me, her eyes still lowered, and said:
+
+"It was while taking care of my son that I caught this fearful disease,
+monsieur.  I saved him, but I am disfigured.  I sacrificed my beauty to
+him, to my poor child.  However, I did my duty, my conscience is at rest.
+If I suffer it is known only to God."
+
+The doctor had drawn from his coat pocket a fine water-color paint brush.
+
+"Let me attend to it," he said, "I will put it all right."
+
+She held out her right cheek, and he began by touching it lightly with
+the brush here and there, as though he were putting little points of
+paint on it.  He did the same with the left cheek, then with the chin,
+and the forehead, and then exclaimed:
+
+"See, there is nothing there now, nothing at all!"
+
+She took up the mirror, gazed at her reflection with profound, eager
+attention, with a strong mental effort to discover something, then she
+sighed:
+
+"No.  It hardly shows at all.  I am infinitely obliged to you."
+
+The doctor had risen.  He bowed to her, ushered me out and followed me,
+and, as soon as he had locked the door, said:
+
+"Here is the history of this unhappy woman."
+
+Her name is Mme. Hermet.  She was once very beautiful, a great coquette,
+very much beloved and very much in-love with life.
+
+She was one of those women who have nothing but their beauty and their
+love of admiration to sustain, guide or comfort them in this life.  The
+constant anxiety to retain her freshness, the care of her complexion, of
+her hands, her teeth, of every portion of body that was visible, occupied
+all her time and all her attention.
+
+She became a widow, with one son.  The boy was brought up as are all
+children of society beauties.  She was, however, very fond of him.
+
+He grew up, and she grew older.  Whether she saw the fatal crisis
+approaching, I cannot say.  Did she, like so many others, gaze for hours
+and hours at her skin, once so fine, so transparent and free from
+blemish, now beginning to shrivel slightly, to be crossed with a thousand
+little lines, as yet imperceptible, that will grow deeper day by day,
+month by month?  Did she also see slowly, but surely, increasing traces
+of those long wrinkles on the forehead, those slender serpents that
+nothing can check?  Did she suffer the torture, the abominable torture of
+the mirror, the little mirror with the silver handle which one cannot
+make up one's mind to lay down on the table, but then throws down in
+disgust only to take it up again in order to look more closely, and still
+more closely at the hateful and insidious approaches of old age?  Did she
+shut herself up ten times, twenty times a day, leaving her friends
+chatting in the drawing-room, and go up to her room where, under the
+protection of bolts and bars, she would again contemplate the work of
+time on her ripe beauty, now beginning to wither, and recognize with
+despair the gradual progress of the process which no one else had as yet
+seemed to perceive, but of which she, herself, was well aware.  She knows
+where to seek the most serious, the gravest traces of age.  And the
+mirror, the little round hand-glass in its carved silver frame, tells her
+horrible things; for it speaks, it seems to laugh, it jeers and tells her
+all that is going to occur, all the physical discomforts and the
+atrocious mental anguish she will suffer until the day of her death,
+which will be the day of her deliverance.
+
+Did she weep, distractedly, on her knees, her forehead to the ground, and
+pray, pray, pray to Him who thus slays his creatures and gives them youth
+only that he may render old age more unendurable, and lends them beauty
+only that he may withdraw it almost immediately?  Did she pray to Him,
+imploring Him to do for her what He has never yet done for any one, to
+let her retain until her last day her charm, her freshness and her
+gracefulness?  Then, finding that she was imploring in vain an inflexible
+Unknown who drives on the years, one after another, did she roll on the
+carpet in her room, knocking her head against the furniture and stifling
+in her throat shrieks of despair?
+
+Doubtless she suffered these tortures, for this is what occurred:
+
+One day (she was then thirty-five) her son aged fifteen, fell ill.
+
+He took to his bed without any one being able to determine the cause or
+nature of his illness.
+
+His tutor, a priest, watched beside him and hardly ever left him, while
+Mme. Hermet came morning and evening to inquire how he was.
+
+She would come into the room in the morning in her night wrapper,
+smiling, all powdered and perfumed, and would ask as she entered the
+door:
+
+"Well, George, are you better?"
+
+The big boy, his face red, swollen and showing the ravages of fever,
+would reply:
+
+"Yes, little mother, a little better."
+
+She would stay in the room a few seconds, look at the bottles of
+medicine, and purse her lips as if she were saying "phew," and then would
+suddenly exclaim: "Oh, I forgot something very important," and would run
+out of the room leaving behind her a fragrance of choice toilet perfumes.
+
+In the evening she would appear in a decollete dress, in a still greater
+hurry, for she was always late, and she had just time to inquire:
+
+"Well, what does the doctor say?"
+
+The priest would reply:
+
+"He has not yet given an opinion, madame."
+
+But one evening the abbe replied: "Madame, your son has got the small-
+pox."
+
+She uttered a scream of terror and fled from the room.
+
+When her maid came to her room the following morning she noticed at once
+a strong odor of burnt sugar, and she found her mistress, with wide-open
+eyes, her face pale from lack of sleep, and shivering with terror in her
+bed.
+
+As soon as the shutters were opened Mme. Herrnet asked:
+
+"How is George?"
+
+"Oh, not at all well to-day, madame."
+
+She did not rise until noon, when she ate two eggs with a cup of tea, as
+if she herself had been ill, and then she went out to a druggist's to
+inquire about prophylactic measures against the contagion of small-pox.
+
+She did not come home until dinner time, laden with medicine bottles, and
+shut herself up at once in her room, where she saturated herself with
+disinfectants.
+
+The priest was waiting for her in the dining-room.  As soon as she saw
+him she exclaimed in a voice full of emotion:
+
+"Well?"
+
+"No improvement.  The doctor is very anxious:"
+
+She began to cry and could eat nothing, she was so worried.
+
+The next day, as soon as it was light, she sent to inquire for her son,
+but there was no improvement and she spent the whole day in her room,
+where little braziers were giving out pungent odors.  Her maid said also
+that you could hear her sighing all the evening.
+
+She spent a whole week in this manner, only going out for an hour or two
+during the afternoon to breathe the air.
+
+She now sent to make inquiries every hour, and would sob when the reports
+were unfavorable.
+
+On the morning of the eleventh day the priest, having been announced,
+entered her room, his face grave and pale, and said, without taking the
+chair she offered him:
+
+"Madame, your son is very ill and wishes to see you."
+
+She fell on her knees, exclaiming:
+
+"Oh, my God!  Oh, my God!  I would never dare!  My God!  My God!  Help
+me!"
+
+The priest continued:
+
+"The doctor holds out little hope, madame, and George is expecting you!"
+
+And he left the room.
+
+Two hours later as the young lad, feeling himself dying, again asked for
+his mother, the abbe went to her again and found her still on her knees,
+still weeping and repeating:
+
+"I will not .  .  .  .  I will not.  .  .  .  I am too much afraid .  .
+.  .  I will not.  .  .  ."
+
+He tried to persuade her, to strengthen her, to lead her.  He only
+succeeded in bringing on an attack of "nerves" that lasted some time and
+caused her to shriek.
+
+The doctor when he came in the evening was told of this cowardice and
+declared that he would bring her in himself, of her own volition, or by
+force.  But after trying all manner of argument and just as he seized her
+round the waist to carry her into her son's room, she caught hold of the
+door and clung to it so firmly that they could not drag her away.  Then
+when they let go of her she fell at the feet of the doctor, begging his
+forgiveness and acknowledging that she was a wretched creature.  And then
+she exclaimed: "Oh, he is not going to die; tell me that he is not going
+to die, I beg of you; tell him that I love him, that I worship him. . ."
+
+The young lad was dying.  Feeling that he had only a few moments more to
+live, he entreated that his mother be persuaded to come and bid him a
+last farewell.  With that sort of presentiment that the dying sometimes
+have, he had understood, had guessed all, and he said: "If she is afraid
+to come into the room, beg her just to come on the balcony as far as my
+window so that I may see her, at least, so that I may take a farewell
+look at her, as I cannot kiss her."
+
+The doctor and the abbe, once more, went together to this woman and
+assured her: "You will run no risk, for there will be a pane of glass
+between you and him."
+
+She consented, covered up her head, and took with her a bottle of
+smelling salts.  She took three steps on the balcony; then, all at once,
+hiding her face in her hands, she moaned: "No .  .  .  no .  .  .  I
+would never dare to look at him .  .  .  never.  .  .  .  I am too much
+ashamed .  .  .  too much afraid .  .  .  .  No .  .  .  I cannot."
+
+They endeavored to drag her along, but she held on with both hands to the
+railings and uttered such plaints that the passers-by in the street
+raised their heads.  And the dying boy waited, his eyes turned towards
+that window, waited to die until he could see for the last time the
+sweet, beloved face, the worshiped face of his mother.
+
+He waited long, and night came on.  Then he turned over with his face to
+the wall and was silent.
+
+When day broke he was dead.  The day following she was crazy.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE MAGIC COUCH
+
+The Seine flowed past my house, without a ripple on its surface, and
+gleaming in the bright morning sunlight.  It was a beautiful, broad,
+indolent silver stream, with crimson lights here and there; and on the
+opposite side of the river were rows of tall trees that covered all the
+bank with an immense wall of verdure.
+
+The sensation of life which is renewed each day, of fresh, happy, loving
+life trembled in the leaves, palpitated in the air, was mirrored in the
+water.
+
+The postman had just brought my papers, which were handed to me, and I
+walked slowly to the river bank in order to read them.
+
+In the first paper I opened I noticed this headline, "Statistics of
+Suicides," and I read that more than 8,500 persons had killed themselves
+in that year.
+
+In a moment I seemed to see them!  I saw this voluntary and hideous
+massacre of the despairing who were weary of life.  I saw men bleeding,
+their jaws fractured, their skulls cloven, their breasts pierced by a
+bullet, slowly dying, alone in a little room in a hotel, giving no
+thought to their wound, but thinking only of their misfortunes.
+
+I saw others seated before a tumbler in which some matches were soaking,
+or before a little bottle with a red label.
+
+They would look at it fixedly without moving; then they would drink and
+await the result; then a spasm would convulse their cheeks and draw their
+lips together; their eyes would grow wild with terror, for they did not
+know that the end would be preceded by so much suffering.
+
+They rose to their feet, paused, fell over and with their hands pressed
+to their stomachs they felt their internal organs on fire, their entrails
+devoured by the fiery liquid, before their minds began to grow dim.
+
+I saw others hanging from a nail in the wall, from the fastening of the
+window, from a hook in the ceiling, from a beam in the garret, from a
+branch of a tree amid the evening rain.  And I surmised all that had
+happened before they hung there motionless, their tongues hanging out of
+their mouths.  I imagined the anguish of their heart, their final
+hesitation, their attempts to fasten the rope, to determine that it was
+secure, then to pass the noose round their neck and to let themselves
+fall.
+
+I saw others lying on wretched beds, mothers with their little children,
+old men dying of hunger, young girls dying for love, all rigid,
+suffocated, asphyxiated, while in the center of the room the brasier
+still gave forth the fumes of charcoal.
+
+And I saw others walking at night along the deserted bridges.  These were
+the most sinister. The water flowed under the arches with a low sound.
+They did not see it .  .  .  they guessed at it from its cool breath!
+They longed for it and they feared it.  They dared not do it!  And yet,
+they must.  A distant clock sounded the hour and, suddenly, in the vast
+silence of the night, there was heard the splash of a body falling into
+the river, a scream or two, the sound of hands beating the water, and all
+was still.  Sometimes, even, there was only the sound of the falling body
+when they had tied their arms down or fastened a stone to their feet.
+Oh, the poor things, the poor things, the poor things, how I felt their
+anguish, how I died in their death!  I went through all their
+wretchedness; I endured in one hour all their tortures.  I knew all the
+sorrows that had led them to this, for I know the deceitful infamy of
+life, and no one has felt it more than I have.
+
+How I understood them, these who weak, harassed by misfortune, having
+lost those they loved, awakened from the dream of a tardy compensation,
+from the illusion of another existence where God will finally be just,
+after having been ferocious, and their minds disabused of the mirages of
+happiness, have given up the fight and desire to put an end to this
+ceaseless tragedy, or this shameful comedy.
+
+Suicide!  Why, it is the strength of those whose strength is exhausted,
+the hope of those who no longer believe, the sublime courage of the
+conquered!  Yes, there is at least one door to this life we can always
+open and pass through to the other side.  Nature had an impulse of pity;
+she did not shut us up in prison.  Mercy for the despairing!
+
+As for those who are simply disillusioned, let them march ahead with free
+soul and quiet heart.  They have nothing to fear since they may take
+their leave; for behind them there is always this door that the gods of
+our illusions cannot even lock.
+
+I thought of this crowd of suicides: more than eight thousand five
+hundred in one year.  And it seemed to me that they had combined to send
+to the world a prayer, to utter a cry of appeal, to demand something that
+should come into effect later when we understood things better.  It
+seemed to me that all these victims, their throats cut, poisoned, hung,
+asphyxiated, or drowned, all came together, a frightful horde, like
+citizens to the polls, to say to society:
+
+"Grant us, at least, a gentle death!  Help us to die, you who will not
+help us to live!  See, we are numerous, we have the right to speak in
+these days of freedom, of philosophic independence and of popular
+suffrage.  Give to those who renounce life the charity of a death that
+will not be repugnant nor terrible."
+
+I began to dream, allowing my fancy to roam at will in weird and
+mysterious fashion on this subject.
+
+I seemed to be all at once in a beautiful city.  It was Paris; but at
+what period?  I walked about the streets, looking at the houses, the
+theaters, the public buildings, and presently found myself in a square
+where I remarked a large building; very handsome, dainty and attractive.
+I was surprised on reading on the facade this inscription in letters of
+gold, "Suicide Bureau."
+
+Oh, the weirdness of waking dreams where the spirit soars into a world of
+unrealities and possibilities!  Nothing astonishes one, nothing shocks
+one; and the unbridled fancy makes no distinction between the comic and
+the tragic.
+
+I approached the building where footmen in knee-breeches were seated in
+the vestibule in front of a cloak-room as they do at the entrance of a
+club.
+
+I entered out of curiosity.  One of the men rose and said:
+
+"What does monsieur wish?"
+
+"I wish to know what building this is."
+
+"Nothing more?"
+
+"Why, no."
+
+"Then would monsieur like me to take him to the Secretary of the Bureau?"
+
+I hesitated, and asked:
+
+"But will not that disturb him?"
+
+"Oh, no, monsieur, he is here to receive those who desire information."
+
+"Well, lead the way."
+
+He took me through corridors where old gentlemen were chatting, and
+finally led me into a beautiful office, somewhat somber, furnished
+throughout in black wood.  A stout young man with a corporation was
+writing a letter as he smoked a cigar, the fragrance of which gave
+evidence of its quality.
+
+He rose.  We bowed to each other, and as soon as the footman had retired
+he asked:
+
+"What can I do for you?"
+
+"Monsieur," I replied, "pardon my curiosity.  I had never seen this
+establishment.  The few words inscribed on the facade filled me with
+astonishment, and I wanted to know what was going on here."
+
+He smiled before replying, then said in a low tone with a complacent air:
+
+"Mon Dieu, monsieur, we put to death in a cleanly and gentle--I do not
+venture to say agreeable manner those persons who desire to die."
+
+I did not feel very shocked, for it really seemed to me natural and
+right.  What particularly surprised me was that on this planet, with its
+low, utilitarian, humanitarian ideals, selfish and coercive of all true
+freedom, any one should venture on a similar enterprise, worthy of an
+emancipated humanity.
+
+"How did you get the idea?" I asked.
+
+"Monsieur," he replied, "the number of suicides increased so enormously
+during the five years succeeding the world exposition of 1889 that some
+measures were urgently needed.  People killed themselves in the streets,
+at fetes, in restaurants, at the theater, in railway carriages, at the
+receptions held by the President of the Republic, everywhere.  It was not
+only a horrid sight for those who love life, as I do, but also a bad
+example for children.  Hence it became necessary to centralize suicides."
+
+"What caused this suicidal epidemic?"
+
+"I do not know.  The fact is, I believe, the world is growing old.
+People begin to see things clearly and they are getting disgruntled.
+It is the same to-day with destiny as with the government, we have found
+out what it is; people find that they are swindled in every direction,
+and they just get out of it all.  When one discovers that Providence
+lies, cheats, robs, deceives human beings just as a plain Deputy deceives
+his constituents, one gets angry, and as one cannot nominate a fresh
+Providence every three months as we do with our privileged
+representatives, one just gets out of the whole thing, which is decidedly
+bad."
+
+"Really!"
+
+"Oh, as for me, I am not complaining."
+
+"Will you inform me how you carry on this establishment?"
+
+"With pleasure.  You may become a member when you please.  It is a club."
+
+"A club!"
+
+"Yes, monsieur, founded by the most eminent men in the country, by men of
+the highest intellect and brightest intelligence.  And," he added,
+laughing heartily, "I swear to you that every one gets a great deal of
+enjoyment out of it."
+
+"In this place?"
+
+"Yes, in this place."
+
+"You surprise me."
+
+"Mon Dieu, they enjoy themselves because they have not that fear of death
+which is the great killjoy in all our earthly pleasures."
+
+"But why should they be members of this club if they do not kill
+themselves?"
+
+"One may be a member of the club without being obliged for that reason to
+commit suicide."
+
+"But then?"
+
+"I will explain.  In view of the enormous increase in suicides, and of
+the hideous spectacle they presented, a purely benevolent society was
+formed for the protection of those in despair, which placed at their
+disposal the facilities for a peaceful, painless, if not unforeseen
+death."
+
+"Who can have authorized such an institution?"
+
+"General Boulanger during his brief tenure of power.  He could never
+refuse anything.  However, that was the only good thing he did.  Hence, a
+society was formed of clear-sighted, disillusioned skeptics who desired
+to erect in the heart of Paris a kind of temple dedicated to the contempt
+for death.  This place was formerly a dreaded spot that no one ventured
+to approach.  Then its founders, who met together here, gave a grand
+inaugural entertainment with Mmes. Sarah Bernhardt, Judic, Theo, Granier,
+and twenty others, and Mme. de Reske, Coquelin, Mounet-Sully, Paulus,
+etc., present, followed by concerts, the comedies of Dumas, of Meilhac,
+Halevy and Sardon.  We had only one thing to mar it, one drama by Becque
+which seemed sad, but which subsequently had a great success at the
+Comedie-Francaise.  In fact all Paris came.  The enterprise was
+launched."
+
+"In the midst of the festivities!  What a funereal joke!"
+
+"Not at all.  Death need not be sad, it should be a matter of
+indifference.  We made death cheerful, crowned it with flowers, covered
+it with perfume, made it easy.  One learns to aid others through example;
+one can see that it is nothing."
+
+"I can well understand that they should come to the entertainments; but
+did they come to .  .  .  Death?"
+
+"Not at first; they were afraid."
+
+"And later?"
+
+"They came."
+
+"Many of them?"
+
+"In crowds.  We have had more than forty in a day.  One finds hardly any
+more drowned bodies in the Seine."
+
+"Who was the first?"
+
+"A club member."
+
+"As a sacrifice to the cause?"
+
+"I don't think so.  A man who was sick of everything, a 'down and out'
+who had lost heavily at baccarat for three months."
+
+"Indeed?"
+
+"The second was an Englishman, an eccentric.  We then advertised in the
+papers, we gave an account of our methods, we invented some attractive
+instances.  But the great impetus was given by poor people."
+
+"How do you go to work?"
+
+"Would you like to see?  I can explain at the same time."
+
+"Yes, indeed."
+
+He took his hat, opened the door, allowed me to precede him, and we
+entered a card room, where men sat playing as they, play in all gambling
+places.  They were chatting cheerfully, eagerly.  I have seldom seen such
+a jolly, lively, mirthful club.
+
+As I seemed surprised, the secretary said:
+
+"Oh, the establishment has an unheard of prestige.  All the smart people
+all over the world belong to it so as to appear as though they held death
+in scorn.  Then, once they get here, they feel obliged to be cheerful
+that they may not appear to be afraid.  So they joke and laugh and talk
+flippantly, they are witty and they become so.  At present it is
+certainly the most frequented and the most entertaining place in Paris.
+The women are even thinking of building an annex for themselves."
+
+"And, in spite of all this, you have many suicides in the house?"
+
+"As I said, about forty or fifty a day.  Society people are rare, but
+poor devils abound.  The middle class has also a large contingent.
+
+"And how .  .  .  do they do?"
+
+"They are asphyxiated .  .  .  very slowly."
+
+"In what manner?"
+
+"A gas of our own invention.  We have the patent.  On the other side of
+the building are the public entrances--three little doors opening on
+small streets.  When a man or a woman present themselves they are
+interrogated.  Then they are offered assistance, aid, protection.  If a
+client accepts, inquiries are made; and sometimes we have saved their
+lives."
+
+"Where do you get your money?"
+
+"We have a great deal.  There are a large number of shareholders.
+Besides it is fashionable to contribute to the establishment.  The names
+of the donors are published in Figaro.  Then the suicide of every rich
+man costs a thousand francs.  And they look as if they were lying in
+state.  It costs the poor nothing."
+
+"How can you tell who is poor?"
+
+"Oh, oh, monsieur, we can guess!  And, besides, they must bring a
+certificate of indigency from the commissary of police of their district.
+If you knew how distressing it is to see them come in!  I visited their
+part of our building once only, and I will never go again.  The place
+itself is almost as good as this part, almost as luxurious and
+comfortable; but they themselves .  .  .  they themselves!!!  If you
+could see them arriving, the old men in rags coming to die; persons who
+have been dying of misery for months, picking up their food at the edges
+of the curbstone like dogs in the street; women in rags, emaciated, sick,
+paralyzed, incapable of making a living, who say to us after they have
+told us their story: 'You see that things cannot go on like that, as I
+cannot work any longer or earn anything.'  I saw one woman of eighty-
+seven who had lost all her children and grandchildren, and who for the
+last six weeks had been sleeping out of doors.  It made me ill to hear of
+it.  Then we have so many different cases, without counting those who say
+nothing, but simply ask: 'Where is it?'  These are admitted at once and
+it is all over in a minute."
+
+With a pang at my heart I repeated:
+
+"And .  .  .  where is it?"
+
+"Here," and he opened a door, adding:
+
+"Go in; this is the part specially reserved for club members, and the one
+least used.  We have so far had only eleven annihilations here."
+
+"Ah!  You call that an .  .  .  annihilation!"
+
+"Yes, monsieur.  Go in."
+
+I hesitated.  At length I went in.  It was a wide corridor, a sort of
+greenhouse in which panes of glass of pale blue, tender pink and delicate
+green gave the poetic charm of landscapes to the inclosing walls.
+In this pretty salon there were divans, magnificent palms, flowers,
+especially roses of balmy fragrance, books on the tables, the Revue des
+Deuxmondes, cigars in government boxes, and, what surprised me, Vichy
+pastilles in a bonbonniere.
+
+As I expressed my surprise, my guide said:
+
+"Oh, they often come here to chat."  He continued: "The public corridors
+are similar, but more simply furnished."
+
+In reply to a question of mine, he pointed to a couch covered with creamy
+crepe de Chine with white embroidery, beneath a large shrub of unknown
+variety at the foot of which was a circular bed of mignonette.
+
+The secretary added in a lower tone:
+
+"We change the flower and the perfume at will, for our gas, which is
+quite imperceptible, gives death the fragrance of the suicide's favorite
+flower.  It is volatilized with essences.  Would you like to inhale it
+for a second?"
+
+"'No, thank you," I said hastily, "not yet .  .  .  ."
+
+He began to laugh.
+
+"Oh, monsieur, there is no danger.  I have tried it myself several
+times."
+
+I was afraid he would think me a coward, and I said:
+
+"Well, I'll try it."
+
+"Stretch yourself out on the 'endormeuse."'
+
+A little uneasy I seated myself on the low couch covered with crepe de
+Chine and stretched myself full length, and was at once bathed in a
+delicious odor of mignonette.  I opened my mouth in order to breathe it
+in, for my mind had already become stupefied and forgetful of the past
+and was a prey, in the first stages of asphyxia, to the enchanting
+intoxication of a destroying and magic opium.
+
+Some one shook me by the arm.
+
+"Oh, oh, monsieur," said the secretary, laughing, "it looks to me as if
+you were almost caught."
+
+But a voice, a real voice, and no longer a dream voice, greeted me with
+the peasant intonation:
+
+"Good morning, m'sieu.  How goes it?"
+
+My dream was over.  I saw the Seine distinctly in the sunlight, and,
+coming along a path, the garde champetre of the district, who with his
+right hand touched his kepi braided in silver.  I replied:
+
+"Good morning, Marinel.  Where are you going?"
+
+"I am going to look at a drowned man whom they fished up near the
+Morillons.  Another who has thrown himself into the soup.  He even took
+off his trousers in order to tie his legs together with them."
+
+
+
+
+End of this Project Gutenberg Etext of Original Short Stories, Vol. 13.
+by Guy de Maupassant
diff --git a/old/gm13v10.zip b/old/gm13v10.zip
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5c6932a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/gm13v10.zip
diff --git a/old/gm13v11.txt b/old/gm13v11.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..85c9984
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/gm13v11.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,4445 @@
+The Project Gutenberg Etext of Original Short Stories, by Maupassant, v13
+#14 in our series by Guy de Maupassant
+
+Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the
+copyright laws for your country before distributing this or any other
+Project Gutenberg file.
+
+We encourage you to keep this file, exactly as it is, on your
+own disk, thereby keeping an electronic path open for future
+readers.  Please do not remove this.
+
+This header should be the first thing seen when anyone starts to
+view the etext. Do not change or edit it without written permission.
+The words are carefully chosen to provide users with the
+information they need to understand what they may and may not
+do with the etext.
+
+
+**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts**
+
+**Etexts Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971**
+
+*****These Etexts Are Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!*****
+
+Information on contacting Project Gutenberg to get etexts, and
+further information, is included below.  We need your donations.
+
+The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a 501(c)(3)
+organization with EIN [Employee Identification Number] 64-6221541
+
+
+
+Title: Original Short Stories, Volume 13.
+
+Author: Guy de Maupassant
+
+Release Date: February, 2002  [Etext #3089]
+[Yes, we are about one year ahead of schedule]
+[This file was first posted in November 2000]
+[Most recently updated: December 3, 2001]
+
+Edition: 11
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+The Project Gutenberg Etext of Original Short Stories of Maupassant, v13
+**********This file should be named gm11v13.txt or gm11v13.zip**********
+
+Corrected EDITIONS of our etexts get a new NUMBER, gm13v12.txt
+VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, gm13v11a.txt
+
+This etext was produced by David Widger  <widger@cecomet.net>
+
+Project Gutenberg Etexts are often created from several printed
+editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US
+unless a copyright notice is included.  Thus, we usually do not
+keep etexts in compliance with any particular paper edition.
+
+We are now trying to release all our etexts one year in advance
+of the official release dates, leaving time for better editing.
+Please be encouraged to tell us about any error or corrections,
+even years after the official publication date.
+
+Please note neither this listing nor its contents are final til
+midnight of the last day of the month of any such announcement.
+The official release date of all Project Gutenberg Etexts is at
+Midnight, Central Time, of the last day of the stated month.  A
+preliminary version may often be posted for suggestion, comment
+and editing by those who wish to do so.
+
+Most people start at our sites at:
+http://gutenberg.net or
+http://promo.net/pg
+
+These Web sites include award-winning information about Project
+Gutenberg, including how to donate, how to help produce our new
+etexts, and how to subscribe to our email newsletter (free!).
+
+
+Those of you who want to download any Etext before announcement
+can get to them as follows, and just download by date.  This is
+also a good way to get them instantly upon announcement, as the
+indexes our cataloguers produce obviously take a while after an
+announcement goes out in the Project Gutenberg Newsletter.
+
+http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/etext03 or
+ftp://ftp.ibiblio.org/pub/docs/books/gutenberg/etext03
+
+Or /etext02, 01, 00, 99, 98, 97, 96, 95, 94, 93, 92, 92, 91 or 90
+
+Just search by the first five letters of the filename you want,
+as it appears in our Newsletters.
+
+
+Information about Project Gutenberg (one page)
+
+We produce about two million dollars for each hour we work.  The
+time it takes us, a rather conservative estimate, is fifty hours
+to get any etext selected, entered, proofread, edited, copyright
+searched and analyzed, the copyright letters written, etc.   Our
+projected audience is one hundred million readers.  If the value
+per text is nominally estimated at one dollar then we produce $2
+million dollars per hour in 2001 as we release over 50 new Etext
+files per month, or 500 more Etexts in 2000 for a total of 4000+
+If they reach just 1-2% of the world's population then the total
+should reach over 300 billion Etexts given away by year's end.
+
+The Goal of Project Gutenberg is to Give Away One Trillion Etext
+Files by December 31, 2001.  [10,000 x 100,000,000 = 1 Trillion]
+This is ten thousand titles each to one hundred million readers,
+which is only about 4% of the present number of computer users.
+
+At our revised rates of production, we will reach only one-third
+of that goal by the end of 2001, or about 4,000 Etexts.  We need
+funding, as well as continued efforts by volunteers, to maintain
+or increase our production and reach our goals.
+
+The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation has been created
+to secure a future for Project Gutenberg into the next millennium.
+
+We need your donations more than ever!
+
+As of November, 2001, contributions are being solicited from people
+and organizations in: Alabama, Arkansas, Connecticut, Delaware,
+Florida, Georgia, Idaho, Illinois, Indiana, Iowa, Kansas, Kentucky,
+Louisiana, Maine, Michigan, Missouri, Montana, Nebraska, Nevada, New
+Jersey, New Mexico, New York, North Carolina, Oklahoma, Oregon,
+Pennsylvania, Rhode Island, South Carolina, South Dakota, Tennessee,
+Texas, Utah, Vermont, Virginia, Washington, West Virginia, Wisconsin,
+and Wyoming.
+
+*In Progress
+
+We have filed in about 45 states now, but these are the only ones
+that have responded.
+
+As the requirements for other states are met, additions to this list
+will be made and fund raising will begin in the additional states.
+Please feel free to ask to check the status of your state.
+
+In answer to various questions we have received on this:
+
+We are constantly working on finishing the paperwork to legally
+request donations in all 50 states.  If your state is not listed and
+you would like to know if we have added it since the list you have,
+just ask.
+
+While we cannot solicit donations from people in states where we are
+not yet registered, we know of no prohibition against accepting
+donations from donors in these states who approach us with an offer to
+donate.
+
+International donations are accepted, but we don't know ANYTHING about
+how to make them tax-deductible, or even if they CAN be made
+deductible, and don't have the staff to handle it even if there are
+ways.
+
+All donations should be made to:
+
+Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
+PMB 113
+1739 University Ave.
+Oxford, MS 38655-4109
+
+Contact us if you want to arrange for a wire transfer or payment
+method other than by check or money order.
+
+
+The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation has been approved by
+the US Internal Revenue Service as a 501(c)(3) organization with EIN
+[Employee Identification Number] 64-622154.  Donations are
+tax-deductible to the maximum extent permitted by law.  As fundraising
+requirements for other states are met, additions to this list will be
+made and fundraising will begin in the additional states.
+
+We need your donations more than ever!
+
+You can get up to date donation information at:
+
+http://www.gutenberg.net/donation.html
+
+
+***
+
+If you can't reach Project Gutenberg,
+you can always email directly to:
+
+Michael S. Hart <hart@pobox.com>
+
+Prof. Hart will answer or forward your message.
+
+We would prefer to send you information by email.
+
+
+**The Legal Small Print**
+
+
+(Three Pages)
+
+***START**THE SMALL PRINT!**FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS**START***
+Why is this "Small Print!" statement here? You know: lawyers.
+They tell us you might sue us if there is something wrong with
+your copy of this etext, even if you got it for free from
+someone other than us, and even if what's wrong is not our
+fault. So, among other things, this "Small Print!" statement
+disclaims most of our liability to you. It also tells you how
+you may distribute copies of this etext if you want to.
+
+*BEFORE!* YOU USE OR READ THIS ETEXT
+By using or reading any part of this PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm
+etext, you indicate that you understand, agree to and accept
+this "Small Print!" statement. If you do not, you can receive
+a refund of the money (if any) you paid for this etext by
+sending a request within 30 days of receiving it to the person
+you got it from. If you received this etext on a physical
+medium (such as a disk), you must return it with your request.
+
+ABOUT PROJECT GUTENBERG-TM ETEXTS
+This PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etext, like most PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etexts,
+is a "public domain" work distributed by Professor Michael S. Hart
+through the Project Gutenberg Association (the "Project").
+Among other things, this means that no one owns a United States copyright
+on or for this work, so the Project (and you!) can copy and
+distribute it in the United States without permission and
+without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth
+below, apply if you wish to copy and distribute this etext
+under the "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark.
+
+Please do not use the "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark to market
+any commercial products without permission.
+
+To create these etexts, the Project expends considerable
+efforts to identify, transcribe and proofread public domain
+works. Despite these efforts, the Project's etexts and any
+medium they may be on may contain "Defects". Among other
+things, Defects may take the form of incomplete, inaccurate or
+corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other
+intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged
+disk or other etext medium, a computer virus, or computer
+codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment.
+
+LIMITED WARRANTY; DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES
+But for the "Right of Replacement or Refund" described below,
+[1] Michael Hart and the Foundation (and any other party you may
+receive this etext from as a PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etext) disclaims
+all liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including
+legal fees, and [2] YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE OR
+UNDER STRICT LIABILITY, OR FOR BREACH OF WARRANTY OR CONTRACT,
+INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE
+OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES, EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE
+POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGES.
+
+If you discover a Defect in this etext within 90 days of
+receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any)
+you paid for it by sending an explanatory note within that
+time to the person you received it from. If you received it
+on a physical medium, you must return it with your note, and
+such person may choose to alternatively give you a replacement
+copy. If you received it electronically, such person may
+choose to alternatively give you a second opportunity to
+receive it electronically.
+
+THIS ETEXT IS OTHERWISE PROVIDED TO YOU "AS-IS". NO OTHER
+WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, ARE MADE TO YOU AS
+TO THE ETEXT OR ANY MEDIUM IT MAY BE ON, INCLUDING BUT NOT
+LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR A
+PARTICULAR PURPOSE.
+
+Some states do not allow disclaimers of implied warranties or
+the exclusion or limitation of consequential damages, so the
+above disclaimers and exclusions may not apply to you, and you
+may have other legal rights.
+
+INDEMNITY
+You will indemnify and hold Michael Hart, the Foundation,
+and its trustees and agents, and any volunteers associated
+with the production and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm
+texts harmless, from all liability, cost and expense, including
+legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of the
+following that you do or cause:  [1] distribution of this etext,
+[2] alteration, modification, or addition to the etext,
+or [3] any Defect.
+
+DISTRIBUTION UNDER "PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm"
+You may distribute copies of this etext electronically, or by
+disk, book or any other medium if you either delete this
+"Small Print!" and all other references to Project Gutenberg,
+or:
+
+[1]  Only give exact copies of it.  Among other things, this
+     requires that you do not remove, alter or modify the
+     etext or this "small print!" statement.  You may however,
+     if you wish, distribute this etext in machine readable
+     binary, compressed, mark-up, or proprietary form,
+     including any form resulting from conversion by word
+     processing or hypertext software, but only so long as
+     *EITHER*:
+
+     [*]  The etext, when displayed, is clearly readable, and
+          does *not* contain characters other than those
+          intended by the author of the work, although tilde
+          (~), asterisk (*) and underline (_) characters may
+          be used to convey punctuation intended by the
+          author, and additional characters may be used to
+          indicate hypertext links; OR
+
+     [*]  The etext may be readily converted by the reader at
+          no expense into plain ASCII, EBCDIC or equivalent
+          form by the program that displays the etext (as is
+          the case, for instance, with most word processors);
+          OR
+
+     [*]  You provide, or agree to also provide on request at
+          no additional cost, fee or expense, a copy of the
+          etext in its original plain ASCII form (or in EBCDIC
+          or other equivalent proprietary form).
+
+[2]  Honor the etext refund and replacement provisions of this
+     "Small Print!" statement.
+
+[3]  Pay a trademark license fee to the Foundation of 20% of the
+     gross profits you derive calculated using the method you
+     already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  If you
+     don't derive profits, no royalty is due.  Royalties are
+     payable to "Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation"
+     the 60 days following each date you prepare (or were
+     legally required to prepare) your annual (or equivalent
+     periodic) tax return.  Please contact us beforehand to
+     let us know your plans and to work out the details.
+
+WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO?
+Project Gutenberg is dedicated to increasing the number of
+public domain and licensed works that can be freely distributed
+in machine readable form.
+
+The Project gratefully accepts contributions of money, time,
+public domain materials, or royalty free copyright licenses.
+Money should be paid to the:
+"Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."
+
+If you are interested in contributing scanning equipment or
+software or other items, please contact Michael Hart at:
+hart@pobox.com
+
+[Portions of this header are copyright (C) 2001 by Michael S. Hart
+and may be reprinted only when these Etexts are free of all fees.]
+[Project Gutenberg is a TradeMark and may not be used in any sales
+of Project Gutenberg Etexts or other materials be they hardware or
+software or any other related product without express permission.]
+
+*END THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.10/04/01*END*
+
+
+
+
+
+This etext was produced by David Widger  <widger@cecomet.net>
+
+
+
+
+
+ORIGINAL SHORT STORIES, Vol. 13.
+
+By Guy de Maupassant
+
+
+
+                           GUY DE MAUPASSANT
+                         ORIGINAL SHORT STORIES
+                             Translated by
+                       ALBERT M. C. McMASTER, B.A.
+                          A. E. HENDERSON, B.A.
+                         MME. QUESADA and Others
+
+
+
+VOLUME XIII.
+
+OLD JUDAS
+THE LITTLE CASK
+BOITELLE
+A WIDOW
+THE ENGLISHMEN OF ETRETAT
+MAGNETISM
+A FATHERS CONFESSION
+A MOTHER OF MONSTERS
+AN UNCOMFORTABLE BED
+A PORTRAIT
+THE DRUNKARD
+THE WARDROBE
+THE MOUNTAIN POOL
+A CREMATION
+MISTI
+MADAME HERMET
+THE MAGIC COUCH
+
+
+
+
+OLD JUDAS
+
+This entire stretch of country was amazing; it was characterized by a
+grandeur that was almost religious, and yet it had an air of sinister
+desolation.
+
+A great, wild lake, filled with stagnant, black water, in which thousands
+of reeds were waving to and fro, lay in the midst of a vast circle of
+naked hills, where nothing grew but broom, or here and there an oak
+curiously twisted by the wind.
+
+Just one house stood on the banks of that dark lake, a small, low house
+inhabited by Uncle Joseph, an old boatman, who lived on what he could
+make by his fishing.  Once a week he carried the fish he caught into the
+surrounding villages, returning with the few provisions that he needed
+for his sustenance.
+
+I went to see this old hermit, who offered to take me with him to his
+nets, and I accepted.
+
+His boat was old, worm-eaten and clumsy, and the skinny old man rowed
+with a gentle and monotonous stroke that was soothing to the soul,
+already oppressed by the sadness of the land round about.
+
+It seemed to me as if I were transported to olden times, in the midst of
+that ancient country, in that primitive boat, which was propelled by a
+man of another age.
+
+He took up his nets and threw the fish into the bottom of the boat, as
+the fishermen of the Bible might have done.  Then he took me down to the
+end of the lake, where I suddenly perceived a ruin on the other side of
+the bank a dilapidated hut, with an enormous red cross on the wall that
+looked as if it might have been traced with blood, as it gleamed in the
+last rays of the setting sun.
+
+"What is that?" I asked.
+
+"That is where Judas died," the man replied, crossing himself.
+
+I was not surprised, being almost prepared for this strange answer.
+
+Still I asked:
+
+"Judas?  What Judas?"
+
+"The Wandering Jew, monsieur," he added.
+
+I asked him to tell me this legend.
+
+But it was better than a legend, being a true story, and quite a recent
+one, since Uncle Joseph had known the man.
+
+This hut had formerly been occupied by a large woman, a kind of beggar,
+who lived on public charity.
+
+Uncle Joseph did not remember from whom she had this hut.  One evening an
+old man with a white beard, who seemed to be at least two hundred years
+old, and who could hardly drag himself along, asked alms of this forlorn
+woman, as he passed her dwelling.
+
+"Sit down, father," she replied; "everything here belongs to all the
+world, since it comes from all the world."
+
+He sat down on a stone before the door.  He shared the woman's bread, her
+bed of leaves, and her house.
+
+He did not leave her again, for he had come to the end of his travels.
+
+"It was Our Lady the Virgin who permitted this, monsieur," Joseph added,
+"it being a woman who had opened her door to a Judas, for this old
+vagabond was the Wandering Jew.  It was not known at first in the
+country, but the people suspected it very soon, because he was always
+walking; it had become a sort of second nature to him."
+
+And suspicion had been aroused by still another thing.  This woman, who
+kept that stranger with her, was thought to be a Jewess, for no one had
+ever seen her at church.  For ten miles around no one ever called her
+anything else but the Jewess.
+
+When the little country children saw her come to beg they cried out:
+"Mamma, mamma, here is the Jewess!"
+
+The old man and she began to go out together into the neighboring
+districts, holding out their hands at all the doors, stammering
+supplications into the ears of all the passers.  They could be seen at
+all hours of the day, on by-paths, in the villages, or again eating
+bread, sitting in the noon heat under the shadow of some solitary tree.
+And the country people began to call the beggar Old Judas.
+
+One day he brought home in his sack two little live pigs, which a farmer
+had given him after he had cured the farmer of some sickness.
+
+Soon he stopped begging, and devoted himself entirely to his pigs.
+He took them out to feed by the lake, or under isolated oaks, or in the
+near-by valleys.  The woman, however, went about all day begging, but she
+always came back to him in the evening.
+
+He also did not go to church, and no one ever had seen him cross himself
+before the wayside crucifixes.  All this gave rise to much gossip:
+
+One night his companion was attacked by a fever and began to tremble like
+a leaf in the wind.  He went to the nearest town to get some medicine,
+and then he shut himself up with her, and was not seen for six days.
+
+The priest, having heard that the "Jewess" was about to die, came to
+offer the consolation of his religion and administer the last sacrament.
+Was she a Jewess?  He did not know.  But in any case, he wished to try to
+save her soul.
+
+Hardly had he knocked at the door when old Judas appeared on the
+threshold, breathing hard, his eyes aflame, his long beard agitated,
+like rippling water, and he hurled blasphemies in an unknown language,
+extending his skinny arms in order to prevent the priest from entering.
+
+The priest attempted to speak, offered his purse and his aid, but the old
+man kept on abusing him, making gestures with his hands as if throwing;
+stones at him.
+
+Then the priest retired, followed by the curses of the beggar.
+
+The companion of old Judas died the following day.  He buried her
+himself, in front of her door.  They were people of so little account
+that no one took any interest in them.
+
+Then they saw the man take his pigs out again to the lake and up the
+hillsides.  And he also began begging again to get food.  But the people
+gave him hardly anything, as there was so much gossip about him.  Every
+one knew, moreover, how he had treated the priest.
+
+Then he disappeared.  That was during Holy Week, but no one paid any
+attention to him.
+
+But on Easter Sunday the boys and girls who had gone walking out to the
+lake heard a great noise in the hut.  The door was locked; but the boys
+broke it in, and the two pigs ran out, jumping like gnats.  No one ever
+saw them again.
+
+The whole crowd went in; they saw some old rags on the floor, the
+beggar's hat, some bones, clots of dried blood and bits of flesh in the
+hollows of the skull.
+
+His pigs had devoured him.
+
+"This happened on Good Friday, monsieur."  Joseph concluded his story,
+"three hours after noon."
+
+"How do you know that?" I asked him.
+
+"There is no doubt about that," he replied.
+
+I did not attempt to make him understand that it could easily happen that
+the famished animals had eaten their master, after he had died suddenly
+in his hut.
+
+As for the cross on the wall, it had appeared one morning, and no one
+knew what hand traced it in that strange color.
+
+Since then no one doubted any longer that the Wandering Jew had died on
+this spot.
+
+I myself believed it for one hour.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE LITTLE CASK
+
+He was a tall man of forty or thereabout, this Jules Chicot, the
+innkeeper of Spreville, with a red face and a round stomach, and said by
+those who knew him to be a smart business man.  He stopped his buggy in
+front of Mother Magloire's farmhouse, and, hitching the horse to the
+gatepost, went in at the gate.
+
+Chicot owned some land adjoining that of the old woman, which he had been
+coveting for a long while, and had tried in vain to buy a score of times,
+but she had always obstinately refused to part with it.
+
+"I was born here, and here I mean to die," was all she said.
+
+He found her peeling potatoes outside the farmhouse door.  She was a
+woman of about seventy-two, very thin, shriveled and wrinkled, almost
+dried up in fact and much bent but as active and untiring as a girl.
+Chicot patted her on the back in a friendly fashion and then sat down by
+her on a stool.
+
+"Well mother, you are always pretty well and hearty, I am glad to see."
+
+"Nothing to complain of, considering, thank you.  And how are you,
+Monsieur Chicot?"
+
+"Oh, pretty well, thank you, except a few rheumatic pains occasionally;
+otherwise I have nothing to complain of."
+
+"So much the better."
+
+And she said no more, while Chicot watched her going on with her work.
+Her crooked, knotted fingers, hard as a lobster's claws, seized the
+tubers, which were lying in a pail, as if they had been a pair of
+pincers, and she peeled them rapidly, cutting off long strips of skin
+with an old knife which she held in the other hand, throwing the potatoes
+into the water as they were done.  Three daring fowls jumped one after
+the other into her lap, seized a bit of peel and then ran away as fast as
+their legs would carry them with it in their beak.
+
+Chicot seemed embarrassed, anxious, with something on the tip of his
+tongue which he could not say.  At last he said hurriedly:
+
+"Listen, Mother Magloire--"
+
+"Well, what is it?"
+
+"You are quite sure that you do not want to sell your land?"
+
+"Certainly not; you may make up your mind to that.  What I have said I
+have said, so don't refer to it again."
+
+"Very well; only I think I know of an arrangement that might suit us both
+very well."
+
+"What is it?"
+
+"Just this.  You shall sell it to me and keep it all the same.  You don't
+understand?  Very well, then follow me in what I am going to say."
+
+The old woman left off peeling potatoes and looked at the innkeeper
+attentively from under her heavy eyebrows, and he went on:
+
+"Let me explain myself.  Every month I will give you a hundred and fifty
+francs.  You understand me! suppose!  Every month I will come and bring
+you thirty crowns,  and it will not make the slightest difference in your
+life--not the very slightest.  You will have your own home just as you
+have now, need not trouble yourself about me, and will owe me nothing;
+all you will have to do will be to take my money.  Will that arrangement
+suit you?"
+
+He looked at her good-humoredly, one might almost have said benevolently,
+and the old woman returned his looks distrustfully, as if she suspected a
+trap, and said:
+
+"It seems all right as far as I am concerned, but it will not give you
+the farm."
+
+"Never mind about that," he said; "you may remain here as long as it
+pleases God Almighty to let you live; it will be your home.  Only you
+will sign a deed before a lawyer making it over to me; after your death.
+You have no children, only nephews and nieces for whom you don't care a
+straw.  Will that suit you?  You will keep everything during your life,
+and I will give you the thirty crowns a month.  It is pure gain as far as
+you are concerned."
+
+The old woman was surprised, rather uneasy, but, nevertheless, very much
+tempted to agree, and answered:
+
+"I don't say that I will not agree to it, but I must think about it.
+Come back in a week, and we will talk it over again, and I will then give
+you my definite answer."
+
+And Chicot went off as happy as a king who had conquered an empire.
+
+Mother Magloire was thoughtful, and did not sleep at all that night; in
+fact, for four days she was in a fever of hesitation.  She suspected that
+there was something underneath the offer which was not to her advantage;
+but then the thought of thirty crowns a month, of all those coins
+clinking in her apron, falling to her, as it were, from the skies,
+without her doing anything for it, aroused her covetousness.
+
+She went to the notary and told him about it.  He advised her to accept
+Chicot's offer, but said she ought to ask for an annuity of fifty instead
+of thirty, as her farm was worth sixty thousand francs at the lowest
+calculation.
+
+"If you live for fifteen years longer," he said, "even then he will only
+have paid forty-five thousand francs for it."
+
+The old woman trembled with joy at this prospect of getting fifty crowns
+a month, but she was still suspicious, fearing some trick, and she
+remained a long time with the lawyer asking questions without being able
+to make up her mind to go.  At last she gave him instructions to draw up
+the deed and returned home with her head in a whirl, just as if she had
+drunk four jugs of new cider.
+
+When Chicot came again to receive her answer she declared, after a lot of
+persuading, that she could not make up her mind to agree to his proposal,
+though she was all the time trembling lest he should not consent to give
+the fifty crowns, but at last, when he grew urgent, she told him what she
+expected for her farm.
+
+He looked surprised and disappointed and refused.
+
+Then, in order to convince him, she began to talk about the probable
+duration of her life.
+
+"I am certainly not likely to live more than five or six years longer.
+I am nearly seventy-three, and far from strong, even considering my age.
+The other evening I thought I was going to die, and could hardly manage
+to crawl into bed."
+
+But Chicot was not going to be taken in.
+
+"Come, come, old lady, you are as strong as the church tower, and will
+live till you are a hundred at least; you will no doubt see me put under
+ground first."
+
+The whole day was spent in discussing the money, and as the old woman
+would not give in, the innkeeper consented to give the fifty crowns, and
+she insisted upon having ten crowns over and above to strike the bargain.
+
+Three years passed and the old dame did not seem to have grown a day
+older.  Chicot was in despair, and it seemed to him as if he had been
+paying that annuity for fifty years, that he had been taken in, done,
+ruined.  From time to time he went to see the old lady, just as one goes
+in July to see when the harvest is likely to begin.  She always met him
+with a cunning look, and one might have supposed that she was
+congratulating herself on the trick she had played him.  Seeing how well
+and hearty she seemed he very soon got into his buggy again, growling to
+himself:
+
+"Will you never die, you old hag?"
+
+He did not know what to do, and he felt inclined to strangle her when he
+saw her.  He hated her with a ferocious, cunning hatred, the hatred of a
+peasant who has been robbed, and began to cast about for some means of
+getting rid of her.
+
+One day he came to see her again, rubbing his hands as he did the first
+time he proposed the bargain, and, after having chatted for a few
+minutes, he said:
+
+"Why do you never come and have a bit of dinner at my place when you are
+in Spreville?  The people are talking about it, and saying we are not on
+friendly terms, and that pains me.  You know it will cost you nothing if
+you come, for I don't look at the price of a dinner.  Come whenever you
+feel inclined; I shall be very glad to see you."
+
+Old Mother Magloire did not need to be asked twice, and the next day but
+one, as she had to go to the town in any case, it being market day, she
+let her man drive her to Chicot's place, where the buggy was put in the
+barn while she went into the house to get her dinner.
+
+The innkeeper was delighted and treated her like a lady, giving her roast
+fowl, black pudding, leg of mutton and bacon and cabbage.  But she ate
+next to nothing.  She had always been a small eater, and had generally
+lived on a little soup and a crust of bread and butter.
+
+Chicot was disappointed and pressed her to eat more, but she refused, and
+she would drink little, and declined coffee, so he asked her:
+
+"But surely you will take a little drop of brandy or liqueur?"
+
+"Well, as to that, I don't know that I will refuse."  Whereupon he
+shouted out:
+
+"Rosalie, bring the superfine brandy--the special--you know."
+
+The servant appeared, carrying a long bottle ornamented with a paper
+vine-leaf, and he filled two liqueur glasses.
+
+"Just try that; you will find it first rate."
+
+The good woman drank it slowly in sips, so as to make the pleasure last
+all the longer, and when she had finished her glass, she said:
+
+"Yes, that is first rate!"
+
+Almost before she had said it Chicot had poured her out another glassful.
+She wished to refuse, but it was too late, and she drank it very slowly,
+as she had done the first, and he asked her to have a third.  She
+objected, but he persisted.
+
+"It is as mild as milk, you know; I can drink ten or a dozen glasses
+without any ill effects; it goes down like sugar and does not go to the
+head; one would think that it evaporated on the tongue: It is the most
+wholesome thing you can drink."
+
+She took it, for she really enjoyed it, but she left half the glass.
+
+Then Chicot, in an excess of generosity, said:
+
+"Look here, as it is so much to your taste, I will give you a small keg
+of it, just to show that you and I are still excellent friends."  So she
+took one away with her, feeling slightly overcome by the effects of what
+she had drunk.
+
+The next day the innkeeper drove into her yard and took a little iron-
+hooped keg out of his gig.  He insisted on her tasting the contents, to
+make sure it was the same delicious article, and, when they had each of
+them drunk three more glasses, he said as he was going away:
+
+"Well, you know when it is all gone there is more left; don't be modest,
+for I shall not mind.  The sooner it is finished the better pleased I
+shall be."
+
+Four days later he came again.  The old woman was outside her door
+cutting up the bread for her soup.
+
+He went up to her and put his face close to hers, so that he might smell
+her breath; and when he smelt the alcohol he felt pleased.
+
+"I suppose you will give me a glass of the Special?" he said.  And they
+had three glasses each.
+
+Soon, however, it began to be whispered abroad that Mother Magloire was
+in the habit of getting drunk all by herself.  She was picked up in her
+kitchen, then in her yard, then in the roads in the neighborhood, and she
+was often brought home like a log.
+
+The innkeeper did not go near her any more, and, when people spoke to him
+about her, he used to say, putting on a distressed look:
+
+"It is a great pity that she should have taken to drink at her age, but
+when people get old there is no remedy.  It will be the death of her in
+the long run."
+
+And it certainly was the death of her.  She died the next winter.  About
+Christmas time she fell down, unconscious, in the snow, and was found
+dead the next morning.
+
+And when Chicot came in for the farm, he said:
+
+"It was very stupid of her; if she had not taken to drink she would
+probably have lived ten years longer."
+
+
+
+
+
+
+BOITELLE
+
+Father Boitelle (Antoine) made a specialty of undertaking dirty jobs all
+through the countryside.  Whenever there was a ditch or a cesspool to be
+cleaned out, a dunghill removed, a sewer cleansed, or any dirt hole
+whatever, he way always employed to do it.
+
+He would come with the instruments of his trade, his sabots covered with
+dirt, and set to work, complaining incessantly about his occupation.
+When people asked him then why he did this loathsome work, he would reply
+resignedly:
+
+"Faith, 'tis for my children, whom I must support.  This brings me in
+more than anything else."
+
+He had, indeed, fourteen children.  If any one asked him what had become
+of them, he would say with an air of indifference:
+
+"There are only eight of them left in the house.  One is out at service
+and five are married."
+
+When the questioner wanted to know whether they were well married, he
+replied vivaciously:
+
+"I did not oppose them.  I opposed them in nothing.  They married just as
+they pleased.  We shouldn't go against people's likings, it turns out
+badly.  I am a night scavenger because my parents went against my
+likings.  But for that I would have become a workman like the others."
+
+Here is the way his parents had thwarted him in his likings:
+
+He was at the time a soldier stationed at Havre, not more stupid than
+another, or sharper either, a rather simple fellow, however.  When he was
+not on duty, his greatest pleasure was to walk along the quay, where the
+bird dealers congregate.  Sometimes alone, sometimes with a soldier from
+his own part of the country, he would slowly saunter along by cages
+containing parrots with green backs and yellow heads from the banks of
+the Amazon, or parrots with gray backs and red heads from Senegal, or
+enormous macaws, which look like birds reared in hot-houses, with their
+flower-like feathers, their plumes and their tufts.  Parrots of every
+size, who seem painted with minute care by the miniaturist, God Almighty,
+and the little birds, all the smaller birds hopped about, yellow, blue
+and variegated, mingling their cries with the noise of the quay; and
+adding to the din caused by unloading the vessels, as well as by
+passengers and vehicles, a violent clamor, loud, shrill and deafening, as
+if from some distant forest of monsters.
+
+Boitelle would pause, with wondering eyes, wide-open mouth, laughing and
+enraptured, showing his teeth to the captive cockatoos, who kept nodding
+their white or yellow topknots toward the glaring red of his breeches and
+the copper buckle of his belt.  When he found a bird that could talk he
+put questions to it, and if it happened at the time to be disposed to
+reply and to hold a conversation with him he would carry away enough
+amusement to last him till evening.  He also found heaps of amusement in
+looking at the monkeys, and could conceive no greater luxury for a rich
+man than to own these animals as one owns cats and dogs.  This kind of
+taste for the exotic he had in his blood, as people have a taste for the
+chase, or for medicine, or for the priesthood.  He could not help
+returning to the quay every time the gates of the barracks opened, drawn
+toward it by an irresistible longing.
+
+On one occasion, having stopped almost in ecstasy before an enormous
+macaw, which was swelling out its plumes, bending forward and bridling up
+again as if making the court curtseys of parrot-land, he saw the door of
+a little cafe adjoining the bird dealer's shop open, and a young negress
+appeared, wearing on her head a red silk handkerchief.  She was sweeping
+into the street the corks and sand of the establishment.
+
+Boitelle's attention was soon divided between the bird and the woman, and
+he really could not tell which of these two beings he contemplated with
+the greater astonishment and delight.
+
+The negress, having swept the rubbish into the street, raised her eyes,
+and, in her turn, was dazzled by the soldier's uniform.  There she stood
+facing him with her broom in her hands as if she were bringing him a
+rifle, while the macaw continued bowing.  But at the end of a few seconds
+the soldier began to feel embarrassed at this attention, and he walked
+away quietly so as not to look as if he were beating a retreat.
+
+But he came back.  Almost every day he passed before the Cafe des
+Colonies, and often he could distinguish through the window the figure of
+the little black-skinned maid serving "bocks" or glasses of brandy to the
+sailors of the port.  Frequently, too, she would come out to the door on
+seeing him; soon, without even having exchanged a word, they smiled at
+one another like acquaintances; and Boitelle felt his heart touched when
+he suddenly saw, glittering between the dark lips of the girl, a shining
+row of white teeth.  At length, one day he ventured to enter, and was
+quite surprised to find that she could speak French like every one else.
+The bottle of lemonade, of which she was good enough to accept a
+glassful, remained in the soldier's recollection memorably delicious, and
+it became a custom with him to come and absorb in this little tavern on
+the quay all the agreeable drinks which he could afford.
+
+For him it was a treat, a happiness, on which his thoughts dwelt
+constantly, to watch the black hand of the little maid pouring something
+into his glass while her teeth laughed more than her eyes.  At the end of
+two months they became fast friends, and Boitelle, after his first
+astonishment at discovering that this negress had as good principles as
+honest French girls, that she exhibited a regard for economy, industry,
+religion and good conduct, loved her more on that account, and was so
+charmed with her that he wanted to marry her.
+
+He told her his intentions, which made her dance with joy.  She had also
+a little money, left her by, a female oyster dealer, who had picked her
+up when she had been left on the quay at Havre by an American captain.
+This captain had found her, when she was only about six years old, lying
+on bales of cotton in the hold of his ship, some hours after his
+departure from New York.  On his arrival in Havre he abandoned to the
+care of this compassionate oyster dealer the little black creature, who
+had been hidden on board his vessel, he knew not why or by whom.
+
+The oyster woman having died, the young negress became a servant at the
+Colonial Tavern.
+
+Antoine Boitelle added: "This will be all right if my parents don't
+oppose it.  I will never go against them, you understand, never!  I'm
+going to say a word or two to them the first time I go back to the
+country."
+
+On the following week, in fact, having obtained twenty-four hours' leave,
+he went to see his family, who cultivated a little farm at Tourteville,
+near Yvetot.
+
+He waited till the meal was finished, the hour when the coffee baptized
+with brandy makes people more open-hearted, before informing his parents
+that he had found a girl who satisfied his tastes, all his tastes, so
+completely that there could not exist any other in all the world so
+perfectly suited to him.
+
+The old people, on hearing this, immediately assumed a cautious manner
+and wanted explanations.  He had concealed nothing from them except the
+color of her skin.
+
+She was a servant, without much means, but strong, thrifty, clean, well-
+conducted and sensible.  All these things were better than money would be
+in the hands of a bad housewife.  Moreover, she had a few sous, left her
+by a woman who had reared her, a good number of sous, almost a little
+dowry, fifteen hundred francs in the savings bank.  The old people,
+persuaded by his talk, and relying also on their own judgment, were
+gradually weakening, when he came to the delicate point.  Laughing in
+rather a constrained fashion, he said:
+
+"There's only one thing you may not like.  She is not a white slip."
+
+They did not understand, and he had to explain at some length and very
+cautiously, to avoid shocking them, that she belonged to the dusky race
+of which they had only seen samples in pictures at Epinal.  Then they
+became restless, perplexed, alarmed, as if he had proposed a union with
+the devil.
+
+The mother said: "Black?  How much of her is black?  Is the whole of
+her?"
+
+He replied: "Certainly.  Everywhere, just as you are white everywhere."
+
+The father interposed: "Black?  Is it as black as the pot?"
+
+The son answered: "Perhaps a little less than that.  She is black, but
+not disgustingly black.  The cure's cassock is black, but it is not
+uglier than a surplice which is white."
+
+The father said: "Are there more black people besides her in her
+country?"
+
+And the son, with an air of conviction, exclaimed: "Certainly!"
+
+But the old man shook his head.
+
+"That must be unpleasant."
+
+And the son:
+
+"It isn't more disagreeable than anything else when you get accustomed to
+it."
+
+The mother asked:
+
+"It doesn't soil the underwear more than other skins, this black skin?"
+
+"Not more than your own, as it is her proper color."
+
+Then, after many other questions, it was agreed that the parents should
+see this girl before coming; to any decision, and that the young fellow,
+whose, term of military service would be over in a month, should bring
+her to the house in order that they might examine her and decide by
+talking the matter over whether or not she was too dark to enter the
+Boitelle family.
+
+Antoine accordingly announced that on Sunday, the 22d of May, the day of
+his discharge, he would start for Tourteville with his sweetheart.
+
+She had put on, for this journey to the house of her lover's parents, her
+most beautiful and most gaudy clothes, in which yellow, red and blue were
+the prevailing colors, so that she looked as if she were adorned for a
+national festival.
+
+At the terminus, as they were leaving Havre, people stared at her, and
+Boitelle was proud of giving his arm to a person who commanded so much
+attention.  Then, in the third-class carriage, in which she took a seat
+by his side, she aroused so much astonishment among the country folks
+that the people in the adjoining compartments stood up on their benches
+to look at her over the wooden partition which divides the compartments.
+A child, at sight of her, began to cry with terror, another concealed his
+face in his mother's apron.  Everything went off well, however, up to
+their arrival at their destination.  But when the train slackened its
+rate of motion as they drew near Yvetot, Antoine felt: ill at ease, as he
+would have done at a review when; he did not know his drill practice.
+Then, as he; leaned his head out, he recognized in the distance: his
+father, holding the bridle of the horse harnessed to a carryall, and his
+mother, who had come forward to the grating, behind which stood those who
+were expecting friends.
+
+He alighted first, gave his hand to his sweetheart, and holding himself
+erect, as if he were escorting a general, he went to meet his family.
+
+The mother, on seeing this black lady in variegated costume in her son's
+company, remained so stupefied that she could not open her mouth; and the
+father found it hard to hold the horse, which the engine or the negress
+caused to rear continuously.  But Antoine, suddenly filled with unmixed
+joy at seeing once more the old people, rushed forward with open arms,
+embraced his mother, embraced his father, in spite of the nag's fright,
+and then turning toward his companion, at whom the passengers on the
+platform stopped to stare with amazement, he proceeded to explain:
+
+"Here she is!  I told you that, at first sight, she is not attractive;
+but as soon as you know her, I can assure you there's not a better sort
+in the whole world.  Say good-morning to her so that she may not feel
+badly."
+
+Thereupon Mere Boitelle, almost frightened out of her wits, made a sort
+of curtsy, while the father took off his cap, murmuring:
+
+"I wish you good luck!"
+
+Then, without further delay, they climbed into the carryall, the two
+women at the back, on seats which made them jump up and down as the
+vehicle went jolting along the road, and the two men in front on the
+front seat.
+
+Nobody spoke.  Antoine, ill at ease, whistled a barrack-room air; his
+father whipped the nag; and his mother, from where she sat in the corner,
+kept casting sly glances at the negress, whose forehead and cheekbones
+shone in the sunlight like well-polished shoes.
+
+Wishing to break the ice, Antoine turned round.
+
+"Well," said he, "we don't seem inclined to talk."
+
+"We must have time," replied the old woman.
+
+He went on:
+
+"Come!  Tell us the little story about that hen of yours that laid eight
+eggs."
+
+It was a funny anecdote of long standing in the family.  But, as his
+mother still remained silent, paralyzed by her emotion, he undertook
+himself to tell the story, laughing as he did so at the memorable
+incident.  The father, who knew it by heart brightened at the opening
+words of the narrative; his wife soon followed his example; and the
+negress herself, when he reached the drollest part of it, suddenly gave
+vent to a laugh, such a loud, rolling torrent of laughter that the horse,
+becoming excited, broke into a gallop for a while.
+
+This served to cement their acquaintance.  They all began to chat.
+
+They had scarcely reached the house and had all alighted, when Antoine
+conducted his sweetheart to a room, so that she might take off her dress,
+to avoid staining it, as she was going to prepare a nice dish, intended
+to win the old people's affections through their stomachs.  He drew his
+parents outside the house, and, with beating heart, asked:
+
+"Well, what do you say now?"
+
+The father said nothing.  The mother, less timid, exclaimed:
+
+"She is too black.  No, indeed, this is too much for me.  It turns my
+blood."
+
+"You will get used to it," said Antoine.
+
+"Perhaps so, but not at first."
+
+They went into the house, where the good woman was somewhat affected at
+the spectacle of the negress engaged in cooking.  She at once proceeded
+to assist her, with petticoats tucked up, active in spite of her age.
+
+The meal was an excellent one, very long, very enjoyable.  When they were
+taking a turn after dinner, Antoine took his father aside.
+
+"Well, dad, what do you say about it?"
+
+The peasant took care never to compromise himself.
+
+"I have no opinion about it.  Ask your mother."
+
+So Antoine went back to his mother, and, detaining her behind the rest,
+said:
+
+"Well, mother, what do you think of her?"
+
+"My poor lad, she is really too black.  If she were only a little less
+black, I would not go against you, but this is too much.  One would think
+it was Satan!"
+
+He did not press her, knowing how obstinate the old woman had always
+been, but he felt a tempest of disappointment sweeping over his heart.
+He was turning over in his mind what he ought to do, what plan he could
+devise, surprised, moreover, that she had not conquered them already as
+she had captivated himself.  And they, all four, walked along through the
+wheat fields, having gradually relapsed into silence.  Whenever they
+passed a fence they saw a countryman sitting on the stile, and a group of
+brats climbed up to stare at them, and every one rushed out into the road
+to see the "black" whore young Boitelle had brought home with him.  At a
+distance they noticed people scampering across the fields just as when
+the drum beats to draw public attention to some living phenomenon.  Pere
+and Mere Boitelle, alarmed at this curiosity, which was exhibited
+everywhere through the country at their approach, quickened their pace,
+walking side by side, and leaving their son far behind.  His dark
+companion asked what his parents thought of her.
+
+He hesitatingly replied that they had not yet made up their minds.
+
+But on the village green people rushed out of all the houses in a flutter
+of excitement; and, at the sight of the gathering crowd, old Boitelle
+took to his heels, and regained his abode, while Antoine; swelling with
+rage, his sweetheart on his arm, advanced majestically under the staring
+eyes, which opened wide in amazement.
+
+He understood that it was at an end, and there was no hope for him, that
+he could not marry his negress.  She also understood it; and as they drew
+near the farmhouse they both began to weep.  As soon as they had got back
+to the house, she once more took off her dress to aid the mother in the
+household duties, and followed her everywhere, to the dairy, to the
+stable, to the hen house, taking on herself the hardest part of the work,
+repeating always: "Let me do it, Madame Boitelle," so that, when night
+came on, the old woman, touched but inexorable, said to her son: "She is
+a good girl, all the same.  It's a pity she is so black; but indeed she
+is too black.  I could not get used to it.  She must go back again.  She
+is too, too black!"
+
+And young Boitelle said to his sweetheart:
+
+"She will not consent.  She thinks you are too black.  You must go back
+again.  I will go with you to the train.  No matter--don't fret.  I am
+going to talk to them after you have started."
+
+He then took her to the railway station, still cheering her with hope,
+and, when he had kissed her, he put her into the train, which he watched
+as it passed out of sight, his eyes swollen with tears.
+
+In vain did he appeal to the old people.  They would never give their
+consent.
+
+And when he had told this story, which was known all over the country,
+Antoine Boitelle would always add:
+
+"From that time forward I have had no heart for anything--for anything at
+all.  No trade suited me any longer, and so I became what I am--a night
+scavenger."
+
+People would say to him:
+
+"Yet you got married."
+
+"Yes, and I can't say that my wife didn't please me, seeing that I have
+fourteen children; but she is not the other one, oh, no--certainly not!
+The other one, mark you, my negress, she had only to give me one glance,
+and I felt as if I were in Heaven."
+
+
+
+
+
+
+A WIDOW
+
+This story was told during the hunting season at the Chateau Baneville.
+The autumn had been rainy and sad.  The red leaves, instead of rustling
+under the feet, were rotting under the heavy downfalls.
+
+The forest was as damp as it could be.  From it came an odor of must, of
+rain, of soaked grass and wet earth; and the sportsmen, their backs
+hunched under the downpour, mournful dogs, with tails between their legs
+and hairs sticking to their sides, and the young women, with their
+clothes drenched, returned every evening, tired in body and in mind.
+
+After dinner, in the large drawing-room, everybody played lotto, without
+enjoyment, while the wind whistled madly around the house.  Then they
+tried telling stories like those they read in books, but no one was able
+to invent anything amusing.  The hunters told tales of wonderful shots
+and of the butchery of rabbits; and the women racked their brains for
+ideas without revealing the imagination of Scheherezade.  They were about
+to give up this diversion when a young woman, who was idly caressing the
+hand of an old maiden aunt, noticed a little ring made of blond hair,
+which she had often seen, without paying any attention to it.
+
+She fingered it gently and asked, "Auntie, what is this ring?  It looks
+as if it were made from the hair of a child."
+
+The old lady blushed, grew pale, then answered in a trembling voice: "It
+is sad, so sad that I never wish to speak of it.  All the unhappiness of
+my life comes from that.  I was very young then, and the memory has
+remained so painful that I weep every time I think of it."
+
+Immediately everybody wished to know the story, but the old lady refused
+to tell it.  Finally, after they had coaxed her for a long time, she
+yielded.  Here is the story:
+
+"You have often heard me speak of the Santeze family, now extinct.  I
+knew the last three male members of this family.  They all died in the
+same manner; this hair belongs to the last one.  He was thirteen when he
+killed himself for me.  That seems strange to you, doesn't it?
+
+"Oh! it was a strange family--mad, if you will, but a charming madness,
+the madness of love.  From father to son, all had violent passions which
+filled their whole being, which impelled them to do wild things, drove
+them to frantic enthusiasm, even to crime.  This was born in them, just
+as burning devotion is in certain souls.  Trappers have not the same
+nature as minions of the drawing-room.  There was a saying: 'As
+passionate as a Santeze.'  This could be noticed by looking at them.
+They all had wavy hair, falling over their brows, curly beards and large
+eyes whose glance pierced and moved one, though one could not say why.
+
+"The grandfather of the owner of this hair, of whom it is the last
+souvenir, after many adventures, duels and elopements, at about sixty-
+five fell madly in love with his farmer's daughter.  I knew them both.
+She was blond, pale, distinguished-looking, with a slow manner of
+talking, a quiet voice and a look so gentle that one might have taken her
+for a Madonna.  The old nobleman took her to his home and was soon so
+captivated with her that he could not live without her for a minute.
+His daughter and daughter-in-law, who lived in the chateau, found this
+perfectly natural, love was such a tradition in the family.  Nothing in
+regard to a passion surprised them, and if one spoke before them of
+parted lovers, even of vengeance after treachery, both said in the same
+sad tone: 'Oh, how he must have suffered to come to that point!' That was
+all.  They grew sad over tragedies of love, but never indignant, even
+when they were criminal.
+
+"Now, one day a young man named Monsieur de Gradelle, who had been
+invited for the shooting, eloped with the young girl.
+
+"Monsieur de Santeze remained calm as if nothing had happened, but one
+morning he was found hanging in the kennels, among his dogs.
+
+"His son died in the same manner in a hotel in Paris during a journey
+which he made there in 1841, after being deceived by a singer from the
+opera.
+
+"He left a twelve-year-old child and a widow, my mother's sister.  She
+came to my father's house with the boy, while we were living at
+Bertillon.  I was then seventeen.
+
+"You have no idea how wonderful and precocious this Santeze child was.
+One might have thought that all the tenderness and exaltation of the
+whole race had been stored up in this last one.  He was always dreaming
+and walking about alone in a great alley of elms leading from the chateau
+to the forest.  I watched from my window this sentimental boy, who walked
+with thoughtful steps, his hands behind his back, his head bent, and at
+times stopping to raise his eyes as if he could see and understand things
+that were not comprehensible at his age.
+
+"Often, after dinner on clear evenings, he would say to me: 'Let us go
+outside and dream, cousin.'  And we would go outside together in the
+park.  He would stop quickly before a clearing where the white vapor of
+the moon lights the woods, and he would press my hand, saying: 'Look!
+look! but you don't understand me; I feel it.  If you understood me, we
+should be happy.  One must love to know!  I would laugh and then kiss
+this child, who loved me madly.
+
+"Often, after dinner, he would sit on my mother's knees.  'Come, auntie,'
+he would say, 'tell me some love-stories.'  And my mother, as a joke,
+would tell him all the old legends of the family, all the passionate
+adventures of his forefathers, for thousands of them were current, some
+true and some false.  It was their reputation for love and gallantry
+which was the ruin of every one of these-men; they gloried in it and then
+thought that they had to live up to the renown of their house.
+
+"The little fellow became exalted by these tender or terrible stories,
+and at times he would clap his hands, crying: 'I, too, I, too, know how
+to love, better than all of them!'
+
+"Then, he began to court me in a timid and tender manner, at which every
+one laughed, it was, so amusing.  Every morning I had some flowers picked
+by him, and every evening before going to his room he would kiss my hand
+and murmur: 'I love you!'
+
+"I was guilty, very guilty, and I grieved continually about it, and I
+have been doing penance all my life; I have remained an old maid--or,
+rather, I have lived as a widowed fiancee, his widow.
+
+"I was amused at this childish tenderness, and I even encouraged him.
+I was coquettish, as charming as with a man, alternately caressing and
+severe.  I maddened this child.  It was a game for me and a joyous
+diversion for his mother and mine.  He was twelve!  think of it!  Who
+would have taken this atom's passion seriously?  I kissed him as often as
+he wished; I even wrote him little notes, which were read by our
+respective mothers; and he answered me by passionate letters, which I
+have kept.  Judging himself as a man, he thought that our loving intimacy
+was secret.  We had forgotten that he was a Santeze.
+
+"This lasted for about a year.  One evening in the park he fell at my
+feet and, as he madly kissed the hem of my dress, he kept repeating: 'I
+love you!  I love you!  I love you!  If ever you deceive me, if ever you
+leave me for another, I'll do as my father did.'  And he added in a
+hoarse voice, which gave me a shiver: 'You know what he did!'
+
+"I stood there astonished.  He arose, and standing on the tips of his
+toes in order to reach my ear, for I was taller than he, he pronounced my
+first name: 'Genevieve!' in such a gentle, sweet, tender tone that I
+trembled all over.  I stammered: 'Let us return! let us return!'  He said
+no more and followed me; but as we were going up the steps of the porch,
+he stopped me, saying: 'You know, if ever you leave me, I'll kill
+myself.'
+
+"This time I understood that I had gone too far, and I became quite
+reserved.  One day, as he was reproaching me for this, I answered: 'You
+are now too old for jesting and too young for serious love.  I'll wait.'
+
+"I thought that this would end the matter.  In the autumn he was sent to
+a boarding-school.  When he returned the following summer I was engaged
+to be married.  He understood immediately, and for a week he became so
+pensive that I was quite anxious.
+
+"On the morning of the ninth day I saw a little paper under my door as I
+got up.  I seized it, opened it and read: 'You have deserted me and you
+know what I said.  It is death to which you have condemned me.  As I do
+not wish to be found by another than you, come to the park just where I
+told you last year that I loved you and look in the air.'
+
+"I thought that I should go mad.  I dressed as quickly as I could and ran
+wildly to the place that he had mentioned.  His little cap was on the
+ground in the mud.  It had been raining all night.  I raised my eyes and
+saw something swinging among the leaves, for the wind was blowing a gale.
+
+"I don't know what I did after that.  I must have screamed at first, then
+fainted and fallen, and finally have run to the chateau.  The next thing
+that I remember I was in bed, with my mother sitting beside me.
+
+"I thought that I had dreamed all this in a frightful nightmare.
+I stammered: 'And what of him, what of him, Gontran?'  There was no
+answer.  It was true!
+
+"I did not dare see him again, but I asked for a lock of his blond hair.
+Here--here it is!"
+
+And the old maid stretched out her trembling hand in a despairing
+gesture.  Then she blew her nose several times, wiped her eyes and
+continued:
+
+"I broke off my marriage--without saying why.  And I--I always have
+remained the--the widow of this thirteen-year-old boy."  Then her head
+fell on her breast and she wept for a long time.
+
+As the guests were retiring for the night a large man, whose quiet she
+had disturbed, whispered in his neighbor's ear: "Isn't it unfortunate to,
+be so sentimental?"
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE ENGLISHMAN OF ETRETAT
+
+A great English poet has just crossed over to France in order to greet
+Victor Hugo.  All the newspapers are full of his name and he is the great
+topic of conversation in all drawing-rooms.  Fifteen years ago I had
+occasion several times to meet Algernon Charles Swinburne.  I will
+attempt to show him just as I saw him and to give an idea of the strange
+impression he made on me, which will remain with me throughout time.
+
+I believe it was in 1867 or in 1868 that an unknown young Englishman came
+to Etretat and bought a little but hidden under great trees.  It was said
+that he lived there, always alone, in a strange manner; and he aroused
+the inimical surprise of the natives, for the inhabitants were sullen and
+foolishly malicious, as they always are in little towns.
+
+They declared that this whimsical Englishman ate nothing but boiled.
+roasted or stewed monkey; that he would see no one; that he talked to
+himself hours at a time and many other surprising things that made people
+think that he was different from other men.  They were surprised that he
+should live alone with a monkey.  Had it been a cat or a dog they would
+have said nothing.  But a monkey!  Was that not frightful?  What savage
+tastes the man must have!
+
+I knew this young man only from seeing him in the streets.  He was short,
+plump, without being fat, mild-looking, and he wore a little blond
+mustache, which was almost invisible.
+
+Chance brought us together.  This savage had amiable and pleasing
+manners, but he was one of those strange Englishmen that one meets here
+and there throughout the world.
+
+Endowed with remarkable intelligence, he seemed to live in a fantastic
+dream, as Edgar Poe must have lived.  He had translated into English a
+volume of strange Icelandic legends, which I ardently desired to see
+translated into French.  He loved the supernatural, the dismal and
+grewsome, but he spoke of the most marvellous things with a calmness that
+was typically English, to which his gentle and quiet voice gave a
+semblance of reality that was maddening.
+
+Full of a haughty disdain for the world, with its conventions, prejudices
+and code of morality, he had nailed to his house a name that was boldly
+impudent.  The keeper of a lonely inn who should write on his door:
+"Travellers murdered here!" could not make a more sinister jest.  I never
+had entered his dwelling, when one day I received an invitation to
+luncheon, following an accident that had occurred to one of his friends,
+who had been almost drowned and whom I had attempted to rescue.
+
+Although I was unable to reach the man until he had already been rescued,
+I received the hearty thanks of the two Englishmen, and the following day
+I called upon them.
+
+The friend was a man about thirty years old.  He bore an enormous head on
+a child's body--a body without chest or shoulders.  An immense forehead,
+which seemed to have engulfed the rest of the man, expanded like a dome
+above a thin face which ended in a little pointed beard.  Two sharp eyes
+and a peculiar mouth gave one the impression of the head of a reptile,
+while the magnificent brow suggested a genius.
+
+A nervous twitching shook this peculiar being, who walked, moved, acted
+by jerks like a broken spring.
+
+This was Algernon Charles Swinburne, son of an English admiral and
+grandson, on the maternal side, of the Earl of Ashburnham.
+
+He strange countenance was transfigured when he spoke.  I have seldom
+seen a man more impressive, more eloquent, incisive or charming in
+conversation.  His rapid, clear, piercing and fantastic imagination
+seemed to creep into his voice and to lend life to his words.  His
+brusque gestures enlivened his speech, which penetrated one like a
+dagger, and he had bursts of thought, just as lighthouses throw out
+flashes of fire, great, genial lights that seemed to illuminate a whole
+world of ideas.
+
+The home of the two friends was pretty and by no means commonplace.
+Everywhere were paintings, some superb, some strange, representing
+different conceptions of insanity.  Unless I am mistaken, there was a
+water-color which represented the head of a dead man floating in a rose-
+colored shell on a boundless ocean, under a moon with a human face.
+
+Here and there I came across bones.  I clearly remember a flayed hand on
+which was hanging some dried skin and black muscles, and on the snow-
+white bones could be seen the traces of dried blood.
+
+The food was a riddle which I could not solve.  Was it good?  Was it bad?
+I could not say.  Some roast monkey took away all desire to make a steady
+diet of this animal, and the great monkey who roamed about among us at
+large and playfully pushed his head into my glass when I wished to drink
+cured me of any desire I might have to take one of his brothers as a
+companion for the rest of my days.
+
+As for the two men, they gave me the impression of two strange, original,
+remarkable minds, belonging to that peculiar race of talented madmen from
+among whom have arisen Poe, Hoffmann and many others.
+
+If genius is, as is commonly believed, a sort of aberration of great
+minds, then Algernon Charles Swinburne is undoubtedly a genius.
+
+Great minds that are healthy are never considered geniuses, while this
+sublime qualification is lavished on brains that are often inferior but
+are slightly touched by madness.
+
+At any rate, this poet remains one of the first of his time, through his
+originality and polished form.  He is an exalted lyrical singer who
+seldom bothers about the good and humble truth, which French poets are
+now seeking so persistently and patiently.  He strives to set down
+dreams, subtle thoughts, sometimes great, sometimes visibly forced, but
+sometimes magnificent.
+
+
+Two years later I found the house closed and its tenants gone.  The
+furniture was being sold.  In memory of them I bought the hideous flayed
+hand.  On the grass an enormous square block of granite bore this simple
+word: "Nip."  Above this a hollow stone offered water to the birds.  It
+was the grave of the monkey, who had been hanged by a young, vindictive
+negro servant.  It was said that this violent domestic had been forced to
+flee at the point of his exasperated master's revolver.  After wandering
+about without home or food for several days, he returned and began to
+peddle barley-sugar in the streets.  He was expelled from the country
+after he had almost strangled a displeased customer.
+
+The world would be gayer if one could often meet homes like that.
+
+     This story appeared in the "Gaulois," November 29, 1882.  It was the
+     original sketch for the introductory study of Swinburne, written by
+     Maupassant for the French translation by Gabriel Mourey of "Poems
+     and Ballads."
+
+
+
+
+
+
+MAGNETISM
+
+It was a men's dinner party, and they were sitting over their cigars and
+brandy and discussing magnetism.  Donato's tricks and Charcot's
+experiments.  Presently, the sceptical, easy-going men, who cared nothing
+for religion of any sort, began telling stories of strange occurrences,
+incredible things which, nevertheless, had really occurred, so they said,
+falling back into superstitious beliefs, clinging to these last remnants
+of the marvellous, becoming devotees of this mystery of magnetism,
+defending it in the name of science.  There was only one person who
+smiled, a vigorous young fellow, a great ladies' man who was so
+incredulous that he would not even enter upon a discussion of such
+matters.
+
+He repeated with a sneer:
+
+"Humbug! humbug! humbug!  We need not discuss Donato, who is merely a
+very smart juggler.  As for M. Charcot, who is said to be a remarkable
+man of science, he produces on me the effect of those story-tellers of
+the school of Edgar Poe, who end by going mad through constantly
+reflecting on queer cases of insanity.  He has authenticated some cases
+of unexplained and inexplicable nervous phenomena; he makes his way into
+that unknown region which men are exploring every day, and unable always
+to understand what he sees, he recalls, perhaps, the ecclesiastical
+interpretation of these mysteries.  I should like to hear what he says
+himself."
+
+The words of the unbeliever were listened to with a kind of pity, as if
+he had blasphemed in an assembly of monks.
+
+One of these gentlemen exclaimed:
+
+"And yet miracles were performed in olden times."
+
+"I deny it," replied the other: "Why cannot they be performed now?"
+
+Then, each mentioned some fact, some fantastic presentiment some instance
+of souls communicating with each other across space, or some case of the
+secret influence of one being over another.  They asserted and maintained
+that these things had actually occurred, while the sceptic angrily
+repeated:
+
+"Humbug! humbug! humbug!"
+
+At last he rose, threw away his cigar, and with his hands in his pockets,
+said: "Well, I also have two stories to tell you, which I will afterwards
+explain.  Here they are:
+
+"In the little village of Etretat, the men, who are all seafaring folk,
+go every year to Newfoundland to fish for cod.  One night the little son
+of one of these fishermen woke up with a start, crying out that his
+father was dead.  The child was quieted, and again he woke up exclaiming
+that his father was drowned.  A month later the news came that his father
+had, in fact, been swept off the deck of his smack by a billow.  The
+widow then remembered how her son had woke up and spoken of his father's
+death.  Everyone said it was a miracle, and the affair caused a great
+sensation.  The dates were compared, and it was found that the accident
+and the dream were almost coincident, whence they concluded that they had
+happened on the same night and at the same hour.  And there is a mystery
+of magnetism."
+
+The story-teller stopped suddenly.
+
+Thereupon, one of those who had heard him, much affected by the
+narrative, asked:
+
+"And can you explain this?"
+
+"Perfectly, monsieur.  I have discovered the secret.  The circumstance
+surprised me and even perplexed me very much; but you see, I do not
+believe on principle.  Just as others begin by believing, I begin by
+doubting; and when I cannot understand, I continue to deny that there can
+be any telepathic communication between souls; certain that my own
+intelligence will be able to explain it.  Well, I kept on inquiring into
+the matter, and by dint of questioning all the wives of the absent
+seamen, I was convinced that not a week passed without one of them, or
+one of their children dreaming and declaring when they woke up that the
+father was drowned.  The horrible and continual fear of this accident
+makes them always talk about it.  Now, if one of these frequent
+predictions coincides, by a very simple chance, with the death of the
+person referred to, people at once declare it to be a miracle; for they
+suddenly lose sight of all the other predictions of misfortune that have
+remained unfulfilled.  I have myself known fifty cases where the persons
+who made the prediction forgot all about it a week after wards.  But, if,
+then one happens to die, then the recollection of the thing is
+immediately revived, and people are ready to believe in the intervention
+of God, according to some, and magnetism, according to others."
+
+One of the smokers remarked:
+
+"What you say is right enough; but what about your second story?"
+
+"Oh!  my second story is a very delicate matter to relate.  It happened
+to myself, and so I don't place any great value on my own view of the
+matter.  An interested party can never give an impartial opinion.
+However, here it is:
+
+"Among my acquaintances was a young woman on whom I had never bestowed a
+thought, whom I had never even looked at attentively, never taken any
+notice of.
+
+"I classed her among the women of no importance, though she was not bad-
+looking; she appeared, in fact, to possess eyes, a nose, a mouth, some
+sort of hair--just a colorless type of countenance.  She was one of those
+beings who awaken only a chance, passing thought, but no special
+interest, no desire.
+
+"Well, one night, as I was writing some letters by my fireside before
+going to bed, I was conscious, in the midst of that train of sensuous
+visions that sometimes pass through one's brain in moments of idle
+reverie, of a kind of slight influence, passing over me, a little flutter
+of the heart, and immediately, without any cause, without any logical
+connection of thought, I saw distinctly, as if I were touching her, saw
+from head to foot, and disrobed, this young woman to whom I had never
+given more that three seconds' thought at a time.  I suddenly discovered
+in her a number of qualities which I had never before observed, a sweet
+charm, a languorous fascination; she awakened in me that sort of restless
+emotion that causes one to pursue a woman.  But I did not think of her
+long.  I went to bed and was soon asleep.  And I dreamed.
+
+"You have all had these strange dreams which make you overcome the
+impossible, which open to you double-locked doors, unexpected joys,
+tightly folded arms?
+
+"Which of us in these troubled, excising, breathless slumbers, has not
+held, clasped, embraced with rapture, the woman who occupied his
+thoughts?  And have you ever noticed what superhuman delight these happy
+dreams give us?  Into what mad intoxication they cast you! with what
+passionate spasms they shake you! and with what infinite, caressing,
+penetrating tenderness they fill your heart for her whom you hold clasped
+in your arms in that adorable illusion that is so like reality!
+
+"All this I felt with unforgettable violence.  This woman was mine, so
+much mine that the pleasant warmth of her skin remained in my fingers,
+the odor of her skin, in my brain, the taste of her kisses, on my lips,
+the sound of her voice lingered in my ears, the touch of her clasp still
+clung to me, and the burning charm of her tenderness still gratified my
+senses long after the delight but disillusion of my awakening.
+
+"And three times that night I had the same dream.
+
+"When the day dawned she haunted me, possessed me, filled my senses to
+such an extent that I was not one second without thinking of her.
+
+"At last, not knowing what to do, I dressed myself and went to call on
+her.  As I went upstairs to her apartment, I was so overcome by emotion
+that I trembled, and my heart beat rapidly.
+
+"I entered the apartment.  She rose the moment she heard my name
+mentioned; and suddenly our eyes met in a peculiar fixed gaze.
+
+"I sat down.  I stammered out some commonplaces which she seemed not to
+hear.  I did not know what to say or do.  Then, abruptly, clasping my
+arms round her, my dream was realized so suddenly that I began to doubt
+whether I was really awake.  We were friends after this for two years."
+
+"What conclusion do you draw from it?" said a voice.
+
+The story-teller seemed to hesitate.
+
+"The conclusion I draw from it--well, by Jove, the conclusion is that it
+was just a coincidence!  And then--who can tell?  Perhaps it was some
+glance of hers which I had not noticed and which came back that night to
+me through one of those mysterious and unconscious--recollections that
+often bring before us things ignored by our own consciousness,
+unperceived by our minds!"
+
+"Call it whatever you like," said one of his table companions, when the
+story was finished; "but if you don't believe in magnetism after that, my
+dear boy, you are an ungrateful fellow!"
+
+
+
+
+
+
+A FATHER'S CONFESSION
+
+All Veziers-le-Rethel had followed the funeral procession of M. Badon-
+Leremince to the grave, and the last words of the funeral oration
+pronounced by the delegate of the district remained in the minds of all:
+"He was an honest man, at least!"
+
+An honest man he had been in all the known acts of his life, in his
+words, in his examples, his attitude, his behavior, his enterprises, in
+the cut of his beard and the shape of his hats.  He never had said a word
+that did not set an example, never had given an alms without adding a
+word of advice, never had extended his hand without appearing to bestow a
+benediction.
+
+He left two children, a boy and a girl.  His son was counselor general,
+and his daughter, having married a lawyer, M. Poirel de la Voulte, moved
+in the best society of Veziers.
+
+They were inconsolable at the death of their father, for they loved him
+sincerely.
+
+As soon as the ceremony was over, the son, daughter and son-in-law
+returned to the house of mourning, and, shutting themselves in the
+library, they opened the will, the seals of which were to be broken by
+them alone and only after the coffin had been placed in the ground.
+This wish was expressed by a notice on the envelope.
+
+M. Poirel de la Voulte tore open the envelope, in his character of a
+lawyer used to such operations, and having adjusted his spectacles, he
+read in a monotonous voice, made for reading the details of contracts:
+
+     My children, my dear children, I could not sleep the eternal sleep
+     in peace if I did not make to you from the tomb a confession, the
+     confession of a crime, remorse for which has ruined my life.  Yes,
+     I committed a crime, a frightful, abominable crime.
+
+     I was twenty-six years old, and I had just been called to the bar in
+     Paris, and was living the life off young men from the provinces who
+     are stranded in this town without acquaintances, relatives, or
+     friends.
+
+     I took a sweetheart.  There are beings who cannot live alone.  I was
+     one of those.  Solitude fills me with horrible anguish, the solitude
+     of my room beside my fire in the evening.  I feel then as if I were
+     alone on earth, alone, but surrounded by vague dangers, unknown and
+     terrible things; and the partition that separates me from my
+     neighbor, my neighbor whom I do not know, keeps me at as great a
+     distance from him as the stars that I see through my window.  A sort
+     of fever pervades me, a fever of impatience and of fear, and the
+     silence of the walls terrifies me.  The silence of a room where one
+     lives alone is so intense and so melancholy It is not only a silence
+     of the mind; when a piece of furniture cracks a shudder goes through
+     you for you expect no noise in this melancholy abode.
+
+     How many times, nervous and timid from this motionless silence, I
+     have begun to talk, to repeat words without rhyme or reason, only to
+     make some sound.  My voice at those times sounds so strange that I
+     am afraid of that, too.  Is there anything more dreadful than
+     talking to one's self in an empty house?  One's voice sounds like
+     that of another, an unknown voice talking aimlessly, to no one, into
+     the empty air, with no ear to listen to it, for one knows before
+     they escape into the solitude of the room exactly what words will be
+     uttered.  And when they resound lugubriously in the silence, they
+     seem no more than an echo, the peculiar echo of words whispered by
+     ones thought.
+
+     My sweetheart was a young girl like other young girls who live in
+     Paris on wages that are insufficient to keep them.  She was gentle,
+     good, simple.  Her parents lived at Poissy.  She went to spend
+     several days with them from time to time.
+
+     For a year I lived quietly with her, fully decided to leave her when
+     I should find some one whom I liked well enough to marry.  I would
+     make a little provision for this one, for it is an understood thing
+     in our social set that a woman's love should be paid for, in money
+     if she is poor, in presents if she is rich.
+
+     But one day she told me she was enceinte.  I was thunderstruck, and
+     saw in a second that my life would be ruined.  I saw the fetter that
+     I should wear until my death, everywhere, in my future family life,
+     in my old age, forever; the fetter of a woman bound to my life
+     through a child; the fetter of the child whom I must bring up, watch
+     over, protect, while keeping myself unknown to him, and keeping him
+     hidden from the world.
+
+     I was greatly disturbed at this news, and a confused longing, a
+     criminal desire, surged through my mind; I did not formulate it, but
+     I felt it in my heart, ready to come to the surface, as if some one
+     hidden behind a portiere should await the signal to come out.  If
+     some accident might only happen!  So many of these little beings die
+     before they are born!
+
+     Oh!  I did not wish my sweetheart to die!  The poor girl, I loved
+     her very much!  But I wished, possibly, that the child might die
+     before I saw it.
+
+     He was born.  I set up housekeeping in my little bachelor apartment,
+     an imitation home, with a horrible child.  He looked like all
+     children; I did not care for him.  Fathers, you see, do not show
+     affection until later.  They have not the instinctive and passionate
+     tenderness of mothers; their affection has to be awakened gradually,
+     their mind must become attached by bonds formed each day between
+     beings that live in each other's society.
+
+     A year passed.  I now avoided my home, which was too small, where
+     soiled linen, baby-clothes and stockings the size of gloves were
+     lying round, where a thousand articles of all descriptions lay on
+     the furniture, on the arm of an easy-chair, everywhere.  I went out
+     chiefly that I might not hear the child cry, for he cried on the
+     slightest pretext, when he was bathed, when he was touched, when he
+     was put to bed, when he was taken up in the morning, incessantly.
+
+     I had made a few acquaintances, and I met at a reception the woman
+     who was to be your mother.  I fell in love with her and became
+     desirous to marry her.  I courted her; I asked her parents' consent
+     to our marriage and it was granted.
+
+     I found myself in this dilemma: I must either marry this young girl
+     whom I adored, having a child already, or else tell the truth and
+     renounce her, and happiness, my future, everything; for her parents,
+     who were people of rigid principles, would not give her to me if
+     they knew.
+
+     I passed a month of horrible anguish, of mortal torture, a month
+     haunted by a thousand frightful thoughts; and I felt developing in
+     me a hatred toward my son, toward that little morsel of living,
+     screaming flesh, who blocked my path, interrupted my life, condemned
+     me to an existence without hope, without all those vague
+     expectations that make the charm of youth.
+
+     But just then my companion's mother became ill, and I was left alone
+     with the child.
+
+     It was in December, and the weather was terribly cold.  What a
+     night!
+
+     My companion had just left.  I had dined alone in my little dining-
+     room and I went gently into the room where the little one was
+     asleep.
+
+     I sat down in an armchair before the fire.  The wind was blowing,
+     making the windows rattle, a dry, frosty wind; and I saw trough the
+     window the stars shining with that piercing brightness that they
+     have on frosty nights.
+
+     Then the idea that had obsessed me for a month rose again to the
+     surface.  As soon as I was quiet it came to me and harassed me.  It
+     ate into my mind like a fixed idea, just as cancers must eat into
+     the flesh.  It was there, in my head, in my heart, in my whole body,
+     it seemed to me; and it swallowed me up as a wild beast might have.
+     I endeavored to drive it away, to repulse it, to open my mind to
+     other thoughts, as one opens a window to the fresh morning breeze to
+     drive out the vitiated air; but I could not drive it from my brain,
+     not even for a second.  I do not know how to express this torture.
+     It gnawed at my soul, and I felt a frightful pain, a real physical
+     and moral pain.
+
+     My life was ruined!  How could I escape from this situation?  How
+     could I draw back, and how could I confess?
+
+     And I loved the one who was to become your mother with a mad
+     passion, which this insurmountable obstacle only aggravated.
+
+     A terrible rage was taking possession of me, choking me, a rage that
+     verged on madness!  Surely I was crazy that evening!
+
+     The child was sleeping.  I got up and looked at it as it slept.  It
+     was he, this abortion, this spawn, this nothing, that condemned me
+     to irremediable unhappiness!
+
+     He was asleep, his mouth open, wrapped in his bed-clothes in a crib
+     beside my bed, where I could not sleep.
+
+     How did I ever do what I did?  How do I know?  What force urged me
+     on?  What malevolent power took possession of me?  Oh! the
+     temptation to crime came to me without any forewarning.  All I
+     recall is that my heart beat tumultuously.  It beat so hard that I
+     could hear it, as one hears the strokes of a hammer behind a
+     partition.  That is all I can recall--the beating of my heart!
+     In my head there was a strange confusion, a tumult, a senseless
+     disorder, a lack of presence of mind.  It was one of those hours of
+     bewilderment and hallucination when a man is neither conscious of
+     his actions nor able to guide his will.
+
+     I gently raised the coverings from the body of the child; I turned
+     them down to the foot of the crib, and he lay there uncovered and
+     naked.
+
+     He did not wake.  Then I went toward the window, softly, quite
+     softly, and I opened it.
+
+     A breath of icy air glided in like an assassin; it was so cold that
+     I drew aside, and the two candles flickered.  I remained standing
+     near the window, not daring to turn round, as if for fear of seeing
+     what was doing on behind me, and feeling the icy air continually
+     across my forehead, my cheeks, my hands, the deadly air which kept
+     streaming in.  I stood there a long time.
+
+     I was not thinking, I was not reflecting.  All at once a little
+     cough caused me to shudder frightfully from head to foot, a shudder
+     that I feel still to the roots of my hair.  And with a frantic
+     movement I abruptly closed both sides of the window and, turning
+     round, ran over to the crib.
+
+     He was still asleep, his mouth open, quite naked.  I touched his
+     legs; they were icy cold and I covered them up.
+
+     My heart was suddenly touched, grieved, filled with pity,
+     tenderness, love for this poor innocent being that I had wished to
+     kill.  I kissed his fine, soft hair long and tenderly; then I went
+     and sat down before the fire.
+
+     I reflected with amazement with horror on what I had done, asking
+     myself whence come those tempests of the soul in which a man loses
+     all perspective of things, all command over himself and acts as in a
+     condition of mad intoxication, not knowing whither he is going--like
+     a vessel in a hurricane.
+
+     The child coughed again, and it gave my heart a wrench.  Suppose it
+     should die!  O God!  O God!  What would become of me?
+
+     I rose from my chair to go and look at him, and with a candle in my
+     hand I leaned over him.  Seeing him breathing quietly I felt
+     reassured, when he coughed a third time.  It gave me such a shock
+     tat I started backward, just as one does at sight of something
+     horrible, and let my candle fall.
+
+     As I stood erect after picking it up, I noticed that my temples were
+     bathed in perspiration, that cold sweat which is the result of
+     anguish of soul.  And I remained until daylight bending over my son,
+     becoming calm when he remained quiet for some time, and filled with
+     atrocious pain when a weak cough came from his mouth.
+
+     He awoke with his eyes red, his throat choked, and with an air of
+     suffering.
+
+     When the woman came in to arrange my room I sent her at once for a
+     doctor.  He came at the end of an hour, and said, after examining
+     the child:
+
+     "Did he not catch cold?"
+
+     I began to tremble like a person with palsy, and I faltered:
+
+     "No, I do not think so."
+
+     And then I said:
+
+     "What is the matter?  Is it serious?"
+
+     "I do not know yet," he replied.  "I will come again this evening."
+
+     He came that evening.  My son had remained almost all day in a
+     condition of drowsiness, coughing from time to time.  During the
+     night inflammation of the lungs set in.
+
+     That lasted ten days.  I cannot express what I suffered in those
+     interminable hours that divide morning from night, right from
+     morning.
+
+     He died.
+
+     And since--since that moment, I have not passed one hour, not a
+     single hour, without the frightful burning recollection, a gnawing
+     recollection, a memory that seems to wring my heart, awaking in me
+     like a savage beast imprisoned in the depth of my soul.
+
+     Oh! if I could have gone mad!
+
+
+M. Poirel de la Voulte raised his spectacles with a motion that was
+peculiar to him whenever he finished reading a contract; and the three
+heirs of the defunct looked at one another without speaking, pale and
+motionless.
+
+At the end of a minute the lawyer resumed:
+
+"That must be destroyed."
+
+The other two bent their heads in sign of assent.  He lighted a candle,
+carefully separated the pages containing the damaging confession from
+those relating to the disposition of money, then he held them over the
+candle and threw them into the fireplace.
+
+And they watched the white sheets as they burned, till they were
+presently reduced to little crumbling black heaps.  And as some words
+were still visible in white tracing, the daughter, with little strokes of
+the toe of her shoe, crushed the burning paper, mixing it with the old
+ashes in the fireplace.
+
+Then all three stood there watching it for some time, as if they feared
+that the destroyed secret might escape from the fireplace.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+A MOTHER OF MONSTERS
+
+I recalled this horrible story, the events of which occurred long ago,
+and this horrible woman, the other day at a fashionable seaside resort,
+where I saw on the beach a well-known young, elegant and charming
+Parisienne, adored and respected by everyone.
+
+I had been invited by a friend to pay him a visit in a little provincial
+town.  He took me about in all directions to do the honors of the place,
+showed me noted scenes, chateaux, industries, ruins.  He pointed out
+monuments, churches, old carved doorways, enormous or distorted trees,
+the oak of St. Andrew, and the yew tree of Roqueboise.
+
+When I had exhausted my admiration and enthusiasm over all the sights,
+my friend said with a distressed expression on his face, that there was
+nothing left to look at.  I breathed freely.  I would now be able to rest
+under the shade of the trees.  But, all at once, he uttered an
+exclamation:
+
+"Oh, yes!  We have the 'Mother of Monsters'; I must take you to see her."
+
+"Who is that, the 'Mother of Monsters'?" I asked.
+
+"She is an abominable woman," he replied, "a regular demon, a being who
+voluntarily brings into the world deformed, hideous, frightful children,
+monstrosities, in fact, and then sells them to showmen who exhibit such
+things.
+
+"These exploiters of freaks come from time to time to find out if she has
+any fresh monstrosity, and if it meets with their approval they carry it
+away with them, paying the mother a compensation.
+
+"She has eleven of this description.  She is rich.
+
+"You think I am joking, romancing, exaggerating.  No, my friend; I am
+telling you the truth, the exact truth.
+
+"Let us go and see this woman.  Then I will tell you her history."
+
+He took me into one of the suburbs.  The woman lived in a pretty little
+house by the side of the road.  It was attractive and well kept.  The
+garden was filled with fragrant flowers.  One might have supposed it to
+be the residence of a retired lawyer.
+
+A maid ushered us into a sort of little country parlor, and the wretch
+appeared.  She was about forty.  She was a tall, big woman with hard
+features, but well formed, vigorous and healthy, the true type of a
+robust peasant woman, half animal, and half woman.
+
+She was aware of her reputation and received everyone with a humility
+that smacked of hatred.
+
+"What do the gentlemen wish?" she asked.
+
+"They tell me that your last child is just like an ordinary child, that
+he does not resemble his brothers at all," replied my friend.  "I wanted
+to be sure of that.  Is it true?"
+
+She cast on us a malicious and furious look as she said:
+
+"Oh, no, oh, no, my poor sir!  He is perhaps even uglier than the rest.
+I have no luck, no luck!
+
+"They are all like that, it is heartbreaking!  How can the good God be so
+hard on a poor woman who is all alone in the world, how can He?"
+She spoke hurriedly, her eyes cast down, with a deprecating air as of a
+wild beast who is afraid.  Her harsh voice became soft, and it seemed
+strange to hear those tearful falsetto tones issuing from that big, bony
+frame, of unusual strength and with coarse outlines, which seemed fitted
+for violent action, and made to utter howls like a wolf.
+
+"We should like to see your little one," said my friend.
+
+I fancied she colored up.  I may have been deceived.  After a few moments
+of silence, she said in a louder tone:
+
+"What good will that do you?"
+
+"Why do you not wish to show it to us?" replied my friend.  "There are
+many people to whom you will show it; you know whom I mean."
+
+She gave a start, and resuming her natural voice, and giving free play to
+her anger, she screamed:
+
+"Was that why you came here?  To insult me?  Because my children are like
+animals, tell me?  You shall not see him, no, no, you shall not see him!
+Go away, go away!  I do not know why you all try to torment me like
+that."
+
+She walked over toward us, her hands on her hips.  At the brutal tone of
+her voice, a sort of moaning, or rather a mewing, the lamentable cry of
+an idiot, came from the adjoining room.  I shivered to the marrow of my
+bones.  We retreated before her.
+
+"Take care, Devil" (they called her the Devil); said my friend, "take
+care; some day you will get yourself into trouble through this."
+
+She began to tremble, beside herself with fury, shaking her fist and
+roaring:
+
+"Be off with you!  What will get me into trouble?  Be off with you,
+miscreants!"
+
+She was about to attack us, but we fled, saddened at what we had seen.
+When we got outside, my friend said:
+
+"Well, you have seen her, what do you think of her?"
+
+"Tell me the story of this brute," I replied.
+
+And this is what he told me as we walked along the white high road, with
+ripe crops on either side of it which rippled like the sea in the light
+breeze that passed over them.
+
+"This woman was one a servant on a farm.  She was an honest girl, steady
+and economical.  She was never known to have an admirer, and never
+suspected of any frailty.  But she went astray, as so many do.
+
+"She soon found herself in trouble, and was tortured with fear and shame.
+Wishing to conceal her misfortune, she bound her body tightly with a
+corset of her own invention, made of boards and cord.  The more she
+developed, the more she bound herself with this instrument of torture,
+suffering martyrdom, but brave in her sorrow, not allowing anyone to see,
+or suspect, anything.  She maimed the little unborn being, cramping it
+with that frightful corset, and made a monster of it.  Its head was
+squeezed and elongated to a point, and its large eyes seemed popping out
+of its head.  Its limbs, exaggeratedly long, and twisted like the stalk
+of a vine, terminated in fingers like the claws of a spider.  Its trunk
+was tiny, and round as a nut.
+
+"The child was born in an open field, and when the weeders saw it, they
+fled away, screaming, and the report spread that she had given birth to a
+demon.  From that time on, she was called 'the Devil.'
+
+"She was driven from the farm, and lived on charity, under a cloud.  She
+brought up the monster, whom she hated with a savage hatred, and would
+have strangled, perhaps, if the priest had not threatened her with
+arrest.
+
+"One day some travelling showmen heard about the frightful creature, and
+asked to see it, so that if it pleased them they might take it away.
+They were pleased, and counted out five hundred francs to the mother.
+At first, she had refused to let them see the little animal, as she was
+ashamed; but when she discovered it had a money value, and that these
+people were anxious to get it, she began to haggle with them, raising her
+price with all a peasant's persistence.
+
+"She made them draw up a paper, in which they promised to pay her four
+hundred francs a year besides, as though they had taken this deformity
+into their employ.
+
+"Incited by the greed of gain, she continued to produce these phenomena,
+so as to have an assured income like a bourgeoise.
+
+"Some of them were long, some short, some like crabs-all bodies-others
+like lizards.  Several died, and she was heartbroken.
+
+"The law tried to interfere, but as they had no proof they let her
+continue to produce her freaks.
+
+"She has at this moment eleven alive, and they bring in, on an average,
+counting good and bad years, from five to six thousand francs a year.
+One, alone, is not placed, the one she was unwilling to show us.  But she
+will not keep it long, for she is known to all the showmen in the world,
+who come from time to time to see if she has anything new.
+
+"She even gets bids from them when the monster is valuable."
+
+My friend was silent.  A profound disgust stirred my heart, and a feeling
+of rage, of regret, to think that I had not strangled this brute when I
+had the opportunity.
+
+I had forgotten this story, when I saw on the beach of a fashionable
+resort the other day, an elegant, charming, dainty woman, surrounded by
+men who paid her respect as well as admiration.
+
+I was walking along the beach, arm in arm with a friend, the resident
+physician.  Ten minutes later, I saw a nursemaid with three children, who
+were rolling in the sand.  A pair of little crutches lay on the ground,
+and touched my sympathy.  I then noticed that these three children were
+all deformed, humpbacked, or crooked; and hideous.
+
+"Those are the offspring of that charming woman you saw just now," said
+the doctor.
+
+I was filled with pity for her, as well as for them, and exclaimed:
+"Oh, the poor mother!  How can she ever laugh!"
+
+"Do not pity her, my friend.  Pity the poor children," replied the
+doctor.  "This is the consequence of preserving a slender figure up to
+the last.  These little deformities were made by the corset.  She knows
+very well that she is risking her life at this game.  But what does she
+care, as long as lie can be beautiful and have admirers!"
+
+And then I recalled that other woman, the peasant, the "Devil," who sold
+her children, her monsters.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+AN UNCOMFORTABLE BED
+
+One autumn I went to spend the hunting season with some friends in a
+chateau in Picardy.
+
+My friends were fond of practical jokes.  I do not care to know people
+who are not.
+
+When I arrived, they gave me a princely reception, which at once awakened
+suspicion in my mind.  They fired off rifles, embraced me, made much of
+me, as if they expected to have great fun at my expense.
+
+I said to myself:
+
+"Look out, old ferret!  They have something in store for you."
+
+During the dinner the mirth was excessive, exaggerated, in fact.
+I thought: "Here are people who have more than their share of amusement,
+and apparently without reason.  They must have planned some good joke.
+Assuredly I am to be the victim of the joke.  Attention!"
+
+During the entire evening every one laughed in an exaggerated fashion.
+I scented a practical joke in the air, as a dog scents game.  But what
+was it?  I was watchful, restless.  I did not let a word, or a meaning,
+or a gesture escape me.  Every one seemed to me an object of suspicion,
+and I even looked distrustfully at the faces of the servants.
+
+The hour struck for retiring; and the whole household came to escort me
+to my room.  Why?
+
+They called to me: "Good-night."  I entered the apartment, shut the door,
+and remained standing, without moving a single step, holding the wax
+candle in my hand.
+
+I heard laughter and whispering in the corridor.  Without doubt they were
+spying on me.  I cast a glance round the walls, the furniture, the
+ceiling, the hangings, the floor.  I saw nothing to justify suspicion.
+I heard persons moving about outside my door.  I had no doubt they were
+looking through the keyhole.
+
+An idea came into my head: "My candle may suddenly go out and leave me in
+darkness."
+
+Then I went across to the mantelpiece and lighted all the wax candles
+that were on it.  After that I cast another glance around me without
+discovering anything.  I advanced with short steps, carefully examining
+the apartment.  Nothing.  I inspected every article, one after the other.
+Still nothing.  I went over to the window.  The shutters, large wooden
+shutters, were open.  I shut them with great care, and then drew the
+curtains, enormous velvet curtains, and placed a chair in front of them,
+so as to have nothing to fear from outside.
+
+Then I cautiously sat down.  The armchair was solid.  I did not venture
+to get into the bed.  However, the night was advancing; and I ended by
+coming to the conclusion that I was foolish.  If they were spying on me,
+as I supposed, they must, while waiting for the success of the joke they
+had been preparing for me, have been laughing immoderately at my terror.
+So I made up my mind to go to bed.  But the bed was particularly
+suspicious-looking.  I pulled at the curtains.  They seemed to be secure.
+
+All the same, there was danger.  I was going perhaps to receive a cold
+shower both from overhead, or perhaps, the moment I stretched myself out,
+to find myself sinking to the floor with my mattress.  I searched in my
+memory for all the practical jokes of which I ever had experience.  And I
+did not want to be caught.  Ah! certainly not! certainly not!  Then I
+suddenly bethought myself of a precaution which I considered insured
+safety.  I caught hold of the side of the mattress gingerly, and very
+slowly drew it toward me.  It came away, followed by the sheet and the
+rest of the bedclothes.  I dragged all these objects into the very middle
+of the room, facing the entrance door.  I made my bed over again as best
+I could at some distance from the suspected bedstead and the corner which
+had filled me with such anxiety.  Then I extinguished all the candles,
+and, groping my way, I slipped under the bed clothes.
+
+For at least another hour I remained awake, starting at the slightest
+sound.  Everything seemed quiet in the chateau.  I fell asleep.
+
+I must have been in a deep sleep for a long time, but all of a sudden I
+was awakened with a start by the fall of a heavy body tumbling right on
+top of my own, and, at the same time, I received on my face, on my neck,
+and on my chest a burning liquid which made me utter a howl of pain.  And
+a dreadful noise, as if a sideboard laden with plates and dishes had
+fallen down, almost deafened me.
+
+I was smothering beneath the weight that was crushing me and preventing
+me from moving.  I stretched out my hand to find out what was the nature
+of this object.  I felt a face, a nose, and whiskers.  Then, with all my
+strength, I launched out a blow at this face.  But I immediately received
+a hail of cuffings which made me jump straight out of the soaked sheets,
+and rush in my nightshirt into the corridor, the door of which I found
+open.
+
+Oh, heavens!  it was broad daylight.  The noise brought my friends
+hurrying into my apartment, and we found, sprawling over my improvised
+bed, the dismayed valet, who, while bringing me my morning cup of tea,
+had tripped over this obstacle in the middle of the floor and fallen on
+his stomach, spilling my breakfast over my face in spite of himself.
+
+The precautions I had taken in closing the shutters and going to sleep in
+the middle of the room had only brought about the practical joke I had
+been trying to avoid.
+
+Oh, how they all laughed that day!
+
+
+
+
+
+
+A PORTRAIT
+
+"Hello! there's Milial!" said somebody near me.  I looked at the man who
+had been pointed out as I had been wishing for a long time to meet this
+Don Juan.
+
+He was no longer young.  His gray hair looked a little like those fur
+bonnets worn by certain Northern peoples, and his long beard, which fell
+down over his chest, had also somewhat the appearance of fur.  He was
+talking to a lady, leaning toward her, speaking in a low voice and
+looking at her with an expression full of respect and tenderness.
+
+I knew his life, or at least as much as was known of it.  He had loved
+madly several times, and there had been certain tragedies with which his
+name had been connected.  When I spoke to women who were the loudest in
+his praise, and asked them whence came this power, they always answered,
+after thinking for a while: "I don't know--he has a certain charm about
+him."
+
+He was certainly not handsome.  He had none of the elegance that we
+ascribe to conquerors of feminine hearts.  I wondered what might be his
+hid den charm.  Was it mental?  I never had heard of a clever saying of
+his.  In his glance?  Perhaps.  Or in his voice?  The voices of some
+beings have a certain irresistible attraction, almost suggesting the
+flavor of things good to eat.  One is hungry for them, and the sound of
+their words penetrates us like a dainty morsel.  A friend was passing.
+I asked him: "Do you know Monsieur Milial?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Introduce us."
+
+A minute later we were shaking hands and talking in the doorway.  What he
+said was correct, agreeable to hear; it contained no irritable thought.
+The voice was sweet, soft, caressing, musical; but I had heard others
+much more attractive, much more moving.  One listened to him with
+pleasure, just as one would look at a pretty little brook.  No tension of
+the mind was necessary in order to follow him, no hidden meaning aroused
+curiosity, no expectation awoke interest.  His conversation was rather
+restful, but it did not awaken in one either a desire to answer, to
+contradict or to approve, and it was as easy to answer him as it was to
+listen to him.  The response came to the lips of its own accord, as soon
+as he had finished talking, and phrases turned toward him as if he had
+naturally aroused them.
+
+One thought soon struck me.  I had known him for a quarter of an hour,
+and it seemed as if he were already one of my old friends, that I had
+known all about him for a long time; his face, his gestures, his voice,
+his ideas.  Suddenly, after a few minutes of conversation, he seemed
+already to be installed in my intimacy.  All constraint disappeared
+between us, and, had he so desired, I might have confided in him as one
+confides only in old friends.
+
+Certainly there was some mystery about him.  Those barriers that are
+closed between most people and that are lowered with time when sympathy,
+similar tastes, equal intellectual culture and constant intercourse
+remove constraint--those barriers seemed not to exist between him and me,
+and no doubt this was the case between him and all people, both men and
+women, whom fate threw in his path.
+
+After half an hour we parted, promising to see each other often, and he
+gave me his address after inviting me to take luncheon with him in two
+days.
+
+I forgot what hour he had stated, and I arrived too soon; he was not yet
+home.  A correct and silent domestic showed me into a beautiful, quiet,
+softly lighted parlor.  I felt comfortable there, at home.  How often I
+have noticed the influence of apartments on the character and on the
+mind!  There are some which make one feel foolish; in others, on the
+contrary, one always feels lively.  Some make us sad, although well
+lighted and decorated in light-colored furniture; others cheer us up,
+although hung with sombre material.  Our eye, like our heart, has its
+likes and dislikes, of which it does not inform us, and which it secretly
+imposes on our temperament.  The harmony of furniture, walls, the style
+of an ensemble, act immediately on our mental state, just as the air from
+the woods, the sea or the mountains modifies our physical natures.
+
+I sat down on a cushion-covered divan and felt myself suddenly carried
+and supported by these little silk bags of feathers, as if the outline of
+my body had been marked out beforehand on this couch.
+
+Then I looked about.  There was nothing striking about the room; every-
+where were beautiful and modest things, simple and rare furniture,
+Oriental curtains which did not seem to come from a department store but
+from the interior of a harem; and exactly opposite me hung the portrait
+of a woman.  It was a portrait of medium size, showing the head and the
+upper part of the body, and the hands, which were holding a book.  She
+was young, bareheaded; ribbons were woven in her hair; she was smiling
+sadly.  Was it because she was bareheaded, was it merely her natural
+expression?  I never have seen a portrait of a lady which seemed so much
+in its place as that one in that dwelling.  Of all those I knew I have
+seen nothing like that one.  All those that I know are on exhibition,
+whether the lady be dressed in her gaudiest gown, with an attractive
+headdress and a look which shows that she is posing first of all before
+the artist and then before those who will look at her or whether they
+have taken a comfortable attitude in an ordinary gown.  Some are standing
+majestically in all their beauty, which is not at all natural to them in
+life.  All of them have something, a flower or, a jewel, a crease in the
+dress or a curve of the lip, which one feels to have been placed there
+for effect by the artist.  Whether they wear a hat or merely their hair
+one can immediately notice that they are not entirely natural.  Why?
+One cannot say without knowing them, but the effect is there.  They seem
+to be calling somewhere, on people whom they wish to please and to whom
+they wish to appear at their best advantage; and they have studied their
+attitudes, sometimes modest, Sometimes haughty.
+
+What could one say about this one?  She was at home and alone.  Yes, she
+was alone, for she was smiling as one smiles when thinking in solitude of
+something sad or sweet, and not as one smiles when one is being watched.
+She seemed so much alone and so much at home that she made the whole
+large apartment seem absolutely empty.  She alone lived in it, filled it,
+gave it life.  Many people might come in and converse, laugh, even sing;
+she would still be alone with a solitary smile, and she alone would give
+it life with her pictured gaze.
+
+That look also was unique.  It fell directly on me, fixed and caressing,
+without seeing me.  All portraits know that they are being watched, and
+they answer with their eyes, which see, think, follow us without leaving
+us, from the very moment we enter the apartment they inhabit.  This one
+did not see me; it saw nothing, although its look was fixed directly on
+me.  I remembered the surprising verse of Baudelaire:
+
+And your eyes, attractive as those of a portrait.
+
+They did indeed attract me in an irresistible manner; those painted eyes
+which had lived, or which were perhaps still living, threw over me a
+strange, powerful spell.  Oh, what an infinite and tender charm, like a
+passing breeze, like a dying sunset of lilac rose and blue, a little sad
+like the approaching night, which comes behind the sombre frame and out
+of those impenetrable eyes!  Those eyes, created by a few strokes from a
+brush, hide behind them the mystery of that which seems to be and which
+does not exist, which can appear in the eyes of a woman, which can make
+love blossom within us.
+
+The door opened and M. Milial entered.  He excused himself for being
+late.  I excused myself for being ahead of time.  Then I said: "Might I
+ask you who is this lady?"
+
+He answered: "That is my mother.  She died very young."
+
+Then I understood whence came the inexplicable attraction of this man.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE DRUNKARD
+
+The north wind was blowing a hurricane, driving through the sky big,
+black, heavy clouds from which the rain poured down on the earth with
+terrific violence.
+
+A high sea was raging and dashing its huge, slow, foamy waves along the
+coast with the rumbling sound of thunder.  The waves followed each other
+close, rolling in as high as mountains, scattering the foam as they
+broke.
+
+The storm engulfed itself in the little valley of Yport, whistling and
+moaning, tearing the shingles from the roofs, smashing the shutters,
+knocking down the chimneys, rushing through the narrow streets in such
+gusts that one could walk only by holding on to the walls, and children
+would have been lifted up like leaves and carried over the houses into
+the fields.
+
+The fishing smacks had been hauled high up on land, because at high tide
+the sea would sweep the beach.  Several sailors, sheltered behind the
+curved bottoms of their boats, were watching this battle of the sky and
+the sea.
+
+Then, one by one, they went away, for night was falling on the storm,
+wrapping in shadows the raging ocean and all the battling elements.
+
+Just two men remained, their hands plunged deep into their pockets,
+bending their backs beneath the squall, their woolen caps pulled down
+over their ears; two big Normandy fishermen, bearded, their skin tanned
+through exposure, with the piercing black eyes of the sailor who looks
+over the horizon like a bird of prey.
+
+One of them was saying:
+
+"Come on, Jeremie, let's go play dominoes.  It's my treat."
+
+The other hesitated a while, tempted on one hand by the game and the
+thought of brandy, knowing well that, if he went to Paumelle's, he would
+return home drunk; held back, on the other hand, by the idea of his wife
+remaining alone in the house.
+
+He asked:
+
+"Any one might think that you had made a bet to get me drunk every night.
+Say, what good is it doing you, since it's always you that's treating?"
+
+Nevertheless he was smiling at the idea of all this brandy drunk at the
+expense of another.  He was smiling the contented smirk of an avaricious
+Norman.
+
+Mathurin, his friend, kept pulling him by the sleeve.
+
+"Come on, Jeremie.  This isn't the kind of a night to go home without
+anything to warm you up.  What are you afraid of?  Isn't your wife going
+to warm your bed for you?"
+
+Jeremie answered:
+
+"The other night I couldn't find the door--I had to be fished out of the
+ditch in front of the house!"
+
+He was still laughing at this drunkard's recollection, and he was
+unconsciously going toward Paumelle's Cafe, where a light was shining in
+the window; he was going, pulled by Mathurin and pushed by the wind,
+unable to resist these combined forces.
+
+The low room was full of sailors, smoke and noise.  All these men, clad
+in woolens, their elbows on the tables, were shouting to make themselves
+heard.  The more people came in, the more one had to shout in order to
+overcome the noise of voices and the rattling of dominoes on the marble
+tables.
+
+Jeremie and Mathurin sat down in a corner and began a game, and the
+glasses were emptied in rapid succession into their thirsty throats.
+
+Then they played more games and drank more glasses.  Mathurin kept
+pouring and winking to the saloon keeper, a big, red-faced man, who
+chuckled as though at the thought of some fine joke; and Jeremie kept
+absorbing alcohol and wagging his head, giving vent to a roar of laughter
+and looking at his comrade with a stupid and contented expression.
+
+All the customers were going away.  Every time that one of them would
+open the door to leave a gust of wind would blow into the cafe, making
+the tobacco smoke swirl around, swinging the lamps at the end of their
+chains and making their flames flicker, and suddenly one could hear the
+deep booming of a breaking wave and the moaning of the wind.
+
+Jeremie, his collar unbuttoned, was taking drunkard's poses, one leg
+outstretched, one arm hanging down and in the other hand holding a
+domino.
+
+They were alone now with the owner, who had come up to them, interested.
+
+He asked:
+
+"Well, Jeremie, how goes it inside?  Feel less thirsty after wetting your
+throat?"
+
+Jeremie muttered:
+
+"The more I wet it, the drier it gets inside."
+
+The innkeeper cast a sly glance at Mathurin.  He said:
+
+"And your brother, Mathurin, where's he now?"
+
+The sailor laughed silently:
+
+"Don't worry; he's warm, all right."
+
+And both of them looked toward Jeremie, who was triumphantly putting down
+the double six and announcing:
+
+"Game!"
+
+Then the owner declared:
+
+"Well, boys, I'm goin' to bed.  I will leave you the lamp and the bottle;
+there's twenty cents' worth in it.  Lock the door when you go, Mathurin,
+and slip the key under the mat the way you did the other night."
+
+Mathurin answered:
+
+"Don't worry; it'll be all right."
+
+Paumelle shook hands with his two customers and slowly went up the wooden
+stairs.  For several minutes his heavy step echoed through the little
+house.  Then a loud creaking announced that he had got into bed.
+
+The two men continued to play.  From time to time a more violent gust of
+wind would shake the whole house, and the two drinkers would look up, as
+though some one were about to enter.  Then Mathurin would take the bottle
+and fill Jeremie's glass.  But suddenly the clock over the bar struck
+twelve.  Its hoarse clang sounded like the rattling of saucepans.  Then
+Mathurin got up like a sailor whose watch is over.
+
+"Come on, Jeremie, we've got to get out."
+
+The other man rose to his feet with difficulty, got his balance by
+leaning on the table, reached the door and opened it while his companion
+was putting out the light.
+
+As soon as they were in the street Mathurin locked the door and then
+said:
+
+"Well, so long.  See you to-morrow night!"
+
+And he disappeared in the darkness.
+
+Jeremie took a few steps, staggered, stretched out his hands, met a wall
+which supported him and began to stumble along.  From time to time a gust
+of wind would sweep through the street, pushing him forward, making him
+run for a few steps; then, when the wind would die down, he would stop
+short, having lost his impetus, and once more he would begin to stagger
+on his unsteady drunkard's legs.
+
+He went instinctively toward his home, just as birds go to their nests.
+Finally he recognized his door, and began to feel about for the keyhole
+and tried to put the key in it.  Not finding the hole, he began to swear.
+Then he began to beat on the door with his fists, calling for his wife to
+come and help him:
+
+"Melina!  Oh, Melina!"
+
+As he leaned against the door for support, it gave way and opened, and
+Jeremie, losing his prop, fell inside, rolling on his face into the
+middle of his room, and he felt something heavy pass over him and escape
+in the night.
+
+He was no longer moving, dazed by fright, bewildered, fearing the devil,
+ghosts, all the mysterious beings of darkness, and he waited a long time
+without daring to move.  But when he found out that nothing else was
+moving, a little reason returned to him, the reason of a drunkard.
+
+Gently he sat up.  Again he waited a long time, and at last, growing
+bolder, he called:
+
+"Melina!"
+
+His wife did not answer.
+
+Then, suddenly, a suspicion crossed his darkened mind, an indistinct,
+vague suspicion.  He was not moving; he was sitting there in the dark,
+trying to gather together his scattered wits, his mind stumbling over
+incomplete ideas, just as his feet stumbled along.
+
+Once more he asked:
+
+"Who was it, Melina?  Tell me who it was.  I won't hurt you!"
+
+He waited, no voice was raised in the darkness.  He was now reasoning
+with himself out loud.
+
+"I'm drunk, all right!  I'm drunk!  And he filled me up, the dog; he did
+it, to stop my goin' home.  I'm drunk!"
+
+And he would continue:
+
+"Tell me who it was, Melina, or somethin'll happen to you."
+
+After having waited again, he went on with the slow and obstinate logic
+of a drunkard:
+
+"He's been keeping me at that loafer Paumelle's place every night, so as
+to stop my going home.  It's some trick.  Oh, you damned carrion!"
+
+Slowly he got on his knees.  A blind fury was gaining possession of him,
+mingling with the fumes of alcohol.
+
+He continued:
+
+"Tell me who it was, Melina, or you'll get a licking--I warn you!"
+
+He was now standing, trembling with a wild fury, as though the alcohol
+had set his blood on fire.  He took a step, knocked against a chair,
+seized it, went on, reached the bed, ran his hands over it and felt the
+warm body of his wife.
+
+Then, maddened, he roared:
+
+"So!  You were there, you piece of dirt, and you wouldn't answer!"
+
+And, lifting the chair, which he was holding in his strong sailor's grip,
+he swung it down before him with an exasperated fury.  A cry burst from
+the bed, an agonizing, piercing cry.  Then he began to thrash around like
+a thresher in a barn.  And soon nothing more moved.  The chair was broken
+to pieces, but he still held one leg and beat away with it, panting.
+
+At last he stopped to ask:
+
+"Well, are you ready to tell me who it was?"
+
+Melina did not answer.
+
+Then tired out, stupefied from his exertion, he stretched himself out on
+the ground and slept.
+
+When day came a neighbor, seeing the door open, entered.  He saw Jeremie
+snoring on the floor, amid the broken pieces of a chair, and on the bed a
+pulp of flesh and blood.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE WARDROBE
+
+As we sat chatting after dinner, a party of men, the conversation turned
+on women, for lack of something else.
+
+One of us said:
+
+"Here's a funny thing that happened to me on, that very subject."  And he
+told us the following story:
+
+One evening last winter I suddenly felt overcome by that overpowering
+sense of misery and languor that takes possession of one from time to
+time.  I was in my own apartment, all alone, and I was convinced that if
+I gave in to my feelings I should have a terrible attack of melancholia,
+one of those attacks that lead to suicide when they recur too often.
+
+I put on my overcoat and went out without the slightest idea of what I
+was going to do.  Having gone as far as the boulevards, I began to wander
+along by the almost empty cafes.  It was raining, a fine rain that
+affects your mind as it does your clothing, not one of those good
+downpours which come down in torrents, driving breathless passers-by into
+doorways, but a rain without drops that deposits on your clothing an
+imperceptible spray and soon covers you with a sort of iced foam that
+chills you through.
+
+What should I do?  I walked in one direction and then came back, looking
+for some place where I could spend two hours, and discovering for the
+first time that there is no place of amusement in Paris in the evening.
+At last I decided to go to the Folies-Bergere, that entertaining resort
+for gay women.
+
+There were very few people in the main hall.  In the long horseshoe curve
+there were only a few ordinary looking people, whose plebeian origin was
+apparent in their manners, their clothes, the cut of their hair and
+beard, their hats, their complexion.  It was rarely that one saw from
+time to time a man whom you suspected of having washed himself
+thoroughly, and his whole make-up seemed to match.  As for the women,
+they were always the same, those frightful women you all know, ugly,
+tired looking, drooping, and walking along in their lackadaisical manner,
+with that air of foolish superciliousness which they assume, I do not
+know why.
+
+I thought to myself that, in truth, not one of those languid creatures,
+greasy rather than fat, puffed out here and thin there, with the contour
+of a monk and the lower extremities of a bow-legged snipe, was worth the
+louis that they would get with great difficulty after asking five.
+
+But all at once I saw a little creature whom I thought attractive, not in
+her first youth, but fresh, comical and tantalizing.  I stopped her, and
+stupidly, without thinking, I made an appointment with her for that
+night.  I did not want to go back to my own home alone, all alone;
+I preferred the company and the caresses of this hussy.
+
+And I followed her.  She lived in a great big house in the Rue des
+Martyrs.  The gas was already extinguished on the stairway.  I ascended
+the steps slowly, lighting a candle match every few seconds, stubbing my
+foot against the steps, stumbling and angry as I followed the rustle of
+the skirt ahead of me.
+
+She stopped on the fourth floor, and having closed the outer door she
+said:
+
+"Then you will stay till to-morrow?"
+
+"Why, yes.  You know that that was the agreement."
+
+"All right, my dear, I just wanted to know.  Wait for me here a minute, I
+will be right back."
+
+And she left me in the darkness.  I heard her shutting two doors and then
+I thought I heard her talking.  I was surprised and uneasy.  The thought
+that she had a protector staggered me.  But I have good fists and a solid
+back.  "We shall see," I said to myself.
+
+I listened attentively with ear and mind.  Some one was stirring about,
+walking quietly and very carefully.  Then another door was opened and I
+thought I again heard some one talking, but in a very low tone.
+
+She came back carrying a lighted candle.
+
+"You may come in," she said.
+
+She said "thou" in speaking to me, which was an indication of possession.
+I went in and after passing through a dining room in which it was very
+evident that no one ever ate, I entered a typical room of all these
+women, a furnished room with red curtains and a soiled eiderdown bed
+covering.
+
+"Make yourself at home, 'mon chat'," she said.
+
+I gave a suspicious glance at the room, but there seemed no reason for
+uneasiness.
+
+As she took off her wraps she began to laugh.
+
+"Well, what ails you?  Are you changed into a pillar of salt?  Come,
+hurry up."
+
+I did as she suggested.
+
+Five minutes later I longed to put on my things and get away.  But this
+terrible languor that had overcome me at home took possession of me
+again, and deprived me of energy enough to move and I stayed in spite of
+the disgust that I felt for this association.  The unusual attractiveness
+that I supposed I had discovered in this creature over there under the
+chandeliers of the theater had altogether vanished on closer
+acquaintance, and she was nothing more to me now than a common woman,
+like all the others, whose indifferent and complaisant kiss smacked of
+garlic.
+
+I thought I would say something.
+
+"Have you lived here long?" I asked.
+
+"Over six months on the fifteenth of January."
+
+"Where were you before that?"
+
+"In the Rue Clauzel.  But the janitor made me very uncomfortable and I
+left."
+
+And she began to tell me an interminable story of a janitor who had
+talked scandal about her.
+
+But, suddenly, I heard something moving quite close to us.  First there
+was a sigh, then a slight, but distinct, sound as if some one had turned
+round on a chair.
+
+I sat up abruptly and asked.
+
+"What was that noise?"
+
+She answered quietly and confidently:
+
+"Do not be uneasy, my dear boy, it is my neighbor.  The partition is so
+thin that one can hear everything as if it were in the room.  These are
+wretched rooms, just like pasteboard."
+
+I felt so lazy that I paid no further attention to it.  We resumed our
+conversation.  Driven by the stupid curiosity that prompts all men to
+question these creatures about their first experiences, to attempt to
+lift the veil of their first folly, as though to find in them a trace of
+pristine innocence, to love them, possibly, in a fleeting memory of their
+candor and modesty of former days, evoked by a word, I insistently asked
+her about her earlier lovers.
+
+I knew she was telling me lies.  What did it matter?  Among all these
+lies I might, perhaps, discover something sincere and pathetic.
+
+"Come," said I, "tell me who he was."
+
+"He was a boating man, my dear."
+
+"Ah!  Tell me about it.  Where were you?"
+
+"I was at Argenteuil."
+
+"What were you doing?"
+
+"I was waitress in a restaurant."
+
+"What restaurant?"
+
+"'The Freshwater Sailor.' Do you know it?"
+
+"I should say so, kept by Bonanfan."
+
+"Yes, that's it."
+
+"And how did he make love to you, this boating man?"
+
+"While I was doing his room.  He took advantage of me."
+
+But I suddenly recalled the theory of a friend of mine, an observant and
+philosophical physician whom constant attendance in hospitals has brought
+into daily contact with girl-mothers and prostitutes, with all the shame
+and all the misery of women, of those poor women who have become the
+frightful prey of the wandering male with money in his pocket.
+
+"A woman," he said, "is always debauched by a man of her own class and
+position.  I have volumes of statistics on that subject.  We accuse the
+rich of plucking the flower of innocence among the girls of the people.
+This is not correct.  The rich pay for what they want.  They may gather
+some, but never for the first time."
+
+Then, turning to my companion, I began to laugh.
+
+"You know that I am aware of your history.  The boating man was not the
+first."
+
+"Oh, yes, my dear, I swear it:"
+
+"You are lying, my dear."
+
+"Oh, no, I assure you."
+
+"You are lying; come, tell me all."
+
+She seemed to hesitate in astonishment.  I continued:
+
+"I am a sorcerer, my dear girl, I am a clairvoyant.  If you do not tell
+me the truth, I will go into a trance sleep and then I can find out."
+
+She was afraid, being as stupid as all her kind.  She faltered:
+
+"How did you guess?"
+
+"Come, go on telling me," I said.
+
+"Oh, the first time didn't amount to anything.
+
+"There was a festival in the country.  They had sent for a special chef,
+M. Alexandre.  As soon as he came he did just as he pleased in the house.
+He bossed every one, even the proprietor and his wife, as if he had been
+a king.  He was a big handsome man, who did not seem fitted to stand
+beside a kitchen range.  He was always calling out, 'Come, some butter-
+some eggs--some Madeira!'  And it had to be brought to him at once in a
+hurry, or he would get cross and say things that would make us blush all
+over.
+
+"When the day was over he would smoke a pipe outside the door.  And as I
+was passing by him with a pile of plates he said to me, like that: 'Come,
+girlie, come down to the water with me and show me the country.'  I went
+with him like a fool, and we had hardly got down to the bank of the river
+when he took advantage of me so suddenly that I did not even know what he
+was doing.  And then he went away on the nine o'clock train.  I never saw
+him again."
+
+"Is that all?" I asked.
+
+She hesitated.
+
+"Oh, I think Florentin belongs to him."
+
+"Who is Florentin?"
+
+"My little boy."
+
+"Oh!  Well, then, you made the boating man believe that he was the
+father, did you not?"
+
+"You bet!"
+
+"Did he have any money, this boating man?"
+
+"Yes, he left me an income of three hundred francs, settled on
+Florentin."
+
+I was beginning to be amused and resumed:
+
+"All right, my girl, all right.  You are all of you less stupid than one
+would imagine, all the same.  And how old is he now, Florentin?"
+
+She replied:
+
+"He is now twelve.  He will make his first communion in the spring."
+
+"That is splendid.  And since then you have carried on your business
+conscientiously?"
+
+She sighed in a resigned manner.
+
+"I must do what I can."
+
+But a loud noise just then coming from the room itself made me start up
+with a bound.  It sounded like some one falling and picking themselves up
+again by feeling along the wall with their hands.
+
+I had seized the candle and was looking about me, terrified and furious.
+She had risen also and was trying to hold me back to stop me, murmuring:
+
+"That's nothing, my dear, I assure you it's nothing."
+
+But I had discovered what direction the strange noise came from.  I
+walked straight towards a door hidden at the head of the bed and I opened
+it abruptly and saw before me, trembling, his bright, terrified eyes
+opened wide at sight of me, a little pale, thin boy seated beside a large
+wicker chair off which he had fallen.
+
+As soon as he saw me he began to cry.  Stretching out his arms to his
+mother, he cried:
+
+"It was not my fault, mamma, it was not my fault.  I was asleep, and I
+fell off.  Do not scold me, it was not my fault."
+
+I turned to the woman and said:
+
+"What does this mean?"
+
+She seemed confused and worried, and said in a broken voice:
+
+"What do you want me to do?  I do not earn enough to put him to school!
+I have to keep him with me, and I cannot afford to pay for another room,
+by heavens!  He sleeps with me when I am alone.  If any one comes for one
+hour or two he can stay in the wardrobe; he keeps quiet, he understands
+it.  But when people stay all night, as you have done, it tires the poor
+child to sleep on a chair.
+
+"It is not his fault.  I should like to see you sleep all night on a
+chair--you would have something to say."
+
+She was getting angry and excited and was talking loud.
+
+The child was still crying.  A poor delicate timid little fellow, a
+veritable child of the wardrobe, of the cold, dark closet, a child who
+from time to time was allowed to get a little warmth in the bed if it
+chanced to be unoccupied.
+
+I also felt inclined to cry.
+
+And I went home to my own bed.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE MOUNTAIN POOL
+
+                                   Saint Agnes, May 6.
+MY DEAR FRIEND:
+You asked me to write to you often and to tell you in particular about
+the things I might see.  You also begged me to rummage among my
+recollections of travels for some of those little anecdotes gathered from
+a chance peasant, from an innkeeper, from some strange traveling
+acquaintance, which remain as landmarks in the memory.  With a landscape
+depicted in a few lines, and a little story told in a few sentences you
+think one can give the true characteristics of a country, make it living,
+visible, dramatic.  I will try to do as you wish.  I will, therefore,
+send you from time to time letters in which I will mention neither you
+nor myself, but only the landscape and the people who move about in it.
+And now I will begin.
+
+Spring is a season in which one ought, it seems to me, to drink and eat
+the landscape.  It is the season of chills, just as autumn is the season
+of reflection.  In spring the country rouses the physical senses, in
+autumn it enters into the soul.
+
+I desired this year to breathe the odor of orange blossoms and I set out
+for the South of France just at the time that every one else was
+returning home.  I visited Monaco, the shrine of pilgrims, rival of Mecca
+and Jerusalem, without leaving any gold in any one else's pockets, and I
+climbed the high mountain beneath a covering of lemon, orange and olive
+branches.
+
+Have you ever slept, my friend, in a grove of orange trees in flower?
+The air that one inhales with delight is a quintessence of perfumes.  The
+strong yet sweet odor, delicious as some dainty, seems to blend with our
+being, to saturate us, to intoxicate us, to enervate us, to plunge us
+into a sleepy, dreamy torpor.  As though it were an opium prepared by the
+hands of fairies and not by those of druggists.
+
+This is a country of ravines.  The surface of the mountains is cleft,
+hollowed out in all directions, and in these sinuous crevices grow
+veritable forests of lemon trees.  Here and there where the steep gorge
+is interrupted by a sort of step, a kind of reservoir has been built
+which holds the water of the rain storms.
+
+They are large holes with slippery walls with nothing for any one to
+grasp hold of should they fall in.
+
+I was walking slowly in one of these ascending valleys or gorges,
+glancing through the foliage at the vivid-hued fruit that remained on the
+branches.  The narrow gorge made the heavy odor of the flowers still more
+penetrating; the air seemed to be dense with it.  A feeling of lassitude
+came over me and I looked for a place to sit down.  A few drops of water
+glistened in the grass.  I thought that there was a spring near by and I
+climbed a little further to look for it.  But I only reached the edge of
+one of these large, deep reservoirs.
+
+I sat down tailor fashion, with my legs crossed under me, and remained
+there in a reverie before this hole, which looked as if it were filled
+with ink, so black and stagnant was the liquid it contained.  Down
+yonder, through the branches, I saw, like patches, bits of the
+Mediterranean gleaming so that they fairly dazzled my eyes.  But my
+glance always returned to the immense somber well that appeared to be
+inhabited by no aquatic animals, so motionless was its surface.
+Suddenly a voice made me tremble.  An old gentleman who was picking
+flowers--this country is the richest in Europe for herbalists--asked me:
+
+"Are you a relation of those poor children, monsieur?"
+
+I looked at him in astonishment.
+
+"What children, monsieur?"
+
+He seemed embarrassed and answered with a bow:
+
+"I beg your pardon.  On seeing you sitting thus absorbed in front of this
+reservoir I thought you were recalling the frightful tragedy that
+occurred here."
+
+Now I wanted to know about it, and I begged him to tell me the story.
+
+It is very dismal and very heart-rending, my dear friend, and very
+trivial at the same time.  It is a simple news item.  I do not know
+whether to attribute my emotion to the dramatic manner in which the story
+was told to me, to the setting of the mountains, to the contrast between
+the joy of the sunlight and the flowers and this black, murderous hole,
+but my heart was wrung, all my nerves unstrung by this tale which,
+perhaps, may not appear so terribly harrowing to you as you read it in
+your room without having the scene of the tragedy before your eyes.
+
+It was one spring in recent years.  Two little boys frequently came to
+play on the edge of this cistern while their tutor lay under a tree
+reading a book.  One warm afternoon a piercing cry awoke the tutor who
+was dozing and the sound of splashing caused by something falling into
+the water made him jump to his feet abruptly.  The younger of the
+children, eight years of age, was shouting, as he stood beside the
+reservoir, the surface of which was stirred and eddying at the spot where
+the older boy had fallen in as he ran along the stone coping.
+
+Distracted, without waiting or stopping to think what was best to do, the
+tutor jumped into the black water and did not rise again, having struck
+his head at the bottom of the cistern.
+
+At the same moment the young boy who had risen to the surface was waving
+his stretched-out arms toward his brother.  The little fellow on land lay
+down full length, while the other tried to swim, to approach the wall,
+and presently the four little hands clasped each other, tightened in each
+other's grasp, contracted as though they were fastened together.  They
+both felt the intense joy of an escape from death, a shudder at the
+danger past.
+
+The older boy tried to climb up to the edge, but could not manage it, as
+the wall was perpendicular, and his brother, who was too weak, was
+sliding slowly towards the hole.
+
+Then they remained motionless, filled anew with terror.  And they waited.
+
+The little fellow squeezed his brother's hands with all his might and
+wept from nervousness as he repeated: "I cannot drag you out, I cannot
+drag you out."  And all at once he began to shout, "Help!  Help!" But his
+light voice scarcely penetrated beyond the dome of foliage above their
+heads.
+
+They remained thus a long time, hours and hours, facing each other, these
+two children, with one thought, one anguish of heart and the horrible
+dread that one of them, exhausted, might let go the hands of the other.
+And they kept on calling, but all in vain.
+
+At length the older boy, who was shivering with cold, said to the little
+one: "I cannot hold out any longer.  I am going to fall.  Good-by, little
+brother."  And the other, gasping, replied: "Not yet, not yet, wait."
+
+Evening came on, the still evening with its stars mirrored in the water.
+The older lad, his endurance giving out, said: "Let go my hand, I am
+going to give you my watch."  He had received it as a present a few days
+before, and ever since it had been his chief amusement.  He was able to
+get hold of it, and held it out to the little fellow who was sobbing and
+who laid it down on the grass beside him.
+
+It was night now.  The two unhappy beings, exhausted, had almost loosened
+their grasp.  The elder, at last, feeling that he was lost, murmured once
+more: "Good-by, little brother, kiss mamma and papa."  And his numbed
+fingers relaxed their hold.  He sank and did not rise again .  .  .  .
+The little fellow, left alone, began to shout wildly: "Paul! Paul!"  But
+the other did not come to the surface.
+
+Then he darted across the mountain, falling among the stones, overcome by
+the most frightful anguish that can wring a child's heart, and with a
+face like death reached the sitting-room, where his parents were waiting.
+He became bewildered again as he led them to the gloomy reservoir.  He
+could not find his way.  At last he reached the spot.  "It is there; yes,
+it is there!"
+
+But the cistern had to be emptied, and the proprietor would not permit it
+as he needed the water for his lemon trees.
+
+The two bodies were found, however, but not until the next day.
+
+You see, my dear friend, that this is a simple news item.  But if you had
+seen the hole itself your heart would have been wrung, as mine was, at
+the thought of the agony of that child hanging to his brother's hands, of
+the long suspense of those little chaps who were accustomed only to laugh
+and to play, and at the simple incident of the giving of the watch.
+
+I said to myself: "May Fate preserve me from ever receiving a similar
+relic!"  I know of nothing more terrible than such a recollection
+connected with a familiar object that one cannot dispose of.  Only think
+of it; each time that he handles this sacred watch the survivor will
+picture once more the horrible scene; the pool, the wall, the still
+water, and the distracted face of his brother-alive, and yet as lost as
+though he were already dead.  And all through his life, at any moment,
+the vision will be there, awakened the instant even the tip of his finger
+touches his watch pocket.
+
+And I was sad until evening.  I left the spot and kept on climbing,
+leaving the region of orange trees for the region of olive trees, and the
+region of olive trees for the region of pines; then I came to a valley of
+stones, and finally reached the ruins of an ancient castle, built, they
+say, in the tenth century by a Saracen chief, a good man, who was
+baptized a Christian through love for a young girl.  Everywhere around me
+were mountains, and before me the sea, the sea with an almost
+imperceptible patch on it: Corsica, or, rather, the shadow of Corsica.
+But on the mountain summits, blood-red in the glow of the sunset, in the
+boundless sky and on the sea, in all this superb landscape that I had
+come here to admire I saw only two poor children, one lying prone on the
+edge of a hole filled with black water, the other submerged to his neck,
+their hands intertwined, weeping opposite each other, in despair.
+And it seemed as though I continually heard a weak, exhausted voice
+saying: "Good-by, little brother, I am going to give you my watch."
+
+This letter may seem rather melancholy, dear friend.  I will try to be
+more cheerful some other day.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+A CREMATION
+
+Last Monday an Indian prince died at Etretat, Bapu Sahib Khanderao
+Ghatay, a relation of His Highness, the Maharajah Gaikwar, prince of
+Baroda, in the province of Guzerat, Presidency of Bombay.
+
+For about three weeks there had been seen walking in the streets about
+ten young East Indians, small, lithe, with dark skins, dressed all in
+gray and wearing on their heads caps such as English grooms wear.  They
+were men of high rank who had come to Europe to study the military
+institutions of the principal Western nations.  The little band consisted
+of three princes, a nobleman, an interpreter and three servants.
+
+The head of the commission had just died, an old man of forty-two and
+father-in-law of Sampatro Kashivao Gaikwar, brother of His Highness, the
+Gaikwar of Baroda.
+
+The son-in-law accompanied his father-in-law.
+
+The other East Indians were called Ganpatrao Shravanrao Gaikwar, cousin
+of His Highness Khasherao Gadhav; Vasudev Madhav Samarth, interpreter and
+secretary; the slaves: Ramchandra Bajaji, Ganu bin Pukiram Kokate,
+Rhambhaji bin Fabji.
+
+On leaving his native land the one who died recently was overcome with
+terrible grief, and feeling convinced that he would never return he
+wished to give up the journey, but he had to obey the wishes of his noble
+relative, the Prince of Baroda, and he set out.
+
+They came to spend the latter part of the summer at Etretat, and people
+would go out of curiosity every morning to see them taking their bath at
+the Etablissment des Roches-Blanches.
+
+Five or six days ago Bapu Sahib Khanderao Ghatay was taken with pains in
+his gums; then the inflammation spread to the throat and became
+ulceration.  Gangrene set in and, on Monday, the doctors told his young
+friends that their relative was dying.  The final struggle was already
+beginning, and the breath had almost left the unfortunate man's body when
+his friends seized him, snatched him from his bed and laid him on the
+stone floor of the room, so that, stretched out on the earth, our mother,
+he should yield up his soul, according to the command of Brahma.
+
+They then sent to ask the mayor, M. Boissaye, for a permit to burn the
+body that very day so as to fulfill the prescribed ceremonial of the
+Hindoo religion.  The mayor hesitated, telegraphed to the prefecture to
+demand instructions, at the same time sending word that a failure to
+reply would be considered by him tantamount to a consent.  As he had
+received no reply at 9 o'clock that evening, he decided, in view of the
+infectious character of the disease of which the East Indian had died,
+that the cremation of the body should take place that very night, beneath
+the cliff, on the beach, at ebb tide.
+
+The mayor is being criticized now for this decision, though he acted as
+an intelligent, liberal and determined man, and was upheld and advised by
+the three physicians who had watched the case and reported the death.
+
+They were dancing at the Casino that evening.  It was an early autumn
+evening, rather chilly.  A pretty strong wind was blowing from the ocean,
+although as yet there was no sea on, and swift, light, ragged clouds were
+driving across the sky.  They came from the edge of the horizon, looking
+dark against the background of the sky, but as they approached the moon
+they grew whiter and passed hurriedly across her face, veiling it for a
+few seconds without completely hiding it.
+
+The tall straight cliffs that inclose the rounded beach of Etretat and
+terminate in two celebrated arches, called "the Gates," lay in shadow,
+and made two great black patches in the softly lighted landscape.
+
+It had rained all day.
+
+The Casino orchestra was playing waltzes, polkas and quadrilles.  A rumor
+was presently circulated among the groups of dancers.  It was said that
+an East Indian prince had just died at the Hotel des Bains and that the
+ministry had been approached for permission to burn the body.  No one
+believed it, or at least no one supposed that such a thing could occur so
+foreign was the custom as yet to our customs, and as the night was far
+advanced every one went home.
+
+At midnight, the lamplighter, running from street to street,
+extinguished, one after another, the yellow jets of flame that lighted up
+the sleeping houses, the mud and the puddles of water.  We waited,
+watching for the hour when the little town should be quiet and deserted.
+
+Ever since noon a carpenter had been cutting up wood and asking himself
+with amazement what was going to be done with all these planks sawn up
+into little bits, and why one should destroy so much good merchandise.
+This wood was piled up in a cart which went along through side streets as
+far as the beach, without arousing the suspicion of belated persons who
+might meet it.  It went along on the shingle at the foot of the cliff,
+and having dumped its contents on the beach the three Indian servants
+began to build a funeral pile, a little longer than it was wide.  They
+worked alone, for no profane hand must aid in this solemn duty.
+
+It was one o'clock in the morning when the relations of the deceased were
+informed that they might accomplish their part of the work.
+
+The door of the little house they occupied was open, and we perceived,
+lying on a stretcher in the small, dimly lighted vestibule the corpse
+covered with white silk.  We could see him plainly as he lay stretched
+out on his back, his outline clearly defined beneath this white veil.
+
+The East Indians, standing at his feet, remained motionless, while one of
+them performed the prescribed rites, murmuring unfamiliar words in a low,
+monotonous tone.  He walked round and round the corpse; touching it
+occasionally, then, taking an urn suspended from three slender chains, he
+sprinkled it for some time with the sacred water of the Ganges, that East
+Indians must always carry with them wherever they go.
+
+Then the stretcher was lifted by four of them who started off at a slow
+march.  The moon had gone down, leaving the muddy, deserted streets in
+darkness, but the body on the stretcher appeared to be luminous, so
+dazzlingly white was the silk, and it was a weird sight to see, passing
+along through the night, the semi-luminous form of this corpse, borne by
+those men, the dusky skin of whose faces and hands could scarcely be
+distinguished from their clothing in the darkness.
+
+Behind the corpse came three Indians, and then, a full head taller than
+themselves and wrapped in an ample traveling coat of a soft gray color,
+appeared the outline of an Englishman, a kind and superior man, a friend
+of theirs, who was their guide and counselor in their European travels.
+
+Beneath the cold, misty sky of this little northern beach I felt as if I
+were taking part in a sort of symbolical drama.  It seemed to me that
+they were carrying there, before me, the conquered genius of India,
+followed, as in a funeral procession, by the victorious genius of England
+robed in a gray ulster.
+
+On the shingly beach the four bearers halted a few moments to take
+breath, and then proceeded on their way.  They now walked quickly,
+bending beneath the weight of their burden.  At length they reached the
+funeral pile.  It was erected in an indentation, at the very foot of the
+cliff, which rose above it perpendicularly a hundred meters high,
+perfectly white but looking gray in the night.
+
+The funeral pile was about three and a half feet high.  The corpse was
+placed on it and then one of the Indians asked to have the pole star
+pointed out to him.  This was done, and the dead Rajah was laid with his
+feet turned towards his native country.  Then twelve bottles of kerosene
+were poured over him and he was covered completely with thin slabs of
+pine wood.  For almost another hour the relations and servants kept
+piling up the funeral pyre which looked like one of those piles of wood
+that carpenters keep in their yards.  Then on top of this was poured the
+contents of twenty bottles of oil, and on top of all they emptied a bag
+of fine shavings.  A few steps further on, a flame was glimmering in a
+little bronze brazier, which had remained lighted since the arrival of
+the corpse.
+
+The moment had arrived.  The relations went to fetch the fire.  As it was
+barely alight, some oil was poured on it, and suddenly a flame arose
+lighting up the great wall of rock from summit to base.  An Indian who
+was leaning over the brazier rose upright, his two hands in the air, his
+elbows bent, and all at once we saw arising, all black on the immense
+white cliff, a colossal shadow, the shadow of Buddha in his hieratic
+posture.  And the little pointed toque that the man wore on his head even
+looked like the head-dress of the god.
+
+The effect was so striking and unexpected that I felt my heart beat as
+though some supernatural apparition had risen up before me.
+
+That was just what it was--the ancient and sacred image, come from the
+heart of the East to the ends of Europe, and watching over its son whom
+they were going to cremate there.
+
+It vanished.  They brought fire.  The shavings on top of the pyre were
+lighted and then the wood caught fire and a brilliant light illumined the
+cliff, the shingle and the foam of the waves as they broke on the beach.
+
+It grew brighter from second to second, lighting up on the sea in the
+distance the dancing crest of the waves.
+
+The breeze from the ocean blew in gusts, increasing the heat of the flame
+which flattened down, twisted, then shot up again, throwing out millions
+of sparks.  They mounted with wild rapidity along the cliff and were lost
+in the sky, mingling with the stars, increasing their number.  Some sea
+birds who had awakened uttered their plaintive cry, and, describing long
+curves, flew, with their white wings extended, through the gleam from the
+funeral pyre and then disappeared in the night.
+
+Before long the pile of wood was nothing but a mass of flame, not red but
+yellow, a blinding yellow, a furnace lashed by the wind.  And, suddenly,
+beneath a stronger gust, it tottered, partially crumbling as it leaned
+towards the sea, and the corpse came to view, full length, blackened on
+his couch of flame and burning with long blue flames:
+
+The pile of wood having crumbled further on the right the corpse turned
+over as a man does in bed.  They immediately covered him with fresh wood
+and the fire started up again more furiously than ever.
+
+The East Indians, seated in a semi-circle on the shingle, looked out with
+sad, serious faces.  And the rest of us, as it was very cold, had drawn
+nearer to the fire until the smoke and sparks came in our faces.  There
+was no odor save that of burning pine and petroleum.
+
+Hours passed; day began to break.  Toward five o'clock in the morning
+nothing remained but a heap of ashes.  The relations gathered them up,
+cast some of them to the winds, some in the sea, and kept some in a brass
+vase that they had brought from India.  They then retired to their home
+to give utterance to lamentations.
+
+These young princes and their servants, by the employment of the most
+inadequate appliances succeeded in carrying out the cremation of their
+relation in the most perfect manner, with singular skill and remarkable
+dignity.  Everything was done according to ritual, according to the rigid
+ordinances of their religion.  Their dead one rests in peace.
+
+The following morning at daybreak there was an indescribable commotion in
+Etretat.  Some insisted that they had burned a man alive, others that
+they were trying to hide a crime, some that the mayor would be put in
+jail, others that the Indian prince had succumbed to an attack of
+cholera.
+
+The men were amazed, the women indignant.  A crowd of people spent the
+day on the site of the funeral pile, looking for fragments of bone in the
+shingle that was still warm.  They found enough bones to reconstruct ten
+skeletons, for the farmers on shore frequently throw their dead sheep
+into the sea.  The finders carefully placed these various fragments in
+their pocketbooks.  But not one of them possesses a true particle of the
+Indian prince.
+
+That very night a deputy sent by the government came to hold an inquest.
+He, however, formed an estimate of this singular case like a man of
+intelligence and good sense.  But what should he say in his report?
+
+The East Indians declared that if they had been prevented in France from
+cremating their dead they would have taken him to a freer country where
+they could have carried out their customs.
+
+Thus, I have seen a man cremated on a funeral pile, and it has given me a
+wish to disappear in the same manner.
+
+In this way everything ends at once.  Man expedites the slow work of
+nature, instead of delaying it by the hideous coffin in which one
+decomposes for months.  The flesh is dead, the spirit has fled.  Fire
+which purifies disperses in a few hours all that was a human being; it
+casts it to the winds, converting it into air and ashes, and not into
+ignominious corruption.
+
+This is clean and hygienic.  Putrefaction beneath the ground in a closed
+box where the body becomes like pap, a blackened, stinking pap, has about
+it something repugnant and disgusting.  The sight of the coffin as it
+descends into this muddy hole wrings one's heart with anguish.  But the
+funeral pyre which flames up beneath the sky has about it something
+grand, beautiful and solemn.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+MISTI
+
+I was very much interested at that time in a droll little woman.  She was
+married, of course, as I have a horror of unmarried flirts.  What
+enjoyment is there in making love to a woman who belongs to nobody and
+yet belongs to any one?  And, besides, morality aside, I do not
+understand love as a trade.  That disgusts me somewhat.
+
+The especial attraction in a married woman to a bachelor is that she
+gives him a home, a sweet, pleasant home where every one takes care of
+you and spoils you, from the husband to the servants.  One finds
+everything combined there, love, friendship, even fatherly interest, bed
+and board, all, in fact, that constitutes the happiness of life, with
+this incalculable advantage, that one can change one's family from time
+to time, take up one's abode in all kinds of society in turn: in summer,
+in the country with the workman who rents you a room in his house; in
+winter with the townsfolk, or even with the nobility, if one is
+ambitious.
+
+I have another weakness; it is that I become attached to the husband as
+well as the wife.  I acknowledge even that some husbands, ordinary or
+coarse as they may be, give me a feeling of disgust for their wives,
+however charming they may be.  But when the husband is intellectual or
+charming I invariably become very much attached to him.  I am careful if
+I quarrel with the wife not to quarrel with the husband.  In this way I
+have made some of my best friends, and have also proved in many cases the
+incontestable superiority of the male over the female in the human
+species.  The latter makes all sorts of trouble-scenes, reproaches, etc.;
+while the former, who has just as good a right to complain, treats you,
+on the contrary, as though you were the special Providence of his hearth.
+
+Well, my friend was a quaint little woman, a brunette, fanciful,
+capricious, pious, superstitious, credulous as a monk, but charming.
+She had a way of kissing one that I never saw in any one else--but that
+was not the attraction--and such a soft skin!  It gave me intense delight
+merely to hold her hands.  And an eye--her glance was like a slow caress,
+delicious and unending.  Sometimes I would lean my head on her knee and
+we would remain motionless, she leaning over me with that subtle,
+enigmatic, disturbing smile that women have, while my eyes would be
+raised to hers, drinking sweetly and deliciously into my heart, like a
+form of intoxication, the glance of her limpid blue eyes, limpid as
+though they were full of thoughts of love, and blue as though they were a
+heaven of delights.
+
+Her husband, inspector of some large public works, was frequently away
+from home and left us our evenings free.  Sometimes I spent them with her
+lounging on the divan with my forehead on one of her knees; while on the
+other lay an enormous black cat called "Misti," whom she adored.  Our
+fingers would meet on the cat's back and would intertwine in her soft
+silky fur.  I felt its warm body against my cheek, trembling with its
+eternal purring, and occasionally a paw would reach out and place on my
+mouth, or my eyelid, five unsheathed claws which would prick my eyelids,
+and then be immediately withdrawn.
+
+Sometimes we would go out on what we called our escapades.  They were
+very innocent, however.  They consisted in taking supper at some inn in
+the suburbs, or else, after dining at her house or at mine, in making the
+round of the cheap cafes, like students out for a lark.
+
+We would go into the common drinking places and take our seats at the end
+of the smoky den on two rickety chairs, at an old wooden table.  A cloud
+of pungent smoke, with which blended an odor of fried fish from dinner,
+filled the room.  Men in smocks were talking in loud tones as they drank
+their petits verres, and the astonished waiter placed before us two
+cherry brandies.
+
+She, trembling, charmingly afraid, would raise her double black veil as
+far as her nose, and then take up her glass with the enjoyment that one
+feels at doing something delightfully naughty.  Each cherry she swallowed
+made her feel as if she had done something wrong, each swallow of the
+burning liquor had on her the affect of a delicate and forbidden
+enjoyment.
+
+Then she would say to me in a low tone: "Let us go."  And we would leave,
+she walking quickly with lowered head between the drinkers who watched
+her going by with a look of displeasure.  And as soon as we got into the
+street she would give a great sigh of relief, as if we had escaped some
+terrible danger.
+
+Sometimes she would ask me with a shudder:
+
+"Suppose they, should say something rude to me in those places, what
+would you do?"  "Why, I would defend you, parbleu!"  I would reply in a
+resolute manner.  And she would squeeze my arm for happiness, perhaps
+with a vague wish that she might be insulted and protected, that she
+might see men fight on her account, even those men, with me!
+
+One evening as we sat at a table in a tavern at Montmartre, we saw an old
+woman in tattered garments come in, holding in her hand a pack of dirty
+cards.  Perceiving a lady, the old woman at once approached us and
+offered to tell my friend's fortune.  Emma, who in her heart believed in
+everything, was trembling with longing and anxiety, and she made a place
+beside her for the old woman.
+
+The latter, old, wrinkled, her eyes with red inflamed rings round them,
+and her mouth without a single tooth in it, began to deal her dirty cards
+on the table.  She dealt them in piles, then gathered them up, and then
+dealt them out again, murmuring indistinguishable words.  Emma, turning
+pale, listened with bated breath, gasping with anxiety and curiosity.
+
+The fortune-teller broke silence.  She predicted vague happenings:
+happiness and children, a fair young man, a voyage, money, a lawsuit, a
+dark man, the return of some one, success, a death.  The mention of this
+death attracted the younger woman's attention.  "Whose death?  When?  In
+what manner?"
+
+The old woman replied: "Oh, as to that, these cards are not certain
+enough.  You must come to my place to-morrow; I will tell you about it
+with coffee grounds which never make a mistake."
+
+Emma turned anxiously to me:
+
+"Say, let us go there to-morrow.  Oh, please say yes.  If not, you cannot
+imagine how worried I shall be."
+
+I began to laugh.
+
+"We will go if you wish it, dearie."
+
+The old woman gave us her address.  She lived on the sixth floor, in a
+wretched house behind the Buttes-Chaumont.  We went there the following
+day.
+
+Her room, an attic containing two chairs and a bed, was filled with
+strange objects, bunches of herbs hanging from nails, skins of animals,
+flasks and phials containing liquids of various colors.  On the table a
+stuffed black cat looked out of eyes of glass.  He seemed like the demon
+of this sinister dwelling.
+
+Emma, almost fainting with emotion, sat down on a chair and exclaimed:
+
+"Oh, dear, look at that cat; how like it is to Misti."
+
+And she explained to the old woman that she had a cat "exactly like that,
+exactly like that!"
+
+The old woman replied gravely:
+
+"If you are in love with a man, you must not keep it."
+
+Emma, suddenly filled with fear, asked:
+
+"Why not?"
+
+The old woman sat down familiarly beside her and took her hand.
+
+"It was the undoing of my life," she said.
+
+My friend wanted to hear about it.  She leaned against the old woman,
+questioned her, begged her to tell.  At length the woman agreed to do so.
+
+"I loved that cat," she said, "as one would love a brother.  I was young
+then and all alone, a seamstress.  I had only him, Mouton.  One of the
+tenants had given it to me.  He was as intelligent as a child, and gentle
+as well, and he worshiped me, my dear lady, he worshiped me more than one
+does a fetish.  All day long he would sit on my lap purring, and all
+night long on my pillow; I could feel his heart beating, in fact.
+
+"Well, I happened to make an acquaintance, a fine young man who was
+working in a white-goods house.  That went on for about three months on a
+footing of mere friendship.  But you know one is liable to weaken, it may
+happen to any one, and, besides, I had really begun to love him.  He was
+so nice, so nice, and so good.  He wanted us to live together, for
+economy's sake.  I finally allowed him to come and see me one evening.  I
+had not made up my mind to anything definite; oh, no!  But I was pleased
+at the idea that we should spend an hour together.
+
+"At first he behaved very well, said nice things to me that made my heart
+go pit-a-pat.  And then he kissed me, madame, kissed me as one does when
+they love.  I remained motionless, my eyes closed, in a paroxysm of
+happiness.  But, suddenly, I felt him start violently and he gave a
+scream, a scream that I shall never forget.  I opened my eyes and saw
+that Mouton had sprung at his face and was tearing the skin with his
+claws as if it had been a linen rag.  And the blood was streaming down
+like rain, madame.
+
+"I tried to take the cat away, but he held on tight, scratching all the
+time; and he bit me, he was so crazy.  I finally got him and threw him
+out of the window, which was open, for it was summer.
+
+"When I began to bathe my poor friend's face, I noticed that his eyes
+were destroyed, both his eyes!
+
+"He had to go to the hospital.  He died of grief at the end of a year.
+I wanted to keep him with me and provide for him, but he would not agree
+to it.  One would have supposed that he hated me after the occurrence.
+
+"As for Mouton, his back was broken by the fall, The janitor picked up
+his body.  I had him stuffed, for in spite of all I was fond of him.
+If he acted as he did it was because he loved me, was it not?"
+
+The old woman was silent and began to stroke the lifeless animal whose
+body trembled on its iron framework.
+
+Emma, with sorrowful heart, had forgotten about the predicted death--or,
+at least, she did not allude to it again, and she left, giving the woman
+five francs.
+
+As her husband was to return the following day, I did not go to the house
+for several days.  When I did go I was surprised at not seeing Misti.
+I asked where he was.
+
+She blushed and replied:
+
+"I gave him away.  I was uneasy."
+
+I was astonished.
+
+"Uneasy?  Uneasy?  What about?"
+
+She gave me a long kiss and said in a low tone:
+
+"I was uneasy about your eyes, my dear."
+
+     Misti appeared in.  Gil Blas of January 22, 1884, over the signature
+     of "MAUFRIGNEUSE."
+
+
+
+
+
+
+MADAME HERMET
+
+Crazy people attract me.  They live in a mysterious land of weird dreams,
+in that impenetrable cloud of dementia where all that they have witnessed
+in their previous life, all they have loved, is reproduced for them in an
+imaginary existence, outside of all laws that govern the things of this
+life and control human thought.
+
+For them there is no such thing as the impossible, nothing is improbable;
+fairyland is a constant quantity and the supernatural quite familiar.
+The old rampart, logic; the old wall, reason; the old main stay of
+thought, good sense, break down, fall and crumble before their
+imagination, set free and escaped into the limitless realm of fancy, and
+advancing with fabulous bounds, and nothing can check it.  For them
+everything happens, and anything may happen.  They make no effort to
+conquer events, to overcome resistance, to overturn obstacles.  By a
+sudden caprice of their flighty imagination they become princes,
+emperors, or gods, are possessed of all the wealth of the world, all the
+delightful things of life, enjoy all pleasures, are always strong, always
+beautiful, always young, always beloved!  They, alone, can be happy in
+this world; for, as far as they are concerned, reality does not exist.
+I love to look into their wandering intelligence as one leans over an
+abyss at the bottom of which seethes a foaming torrent whose source and
+destination are both unknown.
+
+But it is in vain that we lean over these abysses, for we shall never
+discover the source nor the destination of this water.  After all, it is
+only water, just like what is flowing in the sunlight, and we shall learn
+nothing by looking at it.
+
+It is likewise of no use to ponder over the intelligence of crazy people,
+for their most weird notions are, in fact, only ideas that are already
+known, which appear strange simply because they are no longer under the
+restraint of reason.  Their whimsical source surprises us because we do
+not see it bubbling up.  Doubtless the dropping of a little stone into
+the current was sufficient to cause these ebullitions.  Nevertheless
+crazy people attract me and I always return to them, drawn in spite of
+myself by this trivial mystery of dementia.
+
+One day as I was visiting one of the asylums the physician who was my
+guide said:
+
+"Come, I will show you an interesting case."
+
+And he opened the door of a cell where a woman of about forty, still
+handsome, was seated in a large armchair, looking persistently at her
+face in a little hand mirror.
+
+As soon as she saw us she rose to her feet, ran to the other end of the
+room, picked up a veil that lay on a chair, wrapped it carefully round
+her face, then came back, nodding her head in reply to our greeting.
+
+"Well," said the doctor, "how are you this morning?"
+
+She gave a deep sigh.
+
+"Oh, ill, monsieur, very ill.  The marks are increasing every day."
+
+He replied in a tone of conviction:
+
+"Oh, no; oh, no; I assure you that you are mistaken."
+
+She drew near to him and murmured:
+
+"No.  I am certain of it.  I counted ten pittings more this morning,
+three on the right cheek, four on the left cheek, and three on the
+forehead.  It is frightful, frightful!  I shall never dare to let any one
+see me, not even my son; no, not even him!  I am lost, I am disfigured
+forever."
+
+She fell back in her armchair and began to sob.
+
+The doctor took a chair, sat down beside her, and said soothingly in a
+gentle tone:
+
+"Come, let me see; I assure you it is nothing.  With a slight
+cauterization I will make it all disappear."
+
+She shook her head in denial, without speaking.  He tried to touch her
+veil, but she seized it with both hands so violently that her fingers
+went through it.
+
+He continued to reason with her and reassure her.
+
+"Come, you know very well that I remove those horrid pits every time and
+that there is no trace of them after I have treated them.  If you do not
+let me see them I cannot cure you."
+
+"I do not mind your seeing them," she murmured, "but I do not know that
+gentleman who is with you."
+
+"He is a doctor also, who can give you better care than I can."
+
+She then allowed her face to be uncovered, but her dread, her emotion,
+her shame at being seen brought a rosy flush to her face and her neck,
+down to the collar of her dress.  She cast down her eyes, turned her face
+aside, first to the right; then to the left, to avoid our gaze and
+stammered out:
+
+"Oh, it is torture to me to let myself be seen like this!  It is
+horrible, is it not?  Is it not horrible?"
+
+I looked at her in much surprise, for there was nothing on her face, not
+a mark, not a spot, not a sign of one, nor a scar.
+
+She turned towards me, her eyes still lowered, and said:
+
+"It was while taking care of my son that I caught this fearful disease,
+monsieur.  I saved him, but I am disfigured.  I sacrificed my beauty to
+him, to my poor child.  However, I did my duty, my conscience is at rest.
+If I suffer it is known only to God."
+
+The doctor had drawn from his coat pocket a fine water-color paint brush.
+
+"Let me attend to it," he said, "I will put it all right."
+
+She held out her right cheek, and he began by touching it lightly with
+the brush here and there, as though he were putting little points of
+paint on it.  He did the same with the left cheek, then with the chin,
+and the forehead, and then exclaimed:
+
+"See, there is nothing there now, nothing at all!"
+
+She took up the mirror, gazed at her reflection with profound, eager
+attention, with a strong mental effort to discover something, then she
+sighed:
+
+"No.  It hardly shows at all.  I am infinitely obliged to you."
+
+The doctor had risen.  He bowed to her, ushered me out and followed me,
+and, as soon as he had locked the door, said:
+
+"Here is the history of this unhappy woman."
+
+Her name is Mme. Hermet.  She was once very beautiful, a great coquette,
+very much beloved and very much in-love with life.
+
+She was one of those women who have nothing but their beauty and their
+love of admiration to sustain, guide or comfort them in this life.  The
+constant anxiety to retain her freshness, the care of her complexion, of
+her hands, her teeth, of every portion of body that was visible, occupied
+all her time and all her attention.
+
+She became a widow, with one son.  The boy was brought up as are all
+children of society beauties.  She was, however, very fond of him.
+
+He grew up, and she grew older.  Whether she saw the fatal crisis
+approaching, I cannot say.  Did she, like so many others, gaze for hours
+and hours at her skin, once so fine, so transparent and free from
+blemish, now beginning to shrivel slightly, to be crossed with a thousand
+little lines, as yet imperceptible, that will grow deeper day by day,
+month by month?  Did she also see slowly, but surely, increasing traces
+of those long wrinkles on the forehead, those slender serpents that
+nothing can check?  Did she suffer the torture, the abominable torture of
+the mirror, the little mirror with the silver handle which one cannot
+make up one's mind to lay down on the table, but then throws down in
+disgust only to take it up again in order to look more closely, and still
+more closely at the hateful and insidious approaches of old age?  Did she
+shut herself up ten times, twenty times a day, leaving her friends
+chatting in the drawing-room, and go up to her room where, under the
+protection of bolts and bars, she would again contemplate the work of
+time on her ripe beauty, now beginning to wither, and recognize with
+despair the gradual progress of the process which no one else had as yet
+seemed to perceive, but of which she, herself, was well aware.  She knows
+where to seek the most serious, the gravest traces of age.  And the
+mirror, the little round hand-glass in its carved silver frame, tells her
+horrible things; for it speaks, it seems to laugh, it jeers and tells her
+all that is going to occur, all the physical discomforts and the
+atrocious mental anguish she will suffer until the day of her death,
+which will be the day of her deliverance.
+
+Did she weep, distractedly, on her knees, her forehead to the ground, and
+pray, pray, pray to Him who thus slays his creatures and gives them youth
+only that he may render old age more unendurable, and lends them beauty
+only that he may withdraw it almost immediately?  Did she pray to Him,
+imploring Him to do for her what He has never yet done for any one, to
+let her retain until her last day her charm, her freshness and her
+gracefulness?  Then, finding that she was imploring in vain an inflexible
+Unknown who drives on the years, one after another, did she roll on the
+carpet in her room, knocking her head against the furniture and stifling
+in her throat shrieks of despair?
+
+Doubtless she suffered these tortures, for this is what occurred:
+
+One day (she was then thirty-five) her son aged fifteen, fell ill.
+
+He took to his bed without any one being able to determine the cause or
+nature of his illness.
+
+His tutor, a priest, watched beside him and hardly ever left him, while
+Mme. Hermet came morning and evening to inquire how he was.
+
+She would come into the room in the morning in her night wrapper,
+smiling, all powdered and perfumed, and would ask as she entered the
+door:
+
+"Well, George, are you better?"
+
+The big boy, his face red, swollen and showing the ravages of fever,
+would reply:
+
+"Yes, little mother, a little better."
+
+She would stay in the room a few seconds, look at the bottles of
+medicine, and purse her lips as if she were saying "phew," and then would
+suddenly exclaim: "Oh, I forgot something very important," and would run
+out of the room leaving behind her a fragrance of choice toilet perfumes.
+
+In the evening she would appear in a decollete dress, in a still greater
+hurry, for she was always late, and she had just time to inquire:
+
+"Well, what does the doctor say?"
+
+The priest would reply:
+
+"He has not yet given an opinion, madame."
+
+But one evening the abbe replied: "Madame, your son has got the small-
+pox."
+
+She uttered a scream of terror and fled from the room.
+
+When her maid came to her room the following morning she noticed at once
+a strong odor of burnt sugar, and she found her mistress, with wide-open
+eyes, her face pale from lack of sleep, and shivering with terror in her
+bed.
+
+As soon as the shutters were opened Mme. Herrnet asked:
+
+"How is George?"
+
+"Oh, not at all well to-day, madame."
+
+She did not rise until noon, when she ate two eggs with a cup of tea, as
+if she herself had been ill, and then she went out to a druggist's to
+inquire about prophylactic measures against the contagion of small-pox.
+
+She did not come home until dinner time, laden with medicine bottles, and
+shut herself up at once in her room, where she saturated herself with
+disinfectants.
+
+The priest was waiting for her in the dining-room.  As soon as she saw
+him she exclaimed in a voice full of emotion:
+
+"Well?"
+
+"No improvement.  The doctor is very anxious:"
+
+She began to cry and could eat nothing, she was so worried.
+
+The next day, as soon as it was light, she sent to inquire for her son,
+but there was no improvement and she spent the whole day in her room,
+where little braziers were giving out pungent odors.  Her maid said also
+that you could hear her sighing all the evening.
+
+She spent a whole week in this manner, only going out for an hour or two
+during the afternoon to breathe the air.
+
+She now sent to make inquiries every hour, and would sob when the reports
+were unfavorable.
+
+On the morning of the eleventh day the priest, having been announced,
+entered her room, his face grave and pale, and said, without taking the
+chair she offered him:
+
+"Madame, your son is very ill and wishes to see you."
+
+She fell on her knees, exclaiming:
+
+"Oh, my God!  Oh, my God!  I would never dare!  My God!  My God!  Help
+me!"
+
+The priest continued:
+
+"The doctor holds out little hope, madame, and George is expecting you!"
+
+And he left the room.
+
+Two hours later as the young lad, feeling himself dying, again asked for
+his mother, the abbe went to her again and found her still on her knees,
+still weeping and repeating:
+
+"I will not .  .  .  .  I will not.  .  .  .  I am too much afraid .  .
+.  .  I will not.  .  .  ."
+
+He tried to persuade her, to strengthen her, to lead her.  He only
+succeeded in bringing on an attack of "nerves" that lasted some time and
+caused her to shriek.
+
+The doctor when he came in the evening was told of this cowardice and
+declared that he would bring her in himself, of her own volition, or by
+force.  But after trying all manner of argument and just as he seized her
+round the waist to carry her into her son's room, she caught hold of the
+door and clung to it so firmly that they could not drag her away.  Then
+when they let go of her she fell at the feet of the doctor, begging his
+forgiveness and acknowledging that she was a wretched creature.  And then
+she exclaimed: "Oh, he is not going to die; tell me that he is not going
+to die, I beg of you; tell him that I love him, that I worship him. . ."
+
+The young lad was dying.  Feeling that he had only a few moments more to
+live, he entreated that his mother be persuaded to come and bid him a
+last farewell.  With that sort of presentiment that the dying sometimes
+have, he had understood, had guessed all, and he said: "If she is afraid
+to come into the room, beg her just to come on the balcony as far as my
+window so that I may see her, at least, so that I may take a farewell
+look at her, as I cannot kiss her."
+
+The doctor and the abbe, once more, went together to this woman and
+assured her: "You will run no risk, for there will be a pane of glass
+between you and him."
+
+She consented, covered up her head, and took with her a bottle of
+smelling salts.  She took three steps on the balcony; then, all at once,
+hiding her face in her hands, she moaned: "No .  .  .  no .  .  .  I
+would never dare to look at him .  .  .  never.  .  .  .  I am too much
+ashamed .  .  .  too much afraid .  .  .  .  No .  .  .  I cannot."
+
+They endeavored to drag her along, but she held on with both hands to the
+railings and uttered such plaints that the passers-by in the street
+raised their heads.  And the dying boy waited, his eyes turned towards
+that window, waited to die until he could see for the last time the
+sweet, beloved face, the worshiped face of his mother.
+
+He waited long, and night came on.  Then he turned over with his face to
+the wall and was silent.
+
+When day broke he was dead.  The day following she was crazy.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE MAGIC COUCH
+
+The Seine flowed past my house, without a ripple on its surface, and
+gleaming in the bright morning sunlight.  It was a beautiful, broad,
+indolent silver stream, with crimson lights here and there; and on the
+opposite side of the river were rows of tall trees that covered all the
+bank with an immense wall of verdure.
+
+The sensation of life which is renewed each day, of fresh, happy, loving
+life trembled in the leaves, palpitated in the air, was mirrored in the
+water.
+
+The postman had just brought my papers, which were handed to me, and I
+walked slowly to the river bank in order to read them.
+
+In the first paper I opened I noticed this headline, "Statistics of
+Suicides," and I read that more than 8,500 persons had killed themselves
+in that year.
+
+In a moment I seemed to see them!  I saw this voluntary and hideous
+massacre of the despairing who were weary of life.  I saw men bleeding,
+their jaws fractured, their skulls cloven, their breasts pierced by a
+bullet, slowly dying, alone in a little room in a hotel, giving no
+thought to their wound, but thinking only of their misfortunes.
+
+I saw others seated before a tumbler in which some matches were soaking,
+or before a little bottle with a red label.
+
+They would look at it fixedly without moving; then they would drink and
+await the result; then a spasm would convulse their cheeks and draw their
+lips together; their eyes would grow wild with terror, for they did not
+know that the end would be preceded by so much suffering.
+
+They rose to their feet, paused, fell over and with their hands pressed
+to their stomachs they felt their internal organs on fire, their entrails
+devoured by the fiery liquid, before their minds began to grow dim.
+
+I saw others hanging from a nail in the wall, from the fastening of the
+window, from a hook in the ceiling, from a beam in the garret, from a
+branch of a tree amid the evening rain.  And I surmised all that had
+happened before they hung there motionless, their tongues hanging out of
+their mouths.  I imagined the anguish of their heart, their final
+hesitation, their attempts to fasten the rope, to determine that it was
+secure, then to pass the noose round their neck and to let themselves
+fall.
+
+I saw others lying on wretched beds, mothers with their little children,
+old men dying of hunger, young girls dying for love, all rigid,
+suffocated, asphyxiated, while in the center of the room the brasier
+still gave forth the fumes of charcoal.
+
+And I saw others walking at night along the deserted bridges.  These were
+the most sinister. The water flowed under the arches with a low sound.
+They did not see it .  .  .  they guessed at it from its cool breath!
+They longed for it and they feared it.  They dared not do it!  And yet,
+they must.  A distant clock sounded the hour and, suddenly, in the vast
+silence of the night, there was heard the splash of a body falling into
+the river, a scream or two, the sound of hands beating the water, and all
+was still.  Sometimes, even, there was only the sound of the falling body
+when they had tied their arms down or fastened a stone to their feet.
+Oh, the poor things, the poor things, the poor things, how I felt their
+anguish, how I died in their death!  I went through all their
+wretchedness; I endured in one hour all their tortures.  I knew all the
+sorrows that had led them to this, for I know the deceitful infamy of
+life, and no one has felt it more than I have.
+
+How I understood them, these who weak, harassed by misfortune, having
+lost those they loved, awakened from the dream of a tardy compensation,
+from the illusion of another existence where God will finally be just,
+after having been ferocious, and their minds disabused of the mirages of
+happiness, have given up the fight and desire to put an end to this
+ceaseless tragedy, or this shameful comedy.
+
+Suicide!  Why, it is the strength of those whose strength is exhausted,
+the hope of those who no longer believe, the sublime courage of the
+conquered!  Yes, there is at least one door to this life we can always
+open and pass through to the other side.  Nature had an impulse of pity;
+she did not shut us up in prison.  Mercy for the despairing!
+
+As for those who are simply disillusioned, let them march ahead with free
+soul and quiet heart.  They have nothing to fear since they may take
+their leave; for behind them there is always this door that the gods of
+our illusions cannot even lock.
+
+I thought of this crowd of suicides: more than eight thousand five
+hundred in one year.  And it seemed to me that they had combined to send
+to the world a prayer, to utter a cry of appeal, to demand something that
+should come into effect later when we understood things better.  It
+seemed to me that all these victims, their throats cut, poisoned, hung,
+asphyxiated, or drowned, all came together, a frightful horde, like
+citizens to the polls, to say to society:
+
+"Grant us, at least, a gentle death!  Help us to die, you who will not
+help us to live!  See, we are numerous, we have the right to speak in
+these days of freedom, of philosophic independence and of popular
+suffrage.  Give to those who renounce life the charity of a death that
+will not be repugnant nor terrible."
+
+I began to dream, allowing my fancy to roam at will in weird and
+mysterious fashion on this subject.
+
+I seemed to be all at once in a beautiful city.  It was Paris; but at
+what period?  I walked about the streets, looking at the houses, the
+theaters, the public buildings, and presently found myself in a square
+where I remarked a large building; very handsome, dainty and attractive.
+I was surprised on reading on the facade this inscription in letters of
+gold, "Suicide Bureau."
+
+Oh, the weirdness of waking dreams where the spirit soars into a world of
+unrealities and possibilities!  Nothing astonishes one, nothing shocks
+one; and the unbridled fancy makes no distinction between the comic and
+the tragic.
+
+I approached the building where footmen in knee-breeches were seated in
+the vestibule in front of a cloak-room as they do at the entrance of a
+club.
+
+I entered out of curiosity.  One of the men rose and said:
+
+"What does monsieur wish?"
+
+"I wish to know what building this is."
+
+"Nothing more?"
+
+"Why, no."
+
+"Then would monsieur like me to take him to the Secretary of the Bureau?"
+
+I hesitated, and asked:
+
+"But will not that disturb him?"
+
+"Oh, no, monsieur, he is here to receive those who desire information."
+
+"Well, lead the way."
+
+He took me through corridors where old gentlemen were chatting, and
+finally led me into a beautiful office, somewhat somber, furnished
+throughout in black wood.  A stout young man with a corporation was
+writing a letter as he smoked a cigar, the fragrance of which gave
+evidence of its quality.
+
+He rose.  We bowed to each other, and as soon as the footman had retired
+he asked:
+
+"What can I do for you?"
+
+"Monsieur," I replied, "pardon my curiosity.  I had never seen this
+establishment.  The few words inscribed on the facade filled me with
+astonishment, and I wanted to know what was going on here."
+
+He smiled before replying, then said in a low tone with a complacent air:
+
+"Mon Dieu, monsieur, we put to death in a cleanly and gentle--I do not
+venture to say agreeable manner those persons who desire to die."
+
+I did not feel very shocked, for it really seemed to me natural and
+right.  What particularly surprised me was that on this planet, with its
+low, utilitarian, humanitarian ideals, selfish and coercive of all true
+freedom, any one should venture on a similar enterprise, worthy of an
+emancipated humanity.
+
+"How did you get the idea?" I asked.
+
+"Monsieur," he replied, "the number of suicides increased so enormously
+during the five years succeeding the world exposition of 1889 that some
+measures were urgently needed.  People killed themselves in the streets,
+at fetes, in restaurants, at the theater, in railway carriages, at the
+receptions held by the President of the Republic, everywhere.  It was not
+only a horrid sight for those who love life, as I do, but also a bad
+example for children.  Hence it became necessary to centralize suicides."
+
+"What caused this suicidal epidemic?"
+
+"I do not know.  The fact is, I believe, the world is growing old.
+People begin to see things clearly and they are getting disgruntled.
+It is the same to-day with destiny as with the government, we have found
+out what it is; people find that they are swindled in every direction,
+and they just get out of it all.  When one discovers that Providence
+lies, cheats, robs, deceives human beings just as a plain Deputy deceives
+his constituents, one gets angry, and as one cannot nominate a fresh
+Providence every three months as we do with our privileged
+representatives, one just gets out of the whole thing, which is decidedly
+bad."
+
+"Really!"
+
+"Oh, as for me, I am not complaining."
+
+"Will you inform me how you carry on this establishment?"
+
+"With pleasure.  You may become a member when you please.  It is a club."
+
+"A club!"
+
+"Yes, monsieur, founded by the most eminent men in the country, by men of
+the highest intellect and brightest intelligence.  And," he added,
+laughing heartily, "I swear to you that every one gets a great deal of
+enjoyment out of it."
+
+"In this place?"
+
+"Yes, in this place."
+
+"You surprise me."
+
+"Mon Dieu, they enjoy themselves because they have not that fear of death
+which is the great killjoy in all our earthly pleasures."
+
+"But why should they be members of this club if they do not kill
+themselves?"
+
+"One may be a member of the club without being obliged for that reason to
+commit suicide."
+
+"But then?"
+
+"I will explain.  In view of the enormous increase in suicides, and of
+the hideous spectacle they presented, a purely benevolent society was
+formed for the protection of those in despair, which placed at their
+disposal the facilities for a peaceful, painless, if not unforeseen
+death."
+
+"Who can have authorized such an institution?"
+
+"General Boulanger during his brief tenure of power.  He could never
+refuse anything.  However, that was the only good thing he did.  Hence, a
+society was formed of clear-sighted, disillusioned skeptics who desired
+to erect in the heart of Paris a kind of temple dedicated to the contempt
+for death.  This place was formerly a dreaded spot that no one ventured
+to approach.  Then its founders, who met together here, gave a grand
+inaugural entertainment with Mmes. Sarah Bernhardt, Judic, Theo, Granier,
+and twenty others, and Mme. de Reske, Coquelin, Mounet-Sully, Paulus,
+etc., present, followed by concerts, the comedies of Dumas, of Meilhac,
+Halevy and Sardon.  We had only one thing to mar it, one drama by Becque
+which seemed sad, but which subsequently had a great success at the
+Comedie-Francaise.  In fact all Paris came.  The enterprise was
+launched."
+
+"In the midst of the festivities!  What a funereal joke!"
+
+"Not at all.  Death need not be sad, it should be a matter of
+indifference.  We made death cheerful, crowned it with flowers, covered
+it with perfume, made it easy.  One learns to aid others through example;
+one can see that it is nothing."
+
+"I can well understand that they should come to the entertainments; but
+did they come to .  .  .  Death?"
+
+"Not at first; they were afraid."
+
+"And later?"
+
+"They came."
+
+"Many of them?"
+
+"In crowds.  We have had more than forty in a day.  One finds hardly any
+more drowned bodies in the Seine."
+
+"Who was the first?"
+
+"A club member."
+
+"As a sacrifice to the cause?"
+
+"I don't think so.  A man who was sick of everything, a 'down and out'
+who had lost heavily at baccarat for three months."
+
+"Indeed?"
+
+"The second was an Englishman, an eccentric.  We then advertised in the
+papers, we gave an account of our methods, we invented some attractive
+instances.  But the great impetus was given by poor people."
+
+"How do you go to work?"
+
+"Would you like to see?  I can explain at the same time."
+
+"Yes, indeed."
+
+He took his hat, opened the door, allowed me to precede him, and we
+entered a card room, where men sat playing as they, play in all gambling
+places.  They were chatting cheerfully, eagerly.  I have seldom seen such
+a jolly, lively, mirthful club.
+
+As I seemed surprised, the secretary said:
+
+"Oh, the establishment has an unheard of prestige.  All the smart people
+all over the world belong to it so as to appear as though they held death
+in scorn.  Then, once they get here, they feel obliged to be cheerful
+that they may not appear to be afraid.  So they joke and laugh and talk
+flippantly, they are witty and they become so.  At present it is
+certainly the most frequented and the most entertaining place in Paris.
+The women are even thinking of building an annex for themselves."
+
+"And, in spite of all this, you have many suicides in the house?"
+
+"As I said, about forty or fifty a day.  Society people are rare, but
+poor devils abound.  The middle class has also a large contingent.
+
+"And how .  .  .  do they do?"
+
+"They are asphyxiated .  .  .  very slowly."
+
+"In what manner?"
+
+"A gas of our own invention.  We have the patent.  On the other side of
+the building are the public entrances--three little doors opening on
+small streets.  When a man or a woman present themselves they are
+interrogated.  Then they are offered assistance, aid, protection.  If a
+client accepts, inquiries are made; and sometimes we have saved their
+lives."
+
+"Where do you get your money?"
+
+"We have a great deal.  There are a large number of shareholders.
+Besides it is fashionable to contribute to the establishment.  The names
+of the donors are published in Figaro.  Then the suicide of every rich
+man costs a thousand francs.  And they look as if they were lying in
+state.  It costs the poor nothing."
+
+"How can you tell who is poor?"
+
+"Oh, oh, monsieur, we can guess!  And, besides, they must bring a
+certificate of indigency from the commissary of police of their district.
+If you knew how distressing it is to see them come in!  I visited their
+part of our building once only, and I will never go again.  The place
+itself is almost as good as this part, almost as luxurious and
+comfortable; but they themselves .  .  .  they themselves!!!  If you
+could see them arriving, the old men in rags coming to die; persons who
+have been dying of misery for months, picking up their food at the edges
+of the curbstone like dogs in the street; women in rags, emaciated, sick,
+paralyzed, incapable of making a living, who say to us after they have
+told us their story: 'You see that things cannot go on like that, as I
+cannot work any longer or earn anything.'  I saw one woman of eighty-
+seven who had lost all her children and grandchildren, and who for the
+last six weeks had been sleeping out of doors.  It made me ill to hear of
+it.  Then we have so many different cases, without counting those who say
+nothing, but simply ask: 'Where is it?'  These are admitted at once and
+it is all over in a minute."
+
+With a pang at my heart I repeated:
+
+"And .  .  .  where is it?"
+
+"Here," and he opened a door, adding:
+
+"Go in; this is the part specially reserved for club members, and the one
+least used.  We have so far had only eleven annihilations here."
+
+"Ah!  You call that an .  .  .  annihilation!"
+
+"Yes, monsieur.  Go in."
+
+I hesitated.  At length I went in.  It was a wide corridor, a sort of
+greenhouse in which panes of glass of pale blue, tender pink and delicate
+green gave the poetic charm of landscapes to the inclosing walls.
+In this pretty salon there were divans, magnificent palms, flowers,
+especially roses of balmy fragrance, books on the tables, the Revue des
+Deuxmondes, cigars in government boxes, and, what surprised me, Vichy
+pastilles in a bonbonniere.
+
+As I expressed my surprise, my guide said:
+
+"Oh, they often come here to chat."  He continued: "The public corridors
+are similar, but more simply furnished."
+
+In reply to a question of mine, he pointed to a couch covered with creamy
+crepe de Chine with white embroidery, beneath a large shrub of unknown
+variety at the foot of which was a circular bed of mignonette.
+
+The secretary added in a lower tone:
+
+"We change the flower and the perfume at will, for our gas, which is
+quite imperceptible, gives death the fragrance of the suicide's favorite
+flower.  It is volatilized with essences.  Would you like to inhale it
+for a second?"
+
+"'No, thank you," I said hastily, "not yet .  .  .  ."
+
+He began to laugh.
+
+"Oh, monsieur, there is no danger.  I have tried it myself several
+times."
+
+I was afraid he would think me a coward, and I said:
+
+"Well, I'll try it."
+
+"Stretch yourself out on the 'endormeuse."'
+
+A little uneasy I seated myself on the low couch covered with crepe de
+Chine and stretched myself full length, and was at once bathed in a
+delicious odor of mignonette.  I opened my mouth in order to breathe it
+in, for my mind had already become stupefied and forgetful of the past
+and was a prey, in the first stages of asphyxia, to the enchanting
+intoxication of a destroying and magic opium.
+
+Some one shook me by the arm.
+
+"Oh, oh, monsieur," said the secretary, laughing, "it looks to me as if
+you were almost caught."
+
+But a voice, a real voice, and no longer a dream voice, greeted me with
+the peasant intonation:
+
+"Good morning, m'sieu.  How goes it?"
+
+My dream was over.  I saw the Seine distinctly in the sunlight, and,
+coming along a path, the garde champetre of the district, who with his
+right hand touched his kepi braided in silver.  I replied:
+
+"Good morning, Marinel.  Where are you going?"
+
+"I am going to look at a drowned man whom they fished up near the
+Morillons.  Another who has thrown himself into the soup.  He even took
+off his trousers in order to tie his legs together with them."
+
+
+
+
+End of this Project Gutenberg Etext of Original Short Stories, Vol. 13.
+by Guy de Maupassant
+
diff --git a/old/gm13v11.zip b/old/gm13v11.zip
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..04db0b6
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/gm13v11.zip