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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> + <a + href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/28076/28076-h/28076-h.htm"><b>INDEX + TO ALL VOLUMES</b> </a> + </td> + <td> + </td> + </tr> + </tbody> + </table> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> 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’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> + “What is that?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “That is where Judas died,” 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> + “Judas? What Judas?” + </p> + <p> + “The Wandering Jew, monsieur,” 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> + “Sit down, father,” she replied; “everything here belongs to all the + world, since it comes from all the world.” + </p> + <p> + He sat down on a stone before the door. He shared the woman’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> + “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.” + </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: + “Mamma, mamma, here is the Jewess!” + </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 “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. + </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’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> + “This happened on Good Friday, monsieur.” Joseph concluded his story, + “three hours after noon.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know that?” I asked him. + </p> + <p> + “There is no doubt about that,” 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’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> + “I was born here, and here I mean to die,” 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> + “Well mother, you are always pretty well and hearty, I am glad to see.” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing to complain of, considering, thank you. And how are you, Monsieur + Chicot?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, pretty well, thank you, except a few rheumatic pains occasionally; + otherwise I have nothing to complain of.” + </p> + <p> + “So much the better.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </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> + “Listen, Mother Magloire—” + </p> + <p> + “Well, what is it?” + </p> + <p> + “You are quite sure that you do not want to sell your land?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not; you may make up your mind to that. What I have said I have + said, so don’t refer to it again.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well; only I think I know of an arrangement that might suit us both + very well.” + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “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?” + </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> + “It seems all right as far as I am concerned, but it will not give you the + farm.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + The old woman was surprised, rather uneasy, but, nevertheless, very much + tempted to agree, and answered: + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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’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> + “If you live for fifteen years longer,” he said, “even then he will only + have paid forty-five thousand francs for it.” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + But Chicot was not going to be taken in. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “Will you never die, you old hag?” + </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> + “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.” + </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’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> + “But surely you will take a little drop of brandy or liqueur?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, as to that, I don’t know that I will refuse.” Whereupon he shouted + out: + </p> + <p> + “Rosalie, bring the superfine brandy—the special—you know.” + </p> + <p> + The servant appeared, carrying a long bottle ornamented with a paper + vine-leaf, and he filled two liqueur glasses. + </p> + <p> + “Just try that; you will find it first rate.” + </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> + “Yes, that is first rate!” + </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> + “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.” + </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> + “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. + </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> + “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.” + </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> + “I suppose you will give me a glass of the Special?” 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> + “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.” + </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> + “It was very stupid of her; if she had not taken to drink she would + probably have lived ten years longer.” + </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> + “Faith, ‘tis for my children, whom I must support. This brings me in more + than anything else.” + </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> + “There are only eight of them left in the house. One is out at service and + five are married.” + </p> + <p> + When the questioner wanted to know whether they were well married, he + replied vivaciously: + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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’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’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’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 “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. + </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: “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </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> + “There’s only one thing you may not like. She is not a white slip.” + </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: “Black? How much of her is black? Is the whole of her?” + </p> + <p> + He replied: “Certainly. Everywhere, just as you are white everywhere.” + </p> + <p> + The father interposed: “Black? Is it as black as the pot?” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + The father said: “Are there more black people besides her in her country?” + </p> + <p> + And the son, with an air of conviction, exclaimed: “Certainly!” + </p> + <p> + But the old man shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “That must be unpleasant.” + </p> + <p> + And the son: + </p> + <p> + “It isn’t more disagreeable than anything else when you get accustomed to + it.” + </p> + <p> + The mother asked: + </p> + <p> + “It doesn’t soil the underwear more than other skins, this black skin?” + </p> + <p> + “Not more than your own, as it is her proper color.” + </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’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’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’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: + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “I wish you good luck!” + </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> + “Well,” said he, “we don’t seem inclined to talk.” + </p> + <p> + “We must have time,” replied the old woman. + </p> + <p> + He went on: + </p> + <p> + “Come! Tell us the little story about that hen of yours that laid eight + eggs.” + </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’s affections through their stomachs. He drew his + parents outside the house, and, with beating heart, asked: + </p> + <p> + “Well, what do you say now?” + </p> + <p> + The father said nothing. The mother, less timid, exclaimed: + </p> + <p> + “She is too black. No, indeed, this is too much for me. It turns my + blood.” + </p> + <p> + “You will get used to it,” said Antoine. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps so, but not at first.” + </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> + “Well, dad, what do you say about it?” + </p> + <p> + The peasant took care never to compromise himself. + </p> + <p> + “I have no opinion about it. Ask your mother.” + </p> + <p> + So Antoine went back to his mother, and, detaining her behind the rest, + said: + </p> + <p> + “Well, mother, what do you think of her?” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </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 “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. + </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: “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!” + </p> + <p> + And young Boitelle said to his sweetheart: + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + People would say to him: + </p> + <p> + “Yet you got married.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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, “Auntie, what is this ring? It looks as + if it were made from the hair of a child.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </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> + “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? + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Now, one day a young man named Monsieur de Gradelle, who had been invited + for the shooting, eloped with the young girl. + </p> + <p> + “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> + “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> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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!’ + </p> + <p> + “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!’ + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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!’ + </p> + <p> + “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.’ + </p> + <p> + “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.’ + </p> + <p> + “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> + “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.’ + </p> + <p> + “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> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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! + </p> + <p> + “I did not dare see him again, but I asked for a lock of his blond hair. + Here—here it is!” + </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> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </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: + “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. + </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’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. + </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: “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. + </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 “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.” + </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’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. + </p> + <p> + He repeated with a sneer: + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “And yet miracles were performed in olden times.” + </p> + <p> + “I deny it,” replied the other: “Why cannot they be performed now?” + </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> + “Humbug! humbug! humbug!” + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “And can you explain this?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + One of the smokers remarked: + </p> + <p> + “What you say is right enough; but what about your second story?” + </p> + <p> + “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: + </p> + <p> + “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> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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 than 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. + </p> + <p> + “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> + “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> + “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> + “And three times that night I had the same dream. + </p> + <p> + “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> + “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> + “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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “What conclusion do you draw from it?” said a voice. + </p> + <p> + The story-teller seemed to hesitate. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </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’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: + “He was an honest man, at least!” + </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’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! +</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> + “That must be destroyed.” + </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> + “Oh, yes! We have the ‘Mother of Monsters’; I must take you to see her.” + </p> + <p> + “Who is that, the ‘Mother of Monsters’?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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> + “She has eleven of this description. She is rich. + </p> + <p> + “You think I am joking, romancing, exaggerating. No, my friend; I am + telling you the truth, the exact truth. + </p> + <p> + “Let us go and see this woman. Then I will tell you her history.” + </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> + “What do the gentlemen wish?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + She cast on us a malicious and furious look as she said: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, oh, no, my poor sir! He is perhaps even uglier than the rest. I + have no luck, no luck! + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “We should like to see your little one,” 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> + “What good will that do you?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + She gave a start, and resuming her natural voice, and giving free play to + her anger, she screamed: + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “Take care, Devil,” (they called her the Devil), said my friend, “take + care; some day you will get yourself into trouble through this.” + </p> + <p> + She began to tremble, beside herself with fury, shaking her fist and + roaring: + </p> + <p> + “Be off with you! What will get me into trouble? Be off with you, + miscreants!” + </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> + “Well, you have seen her, what do you think of her?” + </p> + <p> + “Tell me the story of this brute,” 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> + “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> + “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> + “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.’ + </p> + <p> + “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> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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> + “Incited by the greed of gain, she continued to produce these phenomena, + so as to have an assured income like a bourgeoise. + </p> + <p> + “Some of them were long, some short, some like crabs-all bodies-others + like lizards. Several died, and she was heartbroken. + </p> + <p> + “The law tried to interfere, but as they had no proof they let her + continue to produce her freaks. + </p> + <p> + “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> + “She even gets bids from them when the monster is valuable.” + </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> + “Those are the offspring of that charming woman you saw just now,” said + the doctor. + </p> + <p> + I was filled with pity for her, as well as for them, and exclaimed: “Oh, + the poor mother! How can she ever laugh!” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + And then I recalled that other woman, the peasant, the “Devil,” 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> + “Look out, old ferret! They have something in store for you.” + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </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: “Good-night.” 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: “My candle may suddenly go out and leave me in + darkness.” + </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> + “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. + </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: “I don’t know—he has a certain charm about + him.” + </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: “Do you know + Monsieur Milial?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Introduce us.” + </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—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: “Might I ask you + who is this lady?” + </p> + <p> + He answered: “That is my mother. She died very young.” + </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> + “Come on, Jeremie, let’s go play dominoes. It’s my treat.” + </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’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> + “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?” + </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> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + Jeremie answered: + </p> + <p> + “The other night I couldn’t find the door—I had to be fished out of + the ditch in front of the house!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </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’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> + “Well, Jeremie, how goes it inside? Feel less thirsty after wetting your + throat?” + </p> + <p> + Jeremie muttered: + </p> + <p> + “The more I wet it, the drier it gets inside.” + </p> + <p> + The innkeeper cast a sly glance at Mathurin. He said: + </p> + <p> + “And your brother, Mathurin, where’s he now?” + </p> + <p> + The sailor laughed silently: + </p> + <p> + “Don’t worry; he’s warm, all right.” + </p> + <p> + And both of them looked toward Jeremie, who was triumphantly putting down + the double six and announcing: + </p> + <p> + “Game!” + </p> + <p> + Then the owner declared: + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Mathurin answered: + </p> + <p> + “Don’t worry; it’ll be all right.” + </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’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> + “Come on, Jeremie, we’ve got to get out.” + </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> + “Well, so long. See you to-morrow night!” + </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’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> + “Melina! Oh, Melina!” + </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> + “Melina!” + </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> + “Who was it, Melina? Tell me who it was. I won’t hurt you!” + </p> + <p> + He waited, no voice was raised in the darkness. He was now reasoning with + himself out loud. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + And he would continue: + </p> + <p> + “Tell me who it was, Melina, or somethin’ll happen to you.” + </p> + <p> + After having waited again, he went on with the slow and obstinate logic of + a drunkard: + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </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> + “Tell me who it was, Melina, or you’ll get a licking—I warn you!” + </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> + “So! You were there, you piece of dirt, and you wouldn’t answer!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + At last he stopped to ask: + </p> + <p> + “Well, are you ready to tell me who it was?” + </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> + “Here’s a funny thing that happened to me on, that very subject.” 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> + “Then you will stay till to-morrow?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes. You know that that was the agreement.” + </p> + <p> + “All right, my dear, I just wanted to know. Wait for me here a minute, I + will be right back.” + </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. + “We shall see,” 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> + “You may come in,” she said. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Make yourself at home, ‘mon chat’,” 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> + “Well, what ails you? Are you changed into a pillar of salt? Come, hurry + up.” + </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> + “Have you lived here long?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Over six months on the fifteenth of January.” + </p> + <p> + “Where were you before that?” + </p> + <p> + “In the Rue Clauzel. But the janitor made me very uncomfortable and I + left.” + </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> + “What was that noise?” + </p> + <p> + She answered quietly and confidently: + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “Come,” said I, “tell me who he was.” + </p> + <p> + “He was a boating man, my dear.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Tell me about it. Where were you?” + </p> + <p> + “I was at Argenteuil.” + </p> + <p> + “What were you doing?” + </p> + <p> + “I was waitress in a restaurant.” + </p> + <p> + “What restaurant?” + </p> + <p> + “‘The Freshwater Sailor.’ Do you know it?” + </p> + <p> + “I should say so, kept by Bonanfan.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that’s it.” + </p> + <p> + “And how did he make love to you, this boating man?” + </p> + <p> + “While I was doing his room. He took advantage of me.” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Then, turning to my companion, I began to laugh. + </p> + <p> + “You know that I am aware of your history. The boating man was not the + first.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, my dear, I swear it:” + </p> + <p> + “You are lying, my dear.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, I assure you.” + </p> + <p> + “You are lying; come, tell me all.” + </p> + <p> + She seemed to hesitate in astonishment. I continued: + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + She was afraid, being as stupid as all her kind. She faltered: + </p> + <p> + “How did you guess?” + </p> + <p> + “Come, go on telling me,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, the first time didn’t amount to anything. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that all?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + She hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I think Florentin belongs to him.” + </p> + <p> + “Who is Florentin?” + </p> + <p> + “My little boy.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Well, then, you made the boating man believe that he was the father, + did you not?” + </p> + <p> + “You bet!” + </p> + <p> + “Did he have any money, this boating man?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he left me an income of three hundred francs, settled on Florentin.” + </p> + <p> + I was beginning to be amused and resumed: + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + She replied: + </p> + <p> + “He is now twelve. He will make his first communion in the spring.” + </p> + <p> + “That is splendid. And since then you have carried on your business + conscientiously?” + </p> + <p> + She sighed in a resigned manner. + </p> + <p> + “I must do what I can.” + </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> + “That’s nothing, my dear, I assure you it’s nothing.” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + I turned to the woman and said: + </p> + <p> + “What does this mean?” + </p> + <p> + She seemed confused and worried, and said in a broken voice: + </p> + <p> + “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> + “It is not his fault. I should like to see you sleep all night on a chair—you + would have something to say.” + </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’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—this country is + the richest in Europe for herbalists—asked me: + </p> + <p> + “Are you a relation of those poor children, monsieur?” + </p> + <p> + I looked at him in astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “What children, monsieur?” + </p> + <p> + He seemed embarrassed and answered with a bow: + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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’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’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. + </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: “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </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: “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. + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </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’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: “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. + </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: “Good-by, + little brother, I am going to give you my watch.” + </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’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’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 “the Gates,” 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’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—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’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’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’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. + </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—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. + </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 “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. + </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: “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. + </p> + <p> + Sometimes she would ask me with a shudder: + </p> + <p> + “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! + </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’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’s attention. “Whose death? When? In what + manner?” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + Emma turned anxiously to me: + </p> + <p> + “Say, let us go there to-morrow. Oh, please say yes. If not, you cannot + imagine how worried I shall be.” + </p> + <p> + I began to laugh. + </p> + <p> + “We will go if you wish it, dearie.” + </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> + “Oh, dear, look at that cat; how like it is to Misti.” + </p> + <p> + And she explained to the old woman that she had a cat “exactly like that, + exactly like that!” + </p> + <p> + The old woman replied gravely: + </p> + <p> + “If you are in love with a man, you must not keep it.” + </p> + <p> + Emma, suddenly filled with fear, asked: + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” + </p> + <p> + The old woman sat down familiarly beside her and took her hand. + </p> + <p> + “It was the undoing of my life,” 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> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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> + “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> + “When I began to bathe my poor friend’s face, I noticed that his eyes were + destroyed, both his eyes! + </p> + <p> + “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> + “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?” + </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—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> + “I gave him away. I was uneasy.” + </p> + <p> + I was astonished. + </p> + <p> + “Uneasy? Uneasy? What about?” + </p> + <p> + She gave me a long kiss and said in a low tone: + </p> + <p> + “I was uneasy about your eyes, my dear.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Misti appeared in. Gil Blas of January 22, 1884, over the signature + of “MAUFRIGNEUSE.” + </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> + “Come, I will show you an interesting case.” + </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> + “Well,” said the doctor, “how are you this morning?” + </p> + <p> + She gave a deep sigh. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, ill, monsieur, very ill. The marks are increasing every day.” + </p> + <p> + He replied in a tone of conviction: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no; oh, no; I assure you that you are mistaken.” + </p> + <p> + She drew near to him and murmured: + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “Come, let me see; I assure you it is nothing. With a slight cauterization + I will make it all disappear.” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not mind your seeing them,” she murmured, “but I do not know that + gentleman who is with you.” + </p> + <p> + “He is a doctor also, who can give you better care than I can.” + </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> + “Oh, it is torture to me to let myself be seen like this! It is horrible, + is it not? Is it not horrible?” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + The doctor had drawn from his coat pocket a fine water-color paint brush. + </p> + <p> + “Let me attend to it,” he said, “I will put it all right.” + </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> + “See, there is nothing there now, nothing at all!” + </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> + “No. It hardly shows at all. I am infinitely obliged to you.” + </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> + “Here is the history of this unhappy woman.” + </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’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> + “Well, George, are you better?” + </p> + <p> + The big boy, his face red, swollen and showing the ravages of fever, would + reply: + </p> + <p> + “Yes, little mother, a little better.” + </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 “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. + </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> + “Well, what does the doctor say?” + </p> + <p> + The priest would reply: + </p> + <p> + “He has not yet given an opinion, madame.” + </p> + <p> + But one evening the abbe replied: “Madame, your son has got the + small-pox.” + </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> + “How is George?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, not at all well to-day, madame.” + </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’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> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “No improvement. The doctor is very anxious:” + </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> + “Madame, your son is very ill and wishes to see you.” + </p> + <p> + She fell on her knees, exclaiming: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my God! Oh, my God! I would never dare! My God! My God! Help me!” + </p> + <p> + The priest continued: + </p> + <p> + “The doctor holds out little hope, madame, and George is expecting you!” + </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> + “I will not.... I will not.... I am too much afraid.... I will not....” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </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’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...” + </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: “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </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: “No... no... I would never dare to look at + him... never.... I am too much ashamed... too much afraid.... No... I + cannot.” + </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, “Statistics of + Suicides,” 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> + “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.” + </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, + “Suicide Bureau.” + </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> + “What does monsieur wish?” + </p> + <p> + “I wish to know what building this is.” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing more?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, no.” + </p> + <p> + “Then would monsieur like me to take him to the Secretary of the Bureau?” + </p> + <p> + I hesitated, and asked: + </p> + <p> + “But will not that disturb him?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, monsieur, he is here to receive those who desire information.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, lead the way.” + </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> + “What can I do for you?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + He smiled before replying, then said in a low tone with a complacent air: + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “How did you get the idea?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “What caused this suicidal epidemic?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Really!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, as for me, I am not complaining.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you inform me how you carry on this establishment?” + </p> + <p> + “With pleasure. You may become a member when you please. It is a club.” + </p> + <p> + “A club!” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “In this place?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, in this place.” + </p> + <p> + “You surprise me.” + </p> + <p> + “Mon Dieu, they enjoy themselves because they have not that fear of death + which is the great killjoy in all our earthly pleasures.” + </p> + <p> + “But why should they be members of this club if they do not kill + themselves?” + </p> + <p> + “One may be a member of the club without being obliged for that reason to + commit suicide.” + </p> + <p> + “But then?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Who can have authorized such an institution?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “In the midst of the festivities! What a funereal joke!” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I can well understand that they should come to the entertainments; but + did they come to... Death?” + </p> + <p> + “Not at first; they were afraid.” + </p> + <p> + “And later?” + </p> + <p> + “They came.” + </p> + <p> + “Many of them?” + </p> + <p> + “In crowds. We have had more than forty in a day. One finds hardly any + more drowned bodies in the Seine.” + </p> + <p> + “Who was the first?” + </p> + <p> + “A club member.” + </p> + <p> + “As a sacrifice to the cause?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you go to work?” + </p> + <p> + “Would you like to see? I can explain at the same time.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, indeed.” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “And, in spite of all this, you have many suicides in the house?” + </p> + <p> + “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> + “And how... do they do?” + </p> + <p> + “They are asphyxiated... very slowly.” + </p> + <p> + “In what manner?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Where do you get your money?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “How can you tell who is poor?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + With a pang at my heart I repeated: + </p> + <p> + “And... where is it?” + </p> + <p> + “Here,” and he opened a door, adding: + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! You call that an... annihilation!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, monsieur. Go in.” + </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> + “Oh, they often come here to chat.” He continued: “The public corridors + are similar, but more simply furnished.” + </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> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “‘No, thank you,” I said hastily, “not yet....” + </p> + <p> + He began to laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, monsieur, there is no danger. I have tried it myself several times.” + </p> + <p> + I was afraid he would think me a coward, and I said: + </p> + <p> + “Well, I’ll try it.” + </p> + <p> + “Stretch yourself out on the ‘endormeuse.”’ + </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> + “Oh, oh, monsieur,” said the secretary, laughing, “it looks to me as if + you were almost caught.” + </p> + <p> + But a voice, a real voice, and no longer a dream voice, greeted me with + the peasant intonation: + </p> + <p> + “Good morning, m’sieu. How goes it?” + </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> + “Good morning, Marinel. Where are you going?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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. 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