Maupassant Original Short Stories (180), Complete

G >> Guy de Maupassant >> Maupassant Original Short Stories (180), Complete


He recrossed the farmyard, quieted the dog, which had started barking
again, went out on the road bordering on his ditch, and disappeared in
the direction of Tourville.

As soon as she was alone, the woman began to work. She uncovered the
meal-bin and made the dough for the dumplings. She kneaded it a long
time, turning it over and over again, punching, pressing, crushing it.
Finally she made a big, round, yellow-white ball, which she placed on the
corner of the table.

Then she went to get her apples, and, in order not to injure the tree
with a pole, she climbed up into it by a ladder. She chose the fruit with
care, only taking the ripe ones, and gathering them in her apron.

A voice called from the road:

"Hey, Madame Chicot!"

She turned round. It was a neighbor, Osime Favet, the mayor, on his way
to fertilize his fields, seated on the manure-wagon, with his feet
hanging over the side. She turned round and answered:

"What can I do for you, Maitre Osime?"

"And how is the father?"

She cried:

"He is as good as dead. The funeral is Saturday at seven, because there's
lots of work to be done."

The neighbor answered:

"So! Good luck to you! Take care of yourself."

To his kind remarks she answered:"

"Thanks; the same to you."

And she continued picking apples.

When she went back to the house, she went over to look at her father,
expecting to find him dead. But as soon as she reached the door she heard
his monotonous, noisy rattle, and, thinking it a waste of time to go over
to him, she began to prepare her dumplings. She wrapped up the fruit, one
by one, in a thin layer of paste, then she lined them up on the edge of
the table. When she had made forty-eight dumplings, arranged in dozens,
one in front of the other, she began to think of preparing supper, and
she hung her kettle over the fire to cook potatoes, for she judged it
useless to heat the oven that day, as she had all the next day in which
to finish the preparations.

Her husband returned at about five. As soon as he had crossed the
threshold he asked:

"Is it over?"

She answered:

"Not yet; he's still gurglin'."

They went to look at him. The old man was in exactly the same condition.
His hoarse rattle, as regular as the ticking of a clock, was neither
quicker nor slower. It returned every second, the tone varying a little,
according as the air entered or left his chest.

His son-in-law looked at him and then said:

"He'll pass away without our noticin' it, just like a candle."

They returned to the kitchen and started to eat without saying a word.
When they had swallowed their soup, they ate another piece of bread and
butter. Then, as soon as the dishes were washed, they returned to the
dying man.

The woman, carrying a little lamp with a smoky wick, held it in front of
her father's face. If he had not been breathing, one would certainly have
thought him dead.

The couple's bed was hidden in a little recess at the other end of the
room. Silently they retired, put out the light, closed their eyes, and
soon two unequal snores, one deep and the other shriller, accompanied the
uninterrupted rattle of the dying man.

The rats ran about in the garret.

The husband awoke at the first streaks of dawn. His father-in-law was
still alive. He shook his wife, worried by the tenacity of the old man.

"Say, Phemie, he don't want to quit. What would you do?"

He knew that she gave good advice.

She answered:

"You needn't be afraid; he can't live through the day. And the mayor
won't stop our burying him to-morrow, because he allowed it for Maitre
Renard's father, who died just during the planting season."

He was convinced by this argument, and left for the fields.

His wife baked the dumplings and then attended to her housework.

At noon the old man was not dead. The people hired for the day's work
came by groups to look at him. Each one had his say. Then they left again
for the fields.

At six o'clock, when the work was over, the father was still breathing.
At last his son-in-law was frightened.

"What would you do now, Phemie?"

She no longer knew how to solve the problem. They went to the mayor. He
promised that he would close his eyes and authorize the funeral for the
following day. They also went to the health officer, who likewise
promised, in order to oblige Maitre Chicot, to antedate the death
certificate. The man and the woman returned, feeling more at ease.

They went to bed and to sleep, just as they did the preceding day, their
sonorous breathing blending with the feeble breathing of the old man.

When they awoke, he was not yet dead.

Then they began to be frightened. They stood by their father, watching
him with distrust, as though he had wished to play them a mean trick, to
deceive them, to annoy them on purpose, and they were vexed at him for
the time which he was making them lose.

The son-in-law asked:

"What am I goin' to do?"

She did not know. She answered:

"It certainly is annoying!"

The guests who were expected could not be notified. They decided to wait
and explain the case to them.

Toward a quarter to seven the first ones arrived. The women in black,
their heads covered with large veils, looking very sad. Then men, ill at
ease in their homespun coats, were coming forward more slowly, in
couples, talking business.

Maitre Chicot and his wife, bewildered, received them sorrowfully, and
suddenly both of them together began to cry as they approached the first
group. They explained the matter, related their difficulty, offered
chairs, bustled about, tried to make excuses, attempting to prove that
everybody would have done as they did, talking continually and giving
nobody a chance to answer.

They were going from one person to another:

"I never would have thought it; it's incredible how he can last this
long!"

The guests, taken aback, a little disappointed, as though they had missed
an expected entertainment, did not know what to do, some remaining
seated others standing. Several wished to leave. Maitre Chicot held them
back:

"You must take something, anyhow! We made some dumplings; might as well
make use of 'em."

The faces brightened at this idea. The yard was filling little by little;
the early arrivals were telling the news to those who had arrived later.
Everybody was whispering. The idea of the dumplings seemed to cheer
everyone up.

The women went in to take a look at the dying man. They crossed
themselves beside the bed, muttered a prayer and went out again. The men,
less anxious for this spectacle, cast a look through the window, which
had been opened.

Madame Chicot explained her distress:

"That's how he's been for two days, neither better nor worse. Doesn't he
sound like a pump that has gone dry?"

When everybody had had a look at the dying man, they thought of the
refreshments; but as there were too many people for the kitchen to hold,
the table was moved out in front of the door. The four dozen golden
dumplings, tempting and appetizing, arranged in two big dishes, attracted
the eyes of all. Each one reached out to take his, fearing that there
would not be enough. But four remained over.

Maitre Chicot, his mouth full, said:

"Father would feel sad if he were to see this. He loved them so much when
he was alive."

A big, jovial peasant declared:

"He won't eat any more now. Each one in his turn."

This remark, instead of making the guests sad, seemed to cheer them up.
It was their turn now to eat dumplings.

Madame Chicot, distressed at the expense, kept running down to the cellar
continually for cider. The pitchers were emptied in quick succession. The
company was laughing and talking loud now. They were beginning to shout
as they do at feasts.

Suddenly an old peasant woman who had stayed beside the dying man, held
there by a morbid fear of what would soon happen to herself, appeared at
the window and cried in a shrill voice:

"He's dead! he's dead!"

Everybody was silent. The women arose quickly to go and see. He was
indeed dead. The rattle had ceased. The men looked at each other, looking
down, ill at ease. They hadn't finished eating the dumplings. Certainly
the rascal had not chosen a propitious moment. The Chicots were no longer
weeping. It was over; they were relieved.

They kept repeating:

"I knew it couldn't 'last. If he could only have done it last night, it
would have saved us all this trouble."

Well, anyhow, it was over. They would bury him on Monday, that was all,
and they would eat some more dumplings for the occasion.

The guests went away, talking the matter over, pleased at having had the
chance to see him and of getting something to eat.

And when the husband and wife were alone, face to face, she said, her
face distorted with grief:

"We'll have to bake four dozen more dumplings! Why couldn't he have made
up his mind last night?"

The husband, more resigned, answered:

"Well, we'll not have to do this every day."




THE GAMEKEEPER

It was after dinner, and we were talking about adventures and accidents
which happened while out shooting.

An old friend, known to all of us, M. Boniface, a great sportsman and a
connoisseur of wine, a man of wonderful physique, witty and gay, and
endowed with an ironical and resigned philosophy, which manifested itself
in caustic humor, and never in melancholy, suddenly exclaimed:

"I know a story, or rather a tragedy, which is somewhat peculiar. It is
not at all like those which one hears of usually, and I have never told
it, thinking that it would interest no one.

"It is not at all sympathetic. I mean by that, that it does not arouse
the kind of interest which pleases or which moves one agreeably.

"Here is the story:

"I was then about thirty-five years of age, and a most enthusiastic
sportsman.

"In those days I owned a lonely bit of property in the neighborhood of
Jumieges, surrounded by forests and abounding in hares and rabbits. I was
accustomed to spending four or five days alone there each year, there not
being room enough to allow of my bringing a friend with me.

"I had placed there as gamekeeper, an old retired gendarme, a good man,
hot-tempered, a severe disciplinarian, a terror to poachers and fearing
nothing. He lived all alone, far from the village, in a little house, or
rather hut, consisting of two rooms downstairs, with kitchen and
store-room, and two upstairs. One of them, a kind of box just large
enough to accommodate a bed, a cupboard and a chair, was reserved for my
use.

"Old man Cavalier lived in the other one. When I said that he was alone
in this place, I was wrong. He had taken his nephew with him, a young
scamp about fourteen years old, who used to go to the village and run
errands for the old man.

"This young scapegrace was long and lanky, with yellow hair, so light
that it resembled the fluff of a plucked chicken, so thin that he seemed
bald. Besides this, he had enormous feet and the hands of a giant.

"He was cross-eyed, and never looked at anyone. He struck me as being in
the same relation to the human race as ill-smelling beasts are to the
animal race. He reminded me of a polecat.

"He slept in a kind of hole at the top of the stairs which led to the two
rooms.

"But during my short sojourns at the Pavilion--so I called the hut
--Marius would give up his nook to an old woman from Ecorcheville,
called Celeste, who used to come and cook for me, as old man Cavalier's
stews were not sufficient for my healthy appetite.

"You now know the characters and the locality. Here is the story:

"It was on the fifteenth of October, 1854--I shall remember that
date as long as I live.

"I left Rouen on horseback, followed by my dog Bock, a big Dalmatian
hound from Poitou, full-chested and with a heavy jaw, which could
retrieve among the bushes like a Pont-Andemer spaniel.

"I was carrying my satchel slung across my back and my gun diagonally
across my chest. It was a cold, windy, gloomy day, with clouds scurrying
across the sky.

"As I went up the hill at Canteleu, I looked over the broad valley of the
Seine, the river winding in and out along its course as far as the eye
could see. To the right the towers of Rouen stood out against the sky,
and to the left the landscape was bounded by the distant slopes covered
with trees. Then I crossed the forest of Roumare and, toward five
o'clock, reached the Pavilion, where Cavalier and Celeste were expecting
me.

"For ten years I had appeared there at the same time, in the same manner;
and for ten years the same faces had greeted me with the same words:

"'Welcome, master! We hope your health is good.'

"Cavalier had hardly changed. He withstood time like an old tree; but
Celeste, especially in the past four years, had become unrecognizable.

"She was bent almost double, and, although still active, when she walked
her body was almost at right angles to her legs.

"The old woman, who was very devoted to me, always seemed affected at
seeing me again, and each time, as I left, she would say:

"'This may be the last time, master.'

"The sad, timid farewell of this old servant, this hopeless resignation
to the inevitable fate which was not far off for her, moved me strangely
each year.

"I dismounted, and while Cavalier, whom I had greeted, was leading my
horse to the little shed which served as a stable, I entered the kitchen,
which also served as dining-room, followed by Celeste.

"Here the gamekeeper joined us. I saw at first glance that something was
the matter. He seemed preoccupied, ill at ease, worried.

"I said to him:

"'Well, Cavalier, is everything all right?'

"He muttered:

"'Yes and no. There are things I don't like.'

"I asked:

"'What? Tell me about it.'

"But he shook his head.

"'No, not yet, monsieur. I do not wish to bother you with my little
troubles so soon after your arrival.'

"I insisted, but he absolutely refused to give me any information before
dinner. From his expression, I could tell that it was something very
serious.

"Not knowing what to say to him, I asked:

"'How about game? Much of it this year?'

"'Oh, yes! You'll find all you want. Thank heaven, I looked out for
that.'

"He said this with so much seriousness, with such sad solemnity, that it
was really almost funny. His big gray mustache seemed almost ready to
drop from his lips.

"Suddenly I remembered that I had not yet seen his nephew.

"'Where is Marius? Why does he not show himself?'

"The gamekeeper started, looking me suddenly in the face:

"Well, monsieur, I had rather tell you the whole business right away;
it's on account of him that I am worrying.'

"'Ah! Well, where is he?'

"'Over in the stable, monsieur. I was waiting for the right time to bring
him out.'

"'What has he done?'

"'Well, monsieur----'

"The gamekeeper, however, hesitated, his voice altered and shaky, his
face suddenly furrowed by the deep lines of an old man.

"He continued slowly:

"'Well, I found out, last winter, that someone was poaching in the woods
of Roseraies, but I couldn't seem to catch the man. I spent night after
night on the lookout for him. In vain. During that time they began
poaching over by Ecorcheville. I was growing thin from vexation. But as
for catching the trespasser, impossible! One might have thought that the
rascal was forewarned of my plans.

"'But one day, while I was brushing Marius' Sunday trousers, I found
forty cents in his pocket. Where did he get it?

"'I thought the matter over for about a week, and I noticed that he used
to go out; he would leave the house just as I was coming home to go to
bed--yes, monsieur.

"'Then I started to watch him, without the slightest suspicion of the
real facts. One morning, just after I had gone to bed before him, I got
right up again, and followed him. For shadowing a man, there is nobody
like me, monsieur.

"'And I caught him, Marius, poaching on your land, monsieur; he my
nephew, I your keeper!

"'The blood rushed to my head, and I almost killed him on the spot, I hit
him so hard. Oh! yes, I thrashed him all right. And I promised him that
he would get another beating from my hand, in your presence, as an
example.

"'There! I have grown thin from sorrow. You know how it is when one is
worried like that. But tell me, what would you have done? The boy has no
father or mother, and I am the last one of his blood; I kept him, I
couldn't drive him out, could I?

"'I told him that if it happened again I would have no more pity for him,
all would be over. There! Did I do right, monsieur?'

"I answered, holding out my hand:

"'You did well, Cavalier; you are an honest man.'

"He rose.

"'Thank you, monsieur. Now I am going to fetch him. I must give him his
thrashing, as an example.'

"I knew that it was hopeless to try and turn the old man from his idea. I
therefore let him have his own way.

"He got the rascal and brought him back by the ear.

"I was seated on a cane chair, with the solemn expression of a judge.

"Marius seemed to have grown; he was homelier even than the year before,
with his evil, sneaking expression.

"His big hands seemed gigantic.

"His uncle pushed him up to me, and, in his soldierly voice, said:

"'Beg the gentleman's pardon.'

"The boy didn't say a word.

"Then putting one arm round him, the former gendarme lifted him right off
the ground, and began to whack him with such force that I rose to stop
the blows.

"The boy was now howling: 'Mercy! mercy! mercy! I promise----'

"Cavalier put him back on the ground and forced him to his knees:

"'Beg for pardon,' he said.

"With eyes lowered, the scamp murmured:

"'I ask for pardon!'

"Then his uncle lifted him to his feet, and dismissed him with a cuff
which almost knocked him down again.

"He made his escape, and I did not see him again that evening.

"Cavalier appeared overwhelmed.'

"'He is a bad egg,' he said.

"And throughout the whole dinner, he kept repeating:

"'Oh! that worries me, monsieur, that worries me.'

"I tried to comfort him, but in vain.

"I went to bed early, so that I might start out at daybreak.

"My dog was already asleep on the floor, at the foot of my bed, when I
put out the light.

"I was awakened toward midnight by the furious barking of my dog Bock. I
immediately noticed that my room was full of smoke. I jumped out of bed,
struck a light, ran to the door and opened it. A cloud of flames burst
in. The house was on fire.

"I quickly closed the heavy oak door and, drawing on my trousers, I first
lowered the dog through the window, by means of a rope made of my sheets;
then, having thrown out the rest of my clothes, my game-bag and my gun, I
in turn escaped the same way.

"I began to shout with all my might: 'Cavalier! Cavalier! Cavalier!'

"But the gamekeeper did not wake up. He slept soundly like an old
gendarme.

"However, I could see through the lower windows that the whole
ground-floor was nothing but a roaring furnace; I also noticed that it
had been filled with straw to make it burn readily.

"Somebody must purposely have set fire to the place!

"I continued shrieking wildly: 'Cavalier!'

"Then the thought struck me that the smoke might be suffocating him. An
idea came to me. I slipped two cartridges into my gun, and shot straight
at his window.

"The six panes of glass shattered into the room in a cloud of glass. This
time the old man had heard me, and he appeared, dazed, in his nightshirt,
bewildered by the glare which illumined the whole front of his 'house.

"I cried to him:

"'Your house is on fire! Escape through the window! Quick! Quick!'

"The flames were coming out through all the cracks downstairs, were
licking along the wall, were creeping toward him and going to surround
him. He jumped and landed on his feet, like a cat.

"It was none too soon. The thatched roof cracked in the middle, right
over the staircase, which formed a kind of flue for the fire downstairs;
and an immense red jet jumped up into the air, spreading like a stream of
water and sprinkling a shower of sparks around the hut. In a few seconds
it was nothing but a pool of flames.

"Cavalier, thunderstruck, asked:

"'How did the fire start?'

"I answered:

"'Somebody lit it in the kitchen.'

"He muttered:

"'Who could have started the fire?'

"And I, suddenly guessing, answered:

"'Marius!'

"The old man understood. He stammered:

"'Good God! That is why he didn't return.'

"A terrible thought flashed through my mind. I cried:

"'And Celeste! Celeste!'

"He did not answer. The house caved in before us, forming only an
enormous, bright, blinding brazier, an awe-inspiring funeral-pile, where
the poor woman could no longer be anything but a glowing ember, a glowing
ember of human flesh.

"We had not heard a single cry.

"As the fire crept toward the shed, I suddenly bethought me of my horse,
and Cavalier ran to free it.

"Hardly had he opened the door of the stable, when a supple, nimble body
darted between his legs, and threw him on his face. It was Marius,
running for all he was worth.

"The man was up in a second. He tried to run after the wretch, but,
seeing that he could not catch him, and maddened by an irresistible
anger, yielding to one of those thoughtless impulses which we cannot
foresee or prevent, he picked up my gun, which was lying on the ground.
near him, put it to his shoulder, and, before I could make a motion, he
pulled the trigger without even noticing whether or not the weapon was
loaded.

"One of the cartridges which I had put in to announce the fire was still
intact, and the charge caught the fugitive right in the
back,--throwing him forward on the ground, bleeding profusely. He
immediately began to claw the earth with his hands and with his knees, as
though trying to run on all fours like a rabbit who has been mortally
wounded, and sees the hunter approaching.

"I rushed forward to the boy, but I could already hear the death-rattle.
He passed away before the fire was extinguished, without having said a
word.

"Cavalier, still in his shirt, his legs bare, was standing near us,
motionless, dazed.

"When the people from the village arrived, my gamekeeper was taken away,
like an insane man.

"I appeared at the trial as witness, and related the facts in detail,
without changing a thing. Cavalier was acquitted. He disappeared that
very day, leaving the country.

"I have never seen him since.

"There, gentlemen, that is my story."




THE STORY OF A FARM GIRL




PART I

As the weather was very fine, the people on the farm had hurried through
their dinner and had returned to the fields.

The servant, Rose, remained alone in the large kitchen, where the fire
was dying out on the hearth beneath the large boiler of hot water. From
time to time she dipped out some water and slowly washed her dishes,
stopping occasionally to look at the two streaks of light which the sun
threw across the long table through the window, and which showed the
defects in the glass.

Three venturesome hens were picking up the crumbs under the chairs, while
the smell of the poultry yard and the warmth from the cow stall came in
through the half-open door, and a cock was heard crowing in the distance.

When she had finished her work, wiped down the table, dusted the
mantelpiece and put the plates on the high dresser close to the wooden
clock with its loud tick-tock, she drew a long breath, as she felt rather
oppressed, without exactly knowing why. She looked at the black clay
walls, the rafters that were blackened with smoke and from which hung
spiders' webs, smoked herrings and strings of onions, and then she sat
down, rather overcome by the stale odor from the earthen floor, on which
so many things had been continually spilled and which the heat brought
out. With this there was mingled the sour smell of the pans of milk which
were set out to raise the cream in the adjoining dairy.

She wanted to sew, as usual, but she did not feel strong enough, and so
she went to the door to get a mouthful of fresh air, which seemed to do
her good.

The fowls were lying on the steaming dunghill; some of them were
scratching with one claw in search of worms, while the cock stood up
proudly in their midst. When he crowed, the cocks in all the neighboring
farmyards replied to him, as if they were uttering challenges from farm
to farm.

The girl looked at them without thinking, and then she raised her eyes
and was almost dazzled at the sight of the apple trees in blossom. Just
then a colt, full of life and friskiness, jumped over the ditches and
then stopped suddenly, as if surprised at being alone.

She also felt inclined to run; she felt inclined to move and to stretch
her limbs and to repose in the warm, breathless air. She took a few
undecided steps and closed her eyes, for she was seized with a feeling of
animal comfort, and then she went to look for eggs in the hen loft. There
were thirteen of them, which she took in and put into the storeroom; but
the smell from the kitchen annoyed her again, and she went out to sit on
the grass for a time.

The farmyard, which was surrounded by trees, seemed to be asleep. The
tall grass, amid which the tall yellow dandelions rose up like streaks of
yellow light, was of a vivid, fresh spring green. The apple trees cast
their shade all round them, and the thatched roofs, on which grew blue
and yellow irises, with their sword-like leaves, steamed as if the
moisture of the stables and barns were coming through the straw. The girl
went to the shed, where the carts and buggies were kept. Close to it, in
a ditch, there was a large patch of violets, whose fragrance was spread
abroad, while beyond the slope the open country could be seen, where
grain was growing, with clumps of trees in places, and groups of laborers
here and there, who looked as small as dolls, and white horses like toys,
who were drawing a child's cart, driven by a man as tall as one's finger.