Original Short Stories of Maupassant, Volume 11

G >> Guy de Maupassant >> Original Short Stories of Maupassant, Volume 11


"You have a large family, haven't you?"

"Oh, yes, Monsieur le cure--and it's a pretty hard matter to bring
them up!"

Rabot agreed, nodding his head as though to say: "Oh, yes, it's a hard
thing to bring up!"

"How many children?"

She replied authoritatively in a strong, clear voice:

"Sixteen children, Monsieur le cure, fifteen of them by my husband!"

And Rabot smiled broadly, nodding his head. He was responsible for
fifteen, he alone, Rabot! His wife said so! Therefore there could be no
doubt about it. And he was proud!

And whose was the sixteenth? She didn't tell. It was doubtless the first.
Perhaps everybody knew, for no one was surprised. Even Caniveau kept mum.

But Belhomme began to moan again:

"Oh-oh-oh! It's scratching about in the bottom of my ear! Oh, dear, oh,
dear!"

The coach just then stopped at the Cafe Polyto. The priest said:

"If someone were to pour a little water into your ear, it might perhaps
drive it out. Do you want to try?"

"Sure! I am willing."

And everybody got out in order to witness the operation. The priest asked
for a bowl, a napkin and a glass of water, then he told the teacher to
hold the patient's head over on one side, and, as soon as the liquid
should have entered the ear, to turn his head over suddenly on the other
side.

But Caniveau, who was already peering into Belhomme's ear to see if he
couldn't discover the beast, shouted:

"Gosh! What a mess! You'll have to clear that out, old man. Your rabbit
could never get through that; his feet would stick."

The priest in turn examined the passage and saw that it was too narrow
and too congested for him to attempt to expel the animal. It was the
teacher who cleared out this passage by means of a match and a bit of
cloth. Then, in the midst of the general excitement, the priest poured
into the passage half a glass of water, which trickled over the face
through the hair and down the neck of the patient. Then the schoolmaster
quickly twisted the head round over the bowl, as though he were trying to
unscrew it. A couple of drops dripped into the white bowl. All the
passengers rushed forward. No insect had come out.

However, Belhomme exclaimed: "I don't feel anything any more." The priest
triumphantly exclaimed: "Certainly it has been drowned." Everybody was
happy and got back into the coach.

But hardly had they started when Belhomme began to cry out again. The bug
had aroused itself and had become furious. He even declared that it had
now entered his head and was eating his brain. He was howling with such
contortions that Poirat's wife, thinking him possessed by the devil,
began to cry and to cross herself. Then, the pain abating a little, the
sick man began to tell how it was running round in his ear. With his
finger he imitated the movements of the body, seeming to see it, to
follow it with his eyes: "There is goes up again! Oh--oh--oh--what
torture!"

Caniveau was getting impatient. "It's the water that is making the bug
angry. It is probably more accustomed to wine."

Everybody laughed, and he continued: "When we get to the Cafe Bourbeux,
give it some brandy, and it won't bother you any more, I wager."

But Belhomme could contain himself no longer; he began howling as though
his soul were being torn from his body. The priest was obliged to hold
his head for him. They asked Cesaire Horlaville to stop at the nearest
house. It was a farmhouse at the side of the road. Belhomme was carried
into it and laid on the kitchen table in order to repeat the operation.
Caniveau advised mixing brandy and water in order to benumb and perhaps
kill the insect. But the priest preferred vinegar.

They poured the liquid in drop by drop this time, that it might penetrate
down to the bottom, and they left it several minutes in the organ that
the beast had chosen for its home.

A bowl had once more been brought; Belhomme was turned over bodily by the
priest and Caniveau, while the schoolmaster was tapping on the healthy
ear in order to empty the other.

Cesaire Horlaville himself, whip in hand, had come in to observe the
proceedings.

Suddenly, at the bottom of the bowl appeared a little brown spot, no
bigger than a tiny seed. However, it was moving. It was a flea! First
there were cries of astonishment and then shouts of laughter. A flea!
Well, that was a good joke, a mighty good one! Caniveau was slapping his
thigh, Cesaire Horlaville snapped his whip, the priest laughed like a
braying donkey, the teacher cackled as though he were sneezing, and the
two women were giving little screams of joy, like the clucking of hens.

Belhomme had seated himself on the table and had taken the bowl between
his knees; he was observing, with serious attention and a vengeful anger
in his eye, the conquered insect which was twisting round in the water.
He grunted, "You rotten little beast!" and he spat on it.

The driver, wild with joy, kept repeating: "A flea, a flea, ah! there you
are, damned little flea, damned little flea, damned little flea!" Then
having calmed down a little, he cried: "Well, back to the coach! We've
lost enough time."




DISCOVERY

The steamer was crowded with people and the crossing promised to be good.
I was going from Havre to Trouville.

The ropes were thrown off, the whistle blew for the last time, the whole
boat started to tremble, and the great wheels began to revolve, slowly at
first, and then with ever-increasing rapidity.

We were gliding along the pier, black with people. Those on board were
waving their handkerchiefs, as though they were leaving for America, and
their friends on shore were answering in the same manner.

The big July sun was shining down on the red parasols, the light dresses,
the joyous faces and on the ocean, barely stirred by a ripple. When we
were out of the harbor, the little vessel swung round the big curve and
pointed her nose toward the distant shore which was barely visible
through the early morning mist. On our left was the broad estuary of the
Seine, her muddy water, which never mingles with that of the ocean,
making large yellow streaks clearly outlined against the immense sheet of
the pure green sea.

As soon as I am on a boat I feel the need of walking to and fro, like a
sailor on watch. Why? I do not know. Therefore I began to thread my way
along the deck through the crowd of travellers. Suddenly I heard my name
called. I turned around. I beheld one of my old friends, Henri Sidoine,
whom I had not seen for ten years.

We shook hands and continued our walk together, talking of one thing or
another. Suddenly Sidoine, who had been observing the crowd of
passengers, cried out angrily:

"It's disgusting, the boat is full of English people!"

It was indeed full of them. The men were standing about, looking over the
ocean with an all-important air, as though to say: "We are the English,
the lords of the sea! Here we are!"

The young girls, formless, with shoes which reminded one of the naval
constructions of their fatherland, wrapped in multi-colored shawls, were
smiling vacantly at the magnificent scenery. Their small heads, planted
at the top of their long bodies, wore English hats of the strangest
build.

And the old maids, thinner yet, opening their characteristic jaws to the
wind, seemed to threaten one with their long, yellow teeth. On passing
them, one could notice the smell of rubber and of tooth wash.

Sidoine repeated, with growing anger:

"Disgusting! Can we never stop their coming to France?"

I asked, smiling:

"What have you got against them? As far as I am concerned, they don't
worry me."

He snapped out:

"Of course they don't worry you! But I married one of them."

I stopped and laughed at him.

"Go ahead and tell me about it. Does she make you very unhappy?"

He shrugged his shoulders.

"No, not exactly."

"Then she--is not true to you?"

"Unfortunately, she is. That would be cause for a divorce, and I could
get rid of her."

"Then I'm afraid I don't understand!"

"You don't understand? I'm not surprised. Well, she simply learned how to
speak French--that's all! Listen.

"I didn't have the least desire of getting married when I went to spend
the summer at Etretat two years ago. There is nothing more dangerous than
watering-places. You have no idea how it suits young girls. Paris is the
place for women and the country for young girls.

"Donkey rides, surf-bathing, breakfast on the grass, all these things are
traps set for the marriageable man. And, really, there is nothing
prettier than a child about eighteen, running through a field or picking
flowers along the road.

"I made the acquaintance of an English family who were stopping at the
same hotel where I was. The father looked like those men you see over
there, and the mother was like all other Englishwomen.

"They had two sons, the kind of boys who play rough games with balls,
bats or rackets from morning till night; then came two daughters, the
elder a dry, shrivelled-up Englishwoman, the younger a dream of beauty, a
heavenly blonde. When those chits make up their minds to be pretty, they
are divine. This one had blue eyes, the kind of blue which seems to
contain all the poetry, all the dreams, all the hopes and happiness of
the world!

"What an infinity of dreams is caused by two such eyes! How well they
answer the dim, eternal question of our heart!

"It must not be forgotten either that we Frenchmen adore foreign women.
As soon as we meet a Russian, an Italian, a Swede, a Spaniard, or an
Englishwoman with a pretty face, we immediately fall in love with her. We
enthuse over everything which comes from outside--clothes, hats,
gloves, guns and--women. But what a blunder!

"I believe that that which pleases us in foreign women is their accent.
As soon as a woman speaks our language badly we think she is charming, if
she uses the wrong word she is exquisite and if she jabbers in an
entirely unintelligible jargon, she becomes irresistible.

"My little English girl, Kate, spoke a language to be marvelled at. At
the beginning I could understand nothing, she invented so many new words;
then I fell absolutely in love with this queer, amusing dialect. All
maimed, strange, ridiculous terms became delightful in her mouth. Every
evening, on the terrace of the Casino, we had long conversations which
resembled spoken enigmas.

"I married her! I loved her wildly, as one can only love in a dream. For
true lovers only love a dream which has taken the form of a woman.

"Well, my dear fellow, the most foolish thing I ever did was to give my
wife a French teacher. As long as she slaughtered the dictionary and
tortured the grammar I adored her. Our conversations were simple. They
revealed to me her surprising gracefulness and matchless elegance; they
showed her to me as a wonderful speaking jewel, a living doll made to be
kissed, knowing, after a fashion, how to express what she loved. She
reminded me of the pretty little toys which say 'papa' and 'mamma' when
you pull a string.

"Now she talks--badly--very badly. She makes as many mistakes
as ever--but I can understand her.

"I have opened my doll to look inside--and I have seen. And now I
have to talk to her!

"Ah! you don't know, as I do, the opinions, the ideas, the theories of a
well-educated young English girl, whom I can blame in nothing, and who
repeats to me from morning till night sentences from a French reader
prepared in England for the use of young ladies' schools.

"You have seen those cotillon favors, those pretty gilt papers, which
enclose candies with an abominable taste. I have one of them. I tore it
open. I wished to eat what was inside and it disgusted me so that I feel
nauseated at seeing her compatriots.

"I have married a parrot to whom some old English governess might have
taught French. Do you understand?"

The harbor of Trouville was now showing its wooden piers covered with
people.

I said:

"Where is your wife?"

He answered:

"I took her back to Etretat."

"And you, where are you going?"

"I? Oh, I am going to rest up here at Trouville."

Then, after a pause, he added:

"You have no idea what a fool a woman can be at times!"




THE ACCURSED BREAD

Daddy Taille had three daughters: Anna, the eldest, who was scarcely ever
mentioned in the family; Rose, the second girl, who was eighteen, and
Clara, the youngest, who was a girl of fifteen.

Old Taille was a widower and a foreman in M. Lebrument's button
manufactory. He was a very upright man, very well thought of, abstemious;
in fact, a sort of model workman. He lived at Havre, in the Rue
d'Angouleme.

When Anna ran away from home the old man flew into a fearful rage. He
threatened to kill the head clerk in a large draper's establishment in
that town, whom he suspected. After a time, when he was told by various
people that she was very steady and investing money in government
securities, that she was no gadabout, but was a great friend of Monsieur
Dubois, who was a judge of the Tribunal of Commerce, the father was
appeased.

He even showed some anxiety as to how she was getting on, and asked some
of her old friends who had been to see her, and when told that she had
her own furniture, and that her mantelpiece was covered with vases and
the walls with pictures, that there were clocks and carpets everywhere,
he gave a broad contented smile. He had been working for thirty years to
get together a wretched five or six thousand francs. This girl was
evidently no fool.

One fine morning the son of Touchard, the cooper, at the other end of the
street, came and asked him for the hand of Rose, the second girl. The old
man's heart began to beat, for the Touchards were rich and in a good
position. He was decidedly lucky with his girls.

The marriage was agreed upon, and it was settled that it should be a
grand affair, and the wedding dinner was to be held at Sainte-Adresse, at
Mother Jusa's restaurant. It would cost a lot certainly, but never mind,
it did not matter just for once in a way.

But one morning, just as the old man was going home to luncheon with his
two daughters, the door opened suddenly, and Anna appeared. She was well
dressed and looked undeniably pretty and nice. She threw her arms round
her father's neck before he could say a word, then fell into her sisters'
arms with many tears and then asked for a plate, so that she might share
the family soup. Taille was moved to tears in his turn and said several
times:

"That is right, dear, that is right."

Then she told them about herself. She did not wish Rose's wedding to take
place at Sainte-Adresse--certainly not. It should take place at her
house and would cost her father nothing. She had settled everything and
arranged everything, so it was "no good to say any more about
it--there!"

"Very well, my dear! very well!" the old man said; "we will leave it so."
But then he felt some doubt. Would the Touchards consent? But Rose, the
bride-elect, was surprised and asked: "Why should they object, I should
like to know? Just leave that to me; I will talk to Philip about it."

She mentioned it to her lover the very same day, and he declared it would
suit him exactly. Father and Mother Touchard were naturally delighted at
the idea of a good dinner which would cost them nothing and said:

"You may be quite sure that everything will be in first-rate style."

They asked to be allowed to bring a friend, Madame Florence, the cook on
the first floor, and Anna agreed to everything.

The wedding was fixed for the last Tuesday of the month.

After the civil formalities and the religious ceremony the wedding party
went to Anna's house. Among those whom the Tailles had brought was a
cousin of a certain age, a Monsieur Sauvetanin, a man given to
philosophical reflections, serious, and always very self-possessed, and
Madame Lamondois, an old aunt.

Monsieur Sautevanin had been told off to give Anna his arm, as they were
looked upon as the two most important persons in the company.

As soon as they had arrived at the door of Anna's house she let go her
companion's arm, and ran on ahead, saying: "I will show you the way," and
ran upstairs while the invited guests followed more slowly; and, when
they got upstairs, she stood on one side to let them pass, and they
rolled their eyes and turned their heads in all directions to admire this
mysterious and luxurious dwelling.

The table was laid in the drawing-room, as the dining-room had been
thought too small. Extra knives, forks and spoons had been hired from a
neighboring restaurant, and decanters stood full of wine under the rays
of the sun which shone in through the window.

The ladies went into the bedroom to take off their shawls and bonnets,
and Father Touchard, who was standing at the door, made funny and
suggestive signs to the men, with many a wink and nod. Daddy Taille, who
thought a great deal of himself, looked with fatherly pride at his
child's well-furnished rooms and went from one to the other, holding his
hat in his hand, making a mental inventory of everything, and walking
like a verger in a church.

Anna went backward and forward, ran about giving orders and hurrying on
the wedding feast. Soon she appeared at the door of the dining-room and
cried: "Come here, all of you, for a moment," and as the twelve guests
entered the room they saw twelve glasses of Madeira on a small table.

Rose and her husband had their arms round each other's waists and were
kissing each other in every corner. Monsieur Sauvetanin never took his
eyes off Anna.

They sat down, and the wedding breakfast began, the relations sitting at
one end of the table and the young people at the other. Madame Touchard,
the mother, presided on the right and the bride on the left. Anna looked
after everybody, saw that the glasses were kept filled and the plates
well supplied. The guests evidently felt a certain respectful
embarrassment at the sight of all the sumptuousness of the rooms and at
the lavish manner in which they were treated. They all ate heartily of
the good things provided, but there were no jokes such as are prevalent.
at weddings of that sort; it was all too grand, and it made them feel
uncomfortable. Old Madame Touchard, who was fond of a bit of fun, tried
to enliven matters a little, and at the beginning of the dessert she
exclaimed: "I say, Philip, do sing us something." The neighbors in their
street considered that he had the finest voice in all Havre.

The bridegroom got up, smiled, and, turning to his sister-in-law, from
politeness and gallantry, tried to think of something suitable for the
occasion, something serious and correct, to harmonize with the
seriousness of the repast.

Anna had a satisfied look on her face, and leaned back in her chair to
listen, and all assumed looks of attention, though prepared to smile
should smiles he called for.

The singer announced "The Accursed Bread," and, extending his right arm,
which made his coat ruck up into his neck, he began.

It was decidedly long, three verses of eight lines each, with the last
line and the last but one repeated twice.

All went well for the first two verses; they were the usual commonplaces
about bread gained by honest labor and by dishonesty. The aunt and the
bride wept outright. The cook, who was present, at the end of the first
verse looked at a roll which she held in her hand, with streaming eyes,
as if it applied to her, while all applauded vigorously. At the end of
the second verse the two servants, who were standing with their backs to
the wall, joined loudly in the chorus, and the aunt and the bride wept
outright.

Daddy Taille blew his nose with the noise of a trombone, and old Touchard
brandished a whole loaf half over the table, and the cook shed silent
tears on the crust which she was still holding.

Amid the general emotion Monsieur Sauvetanin said:

"That is the right sort of song; very different from the nasty, risky
things one generally hears at weddings."

Anna, who was visibly affected, kissed her hand to her sister and pointed
to her husband with an affectionate nod, as if to congratulate her.

Intoxicated by his success, the young man continued, and unfortunately
the last verse contained words about the "bread of dishonor" gained by
young girls who had been led astray. No one took up the refrain about
this bread, supposed to be eaten with tears, except old Touchard and the
two servants. Anna had grown deadly pale and cast down her eyes, while
the bridegroom looked from one to the other without understanding the
reason for this sudden coldness, and the cook hastily dropped the crust
as if it were poisoned.

Monsieur Sauvetanin said solemnly, in order to save the situation: "That
last couplet is not at all necessary;" and Daddy Taille, who had got red
up to his ears, looked round the table fiercely.

Then Anna, her eyes swimming in tears, told the servants in the faltering
voice of a woman trying to stifle her sobs, to bring the champagne.

All the guests were suddenly seized with exuberant joy, and all their
faces became radiant again. And when old Touchard, who had seen, felt and
understood nothing of what was going on, and pointing to the guests so as
to emphasize his words, sang the last words of the refrain:

"Children, I warn you all to eat not of that bread," the whole company,
when they saw the champagne bottles, with their necks covered with gold
foil, appear, burst out singing, as if electrified by the sight:

"Children, I warn you all to eat not of that bread."




THE DOWRY

The marriage of Maitre Simon Lebrument with Mademoiselle Jeanne Cordier
was a surprise to no one. Maitre Lebrument had bought out the practice of
Maitre Papillon; naturally, he had to have money to pay for it; and
Mademoiselle Jeanne Cordier had three hundred thousand francs clear in
currency, and in bonds payable to bearer.

Maitre Lebrument was a handsome man. He was stylish, although in a
provincial way; but, nevertheless, he was stylish--a rare thing at
Boutigny-le-Rebours.

Mademoiselle Cordier was graceful and fresh-looking, although a trifle
awkward; nevertheless, she was a handsome girl, and one to be desired.

The marriage ceremony turned all Boutigny topsy-turvy. Everybody admired
the young couple, who quickly returned home to domestic felicity, having
decided simply to take a short trip to Paris, after a few days of
retirement.

This tete-a-tete was delightful, Maitre Lebrument having shown just the
proper amount of delicacy. He had taken as his motto: "Everything comes
to him who waits." He knew how to be at the same time patient and
energetic. His success was rapid and complete.

After four days, Madame Lebrument adored her husband. She could not get
along without him. She would sit on his knees, and taking him by the ears
she would say: "Open your mouth and shut your eyes." He would open his
mouth wide and partly close his eyes, and he would try to nip her fingers
as she slipped some dainty between his teeth. Then she would give him a
kiss, sweet and long, which would make chills run up and down his spine.
And then, in his turn, he would not have enough caresses to please his
wife from morning to night and from night to morning.

When the first week was over, he said to his young companion:

"If you wish, we will leave for Paris next Tuesday. We will be like two
lovers, we will go to the restaurants, the theatres, the concert halls,
everywhere, everywhere!"

She was ready to dance for joy.

"Oh! yes, yes. Let us go as soon as possible."

He continued:

"And then, as we must forget nothing, ask your father to have your dowry
ready; I shall pay Maitre Papillon on this trip."

She answered:

"All right: I will tell him to-morrow morning."

And he took her in his arms once more, to renew those sweet games of love
which she had so enjoyed for the past week.

The following Tuesday, father-in-law and mother-in-law went to the
station with their daughter and their son-in-law who were leaving for the
capital.

The father-in-law said:

"I tell you it is very imprudent to carry so much money about in a
pocketbook." And the young lawyer smiled.

"Don't worry; I am accustomed to such things. You understand that, in my
profession, I sometimes have as much as a million about me. In this
manner, at least we avoid a great amount of red tape and delay. You
needn't worry."

The conductor was crying:

"All aboard for Paris!"

They scrambled into a car, where two old ladies were already seated.

Lebrument whispered into his wife's ear:

"What a bother! I won't be able to smoke."

She answered in a low voice

"It annoys me too, but not an account of your cigar."

The whistle blew and the train started. The trip lasted about an hour,
during which time they did not say very much to each other, as the two
old ladies did not go to sleep.

As soon as they were in front of the Saint-Lazare Station, Maitre
Lebrument said to his wife:

"Dearie, let us first go over to the Boulevard and get something to eat;
then we can quietly return and get our trunk and bring it to the hotel."

She immediately assented.

"Oh! yes. Let's eat at the restaurant. Is it far?"