original short stories-3-第1部分

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Original　Short　Stories；　Vol。　3。

By　Guy　de　Maupassant





　　　　　VOLUME　III。

MISS　HARRIET
LITTLE　LOUISE　ROQUE
THE　DONKEY
MOIRON
THE　DISPENSER　OF　HOLY　WATER
THE　PARRICIDE
BERTHA
THE　PATRON
THE　DOOR
A　SALE
THE　IMPOLITE　SEX
A　WEDDING　GIFT
THE　RELIC






MISS　HARRIET

There　were　seven　of　us　on　a　drag；　four　women　and　three　men；　one　of　the
latter　sat　on　the　box　seat　beside　the　coachman。　　We　were　ascending；　at　a
snail's　pace；　the　winding　road　up　the　steep　cliff　along　the　coast。

Setting　out　from　Etretat　at　break　of　day　in　order　to　visit　the　ruins　of
Tancarville；　we　were　still　half　asleep；　benumbed　by　the　fresh　air　of　the
morning。　　The　women　especially；　who　were　little　accustomed　to　these　early
excursions；　half　opened　and　closed　their　eyes　every　moment；　nodding　their
heads　or　yawning；　quite　insensible　to　the　beauties　of　the　dawn。

It　was　autumn。　　On　both　sides　of　the　road　stretched　the　bare　fields；
yellowed　by　the　stubble　of　wheat　and　oats　which　covered　the　soil　like　a
beard　that　had　been　badly　shaved。　　The　moist　earth　seemed　to　steam。
Larks　were　singing　high　up　in　the　air；　while　other　birds　piped　in　the
bushes。

The　sun　rose　at　length　in　front　of　us；　bright　red　on　the　plane　of　the
horizon；　and　in　proportion　as　it　ascended；　growing　clearer　from　minute　to
minute；　the　country　seemed　to　awake；　to　smile；　to　shake　itself　like　a
young　girl　leaving　her　bed　in　her　white　robe　of　vapor。　　The　Comte
d'Etraille；　who　was　seated　on　the　box；　cried：

〃Look！　look！　a　hare！〃　and　he　extended　his　arm　toward　the　left；　pointing
to　a　patch　of　clover。　　The　animal　scurried　along；　almost　hidden　by　the
clover；　only　its　large　ears　showing。　　Then　it　swerved　across　a　furrow；
stopped；　started　off　again　at　full　speed；　changed　its　course；　stopped
anew；　uneasy；　spying　out　every　danger；　uncertain　what　route　to　take；　when
suddenly　it　began　to　run　with　great　bounds；　disappearing　finally　in　a
large　patch　of　beet…root。　　All　the　men　had　waked　up　to　watch　the　course
of　the　animal。

Rene　Lamanoir　exclaimed：

〃We　are　not　at　all　gallant　this　morning；〃　and；　regarding　his　neighbor；
the　little　Baroness　de　Serennes；　who　struggled　against　sleep；　he　said　to
her　in　a　low　tone：　〃You　are　thinking　of　your　husband；　baroness。　　Reassure
yourself；　he　will　not　return　before　Saturday；　so　you　have　still　four
days。〃

She　answered　with　a　sleepy　smile：

〃How　stupid　you　are！〃　　Then；　shaking　off　her　torpor；　she　added：　〃Now；　let
somebody　say　something　to　make　us　laugh。　　You；　Monsieur　Chenal；　who　have
the　reputation　of　having　had　more　love　affairs　than　the　Due　de　Richelieu；
tell　us　a　love　story　in　which　you　have　played　a　part；　anything　you　like。〃

Leon　Chenal；　an　old　painter；　who　had　once　been　very　handsome；　very
strong；　very　proud　of　his　physique　and　very　popular　with　women；　took　his
long　white　beard　in　his　hand　and　smiled。　　Then；　after　a　few　moments'
reflection；　he　suddenly　became　serious。

〃Ladies；　it　will　not　be　an　amusing　tale；　for　I　am　going　to　relate　to　you
the　saddest　love　affair　of　my　life；　and　I　sincerely　hope　that　none　of　my
friends　may　ever　pass　through　a　similar　experience。

〃I　was　twenty…five　years　of　age　and　was　pillaging　along　the　coast　of
Normandy。　　I　call　'pillaging'　wandering　about；　with　a　knapsack　on　one's
back；　from　inn　to　inn；　under　the　pretext　of　making　studies　and　sketching
landscapes。　　I　knew　nothing　more　enjoyable　than　that　happy…go…lucky
wandering　life；　in　which　one　is　perfectly　free；　without　shackles　of　any
kind；　without　care；　without　preoccupation；　without　thinking　even　of　the
morrow。　　One　goes　in　any　direction　one　pleases；　without　any　guide　save
his　fancy；　without　any　counsellor　save　his　eyes。　　One　stops　because　a
running　brook　attracts　one；　because　the　smell　of　potatoes　frying　tickles
one's　olfactories　on　passing　an　inn。　　Sometimes　it　is　the　perfume　of
clematis　which　decides　one　in　his　choice　or　the　roguish　glance　of　the
servant　at　an　inn。　　Do　not　despise　me　for　my　affection　for　these　rustics。
These　girls　have　a　soul　as　well　as　senses；　not　to　mention　firm　cheeks　and
fresh　lips；　while　their　hearty　and　willing　kisses　have　the　flavor　of　wild
fruit。　　Love　is　always　love；　come　whence　it　may。　　A　heart　that　beats　at
your　approach；　an　eye　that　weeps　when　you　go　away　are　things　so　rare；　so
sweet；　so　precious　that　they　must　never　be　despised。

〃I　have　had　rendezvous　in　ditches　full　of　primroses；　behind　the　cow
stable　and　in　barns　among　the　straw；　still　warm　from　the　heat　of　the　day。
I　have　recollections　of　coarse　gray　cloth　covering　supple　peasant　skin
and　regrets　for　simple；　frank　kisses；　more　delicate　in　their　unaffected
sincerity　than　the　subtle　favors　of　charming　and　distinguished　women。

〃But　what　one　loves　most　amid　all　these　varied　adventures　is　the　country；
the　woods；　the　rising　of　the　sun；　the　twilight；　the　moonlight。　　These
are；　for　the　painter；　honeymoon　trips　with　Nature。　　One　is　alone　with　her
in　that　long　and　quiet　association。　　You　go　to　sleep　in　the　fields；　amid
marguerites　and　poppies；　and　when　you　open　your　eyes　in　the　full　glare　of
the　sunlight　you　descry　in　the　distance　the　little　village　with　its
pointed　clock　tower　which　sounds　the　hour　of　noon。

〃You　sit　down　by　the　side　of　a　spring　which　gushes　out　at　the　foot　of　an
oak；　amid　a　growth　of　tall；　slender　weeds；　glistening　with　life。　　You　go
down　on　your　knees；　bend　forward　and　drink　that　cold；　pellucid　water
which　wets　your　mustache　and　nose；　you　drink　it　with　a　physical　pleasure；
as　though　you　kissed　the　spring；　lip　to　lip。　　Sometimes；　when　you　find　a
deep　hole　along　the　course　of　these　tiny　brooks；　you　plunge　in　quite
naked；　and　you　feel　on　your　skin；　from　head　to　foot；　as　it　were；　an　icy
and　delicious　caress；　the　light　and　gentle　quivering　of　the　stream。

〃You　are　gay　on　the　hills；　melancholy　on　the　edge　of　ponds；　inspired　when
the　sun　is　setting　in　an　ocean　of　blood…red　clouds　and　casts　red
reflections　or　the　river。　　And　at　night；　under　the　moon；　which　passes
across　the　vault　of　heaven；　you　think　of　a　thousand　strange　things　which
would　never　have　occurred　to　your　mind　under　the　brilliant　light　of　day。

〃So；　in　wandering　through　the　same　country　where　we；　are　this　year；　I
came　to　the　little　village　of　Benouville；　on　the　cliff　between　Yport　and
Etretat。　　I　came　from　Fecamp；　following　the　coast；　a　high　coast　as
straight　as　a　wall；　with　its　projecting　chalk　cliffs　descending
perpendicularly　into　the　sea。　　I　had　walked　since　early　morning　on　the
short　grass；　smooth　and　yielding　as　a　carpet；　that　grows　on　the　edge　of
the　cliff。　　And；　singing　lustily；　I　walked　with　long　strides；　looking
sometimes　at　the　slow　circling　flight　of　a　gull　with　its　white　curved
wings　outlined　on　the　blue　sky；　sometimes　at　the　brown　sails　of　a　fishing
bark　on　the　green　sea。　　In　short；　I　had　passed　a　happy　day；　a　day　of
liberty　and　of　freedom　from　care。

〃A　little　farmhouse　where　travellers　were　lodged　was　pointed　out　to　me；
a　kind　of　inn；　kept　by　a　peasant　woman；　which　stood　in　the　centre　of　a
Norman　courtyard　surrounded　by　a　double　row　of　beeches。

〃Leaving　the　coast；　I　reached　the　hamlet；　which　was　hemmed　in　by　great
trees；　and　I　presented　myself　at　the　house　of　Mother　Lecacheur。

〃She　was　an　old；　wrinkled　and　stern　peasant　woman；　who　seemed　always　to
receive　customers　under　protest；　with　a　kind　of　defiance。

〃It　was　the　month　of　May。　　The　spreading　apple　trees　covered　the　court
with　a　shower　of　blossoms　which　rained　unceasingly　both　upon　people　and
upon　the　grass。

〃I　said：　'Well；　Madame　Lecacheur；　have　you　a　room　for　me？'

〃Astonished　to　find　that　I　knew　her　name；　she　answered：

〃'That　depends；　everything　is　let；　but　all　the　same　I　can　find　out。〃

〃In　five　minutes　we　had　come　to　an　agreement；　and　I　deposited　my　bag　upon
the　earthen　floor　of　a　rustic　room；　furnished　with　a　bed；　two　chairs；　a
table　and　a　washbowl。　　The　room　looked　into　the　large；　smoky　kitchen；
where　the　lodgers　took　their　meals　with　the　people　of　the　farm　and　the
landlady；　who　was　a　widow。

〃I　washed　my　hands；　after　which　I　went　out。　　The　old　woman　was　making　a
chicken　fricassee　for　dinner　in　the　large　fireplace　in　which　hung　the
iron　pot；　black　with　smoke。

〃'You　have　travellers；　then；　at　the　present　time？'　said　I　to　her。

〃She　answered　in　an　offended　tone　of　voice：

〃'I　have　a　lady；　an　English　lady；　who　has　reached　years　of　maturity。　　She
occupies　the　other　room。'

〃I　obtained；　by　means　of　an　extra　five　sous　a　day；　the　privilege　of
dining　alone　out　in　the　yard　when　the　weather　was　fine。

〃My　place　was　set　outside　the　door；　and　I　was　beginning　to　gnaw　the　lean
limbs　of　the　Normandy　chicken；　to　drink　the　clear　cider　and　to　munch　the
hunk　of　white　bread；　which　was　four　days　old　but　excellent。

〃Suddenly　the　wooden　gate　which　gave　on　the　highway　was　opened；　and　a
strange　lady　directed　her　steps　toward　the　house。　　She　was　very　thin；
very　tall；　so　tightly　enveloped　in　a　red　Scotch　plaid　shawl　that　one
might　have　supposed　she　had　no　arms；　if　one　had　not　seen　a　long　hand
appear　just　above　the　hips；　holding　a　white　tourist　umbrella。　　Her　face
was　like　that　of　a　mummy；　surrounded　with　curls　of　gray　hair；　which
tossed　about　at　every　step　she　took　and　made　me　think；　I　know　not　why；　of
a　pickled　herring　in　curl　papers。　　Lowering　her　eyes；　she　passed　quickly
in　front　of　me　and　entered　the　house。

〃That　singular　apparition　cheered　me。　　She　undoubtedly　was　my　neighbor；
the　English　lady　of　mature　age　of　whom　our　hostess　had　spoken。

〃I　did　not　see　her　again　that　day。　　The　next　day；　when　I　had　settled
myself　to　commence　painting　at　the　end　of　that　beautiful　valley　which　you
know　and　which　extends　as　far　as　Etretat；　I　perceived；　on　lifting　my　eyes
suddenly；　something　singular　standing　on　the　crest　of　the　cliff；　one
might　have　said　a　pole　decked　out　with　flags。　　It　was　she。　　On　seeing　me；
she　suddenly　disappeared。　　I　reentered　the　house　at　midday　for　lunch　and
took　my　seat　at　the　general　table；　so　as　to　make　the　acquaintance　of　this
odd　character。　　But　she　did　not　respond　to　my　polite　advances；　was
insensible　even　to　my　little　attentions。　　I　poured　out　water　for　her
persistently；　I　passed　her　the　dishes　with　great　eagerness。　　A　slight；
almost　imperceptible；　movement　of　the　head　and　an