A Selection from the Writings of Guy De Maupassant, Vol. IMaupassant, Guy de
General
A Selection from the Writings of Guy De Maupassant, Vol. I
Maupassant, Guy de
France -- Social life and customs -- Fiction; Short stories, French -- Translations into English
Heaven protect me! What a shock! At the end of a vault, which was
crowded with articles of every description and which seemed to be the
entrance to the catacombs of a cemetery of ancient furniture, I
suddenly descried one of my most beautiful wardrobes. I approached it,
trembling in every limb, trembling to such an extent that I dared not
touch it, I put forth my hand, I hesitated. Nevertheless it was indeed
my wardrobe; a unique wardrobe of the time of Louis XIII., recognizable
by anyone who had seen it only once. Casting my eyes suddenly a little
farther, toward the more somber depths of the gallery, I perceived
three of my tapestry covered chairs; and farther on still, my two Henry
II. tables, such rare treasures that people came all the way from Paris
to see them.
Think! only think in what a state of mind I now was! I advanced,
haltingly, quivering with emotion, but I advanced, for I am brave--I
advanced like a knight of the dark ages.
At every step I found something that belonged to me; my brushes, my
books, my tables, my silks, my arms, everything, except the bureau full
of my letters, and that I could not discover.
I walked on, descending to the dark galleries, in order to ascend next
to the floors above. I was alone; I called out, nobody answered, I was
alone; there was no one in that house--a house as vast and tortuous as
a labyrinth.
Night came on, and I was compelled to sit down in the darkness on one
of my own chairs, for I had no desire to go away. From time to time I
shouted, "Hallo, hallo, somebody."
I had sat there, certainly, for more than an hour when I heard steps,
steps soft and slow, I knew not where. I was unable to locate them, but
bracing myself up, I called out anew, whereupon I perceived a glimmer
of light in the next chamber.
"Who is there?" said a voice.
"A buyer," I responded.
"It is too late to enter thus into a shop."
"I have been waiting for you for more than an hour," I answered.
"You can come back to-morrow."
"To-morrow I must quit Rouen."
I dared not advance, and he did not come to me. I saw always the
glimmer of his light, which was shining on a tapestry on which were two
angels flying over the dead on a field of battle. It belonged to me
also. I said:
"Well, come here."
"I am at your service," he answered.
I got up and went toward him.
Standing in the center of a large room, was a little man, very short,
and very fat, phenomenally fat, a hideous phenomenon.
He had a singular straggling beard, white and yellow, and not a hair on
his head--not a hair!
As he held his candle aloft at arm's length in order to see me, his
cranium appeared to me to resemble a little moon, in that vast chamber
encumbered with old furniture. His features were wrinkled and blown,
and his eyes could not be seen.
I bought three chairs which belonged to myself, and paid at once a
large sum for them, giving him merely the number of my room at the
hotel. They were to be delivered the next day before nine o'clock.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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