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
Toward midnight, tired with walking, worn-out by grief and fear, he
fell into a doze in his chair, for he was afraid of his bed, as one is
of a haunted spot. But suddenly the strident cry of the preceding
evening pierced his ears, so shrill that Ulrich stretched out his arms
to repulse the ghost, and he fell on to his back with his chair.
Sam, who was awakened by the noise, began to howl as frightened dogs
do, and trotted all about the house trying to find out where the danger
came from. When he got to the door, he sniffed beneath it, smelling
vigorously, with his coat bristling and his tail stiff while he growled
angrily. Kunsi, who was terrified, jumped up, and holding his chair by
one leg, cried: "Don't come in, don't come in, or I shall kill you."
And the dog, excited by this threat, barked angrily at that invisible
enemy who defied his master's voice. By degrees, however, he quieted
down, came back and stretched himself in front of the fire. But he was
uneasy, and kept his head up, and growled between his teeth.
Ulrich, in turn, recovered his senses, but as he felt faint with
terror, he went and got a bottle of brandy out of the sideboard, and
drank off several glasses, one after another, at a gulp. His ideas
became vague, his courage revived, and a feverish glow ran through his
veins.
He ate scarcely anything the next day, and limited himself to alcohol;
so he lived for several days, like a drunken brute. As soon as he
thought of Gaspard Hari he began to drink again, and went on drinking
until he fell on to the floor, overcome by intoxication. And there he
remained on his face, dead drunk, his limbs benumbed, and snoring with
his face to the ground. But scarcely had he digested the maddening and
burning liquor, than the same cry, "Ulrich," woke him like a bullet
piercing his brain, and he got up, still staggering, stretching out his
hands to save himself from falling, and calling to Sam to help him. And
the dog, who appeared to be going mad like his master, rushed to the
door, scratched it with his claws, and gnawed it with his long white
teeth, while the young man, his neck thrown back, and his head in the
air, drank the brandy in gulps, as if it were cold water, so that it
might by and by send his thoughts, his frantic terror, and his memory,
to sleep again.
In three weeks he had consumed all his stock of ardent spirits. But his
continual drunkenness only lulled his terror, which awoke more
furiously than ever, as soon as it was impossible for him to calm it by
drinking. His fixed idea, which had been intensified by a month of
drunkenness, and which was continually increasing in his absolute
solitude? pene-trated him like a gimlet. He now walked about his house
like a wild beast in its cage, putting his eat to the door to listen if
the other were there, and defying him through the wall. Then as soon as
he dozed, overcome by fatigue, he heard the voice which made him leap
to his feet.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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