Original Short Stories — Volume 01Maupassant, Guy de
General
Original Short Stories — Volume 01
Maupassant, Guy de
Short stories, French -- Translations into English
“Good-morning, captain; good-morning, all of you,” he said. “Ah! the
scoundrels, the wretches! Why, twenty of them came to surprise us.”
“Twenty, do you say?”
“Yes; there was a whole band of them, and that is why I disobeyed
orders, captain, and fired on them, for they would have killed you all,
and I preferred to stop them. That frightened them, and they did not
venture to go farther than the crossroads. They were such cowards. Four
of them shot at me at twenty yards, as if I had been a target, and then
they slashed me with their swords. My arm was broken, so that I could
only use my bayonet with one hand.”
“But why did you not call for help?”
“I took good care not to do that, for you would all have come; and you
would neither have been able to defend me nor yourselves, being only
five against twenty.”
“You know that we should not have allowed you to have been taken, poor
old fellow.”
“I preferred to die by myself, don't you see! I did not want to bring
you here, for it would have been a mere ambush.”
“Well, we will not talk about it any more. Do you feel rather easier?”
“No, I am suffocating. I know that I cannot live much longer. The
brutes! They tied me to a tree, and beat me till I was half dead, and
then they shook my broken arm; but I did not make a sound. I would
rather have bitten my tongue out than have called out before them. Now
I can tell what I am suffering and shed tears; it does one good. Thank
you, my kind friends.”
“Poor Piedelot! But we will avenge you, you may be sure!”
“Yes, yes; I want you to do that. There is, in particular, a woman
among them who passes as the wife of the lancer whom the captain killed
yesterday. She is dressed like a lancer, and she tortured me the most
yesterday, and suggested burning me; and it was she who set fire to the
wood. Oh! the wretch, the brute! Ah! how I am suffering! My loins, my
arms!” and he fell back gasping and exhausted, writhing in his terrible
agony, while the captain's wife wiped the perspiration from his
forehead, and we all shed tears of grief and rage, as if we had been
children. I will not describe the end to you; he died half an hour
later, previously telling us in what direction the enemy had gone. When
he was dead we gave ourselves time to bury him, and then we set out in
pursuit of them, with our hearts full of fury and hatred.
“We will throw ourselves on the whole Prussian army, if it be
necessary,” the captain said; “but we will avenge Piedelot. We must
catch those scoundrels. Let us swear to die, rather than not to find
them; and if I am killed first, these are my orders: All the prisoners
that you take are to be shot immediately, and as for the lancer's wife,
she is to be tortured before she is put to death.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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