The Works of Guy de Maupassant, Vol. 1: Boule de Suif and Other StoriesMaupassant, Guy de
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The Works of Guy de Maupassant, Vol. 1: Boule de Suif and Other Stories
Maupassant, Guy de
French fiction -- Translations into English; Short stories, French -- Translations into English
Sam, who was awakened by the noise, began to howl, like frightened dogs
do howl, and he walked all about the house, trying to find out where the
danger came from; but when he got to the door, he sniffed beneath it,
smelling vigorously, with his coat bristling and his tail stiff, while
he growled angrily. Kunzi, who was terrified, jumped up, and holding his
chair by one leg, he 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 and 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 he 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,
and 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 onto the ground, 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, with his neck thrown back, and his head in
the air, drank the brandy in draughts, as if it had been 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. His fixed
idea then, which had been intensified by a month of drunkenness, and
which was continually increasing in his absolute solitude, penetrated
him like a gimlet. He now walked about his house like a wild beast in
its cage, putting his ear 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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