The Works of Guy de Maupassant, Volume 4Maupassant, Guy de
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The Works of Guy de Maupassant, Volume 4
Maupassant, Guy de
French fiction -- Translations into English; Short stories, French -- Translations into English
"But on arriving in Paris what did you do at first?"
"I paid my devoirs to the Cafe de Medicis."
"What next?"
"Next? I crossed the water and came here."
"Why did you even take that trouble?"
"What do you mean? One cannot remain all one's life in the Latin Quarter.
The students make too much noise. But I do not move about any longer.
Waiter, a 'bock.'"
I now began to think that he was making fun of me, and I continued:
"Come now, be frank. You have been the victim of some great sorrow;
despair in love, no doubt! It is easy to see that you are a man whom
misfortune has hit hard. What age are you?"
"I am thirty years of age, but I look to be forty-five at least."
I regarded him straight in the face. His shrunken figure, so badly cared
for, gave one the impression that he was an old man. On the summit of his
cranium, a few long hairs shot straight up from the skin of doubtful
cleanness. He had enormous eyelashes, a large moustache, and a thick
beard. Suddenly, I had a kind of vision. I know not why; the vision of a
basin filled with noisome water, the water which should have been applied
to that poll. I said to him:
"Verily, you look to be more than that age. Of a certainty you must have
experienced some great disappointment."
He replied:
"I tell you that I have not. I am old because I never take air. There is
nothing that vitiates the life of a man more than the atmosphere of a
cafe."
I could not believe him.
"You must surely have been married as well? One could not get as
bald-headed as you are without having been much in love."
He shook his head, sending down his back little white things which fell
from the end of his locks:
"No, I have always been virtuous."
And raising his eyes towards the luster, which beat down on our heads, he
said:
"If I am bald-headed, it is the fault of the gas. It is the enemy of
hair. Waiter, a 'bock.' You must be thirsty also?"
"No, thank you. But you certainly interest me. Since when did you have
your first discouragement? Your life is not normal, it is not natural.
There is something under it all."
"Yes, and it dates from my infancy. I received a heavy blow when I was
very young, and that turned my life into darkness, which will last to the
end."
"How did it come about?"
"You wish to know about it? Well, then, listen. You recall, of course,
the castle in which I was brought up, seeing that you used to visit it
for five or six months during the vacations? You remember that large,
gray building, in the middle of a great park, and the long avenues of
oaks, which opened towards the four cardinal points! You remember my
father and mother, both of whom were ceremonious, solemn and severe.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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