Author: Guy de Maupassant
Guy de Maupassant (1850-1893) was probably born at the Chateau de Miromesniel, Dieppe. His paternal ancestors were noble, and his maternal grandfather, Paul Le Poittevin, was Gustave Flaubert's godfather. His parents separated when he was 11 years old. Maupassant grew up in his native Normandy. The gift of a photographic memory enabled him to gather a storehouse of information, which later helped him in his stories about the Norman people.
In his teens Maupassant was shown, by the poet Algernon Swinburne (1837-1909), a mummified hand. He used this haunting image in his early short story 'La Main Ecorchee' (1875). In 1869 Maupassant started to study law in Paris, but soon, at age 20, he volunteered to serve in the army during Franco-Prussian War. After returning to Paris, Maupassant joined the literary circle of Gustave Flaubert. The famous writer was a friend of Maupassant's mother's friend, and introduced his protege to emile Zola, Ivan Turgenev, and Henry James. From Flaubert, who was obsessed with the writer's craft, Maupassant learned the exactness and accuracy of observations, and balance and precision of style. However, Maupassant himself was more light-hearted and more cynical than Flaubert.
Between the years 1872 and 1880 Maupassant was a civil servant, first at the ministry of maritime affairs, then at the ministry of education. He hated to work and spent much of his free time in pursuit of women. As a poet Maupassant made his debut with DES VERS, which appeared in 1880. In the same year he published in the anthology Les Soirees de Medan (1880) his masterpiece, 'Boule de Suif' (Ball of Fat, 1880). The theme of the anthology was the Franco-Prussian War. Other writers included Zola and J.-K. Huysmans, but Maupassant's contribution, considered a manifestation of naturalism, is the most famous. Huysmans, Maupassant, Zola, and Paul Alexis among others were known as Le Groupe de Medan - the name was drawn from the house where Zola lived.
Boule de Suif' is set during the Franco-Prussian War. A well-known prostitute, nicknamed 'Boule de Suif', is traveling in a coach with bourgeois fellow passengers. They are detained by a Prussian officer who will not allow the coach to proceed until Boule de Suif gives her to him, which she refuses on principle to do: "Kindly tell that scoundrel, that cur, that carrion of a Prussian, that I will never consent--you understand?--never, never, never!"However, the other passagers start to get bored and press her to yield to the officers demands. After swallowing her pride she spends a night with him and in the morning she is treated by the group as if she had been infected with some deadly disease. "No one looked at her, no one thought of her. She felt herself swallowed up in the scorn of these virtuous creatures, who had first sacrificed, then rejected her as a thing useless and unclean. Then she remembered her big basket full of the good things they had so greedily devoured: the two chickens coated in jelly, the pies, the pears, the four bottles of claret; and her fury broke forth like a cord that is overstrained, and she was on the verge of tears. She made terrible efforts at self-control, drew herself up, swallowed the sobs which choked her; but the tears rose nevertheless, shone at the brink of her eyelids, and soon two heavy drops coursed slowly down her cheeks."
It has often been said that the American director John Ford borrowed the plot to his film Stagecoach (1939). Ford knew the story, but Ernest Haycox's character study 'Stage to Lordsburg' served for the director as the framework for his famous morality play. Partly for commercial reasons, the Stagecoach team hide their 'arty' source. In the film a group of people travel by stage to Lordsburg, passing through Indian territory. The socially respected passengers turn out to be hypocrites, thieves, and unworthy characters, whereas the outsiders win their faults or show bravery and compassion. Claire Trevor played the good-hearted prostitute Dallas. John Wayne, in the role of the Ringo Kidd, become a star.
During the 1880s Maupassant created some 300 short stories, six novels, three travel books, and one volume of verse. Probably Maupassant fictionalized true occurrences or tales told to him, but his experiences as a reporter and columnist provided him material. In 1881 he reported on the French campaign against Tunisia. In tone, his tales were marked by objectivity, highly controlled style, and sometimes sheer comedy. Usually they were built around simple episodes from everyday life, which revealed the hidden sides of people. Maupassant has been accused of misogynism but his portrayal of prostitutes was sympathetic. According to Maupassant, a modern novel aims not at "telling a story or entertaining us or touching our hearts but at forcing us to think and understand the deeper, hidden meaning of events".
On several occasions the tales were narrated in the first person or were told by a named character. In 'The Jewels of M. Lantin' the chief clerk of the Minister of the Interior marries the daughter of a provincial tax collector. He is unbelievably happy. She has only two small vices - her love of the theater and her passion for artificial jewels. One wintry evening she comes from the opera shivering with cold and a week later she dies. Lantin is haunted by his memories, and plunges into poverty. He takes her necklace to a jeweler who tells that it is very valuable. Lantin has believed that his wife's jewelry were fakes because she could not have purchased valuable items. He realizes that they were gifts and the truth makes him weep bitterly. "As he walked along, Lantin said to himself, "How easy it is to be happy when you're rich! With money you can even shake off your sorrows; you can go or stay as you please! You can travel and amuse yourself." He sells her jewelry, resigns from his work, and enjoys the theater for the first time in his life. "Six months later he married. His second wife was a most worthy woman, but rather difficult. She made his life unbearable."
Maupassant's first novel was UNE VIE (A Woman's Life, 1883), a naturalistic story about the life of a Norman woman, whose kindliness is her strength but also a vice. "And now she was leaving the convent, radiant, full of youthful sap and hunger for happiness, primed for all the joyful experiences, all the charming occurrences, that she had already mentally rehearsed in solitary anticipation throughout her idle daylight moments and the long hours of night." The episodic novel BEL-AMI (1885) depicted an unscrupulous journalist, Georges Duroy, whose success is build on hypocrisy, decadence, and corruption of the society. PIERRE ET JEAN (1888) was a psychological study of adultery of a young wife and two brothers. The novel was thought to be immoral - infidelity is not actually condemned. In Luis Buñuel's film version from 1951, the emphasis is on the woman's experience. The ending is, ambiguously, a happy one.
Maupassant's most upsetting horror story, 'Le Horla' (1887), was about madness and suicide. The nameless protagonist is perhaps a syphilitic. In the beginning the narrator - a prosperous young Norman gentleman - sees a Brazilian three-master boat flow by his house. He salutes it and the gesture evidently summons the Horla, and invisible being. The Horlas are cousins of the vampires and their advent means the end of the reign of man. Our narrator eventually sets fire to his own house, to destroy his Horla, but only his servants die in the fire. He realizes that the Horla is still alive and decides to kill himself.
Maupassant had suffered from his 20s from syphilis. The disease later caused increasing mental disorder. Critics have charted Maupassant's developing illness through his semi-autobiographical stories of abnormal psychology, but the theme of mental disorder is present in his first collection, LA MAISON TELLIER (1881), published at the height of his health. 'A Night in Paris' is a paranoid nightmare: its narrator feels compelled to walk the streets. In 'Who Knows?' the narrator sufferers from delusions about the furniture of his house, and in 'A Madman' a judge commits murder, just for the experience, and condemns an innocent man to death for the crime.
Maupassant's horror fiction consists of some 39 stories, only a tenth of his total. The nightmarish stories have much in common with Edgar Allan Poe's supernatural visions. Recurring theme is madness.'The Inn' has much similarities with Stephen King's famous novel The Shining. Maupassant describes two caretakers, living in the French Alps in a remote inn, which is surrounded by snow six months and unreachable. When the older caretaker goes missing, the younger in his loneliness loses his reason. 'The Hand' is about a severed, living human hand which. Despite it is chained up, it escapes and strangles its owner. The story has inspired several writers and movie directors, such as Robert Florey, Henry Cass, and Oliver Stone. Maupassant's other supernatural stories include 'The Englishman', 'The Apparation / The Spectre / The Ghost / The Story of a Law Suit', 'Was It a Dream', and 'Who Knows'.
On January 2, in 1892, Maupassant tried to commit suicide by cutting his throat. He was committed to the celebrated private asylum of Dr. Esprit Blanche at Passy, in Paris, where he died next year. Maupassant's style has been imitated by countless writers and his influence can be seen on such masters of the short story as Anton Chekhov, W. Somerset Maugham and O. Henry.
The Adopted Son
by Guy de Maupassant
Translators: Albert M.C. McMaster, A.E. Henderson, Mme. Quesada, & others.
The two cottages stood beside each other at the foot of a hill near a little seashore resort. The two peasants labored hard on the unproductive soil to rear their little ones, and each family had four.
Before the adjoining doors a whole troop of urchins played and tumbled about from morning till night. The two eldest were six years old, and the youngest were about fifteen months; the marriages, and afterward the births, having taken place nearly simultaneously in both families.
The two mothers could hardly distinguish their own offspring among the lot, and as for the fathers, they were altogether at sea. The eight names danced in their heads; they were always getting them mixed up; and when they wished to call one child, the men often called three names before getting the right one.
The first of the two cottages, as you came up from the bathing beach, Rolleport, was occupied by the Tuvaches, who had three girls and one boy; the other house sheltered the Vallins, who had one girl and three boys.
They all subsisted frugally on soup, potatoes and fresh air. At seven o'clock in the morning, then at noon, then at six o'clock in the evening, the housewives got their broods together to give them their food, as the gooseherds collect their charges. The children were seated, according to age, before the wooden table, varnished by fifty years of use; the mouths of the youngest hardly reaching the level of the table. Before them was placed a bowl filled with bread, soaked in the water in which the potatoes had been boiled, half a cabbage and three onions; and the whole line ate until their hunger was appeased. The mother herself fed the smallest.
A small pot roast on Sunday was a feast for all; and the father on this day sat longer over the meal, repeating: "I wish we could have this every day."
One afternoon, in the month of August, a phaeton stopped suddenly in front of the cottages, and a young woman, who was driving the horses, said to the gentleman sitting at her side:
"Oh, look at all those children, Henri! How pretty they are, tumbling about in the dust, like that!"
The man did not answer, accustomed to these outbursts of admiration, which were a pain and almost a reproach to him. The young woman continued:
"I must hug them! Oh, how I should like to have one of them--that one there--the little tiny one!"
Springing down from the carriage, she ran toward the children, took one of the two youngest--a Tuvache child--and lifting it up in her arms, she kissed him passionately on his dirty cheeks, on his tousled hair daubed with earth, and on his little hands, with which he fought vigorously, to get away from the caresses which displeased him.
Then she got into the carriage again, and drove off at a lively trot. But she returned the following week, and seating herself on the ground, took the youngster in her arms, stuffed him with cakes; gave candies to all the others, and played with them like a young girl, while the husband waited patiently in the carriage.
She returned again; made the acquaintance of the parents, and reappeared every day with her pockets full of dainties and pennies.
Her name was Madame Henri d'Hubieres.
One morning, on arriving, her husband alighted with her, and without stopping to talk to the children, who now knew her well, she entered the farmer's cottage.
They were busy chopping wood for the fire. They rose to their feet in surprise, brought forward chairs, and waited expectantly.
Then the woman, in a broken, trembling voice, began:
"My good people, I have come to see you, because I should like--I should like to take--your little boy with me--"
The country people, too bewildered to think, did not answer.
She recovered her breath, and continued: "We are alone, my husband and I. We would keep it. Are you willing?"
The peasant woman began to understand. She asked:
"You want to take Charlot from us? Oh, no, indeed!"
Then M. d'Hubieres intervened:
"My wife has not made her meaning clear. We wish to adopt him, but he will come back to see you. If he turns out well, as there is every reason to expect, he will be our heir. If we, perchance, should have children, he will share equally with them; but if he should not reward our care, we should give him, when he comes of age, a sum of twenty thousand francs, which shall be deposited immediately in his name, with a lawyer. As we have thought also of you, we should pay you, until your death, a pension of one hundred francs a month. Do you understand me?"
The woman had arisen, furious.
"You want me to sell you Charlot? Oh, no, that's not the sort of thing to ask of a mother! Oh, no! That would be an abomination!"
The man, grave and deliberate, said nothing; but approved of what his wife said by a continued nodding of his head.
Madame d'Hubieres, in dismay, began to weep; turning to her husband, with a voice full of tears, the voice of a child used to having all its wishes gratified, she stammered:
"They will not do it, Henri, they will not do it."
Then he made a last attempt: "But, my friends, think of the child's future, of his happiness, of--"
The peasant woman, however, exasperated, cut him short:
"It's all considered! It's all understood! Get out of here, and don't let me see you again--the idea of wanting to take away a child like that!"
Madame d'Hubieres remembered that there were two children, quite little, and she asked, through her tears, with the tenacity of a wilful and spoiled woman:
"But is the other little one not yours?"
Father Tuvache answered: "No, it is our neighbors'. You can go to them if you wish." And he went back into his house, whence resounded the indignant voice of his wife.
The Vallins were at table, slowly eating slices of bread which they parsimoniously spread with a little rancid butter on a plate between the two.
M. d'Hubieres recommenced his proposals, but with more insinuations, more oratorical precautions, more shrewdness.
The two country people shook their heads, in sign of refusal, but when they learned that they were to have a hundred francs a month, they considered the matter, consulting one another by glances, much disturbed. They kept silent for a long time, tortured, hesitating. At last the woman asked: "What do you say to it, man?" In a weighty tone he said: "I say that it's not to be despised."
Madame d'Hubieres, trembling with anguish, spoke of the future of their child, of his happiness, and of the money which he could give them later.
The peasant asked: "This pension of twelve hundred francs, will it be promised before a lawyer?"
M. d'Hubieres responded: "Why, certainly, beginning with to-morrow."
The woman, who was thinking it over, continued:
"A hundred francs a month is not enough to pay for depriving us of the child. That child would be working in a few years; we must have a hundred and twenty francs."
Tapping her foot with impatience, Madame d'Hubieres granted it at once, and, as she wished to carry off the child with her, she gave a hundred francs extra, as a present, while her husband drew up a paper. And the young woman, radiant, carried off the howling brat, as one carries away a wished-for knick-knack from a shop.
The Tuvaches, from their door, watched her departure, silent, serious, perhaps regretting their refusal.
Nothing more was heard of little Jean Vallin. The parents went to the lawyer every month to collect their hundred and twenty francs. They had quarrelled with their neighbors, because Mother Tuvache grossly insulted them, continually, repeating from door to door that one must be unnatural to sell one's child; that it was horrible, disgusting, bribery. Sometimes she would take her Charlot in her arms, ostentatiously exclaiming, as if he understood:
"I didn't sell you, I didn't! I didn't sell you, my little one! I'm not rich, but I don't sell my children!"
The Vallins lived comfortably, thanks to the pension. That was the cause of the unappeasable fury of the Tuvaches, who had remained miserably poor. Their eldest went away to serve his time in the army; Charlot alone remained to labor with his old father, to support the mother and two younger sisters.
He had reached twenty-one years when, one morning, a brilliant carriage stopped before the two cottages. A young gentleman, with a gold watch- chain, got out, giving his hand to an aged, white-haired lady. The old lady said to him: "It is there, my child, at the second house." And he entered the house of the Vallins as though at home.
The old mother was washing her aprons; the infirm father slumbered at the chimney-corner. Both raised their heads, and the young man said:
"Good-morning, papa; good-morning, mamma!"
They both stood up, frightened! In a flutter, the peasant woman dropped her soap into the water, and stammered:
"Is it you, my child? Is it you, my child?"
He took her in his arms and hugged her, repeating: "Good-morning, mamma," while the old man, all a-tremble, said, in his calm tone which he never lost: "Here you are, back again, Jean," as if he had just seen him a month ago.
When they had got to know one another again, the parents wished to take their boy out in the neighborhood, and show him. They took him to the mayor, to the deputy, to the cure, and to the schoolmaster.
Charlot, standing on the threshold of his cottage, watched him pass. In the evening, at supper, he said to the old people: "You must have been stupid to let the Vallins' boy be taken."
The mother answered, obstinately: "I wouldn't sell my child."
The father remained silent. The son continued:
"It is unfortunate to be sacrificed like that."
Then Father Tuvache, in an angry tone, said:
"Are you going to reproach us for having kept you?" And the young man said, brutally:
"Yes, I reproach you for having been such fools. Parents like you make the misfortune of their children. You deserve that I should leave you." The old woman wept over her plate. She moaned, as she swallowed the spoonfuls of soup, half of which she spilled: "One may kill one's self to bring up children!"
Then the boy said, roughly: "I'd rather not have been born than be what I am. When I saw the other, my heart stood still. I said to myself: 'See what I should have been now!'" He got up: "See here, I feel that I would do better not to stay here, because I would throw it up to you from morning till night, and I would make your life miserable. I'll never forgive you for that!"
The two old people were silent, downcast, in tears.
He continued: "No, the thought of that would be too much. I'd rather look for a living somewhere else."
He opened the door. A sound of voices came in at the door. The Vallins were celebrating the return of their child.
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