OLD JUDAS ............................................................................................................................................1

THE LITTLE CASK ................................................................................................................................4

BOITELLE..............................................................................................................................................8

A WIDOW .............................................................................................................................................13

THE ENGLISHMAN OF ETRETAT...................................................................................................16

MAGNETISM.......................................................................................................................................18

A FATHER'S CONFESSION...............................................................................................................21

A MOTHER OF MONSTERS..............................................................................................................25

AN UNCOMFORTABLE BED............................................................................................................28

A PORTRAIT........................................................................................................................................29

THE DRUNKARD................................................................................................................................32

THE WARDROBE ................................................................................................................................35

THE MOUNTAIN POOL ......................................................................................................................41

A CREMATION ....................................................................................................................................43

MISTI .....................................................................................................................................................47

MADAME HERMET ............................................................................................................................50

THE MAGIC COUCH..........................................................................................................................55

This entire stretch of country was amazing; it was characterized by a grandeur that was almost religious, and

A great, wild lake, filled with stagnant, black water, in which thousands of reeds were waving to and fro, lay

in the midst of a vast circle of naked hills, where nothing grew but broom, or here and there an oak curiously

Just one house stood on the banks of that dark lake, a small, low house inhabited by Uncle Joseph, an old

boatman, who lived on what he could make by his fishing. Once a week he carried the fish he caught into the

surrounding villages, returning with the few provisions that he needed for his sustenance.

I went to see this old hermit, who offered to take me with him to his nets, and I accepted.

His boat was old, wormeaten and clumsy, and the skinny old man rowed with a gentle and monotonous

stroke that was soothing to the soul, already oppressed by the sadness of the land round about.

It seemed to me as if I were transported to olden times, in the midst of that ancient country, in that primitive

He took up his nets and threw the fish into the bottom of the boat, as the fishermen of the Bible might have

done. Then he took me down to the end of the lake, where I suddenly perceived a ruin on the other side of the

bank a dilapidated hut, with an enormous red cross on the wall that looked as if it might have been traced

But it was better than a legend, being a true story, and quite a recent one, since Uncle Joseph had known the

This hut had formerly been occupied by a large woman, a kind of beggar, who lived on public charity.

Uncle Joseph did not remember from whom she had this hut. One evening an old man with a white beard,

who seemed to be at least two hundred years old, and who could hardly drag himself along, asked alms of

"Sit down, father," she replied; "everything here belongs to all the world, since it comes from all the world."

He sat down on a stone before the door. He shared the woman's bread, her bed of leaves, and her house.

"It was Our Lady the Virgin who permitted this, monsieur," Joseph added, "it being a woman who had

opened her door to a Judas, for this old vagabond was the Wandering Jew. It was not known at first in the

country, but the people suspected it very soon, because he was always walking; it had become a sort of

And suspicion had been aroused by still another thing. This woman, who kept that stranger with her, was

thought to be a Jewess, for no one had ever seen her at church. For ten miles around no one ever called her

When the little country children saw her come to beg they cried out: "Mamma, mamma, here is the Jewess!"

The old man and she began to go out together into the neighboring districts, holding out their hands at all the

doors, stammering supplications into the ears of all the passers. They could be seen at all hours of the day, on

bypaths, in the villages, or again eating bread, sitting in the noon heat under the shadow of some solitary

One day he brought home in his sack two little live pigs, which a farmer had given him after he had cured the

Soon he stopped begging, and devoted himself entirely to his pigs. He took them out to feed by the lake, or

under isolated oaks, or in the nearby valleys. The woman, however, went about all day begging, but she

He also did not go to church, and no one ever had seen him cross himself before the wayside crucifixes. All

One night his companion was attacked by a fever and began to tremble like a leaf in the wind. He went to the

nearest town to get some medicine, and then he shut himself up with her, and was not seen for six days.

The priest, having heard that the "Jewess" was about to die, came to offer the consolation of his religion and

administer the last sacrament. Was she a Jewess? He did not know. But in any case, he wished to try to save

Hardly had he knocked at the door when old Judas appeared on the threshold, breathing hard, his eyes aflame,

his long beard agitated, like rippling water, and he hurled blasphemies in an unknown language, extending his

The priest attempted to speak, offered his purse and his aid, but the old man kept on abusing him, making

The companion of old Judas died the following day. He buried her himself, in front of her door. They were

Then they saw the man take his pigs out again to the lake and up the hillsides. And he also began begging

again to get food. But the people gave him hardly anything, as there was so much gossip about him. Every

Then he disappeared. That was during Holy Week, but no one paid any attention to him.

But on Easter Sunday the boys and girls who had gone walking out to the lake heard a great noise in the hut.

The door was locked; but the boys broke it in, and the two pigs ran out, jumping like gnats. No one ever saw

The whole crowd went in; they saw some old rags on the floor, the beggar's hat, some bones, clots of dried

"This happened on Good Friday, monsieur." Joseph concluded his story, "three hours after noon."

I did not attempt to make him understand that it could easily happen that the famished animals had eaten their

As for the cross on the wall, it had appeared one morning, and no one knew what hand traced it in that

Since then no one doubted any longer that the Wandering Jew had died on this spot.

He was a tall man of forty or thereabout, this Jules Chicot, the innkeeper of Spreville, with a red face and a

round stomach, and said by those who knew him to be a smart business man. He stopped his buggy in front

of Mother Magloire's farmhouse, and, hitching the horse to the gatepost, went in at the gate.

Chicot owned some land adjoining that of the old woman, which he had been coveting for a long while, and

had tried in vain to buy a score of times, but she had always obstinately refused to part with it.

He found her peeling potatoes outside the farmhouse door. She was a woman of about seventytwo, very

thin, shriveled and wrinkled, almost dried up in fact and much bent but as active and untiring as a girl. Chicot

patted her on the back in a friendly fashion and then sat down by her on a stool.

"Nothing to complain of, considering, thank you. And how are you, Monsieur Chicot?"

"Oh, pretty well, thank you, except a few rheumatic pains occasionally; otherwise I have nothing to complain

And she said no more, while Chicot watched her going on with her work. Her crooked, knotted fingers, hard

as a lobster's claws, seized the tubers, which were lying in a pail, as if they had been a pair of pincers, and she

peeled them rapidly, cutting off long strips of skin with an old knife which she held in the other hand,

throwing the potatoes into the water as they were done. Three daring fowls jumped one after the other into

her lap, seized a bit of peel and then ran away as fast as their legs would carry them with it in their beak.

Chicot seemed embarrassed, anxious, with something on the tip of his tongue which he could not say. At last

"Certainly not; you may make up your mind to that. What I have said I have said, so don't refer to it again."

"Very well; only I think I know of an arrangement that might suit us both very well."

"Just this. You shall sell it to me and keep it all the same. You don't understand? Very well, then follow me in

The old woman left off peeling potatoes and looked at the innkeeper attentively from under her heavy

"Let me explain myself. Every month I will give you a hundred and fifty francs. You understand me!

suppose! Every month I will come and bring you thirty crowns, and it will not make the slightest difference

in your lifenot the very slightest. You will have your own home just as you have now, need not trouble

yourself about me, and will owe me nothing; all you will have to do will be to take my money. Will that

He looked at her goodhumoredly, one might almost have said benevolently, and the old woman returned his

"It seems all right as far as I am concerned, but it will not give you the farm."

"Never mind about that," he said; "you may remain here as long as it pleases God Almighty to let you live; it

will be your home. Only you will sign a deed before a lawyer making it over to me; after your death. You

have no children, only nephews and nieces for whom you don't care a straw. Will that suit you? You will

keep everything during your life, and I will give you the thirty crowns a month. It is pure gain as far as you

The old woman was surprised, rather uneasy, but, nevertheless, very much tempted to agree, and answered:

"I don't say that I will not agree to it, but I must think about it. Come back in a week, and we will talk it over

Mother Magloire was thoughtful, and did not sleep at all that night; in fact, for four days she was in a fever of

hesitation. She suspected that there was something underneath the offer which was not to her advantage; but

then the thought of thirty crowns a month, of all those coins clinking in her apron, falling to her, as it were,

She went to the notary and told him about it. He advised her to accept Chicot's offer, but said she ought to ask

for an annuity of fifty instead of thirty, as her farm was worth sixty thousand francs at the lowest calculation.

"If you live for fifteen years longer," he said, "even then he will only have paid fortyfive thousand francs for

The old woman trembled with joy at this prospect of getting fifty crowns a month, but she was still

suspicious, fearing some trick, and she remained a long time with the lawyer asking questions without being

able to make up her mind to go. At last she gave him instructions to draw up the deed and returned home with

When Chicot came again to receive her answer she declared, after a lot of persuading, that she could not

make up her mind to agree to his proposal, though she was all the time trembling lest he should not consent to

give the fifty crowns, but at last, when he grew urgent, she told him what she expected for her farm.

Then, in order to convince him, she began to talk about the probable duration of her life.

"I am certainly not likely to live more than five or six years longer. I am nearly seventythree, and far from

strong, even considering my age. The other evening I thought I was going to die, and could hardly manage to

"Come, come, old lady, you are as strong as the church tower, and will live till you are a hundred at least; you

The whole day was spent in discussing the money, and as the old woman would not give in, the innkeeper

consented to give the fifty crowns, and she insisted upon having ten crowns over and above to strike the

Three years passed and the old dame did not seem to have grown a day older. Chicot was in despair, and it

seemed to him as if he had been paying that annuity for fifty years, that he had been taken in, done, ruined.

From time to time he went to see the old lady, just as one goes in July to see when the harvest is likely to

begin. She always met him with a cunning look, and one might have supposed that she was congratulating

herself on the trick she had played him. Seeing how well and hearty she seemed he very soon got into his

He did not know what to do, and he felt inclined to strangle her when he saw her. He hated her with a

ferocious, cunning hatred, the hatred of a peasant who has been robbed, and began to cast about for some

One day he came to see her again, rubbing his hands as he did the first time he proposed the bargain, and,

"Why do you never come and have a bit of dinner at my place when you are in Spreville? The people are

talking about it, and saying we are not on friendly terms, and that pains me. You know it will cost you

nothing if you come, for I don't look at the price of a dinner. Come whenever you feel inclined; I shall be

Old Mother Magloire did not need to be asked twice, and the next day but one, as she had to go to the town in

any case, it being market day, she let her man drive her to Chicot's place, where the buggy was put in the barn

The innkeeper was delighted and treated her like a lady, giving her roast fowl, black pudding, leg of mutton

and bacon and cabbage. But she ate next to nothing. She had always been a small eater, and had generally

Chicot was disappointed and pressed her to eat more, but she refused, and she would drink little, and declined

The servant appeared, carrying a long bottle ornamented with a paper vineleaf, and he filled two liqueur

The good woman drank it slowly in sips, so as to make the pleasure last all the longer, and when she had

Almost before she had said it Chicot had poured her out another glassful. She wished to refuse, but it was too

late, and she drank it very slowly, as she had done the first, and he asked her to have a third. She objected, but

"It is as mild as milk, you know; I can drink ten or a dozen glasses without any ill effects; it goes down like

sugar and does not go to the head; one would think that it evaporated on the tongue: It is the most wholesome

"Look here, as it is so much to your taste, I will give you a small keg of it, just to show that you and I are still

excellent friends." So she took one away with her, feeling slightly overcome by the effects of what she had

The next day the innkeeper drove into her yard and took a little iron hooped keg out of his gig. He insisted

on her tasting the contents, to make sure it was the same delicious article, and, when they had each of them

"Well, you know when it is all gone there is more left; don't be modest, for I shall not mind. The sooner it is

Four days later he came again. The old woman was outside her door cutting up the bread for her soup.

He went up to her and put his face close to hers, so that he might smell her breath; and when he smelt the

"I suppose you will give me a glass of the Special?" he said. And they had three glasses each.

Soon, however, it began to be whispered abroad that Mother Magloire was in the habit of getting drunk all by

herself. She was picked up in her kitchen, then in her yard, then in the roads in the neighborhood, and she was

The innkeeper did not go near her any more, and, when people spoke to him about her, he used to say, putting

"It is a great pity that she should have taken to drink at her age, but when people get old there is no remedy. It

And it certainly was the death of her. She died the next winter. About Christmas time she fell down,

"It was very stupid of her; if she had not taken to drink she would probably have lived ten years longer."

Father Boitelle (Antoine) made a specialty of undertaking dirty jobs all through the countryside. Whenever

there was a ditch or a cesspool to be cleaned out, a dunghill removed, a sewer cleansed, or any dirt hole

He would come with the instruments of his trade, his sabots covered with dirt, and set to work, complaining

incessantly about his occupation. When people asked him then why he did this loathsome work, he would

"Faith, 'tis for my children, whom I must support. This brings me in more than anything else:'

He had, indeed, fourteen children. If any one asked him what had become of them, he would say with an air

"There are only eight of them left in the house. One is out at service and five are married."

When the questioner wanted to know whether they were well married, he replied vivaciously:

"I did not oppose them. I opposed them in nothing. They married just as they pleased. We shouldn't go

against people's likings, it turns out badly. I am a night scavenger because my parents went against my

He was at the time a soldier stationed at Havre, not more stupid than another, or sharper either, a rather

simple fellow, however. When he was not on duty, his greatest pleasure was to walk along the quay, where

the bird dealers congregate. Sometimes alone, sometimes with a soldier from his own part of the country, he

would slowly saunter along by cages containing parrots with green backs and yellow heads from the banks of

the Amazon, or parrots with gray backs and red heads from Senegal, or enormous macaws, which look like

birds reared in hothouses, with their flowerlike feathers, their plumes and their tufts. Parrots of every size,

who seem painted with minute care by the miniaturist, God Almighty, and the little birds, all the smaller birds

hopped about, yellow, blue and variegated, mingling their cries with the noise of the quay; and adding to the

din caused by unloading the vessels, as well as by passengers and vehicles, a violent clamor, loud, shrill and

Boitelle would pause, with wondering eyes, wideopen mouth, laughing and enraptured, showing his teeth to

the captive cockatoos, who kept nodding their white or yellow topknots toward the glaring red of his breeches

and the copper buckle of his belt. When he found a bird that could talk he put questions to it, and if it

happened at the time to be disposed to reply and to hold a conversation with him he would carry away

enough amusement to last him till evening. He also found heaps of amusement in looking at the monkeys,

and could conceive no greater luxury for a rich man than to own these animals as one owns cats and dogs.

This kind of taste for the exotic he had in his blood, as people have a taste for the chase, or for medicine, or

for the priesthood. He could not help returning to the quay every time the gates of the barracks opened, drawn

On one occasion, having stopped almost in ecstasy before an enormous macaw, which was swelling out its

plumes, bending forward and bridling up again as if making the court curtseys of parrotland, he saw the

door of a little cafe adjoining the bird dealer's shop open, and a young negress appeared, wearing on her head

a red silk handkerchief. She was sweeping into the street the corks and sand of the establishment.

Boitelle's attention was soon divided between the bird and the woman, and he really could not tell which of

The negress, having swept the rubbish into the street, raised her eyes, and, in her turn, was dazzled by the

soldier's uniform. There she stood facing him with her broom in her hands as if she were bringing him a rifle,

while the macaw continued bowing. But at the end of a few seconds the soldier began to feel embarrassed at

this attention, and he walked away quietly so as not to look as if he were beating a retreat.

But he came back. Almost every day he passed before the Cafe des Colonies, and often he could distinguish

through the window the figure of the little blackskinned maid serving "bocks" or glasses of brandy to the

sailors of the port. Frequently, too, she would come out to the door on seeing him; soon, without even having

exchanged a word, they smiled at one another like acquaintances; and Boitelle felt his heart touched when he

suddenly saw, glittering between the dark lips of the girl, a shining row of white teeth. At length, one day he

ventured to enter, and was quite surprised to find that she could speak French like every one else. The bottle

of lemonade, of which she was good enough to accept a glassful, remained in the soldier's recollection

memorably delicious, and it became a custom with him to come and absorb in this little tavern on the quay all

For him it was a treat, a happiness, on which his thoughts dwelt constantly, to watch the black hand of the

little maid pouring something into his glass while her teeth laughed more than her eyes. At the end of two

months they became fast friends, and Boitelle, after his first astonishment at discovering that this negress had

as good principles as honest French girls, that she exhibited a regard for economy, industry, religion and good

conduct, loved her more on that account, and was so charmed with her that he wanted to marry her.

He told her his intentions, which made her dance with joy. She had also a little money, left her by, a female

oyster dealer, who had picked her up when she had been left on the quay at Havre by an American captain.

This captain had found her, when she was only about six years old, lying on bales of cotton in the hold of his

ship, some hours after his departure from New York. On his arrival in Havre he abandoned to the care of this

compassionate oyster dealer the little black creature, who had been hidden on board his vessel, he knew not

The oyster woman having died, the young negress became a servant at the Colonial Tavern.

Antoine Boitelle added: "This will be all right if my parents don't oppose it. I will never go against them, you

understand, never! I'm going to say a word or two to them the first time I go back to the country."

On the following week, in fact, having obtained twentyfour hours' leave, he went to see his family, who

He waited till the meal was finished, the hour when the coffee baptized with brandy makes people more

openhearted, before informing his parents that he had found a girl who satisfied his tastes, all his tastes, so

completely that there could not exist any other in all the world so perfectly suited to him.

The old people, on hearing this, immediately assumed a cautious manner and wanted explanations. He had

She was a servant, without much means, but strong, thrifty, clean, well conducted and sensible. All these

things were better than money would be in the hands of a bad housewife. Moreover, she had a few sous, left

her by a woman who had reared her, a good number of sous, almost a little dowry, fifteen hundred francs in

the savings bank. The old people, persuaded by his talk, and relying also on their own judgment, were

gradually weakening, when he came to the delicate point. Laughing in rather a constrained fashion, he said:

They did not understand, and he had to explain at some length and very cautiously, to avoid shocking them,

that she belonged to the dusky race of which they had only seen samples in pictures at Epinal. Then they

became restless, perplexed, alarmed, as if he had proposed a union with the devil.

The son answered: "Perhaps a little less than that. She is black, but not disgustingly black. The cure's cassock

Then, after many other questions, it was agreed that the parents should see this girl before coming; to any

decision, and that the young fellow, whose, term of military service would be over in a month, should bring

her to the house in order that they might examine her and decide by talking the matter over whether or not she

Antoine accordingly announced that on Sunday, the 22d of May, the day of his discharge, he would start for

She had put on, for this journey to the house of her lover's parents, her most beautiful and most gaudy

clothes, in which yellow, red and blue were the prevailing colors, so that she looked as if she were adorned

At the terminus, as they were leaving Havre, people stared at her, and Boitelle was proud of giving his arm to

a person who commanded so much attention. Then, in the thirdclass carriage, in which she took a seat by his

side, she aroused so much astonishment among the country folks that the people in the adjoining

compartments stood up on their benches to look at her over the wooden partition which divides the

compartments. A child, at sight of her, began to cry with terror, another concealed his face in his mother's

apron. Everything went off well, however, up to their arrival at their destination. But when the train slackened

its rate of motion as they drew near Yvetot, Antoine felt: ill at ease, as he would have done at a review when;

he did not know his drill practice. Then, as he; leaned his head out, he recognized in the distance: his father,

holding the bridle of the horse harnessed to a carryall, and his mother, who had come forward to the grating,

He alighted first, gave his hand to his sweetheart, and holding himself erect, as if he were escorting a general,

The mother, on seeing this black lady in variegated costume in her son's company, remained so stupefied that

she could not open her mouth; and the father found it hard to hold the horse, which the engine or the negress

caused to rear continuously. But Antoine, suddenly filled with unmixed joy at seeing once more the old

people, rushed forward with open arms, embraced his mother, embraced his father, in spite of the nag's fright,

and then turning toward his companion, at whom the passengers on the platform stopped to stare with

"Here she is! I told you that, at first sight, she is not attractive; but as soon as you know her, I can assure you

there's not a better sort in the whole world. Say goodmorning to her so that she may not feel badly."

Thereupon Mere Boitelle, almost frightened out of her wits, made a sort of curtsy, while the father took off

Then, without further delay, they climbed into the carryall, the two women at the back, on seats which made

them jump up and down as the vehicle went jolting along the road, and the two men in front on the front seat.

Nobody spoke. Antoine, ill at ease, whistled a barrackroom air; his father whipped the nag; and his mother,

from where she sat in the corner, kept casting sly glances at the negress, whose forehead and cheekbones

It was a funny anecdote of long standing in the family. But, as his mother still remained silent, paralyzed by

her emotion, he undertook himself to tell the story, laughing as he did so at the memorable incident. The

father, who knew it by heart brightened at the opening words of the narrative; his wife soon followed his

example; and the negress herself, when he reached the drollest part of it, suddenly gave vent to a laugh, such

a loud, rolling torrent of laughter that the horse, becoming excited, broke into a gallop for a while.

They had scarcely reached the house and had all alighted, when Antoine conducted his sweetheart to a room,

so that she might take off her dress, to avoid staining it, as she was going to prepare a nice dish, intended to

win the old people's affections through their stomachs. He drew his parents outside the house, and, with

They went into the house, where the good woman was somewhat affected at the spectacle of the negress

engaged in cooking. She at once proceeded to assist her, with petticoats tucked up, active in spite of her age.

The meal was an excellent one, very long, very enjoyable. When they were taking a turn after dinner, Antoine

"My poor lad, she is really too black. If she were only a little less black, I would not go against you, but this

He did not press her, knowing how obstinate the old woman had always been, but he felt a tempest of

disappointment sweeping over his heart. He was turning over in his mind what he ought to do, what plan he

could devise, surprised, moreover, that she had not conquered them already as she had captivated himself.

And they, all four, walked along through the wheat fields, having gradually relapsed into silence. Whenever

they passed a fence they saw a countryman sitting on the stile, and a group of brats climbed up to stare at

them, and every one rushed out into the road to see the "black" whore young Boitelle had brought home with

him. At a distance they noticed people scampering across the fields just as when the drum beats to draw

public attention to some living phenomenon. Pere and Mere Boitelle, alarmed at this curiosity, which was

exhibited everywhere through the country at their approach, quickened their pace, walking side by side, and

leaving their son far behind. His dark companion asked what his parents thought of her.

But on the village green people rushed out of all the houses in a flutter of excitement; and, at the sight of the

gathering crowd, old Boitelle took to his heels, and regained his abode, while Antoine; swelling with rage, his

sweetheart on his arm, advanced majestically under the staring eyes, which opened wide in amazement.

He understood that it was at an end, and there was no hope for him, that he could not marry his negress. She

also understood it; and as they drew near the farmhouse they both began to weep. As soon as they had got

back to the house, she once more took off her dress to aid the mother in the household duties, and followed

her everywhere, to the dairy, to the stable, to the hen house, taking on herself the hardest part of the work,

repeating always: "Let me do it, Madame Boitelle," so that, when night came on, the old woman, touched but

inexorable, said to her son: "She is a good girl, all the same. It's a pity she is so black; but indeed she is too

black. I could not get used to it. She must go back again. She is too, too black!"

"She will not consent. She thinks you are too black. You must go back again. I will go with you to the train.

He then took her to the railway station, still cheering her with hope, and, when he had kissed her, he put her

into the train, which he watched as it passed out of sight, his eyes swollen with tears.

And when he had told this story, which was known all over the country, Antoine Boitelle would always add:

"From that time forward I have had no heart for anythingfor anything at all. No trade suited me any longer,

"Yes, and I can't say that my wife didn't please me, seeing that I have fourteen children; but she is not the

other one, oh, nocertainly not! The other one, mark you, my negress, she had only to give me one glance,

This story was told during the hunting season at the Chateau Baneville. The autumn had been rainy and sad.

The red leaves, instead of rustling under the feet, were rotting under the heavy downfalls.

The forest was as damp as it could be. From it came an odor of must, of rain, of soaked grass and wet earth;

and the sportsmen, their backs hunched under the downpour, mournful dogs, with tails between their legs and

hairs sticking to their sides, and the young women, with their clothes drenched, returned every evening, tired

After dinner, in the large drawingroom, everybody played lotto, without enjoyment, while the wind whistled

madly around the house. Then they tried telling stories like those they read in books, but no one was able to

invent anything amusing. The hunters told tales of wonderful shots and of the butchery of rabbits; and the

women racked their brains for ideas without revealing the imagination of Scheherezade. They were about to

give up this diversion when a young woman, who was idly caressing the hand of an old maiden aunt, noticed

a little ring made of blond hair, which she had often seen, without paying any attention to it.

She fingered it gently and asked, "Auntie, what is this ring? It looks as if it were made from the hair of a

The old lady blushed, grew pale, then answered in a trembling voice: "It is sad, so sad that I never wish to

speak of it. All the unhappiness of my life comes from that. I was very young then, and the memory has

Immediately everybody wished to know the story, but the old lady refused to tell it. Finally, after they had

"You have often heard me speak of the Santeze family, now extinct. I knew the last three male members of

this family. They all died in the same manner; this hair belongs to the last one. He was thirteen when he

"Oh! it was a strange familymad, if you will, but a charming madness, the madness of love. From father to

son, all had violent passions which filled their whole being, which impelled them to do wild things, drove

them to frantic enthusiasm, even to crime. This was born in them, just as burning devotion is in certain souls.

Trappers have not the same nature as minions of the drawingroom. There was a saying: 'As passionate as a

Santeze.' This could be noticed by looking at them. They all had wavy hair, falling over their brows, curly

beards and large eyes whose glance pierced and moved one, though one could not say why.

"The grandfather of the owner of this hair, of whom it is the last souvenir, after many adventures, duels and

elopements, at about sixty five fell madly in love with his farmer's daughter. I knew them both. She was

blond, pale, distinguishedlooking, with a slow manner of talking, a quiet voice and a look so gentle that one

might have taken her for a Madonna. The old nobleman took her to his home and was soon so captivated with

her that he could not live without her for a minute. His daughter and daughterinlaw, who lived in the

chateau, found this perfectly natural, love was such a tradition in the family. Nothing in regard to a passion

surprised them, and if one spoke before them of parted lovers, even of vengeance after treachery, both said in

the same sad tone: 'Oh, how he must have suffered to come to that point!' That was all. They grew sad over

"Now, one day a young man named Monsieur de Gradelle, who had been invited for the shooting, eloped

"Monsieur de Santeze remained calm as if nothing had happened, but one morning he was found hanging in

"His son died in the same manner in a hotel in Paris during a journey which he made there in 1841, after

"He left a twelveyearold child and a widow, my mother's sister. She came to my father's house with the

"You have no idea how wonderful and precocious this Santeze child was. One might have thought that all the

tenderness and exaltation of the whole race had been stored up in this last one. He was always dreaming and

walking about alone in a great alley of elms leading from the chateau to the forest. I watched from my

window this sentimental boy, who walked with thoughtful steps, his hands behind his back, his head bent,

and at times stopping to raise his eyes as if he could see and understand things that were not comprehensible

"Often, after dinner on clear evenings, he would say to me: 'Let us go outside and dream, cousin.' And we

would go outside together in the park. He would stop quickly before a clearing where the white vapor of the

moon lights the woods, and he would press my hand, saying: 'Look! look! but you don't understand me; I feel

it. If you understood me, we should be happy. One must love to know! I would laugh and then kiss this child,

"Often, after dinner, he would sit on my mother's knees. 'Come, auntie,' he would say, 'tell me some

lovestories.' And my mother, as a joke, would tell him all the old legends of the family, all the passionate

adventures of his forefathers, for thousands of them were current, some true and some false. It was their

reputation for love and gallantry which was the ruin of every one of thesemen; they gloried in it and then

"The little fellow became exalted by these tender or terrible stories, and at times he would clap his hands,

"Then, he began to court me in a timid and tender manner, at which every one laughed, it was, so amusing.

Every morning I had some flowers picked by him, and every evening before going to his room he would kiss

"I was guilty, very guilty, and I grieved continually about it, and I have been doing penance all my life; I have

"I was amused at this childish tenderness, and I even encouraged him. I was coquettish, as charming as with a

man, alternately caressing and severe. I maddened this child. It was a game for me and a joyous diversion for

his mother and mine. He was twelve! think of it! Who would have taken this atom's passion seriously? I

kissed him as often as he wished; I even wrote him little notes, which were read by our respective mothers;

and he answered me by passionate letters, which I have kept. Judging himself as a man, he thought that our

"This lasted for about a year. One evening in the park he fell at my feet and, as he madly kissed the hem of

my dress, he kept repeating: 'I love you! I love you! I love you! If ever you deceive me, if ever you leave me

for another, I'll do as my father did.' And he added in a hoarse voice, which gave me a shiver: 'You know

"I stood there astonished. He arose, and standing on the tips of his toes in order to reach my ear, for I was

taller than he, he pronounced my first name: 'Genevieve!' in such a gentle, sweet, tender tone that I trembled

all over. I stammered: 'Let us return! let us return!' He said no more and followed me; but as we were going

up the steps of the porch, he stopped me, saying: 'You know, if ever you leave me, I'll kill myself.'

"This time I understood that I had gone too far, and I became quite reserved. One day, as he was reproaching

me for this, I answered: 'You are now too old for jesting and too young for serious love. I'll wait.'

"I thought that this would end the matter. In the autumn he was sent to a boardingschool. When he returned

the following summer I was engaged to be married. He understood immediately, and for a week he became

"On the morning of the ninth day I saw a little paper under my door as I got up. I seized it, opened it and

read: 'You have deserted me and you know what I said. It is death to which you have condemned me. As I do

not wish to be found by another than you, come to the park just where I told you last year that I loved you and

"I thought that I should go mad. I dressed as quickly as I could and ran wildly to the place that he had

mentioned. His little cap was on the ground in the mud. It had been raining all night. I raised my eyes and

"I don't know what I did after that. I must have screamed at first, then fainted and fallen, and finally have run

to the chateau. The next thing that I remember I was in bed, with my mother sitting beside me.

"I thought that I had dreamed all this in a frightful nightmare. I stammered: 'And what of him, what of him,

"I did not dare see him again, but I asked for a lock of his blond hair. Herehere it is!"

And the old maid stretched out her trembling hand in a despairing gesture. Then she blew her nose several

"I broke off my marriagewithout saying why. And II always have remained thethe widow of this

thirteenyearold boy." Then her head fell on her breast and she wept for a long time.

As the guests were retiring for the night a large man, whose quiet she had disturbed, whispered in his

A great English poet has just crossed over to France in order to greet Victor Hugo. All the newspapers are full

of his name and he is the great topic of conversation in all drawingrooms. Fifteen years ago I had occasion

several times to meet Algernon Charles Swinburne. I will attempt to show him just as I saw him and to give

an idea of the strange impression he made on me, which will remain with me throughout time.

I believe it was in 1867 or in 1868 that an unknown young Englishman came to Etretat and bought a little but

hidden under great trees. It was said that he lived there, always alone, in a strange manner; and he aroused the

inimical surprise of the natives, for the inhabitants were sullen and foolishly malicious, as they always are in

They declared that this whimsical Englishman ate nothing but boiled. roasted or stewed monkey; that he

would see no one; that he talked to himself hours at a time and many other surprising things that made people

think that he was different from other men. They were surprised that he should live alone with a monkey. Had

it been a cat or a dog they would have said nothing. But a monkey! Was that not frightful? What savage tastes

I knew this young man only from seeing him in the streets. He was short, plump, without being fat,

Chance brought us together. This savage had amiable and pleasing manners, but he was one of those strange

Endowed with remarkable intelligence, he seemed to live in a fantastic dream, as Edgar Poe must have lived.

He had translated into English a volume of strange Icelandic legends, which I ardently desired to see

translated into French. He loved the supernatural, the dismal and grewsome, but he spoke of the most

marvellous things with a calmness that was typically English, to which his gentle and quiet voice gave a

Full of a haughty disdain for the world, with its conventions, prejudices and code of morality, he had nailed

to his house a name that was boldly impudent. The keeper of a lonely inn who should write on his door:

"Travellers murdered here!" could not make a more sinister jest. I never had entered his dwelling, when one

day I received an invitation to luncheon, following an accident that had occurred to one of his friends, who

Although I was unable to reach the man until he had already been rescued, I received the hearty thanks of the

The friend was a man about thirty years old. He bore an enormous head on a child's bodya body without

chest or shoulders. An immense forehead, which seemed to have engulfed the rest of the man, expanded like

a dome above a thin face which ended in a little pointed beard. Two sharp eyes and a peculiar mouth gave

one the impression of the head of a reptile, while the magnificent brow suggested a genius.

A nervous twitching shook this peculiar being, who walked, moved, acted by jerks like a broken spring.

This was Algernon Charles Swinburne, son of an English admiral and grandson, on the maternal side, of the

He strange countenance was transfigured when he spoke. I have seldom seen a man more impressive, more

eloquent, incisive or charming in conversation. His rapid, clear, piercing and fantastic imagination seemed to

creep into his voice and to lend life to his words. His brusque gestures enlivened his speech, which penetrated

one like a dagger, and he had bursts of thought, just as lighthouses throw out flashes of fire, great, genial

The home of the two friends was pretty and by no means commonplace. Everywhere were paintings, some

superb, some strange, representing different conceptions of insanity. Unless I am mistaken, there was a

watercolor which represented the head of a dead man floating in a rose colored shell on a boundless ocean,

Here and there I came across bones. I clearly remember a flayed hand on which was hanging some dried skin

and black muscles, and on the snow white bones could be seen the traces of dried blood.

The food was a riddle which I could not solve. Was it good? Was it bad? I could not say. Some roast monkey

took away all desire to make a steady diet of this animal, and the great monkey who roamed about among us

at large and playfully pushed his head into my glass when I wished to drink cured me of any desire I might

As for the two men, they gave me the impression of two strange, original, remarkable minds, belonging to

that peculiar race of talented madmen from among whom have arisen Poe, Hoffmann and many others.

If genius is, as is commonly believed, a sort of aberration of great minds, then Algernon Charles Swinburne is

Great minds that are healthy are never considered geniuses, while this sublime qualification is lavished on

At any rate, this poet remains one of the first of his time, through his originality and polished form. He is an

exalted lyrical singer who seldom bothers about the good and humble truth, which French poets are now

seeking so persistently and patiently. He strives to set down dreams, subtle thoughts, sometimes great,

Two years later I found the house closed and its tenants gone. The furniture was being sold. In memory of

them I bought the hideous flayed hand. On the grass an enormous square block of granite bore this simple

word: "Nip." Above this a hollow stone offered water to the birds. It was the grave of the monkey, who had

been hanged by a young, vindictive negro servant. It was said that this violent domestic had been forced to

flee at the point of his exasperated master's revolver. After wandering about without home or food for several

days, he returned and began to peddle barleysugar in the streets. He was expelled from the country after he

It was a men's dinner party, and they were sitting over their cigars and brandy and discussing magnetism.

Donato's tricks and Charcot's experiments. Presently, the sceptical, easygoing men, who cared nothing for

religion of any sort, began telling stories of strange occurrences, incredible things which, nevertheless, had

really occurred, so they said, falling back into superstitious beliefs, clinging to these last remnants of the

marvellous, becoming devotees of this mystery of magnetism, defending it in the name of science. There was

only one person who smiled, a vigorous young fellow, a great ladies' man who was so incredulous that he

"Humbug! humbug! humbug! We need not discuss Donato, who is merely a very smart juggler. As for M.

Charcot, who is said to be a remarkable man of science, he produces on me the effect of those storytellers of

the school of Edgar Poe, who end by going mad through constantly reflecting on queer cases of insanity. He

has authenticated some cases of unexplained and inexplicable nervous phenomena; he makes his way into

that unknown region which men are exploring every day, and unable always to understand what he sees, he

recalls, perhaps, the ecclesiastical interpretation of these mysteries. I should like to hear what he says

The words of the unbeliever were listened to with a kind of pity, as if he had blasphemed in an assembly of

Then, each mentioned some fact, some fantastic presentiment some instance of souls communicating with

each other across space, or some case of the secret influence of one being over another. They asserted and

maintained that these things had actually occurred, while the sceptic angrily repeated:

At last he rose, threw away his cigar, and with his hands in his pockets, said: "Well, I also have two stories to

"In the little village of Etretat, the men, who are all seafaring folk, go every year to Newfoundland to fish for

cod. One night the little son of one of these fishermen woke up with a start, crying out that his father was

dead. The child was quieted, and again he woke up exclaiming that his father was drowned. A month later the

news came that his father had, in fact, been swept off the deck of his smack by a billow. The widow then

remembered how her son had woke up and spoken of his father's death. Everyone said it was a miracle, and

the affair caused a great sensation. The dates were compared, and it was found that the accident and the

dream were almost coincident, whence they concluded that they had happened on the same night and at the

Thereupon, one of those who had heard him, much affected by the narrative, asked:

"Perfectly, monsieur. I have discovered the secret. The circumstance surprised me and even perplexed me

very much; but you see, I do not believe on principle. Just as others begin by believing, I begin by doubting;

and when I cannot understand, I continue to deny that there can be any telepathic communication between

souls; certain that my own intelligence will be able to explain it. Well, I kept on inquiring into the matter, and

by dint of questioning all the wives of the absent seamen, I was convinced that not a week passed without one

of them, or one of their children dreaming and declaring when they woke up that the father was drowned. The

horrible and continual fear of this accident makes them always talk about it. Now, if one of these frequent

predictions coincides, by a very simple chance, with the death of the person referred to, people at once

declare it to be a miracle; for they suddenly lose sight of all the other predictions of misfortune that have

remained unfulfilled. I have myself known fifty cases where the persons who made the prediction forgot all

about it a week after wards. But, if, then one happens to die, then the recollection of the thing is immediately

revived, and people are ready to believe in the intervention of God, according to some, and magnetism,

"Oh! my second story is a very delicate matter to relate. It happened to myself, and so I don't place any great

value on my own view of the matter. An interested party can never give an impartial opinion. However, here

"Among my acquaintances was a young woman on whom I had never bestowed a thought, whom I had never

"I classed her among the women of no importance, though she was not bad looking; she appeared, in fact, to

possess eyes, a nose, a mouth, some sort of hairjust a colorless type of countenance. She was one of those

beings who awaken only a chance, passing thought, but no special interest, no desire.

"Well, one night, as I was writing some letters by my fireside before going to bed, I was conscious, in the

midst of that train of sensuous visions that sometimes pass through one's brain in moments of idle reverie, of

a kind of slight influence, passing over me, a little flutter of the heart, and immediately, without any cause,

without any logical connection of thought, I saw distinctly, as if I were touching her, saw from head to foot,

and disrobed, this young woman to whom I had never given more that three seconds' thought at a time. I

suddenly discovered in her a number of qualities which I had never before observed, a sweet charm, a

languorous fascination; she awakened in me that sort of restless emotion that causes one to pursue a woman.

But I did not think of her long. I went to bed and was soon asleep. And I dreamed.

"You have all had these strange dreams which make you overcome the impossible, which open to you

"Which of us in these troubled, excising, breathless slumbers, has not held, clasped, embraced with rapture,

the woman who occupied his thoughts? And have you ever noticed what superhuman delight these happy

dreams give us? Into what mad intoxication they cast you! with what passionate spasms they shake you! and

with what infinite, caressing, penetrating tenderness they fill your heart for her whom you hold clasped in

"All this I felt with unforgettable violence. This woman was mine, so much mine that the pleasant warmth of

her skin remained in my fingers, the odor of her skin, in my brain, the taste of her kisses, on my lips, the

sound of her voice lingered in my ears, the touch of her clasp still clung to me, and the burning charm of her

tenderness still gratified my senses long after the delight but disillusion of my awakening.

"When the day dawned she haunted me, possessed me, filled my senses to such an extent that I was not one

"At last, not knowing what to do, I dressed myself and went to call on her. As I went upstairs to her

apartment, I was so overcome by emotion that I trembled, and my heart beat rapidly.

"I entered the apartment. She rose the moment she heard my name mentioned; and suddenly our eyes met in a

"I sat down. I stammered out some commonplaces which she seemed not to hear. I did not know what to say

or do. Then, abruptly, clasping my arms round her, my dream was realized so suddenly that I began to doubt

"The conclusion I draw from itwell, by Jove, the conclusion is that it was just a coincidence! And

thenwho can tell? Perhaps it was some glance of hers which I had not noticed and which came back that

night to me through one of those mysterious and unconsciousrecollections that often bring before us things

"Call it whatever you like," said one of his table companions, when the story was finished; "but if you don't

All VeziersleRethel had followed the funeral procession of M. Badon Leremince to the grave, and the

last words of the funeral oration pronounced by the delegate of the district remained in the minds of all: "He

An honest man he had been in all the known acts of his life, in his words, in his examples, his attitude, his

behavior, his enterprises, in the cut of his beard and the shape of his hats. He never had said a word that did

not set an example, never had given an alms without adding a word of advice, never had extended his hand

He left two children, a boy and a girl. His son was counselor general, and his daughter, having married a

They were inconsolable at the death of their father, for they loved him sincerely.

As soon as the ceremony was over, the son, daughter and soninlaw returned to the house of mourning, and,

shutting themselves in the library, they opened the will, the seals of which were to be broken by them alone

and only after the coffin had been placed in the ground. This wish was expressed by a notice on the envelope.

M. Poirel de la Voulte tore open the envelope, in his character of a lawyer used to such operations, and

having adjusted his spectacles, he read in a monotonous voice, made for reading the details of contracts:

I was twentysix years old, and I had just been called to the bar in Paris, and was living the life off young

men from the provinces who are stranded in this town without acquaintances, relatives, or friends.

I took a sweetheart. There are beings who cannot live alone. I was one of those. Solitude fills me with

horrible anguish, the solitude of my room beside my fire in the evening. I feel then as if I were alone on earth,

alone, but surrounded by vague dangers, unknown and terrible things; and the partition that separates me

from my neighbor, my neighbor whom I do not know, keeps me at as great a distance from him as the stars

that I see through my window. A sort of fever pervades me, a fever of impatience and of fear, and the silence

of the walls terrifies me. The silence of a room where one lives alone is so intense and so melancholy It is not

only a silence of the mind; when a piece of furniture cracks a shudder goes through you for you expect no

How many times, nervous and timid from this motionless silence, I have begun to talk, to repeat words

without rhyme or reason, only to make some sound. My voice at those times sounds so strange that I am

afraid of that, too. Is there anything more dreadful than talking to one's self in an empty house? One's voice

sounds like that of another, an unknown voice talking aimlessly, to no one, into the empty air, with no ear to

listen to it, for one knows before they escape into the solitude of the room exactly what words will be uttered.

And when they resound lugubriously in the silence, they seem no more than an echo, the peculiar echo of

My sweetheart was a young girl like other young girls who live in Paris on wages that are insufficient to keep

them. She was gentle, good, simple. Her parents lived at Poissy. She went to spend several days with them

For a year I lived quietly with her, fully decided to leave her when I should find some one whom I liked well

enough to marry. I would make a little provision for this one, for it is an understood thing in our social set

that a woman's love should be paid for, in money if she is poor, in presents if she is rich.

But one day she told me she was enceinte. I was thunderstruck, and saw in a second that my life would be

ruined. I saw the fetter that I should wear until my death, everywhere, in my future family life, in my old age,

forever; the fetter of a woman bound to my life through a child; the fetter of the child whom I must bring up,

watch over, protect, while keeping myself unknown to him, and keeping him hidden from the world.

I was greatly disturbed at this news, and a confused longing, a criminal desire, surged through my mind; I did

not formulate it, but I felt it in my heart, ready to come to the surface, as if some one hidden behind a portiere

should await the signal to come out. If some accident might only happen! So many of these little beings die

Oh! I did not wish my sweetheart to die! The poor girl, I loved her very much! But I wished, possibly, that

He was born. I set up housekeeping in my little bachelor apartment, an imitation home, with a horrible child.

He looked like all children; I did not care for him. Fathers, you see, do not show affection until later. They

have not the instinctive and passionate tenderness of mothers; their affection has to be awakened gradually,

their mind must become attached by bonds formed each day between beings that live in each other's society.

A year passed. I now avoided my home, which was too small, where soiled linen, babyclothes and stockings

the size of gloves were lying round, where a thousand articles of all descriptions lay on the furniture, on the

arm of an easychair, everywhere. I went out chiefly that I might not hear the child cry, for he cried on the

slightest pretext, when he was bathed, when he was touched, when he was put to bed, when he was taken up

I had made a few acquaintances, and I met at a reception the woman who was to be your mother. I fell in love

with her and became desirous to marry her. I courted her; I asked her parents' consent to our marriage and it

I found myself in this dilemma: I must either marry this young girl whom I adored, having a child already, or

else tell the truth and renounce her, and happiness, my future, everything; for her parents, who were people of

I passed a month of horrible anguish, of mortal torture, a month haunted by a thousand frightful thoughts; and

I felt developing in me a hatred toward my son, toward that little morsel of living, screaming flesh, who

blocked my path, interrupted my life, condemned me to an existence without hope, without all those vague

But just then my companion's mother became ill, and I was left alone with the child.

My companion had just left. I had dined alone in my little dining room and I went gently into the room

I sat down in an armchair before the fire. The wind was blowing, making the windows rattle, a dry, frosty

wind; and I saw trough the window the stars shining with that piercing brightness that they have on frosty

Then the idea that had obsessed me for a month rose again to the surface. As soon as I was quiet it came to

me and harassed me. It ate into my mind like a fixed idea, just as cancers must eat into the flesh. It was there,

in my head, in my heart, in my whole body, it seemed to me; and it swallowed me up as a wild beast might

have. I endeavored to drive it away, to repulse it, to open my mind to other thoughts, as one opens a window

to the fresh morning breeze to drive out the vitiated air; but I could not drive it from my brain, not even for a

second. I do not know how to express this torture. It gnawed at my soul, and I felt a frightful pain, a real

My life was ruined! How could I escape from this situation? How could I draw back, and how could I

And I loved the one who was to become your mother with a mad passion, which this insurmountable obstacle

A terrible rage was taking possession of me, choking me, a rage that verged on madness! Surely I was crazy

The child was sleeping. I got up and looked at it as it slept. It was he, this abortion, this spawn, this nothing,

He was asleep, his mouth open, wrapped in his bedclothes in a crib beside my bed, where I could not sleep.

How did I ever do what I did? How do I know? What force urged me on? What malevolent power took

possession of me? Oh! the temptation to crime came to me without any forewarning. All I recall is that my

heart beat tumultuously. It beat so hard that I could hear it, as one hears the strokes of a hammer behind a

partition. That is all I can recallthe beating of my heart! In my head there was a strange confusion, a

tumult, a senseless disorder, a lack of presence of mind. It was one of those hours of bewilderment and

hallucination when a man is neither conscious of his actions nor able to guide his will.

I gently raised the coverings from the body of the child; I turned them down to the foot of the crib, and he lay

He did not wake. Then I went toward the window, softly, quite softly, and I opened it.

A breath of icy air glided in like an assassin; it was so cold that I drew aside, and the two candles flickered. I

remained standing near the window, not daring to turn round, as if for fear of seeing what was doing on

behind me, and feeling the icy air continually across my forehead, my cheeks, my hands, the deadly air which

I was not thinking, I was not reflecting. All at once a little cough caused me to shudder frightfully from head

to foot, a shudder that I feel still to the roots of my hair. And with a frantic movement I abruptly closed both

He was still asleep, his mouth open, quite naked. I touched his legs; they were icy cold and I covered them

My heart was suddenly touched, grieved, filled with pity, tenderness, love for this poor innocent being that I

had wished to kill. I kissed his fine, soft hair long and tenderly; then I went and sat down before the fire.

I reflected with amazement with horror on what I had done, asking myself whence come those tempests of

the soul in which a man loses all perspective of things, all command over himself and acts as in a condition of

The child coughed again, and it gave my heart a wrench. Suppose it should die! O God! O God! What would

I rose from my chair to go and look at him, and with a candle in my hand I leaned over him. Seeing him

breathing quietly I felt reassured, when he coughed a third time. It gave me such a shock tat I started

backward, just as one does at sight of something horrible, and let my candle fall.

As I stood erect after picking it up, I noticed that my temples were bathed in perspiration, that cold sweat

which is the result of anguish of soul. And I remained until daylight bending over my son, becoming calm

when he remained quiet for some time, and filled with atrocious pain when a weak cough came from his

When the woman came in to arrange my room I sent her at once for a doctor. He came at the end of an hour,

He came that evening. My son had remained almost all day in a condition of drowsiness, coughing from time

That lasted ten days. I cannot express what I suffered in those interminable hours that divide morning from

And sincesince that moment, I have not passed one hour, not a single hour, without the frightful burning

recollection, a gnawing recollection, a memory that seems to wring my heart, awaking in me like a savage

M. Poirel de la Voulte raised his spectacles with a motion that was peculiar to him whenever he finished

reading a contract; and the three heirs of the defunct looked at one another without speaking, pale and

The other two bent their heads in sign of assent. He lighted a candle, carefully separated the pages containing

the damaging confession from those relating to the disposition of money, then he held them over the candle

And they watched the white sheets as they burned, till they were presently reduced to little crumbling black

heaps. And as some words were still visible in white tracing, the daughter, with little strokes of the toe of her

Then all three stood there watching it for some time, as if they feared that the destroyed secret might escape

I recalled this horrible story, the events of which occurred long ago, and this horrible woman, the other day at

a fashionable seaside resort, where I saw on the beach a wellknown young, elegant and charming

I had been invited by a friend to pay him a visit in a little provincial town. He took me about in all directions

to do the honors of the place, showed me noted scenes, chateaux, industries, ruins. He pointed out

monuments, churches, old carved doorways, enormous or distorted trees, the oak of St. Andrew, and the yew

When I had exhausted my admiration and enthusiasm over all the sights, my friend said with a distressed

expression on his face, that there was nothing left to look at. I breathed freely. I would now be able to rest

"She is an abominable woman," he replied, "a regular demon, a being who voluntarily brings into the world

deformed, hideous, frightful children, monstrosities, in fact, and then sells them to showmen who exhibit

"These exploiters of freaks come from time to time to find out if she has any fresh monstrosity, and if it meets

with their approval they carry it away with them, paying the mother a compensation.

"You think I am joking, romancing, exaggerating. No, my friend; I am telling you the truth, the exact truth.

He took me into one of the suburbs. The woman lived in a pretty little house by the side of the road. It was

attractive and well kept. The garden was filled with fragrant flowers. One might have supposed it to be the

A maid ushered us into a sort of little country parlor, and the wretch appeared. She was about forty. She was

a tall, big woman with hard features, but well formed, vigorous and healthy, the true type of a robust peasant

She was aware of her reputation and received everyone with a humility that smacked of hatred.

"They tell me that your last child is just like an ordinary child, that he does not resemble his brothers at all,"

"Oh, no, oh, no, my poor sir! He is perhaps even uglier than the rest. I have no luck, no luck!

They are all like that, it is heartbreaking! How can the good God be so hard on a poor woman who is all alone

in the world, how can He?" She spoke hurriedly, her eyes cast down, with a deprecating air as of a wild beast

who is afraid. Her harsh voice became soft, and it seemed strange to hear those tearful falsetto tones issuing

from that big, bony frame, of unusual strength and with coarse outlines, which seemed fitted for violent

I fancied she colored up. I may have been deceived. After a few moments of silence, she said in a louder

"Why do you not wish to show it to us?" replied my friend. "There are many people to whom you will show

She gave a start, and resuming her natural voice, and giving free play to her anger, she screamed:

"Was that why you came here? To insult me? Because my children are like animals, tell me? You shall not

see him, no, no, you shall not see him! Go away, go away! I do not know why you all try to torment me like

She walked over toward us, her hands on her hips. At the brutal tone of her voice, a sort of moaning, or rather

a mewing, the lamentable cry of an idiot, came from the adjoining room. I shivered to the marrow of my

"Take care, Devil" (they called her the Devil); said my friend, "take care; some day you will get yourself into

She was about to attack us, but we fled, saddened at what we had seen. When we got outside, my friend said:

And this is what he told me as we walked along the white high road, with ripe crops on either side of it which

"This woman was one a servant on a farm. She was an honest girl, steady and economical. She was never

known to have an admirer, and never suspected of any frailty. But she went astray, as so many do.

"She soon found herself in trouble, and was tortured with fear and shame. Wishing to conceal her misfortune,

she bound her body tightly with a corset of her own invention, made of boards and cord. The more she

developed, the more she bound herself with this instrument of torture, suffering martyrdom, but brave in her

sorrow, not allowing anyone to see, or suspect, anything. She maimed the little unborn being, cramping it

with that frightful corset, and made a monster of it. Its head was squeezed and elongated to a point, and its

large eyes seemed popping out of its head. Its limbs, exaggeratedly long, and twisted like the stalk of a vine,

terminated in fingers like the claws of a spider. Its trunk was tiny, and round as a nut.

"The child was born in an open field, and when the weeders saw it, they fled away, screaming, and the report

spread that she had given birth to a demon. From that time on, she was called 'the Devil.'

"She was driven from the farm, and lived on charity, under a cloud. She brought up the monster, whom she

hated with a savage hatred, and would have strangled, perhaps, if the priest had not threatened her with arrest.

"One day some travelling showmen heard about the frightful creature, and asked to see it, so that if it pleased

them they might take it away. They were pleased, and counted out five hundred francs to the mother. At first,

she had refused to let them see the little animal, as she was ashamed; but when she discovered it had a money

value, and that these people were anxious to get it, she began to haggle with them, raising her price with all a

"She made them draw up a paper, in which they promised to pay her four hundred francs a year besides, as

"Incited by the greed of gain, she continued to produce these phenomena, so as to have an assured income

"Some of them were long, some short, some like crabsall bodiesothers like lizards. Several died, and she

"The law tried to interfere, but as they had no proof they let her continue to produce her freaks.

She has at this moment eleven alive, and they bring in, on an average, counting good and bad years, from five

to six thousand francs a year. One, alone, is not placed, the one she was unwilling to show us. But she will

not keep it long, for she is known to all the showmen in the world, who come from time to time to see if she

My friend was silent. A profound disgust stirred my heart, and a feeling of rage, of regret, to think that I had

I had forgotten this story, when I saw on the beach of a fashionable resort the other day, an elegant, charming,

I was walking along the beach, arm in arm with a friend, the resident physician. Ten minutes later, I saw a

nursemaid with three children, who were rolling in the sand. A pair of little crutches lay on the ground, and

touched my sympathy. I then noticed that these three children were all deformed, humpbacked, or crooked;

"Those are the offspring of that charming woman you saw just now," said the doctor.

I was filled with pity for her, as well as for them, and exclaimed: "Oh, the poor mother! How can she ever

"Do not pity her, my friend. Pity the poor children," replied the doctor. "This is the consequence of

preserving a slender figure up to the last. These little deformities were made by the corset. She knows very

well that she is risking her life at this game. But what does she care, as long as lie can be beautiful and have

And then I recalled that other woman, the peasant, the "Devil," who sold her children, her monsters.

One autumn I went to spend the hunting season with some friends in a chateau in Picardy.

My friends were fond of practical jokes. I do not care to know people who are not.

When I arrived, they gave me a princely reception, which at once awakened suspicion in my mind. They fired

off rifles, embraced me, made much of me, as if they expected to have great fun at my expense.

During the dinner the mirth was excessive, exaggerated, in fact. I thought: "Here are people who have more

than their share of amusement, and apparently without reason. They must have planned some good joke.

During the entire evening every one laughed in an exaggerated fashion. I scented a practical joke in the air, as

a dog scents game. But what was it? I was watchful, restless. I did not let a word, or a meaning, or a gesture

escape me. Every one seemed to me an object of suspicion, and I even looked distrustfully at the faces of the

The hour struck for retiring; and the whole household came to escort me to my room. Why?

They called to me: "Goodnight." I entered the apartment, shut the door, and remained standing, without

I heard laughter and whispering in the corridor. Without doubt they were spying on me. I cast a glance round

the walls, the furniture, the ceiling, the hangings, the floor. I saw nothing to justify suspicion. I heard persons

moving about outside my door. I had no doubt they were looking through the keyhole.

An idea came into my head: "My candle may suddenly go out and leave me in darkness."

Then I went across to the mantelpiece and lighted all the wax candles that were on it. After that I cast another

glance around me without discovering anything. I advanced with short steps, carefully examining the

apartment. Nothing. I inspected every article, one after the other. Still nothing. I went over to the window.

The shutters, large wooden shutters, were open. I shut them with great care, and then drew the curtains,

enormous velvet curtains, and placed a chair in front of them, so as to have nothing to fear from outside.

Then I cautiously sat down. The armchair was solid. I did not venture to get into the bed. However, the night

was advancing; and I ended by coming to the conclusion that I was foolish. If they were spying on me, as I

supposed, they must, while waiting for the success of the joke they had been preparing for me, have been

laughing immoderately at my terror. So I made up my mind to go to bed. But the bed was particularly

All the same, there was danger. I was going perhaps to receive a cold shower both from overhead, or perhaps,

the moment I stretched myself out, to find myself sinking to the floor with my mattress. I searched in my

memory for all the practical jokes of which I ever had experience. And I did not want to be caught. Ah!

certainly not! certainly not! Then I suddenly bethought myself of a precaution which I considered insured

safety. I caught hold of the side of the mattress gingerly, and very slowly drew it toward me. It came away,

followed by the sheet and the rest of the bedclothes. I dragged all these objects into the very middle of the

room, facing the entrance door. I made my bed over again as best I could at some distance from the suspected

bedstead and the corner which had filled me with such anxiety. Then I extinguished all the candles, and,

For at least another hour I remained awake, starting at the slightest sound. Everything seemed quiet in the

I must have been in a deep sleep for a long time, but all of a sudden I was awakened with a start by the fall of

a heavy body tumbling right on top of my own, and, at the same time, I received on my face, on my neck, and

on my chest a burning liquid which made me utter a howl of pain. And a dreadful noise, as if a sideboard

I was smothering beneath the weight that was crushing me and preventing me from moving. I stretched out

my hand to find out what was the nature of this object. I felt a face, a nose, and whiskers. Then, with all my

strength, I launched out a blow at this face. But I immediately received a hail of cuffings which made me

jump straight out of the soaked sheets, and rush in my nightshirt into the corridor, the door of which I found

Oh, heavens! it was broad daylight. The noise brought my friends hurrying into my apartment, and we found,

sprawling over my improvised bed, the dismayed valet, who, while bringing me my morning cup of tea, had

tripped over this obstacle in the middle of the floor and fallen on his stomach, spilling my breakfast over my

The precautions I had taken in closing the shutters and going to sleep in the middle of the room had only

Hello! there's Milial!" said somebody near me. I looked at the man who had been pointed out as I had been

He was no longer young. His gray hair looked a little like those fur bonnets worn by certain Northern

peoples, and his long beard, which fell down over his chest, had also somewhat the appearance of fur. He was

talking to a lady, leaning toward her, speaking in a low voice and looking at her with an expression full of

I knew his life, or at least as much as was known of it. He had loved madly several times, and there had been

certain tragedies with which his name had been connected. When I spoke to women who were the loudest in

his praise, and asked them whence came this power, they always answered, after thinking for a while: "I don't

He was certainly not handsome. He had none of the elegance that we ascribe to conquerors of feminine

hearts. I wondered what might be his hid den charm. Was it mental? I never had heard of a clever saying of

his. In his glance? Perhaps. Or in his voice? The voices of some beings have a certain irresistible attraction,

almost suggesting the flavor of things good to eat. One is hungry for them, and the sound of their words

penetrates us like a dainty morsel. A friend was passing. I asked him: "Do you know Monsieur Milial?"

A minute later we were shaking hands and talking in the doorway. What he said was correct, agreeable to

hear; it contained no irritable thought. The voice was sweet, soft, caressing, musical; but I had heard others

much more attractive, much more moving. One listened to him with pleasure, just as one would look at a

pretty little brook. No tension of the mind was necessary in order to follow him, no hidden meaning aroused

curiosity, no expectation awoke interest. His conversation was rather restful, but it did not awaken in one

either a desire to answer, to contradict or to approve, and it was as easy to answer him as it was to listen to

him. The response came to the lips of its own accord, as soon as he had finished talking, and phrases turned

One thought soon struck me. I had known him for a quarter of an hour, and it seemed as if he were already

one of my old friends, that I had known all about him for a long time; his face, his gestures, his voice, his

ideas. Suddenly, after a few minutes of conversation, he seemed already to be installed in my intimacy. All

constraint disappeared between us, and, had he so desired, I might have confided in him as one confides only

Certainly there was some mystery about him. Those barriers that are closed between most people and that are

lowered with time when sympathy, similar tastes, equal intellectual culture and constant intercourse remove

constraintthose barriers seemed not to exist between him and me, and no doubt this was the case between

After half an hour we parted, promising to see each other often, and he gave me his address after inviting me

I forgot what hour he had stated, and I arrived too soon; he was not yet home. A correct and silent domestic

showed me into a beautiful, quiet, softly lighted parlor. I felt comfortable there, at home. How often I have

noticed the influence of apartments on the character and on the mind! There are some which make one feel

foolish; in others, on the contrary, one always feels lively. Some make us sad, although well lighted and

decorated in lightcolored furniture; others cheer us up, although hung with sombre material. Our eye, like

our heart, has its likes and dislikes, of which it does not inform us, and which it secretly imposes on our

temperament. The harmony of furniture, walls, the style of an ensemble, act immediately on our mental state,

just as the air from the woods, the sea or the mountains modifies our physical natures.

I sat down on a cushioncovered divan and felt myself suddenly carried and supported by these little silk

bags of feathers, as if the outline of my body had been marked out beforehand on this couch.

Then I looked about. There was nothing striking about the room; every where were beautiful and modest

things, simple and rare furniture, Oriental curtains which did not seem to come from a department store but

from the interior of a harem; and exactly opposite me hung the portrait of a woman. It was a portrait of

medium size, showing the head and the upper part of the body, and the hands, which were holding a book.

She was young, bareheaded; ribbons were woven in her hair; she was smiling sadly. Was it because she was

bareheaded, was it merely her natural expression? I never have seen a portrait of a lady which seemed so

much in its place as that one in that dwelling. Of all those I knew I have seen nothing like that one. All those

that I know are on exhibition, whether the lady be dressed in her gaudiest gown, with an attractive headdress

and a look which shows that she is posing first of all before the artist and then before those who will look at

her or whether they have taken a comfortable attitude in an ordinary gown. Some are standing majestically in

all their beauty, which is not at all natural to them in life. All of them have something, a flower or, a jewel, a

crease in the dress or a curve of the lip, which one feels to have been placed there for effect by the artist.

Whether they wear a hat or merely their hair one can immediately notice that they are not entirely natural.

Why? One cannot say without knowing them, but the effect is there. They seem to be calling somewhere, on

people whom they wish to please and to whom they wish to appear at their best advantage; and they have

What could one say about this one? She was at home and alone. Yes, she was alone, for she was smiling as

one smiles when thinking in solitude of something sad or sweet, and not as one smiles when one is being

watched. She seemed so much alone and so much at home that she made the whole large apartment seem

absolutely empty. She alone lived in it, filled it, gave it life. Many people might come in and converse, laugh,

even sing; she would still be alone with a solitary smile, and she alone would give it life with her pictured

That look also was unique. It fell directly on me, fixed and caressing, without seeing me. All portraits know

that they are being watched, and they answer with their eyes, which see, think, follow us without leaving us,

from the very moment we enter the apartment they inhabit. This one did not see me; it saw nothing, although

its look was fixed directly on me. I remembered the surprising verse of Baudelaire:

They did indeed attract me in an irresistible manner; those painted eyes which had lived, or which were

perhaps still living, threw over me a strange, powerful spell. Oh, what an infinite and tender charm, like a

passing breeze, like a dying sunset of lilac rose and blue, a little sad like the approaching night, which comes

behind the sombre frame and out of those impenetrable eyes! Those eyes, created by a few strokes from a

brush, hide behind them the mystery of that which seems to be and which does not exist, which can appear in

The door opened and M. Milial entered. He excused himself for being late. I excused myself for being ahead

The north wind was blowing a hurricane, driving through the sky big, black, heavy clouds from which the

A high sea was raging and dashing its huge, slow, foamy waves along the coast with the rumbling sound of

thunder. The waves followed each other close, rolling in as high as mountains, scattering the foam as they

The storm engulfed itself in the little valley of Yport, whistling and moaning, tearing the shingles from the

roofs, smashing the shutters, knocking down the chimneys, rushing through the narrow streets in such gusts

that one could walk only by holding on to the walls, and children would have been lifted up like leaves and

The fishing smacks had been hauled high up on land, because at high tide the sea would sweep the beach.

Several sailors, sheltered behind the curved bottoms of their boats, were watching this battle of the sky and

Then, one by one, they went away, for night was falling on the storm, wrapping in shadows the raging ocean

Just two men remained, their hands plunged deep into their pockets, bending their backs beneath the squall,

their woolen caps pulled down over their ears; two big Normandy fishermen, bearded, their skin tanned

through exposure, with the piercing black eyes of the sailor who looks over the horizon like a bird of prey.

The other hesitated a while, tempted on one hand by the game and the thought of brandy, knowing well that,

if he went to Paumelle's, he would return home drunk; held back, on the other hand, by the idea of his wife

"Any one might think that you had made a bet to get me drunk every night. Say, what good is it doing you,

Nevertheless he was smiling at the idea of all this brandy drunk at the expense of another. He was smiling the

"Come on, Jeremie. This isn't the kind of a night to go home without anything to warm you up. What are you

"The other night I couldn't find the doorI had to be fished out of the ditch in front of the house!"

He was still laughing at this drunkard's recollection, and he was unconsciously going toward Paumelle's Cafe,

where a light was shining in the window; he was going, pulled by Mathurin and pushed by the wind, unable

The low room was full of sailors, smoke and noise. All these men, clad in woolens, their elbows on the

tables, were shouting to make themselves heard. The more people came in, the more one had to shout in order

to overcome the noise of voices and the rattling of dominoes on the marble tables.

Jeremie and Mathurin sat down in a corner and began a game, and the glasses were emptied in rapid

Then they played more games and drank more glasses. Mathurin kept pouring and winking to the saloon

keeper, a big, redfaced man, who chuckled as though at the thought of some fine joke; and Jeremie kept

absorbing alcohol and wagging his head, giving vent to a roar of laughter and looking at his comrade with a

All the customers were going away. Every time that one of them would open the door to leave a gust of wind

would blow into the cafe, making the tobacco smoke swirl around, swinging the lamps at the end of their

chains and making their flames flicker, and suddenly one could hear the deep booming of a breaking wave

Jeremie, his collar unbuttoned, was taking drunkard's poses, one leg outstretched, one arm hanging down and

"Well, Jeremie, how goes it inside? Feel less thirsty after wetting your throat?"

And both of them looked toward Jeremie, who was triumphantly putting down the double six and

"Well, boys, I'm goin' to bed. I will leave you the lamp and the bottle; there's twenty cents' worth in it. Lock

the door when you go, Mathurin, and slip the key under the mat the way you did the other night."

Paumelle shook hands with his two customers and slowly went up the wooden stairs. For several minutes his

heavy step echoed through the little house. Then a loud creaking announced that he had got into bed.

The two men continued to play. From time to time a more violent gust of wind would shake the whole house,

and the two drinkers would look up, as though some one were about to enter. Then Mathurin would take the

bottle and fill Jeremie's glass. But suddenly the clock over the bar struck twelve. Its hoarse clang sounded like

the rattling of saucepans. Then Mathurin got up like a sailor whose watch is over.

The other man rose to his feet with difficulty, got his balance by leaning on the table, reached the door and

Jeremie took a few steps, staggered, stretched out his hands, met a wall which supported him and began to

stumble along. From time to time a gust of wind would sweep through the street, pushing him forward,

making him run for a few steps; then, when the wind would die down, he would stop short, having lost his

impetus, and once more he would begin to stagger on his unsteady drunkard's legs.

He went instinctively toward his home, just as birds go to their nests. Finally he recognized his door, and

began to feel about for the keyhole and tried to put the key in it. Not finding the hole, he began to swear.

Then he began to beat on the door with his fists, calling for his wife to come and help him:

As he leaned against the door for support, it gave way and opened, and Jeremie, losing his prop, fell inside,

rolling on his face into the middle of his room, and he felt something heavy pass over him and escape in the

He was no longer moving, dazed by fright, bewildered, fearing the devil, ghosts, all the mysterious beings of

darkness, and he waited a long time without daring to move. But when he found out that nothing else was

Gently he sat up. Again he waited a long time, and at last, growing bolder, he called:

Then, suddenly, a suspicion crossed his darkened mind, an indistinct, vague suspicion. He was not moving;

he was sitting there in the dark, trying to gather together his scattered wits, his mind stumbling over

He waited, no voice was raised in the darkness. He was now reasoning with himself out loud.

"I'm drunk, all right! I'm drunk! And he filled me up, the dog; he did it, to stop my goin' home. I'm drunk!"

After having waited again, he went on with the slow and obstinate logic of a drunkard:

"He's been keeping me at that loafer Paumelle's place every night, so as to stop my going home. It's some

Slowly he got on his knees. A blind fury was gaining possession of him, mingling with the fumes of alcohol.

He was now standing, trembling with a wild fury, as though the alcohol had set his blood on fire. He took a

step, knocked against a chair, seized it, went on, reached the bed, ran his hands over it and felt the warm body

And, lifting the chair, which he was holding in his strong sailor's grip, he swung it down before him with an

exasperated fury. A cry burst from the bed, an agonizing, piercing cry. Then he began to thrash around like a

thresher in a barn. And soon nothing more moved. The chair was broken to pieces, but he still held one leg

Then tired out, stupefied from his exertion, he stretched himself out on the ground and slept.

When day came a neighbor, seeing the door open, entered. He saw Jeremie snoring on the floor, amid the

As we sat chatting after dinner, a party of men, the conversation turned on women, for lack of something else.

"Here's a funny thing that happened to me on, that very subject." And he told us the following story:

One evening last winter I suddenly felt overcome by that overpowering sense of misery and languor that

takes possession of one from time to time. I was in my own apartment, all alone, and I was convinced that if I

gave in to my feelings I should have a terrible attack of melancholia, one of those attacks that lead to suicide

I put on my overcoat and went out without the slightest idea of what I was going to do. Having gone as far as

the boulevards, I began to wander along by the almost empty cafes. It was raining, a fine rain that affects your

mind as it does your clothing, not one of those good downpours which come down in torrents, driving

breathless passersby into doorways, but a rain without drops that deposits on your clothing an imperceptible

What should I do? I walked in one direction and then came back, looking for some place where I could spend

two hours, and discovering for the first time that there is no place of amusement in Paris in the evening. At

last I decided to go to the FoliesBergere, that entertaining resort for gay women.

There were very few people in the main hall. In the long horseshoe curve there were only a few ordinary

looking people, whose plebeian origin was apparent in their manners, their clothes, the cut of their hair and

beard, their hats, their complexion. It was rarely that one saw from time to time a man whom you suspected

of having washed himself thoroughly, and his whole makeup seemed to match. As for the women, they

were always the same, those frightful women you all know, ugly, tired looking, drooping, and walking along

in their lackadaisical manner, with that air of foolish superciliousness which they assume, I do not know why.

I thought to myself that, in truth, not one of those languid creatures, greasy rather than fat, puffed out here

and thin there, with the contour of a monk and the lower extremities of a bowlegged snipe, was worth the

But all at once I saw a little creature whom I thought attractive, not in her first youth, but fresh, comical and

tantalizing. I stopped her, and stupidly, without thinking, I made an appointment with her for that night. I did

not want to go back to my own home alone, all alone; I preferred the company and the caresses of this hussy.

And I followed her. She lived in a great big house in the Rue des Martyrs. The gas was already extinguished

on the stairway. I ascended the steps slowly, lighting a candle match every few seconds, stubbing my foot

against the steps, stumbling and angry as I followed the rustle of the skirt ahead of me.

"All right, my dear, I just wanted to know. Wait for me here a minute, I will be right back."

And she left me in the darkness. I heard her shutting two doors and then I thought I heard her talking. I was

surprised and uneasy. The thought that she had a protector staggered me. But I have good fists and a solid

I listened attentively with ear and mind. Some one was stirring about, walking quietly and very carefully.

Then another door was opened and I thought I again heard some one talking, but in a very low tone.

She said "thou" in speaking to me, which was an indication of possession. I went in and after passing through

a dining room in which it was very evident that no one ever ate, I entered a typical room of all these women,

I gave a suspicious glance at the room, but there seemed no reason for uneasiness.

Five minutes later I longed to put on my things and get away. But this terrible languor that had overcome me

at home took possession of me again, and deprived me of energy enough to move and I stayed in spite of the

disgust that I felt for this association. The unusual attractiveness that I supposed I had discovered in this

creature over there under the chandeliers of the theater had altogether vanished on closer acquaintance, and

she was nothing more to me now than a common woman, like all the others, whose indifferent and

And she began to tell me an interminable story of a janitor who had talked scandal about her.

But, suddenly, I heard something moving quite close to us. First there was a sigh, then a slight, but distinct,

"Do not be uneasy, my dear boy, it is my neighbor. The partition is so thin that one can hear everything as if

I felt so lazy that I paid no further attention to it. We resumed our conversation. Driven by the stupid curiosity

that prompts all men to question these creatures about their first experiences, to attempt to lift the veil of their

first folly, as though to find in them a trace of pristine innocence, to love them, possibly, in a fleeting memory

of their candor and modesty of former days, evoked by a word, I insistently asked her about her earlier lovers.

I knew she was telling me lies. What did it matter? Among all these lies I might, perhaps, discover something

But I suddenly recalled the theory of a friend of mine, an observant and philosophical physician whom

constant attendance in hospitals has brought into daily contact with girlmothers and prostitutes, with all the

shame and all the misery of women, of those poor women who have become the frightful prey of the

"A woman," he said, "is always debauched by a man of her own class and position. I have volumes of

statistics on that subject. We accuse the rich of plucking the flower of innocence among the girls of the

people. This is not correct. The rich pay for what they want. They may gather some, but never for the first

"I am a sorcerer, my dear girl, I am a clairvoyant. If you do not tell me the truth, I will go into a trance sleep

There was a festival in the country. They had sent for a special chef, M. Alexandre. As soon as he came he

did just as he pleased in the house. He bossed every one, even the proprietor and his wife, as if he had been a

king. He was a big handsome man, who did not seem fitted to stand beside a kitchen range. He was always

calling out, 'Come, some butter some eggssome Madeira!' And it had to be brought to him at once in a

"When the day was over he would smoke a pipe outside the door. And as I was passing by him with a pile of

plates he said to me, like that: 'Come, girlie, come down to the water with me and show me the country.' I

went with him like a fool, and we had hardly got down to the bank of the river when he took advantage of me

so suddenly that I did not even know what he was doing. And then he went away on the nine o'clock train. I

"Oh! Well, then, you made the boating man believe that he was the father, did you not?"

"All right, my girl, all right. You are all of you less stupid than one would imagine, all the same. And how old

"That is splendid. And since then you have carried on your business conscientiously?"

But a loud noise just then coming from the room itself made me start up with a bound. It sounded like some

one falling and picking themselves up again by feeling along the wall with their hands.

I had seized the candle and was looking about me, terrified and furious. She had risen also and was trying to

But I had discovered what direction the strange noise came from. I walked straight towards a door hidden at

the head of the bed and I opened it abruptly and saw before me, trembling, his bright, terrified eyes opened

wide at sight of me, a little pale, thin boy seated beside a large wicker chair off which he had fallen.

As soon as he saw me he began to cry. Stretching out his arms to his mother, he cried:

"It was not my fault, mamma, it was not my fault. I was asleep, and I fell off. Do not scold me, it was not my

"What do you want me to do? I do not earn enough to put him to school! I have to keep him with me, and I

cannot afford to pay for another room, by heavens! He sleeps with me when I am alone. If any one comes for

one hour or two he can stay in the wardrobe; he keeps quiet, he understands it. But when people stay all

It is not his fault. I should like to see you sleep all night on a chairyou would have something to say."

The child was still crying. A poor delicate timid little fellow, a veritable child of the wardrobe, of the cold,

dark closet, a child who from time to time was allowed to get a little warmth in the bed if it chanced to be

You asked me to write to you often and to tell you in particular about the things I might see. You also begged

me to rummage among my recollections of travels for some of those little anecdotes gathered from a chance

peasant, from an innkeeper, from some strange traveling acquaintance, which remain as landmarks in the

memory. With a landscape depicted in a few lines, and a little story told in a few sentences you think one can

give the true characteristics of a country, make it living, visible, dramatic. I will try to do as you wish. I will,

therefore, send you from time to time letters in which I will mention neither you nor myself, but only the

Spring is a season in which one ought, it seems to me, to drink and eat the landscape. It is the season of chills,

just as autumn is the season of reflection. In spring the country rouses the physical senses, in autumn it enters

I desired this year to breathe the odor of orange blossoms and I set out for the South of France just at the time

that every one else was returning home. I visited Monaco, the shrine of pilgrims, rival of Mecca and

Jerusalem, without leaving any gold in any one else's pockets, and I climbed the high mountain beneath a

Have you ever slept, my friend, in a grove of orange trees in flower? The air that one inhales with delight is a

quintessence of perfumes. The strong yet sweet odor, delicious as some dainty, seems to blend with our

being, to saturate us, to intoxicate us, to enervate us, to plunge us into a sleepy, dreamy torpor. As though it

This is a country of ravines. The surface of the mountains is cleft, hollowed out in all directions, and in these

sinuous crevices grow veritable forests of lemon trees. Here and there where the steep gorge is interrupted by

a sort of step, a kind of reservoir has been built which holds the water of the rain storms.

They are large holes with slippery walls with nothing for any one to grasp hold of should they fall in.

I was walking slowly in one of these ascending valleys or gorges, glancing through the foliage at the

vividhued fruit that remained on the branches. The narrow gorge made the heavy odor of the flowers still

more penetrating; the air seemed to be dense with it. A feeling of lassitude came over me and I looked for a

place to sit down. A few drops of water glistened in the grass. I thought that there was a spring near by and I

climbed a little further to look for it. But I only reached the edge of one of these large, deep reservoirs.

I sat down tailor fashion, with my legs crossed under me, and remained there in a reverie before this hole,

which looked as if it were filled with ink, so black and stagnant was the liquid it contained. Down yonder,

through the branches, I saw, like patches, bits of the Mediterranean gleaming so that they fairly dazzled my

eyes. But my glance always returned to the immense somber well that appeared to be inhabited by no aquatic

animals, so motionless was its surface. Suddenly a voice made me tremble. An old gentleman who was

"I beg your pardon. On seeing you sitting thus absorbed in front of this reservoir I thought you were recalling

It is very dismal and very heartrending, my dear friend, and very trivial at the same time. It is a simple news

item. I do not know whether to attribute my emotion to the dramatic manner in which the story was told to

me, to the setting of the mountains, to the contrast between the joy of the sunlight and the flowers and this

black, murderous hole, but my heart was wrung, all my nerves unstrung by this tale which, perhaps, may not

appear so terribly harrowing to you as you read it in your room without having the scene of the tragedy

It was one spring in recent years. Two little boys frequently came to play on the edge of this cistern while

their tutor lay under a tree reading a book. One warm afternoon a piercing cry awoke the tutor who was

dozing and the sound of splashing caused by something falling into the water made him jump to his feet

abruptly. The younger of the children, eight years of age, was shouting, as he stood beside the reservoir, the

surface of which was stirred and eddying at the spot where the older boy had fallen in as he ran along the

Distracted, without waiting or stopping to think what was best to do, the tutor jumped into the black water

At the same moment the young boy who had risen to the surface was waving his stretchedout arms toward

his brother. The little fellow on land lay down full length, while the other tried to swim, to approach the wall,

and presently the four little hands clasped each other, tightened in each other's grasp, contracted as though

they were fastened together. They both felt the intense joy of an escape from death, a shudder at the danger

The older boy tried to climb up to the edge, but could not manage it, as the wall was perpendicular, and his

The little fellow squeezed his brother's hands with all his might and wept from nervousness as he repeated: "I

cannot drag you out, I cannot drag you out." And all at once he began to shout, "Help! Help!" But his light

They remained thus a long time, hours and hours, facing each other, these two children, with one thought, one

anguish of heart and the horrible dread that one of them, exhausted, might let go the hands of the other. And

At length the older boy, who was shivering with cold, said to the little one: "I cannot hold out any longer. I

am going to fall. Goodby, little brother." And the other, gasping, replied: "Not yet, not yet, wait."

Evening came on, the still evening with its stars mirrored in the water. The older lad, his endurance giving

out, said: "Let go my hand, I am going to give you my watch." He had received it as a present a few days

before, and ever since it had been his chief amusement. He was able to get hold of it, and held it out to the

It was night now. The two unhappy beings, exhausted, had almost loosened their grasp. The elder, at last,

feeling that he was lost, murmured once more: "Goodby, little brother, kiss mamma and papa." And his

numbed fingers relaxed their hold. He sank and did not rise again . . . . The little fellow, left alone, began to

Then he darted across the mountain, falling among the stones, overcome by the most frightful anguish that

can wring a child's heart, and with a face like death reached the sittingroom, where his parents were waiting.

He became bewildered again as he led them to the gloomy reservoir. He could not find his way. At last he

But the cistern had to be emptied, and the proprietor would not permit it as he needed the water for his lemon

You see, my dear friend, that this is a simple news item. But if you had seen the hole itself your heart would

have been wrung, as mine was, at the thought of the agony of that child hanging to his brother's hands, of the

long suspense of those little chaps who were accustomed only to laugh and to play, and at the simple incident

I said to myself: "May Fate preserve me from ever receiving a similar relic!" I know of nothing more terrible

than such a recollection connected with a familiar object that one cannot dispose of. Only think of it; each

time that he handles this sacred watch the survivor will picture once more the horrible scene; the pool, the

wall, the still water, and the distracted face of his brotheralive, and yet as lost as though he were already

dead. And all through his life, at any moment, the vision will be there, awakened the instant even the tip of

And I was sad until evening. I left the spot and kept on climbing, leaving the region of orange trees for the

region of olive trees, and the region of olive trees for the region of pines; then I came to a valley of stones,

and finally reached the ruins of an ancient castle, built, they say, in the tenth century by a Saracen chief, a

good man, who was baptized a Christian through love for a young girl. Everywhere around me were

mountains, and before me the sea, the sea with an almost imperceptible patch on it: Corsica, or, rather, the

shadow of Corsica. But on the mountain summits, bloodred in the glow of the sunset, in the boundless sky

and on the sea, in all this superb landscape that I had come here to admire I saw only two poor children, one

lying prone on the edge of a hole filled with black water, the other submerged to his neck, their hands

intertwined, weeping opposite each other, in despair. And it seemed as though I continually heard a weak,

exhausted voice saying: "Goodby, little brother, I am going to give you my watch."

This letter may seem rather melancholy, dear friend. I will try to be more cheerful some other day.

Last Monday an Indian prince died at Etretat, Bapu Sahib Khanderao Ghatay, a relation of His Highness, the

Maharajah Gaikwar, prince of Baroda, in the province of Guzerat, Presidency of Bombay.

For about three weeks there had been seen walking in the streets about ten young East Indians, small, lithe,

with dark skins, dressed all in gray and wearing on their heads caps such as English grooms wear. They were

men of high rank who had come to Europe to study the military institutions of the principal Western nations.

The little band consisted of three princes, a nobleman, an interpreter and three servants.

The head of the commission had just died, an old man of fortytwo and fatherinlaw of Sampatro Kashivao

The other East Indians were called Ganpatrao Shravanrao Gaikwar, cousin of His Highness Khasherao

Gadhav; Vasudev Madhav Samarth, interpreter and secretary; the slaves: Ramchandra Bajaji, Ganu bin

On leaving his native land the one who died recently was overcome with terrible grief, and feeling convinced

that he would never return he wished to give up the journey, but he had to obey the wishes of his noble

They came to spend the latter part of the summer at Etretat, and people would go out of curiosity every

Five or six days ago Bapu Sahib Khanderao Ghatay was taken with pains in his gums; then the inflammation

spread to the throat and became ulceration. Gangrene set in and, on Monday, the doctors told his young

friends that their relative was dying. The final struggle was already beginning, and the breath had almost left

the unfortunate man's body when his friends seized him, snatched him from his bed and laid him on the stone

floor of the room, so that, stretched out on the earth, our mother, he should yield up his soul, according to the

They then sent to ask the mayor, M. Boissaye, for a permit to burn the body that very day so as to fulfill the

prescribed ceremonial of the Hindoo religion. The mayor hesitated, telegraphed to the prefecture to demand

instructions, at the same time sending word that a failure to reply would be considered by him tantamount to

a consent. As he had received no reply at 9 o'clock that evening, he decided, in view of the infectious

character of the disease of which the East Indian had died, that the cremation of the body should take place

The mayor is being criticized now for this decision, though he acted as an intelligent, liberal and determined

man, and was upheld and advised by the three physicians who had watched the case and reported the death.

They were dancing at the Casino that evening. It was an early autumn evening, rather chilly. A pretty strong

wind was blowing from the ocean, although as yet there was no sea on, and swift, light, ragged clouds were

driving across the sky. They came from the edge of the horizon, looking dark against the background of the

sky, but as they approached the moon they grew whiter and passed hurriedly across her face, veiling it for a

The tall,, straight cliffs that inclose the rounded beach of Etretat and terminate in two celebrated arches,

called "the Gates," lay in shadow, and made two great black patches in the softly lighted landscape.

The Casino orchestra was playing waltzes, polkas and quadrilles. A rumor was presently circulated among

the groups of dancers. It was said that an East Indian prince had just died at the Hotel des Bains and that the

ministry had been approached for permission to burn the body. No one believed it, or at least no one

supposed that such a thing could occur so foreign was the custom as yet to our customs, and as the night was

At midnight, the lamplighter, running from street to street, extinguished, one after another, the yellow jets of

flame that lighted up the sleeping houses, the mud and the puddles of water. We waited, watching for the

Ever since noon a carpenter had been cutting up wood and asking himself with amazement what was going to

be done with all these planks sawn up into little bits, and why one should destroy so much good merchandise.

This wood was piled up in a cart which went along through side streets as far as the beach, without arousing

the suspicion of belated persons who might meet it. It went along on the shingle at the foot of the cliff, and

having dumped its contents on the beach the three Indian servants began to build a funeral pile, a little longer

than it was wide. They worked alone, for no profane hand must aid in this solemn duty.

It was one o'clock in the morning when the relations of the deceased were informed that they might

The door of the little house they occupied was open, and we perceived, lying on a stretcher in the small,

dimly lighted vestibule the corpse covered with white silk. We could see him plainly as he lay stretched out

The East Indians, standing at his feet, remained motionless, while one of them performed the prescribed rites,

murmuring unfamiliar words in a low, monotonous tone. He walked round and round the corpse; touching it

occasionally, then, taking an urn suspended from three slender chains, he sprinkled it for some time with the

sacred water of the Ganges, that East Indians must always carry with them wherever they go.

Then the stretcher was lifted by four of them who started off at a slow march. The moon had gone down,

leaving the muddy, deserted streets in darkness, but the body on the stretcher appeared to be luminous, so

dazzlingly white was the silk, and it was a weird sight to see, passing along through the night, the

semiluminous form of this corpse, borne by those men, the dusky skin of whose faces and hands could

Behind the corpse came three Indians, and then, a full head taller than themselves and wrapped in an ample

traveling coat of a soft gray color, appeared the outline of an Englishman, a kind and superior man, a friend

Beneath the cold, misty sky of this little northern beach I felt as if I were taking part in a sort of symbolical

drama. It seemed to me that they were carrying there, before me, the conquered genius of India, followed, as

in a funeral procession, by the victorious genius of England robed in a gray ulster.

On the shingly beach the four bearers halted a few moments to take breath, and then proceeded on their way.

They now walked quickly, bending beneath the weight of their burden. At length they reached the funeral

pile. It was erected in an indentation, at the very foot of the cliff, which rose above it perpendicularly a

The funeral pile was about three and a half feet high. The corpse was placed on it and then one of the Indians

asked to have the pole star pointed out to him. This was done, and the dead Rajah was laid with his feet

turned towards his native country. Then twelve bottles of kerosene were poured over him and he was covered

completely with thin slabs of pine wood. For almost another hour the relations and servants kept piling up the

funeral pyre which looked like one of those piles of wood that carpenters keep in their yards. Then on top of

this was poured the contents of twenty bottles of oil, and on top of all they emptied a bag of fine shavings. A

few steps further on, a flame was glimmering in a little bronze brazier, which had remained lighted since the

The moment had arrived. The relations went to fetch the fire. As it was barely alight, some oil was poured on

it, and suddenly a flame arose lighting up the great wall of rock from summit to base. An Indian who was

leaning over the brazier rose upright, his two hands in the air, his elbows bent, and all at once we saw arising,

all black on the immense white cliff, a colossal shadow, the shadow of Buddha in his hieratic posture. And

the little pointed toque that the man wore on his head even looked like the headdress of the god.

The effect was so striking and unexpected that I felt my heart beat as though some supernatural apparition

That was just what it wasthe ancient and sacred image, come from the heart of the East to the ends of

It vanished. They brought fire. The shavings on top of the pyre were lighted and then the wood caught fire

and a brilliant light illumined the cliff, the shingle and the foam of the waves as they broke on the beach.

It grew brighter from second to second, lighting up on the sea in the distance the dancing crest of the waves.

The breeze from the ocean blew in gusts, increasing the heat of the flame which flattened down, twisted, then

shot up again, throwing out millions of sparks. They mounted with wild rapidity along the cliff and were lost

in the sky, mingling with the stars, increasing their number. Some sea birds who had awakened uttered their

plaintive cry, and, describing long curves, flew, with their white wings extended, through the gleam from the

Before long the pile of wood was nothing but a mass of flame, not red but yellow, a blinding yellow, a

furnace lashed by the wind. And, suddenly, beneath a stronger gust, it tottered, partially crumbling as it

leaned towards the sea, and the corpse came to view, full length, blackened on his couch of flame and

The pile of wood having crumbled further on the right the corpse turned over as a man does in bed. They

immediately covered him with fresh wood and the fire started up again more furiously than ever.

The East Indians, seated in a semicircle on the shingle, looked out with sad, serious faces. And the rest of

us, as it was very cold, had drawn nearer to the fire until the smoke and sparks came in our faces. There was

Hours passed; day began to break. Toward five o'clock in the morning nothing remained but a heap of ashes.

The relations gathered them up, cast some of them to the winds, some in the sea, and kept some in a brass

vase that they had brought from India. They then retired to their home to give utterance to lamentations.

These young princes and their servants, by the employment of the most inadequate appliances succeeded in

carrying out the cremation of their relation in the most perfect manner, with singular skill and remarkable

dignity. Everything was done according to ritual, according to the rigid ordinances of their religion. Their

The following morning at daybreak there was an indescribable commotion in Etretat. Some insisted that they

had burned a man alive, others that they were trying to hide a crime, some that the mayor would be put in jail,

The men were amazed, the women indignant. A crowd of people spent the day on the site of the funeral pile,

looking for fragments of bone in the shingle that was still warm. They found enough bones to reconstruct ten

skeletons, for the farmers on shore frequently throw their dead sheep into the sea. The finders carefully

placed these various fragments in their pocketbooks. But not one of them possesses a true particle of the

That very night a deputy sent by the government came to hold an inquest. He, however, formed an estimate

of this singular case like a man of intelligence and good sense. But what should he say in his report?

The East Indians declared that if they had been prevented in France from cremating their dead they would

have taken him to a freer country where they could have carried out their customs.

Thus, I have seen a man cremated on a funeral pile, and it has given me a wish to disappear in the same

In this way everything ends at once. Man expedites the slow work of nature, instead of delaying it by the

hideous coffin in which one decomposes for months. The flesh is dead, the spirit has fled. Fire which purifies

disperses in a few hours all that was a human being; it casts it to the winds, converting it into air and ashes,

This is clean and hygienic. Putrefaction beneath the ground in a closed box where the body becomes like pap,

a blackened, stinking pap, has about it something repugnant and disgusting. The sight of the coffin as it

descends into this muddy hole wrings one's heart with anguish. But the funeral pyre which flames up beneath

I was very much interested at that time in a droll little woman. She was married, of course, as I have a horror

of unmarried flirts. What enjoyment is there in making love to a woman who belongs to nobody and yet

belongs to any one? And, besides, morality aside, I do not understand love as a trade. That disgusts me

The especial attraction in a married woman to a bachelor is that she gives him a home, a sweet, pleasant

home where every one takes care of you and spoils you, from the husband to the servants. One finds

everything combined there, love, friendship, even fatherly interest, bed and board, all, in fact, that constitutes

the happiness of life, with this incalculable advantage, that one can change one's family from time to time,

take up one's abode in all kinds of society in turn: in summer, in the country with the workman who rents you

a room in his house; in winter with the townsfolk, or even with the nobility, if one is ambitious.

I have another weakness; it is that I become attached to the husband as well as the wife. I acknowledge even

that some husbands, ordinary or coarse as they may be, give me a feeling of disgust for their wives, however

charming they may be. But when the husband is intellectual or charming I invariably become very much

attached to him. I am careful if I quarrel with the wife not to quarrel with the husband. In this way I have

made some of my best friends, and have also proved in many cases the incontestable superiority of the male

over the female in the human species. The latter makes all sorts of troublescenes, reproaches, etc.; while the

former, who has just as good a right to complain, treats you, on the contrary, as though you were the special

Well, my friend was a quaint little woman, a brunette, fanciful, capricious, pious, superstitious, credulous as a

monk, but charming. She had a way of kissing one that I never saw in any one elsebut that was not the

attractionand such a soft skin! It gave me intense delight merely to hold her hands. And an eyeher

glance was like a slow caress, delicious and unending. Sometimes I would lean my head on her knee and we

would remain motionless, she leaning over me with that subtle, enigmatic, disturbing smile that women have,

while my eyes would be raised to hers, drinking sweetly and deliciously into my heart, like a form of

intoxication, the glance of her limpid blue eyes, limpid as though they were full of thoughts of love, and blue

Her husband, inspector of some large public works, was frequently away from home and left us our evenings

free. Sometimes I spent them with her lounging on the divan with my forehead on one of her knees; while on

the other lay an enormous black cat called "Misti," whom she adored. Our fingers would meet on the cat's

back and would intertwine in her soft silky fur. I felt its warm body against my cheek, trembling with its

eternal purring, and occasionally a paw would reach out and place on my mouth, or my eyelid, five

unsheathed claws which would prick my eyelids, and then be immediately withdrawn.

Sometimes we would go out on what we called our escapades. They were very innocent, however. They

consisted in taking supper at some inn in the suburbs, or else, after dining at her house or at mine, in making

We would go into the common drinking places and take our seats at the end of the smoky den on two rickety

chairs, at an old wooden table. A cloud of pungent smoke, with which blended an odor of fried fish from

dinner, filled the room. Men in smocks were talking in loud tones as they drank their petits verres, and the

She, trembling, charmingly afraid, would raise her double black veil as far as her nose, and then take up her

glass with the enjoyment that one feels at doing something delightfully naughty. Each cherry she swallowed

made her feel as if she had done something wrong, each swallow of the burning liquor had on her the affect

Then she would say to me in a low tone: "Let us go." And we would leave, she walking quickly with lowered

head between the drinkers who watched her going by with a look of displeasure. And as soon as we got into

the street she would give a great sigh of relief, as if we had escaped some terrible danger.

"Suppose they, should say something rude to me in those places, what would you do?" "Why, I would defend

you, parbleu!" I would reply in a resolute manner. And she would squeeze my arm for happiness, perhaps

with a vague wish that she might be insulted and protected, that she might see men fight on her account, even

One evening as we sat at a table in a tavern at Montmartre, we saw an old woman in tattered garments come

in, holding in her hand a pack of dirty cards. Perceiving a lady, the old woman at once approached us and

offered to tell my friend's fortune. Emma, who in her heart believed in everything, was trembling with

The latter, old, wrinkled, her eyes with red inflamed rings round them, and her mouth without a single tooth

in it, began to deal her dirty cards on the table. She dealt them in piles, then gathered them up, and then dealt

them out again, murmuring indistinguishable words. Emma, turning pale, listened with bated breath, gasping

The fortuneteller broke silence. She predicted vague happenings: happiness and children, a fair young man,

a voyage, money, a lawsuit, a dark man, the return of some one, success, a death. The mention of this death

The old woman replied: "Oh, as to that, these cards are not certain enough. You must come to my place

tomorrow; I will tell you about it with coffee grounds which never make a mistake."

"Say, let us go there tomorrow. Oh, please say yes. If not, you cannot imagine how worried I shall be."

The old woman gave us her address. She lived on the sixth floor, in a wretched house behind the

Her room, an attic containing two chairs and a bed, was filled with strange objects, bunches of herbs hanging

from nails, skins of animals, flasks and phials containing liquids of various colors. On the table a stuffed

black cat looked out of eyes of glass. He seemed like the demon of this sinister dwelling.

And she explained to the old woman that she had a cat "exactly like that, exactly like that!"

My friend wanted to hear about it. She leaned against the old woman, questioned her, begged her to tell. At

"I loved that cat," she said, "as one would love a brother. I was young then and all alone, a seamstress. I had

only him, Mouton. One of the tenants had given it to me. He was as intelligent as a child, and gentle as well,

and he worshiped me, my dear lady, he worshiped me more than one does a fetish. All day long he would sit

on my lap purring, and all night long on my pillow; I could feel his heart beating, in fact.

"Well, I happened to make an acquaintance, a fine young man who was working in a whitegoods house.

That went on for about three months on a footing of mere friendship. But you know one is liable to weaken, it

may happen to any one, and, besides, I had really begun to love him. He was so nice, so nice, and so good.

He wanted us to live together, for economy's sake. I finally allowed him to come and see me one evening. I

had not made up my mind to anything definite; oh, no! But I was pleased at the idea that we should spend an

"At first he behaved very well, said nice things to me that made my heart go pitapat. And then he kissed

me, madame, kissed me as one does when they love. I remained motionless, my eyes closed, in a paroxysm

of happiness. But, suddenly, I felt him start violently and he gave a scream, a scream that I shall never forget.

I opened my eyes and saw that Mouton had sprung at his face and was tearing the skin with his claws as if it

"I tried to take the cat away, but he held on tight, scratching all the time; and he bit me, he was so crazy. I

finally got him and threw him out of the window, which was open, for it was summer.

"When I began to bathe my poor friend's face, I noticed that his eyes were destroyed, both his eyes!

"He had to go to the hospital. He died of grief at the end of a year. I wanted to keep him with me and provide

for him, but he would not agree to it. One would have supposed that he hated me after the occurrence.

"As for Mouton, his back was broken by the fall, The janitor picked up his body. I had him stuffed, for in

spite of all I was fond of him. If he acted as he did it was because he loved me, was it not?"

The old woman was silent and began to stroke the lifeless animal whose body trembled on its iron

Emma, with sorrowful heart, had forgotten about the predicted deathor, at least, she did not allude to it

As her husband was to return the following day, I did not go to the house for several days. When I did go I

Crazy people attract me. They live in a mysterious land of weird dreams, in that impenetrable cloud of

dementia where all that they have witnessed in their previous life, all they have loved, is reproduced for them

in an imaginary existence, outside of all laws that govern the things of this life and control human thought.

For them there is no such thing as the impossible, nothing is improbable; fairyland is a constant quantity and

the supernatural quite familiar. The old rampart, logic; the old wall, reason; the old main stay of thought,

good sense, break down, fall and crumble before their imagination, set free and escaped into the limitless

realm of fancy, and advancing with fabulous bounds, and nothing can check it. For them everything happens,

and anything may happen. They make no effort to conquer events, to overcome resistance, to overturn

obstacles. By a sudden caprice of their flighty imagination they become princes, emperors, or gods, are

possessed of all the wealth of the world, all the delightful things of life, enjoy all pleasures, are always strong,

always beautiful, always young, always beloved! They, alone, can be happy in this world; for, as far as they

are concerned, reality does not exist. I love to look into their wandering intelligence as one leans over an

abyss at the bottom of which seethes a foaming torrent whose source and destination are both unknown.

But it is in vain that we lean over these abysses, for we shall never discover the source nor the destination of

this water. After all, it is only water, just like what is flowing in the sunlight, and we shall learn nothing by

It is likewise of no use to ponder over the intelligence of crazy people, for their most weird notions are, in

fact, only ideas that are already known, which appear strange simply because they are no longer under the

restraint of reason. Their whimsical source surprises us because we do not see it bubbling up. Doubtless the

dropping of a little stone into the current was sufficient to cause these ebullitions. Nevertheless crazy people

attract me and I always return to them, drawn in spite of myself by this trivial mystery of dementia.

One day as I was visiting one of the asylums the physician who was my guide said:

And he opened the door of a cell where a woman of about forty, still handsome, was seated in a large

As soon as she saw us she rose to her feet, ran to the other end of the room, picked up a veil that lay on a

chair, wrapped it carefully round her face, then came back, nodding her head in reply to our greeting.

"No. I am certain of it. I counted ten pittings more this morning, three on the right cheek, four on the left

cheek, and three on the forehead. It is frightful, frightful! I shall never dare to let any one see me, not even

The doctor took a chair, sat down beside her, and said soothingly in a gentle tone:

"Come, let me see; I assure you it is nothing. With a slight cauterization I will make it all disappear."

She shook her head in denial, without speaking. He tried to touch her veil, but she seized it with both hands

"Come, you know very well that I remove those horrid pits every time and that there is no trace of them after

"I do not mind your seeing them," she murmured, "but I do not know that gentleman who is with you."

She then allowed her face to be uncovered, but her dread, her emotion, her shame at being seen brought a

rosy flush to her face and her neck, down to the collar of her dress. She cast down her eyes, turned her face

aside, first to the right; then to the left, to avoid our gaze and stammered out:

"Oh, it is torture to me to let myself be seen like this! It is horrible, is it not? Is it not horrible?"

I looked at her in much surprise, for there was nothing on her face, not a mark, not a spot, not a sign of one,

"It was while taking care of my son that I caught this fearful disease, monsieur. I saved him, but I am

disfigured. I sacrificed my beauty to him, to my poor child. However, I did my duty, my conscience is at rest.

She held out her right cheek, and he began by touching it lightly with the brush here and there, as though he

were putting little points of paint on it. He did the same with the left cheek, then with the chin, and the

She took up the mirror, gazed at her reflection with profound, eager attention, with a strong mental effort to

The doctor had risen. He bowed to her, ushered me out and followed me, and, as soon as he had locked the

Her name is Mme. Hermet. She was once very beautiful, a great coquette, very much beloved and very much

She was one of those women who have nothing but their beauty and their love of admiration to sustain, guide

or comfort them in this life. The constant anxiety to retain her freshness, the care of her complexion, of her

hands, her teeth, of every portion of body that was visible, occupied all her time and all her attention.

She became a widow, with one son. The boy was brought up as are all children of society beauties. She was,

He grew up, and she grew older. Whether she saw the fatal crisis approaching, I cannot say. Did she, like so

many others, gaze for hours and hours at her skin, once so fine, so transparent and free from blemish, now

beginning to shrivel slightly, to be crossed with a thousand little lines, as yet imperceptible, that will grow

deeper day by day, month by month? Did she also see slowly, but surely, increasing traces of those long

wrinkles on the forehead, those slender serpents that nothing can check? Did she suffer the torture, the

abominable torture of the mirror, the little mirror with the silver handle which one cannot make up one's mind

to lay down on the table, but then throws down in disgust only to take it up again in order to look more

closely, and still more closely at the hateful and insidious approaches of old age? Did she shut herself up ten

times, twenty times a day, leaving her friends chatting in the drawingroom, and go up to her room where,

under the protection of bolts and bars, she would again contemplate the work of time on her ripe beauty, now

beginning to wither, and recognize with despair the gradual progress of the process which no one else had as

yet seemed to perceive, but of which she, herself, was well aware. She knows where to seek the most serious,

the gravest traces of age. And the mirror, the little round handglass in its carved silver frame, tells her

horrible things; for it speaks, it seems to laugh, it jeers and tells her all that is going to occur, all the physical

discomforts and the atrocious mental anguish she will suffer until the day of her death, which will be the day

Did she weep, distractedly, on her knees, her forehead to the ground, and pray, pray, pray to Him who thus

slays his creatures and gives them youth only that he may render old age more unendurable, and lends them

beauty only that he may withdraw it almost immediately? Did she pray to Him, imploring Him to do for her

what He has never yet done for any one, to let her retain until her last day her charm, her freshness and her

gracefulness? Then, finding that she was imploring in vain an inflexible Unknown who drives on the years,

one after another, did she roll on the carpet in her room, knocking her head against the furniture and stifling

He took to his bed without any one being able to determine the cause or nature of his illness.

His tutor, a priest, watched beside him and hardly ever left him, while Mme. Hermet came morning and

She would come into the room in the morning in her night wrapper, smiling, all powdered and perfumed, and

The big boy, his face red, swollen and showing the ravages of fever, would reply:

She would stay in the room a few seconds, look at the bottles of medicine, and purse her lips as if she were

saying "phew," and then would suddenly exclaim: "Oh, I forgot something very important," and would run

In the evening she would appear in a decollete dress, in a still greater hurry, for she was always late, and she

When her maid came to her room the following morning she noticed at once a strong odor of burnt sugar, and

she found her mistress, with wideopen eyes, her face pale from lack of sleep, and shivering with terror in

She did not rise until noon, when she ate two eggs with a cup of tea, as if she herself had been ill, and then

she went out to a druggist's to inquire about prophylactic measures against the contagion of smallpox.

She did not come home until dinner time, laden with medicine bottles, and shut herself up at once in her

The priest was waiting for her in the diningroom. As soon as she saw him she exclaimed in a voice full of

The next day, as soon as it was light, she sent to inquire for her son, but there was no improvement and she

spent the whole day in her room, where little braziers were giving out pungent odors. Her maid said also that

She spent a whole week in this manner, only going out for an hour or two during the afternoon to breathe the

She now sent to make inquiries every hour, and would sob when the reports were unfavorable.

On the morning of the eleventh day the priest, having been announced, entered her room, his face grave and

Two hours later as the young lad, feeling himself dying, again asked for his mother, the abbe went to her

"I will not . . . . I will not. . . . I am too much afraid . . . . I will not. . . ."

He tried to persuade her, to strengthen her, to lead her. He only succeeded in bringing on an attack of

The doctor when he came in the evening was told of this cowardice and declared that he would bring her in

himself, of her own volition, or by force. But after trying all manner of argument and just as he seized her

round the waist to carry her into her son's room, she caught hold of the door and clung to it so firmly that they

could not drag her away. Then when they let go of her she fell at the feet of the doctor, begging his

forgiveness and acknowledging that she was a wretched creature. And then she exclaimed: "Oh, he is not

going to die; tell me that he is not going to die, I beg of you; tell him that I love him, that I worship him. . ."

The young lad was dying. Feeling that he had only a few moments more to live, he entreated that his mother

be persuaded to come and bid him a last farewell. With that sort of presentiment that the dying sometimes

have, he had understood, had guessed all, and he said: "If she is afraid to come into the room, beg her just to

come on the balcony as far as my window so that I may see her, at least, so that I may take a farewell look at

The doctor and the abbe, once more, went together to this woman and assured her: "You will run no risk, for

She consented, covered up her head, and took with her a bottle of smelling salts. She took three steps on the

balcony; then, all at once, hiding her face in her hands, she moaned: "No . . . no . . . I would never dare to

look at him . . . never. . . . I am too much ashamed . . . too much afraid . . . . No . . . I cannot."

They endeavored to drag her along, but she held on with both hands to the railings and uttered such plaints

that the passersby in the street raised their heads. And the dying boy waited, his eyes turned towards that

window, waited to die until he could see for the last time the sweet, beloved face, the worshiped face of his

He waited long, and night came on. Then he turned over with his face to the wall and was silent.

The Seine flowed past my house, without a ripple on its surface, and gleaming in the bright morning sunlight.

It was a beautiful, broad, indolent silver stream, with crimson lights here and there; and on the opposite side

of the river were rows of tall trees that covered all the bank with an immense wall of verdure.

The sensation of life which is renewed each day, of fresh, happy, loving life trembled in the leaves, palpitated

The postman had just brought my papers, which were handed to me, and I walked slowly to the river bank in

In the first paper I opened I noticed this headline, "Statistics of Suicides," and I read that more than 8,500

In a moment I seemed to see them! I saw this voluntary and hideous massacre of the despairing who were

weary of life. I saw men bleeding, their jaws fractured, their skulls cloven, their breasts pierced by a bullet,

slowly dying, alone in a little room in a hotel, giving no thought to their wound, but thinking only of their

I saw others seated before a tumbler in which some matches were soaking, or before a little bottle with a red

They would look at it fixedly without moving; then they would drink and await the result; then a spasm

would convulse their cheeks and draw their lips together; their eyes would grow wild with terror, for they did

They rose to their feet, paused, fell over and with their hands pressed to their stomachs they felt their internal

organs on fire, their entrails devoured by the fiery liquid, before their minds began to grow dim.

I saw others hanging from a nail in the wall, from the fastening of the window, from a hook in the ceiling,

from a beam in the garret, from a branch of a tree amid the evening rain. And I surmised all that had

happened before they hung there motionless, their tongues hanging out of their mouths. I imagined the

anguish of their heart, their final hesitation, their attempts to fasten the rope, to determine that it was secure,

I saw others lying on wretched beds, mothers with their little children, old men dying of hunger, young girls

dying for love, all rigid, suffocated, asphyxiated, while in the center of the room the brasier still gave forth

And I saw others walking at night along the deserted bridges. These were the most sinister. The water flowed

under the arches with a low sound. They did not see it . . . they guessed at it from its cool breath! They longed

for it and they feared it. They dared not do it! And yet, they must. A distant clock sounded the hour and,

suddenly, in the vast silence of the night, there was heard the splash of a body falling into the river, a scream

or two, the sound of hands beating the water, and all was still. Sometimes, even, there was only the sound of

the falling body when they had tied their arms down or fastened a stone to their feet. Oh, the poor things, the

poor things, the poor things, how I felt their anguish, how I died in their death! I went through all their

wretchedness; I endured in one hour all their tortures. I knew all the sorrows that had led them to this, for I

How I understood them, these who weak, harassed by misfortune, having lost those they loved, awakened

from the dream of a tardy compensation, from the illusion of another existence where God will finally be just,

after having been ferocious, and their minds disabused of the mirages of happiness, have given up the fight

Suicide! Why, it is the strength of those whose strength is exhausted, the hope of those who no longer

believe, the sublime courage of the conquered! Yes, there is at least one door to this life we can always open

and pass through to the other side. Nature had an impulse of pity; she did not shut us up in prison. Mercy for

As for those who are simply disillusioned, let them march ahead with free soul and quiet heart. They have

nothing to fear since they may take their leave; for behind them there is always this door that the gods of our

I thought of this crowd of suicides: more than eight thousand five hundred in one year. And it seemed to me

that they had combined to send to the world a prayer, to utter a cry of appeal, to demand something that

should come into effect later when we understood things better. It seemed to me that all these victims, their

throats cut, poisoned, hung, asphyxiated, or drowned, all came together, a frightful horde, like citizens to the

"Grant us, at least, a gentle death! Help us to die, you who will not help us to live! See, we are numerous, we

have the right to speak in these days of freedom, of philosophic independence and of popular suffrage. Give

to those who renounce life the charity of a death that will not be repugnant nor terrible."

I began to dream, allowing my fancy to roam at will in weird and mysterious fashion on this subject.

I seemed to be all at once in a beautiful city. It was Paris; but at what period? I walked about the streets,

looking at the houses, the theaters, the public buildings, and presently found myself in a square where I

remarked a large building; very handsome, dainty and attractive. I was surprised on reading on the facade this

Oh, the weirdness of waking dreams where the spirit soars into a world of unrealities and possibilities!

Nothing astonishes one, nothing shocks one; and the unbridled fancy makes no distinction between the comic

I approached the building where footmen in kneebreeches were seated in the vestibule in front of a

He took me through corridors where old gentlemen were chatting, and finally led me into a beautiful office,

somewhat somber, furnished throughout in black wood. A stout young man with a corporation was writing a

letter as he smoked a cigar, the fragrance of which gave evidence of its quality.

He rose. We bowed to each other, and as soon as the footman had retired he asked:

"Monsieur," I replied, "pardon my curiosity. I had never seen this establishment. The few words inscribed on

the facade filled me with astonishment, and I wanted to know what was going on here."

"Mon Dieu, monsieur, we put to death in a cleanly and gentleI do not venture to say agreeable manner

I did not feel very shocked, for it really seemed to me natural and right. What particularly surprised me was

that on this planet, with its low, utilitarian, humanitarian ideals, selfish and coercive of all true freedom, any

"Monsieur," he replied, "the number of suicides increased so enormously during the five years succeeding the

world exposition of 1889 that some measures were urgently needed. People killed themselves in the streets, at

fetes, in restaurants, at the theater, in railway carriages, at the receptions held by the President of the

Republic, everywhere. It was not only a horrid sight for those who love life, as I do, but also a bad example

"I do not know. The fact is, I believe, the world is growing old. People begin to see things clearly and they

are getting disgruntled. It is the same today with destiny as with the government, we have found out what it

is; people find that they are swindled in every direction, and they just get out of it all. When one discovers

that Providence lies, cheats, robs, deceives human beings just as a plain Deputy deceives his constituents, one

gets angry, and as one cannot nominate a fresh Providence every three months as we do with our privileged

"Yes, monsieur, founded by the most eminent men in the country, by men of the highest intellect and

brightest intelligence. And," he added, laughing heartily, "I swear to you that every one gets a great deal of

"Mon Dieu, they enjoy themselves because they have not that fear of death which is the great killjoy in all

"One may be a member of the club without being obliged for that reason to commit suicide."

"I will explain. In view of the enormous increase in suicides, and of the hideous spectacle they presented, a

purely benevolent society was formed for the protection of those in despair, which placed at their disposal the

"General Boulanger during his brief tenure of power. He could never refuse anything. However, that was the

only good thing he did. Hence, a society was formed of clearsighted, disillusioned skeptics who desired to

erect in the heart of Paris a kind of temple dedicated to the contempt for death. This place was formerly a

dreaded spot that no one ventured to approach. Then its founders, who met together here, gave a grand

inaugural entertainment with Mmes. Sarah Bernhardt, Judic, Theo, Granier, and twenty others, and Mme. de

Reske, Coquelin, MounetSully, Paulus, etc., present, followed by concerts, the comedies of Dumas, of

Meilhac, Halevy and Sardon. We had only one thing to mar it, one drama by Becque which seemed sad, but

which subsequently had a great success at the ComedieFrancaise. In fact all Paris came. The enterprise was

"Not at all. Death need not be sad, it should be a matter of indifference. We made death cheerful, crowned it

with flowers, covered it with perfume, made it easy. One learns to aid others through example; one can see

"I can well understand that they should come to the entertainments; but did they come to . . . Death?"

"In crowds. We have had more than forty in a day. One finds hardly any more drowned bodies in the Seine."

"I don't think so. A man who was sick of everything, a 'down and out' who had lost heavily at baccarat for

"The second was an Englishman, an eccentric. We then advertised in the papers, we gave an account of our

methods, we invented some attractive instances. But the great impetus was given by poor people."

He took his hat, opened the door, allowed me to precede him, and we entered a card room, where men sat

playing as they, play in all gambling places. They were chatting cheerfully, eagerly. I have seldom seen such

"Oh, the establishment has an unheard of prestige. All the smart people all over the world belong to it so as to

appear as though they held death in scorn. Then, once they get here, they feel obliged to be cheerful that they

may not appear to be afraid. So they joke and laugh and talk flippantly, they are witty and they become so. At

present it is certainly the most frequented and the most entertaining place in Paris. The women are even

"As I said, about forty or fifty a day. Society people are rare, but poor devils abound. The middle class has

"A gas of our own invention. We have the patent. On the other side of the building are the public

entrancesthree little doors opening on small streets. When a man or a woman present themselves they are

interrogated. Then they are offered assistance, aid, protection. If a client accepts, inquiries are made; and

"We have a great deal. There are a large number of shareholders. Besides it is fashionable to contribute to the

establishment. The names of the donors are published in Figaro. Then the suicide of every rich man costs a

thousand francs. And they look as if they were lying in state. It costs the poor nothing."

"Oh, oh, monsieur, we can guess! And, besides, they must bring a certificate of indigency from the

commissary of police of their district. If you knew how distressing it is to see them come in! I visited their

part of our building once only, and I will never go again. The place itself is almost as good as this part,

almost as luxurious and comfortable; but they themselves . . . they themselves!!! If you could see them

arriving, the old men in rags coming to die; persons who have been dying of misery for months, picking up

their food at the edges of the curbstone like dogs in the street; women in rags, emaciated, sick, paralyzed,

incapable of making a living, who say to us after they have told us their story: 'You see that things cannot go

on like that, as I cannot work any longer or earn anything.' I saw one woman of eighty seven who had lost

all her children and grandchildren, and who for the last six weeks had been sleeping out of doors. It made me

ill to hear of it. Then we have so many different cases, without counting those who say nothing, but simply

"Go in; this is the part specially reserved for club members, and the one least used. We have so far had only

I hesitated. At length I went in. It was a wide corridor, a sort of greenhouse in which panes of glass of pale

blue, tender pink and delicate green gave the poetic charm of landscapes to the inclosing walls. In this pretty

salon there were divans, magnificent palms, flowers, especially roses of balmy fragrance, books on the tables,

the Revue des Deuxmondes, cigars in government boxes, and, what surprised me, Vichy pastilles in a

"Oh, they often come here to chat." He continued: "The public corridors are similar, but more simply

In reply to a question of mine, he pointed to a couch covered with creamy crepe de Chine with white

embroidery, beneath a large shrub of unknown variety at the foot of which was a circular bed of mignonette.

"We change the flower and the perfume at will, for our gas, which is quite imperceptible, gives death the

fragrance of the suicide's favorite flower. It is volatilized with essences. Would you like to inhale it for a

A little uneasy I seated myself on the low couch covered with crepe de Chine and stretched myself full

length, and was at once bathed in a delicious odor of mignonette. I opened my mouth in order to breathe it in,

for my mind had already become stupefied and forgetful of the past and was a prey, in the first stages of

"Oh, oh, monsieur," said the secretary, laughing, "it looks to me as if you were almost caught."

But a voice, a real voice, and no longer a dream voice, greeted me with the peasant intonation:

My dream was over. I saw the Seine distinctly in the sunlight, and, coming along a path, the garde champetre

of the district, who with his right hand touched his kepi braided in silver. I replied:

"I am going to look at a drowned man whom they fished up near the Morillons. Another who has thrown

himself into the soup. He even took off his trousers in order to tie his legs together with them."