original short stories-13-第1节

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Original　Short　Stories；　Vol。　13。

By　Guy　de　Maupassant






　　　　　VOLUME　XIII。

OLD　JUDAS
THE　LITTLE　CASK
BOITELLE
A　WIDOW
THE　ENGLISHMEN　OF　ETRETAT
MAGNETISM
A　FATHERS　CONFESSION
A　MOTHER　OF　MONSTERS
AN　UNCOMFORTABLE　BED
A　PORTRAIT
THE　DRUNKARD
THE　WARDROBE
THE　MOUNTAIN　POOL
A　CREMATION
MISTI
MADAME　HERMET
THE　MAGIC　COUCH




OLD　JUDAS

This　entire　stretch　of　country　was　amazing；　it　was　characterized　by　a
grandeur　that　was　almost　religious；　and　yet　it　had　an　air　of　sinister
desolation。

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　twisted　by　the　wind。

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；　worm…eaten　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　boat；　which　was　propelled　by　a
man　of　another　age。

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　with　blood；　as　it　gleamed　in　the
last　rays　of　the　setting　sun。

〃What　is　that？〃　I　asked。

〃That　is　where　Judas　died；〃　the　man　replied；　crossing　himself。

I　was　not　surprised；　being　almost　prepared　for　this　strange　answer。

Still　I　asked：

〃Judas？　　What　Judas？〃

〃The　Wandering　Jew；　monsieur；〃　he　added。

I　asked　him　to　tell　me　this　legend。

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

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　this　forlorn
woman；　as　he　passed　her　dwelling。

〃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。

He　did　not　leave　her　again；　for　he　had　come　to　the　end　of　his　travels。

〃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　second　nature　to　him。〃

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
anything　else　but　the　Jewess。

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　by…paths；　in　the　villages；　or　again　eating
bread；　sitting　in　the　noon　heat　under　the　shadow　of　some　solitary　tree。
And　the　country　people　began　to　call　the　beggar　Old　Judas。

One　day　he　brought　home　in　his　sack　two　little　live　pigs；　which　a　farmer
had　given　him　after　he　had　cured　the　farmer　of　some　sickness。

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
near…by　valleys。　　The　woman；　however；　went　about　all　day　begging；　but　she
always　came　back　to　him　in　the　evening。

He　also　did　not　go　to　church；　and　no　one　ever　had　seen　him　cross　himself
before　the　wayside　crucifixes。　　All　this　gave　rise　to　much　gossip：

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　her　soul。

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　skinny　arms　in　order　to　prevent　the　priest　from　entering。

The　priest　attempted　to　speak；　offered　his　purse　and　his　aid；　but　the　old
man　kept　on　abusing　him；　making　gestures　with　his　hands　as　if　throwing；
stones　at　him。

Then　the　priest　retired；　followed　by　the　curses　of　the　beggar。

The　companion　of　old　Judas　died　the　following　day。　　He　buried　her
himself；　in　front　of　her　door。　　They　were　people　of　so　little　account
that　no　one　took　any　interest　in　them。

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
one　knew；　moreover；　how　he　had　treated　the　priest。

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　them　again。

The　whole　crowd　went　in；　they　saw　some　old　rags　on　the　floor；　the
beggar's　hat；　some　bones；　clots　of　dried　blood　and　bits　of　flesh　in　the
hollows　of　the　skull。

His　pigs　had　devoured　him。

〃This　happened　on　Good　Friday；　monsieur。〃　　Joseph　concluded　his　story；
〃three　hours　after　noon。〃

〃How　do　you　know　that？〃　I　asked　him。

〃There　is　no　doubt　about　that；〃　he　replied。

I　did　not　attempt　to　make　him　understand　that　it　could　easily　happen　that
the　famished　animals　had　eaten　their　master；　after　he　had　died　suddenly
in　his　hut。

As　for　the　cross　on　the　wall；　it　had　appeared　one　morning；　and　no　one
knew　what　hand　traced　it　in　that　strange　color。

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

I　myself　believed　it　for　one　hour。






THE　LITTLE　CASK

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。

〃I　was　born　here；　and　here　I　mean　to　die；〃　was　all　she　said。

He　found　her　peeling　potatoes　outside　the　farmhouse　door。　　She　was　a
woman　of　about　seventy…two；　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。

〃Well　mother；　you　are　always　pretty　well　and　hearty；　I　am　glad　to　see。〃

〃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　of。〃

〃So　much　the　better。〃

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　he　said　hurriedly：

〃Listen；　Mother　Magloire〃

〃Well；　what　is　it？〃

〃You　are　quite　sure　that　you　do　not　want　to　sell　your　land？〃

〃Certainly　not；　you　may　make　up　your　mind　to　that。　　Wha