original short stories-13-第11节

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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　knowhe　has　a　certain　charm　about
him。〃

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？〃

〃Yes。〃

〃Introduce　us。〃

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　toward　him　as　if　he　had
naturally　aroused　them。

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　in　old　friends。

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　him　and　all　people；　both　men　and
women；　whom　fate　threw　in　his　path。

After　half　an　hour　we　parted；　promising　to　see　each　other　often；　and　he
gave　me　his　address　after　inviting　me　to　take　luncheon　with　him　in　two
days。

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　light…colored　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　cushion…covered　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　studied　their
attitudes；　sometimes　modest；　Sometimes　haughty。

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　gaze。

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：

And　your　eyes；　attractive　as　those　of　a　portrait。

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　eyes　of　a　woman；　which　can　make
love　blossom　within　us。

The　door　opened　and　M。　Milial　entered。　　He　excused　himself　for　being
late。　　I　excused　myself　for　being　ahead　of　time。　　Then　I　said：　〃Might　I
ask　you　who　is　this　lady？〃

He　answered：　〃That　is　my　mother。　　She　died　very　young。〃

Then　I　understood　whence　came　the　inexplicable　attraction　of　this　man。






THE　DRUNKARD

The　north　wind　was　blowing　a　hurricane；　driving　through　the　sky　big；
black；　heavy　clouds　from　which　the　rain　poured　down　on　the　earth　with
terrific　violence。

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
broke。

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　carried　over　the　houses　into
the　fields。

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
the　sea。

Then；　one　by　one；　they　went　away；　for　night　was　falling　on　the　storm；
wrapping　in　shadows　the　raging　ocean　and　all　the　battling　elements。

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。

One　of　them　was　saying：

〃Come　on；　Jeremie；　let's　go　play　dominoes。　　It's　my　treat。〃

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
remaining　alone　in　the　house。

He　asked：

〃Any　one　might　think　that　you　had　made　a　bet　to　get　me　drunk　every　night。
Say；　what　good　is　it　doing　you；　s