original short stories-13-第6节

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I　stammered：　'And　what　of　him；　what　of　him；　Gontran？'　　There　was　no
answer。　　It　was　true！

〃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　times；　wiped　her　eyes　and
continued：

〃I　broke　off　my　marriagewithout　saying　why。　　And　II　always　have
remained　thethe　widow　of　this　thirteen…year…old　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　neighbor's　ear：　〃Isn't　it　unfortunate　to；
be　so　sentimental？〃






THE　ENGLISHMAN　OF　ETRETAT

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　drawing…rooms。　　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　little　towns。

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　the　man　must　have！

I　knew　this　young　man　only　from　seeing　him　in　the　streets。　　He　was　short；
plump；　without　being　fat；　mild…looking；　and　he　wore　a　little　blond
mustache；　which　was　almost　invisible。

Chance　brought　us　together。　　This　savage　had　amiable　and　pleasing
manners；　but　he　was　one　of　those　strange　Englishmen　that　one　meets　here
and　there　throughout　the　world。

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
semblance　of　reality　that　was　maddening。

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　had　been　almost　drowned　and　whom　I　had　attempted　to　rescue。

Although　I　was　unable　to　reach　the　man　until　he　had　already　been　rescued；
I　received　the　hearty　thanks　of　the　two　Englishmen；　and　the　following　day
I　called　upon　them。

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　Earl　of　Ashburnham。

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　lights　that　seemed　to　illuminate　a　whole
world　of　ideas。

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
water…color　which　represented　the　head　of　a　dead　man　floating　in　a　rose…
colored　shell　on　a　boundless　ocean；　under　a　moon　with　a　human　face。

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　have　to　take　one　of　his　brothers　as　a
companion　for　the　rest　of　my　days。

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　undoubtedly　a　genius。

Great　minds　that　are　healthy　are　never　considered　geniuses；　while　this
sublime　qualification　is　lavished　on　brains　that　are　often　inferior　but
are　slightly　touched　by　madness。

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；　sometimes　visibly　forced；　but
sometimes　magnificent。


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　barley…sugar　in　the　streets。　　He　was　expelled　from　the　country
after　he　had　almost　strangled　a　displeased　customer。

The　world　would　be　gayer　if　one　could　often　meet　homes　like　that。

　　　　　This　story　appeared　in　the　〃Gaulois；〃　November　29；　1882。　　It　was　the
　　　　　original　sketch　for　the　introductory　study　of　Swinburne；　written　by
　　　　　Maupassant　for　the　French　translation　by　Gabriel　Mourey　of　〃Poems
　　　　　and　Ballads。〃






MAGNETISM

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；　easy…going　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　would　not　even　enter　upon　a　discussion　of　such
matters。

He　repeated　with　a　sneer：

〃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　story…tellers　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
himself。〃

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

One　of　these　gentlemen　exclaimed：

〃And　yet　miracles　were　performed　in　olden　times。〃

〃I　deny　it；〃　replied　the　other：　〃Why　cannot　they　be　performed　now？〃

Then；　each　mentioned　some　fact；　some　fantastic　presentiment　some　instance
o