A Recollection

by Guy de Maupassant

　　

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How many recollections of youth come to me in the soft sunlight of earlyspring! It was an age when all was pleasant, cheerful, charming,intoxicating. How exquisite are the remembrances of those oldspringtimes!Do you recall, old friends and brothers, those happy years when life wasnothing but a triumph and an occasion for mirth? Do you recall the daysof wanderings around Paris, our jolly poverty, our walks in the fresh,green woods, our drinks in the wine-shops on the banks of the Seine andour commonplace and delightful little flirtations?I will tell you about one of these. It was twelve years ago and alreadyappears to me so old, so old that it seems now as if it belonged to theother end of life, before middle age, this dreadful middle age from whichI suddenly perceived the end of the journey.I was then twenty-five. I had just come to Paris. I was in a governmentoffice, and Sundays were to me like unusual festivals, full of exuberanthappiness, although nothing remarkable occurred.Now it is Sunday every day, but I regret the time when I had only oneSunday in the week. How enjoyable it was! I had six francs to spend!On this particular morning I awoke with that sense of freedom that allclerks know so well--the sense of emancipation, of rest, of quiet and ofindependence.I opened my window. The weather was charming. A blue sky full ofsunlight and swallows spread above the town.I dressed quickly and set out, intending to spend the day in the woodsbreathing the air of the green trees, for I am originally a rustic,having been brought up amid the grass and the trees.Paris was astir and happy in the warmth and the light. The front of thehouses was bathed in sunlight, the janitress' canaries were singing intheir cages and there was an air of gaiety in the streets, in the facesof the inhabitants, lighting them up with a smile as if all beings andall things experienced a secret satisfaction at the rising of thebrilliant sun.I walked towards the Seine to take the Swallow, which would land me atSaint-Cloud.How I loved waiting for the boat on the wharf:It seemed to me that I was about to set out for the ends of the world,for new and wonderful lands. I saw the boat approaching yonder, yonderunder the second bridge, looking quite small with its plume of smoke,then growing larger and ever larger, as it drew near, until it looked tome like a mail steamer.It came up to the wharf and I went on board. People were there alreadyin their Sunday clothes, startling toilettes, gaudy ribbons and brightscarlet designs. I took up a position in the bows, standing up andlooking at the quays, the trees, the houses and the bridges disappearingbehind us. And suddenly I perceived the great viaduct of Point du Jourwhich blocked the river. It was the end of Paris, the beginning of thecountry, and behind the double row of arches the Seine, suddenlyspreading out as though it had regained space and liberty, became all atonce the peaceful river which flows through the plains, alongside thewooded hills, amid the meadows, along the edge of the forests.After passing between two islands the Swallow went round a curved verdantslope dotted with white houses. A voice called out: "Bas Meudon" and alittle further on, "Sevres," and still further, "Saint-Cloud."I went on shore and walked hurriedly through the little town to the roadleading to the wood.I had brought with me a map of the environs of Paris, so that I might notlose my way amid the paths which cross in every direction these littleforests where Parisians take their outings.As soon as I was unperceived I began to study my guide, which seemed tobe perfectly clear. I was to turn to the right, then to the left, thenagain to the left and I should reach Versailles by evening in time fordinner.I walked slowly beneath the young leaves, drinking in the air, fragrantwith the odor of young buds and sap. I sauntered along, forgetful ofmusty papers, of the offices, of my chief, my colleagues, my documents,and thinking of the good things that were sure to come to me, of all theveiled unknown contained in the future. A thousand recollections ofchildhood came over me, awakened by these country odors, and I walkedalong, permeated with the fragrant, living enchantment, the emotionalenchantment of the woods warmed by the sun of June.At times I sat down to look at all sorts of little flowers growing on abank, with the names of which I was familiar. I recognized them all justas if they were the ones I had seen long ago in the country. They wereyellow, red, violet, delicate, dainty, perched on long stems or close tothe ground. Insects of all colors and shapes, short, long, of peculiarform, frightful, and microscopic monsters, climbed quietly up the stalksof grass which bent beneath their weight.Then I went to sleep for some hours in a hollow and started off again,refreshed by my doze.In front of me lay an enchanting pathway and through its somewhat scantyfoliage the sun poured down drops of light on the marguerites which grewthere. It stretched out interminably, quiet and deserted, save for anoccasional big wasp, who would stop buzzing now and then to sip from aflower, and then continue his way.All at once I perceived at the end of the path two persons, a man and awoman, coming towards me. Annoyed at being disturbed in my quiet walk, Iwas about to dive into the thicket, when I thought I heard someonecalling me. The woman was, in fact, shaking her parasol, and the man, inhis shirt sleeves, his coat over one arm, was waving the other as asignal of distress.I went towards them. They were walking hurriedly, their faces very red,she with short, quick steps and he with long strides. They both lookedannoyed and fatigued.The woman asked:"Can you tell me, monsieur, where we are? My fool of a husband made uslose our way, although he pretended he knew the country perfectly."I replied confidently:"Madame, you are going towards Saint-Cloud and turning your back onVersailles."With a look of annoyed pity for her husband, she exclaimed:"What, we are turning our back on Versailles? Why, that is just where wewant to dine!""I am going there also, madame.""Mon Dieu, mon Dieu, mon Dieu!" she repeated, shrugging her shoulders,and in that tone of sovereign contempt assumed by women to express theirexasperation.She was quite young, pretty, a brunette with a slight shadow on her upperlip.As for him, he was perspiring and wiping his forehead. It was assuredlya little Parisian bourgeois couple. The man seemed cast down, exhaustedand distressed."But, my dear friend, it was you--" he murmured.She did not allow him to finish his sentence."It was I!, Ah, it is my fault now! Was it I who wanted to go outwithout getting any information, pretending that I knew how to find myway? Was it I who wanted to take the road to the right on top of thehill, insisting that I recognized the road? Was it I who undertook totake charge of Cachou--"She had not finished speaking when her husband, as if he had suddenlygone crazy, gave a piercing scream, a long, wild cry that could not bedescribed in any language, but which sounded like 'tuituit'.The young woman did not appear to be surprised or moved and resumed:"No, really, some people are so stupid and they pretend they knoweverything. Was it I who took the train to Dieppe last year instead ofthe train to Havre--tell me, was it I? Was it I who bet thatM. Letourneur lived in Rue des Martyres? Was it I who would not believethat Celeste was a thief?"She went on, furious, with a surprising flow of language, accumulatingthe most varied, the most unexpected and the most overwhelmingaccusations drawn from the intimate relations of their daily life,reproaching her husband for all his actions, all his ideas, all hishabits, all his enterprises, all his efforts, for his life from the timeof their marriage up to the present time.He strove to check her, to calm her and stammered:"But, my dear, it is useless--before monsieur. We are making ourselvesridiculous. This does not interest monsieur."And he cast mournful glances into the thicket as though he sought tosound its peaceful and mysterious depths, in order to flee thither, toescape and hide from all eyes, and from time to time he uttered a freshscream, a prolonged and shrill "tuituit." I took this to be a nervousaffection.The young woman, suddenly turning towards me: and changing her tone withsingular rapidity, said:"If monsieur will kindly allow us, we will accompany him on the road, soas not to lose our way again, and be obliged, possibly, to sleep in thewood."I bowed. She took my arm and began to talk about a thousand things--about herself, her life, her family, her business. They were glovers inthe Rue, Saint-Lazare.Her husband walked beside her, casting wild glances into the thick woodand screaming "tuituit" every few moments.At last I inquired:"Why do you scream like that?""I have lost my poor dog," he replied in a tone of discouragement anddespair."How is that--you have lost your dog?""Yes. He was just a year old. He had never been outside the shop.I wanted to take him to have a run in the woods. He had never seen thegrass nor the leaves and he was almost wild. He began to run about andbark and he disappeared in the wood. I must also add that he was greatlyafraid of the train. That may have driven him mad. I kept on callinghim, but he has not come back. He will die of hunger in there."Without turning towards her husband, the young woman said:"If you had left his chain on, it would not have happened. When peopleare as stupid as you are they do not keep a dog.""But, my dear, it was you--" he murmured timidly.She stopped short, and looking into his eyes as if she were going to tearthem out, she began again to cast in his face innumerable reproaches.It was growing dark. The cloud of vapor that covers the country at duskwas slowly rising and there was a poetry in the air, induced by thepeculiar and enchanting freshness of the atmosphere that one feels in thewoods at nightfall.Suddenly the young man stopped, and feeling his body feverishly,exclaimed:"Oh, I think that I--"She looked at him."Well, what?""I did not notice that I had my coat on my arm.""Well--?""I have lost my pocketbook--my money was in it."She shook with anger and choked with indignation."That was all that was lacking. How stupid you are! how stupid you are!Is it possible that I could have married such an idiot! Well, go andlook for it, and see that you find it. I am going on to Versailles withmonsieur. I do not want to sleep in the wood.""Yes, my dear," he replied gently. "Where shall I find you?"A restaurant had been recommended to me. I gave him the address.He turned back and, stooping down as he searched the ground with anxiouseyes, he moved away, screaming "tuituit" every few moments.We could see him for some time until the growing darkness concealed allbut his outline, but we heard his mournful "tuituit," shriller andshriller as the night grew darker.As for me, I stepped along quickly and happily in the soft twilight, withthis little unknown woman leaning on my arm. I tried to say prettythings to her, but could think of nothing. I remained silent, disturbed,enchanted.Our path was suddenly crossed by a high road. To the right I perceived atown lying in a valley.What was this place? A man was passing. I asked him. He replied:"Bougival."I was dumfounded."What, Bougival? Are you sure?""Parbleu, I belong there!"The little woman burst into an idiotic laugh.I proposed that we should take a carriage and drive to Versailles. Shereplied:"No, indeed. This is very funny and I am very hungry. I am really quitecalm. My husband will find his way all right. It is a treat to me to berid of him for a few hours."We went into a restaurant beside the water and I ventured to ask for aprivate compartment. We had some supper. She sang, drank champagne,committed all sorts of follies.That was my first serious flirtation.

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