Friend Joseph

by Guy de Maupassant

　　

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They had been great friends all winter in Paris. As is always the case,they had lost sight of each other after leaving school, and had met againwhen they were old and gray-haired. One of them had married, but theother had remained in single blessedness.M. de Meroul lived for six months in Paris and for six months in hislittle chateau at Tourbeville. Having married the daughter of aneighboring, squire, he had lived a good and peaceful life in theindolence of a man who has nothing to do. Of a calm and quietdisposition, and not over-intelligent he used to spend his time quietlyregretting the past, grieving over the customs and institutions of theday and continually repeating to his wife, who would lift her eyes, andsometimes her hands, to heaven, as a sign of energetic assent: "Goodgracious! What a government!"Madame de Meroul resembled her husband intellectually as though she hadbeen his sister. She knew, by tradition, that one should above allrespect the Pope and the King!And she loved and respected them from the bottom of her heart, withoutknowing them, with a poetic fervor, with an hereditary devotion, with thetenderness of a wellborn woman. She was good to, the marrow of herbones. She had had no children, and never ceased mourning the fact.On meeting his old friend, Joseph Mouradour, at a ball, M. de Meroul wasfilled with a deep and simple joy, for in their youth they had beenintimate friends.After the first exclamations of surprise at the changes which time hadwrought in their bodies and countenances, they told each other abouttheir lives since they had last met.Joseph Mouradour, who was from the south of France, had become agovernment official. His manner was frank; he spoke rapidly and withoutrestraint, giving his opinions without any tact. He was a Republican,one of those good fellows who do not believe in standing on ceremony, andwho exercise an almost brutal freedom of speech.He came to his friend's house and was immediately liked for his easycordiality, in spite of his radical ideas. Madame de Meroul wouldexclaim:"What a shame! Such a charming man!"Monsieur de Meroul would say to his friend in a serious and confidentialtone of voice; "You have no idea the harm that you are doing yourcountry." He loved him all the same, for nothing is stronger than theties of childhood taken up again at a riper age. Joseph Mouradourbantered the wife and the husband, calling them "my amiable snails," andsometimes he would solemnly declaim against people who were behind thetimes, against old prejudices and traditions.When he was once started on his democratic eloquence, the couple,somewhat ill at ease, would keep silent from politeness and good-breeding; then the husband would try to turn the conversation into someother channel in order to avoid a clash. Joseph Mouradour was only seenin the intimacy of the family.Summer came. The Merouls had no greater pleasure than to receive theirfriends at their country home at Tourbeville. It was a good, healthypleasure, the enjoyments of good people and of country proprietors. Theywould meet their friends at the neighboring railroad station and wouldbring them back in their carriage, always on the lookout for complimentson the country, on its natural features, on the condition of the roads,on the cleanliness of the farm-houses, on the size of the cattle grazingin the fields, on everything within sight.They would call attention to the remarkable speed with which their horsetrotted, surprising for an animal that did heavy work part of the yearbehind a plow; and they would anxiously await the opinion of the newcomeron their family domain, sensitive to the least word, and thankful for theslightest good intention.Joseph Mouradour was invited, and he accepted the invitation.Husband and wife had come to the train, delighted to welcome him to theirhome. As soon as he saw them, Joseph Mouradour jumped from the trainwith a briskness which increased their satisfaction. He shook theirhands, congratulated them, overwhelmed them with compliments.All the way home he was charming, remarking on the height of the trees,the goodness of the crops and the speed of the horse.When he stepped on the porch of the house, Monsieur de Meroul said, witha certain friendly solemnity:"Consider yourself at home now."Joseph Mouradour answered:"Thanks, my friend; I expected as much. Anyhow, I never stand onceremony with my friends. That's how I understand hospitality."Then he went upstairs to dress as a farmer, he said, and he came back alltogged out in blue linen, with a little straw hat and yellow shoes, aregular Parisian dressed for an outing. He also seemed to become morevulgar, more jovial, more familiar; having put on with his countryclothes a free and easy manner which he judged suitable to thesurroundings. His new manners shocked Monsieur and Madame de Meroul alittle, for they always remained serious and dignified, even in thecountry, as though compelled by the two letters preceding their name tokeep up a certain formality even in the closest intimacy.After lunch they all went out to visit the farms, and the Parisianastounded the respectful peasants by his tone of comradeship.In the evening the priest came to dinner, an old, fat priest, accustomedto dining there on Sundays, but who had been especially invited this dayin honor of the new guest.Joseph, on seeing him, made a wry face. Then he observed him withsurprise, as though he were a creature of some peculiar race, which hehad never been able to observe at close quarters. During the meal hetold some rather free stories, allowable in the intimacy of the family,but which seemed to the Merouls a little out of place in the presence ofa minister of the Church. He did not say, "Monsieur l'abbe," but simply,"Monsieur." He embarrassed the priest greatly by philosophicaldiscussions about diverse superstitions current all over the world.He said: "Your God, monsieur, is of those who should be respected, butalso one of those who should be discussed. Mine is called Reason; he hasalways been the enemy of yours."The Merouls, distressed, tried to turn the trend of the conversation.The priest left very early.Then the husband said, very quietly:"Perhaps you went a little bit too far with the priest."But Joseph immediately exclaimed:"Well, that's pretty good! As if I would be on my guard with ashaveling! And say, do me the pleasure of not imposing him on me anymore at meals. You can both make use of him as much as you wish, butdon't serve him up to your friends, hang it!""But, my friends, think of his holy--"Joseph Mouradour interrupted him:"Yes, I know; they have to be treated like 'rosieres.' But let themrespect my convictions, and I will respect theirs!"That was all for that day.As soon as Madame de Meroul entered the parlor, the next morning, shenoticed in the middle of the table three newspapers which made her startthe Voltaire, the Republique-Francaise and the Justice. ImmediatelyJoseph Mouradour, still in blue, appeared on the threshold, attentivelyreading the Intransigeant. He cried:"There's a great article in this by Rochefort. That fellow is a wonder!"He read it aloud, emphasizing the parts which especially pleased him, socarried away by enthusiasm that he did not notice his friend's entrance.Monsieur de Meroul was holding in his hand the Gaulois for himself, theClarion for his wife.The fiery prose of the master writer who overthrew the empire, spoutedwith violence, sung in the southern accent, rang throughout the peacefulparsons seemed to spatter the walls and century-old furniture with a hailof bold, ironical and destructive words.The man and the woman, one standing, the other sitting, were listeningwith astonishment, so shocked that they could not move.In a burst of eloquence Mouradour finished the last paragraph, thenexclaimed triumphantly:"Well! that's pretty strong!"Then, suddenly, he noticed the two sheets which his friend was carrying,and he, in turn, stood speechless from surprise. Quickly walking towardhim he demanded angrily:"What are you doing with those papers?"Monsieur de Meroul answered hesitatingly:"Why--those--those are my papers!""Your papers! What are you doing--making fun of me? You will do me thepleasure of reading mine; they will limber up your ideas, and as foryours--there! that's what I do with them."And before his astonished host could stop him, he had seized the twonewspapers and thrown them out of the window. Then he solemnly handedthe Justice to Madame de Meroul, the Voltaire to her husband, while hesank down into an arm-chair to finish reading the Intransigeant.The couple, through delicacy, made a pretense of reading a little, theythen handed him back the Republican sheets, which they handled gingerly,as though they might be poisoned.He laughed and declared:"One week of this regime and I will have you converted to my ideas."In truth, at the end of a week he ruled the house. He had closed thedoor against the priest, whom Madame de Meroul had to visit secretly; hehad forbidden the Gaulois and the Clarion to be brought into the house,so that a servant had to go mysteriously to the post-office to get them,and as soon as he entered they would be hidden under sofa cushions; hearranged everything to suit himself--always charming, always good-natured, a jovial and all-powerful tyrant.Other friends were expected, pious and conservative friends. The unhappycouple saw the impossibility of having them there then, and, not knowingwhat to do, one evening they announced to Joseph Mouradour that theywould be obliged to absent themselves for a few days, on business, andthey begged him to stay on alone. He did not appear disturbed, andanswered:"Very well, I don't mind! I will wait here as long as you wish. I havealready said that there should be no formality between friends. You areperfectly right-go ahead and attend to your business. It will not offendme in the least; quite the contrary, it will make me feel much morecompletely one of the family. Go ahead, my friends, I will wait foryou!"Monsieur and Madame de Meroul left the following day.He is still waiting for them.

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