The Mask

by Guy de Maupassant

There was a masquerade ball at the Elysee-Montmartre that evening. Itwas the 'Mi-Careme', and the crowds were pouring into the brightlylighted passage which leads to the dance ball, like water flowing throughthe open lock of a canal. The loud call of the orchestra, bursting likea storm of sound, shook the rafters, swelled through the wholeneighborhood and awoke, in the streets and in the depths of the houses,an irresistible desire to jump, to get warm, to have fun, which slumberswithin each human animal.The patrons came from every quarter of Paris; there were people of allclasses who love noisy pleasures, a little low and tinged with debauch.There were clerks and girls--girls of every description, some wearingcommon cotton, some the finest batiste; rich girls, old and covered withdiamonds, and poor girls of sixteen, full of the desire to revel, tobelong to men, to spend money. Elegant black evening suits, in search offresh or faded but appetizing novelty, wandering through the excitedcrowds, looking, searching, while the masqueraders seemed moved above allby the desire for amusement. Already the far-famed quadrilles hadattracted around them a curious crowd. The moving hedge which encircledthe four dancers swayed in and out like a snake, sometimes nearer andsometimes farther away, according to the motions of the performers. Thetwo women, whose lower limbs seemed to be attached to their bodies byrubber springs, were making wonderful and surprising motions with theirlegs. Their partners hopped and skipped about, waving their arms about.One could imagine their panting breath beneath their masks.One of them, who had taken his place in the most famous quadrille, assubstitute for an absent celebrity, the handsome "Songe-au-Gosse," wastrying to keep up with the tireless "Arete-de-Veau" and was makingstrange fancy steps which aroused the joy and sarcasm of the audience.He was thin, dressed like a dandy, with a pretty varnished mask on hisface. It had a curly blond mustache and a wavy wig. He looked like awax figure from the Musee Grevin, like a strange and fantastic caricatureof the charming young man of fashion plates, and he danced with visibleeffort, clumsily, with a comical impetuosity. He appeared rusty besidethe others when he tried to imitate their gambols: he seemed overcome byrheumatism, as heavy as a great Dane playing with greyhounds. Mockingbravos encouraged him. And he, carried away with enthusiasm, jiggedabout with such frenzy that suddenly, carried away by a wild spurt, hepitched head foremost into the living wall formed by the audience, whichopened up before him to allow him to pass, then closed around theinanimate body of the dancer, stretched out on his face.Some men picked him up and carried him away, calling for a doctor. Agentleman stepped forward, young and elegant, in well-fitting eveningclothes, with large pearl studs. "I am a professor of the Faculty ofMedicine," he said in a modest voice. He was allowed to pass, and heentered a small room full of little cardboard boxes, where the stilllifeless dancer had been stretched cut on some chairs. The doctor atfirst wished to take off the mask, and he noticed that it was attached ina complicated manner, with a perfect network of small metal wires whichcleverly bound it to his wig and covered the whole head. Even the neckwas imprisoned in a false skin which continued the chin and was paintedthe color of flesh, being attached to the collar of the shirt.All this had to be cut with strong scissors. When the physician had slitopen this surprising arrangement, from the shoulder to the temple, heopened this armor and found the face of an old man, worn out, thin andwrinkled. The surprise among those who had brought in this seeminglyyoung dancer was so great that no one laughed, no one said a word.All were watching this sad face as he lay on the straw chairs, his eyesclosed, his face covered with white hair, some long, falling from theforehead over the face, others short, growing around the face and thechin, and beside this poor head, that pretty little, neat varnished,smiling mask.The man regained consciousness after being inanimate for a long time, buthe still seemed to be so weak and sick that the physician feared somedangerous complication. He asked: "Where do you live?"The old dancer seemed to be making an effort to remember, and then hementioned the name of the street, which no one knew. He was asked formore definite information about the neighborhood. He answered with agreat slowness, indecision and difficulty, which revealed his upset stateof mind. The physician continued:"I will take you home myself."Curiosity had overcome him to find out who this strange dancer, thisphenomenal jumper might be. Soon the two rolled away in a cab to theother side of Montmartre.They stopped before a high building of poor appearance. They went up awinding staircase. The doctor held to the banister, which was so grimythat the hand stuck to it, and he supported the dizzy old man, whoseforces were beginning to return. They stopped at the fourth floor.The door at which they had knocked was opened by an old woman, neatlooking, with a white nightcap enclosing a thin face with sharp features,one of those good, rough faces of a hard-working and faithful woman. Shecried out:"For goodness sake! What's the matter?"He told her the whole affair in a few words. She became reassured andeven calmed the physician himself by telling him that the same thing hadhappened many times. She said: "He must be put to bed, monsieur, that isall. Let him sleep and tomorrow he will be all right."The doctor continued: "But he can hardly speak.""Oh! that's just a little drink, nothing more; he has eaten no dinner,in order to be nimble, and then he took a few absinthes in order to workhimself up to the proper pitch. You see, drink gives strength to hislegs, but it stops his thoughts and words. He is too old to dance as hedoes. Really, his lack of common sense is enough to drive one mad!"The doctor, surprised, insisted:"But why does he dance like that at his age?"She shrugged her shoulders and turned red from the anger which was slowlyrising within her and she cried out:"Ah! yes, why? So that the people will think him young under his mask;so that the women will still take him for a young dandy and whisper nastythings into his ears; so that he can rub up against all their dirtyskins, with their perfumes and powders and cosmetics. Ah! it's a finebusiness! What a life I have had for the last forty years! But we mustfirst get him to bed, so that he may have no ill effects. Would you mindhelping me? When he is like that I can't do anything with him alone."The old man was sitting on his bed, with a tipsy look, his long whitehair falling over his face. His companion looked at him with tender yetindignant eyes. She continued:"Just see the fine head he has for his age, and yet he has to go anddisguise himself in order to make people think that he is young. It's aperfect shame! Really, he has a fine head, monsieur! Wait, I'll show itto you before putting him to bed."She went to a table on which stood the washbasin a pitcher of water, soapand a comb and brush. She took the brush, returned to the bed and pushedback the drunkard's tangled hair. In a few seconds she made him looklike a model fit for a great painter, with his long white locks flowingon his neck. Then she stepped back in order to observe him, saying:"There! Isn't he fine for his age?""Very," agreed the doctor, who was beginning to be highly amused.She added: "And if you had known him when he was twenty-five! But wemust get him to bed, otherwise the drink will make him sick. Do you minddrawing off that sleeve? Higher-like that-that's right. Now thetrousers. Wait, I will take his shoes off--that's right. Now, hold himupright while I open the bed. There--let us put him in. If you thinkthat he is going to disturb himself when it is time for me to get in youare mistaken. I have to find a little corner any place I can. Thatdoesn't bother him! Bah! You old pleasure seeker!"As soon as he felt himself stretched out in his sheets the old man closedhis eyes, opened them closed them again, and over his whole face appearedan energetic resolve to sleep. The doctor examined him with an ever-increasing interest and asked: "Does he go to all the fancy balls and tryto be a young man?" "To all of them, monsieur, and he comes back to me inthe morning in a deplorable condition. You see, it's regret that leadshim on and that makes him put a pasteboard face over his own. Yes, theregret of no longer being what he was and of no longer making anyconquests!"He was sleeping now and beginning to snore. She looked at him with apitying expression and continued: "Oh! how many conquests that man hasmade! More than one could believe, monsieur, more than the finestgentlemen of the world, than all the tenors and all the generals.""Really? What did he do?""Oh! it will surprise you at first, as you did not know him in his palmydays. When I met him it was also at a ball, for he has always frequentedthem. As soon as I saw him I was caught--caught like a fish on a hook.Ah! how pretty he was, monsieur, with his curly raven locks and blackeyes as large as saucers! Indeed, he was good looking! He took me awaythat evening and I never have left him since, never, not even for a day,no matter what he did to me! Oh! he has often made it hard for me!"The doctor asked: "Are you married?"She answered simply: "Yes, monsieur, otherwise he would have dropped meas he did the others. I have been his wife and his servant, everything,everything that he wished. How he has made me cry--tears which I did notshow him; for he would tell all his adventures to me--to me, monsieur--without understanding how it hurt me to listen.""But what was his business?""That's so. I forgot to tell you. He was the foreman at Martel's--aforeman such as they never had had--an artist who averaged ten francs anhour.""Martel?--who is Martel?""The hairdresser, monsieur, the great hairdresser of the Opera, who hadall the actresses for customers. Yes, sir, all the smartest actresseshad their hair dressed by Ambrose and they would give him tips that madea fortune for him. Ah! monsieur, all the women are alike, yes, all ofthem. When a man pleases their fancy they offer themselves to him. Itis so easy--and it hurt me so to hear about it. For he would tell meeverything--he simply could not hold his tongue--it was impossible.Those things please the men so much! They seem to get even moreenjoyment out of telling than doing."When I would see him coming in the evening, a little pale, with apleased look and a bright eye, would say to myself: 'One more. I am surethat he has caught one more.' Then I felt a wild desire to question himand then, again, not to know, to stop his talking if he should begin.And we would look at each other."I knew that he would not keep still, that he would come to the point.I could feel that from his manner, which seemed to laugh and say: 'I hada fine adventure to-day, Madeleine.' I would pretend to notice nothing,to guess nothing; I would set the table, bring on the soup and sit downopposite him."At those times, monsieur, it was as if my friendship for him had beencrushed in my body as with a stone. It hurt. But he did not understand;he did not know; he felt a need to tell all those things to some one, toboast, to show how much he was loved, and I was the only one he had towhom he could talk-the only one. And I would have to listen and drink itin, like poison."He would begin to take his soup and then he would say: 'One more,Madeleine.'"And I would think: 'Here it comes! Goodness! what a man! Why did Iever meet him?'"Then he would begin: 'One more! And a beauty, too.' And it would besome little one from the Vaudeville or else from the Varietes, and someof the big ones, too, some of the most famous. He would tell me theirnames, how their apartments were furnished, everything, everything,monsieur. Heartbreaking details. And he would go over them and tell hisstory over again from beginning to end, so pleased with himself that Iwould pretend to laugh so that he would not get angry with me."Everything may not have been true! He liked to glorify himself and wasquite capable of inventing such things! They may perhaps also have beentrue! On those evenings he would pretend to be tired and wish to go tobed after supper. We would take supper at eleven, monsieur, for he couldnever get back from work earlier."When he had finished telling about his adventure he would walk round theroom and smoke cigarettes, and he was so handsome, with his mustache andcurly hair, that I would think: 'It's true, just the same, what he istelling. Since I myself am crazy about that man, why should not othersbe the same?' Then I would feel like crying, shrieking, running away andjumping out of the window while I was clearing the table and he wassmoking. He would yawn in order to show how tired he was, and he wouldsay two or three times before going to bed: 'Ah! how well I shall sleepthis evening!'"I bear him no ill will, because he did not know how he was hurting me.No, he could not know! He loved to boast about the women just as apeacock loves to show his feathers. He got to the point where he thoughtthat all of them looked at him and desired him."It was hard when he grew old. Oh, monsieur, when I saw his first whitehair I felt a terrible shock and then a great joy--a wicked joy--but sogreat, so great! I said to myself: 'It's the end-it's the end.'It seemed as if I were about to be released from prison. At last I couldhave him to myself, all to myself, when the others would no longer wanthim."It was one morning in bed. He was still sleeping and I leaned over himto wake him up with a kiss, when I noticed in his curls, over his temple,a little thread which shone like silver. What a surprise! I should nothave thought it possible! At first I thought of tearing it out so thathe would not see it, but as I looked carefully I noticed another fartherup. White hair! He was going to have white hair! My heart began tothump and perspiration stood out all over me, but away down at the bottomI was happy."It was mean to feel thus, but I did my housework with a light heart thatmorning, without waking him up, and, as soon as he opened his eyes of hisown accord, I said to him: 'Do you know what I discovered while you wereasleep?'"'No.'"'I found white hairs.'"He started up as if I had tickled him and said angrily: 'It's not true!'"'Yes, it is. There are four of them over your left temple.'"He jumped out of bed and ran over to the mirror. He could not findthem. Then I showed him the first one, the lowest, the little curly one,and I said: 'It's no wonder, after the life that you have been leading.In two years all will be over for you.'"Well, monsieur, I had spoken true; two years later one could notrecognize him. How quickly a man changes! He was still handsome, but hehad lost his freshness, and the women no longer ran after him. Ah! whata life I led at that time! How he treated me! Nothing suited him. Heleft his trade to go into the hat business, in which he ate up all hismoney. Then he unsuccessfully tried to be an actor, and finally he beganto frequent public balls. Fortunately, he had had common sense enough tosave a little something on which we now live. It is sufficient, but itis not enormous. And to think that at one time he had almost a fortune."Now you see what he does. This habit holds him like a frenzy. He hasto be young; he has to dance with women who smell of perfume andcosmetics. You poor old darling!"She was looking at her old snoring husband fondty, ready to cry. Then,gently tiptoeing up to him, she kissed his hair. The physician had risenand was getting ready to leave, finding nothing to say to this strangecouple. Just as he was leaving she asked:"Would you mind giving me your address? If he should grow worse, I couldgo and get you."

Previous Authors：The Marquis de Fumerol Next Authors：The Model