The Snipe

by Guy de Maupassant

　　Old Baron des Ravots had for forty years been the champion sportsman ofhis province. But a stroke of paralysis had kept him in his chair forthe last five or six years. He could now only shoot pigeons from thewindow of his drawing-room or from the top of his high doorsteps.He spent his time in reading.He was a good-natured business man, who had much of the literary spiritof a former century. He worshipped anecdotes, those little risqueanecdotes, and also true stories of events that happened in hisneighborhood. As soon as a friend came to see him he asked:"Well, anything new?"And he knew how to worm out information like an examining lawyer.On sunny days he had his large reclining chair, similar to a bed, wheeledto the hall door. A man servant behind him held his guns, loaded themand handed them to his master. Another valet, hidden in the bushes, letfly a pigeon from time to time at irregular intervals, so that the baronshould be unprepared and be always on the watch.And from morning till night he fired at the birds, much annoyed if hewere taken by surprise and laughing till he cried when the animal fellstraight to the earth or, turned over in some comical and unexpectedmanner. He would turn to the man who was loading the gun and say, almostchoking with laughter:"Did that get him, Joseph? Did you see how he fell?" Joseph invariablyreplied:"Oh, monsieur le baron never misses them."In autumn, when the shooting season opened, he invited his friends as hehad done formerly, and loved to hear them firing in the distance. Hecounted the shots and was pleased when they followed each other rapidly.And in the evening he made each guest give a faithful account of his day.They remained three hours at table telling about their sport.They were strange and improbable adventures in which the romancing spiritof the sportsmen delighted. Some of them were memorable stories and wererepeated regularly. The story of a rabbit that little Vicomte de Bourrilhad missed in his vestibule convulsed them with laughter each year anew.Every five minutes a fresh speaker would say:"I heard 'birr! birr!' and a magnificent covey rose at ten paces fromme. I aimed. Pif! paf! and I saw a shower, a veritable shower ofbirds. There were seven of them!"And they all went into raptures, amazed, but reciprocally credulous.But there was an old custom in the house called "The Story of the Snipe."Whenever this queen of birds was in season the same ceremony took placeat each dinner. As they worshipped this incomparable bird, each guestate one every evening, but the heads were all left in the dish.Then the baron, acting the part of a bishop, had a plate brought to himcontaining a little fat, and he carefully anointed the precious heads,holding them by the tip of their slender, needle-like beak. A lightedcandle was placed beside him and everyone was silent in an anxiety ofexpectation.Then he took one of the heads thus prepared, stuck a pin through it andstuck the pin on a cork, keeping the whole contrivance steady by means oflittle crossed sticks, and carefully placed this object on the neck of abottle in the manner of a tourniquet.All the guests counted simultaneously in a loud tone--"One-two-three."And the baron with a fillip of the finger made this toy whirl round.The guest to whom the long beak pointed when the head stopped became thepossessor of all the heads, a feast fit for a king, which made hisneighbors look askance.He took them one by one and toasted them over the candle. The greasesputtered, the roasting flesh smoked and the lucky winner ate the head,holding it by the beak and uttering exclamations of enjoyment.And at each head the diners, raising their glasses, drank to his health.When he had finished the last head he was obliged, at the baron's orders,to tell an anecdote to compensate the disappointed ones.Here are some of the stories.

　　The Will

　　Walter Schnaff's Adventure

　　At Sea

　　Minuet

　　The Son