The Trip of the Horla
Two versions of this story are included in the Guy de Mauppasant collection. The two differ in title an translation. The other version is The Horla. The reader should sample the first couple paragraphs and read the version he or she prefers.
On the morning of July 8th I received the following telegram: "Fine day.Always my predictions. Belgian frontier. Baggage and servants left atnoon at the social session. Beginning of manoeuvres at three. So I willwait for you at the works from five o'clock on. Jovis."At five o'clock sharp I entered the gas works of La Villette. It mighthave been mistaken for the colossal ruins of an old town inhabited byCyclops. There were immense dark avenues separating heavy gasometersstanding one behind another, like monstrous columns, unequally high and,undoubtedly, in the past the supports of some tremendous, some fearfuliron edifice.The balloon was lying in the courtyard and had the appearance of a cakemade of yellow cloth, flattened on the ground under a rope. That iscalled placing a balloon in a sweep-net, and, in fact, it appeared likean enormous fish.Two or three hundred people were looking at it, sitting or standing, andsome were examining the basket, a nice little square basket for a humancargo, bearing on its side in gold letters on a mahogany plate the words:Le Horla.Suddenly the people began to stand back, for the gas was beginning toenter into the balloon through a long tube of yellow cloth, which lay onthe soil, swelling and undulating like an enormous worm. But anotherthought, another picture occurs to every mind. It is thus that natureitself nourishes beings until their birth. The creature that will risesoon begins to move, and the attendants of Captain Jovis, as Le Horlagrew larger, spread and put in place the net which covers it, so that thepressure will be regular and equally distributed at every point.The operation is very delicate and very important, for the resistance ofthe cotton cloth of which the balloon is made is figured not inproportion to the contact surface of this cloth with the net, but inproportion to the links of the basket.Le Horla, moreover, has been designed by M. Mallet, constructed under hisown eyes and made by himself. Everything had been made in the shops ofM. Jovis by his own working staff and nothing was made outside.We must add that everything was new in this balloon, from the varnish tothe valve, those two essential parts of a balloon. Both must render thecloth gas-proof, as the sides of a ship are waterproof. The oldvarnishes, made with a base of linseed oil, sometimes fermented and thusburned the cloth, which in a short time would tear like a piece of paper.The valves were apt to close imperfectly after being opened and when thecovering called "cataplasme" was injured. The fall of M. L'Hoste in theopen sea during the night proved the imperfection of the old system.The two discoveries of Captain Jovis, the varnish principally, are ofinestimable value in the art of ballooning.The crowd has begun to talk, and some men, who appear to be specialists,affirm with authority that we shall come down before reaching thefortifications. Several other things have been criticized in this noveltype of balloon with which we are about to experiment with so muchpleasure and success.It is growing slowly but surely. Some small holes and scratches made intransit have been discovered, and we cover them and plug them with alittle piece of paper applied on the cloth while wet. This method ofrepairing alarms and mystifies the public.While Captain Jovis and his assistants are busy with the last details,the travellers go to dine in the canteen of the gas-works, according tothe established custom.When we come out again the balloon is swaying, enormous and transparent,a prodigious golden fruit, a fantastic pear which is still ripening,covered by the last rays of the setting sun. Now the basket is attached,the barometers are brought, the siren, which we will blow to our hearts'content, is also brought, also the two trumpets, the eatables, theovercoats and raincoats, all the small articles that can go with the menin that flying basket.As the wind pushes the balloon against the gasometers, it is necessary tosteady it now and then, to avoid an accident at the start.Captain Jovis is now ready and calls all the passengers.Lieutenant Mallet jumps aboard, climbing first on the aerial net betweenthe basket and the balloon, from which he will watch during the night themovements of Le Horla across the skies, as the officer on watch, standingon starboard, watches the course of a ship.M. Etierine Beer gets in after him, then comes M. Paul Bessand, then M.Patrice Eyries and I get in last.But the basket is too heavy for the balloon, considering the long trip tobe taken, and M. Eyries has to get out, not without great regret.M. Joliet, standing erect on the edge of the basket, begs the ladies, invery gallant terms, to stand aside a little, for he is afraid he mightthrow sand on their hats in rising. Then he commands:"Let it loose," and, cutting with one stroke of his knife the ropes thathold the balloon to the ground, he gives Le Horla its liberty.In one second we fly skyward. Nothing can be heard; we float, we rise,we fly, we glide. Our friends shout with glee and applaud, but we hardlyhear them, we hardly see them. We are already so far, so high! What?Are we really leaving these people down there? Is it possible? Parisspreads out beneath us, a dark bluish patch, cut by its streets, fromwhich rise, here and there, domes, towers, steeples, then around it theplain, the country, traversed by long roads, thin and white, amidst greenfields of a tender or dark green, and woods almost black.The Seine appears like a coiled snake, asleep, of which we see neitherhead nor tail; it crosses Paris, and the entire field resembles animmense basin of prairies and forests dotted here and there by mountains,hardly visible in the horizon.The sun, which we could no longer see down below, now reappears as thoughit were about to rise again, and our balloon seems to be lighted; it mustappear like a star to the people who are looking up. M. Mallet every fewseconds throws a cigarette paper into-space and says quietly: "We arerising, always rising," while Captain Jovis, radiant with joy, rubs hishands together and repeats: "Eh? this varnish? Isn't it good?"In fact, we can see whether we are rising or sinking only by throwing acigarette paper out of the basket now and then. If this paper appears tofall down like a stone, it means that the balloon is rising; if itappears to shoot skyward the balloon is descending.The two barometers mark about five hundred meters, and we gaze withenthusiastic admiration at the earth we are leaving and to which we arenot attached in any way; it looks like a colored map, an immense plan ofthe country. All its noises, however, rise to our ears very distinctly,easily recognizable. We hear the sound of the wheels rolling in thestreets, the snap of a whip, the cries of drivers, the rolling andwhistling of trains and the laughter of small boys running after oneanother. Every time we pass over a village the noise of children'svoices is heard above the rest and with the greatest distinctness. Somemen are calling us; the locomotives whistle; we answer with the siren,which emits plaintive, fearfully shrill wails like the voice of a weirdbeing wandering through the world.We perceive lights here and there, some isolated fire in the farms, andlines of gas in the towns. We are going toward the northwest, afterroaming for some time over the little lake of Enghien. Now we see ariver; it is the Oise, and we begin to argue about the exact spot we arepassing. Is that town Creil or Pontoise--the one with so many lights?But if we were over Pontoise we could see the junction of the Seine andthe Oise; and that enormous fire to the left, isn't it the blast furnacesof Montataire? So then we are above Creil. The view is superb; it isdark on the earth, but we are still in the light, and it is now past teno'clock. Now we begin to hear slight country noises, the double cry ofthe quail in particular, then the mewing of cats and the barking of dogs.Surely the dogs have scented the balloon; they have seen it and havegiven the alarm. We can hear them barking all over the plain and makingthe identical noise they make when baying at the moon. The cows alsoseem to wake up in the barns, for we can hear them lowing; all the beastsare scared and moved before the aerial monster that is passing.The delicious odors of the soil rise toward us, the smell of hay, offlowers, of the moist, verdant earth, perfuming the air-a light air, infact, so light, so sweet, so delightful that I realize I never was sofortunate as to breathe before. A profound sense of well-being, unknownto me heretofore, pervades me, a well-being of body and spirit, composedof supineness, of infinite rest, of forgetfulness, of indifference toeverything and of this novel sensation of traversing space without any ofthe sensations that make motion unbearable, without noise, without shocksand without fear.At times we rise and then descend. Every few minutes Lieutenant Mallet,suspended in his cobweb of netting, says to Captain Jovis : "We aredescending; throw down half a handful." And the captain, who is talkingand laughing with us, with a bag of ballast between his legs, takes ahandful of sand out of the bag and throws it overboard.Nothing is more amusing, more delicate, more interesting than themanoeuvring of a balloon. It is an enormous toy, free and docile, whichobeys with surprising sensitiveness, but it is also, and before all, theslave of the wind, which we cannot control. A pinch of sand, half asheet of paper, one or two drops of water, the bones of a chicken whichwe had just eaten, thrown overboard, makes it go up quickly.A breath of cool, damp air rising from the river or the wood we aretraversing makes the balloon descend two hundred metres. It does notvary when passing over fields of ripe grain, and it rises when it passesover towns.The earth sleeps now, or, rather, men sleep on the earth, for the beastsawakened by the sight of our balloon announce our approach everywhere.Now and then the rolling of a train or the whistling of a locomotive isplainly distinguishable. We sound our siren as we pass over inhabitedplaces; and the peasants, terrified in their beds, must surely trembleand ask themselves if the Angel Gabriel is not passing by.A strong and continuous odor of gas can be plainly observed. We musthave encountered a current of warm air, and the balloon expands, losingits invisible blood by the escape-valve, which is called the appendix,and which closes of itself as soon as the expansion ceases.We are rising. The earth no longer gives back the echo of our trumpets;we have risen almost two thousand feet. It is not light enough for us toconsult the instruments; we only know that the rice paper falls from uslike dead butterflies, that we are rising, always rising. We can nolonger see the earth; a light mist separates us from it; and above ourhead twinkles a world of stars.A silvery light appears before us and makes the sky turn pale, andsuddenly, as if it were rising from unknown depths behind the horizonbelow us rises the moon on the edge of a cloud. It seems to be comingfrom below, while we are looking down upon it from a great height,leaning on the edge of our basket like an audience on a balcony. Clearand round, it emerges from the clouds and slowly rises in the sky.The earth no longer seems to exist, it is buried in milky vapors thatresemble a sea. We are now alone in space with the moon, which lookslike another balloon travelling opposite us; and our balloon, whichshines in the air, appears like another, larger moon, a world wanderingin the sky amid the stars, through infinity. We no longer speak, thinknor live; we float along through space in delicious inertia. The airwhich is bearing us up has made of us all beings which resemble itself,silent, joyous, irresponsible beings, intoxicated by this stupendousflight, peculiarly alert, although motionless. One is no longerconscious of one's flesh or one's bones; one's heart seems to have ceasedbeating; we have become something indescribable, birds who do not evenhave to flap their wings.All memory has disappeared from our minds, all trouble from our thoughts;we have no more regrets, plans nor hopes. We look, we feel, we wildlyenjoy this fantastic journey; nothing in the sky but the moon andourselves! We are a wandering, travelling world, like our sisters, theplanets; and this little world carries five men who have left the earthand who have almost forgotten it. We can now see as plainly as indaylight; we look at each other, surprised at this brightness, for wehave nothing to look at but ourselves and a few silvery clouds floatingbelow us. The barometers mark twelve hundred metres, then thirteen,fourteen, fifteen hundred; and the little rice papers still fall aboutus.Captain Jovis claims that the moon has often made balloons act thus, andthat the upward journey will continue.We are now at two thousand metres; we go up to two thousand three hundredand fifty; then the balloon stops: We blow the siren and are surprisedthat no one answers us from the stars.We are now going down rapidly. M. Mallet keeps crying: "Throw out moreballast! throw out more ballast!" And the sand and stones that we throwover come back into our faces, as if they were going up, thrown frombelow toward the stars, so rapid is our descent.Here is the earth! Where are we? It is now past midnight, and we arecrossing a broad, dry, well-cultivated country, with many roads and wellpopulated.To the right is a large city and farther away to the left is another.But suddenly from the earth appears a bright fairy light; it disappears,reappears and once more disappears. Jovis, intoxicated by space,exclaims: "Look, look at this phenomenon of the moon in the water. Onecan see nothing more beautiful at night!"Nothing indeed can give one an idea of the wonderful brightness of thesespots of light which are not fire, which do not look like reflections,which appear quickly here or there and immediately go out again. Theseshining lights appear on the winding rivers at every turn, but one hardlyhas time to see them as the balloon passes as quickly as the wind.We are now quite near the earth, and Beer exclaims:-- "Look at that!What is that running over there in the fields? Isn't it a dog?" Indeed,something is running along the ground with great speed, and thissomething seems to jump over ditches, roads, trees with such ease that wecould not understand what it might be. The captain laughed: "It is theshadow of our balloon. It will grow as we descend."I distinctly hear a great noise of foundries in the distance. And,according to the polar star, which we have been observing all night, 'andwhich I have so often watched and consulted from the bridge of my littleyacht on the Mediterranean, we are heading straight for Belgium.Our siren and our two horns are continually calling. A few cries fromsome truck driver or belated reveler answer us. We bellow: "Where arewe?" But the balloon is going so rapidly that the bewildered man has noteven time to answer us. The growing shadow of Le Horla, as large as achild's ball, is fleeing before us over the fields, roads and woods. Itgoes along steadily, preceding us by about a quarter of a mile; and now Iam leaning out of the basket, listening to the roaring of the wind in thetrees and across the harvest fields. I say to Captain Jovis : "How thewind blows!"He answers: "No, those are probably waterfalls." I insist, sure of myear that knows the sound of the wind, from hearing it so often whistlethrough the rigging. Then Jovis nudges me; he fears to frighten hishappy, quiet passengers, for he knows full well that a storm is pursuingus.At last a man manages to understand us; he answers: "Nord!" We get thesame reply from another.Suddenly the lights of a town, which seems to be of considerable size,appear before us. Perhaps it is Lille. As we approach it, such awonderful flow of fire appears below us that I think myself transportedinto some fairyland where precious stones are manufactured for giants.It seems that it is a brick factory. Here are others, two, three. Thefusing material bubbles, sparkles, throws out blue, red, yellow, greensparks, reflections from giant diamonds, rubies, emeralds, turquoises,sapphires, topazes. And near by are great foundries roaring likeapocalyptic lions; high chimneys belch forth their clouds of smoke andflame, and we can hear the noise of metal striking against metal."Where are we?"The voice of some joker or of a crazy person answers: "In a balloon!""Where are we?""At Lille!"We were not mistaken. We are already out of sight of the town, and wesee Roubaix to the right, then some well-cultivated, rectangular fields,of different colors according to the crops, some yellow, some gray orbrown. But the clouds are gathering behind us, hiding the moon, whereastoward the east the sky is growing lighter, becoming a clear blue tingedwith red. It is dawn. It grows rapidly, now showing us all the littledetails of the earth, the trains, the brooks, the cows, the goats. Andall this passes beneath us with surprising speed. One hardly has time tonotice that other fields, other meadows, other houses have alreadydisappeared. Cocks are crowing, but the voice of ducks drownseverything. One might think the world to be peopled, covered with them,they make so much noise.The early rising peasants are waving their arms and crying to us: "Letyourselves drop!" But we go along steadily, neither rising nor falling,leaning over the edge of the basket and watching the world fleeing underour feet.Jovis sights another city far off in the distance. It approaches;everywhere are old church spires. They are delightful, seen thus fromabove. Where are we? Is this Courtrai? Is it Ghent?We are already very near it, and we see that it is surrounded by waterand crossed in every direction by canals. One might think it a Venice ofthe north. Just as we are passing so near to a church tower that ourlong guy-rope almost touches it, the chimes begin to ring three o'clock.The sweet, clear sounds rise to us from this frail roof which we havealmost touched in our wandering course. It is a charming greeting, afriendly welcome from Holland. We answer with our siren, whose raucousvoice echoes throughout the streets.It was Bruges. But eve have hardly lost sight of it when my neighbor,Paul Bessand, asks me: "Don't you see something over there, to the right,in front of us? It looks like a river."And, indeed, far ahead of us stretches a bright highway, in the light ofthe dawning day. Yes, it looks like a river, an immense river full ofislands."Get ready for the descent," cried the captain. He makes M. Mallet leavehis net and return to the basket; then we pack the barometers andeverything that could be injured by possible shocks. M. Bessandexclaims: "Look at the masts over there to the left! We are at the sea!"Fogs had hidden it from us until then. The sea was everywhere, to theleft and opposite us, while to our right the Scheldt, which had joinedthe Moselle, extended as far as the sea, its mouths vaster than a lake.It was necessary to descend within a minute or two. The rope to theescape-valve, which had been religiously enclosed in a little white bagand placed in sight of all so that no one would touch it, is unrolled,and M. Mallet holds it in his hand while Captain Jovis looks for afavorable landing.Behind us the thunder was rumbling and not a single bird followed our madflight."Pull!" cried Jovis.We were passing over a canal. The basket trembled and tipped overslightly. The guy-rope touched the tall trees on both banks. But ourspeed is so great that the long rope now trailing does not seem to slowdown, and we pass with frightful rapidity over a large farm, from whichthe bewildered chickens, pigeons and ducks fly away, while the cows, catsand dogs run, terrified, toward the house.Just one-half bag of ballast is left. Jovis throws it overboard, and LeHorla flies lightly across the roof.The captain once more cries: "The escape-valve!"M. Mallet reaches for the rope and hangs to it, and we drop like anarrow. With a slash of a knife the cord which retains the anchor is cut,and we drag this grapple behind us, through a field of beets. Here arethe trees."Take care! Hold fast! Look out for your heads!"We pass over them. Then a strong shock shakes us. The anchor has takenhold."Look out! Take a good hold! Raise yourselves by your wrists. We aregoing to touch ground."The basket does indeed strike the earth. Then it flies up again. Oncemore it falls and bounds upward again, and at last it settles on theground, while the balloon struggles madly, like a wounded beast.Peasants run toward us, but they do not dare approach. They were a longtime before they decided to come and deliver us, for one cannot set footon the ground until the bag is almost completely deflated.Then, almost at the same time as the bewildered men, some of whom showedtheir astonishment by jumping, with the wild gestures of savages, all thecows that were grazing along the coast came toward us, surrounding ourballoon with a strange and comical circle of horns, big eyes and blowingnostrils.With the help of the accommodating and hospitable Belgian peasants, wewere able in a short time to pack up all our material and carry it to thestation at Heyst, where at twenty minutes past eight we took the trainfor Paris.The descent occurred at three-fifteen in the morning, preceding by only afew seconds the torrent of rain and the blinding lightning of the stormwhich had been chasing us before it.Thanks to Captain Jovis, of whom I had heard much from my colleague, PaulGinisty--for both of them had fallen together and voluntarily into thesea opposite Mentone--thanks to this brave man, we were able to see, in asingle night, from far up in the sky, the setting of the sun, the risingof the moon and the dawn of day and to go from Paris to the mouth of theScheldt through the skies.
zpostcode
Recruit
weather
mreligion
Yellowpages
sport
constellation
shopping
name
game
directory
literature
Word
tour
furnish
Lottery
tftnews
lyrics
News
digital
car
dir
Edu
Finance
