Yvette Samoris

by Guy de Maupassant

　　

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"The Comtesse Samoris.""That lady in black over there?""The very one. She's wearing mourning for her daughter, whom shekilled.""You don't mean that seriously? How did she die?""Oh! it is a very simple story, without any crime in it, any violence.""Then what really happened?""Almost nothing. Many courtesans are born to be virtuous women, theysay; and many women called virtuous are born to be courtesans--is thatnot so? Now, Madame Samoris, who was born a courtesan, had a daughterborn a virtuous woman, that's all.""I don't quite understand you.""I'll--explain what I mean. The comtesse is nothing but a common,ordinary parvenue originating no one knows where. A Hungarian orWallachian countess or I know not what. She appeared one winter inapartments she had taken in the Champs Elysees, that quarter foradventurers and adventuresses, and opened her drawing-room to the firstcomer or to any one that turned up."I went there. Why? you will say. I really can't tell you. I wentthere, as every one goes to such places because the women are facile andthe men are dishonest. You know that set composed of filibusters withvaried decorations, all noble, all titled, all unknown at the embassies,with the exception of those who are spies. All talk of their honorwithout the slightest occasion for doing so, boast of their ancestors,tell you about their lives, braggarts, liars, sharpers, as dangerous asthe false cards they have up their sleeves, as delusive as their names--in short, the aristocracy of the bagnio."I adore these people. They are interesting to study, interesting toknow, amusing to understand, often clever, never commonplace like publicfunctionaries. Their wives are always pretty, with a slight flavor offoreign roguery, with the mystery of their existence, half of it perhapsspent in a house of correction. They have, as a rule, magnificent eyesand incredible hair. I adore them also."Madame Samoris is the type of these adventuresses, elegant, mature andstill beautiful. Charming feline creatures, you feel that they arevicious to the marrow of their bones. You find them very amusing whenyou visit them; they give card parties; they have dances and suppers; inshort, they offer you all the pleasures of social life."And she had a daughter--a tall, fine-looking girl, always ready foramusement, always full of laughter and reckless gaiety--a trueadventuress' daughter--but, at the same time, an innocent,unsophisticated, artless girl, who saw nothing, knew nothing, understoodnothing of all the things that happened in her father's house."The girl was simply a puzzle to me. She was a mystery. She lived amidthose infamous surroundings with a quiet, tranquil ease that was eitherterribly criminal or else the result of innocence. She sprang from thefilth of that class like a beautiful flower fed on corruption.""How do you know about them?""How do I know? That's the funniest part of the business! One morningthere was a ring at my door, and my valet came up to tell me thatM. Joseph Bonenthal wanted to speak to me. I said directly:'And who is this gentleman?' My valet replied: 'I don't know, monsieur;perhaps 'tis some one that wants employment.' And so it was. The manwanted me to take him as a servant. I asked him where he had been last.He answered: 'With the Comtesse Samoris.' 'Ah!' said I, 'but my house isnot a bit like hers.' 'I know that well, monsieur,' he said, 'and that'sthe very reason I want to take service with monsieur. I've had enough ofthese people: a man may stay a little while with them, but he won'tremain long with them.' I required an additional man servant at the timeand so I took him."A month later Mademoiselle Yvette Samoris died mysteriously, and hereare all the details of her death I could gather from Joseph, who got themfrom his sweetheart, the comtesse's chambermaid."It was a ball night, and two newly arrived guests were chatting behind adoor. Mademoiselle Yvette, who had just been dancing, leaned againstthis door to get a little air."They did not see her approaching, but she heard what they were saying.And this was what they said:"'But who is the father of the girl?'"'A Russian, it appears; Count Rouvaloff. He never comes near the mothernow.'"'And who is the reigning prince to-day?'"'That English prince standing near the window; Madame Samoris adoreshim. But her adoration of any one never lasts longer than a month or sixweeks. Nevertheless, as you see, she has a large circle of admirers.All are called--and nearly all are chosen. That kind of thing costs agood deal, but--hang it, what can you expect?'"'And where did she get this name of Samoris?'"'From the only man perhaps that she ever loved--a Jewish banker fromBerlin who goes by the name of Samuel Morris.'"'Good. Thanks. Now that I know what kind of woman she is and have seenher, I'm off!'"What a shock this was to the mind of a young girl endowed with all theinstincts of a virtuous woman! What despair overwhelmed that simplesoul! What mental tortures quenched her unbounded gaiety, her delightfullaughter, her exultant satisfaction with life! What a conflict tookplace in that youthful heart up to the moment when the last guest hadleft! Those were things that Joseph could not tell me. But, the samenight, Yvette abruptly entered her mother's room just as the comtesse wasgetting into bed, sent out the lady's maid, who was close to the door,and, standing erect and pale and with great staring eyes, she said:"'Mamma, listen to what I heard a little while ago during the ball.'"And she repeated word for word the conversation just as I told it toyou."The comtesse was so stunned that she did not know what to say in replyat first. When she recovered her self-possession she denied everythingand called God to witness that there was no truth in the story."The young girl went away, distracted but not convinced. And she beganto watch her mother."I remember distinctly the strange alteration that then took place inher. She became grave and melancholy. She would fix on us her greatearnest eyes as if she wanted to read what was at the bottom of ourhearts. We did not know what to think of her and used to imagine thatshe was looking out for a husband."One evening she overheard her mother talking to her admirer and latersaw them together, and her doubts were confirmed. She was heartbroken,and after telling her mother what she had seen, she said coldly, like aman of business laying down the terms of an agreement:"'Here is what I have determined to do, mamma: We will both go away tosome little town, or rather into the country. We will live there quietlyas well as we can. Your jewelry alone may be called a fortune. If youwish to marry some honest man, so much the better; still better will itbe if I can find one. If you don't consent to do this, I will killmyself.'"This time the comtesse ordered her daughter to go to bed and never tospeak again in this manner, so unbecoming in the mouth of a child towardher mother."Yvette's answer to this was: 'I give you a month to reflect. If, at theend of that month, we have not changed our way of living, I will killmyself, since there is no other honorable issue left to my life.'"And she left the room."At the end of a month the Comtesse Samoris had resumed her usualentertainments, as though nothing had occurred. One day, under thepretext that she had a bad toothache, Yvette purchased a few drops ofchloroform from a neighboring chemist. The next day she purchased more,and every time she went out she managed to procure small doses of thenarcotic. She filled a bottle with it."One morning she was found in bed, lifeless and already quite cold, witha cotton mask soaked in chloroform over her face."Her coffin was covered with flowers, the church was hung in white.There was a large crowd at the funeral ceremony."Ah! well, if I had known--but you never can know--I would have marriedthat girl, for she was infernally pretty.""And what became of the mother?""Oh! she shed a lot of tears over it. She has only begun to receivevisits again for the past week.""And what explanation is given of the girl's death?""Oh! they pretended that it was an accident caused by a new stove, themechanism of which got out of order. As a good many such accidents haveoccurred, the thing seemed probable enough."

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