Alexandre

by Guy de Maupassant

　　

---

At four o'clock that day, as on every other day, Alexandre rolled thethree-wheeled chair for cripples up to the door of the little house;then, in obedience to the doctor's orders, he would push his old andinfirm mistress about until six o'clock.When he had placed the light vehicle against the step, just at the placewhere the old lady could most easily enter it, he went into the house;and soon a furious, hoarse old soldier's voice was heard cursing insidethe house: it issued from the master, the retired ex-captain of infantry,Joseph Maramballe.Then could be heard the noise of doors being slammed, chairs being pushedabout, and hasty footsteps; then nothing more. After a few seconds,Alexandre reappeared on the threshold, supporting with all his strengthMadame Maramballe, who was exhausted from the exertion of descending thestairs. When she was at last settled in the rolling chair, Alexandrepassed behind it, grasped the handle, and set out toward the river.Thus they crossed the little town every day amid the respectful greeting,of all. These bows were perhaps meant as much for the servant as for themistress, for if she was loved and esteemed by all, this old trooper,with his long, white, patriarchal beard, was considered a model domestic.The July sun was beating down unmercifully on the street, bathing the lowhouses in its crude and burning light. Dogs were sleeping on thesidewalk in the shade of the houses, and Alexandre, a little out ofbreath, hastened his footsteps in order sooner to arrive at the avenuewhich leads to the water.Madame Maramballe was already slumbering under her white parasol, thepoint of which sometimes grazed along the man's impassive face. As soonas they had reached the Allee des Tilleuls, she awoke in the shade of thetrees, and she said in a kindly voice: "Go more slowly, my poor boy; youwill kill yourself in this heat."Along this path, completely covered by arched linden trees, the Mavettekflowed in its winding bed bordered by willows.The gurgling of the eddies and the splashing of the little waves againstthe rocks lent to the walk the charming music of babbling water and thefreshness of damp air. Madame Maramballe inhaled with deep delight thehumid charm of this spot and then murmured: "Ah! I feel better now! Buthe wasn't in a good humor to-day."Alexandre answered: "No, madame."For thirty-five years he had been in the service of this couple, first asofficer's orderly, then as simple valet who did not wish to leave hismasters; and for the last six years, every afternoon, he had beenwheeling his mistress about through the narrow streets of the town. Fromthis long and devoted service, and then from this daily tete-a-tete, akind of familiarity arose between the old lady and the devoted servant,affectionate on her part, deferential on his.They talked over the affairs of the house exactly as if they were equals.Their principal subject of conversation and of worry was the baddisposition of the captain, soured by a long career which had begun withpromise, run along without promotion, end ended without glory.Madame Maramballe continued: "He certainly was not in a good humor today.This happens too often since he has left the service."And Alexandre, with a sigh, completed his mistress's thoughts, "Oh,madame might say that it happens every day and that it also happenedbefore leaving the army.""That is true. But the poor man has been so unfortunate. He began witha brave deed, which obtained for him the Legion of Honor at the age oftwenty; and then from twenty to fifty he was not able to rise higher thancaptain, whereas at the beginning he expected to retire with at least therank of colonel.""Madame might also admit that it was his fault. If he had not alwaysbeen as cutting as a whip, his superiors would have loved and protectedhim better. Harshness is of no use; one should try to please if onewishes to advance. As far as his treatment of us is concerned, it isalso our fault, since we are willing to remain with him, but with othersit's different."Madame Maramballe was thinking. Oh, for how many years had she thus beenthinking of the brutality of her husband, whom she had married long agobecause he was a handsome officer, decorated quite young, and full ofpromise, so they said! What mistakes one makes in life!She murmured: "Let us stop a while, my poor Alexandre, and you rest onthat bench:It was a little worm-eaten bench, placed at a turn in the alley. Everytime they came in this direction Alexandre was accustomed to making ashort pause on this seat.He sat down and with a proud and familiar gesture he took his beautifulwhite beard in his hand, and, closing his, fingers over it, ran them downto the point, which he held for a minute at the pit of his stomach, as ifonce more to verify the length of this growth.Madame Maramballe continued: "I married him; it is only just and naturalthat I should bear his injustice; but what I do not understand is why youalso should have supported it, my good Alexandre!"He merely shrugged his shoulders and answered: "Oh! I--madame."She added: "Really. I have often wondered. When I married him you werehis orderly and you could hardly do otherwise than endure him. But whydid you remain with us, who pay you so little and who treat you so badly,when you could have done as every one else does, settle down, marry, havea family?"He answered: "Oh, madame! with me it's different."Then he was silent; but he kept pulling his beard as if he were ringing abell within him, as if he were trying to pull it out, and he rolled hiseyes like a man who is greatly embarrassed.Madame Maramballe was following her own train of thought: "You are not apeasant. You have an education--"He interrupted her proudly: "I studied surveying, madame.""Then why did you stay with us, and blast your prospects?"He stammered: "That's it! that's it! it's the fault of my dispositton.""How so, of your disposition?""Yes, when I become attached to a person I become attached to him, that'sall."She began to laugh: "You are not going to try to tell me thatMaramballe's sweet disposition caused you to become attached to him forlife."He was fidgeting about on his bench visibly embarrassed, and he mutteredbehind his long beard:"It was not he, it was you!"The old lady, who had a sweet face, with a snowy line of curly white hairbetween her forehead and her bonnet, turned around in her chair andobserved her servant with a surprised look, exclaiming: "I, my poorAlexandre! How so?"He began to look up in the air, then to one side, then toward thedistance, turning his head as do timid people when forced to admitshameful secrets. At last he exclaimed, with the courage of a trooperwho is ordered to the line of fire: "You see, it's this way--the firsttime I brought a letter to mademoiselle from the lieutenant, mademoisellegave me a franc and a smile, and that settled it."Not understanding well, she questioned him "Explain yourself."Then he cried out, like a malefactor who is admitting a fatal crime:"I had a sentiment for madame! There!"She answered nothing, stopped looking at him, hung her head, and thought.She was good, full of justice, gentleness, reason, and tenderness. In asecond she saw the immense devotion of this poor creature, who had givenup everything in order to live beside her, without saying anything. Andshe felt as if she could cry. Then, with a sad but not angry expression,she said: "Let us return home."He rose and began to push the wheeled chair.As they approached the village they saw Captain Maramballe coming towardthem. As soon as he joined them he asked his wife, with a visible desireof getting angry: "What have we for dinner?""Some chicken with flageolets."He lost his temper: "Chicken! chicken! always chicken! By all that'sholy, I've had enough chicken! Have you no ideas in your head, that youmake me eat chicken every day?"She answered, in a resigned tone: "But, my dear, you know that the doctorhas ordered it for you. It's the best thing for your stomach. If yourstomach were well, I could give you many things which I do not dare setbefore you now."Then, exasperated, he planted himself in front of Alexandre, exclaiming:"Well, if my stomach is out of order it's the fault of that brute. Forthirty-five years he has been poisoning me with his abominable cooking."Madame Maramballe suddenly turned about completely, in order to see theold domestic. Their eyes met, and in this single glance they both said"Thank you!" to each other.

---

Alexandre was featured as TheShort Story of the Day on Sun, Aug 21, 2016

---