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D.W.



VOLUMES:

Complete Short Stories, by Maupassant [GM#15][gm00v10.txt]3090 Short Stories V13, by Guy de Maupassant [GM#14][gm13v10.txt]3089 Short Stories V12, by Guy de Maupassant [GM#13][gm12v10.txt]3088 Short Stories V11, by Guy de Maupassant [GM#12][gm11v10.txt]3087 Short Stories V10, by Guy de Maupassant [GM#11][gm10v10.txt]3086 Short Stories V9, by Guy de Maupassant [GM#10][gm09v10.txt]3085 Short Stories V8, by Guy de Maupassant [GM#9][gm08v10.txt]3084 Short Stories V7, by Guy de Maupassant [GM#8][gm07v10.txt]3083 Short Stories V6, by Guy de Maupassant [GM#7][gm06v10.txt]3082 Short Stories V5, by Guy de Maupassant [GM#6][gm05v10.txt]3081 Short Stories V4, by Guy de Maupassant [GM#5][gm04v10.txt]3080 Short Stories V3, by Guy de Maupassant [GM#4][gm03v10.txt]3079 Short Stories V2, by Guy de Maupassant [GM#3][gm02v10.txt]3078 Short Stories V1, by Guy de Maupassant [GM#2][gm01v10.txt]3077



Contents of the 13 Volumes (180 Stories)

Volume I.

Guy De Maupassant—a Study by Pol. Neveux

Boule De Suif Two Friends The Lancer's Wife The Prisoners Two Little Soldiers Father Milon A Coup D'etat Lieutenant Lare's Marriage The Horrible Madame Parisse Mademoiselle Fifi A Duel



Volume II.

The Colonel's Ideas Mother Sauvage Epiphany The Mustache Madame Baptiste The Question of Latin A Meeting The Blind Man Indiscretion A Family Affair Beside Schopenhauer's Corpse



Volume III.

Miss Harriet Little Louise Roque The Donkey Moiron The Dispenser of Holy Water The Parricide Bertha The Patron The Door A Sale The Impolite Sex A Wedding Gift The Relic



Volume IV.

The Moribund The Gamekeeper The Story of a Farm Girl The Wreck Theodule Sabot's Confession The Wrong House The Diamond Necklace The Marquis De Fumerol The Trip of the Horla Farewell The Wolf The Inn



Volume V.

Monsieur Parent Queen Hortense Timbuctoo Tombstones Mademoiselle Pearl The Thief Clair De Lune Waiter, a "Bock" After Forgiveness In the Spring A Queer Night in Paris



Volume VI.

That Costly Ride Useless Beauty The Father My Uncle Sosthenes The Baroness Mother and Son The Hand A Tress of Hair On the River The Cripple A Stroll Alexandre The Log Julie Romaine The Rondoli Sisters



Volume VII.

The False Gems Fascination Yvette Samoris A Vendetta My Twenty-five Days "The Terror" Legend of Mont St. Michel A New Year's Gift Friend Patience Abandoned The Maison Tellier Denis My Wife The Unknown The Apparition



Volume VIII.

Clochette The Kiss The Legion of Honor The Test Found on a Drowned Man The Orphan The Beggar The Rabbit His Avenger My Uncle Jules The Model A Vagabond The Fishing Hole The Spasm In the Wood Martine All over The Parrot A Piece of String



Volume IX.

Toine Madame Husson's Rosier The Adopted Son A Coward Old Mongilet Moonlight The First Snowfall Sundays of a Bourgeois A Recollection Our Letters The Love of Long Ago Friend Joseph The Effeminates Old Amable



Volume X.

The Christening The Farmer's Wife The Devil The Snipe The Will Walter Schnaff's Adventure At Sea Minuet The Son That Pig of a Morin Saint Anthony Lasting Love Pierrot A Normandy Joke Father Matthew



Volume XI.

The Umbrella Belhomme's Beast Discovery The Accursed Bread The Dowry The Diary of a Mad Man The Mask The Penguins Rock A Family Suicides An Artifice Dreams Simon's Papa



Volume XII.

The Child A Country Excursion Rose Rosalie Prudent Regret A Sister's Confession Coco A Dead Woman's Secret A Humble Drama Mademoiselle Cocotte The Corsican Bandit The Grave



Volume XIII.

Old Judas The Little Cask Boitelle A Widow The Englishmen of Etretat Magnetism A Fathers Confession A Mother of Monsters An Uncomfortable Bed A Portrait The Drunkard The Wardrobe The Mountain Pool A Cremation Misti Madame Hermet The Magic Couch



SHORT STORIES V1 [GM#2][gm01v10.txt]3077

Anguish of suspense made men even desire the arrival of enemies Dependent, like other emotions, on surroundings Devouring faith which is the making of martyrs and visionaries Freemasonry made up of those who possess Great ones of this world who make war I am learning my trade Insolent like all in authority Legitimized love always despises its easygoing brother Like all women, being very fond of indigestible things Presence of a woman, that sovereign inspiration Spirit of order and arithmetic in the business house Subtleties of expression to describe the most improper things Thin veneer of modesty of every woman Thrill of furious and bestial anger which urges on a mob to massacre



SHORT STORIES V2 [GM#3][gm02v10.txt]3078

Chronic passion for cleaning Greatest shatterer of dreams who had ever dwelt on earth Hardly understand at all those bellicose ardors Key of a door Kiss of the man without a mustache Let us be indignant, or let us be enthusiastic Muscles of their faces have never learned the motions of laughter Resisted that feeling of comfort and relief Unconscious brutality which is so common in the country What is sadder than a dead house



SHORT STORIES V3 [GM#4][gm03v10.txt]3079

Did wrong in doing her duty Don't talk about things you know nothing about Impenetrable night, thicker than walls and empty Love is always love, come whence it may My God! my God!" without believing, nevertheless, in God Pines, close at hand, seemed to be weeping Preserved in a pickle of innocence She was an ornament, not a home



SHORT STORIES V4 [GM#5][gm04v10.txt]3080

The warm autumn sun was beating down on the farmyard. Under the grass, which had been cropped close by the cows, the earth soaked by recent rains, was soft and sank in under the feet with a soggy noise, and the apple trees, loaded with apples, were dropping their pale green fruit in the dark green grass.

The servant, Rose, remained alone in the large kitchen, where the fire was dying out on the hearth beneath the large boiler of hot water. From time to time she dipped out some water and slowly washed her dishes, stopping occasionally to look at the two streaks of light which the sun threw across the long table through the window, and which showed the defects in the glass.

The fowls were lying on the steaming dunghill; some of them were scratching with one claw in search of worms, while the cock stood up proudly in their midst. When he crowed, the cocks in all the neighboring farmyards replied to him, as if they were uttering challenges from farm to farm.

Neither could there be any scruples about an unequal match between them, for in the country every one is very nearly equal; the farmer works with his laborers, who frequently become masters in their turn, and the female servants constantly become the mistresses of the establishments without its making any change in their life or habits.

Is it not rather the touch of Love, of Love the Mysterious, who seeks constantly to unite two beings, who tries his strength the instant he has put a man and a woman face to face?



SHORT STORIES V5 [GM#6][gm05v10.txt]3081

Calling all religious things "weeper's wares" Everyone has his share How much excited cowardice there often is in boldness Love has no law People do not think as they speak, and do not speak as they act Rage of a timid man She saw that he would yield on every point



SHORT STORIES V6 [GM#7][gm06v10.txt]3082

As he had never enjoyed anything, he desired nothing Do you know how I picture God? Don't know what to say, for I am always terribly stupid at first Hotel bed: Who has occupied it the night before? Irresistible force of mutual affection Isn't for the fun of it, anyhow! Love must unsettle the mind Machine for bringing children into the world Moments of friendly silence One cannot both be and have been Only by going a long distance from home Sadness of existences that have had their day Well-planned disorder When did you lie, the last time or now?



SHORT STORIES V7 [GM#8][gm07v10.txt]3083

A sceptical genius has said: "God made man in his image and man has returned the compliment." This saying is an eternal truth, and it would be very curious to write the history of the local divinity of every continent as well as the history of the patron saints in each one of our provinces. The negro has his ferocious man-eating idols; the polygamous Mahometan fills his paradise with women; the Greeks, like a practical people, deified all the passions.

Pierre Letoile was silent. His companions were laughing. One of them said: "Marriage is indeed a lottery; you must never choose your numbers. The haphazard ones are the best."—Another added by way of conclusion: "Yes, but do not forget that the god of drunkards chose for Pierre."

No noise in the little park, no breath of air in the leaves; no voice passes through this silence. One ought to write at the entrance to this district: 'No one laughs here; they take care of their health.'

"Listen, Jacques. He has forbidden me to see you again, and I will not play this comedy of coming secretly to your house. You must either lose me or take me."—"My dear Irene, in that case, obtain your divorce, and I will marry you."—"Yes, you will marry me in—two years at the soonest. Yours is a patient love."



SHORT STORIES V8 [GM#9][gm08v10.txt]3084

"Do you know the people who live in the little red cottage at the end of the Rue du Berceau?"—Madame Bondel was out of sorts. She answered: "Yes and no; I am acquainted with them, but I do not care to know them."

It seems that he had led a bad life, that is to say, he had squandered a little money, which action, in a poor family, is one of the greatest crimes. With rich people a man who amuses himself only sows his wild oats. He is what is generally called a sport. But among needy families a boy who forces his parents to break into the capital becomes a good- for-nothing, a rascal, a scamp. And this distinction is just, although the action be the same, for consequences alone determine the seriousness of the act.

"Why; you are just the same as the others, you fool!" That was indeed bravado, one of those pieces of impudence of which a woman makes use when she dares everything, risks everything, to wound and humiliate the man who has aroused her ire. This poor man must also be one of those deceived husbands, like so many others. He had said sadly: "There are times when she seems to have more confidence and faith in our friends than in me." That is how a husband formulated his observations on the particular attentions of his wife for another man. That was all. He had seen nothing more. He was like the rest—all the rest!

He awaited he knew not what, possessed with that vague hope which persists in the human heart in spite of everything. He awaited in the corner of the farmyard in the biting December wind, some mysterious aid from Heaven or from men, without the least idea whence it was to arrive. A number of black hens ran hither and thither, seeking their food in the earth which supports all living things. Ever now and then they snapped up in their beaks a grain of corn or a tiny insect; then they continued their slow, sure search for nutriment.



SHORT STORIES V9 [GM#10][gm09v10.txt]3085

Full of that common sense which borders on stupidity Let them respect my convictions, and I will respect theirs Love that is sacred—not marriage! Mediocrities and the fools always form the immense majority Night-robe of streams and meadows Only being allowed to read religious works or cook-books Poetry did not seem to be the strong point Purgatory and paradise according to the yearly income She went through life in a mood of perpetual discontent So stupid and they pretend they know everything Spend his time quietly regretting the past The tomb is the boundary of conjugal sinning When we love, we have need of confession World has made laws to combat our instincts



SHORT STORIES V10 [GM#11][gm10v10.txt]3086

"I heard 'birr! birr!' and a magnificent covey rose at ten paces from me. I aimed. Pif! paf! and I saw a shower, a veritable shower of birds. There were seven of them!"—And they all went into raptures, amazed, but reciprocally credulous.

She was still smiling as she looked at him; she even began to laugh; and he lost his head trying to find something suitable to say, no matter what. But he could think of nothing, nothing, and then, seized with a coward's courage, he said to himself: 'So much the worse, I will risk everything,' and suddenly, without the slightest warning, he went toward her, his arms extended, his lips protruding, and, seizing her in his arms, he kissed her.

My elder sons never loved me, never petted me, scarcely treated me as a mother, but during my whole life I did my duty towards them, and I owe them nothing more after my death. The ties of blood cannot exist without daily and constant affection. An ungrateful son is less than, a stranger; he is a culprit, for he has no right to be indifferent towards his mother.



SHORT STORIES V11 [GM#12][gm11v10.txt]3087

I held my tongue, and thought over those words. Oh, ethics! Oh, logic! Oh, wisdom! At his age! So they deprived him of his only remaining pleasure out of regard for his health! His health! What would he do with it, inert and trembling wreck that he was? They were taking care of his life, so they said. His life? How many days? Ten, twenty, fifty, or a hundred? Why? For his own sake? Or to preserve for some time longer the spectacle of his impotent greediness in the family.

But all at once one envelope made me start. My name was traced on it in a large, bold handwriting; and suddenly tears came to my eyes. That letter was from my dearest friend, the companion of my youth, the confidant of my hopes; and he appeared before me so clearly, with his pleasant smile and his hand outstretched, that a cold shiver ran down my back. Yes, yes, the dead come back, for I saw him! Our memory is a more perfect world than the universe: it gives back life to those who no longer exist.

But she shook with rage, and got up one of those conjugal scenes which make a peaceable man dread the domestic hearth more than a battlefield where bullets are raining.



SHORT STORIES V12 [GM#13][gm12v10.txt]3088

Monsieur Saval, who was called in Mantes "Father Saval," had just risen from bed. He was weeping. It was a dull autumn day; the leaves were falling. They fell slowly in the rain, like a heavier and slower rain. M. Saval was not in good spirits. He walked from the fireplace to the window, and from the window to the fireplace. Life has its sombre days. It would no longer have any but sombre days for him, for he had reached the age of sixty-two. He is alone, an old bachelor, with nobody about him. How sad it is to die alone, all alone, without any one who is devoted to you!

He pondered over his life, so barren, so empty. He recalled former days, the days of his childhood, the home, the house of his parents; his college days, his follies; the time he studied law in Paris, his father's illness, his death. He then returned to live with his mother. They lived together very quietly, and desired nothing more. At last the mother died. How sad life is! He lived alone since then, and now, in his turn, he, too, will soon be dead. He will disappear, and that will be the end. There will be no more of Paul Saval upon the earth. What a frightful thing! Other people will love, will laugh. Yes, people will go on amusing themselves, and he will no longer exist! Is it not strange that people can laugh, amuse themselves, be joyful under that eternal certainty of death? If this death were only probable, one could then have hope; but no, it is inevitable, as inevitable as that night follows the day.



SHORT STORIES V13 [GM#14][gm13v10.txt]3089

How I understood them, these who weak, harassed by misfortune, having lost those they loved, awakened from the dream of a tardy compensation, from the illusion of another existence where God will finally be just, after having been ferocious, and their minds disabused of the mirages of happiness, have given up the fight and desire to put an end to this ceaseless tragedy, or this shameful comedy.

Suicide! Why, it is the strength of those whose strength is exhausted, the hope of those who no longer believe, the sublime courage of the conquered! Yes, there is at least one door to this life we can always open and pass through to the other side. Nature had an impulse of pity; she did not shut us up in prison. Mercy for the despairing!

If genius is, as is commonly believed, a sort of aberration of great minds, then Algernon Charles Swinburne is undoubtedly a genius.

Great minds that are healthy are never considered geniuses, while this sublime qualification is lavished on brains that are often inferior but are slightly touched by madness.



COMPLETE SHORT STORIES, BY MAUPASSANT [GM#15][gm00v10.txt]3090

Anguish of suspense made men even desire the arrival of enemies As he had never enjoyed anything, he desired nothing Calling all religious things "weeper's wares" Chronic passion for cleaning Dependent, like other emotions, on surroundings Devouring faith which is the making of martyrs and visionaries Did wrong in doing her duty Do you know how I picture God? Don't talk about things you know nothing about Don't know what to say, for I am always terribly stupid at first Everyone has his share Freemasonry made up of those who possess Full of that common sense which borders on stupidity Great ones of this world who make war Greatest shatterer of dreams who had ever dwelt on earth Hardly understand at all those bellicose ardors Hotel bed: Who has occupied it the night before? How much excited cowardice there often is in boldness I am learning my trade Impenetrable night, thicker than walls and empty Insolent like all in authority Irresistible force of mutual affection Isn't for the fun of it, anyhow! Key of a door Kiss of the man without a mustache Legitimized love always despises its easygoing brother Let us be indignant, or let us be enthusiastic Let them respect my convictions, and I will respect theirs Like all women, being very fond of indigestible things Love is always love, come whence it may Love must unsettle the mind Love has no law Love that is sacred—not marriage! Machine for bringing children into the world Mediocrities and the fools always form the immense majority Moments of friendly silence Muscles of their faces have never learned the motions of laughter "My God! my God!" without believing, nevertheless, in God Night-robe of streams and meadows One cannot both be and have been Only by going a long distance from home Only being allowed to read religious works or cook-books People do not think as they speak, and do not speak as they act Pines, close at hand, seemed to be weeping Poetry did not seem to be the strong point Presence of a woman, that sovereign inspiration Preserved in a pickle of innocence Purgatory and paradise according to the yearly income Rage of a timid man Resisted that feeling of comfort and relief Sadness of existences that have had their day She was an ornament, not a home She went through life in a mood of perpetual discontent She saw that he would yield on every point So stupid and they pretend they know everything Spend his time quietly regretting the past Spirit of order and arithmetic in the business house Subtleties of expression to describe the most improper things The tomb is the boundary of conjugal sinning Thin veneer of modesty of every woman Thrill of furious and bestial anger which urges on a mob to massacre Unconscious brutality which is so common in the country Well-planned disorder What is sadder than a dead house When we love, we have need of confession When did you lie, the last time or now? World has made laws to combat our instincts

THE END