按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
I stammered： 'And what of him； what of him； Gontran？' There was no
answer。 It was true！
〃I did not dare see him again； but I asked for a lock of his blond hair。
Herehere it is！〃
And the old maid stretched out her trembling hand in a despairing
gesture。 Then she blew her nose several times； wiped her eyes and
continued：
〃I broke off my marriagewithout saying why。 And II always have
remained thethe widow of this thirteen…year…old boy。〃 Then her head
fell on her breast and she wept for a long time。
As the guests were retiring for the night a large man； whose quiet she
had disturbed； whispered in his neighbor's ear： 〃Isn't it unfortunate to；
be so sentimental？〃
THE ENGLISHMAN OF ETRETAT
A great English poet has just crossed over to France in order to greet
Victor Hugo。 All the newspapers are full of his name and he is the great
topic of conversation in all drawing…rooms。 Fifteen years ago I had
occasion several times to meet Algernon Charles Swinburne。 I will
attempt to show him just as I saw him and to give an idea of the strange
impression he made on me； which will remain with me throughout time。
I believe it was in 1867 or in 1868 that an unknown young Englishman came
to Etretat and bought a little but hidden under great trees。 It was said
that he lived there； always alone； in a strange manner； and he aroused
the inimical surprise of the natives； for the inhabitants were sullen and
foolishly malicious； as they always are in little towns。
They declared that this whimsical Englishman ate nothing but boiled。
roasted or stewed monkey； that he would see no one； that he talked to
himself hours at a time and many other surprising things that made people
think that he was different from other men。 They were surprised that he
should live alone with a monkey。 Had it been a cat or a dog they would
have said nothing。 But a monkey！ Was that not frightful？ What savage
tastes the man must have！
I knew this young man only from seeing him in the streets。 He was short；
plump； without being fat； mild…looking； and he wore a little blond
mustache； which was almost invisible。
Chance brought us together。 This savage had amiable and pleasing
manners； but he was one of those strange Englishmen that one meets here
and there throughout the world。
Endowed with remarkable intelligence； he seemed to live in a fantastic
dream； as Edgar Poe must have lived。 He had translated into English a
volume of strange Icelandic legends； which I ardently desired to see
translated into French。 He loved the supernatural； the dismal and
grewsome； but he spoke of the most marvellous things with a calmness that
was typically English； to which his gentle and quiet voice gave a
semblance of reality that was maddening。
Full of a haughty disdain for the world； with its conventions； prejudices
and code of morality； he had nailed to his house a name that was boldly
impudent。 The keeper of a lonely inn who should write on his door：
〃Travellers murdered here！〃 could not make a more sinister jest。 I never
had entered his dwelling； when one day I received an invitation to
luncheon； following an accident that had occurred to one of his friends；
who had been almost drowned and whom I had attempted to rescue。
Although I was unable to reach the man until he had already been rescued；
I received the hearty thanks of the two Englishmen； and the following day
I called upon them。
The friend was a man about thirty years old。 He bore an enormous head on
a child's bodya body without chest or shoulders。 An immense forehead；
which seemed to have engulfed the rest of the man； expanded like a dome
above a thin face which ended in a little pointed beard。 Two sharp eyes
and a peculiar mouth gave one the impression of the head of a reptile；
while the magnificent brow suggested a genius。
A nervous twitching shook this peculiar being； who walked； moved； acted
by jerks like a broken spring。
This was Algernon Charles Swinburne； son of an English admiral and
grandson； on the maternal side； of the Earl of Ashburnham。
He strange countenance was transfigured when he spoke。 I have seldom
seen a man more impressive； more eloquent； incisive or charming in
conversation。 His rapid； clear； piercing and fantastic imagination
seemed to creep into his voice and to lend life to his words。 His
brusque gestures enlivened his speech； which penetrated one like a
dagger； and he had bursts of thought； just as lighthouses throw out
flashes of fire； great； genial lights that seemed to illuminate a whole
world of ideas。
The home of the two friends was pretty and by no means commonplace。
Everywhere were paintings； some superb； some strange； representing
different conceptions of insanity。 Unless I am mistaken； there was a
water…color which represented the head of a dead man floating in a rose…
colored shell on a boundless ocean； under a moon with a human face。
Here and there I came across bones。 I clearly remember a flayed hand on
which was hanging some dried skin and black muscles； and on the snow…
white bones could be seen the traces of dried blood。
The food was a riddle which I could not solve。 Was it good？ Was it bad？
I could not say。 Some roast monkey took away all desire to make a steady
diet of this animal； and the great monkey who roamed about among us at
large and playfully pushed his head into my glass when I wished to drink
cured me of any desire I might have to take one of his brothers as a
companion for the rest of my days。
As for the two men； they gave me the impression of two strange； original；
remarkable minds； belonging to that peculiar race of talented madmen from
among whom have arisen Poe； Hoffmann and many others。
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。
At any rate； this poet remains one of the first of his time； through his
originality and polished form。 He is an exalted lyrical singer who
seldom bothers about the good and humble truth； which French poets are
now seeking so persistently and patiently。 He strives to set down
dreams； subtle thoughts； sometimes great； sometimes visibly forced； but
sometimes magnificent。
Two years later I found the house closed and its tenants gone。 The
furniture was being sold。 In memory of them I bought the hideous flayed
hand。 On the grass an enormous square block of granite bore this simple
word： 〃Nip。〃 Above this a hollow stone offered water to the birds。 It
was the grave of the monkey； who had been hanged by a young； vindictive
negro servant。 It was said that this violent domestic had been forced to
flee at the point of his exasperated master's revolver。 After wandering
about without home or food for several days； he returned and began to
peddle barley…sugar in the streets。 He was expelled from the country
after he had almost strangled a displeased customer。
The world would be gayer if one could often meet homes like that。
This story appeared in the 〃Gaulois；〃 November 29； 1882。 It was the
original sketch for the introductory study of Swinburne； written by
Maupassant for the French translation by Gabriel Mourey of 〃Poems
and Ballads。〃
MAGNETISM
It was a men's dinner party； and they were sitting over their cigars and
brandy and discussing magnetism。 Donato's tricks and Charcot's
experiments。 Presently； the sceptical； easy…going men； who cared nothing
for religion of any sort； began telling stories of strange occurrences；
incredible things which； nevertheless； had really occurred； so they said；
falling back into superstitious beliefs； clinging to these last remnants
of the marvellous； becoming devotees of this mystery of magnetism；
defending it in the name of science。 There was only one person who
smiled； a vigorous young fellow； a great ladies' man who was so
incredulous that he would not even enter upon a discussion of such
matters。
He repeated with a sneer：
〃Humbug！ humbug！ humbug！ We need not discuss Donato； who is merely a
very smart juggler。 As for M。 Charcot； who is said to be a remarkable
man of science； he produces on me the effect of those story…tellers of
the school of Edgar Poe； who end by going mad through constantly
reflecting on queer cases of insanity。 He has authenticated some cases
of unexplained and inexplicable nervous phenomena； he makes his way into
that unknown region which men are exploring every day； and unable always
to understand what he sees； he recalls； perhaps； the ecclesiastical
interpretation of these mysteries。 I should like to hear what he says
himself。〃
The words of the unbeliever were listened to with a kind of pity； as if
he had blasphemed in an assembly of monks。
One of these gentlemen exclaimed：
〃And yet miracles were performed in olden times。〃
〃I deny it；〃 replied the other： 〃Why cannot they be performed now？〃
Then； each mentioned some fact； some fantastic presentiment some instance
o