Short Fiction

only obeyed their instincts! I am not to revenge myself on him, but on them! I am to make a monster of some poor creature whom God created to please, to love and to be loved. And your present day society, your society of clowns, of bourgeois, of beggars on horseback, will applaud and acquit me. It is infamous, I tell you, that you cannot understand love; and I am glad to die rather than see a world without gallantry, without women who know what love means. You take everything seriously nowadays, the vengeance of low females who kill their lovers brings tears of pity to the eyes of the twelve citizens come together to probe the hearts of criminals. Is that your wisdom? Your logic? Women shoot men, and then complain that men are no longer gallant!”

The young girl seized the wrinkled hands of the old lady in hers, which were trembling:

“Please stop, grandmother!”

And, on her knees, with tears in her eyes, she prayed to Heaven to bestow on her a great passion, one eternal passion alone, in accordance with the dream of modern poets, while the grandmother, kissing her forehead, still quite penetrated by that charming, healthy logic with which the philosophers of gallantry sprinkled salt upon the life of the eighteenth century, murmured:

“Take care, my poor darling! If you believe in such foolishness as this, you will be very unhappy.”

Story of a Farm Girl

As the weather was very fine, the people on the farm had dined more speedily than usual, and had returned to the fields.

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

Three venturesome hens were picking up the crumbs under the chairs, while the smell of the poultry yard, and the warmth from the cow-stall came in through the half-open door, and a cock was heard crowing in the distance.

When she had finished her work, wiped down the table, dusted the mantelpiece, and put the plates on the high dresser, close to the wooden clock, with its sonorous ticking, she drew a long breath, as she felt rather oppressed, without exactly knowing why. She looked at the black clay walls, the rafters that were blackened with smoke, from which spiders’ webs were hanging, amid red herrings and strings of onions, and then she sat down, rather overcome by the stale emanations which the floor, on which so many things had been continually spilt, gave out. With this there was mingled the pungent smell of the pans of milk, which were set out to raise the cream in the adjoining dairy.

She wanted to sew, as usual, but she did not feel strong enough for it, and so she went to get a mouthful of fresh air at the door. As she felt the caressing light of the sun, her heart was filled with sweetness and a feeling of content penetrated her body.

In front of the door a shimmery haze arose from the dunghill. The fowls were lying on it; some of them were scratching with one claw in search of worms, while the cock stood up proudly among them. Every moment he selected one of them, and walked round her with a slight cluck of amorous invitation. The hen got up in a careless way as she received his attentions, bent her claws and supported him with her wings; then she shook her feathers to shake out the dust, and stretched herself out on the dunghill again, while he crowed, counting his triumphs, and the cocks in all the neighbouring farmyards replied to him, as if they were uttering amorous challenges from farm to farm.

The girl looked at them without thinking, and then she raised her eyes and was almost dazzled at the sight of the apple trees in blossom, which looked almost like powdered heads. But just then, a colt, full of life and friskiness, galloped past her. Twice he jumped over the ditches, and then stopped suddenly, as if surprised at being alone.

She also felt inclined to run; she felt inclined to move and to stretch her limbs, and to repose in the warm, breathless air. She took a few undecided steps, and closed her eyes, for she was seized with a feeling of animal comfort; and then she went to look for the eggs in the hen loft. There were thirteen of them, which she took in and put into the sideboard; but the smell from the kitchen incommoded her again, and she went out to sit on the grass for a while.

The farmyard, which was surrounded by trees, seemed to be asleep. The tall grass, among which the yellow dandelions rose up like streaks of yellow light, was of a vivid green, fresh spring green. The apple trees threw their shade all round them, and the thatched houses, on which the blue and yellow iris flowers with their swordlike leaves grew, smoked as if the moisture of the stables and barns were coming through the straw.

The girl went to the shed where the carts and traps were kept. Close to it, in a ditch, there was a large patch of violets, whose scent was perceptible all round, while beyond it, the open country could be seen where crops were growing, with clumps of trees in the distance, and groups of labourers here and there, who looked as small as dolls, and white horses like toys, which were pulling a child’s cart, driven by a man as tall as one’s finger.

She took up a bundle of straw, threw it into the ditch and sat down upon it; then, not feeling comfortable,