The Celebrated Short Stories of Guy de Maupassant: 100+ Classic Tales in One Edition. Guy de Maupassant
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hand, like a beggar, and I would give him something, which he would take to his wife. All the others immediately began to utter furious cries, cries of rage and jealousy; and I could not make the terrible racket cease except by throwing each one his share.
As I was very comfortable in the ruins I had my instruments brought there, so that I might be able to work. As soon, however, as they saw the copper fittings on my scientific instruments, the monkeys, no doubt taking them for some deadly engines, fled on all sides, uttering the most piercing cries.
I often also spent my evenings with Châli on one of the external galleries that looked on to the lake of Vihara. Without speaking we looked at the bright moon gliding over the sky and throwing a mantle of trembling silver over the water, and down there, on the further shore, the row of small pagodas like elegant mushrooms with their stalks in the water. Taking the thoughtful head of my little mistress between my hands, I printed a long, soft kiss on her polished brow, on her great eyes, which were full of the secret of that ancient and fabulous land, and on her calm lips which opened to my caress. I felt a confused, powerful, above all, a poetical, sensation, the sensation that I possessed a whole race in this little girl, that mysterious race from which all the others seem to have taken their origin.
The prince, however, continued to load me with presents. One day he sent me a very unexpected object, which excited a passionate admiration in Châli. It was merely one of those cardboard boxes covered with shells stuck on outside, and they can be bought at any European seaside resort for a penny or two. But there it was a jewel beyond price, and no doubt was the first that had found its way into the kingdom. I put it on a table and left it there, wondering at the value which was set upon this trumpery article out of a bazaar.
But Châli never got tired of looking at it, of admiring it ecstatically. From time to time she would say to me, “May I touch it?” And when I had given her permission she raised the lid, closed it again with the greatest precaution, touched the shells very gently, and the contact seemed to give her real physical pleasure.
However, I had finished my work, and it was time for me to return. I was a long time in making up my mind, kept back by my tenderness for my little friend, but at last I was obliged to fix the day of my departure.
The prince got up fresh hunting excursions and fresh wrestling matches, and after a fortnight of these pleasures I declared that I could stay no longer, and he gave me my liberty.
My farewell from Châli was heartrending. She wept, lying beside me, with her head on my breast, shaken with sobs. I did not know how to console her; my kisses were no good.
All at once an idea struck me, and getting up I went and got the shell-box, and putting it into her hands, I said, “That is for you; it is yours.”
Then I saw her smile at first. Her whole face was lighted up with internal joy, with that profound joy when impossible dreams are suddenly realized, and she embraced me ardently.
All the same, she wept bitterly when I bade her a last farewell.
I gave paternal kisses and cakes to all the rest of my wives, and then I started.
II
Two years had passed when my duties again called me to Bombay, and, because I knew the country and the language well, I was left there to undertake another mission.
I finished what I had to do as quickly as possible, and as I had a considerable amount of spare time on my hands I determined to go and see my friend the King of Ganhard and my dear little Châli once more, though I expected to find her much changed.
The rajah received me with every demonstration of pleasure, and hardly left me for a moment during the first day of my visit. At night, however, when I was alone, I sent for Haribada, and after several misleading questions I said to him:
“Do you know what has become of little Châli, whom the rajah gave me?”
He immediately assumed a sad and troubled look, and said, in evident embarrassment:
“We had better not speak of her.”
“Why? She was a dear little woman.”
“She turned out badly, Sir.”
“What — Châli? What has become of her? Where is she?”
“I mean to say that she came to a bad end.”
“A bad end! Is she dead?”
“Yes. She committed a very dreadful action.”
I was very much distressed. I felt my heart beat, and my breast was oppressed with grief, and insisted on knowing what she had done and what had happened to her.
The man became more and more embarrassed, and murmured, “You had better not ask about it.”
“But I want to know.”
“She stole— “
“Who — Châli? What did she steal?”
“Something that belonged to you.”
“To me? What do you mean?”
“The day you left she stole that little box which the prince had given you; it was found in her hands.”
“What box are you talking about?”
“The box covered with shells.”
“But I gave it to her.”
The Indian looked at me with stupefaction, then replied: “Well, she declared with the most sacred oaths that you had given it to her, but nobody could believe that you could have given a king’s present to a slave, and so the rajah had her punished.”
“How was she punished? What was done to her?”
“She was tied up in a sack, and thrown into the lake from this window, from the window of the room in which we are, where she had committed the theft.”
I felt the most terrible grief that I ever experienced, and I made a sign to Haribada to go away, so that he might not see my tears; and I spent the night on the gallery that looked on to the lake, on the gallery where I had so often held the poor child on my knees.
I pictured to myself her pretty little body lying decomposed in a sack in the dark waters beneath me, which we had so often looked at together formerly.
The next day I left again, in spite of the rajah’s entreaties and evident vexation; and I now still feel as if I had never loved any woman but Châli.
A FAMILY AFFAIR
The small engine attached to the Neuilly steam-tram whistled as it passed the Porte Maillot to warn all obstacles to get out of its way and puffed like a person out of breath as it sent out its steam, its pistons moving rapidly with a noise as of iron legs running. The train was going along the broad avenue that ends at the Seine. The sultry heat at the close of a July day lay over the whole city, and from the road, although there was not a breath of wind stirring, there arose a white, chalky, suffocating, warm dust, which adhered to the moist skin, filled the eyes and got into the lungs. People stood in the doorways of their houses to try and get a breath of air.
The windows of the steam-tram were open and the curtains fluttered in the wind. There were very few passengers inside, because on warm days people preferred the outside or the platforms. They consisted of stout women in peculiar costumes, of those shopkeepers’ wives from the suburbs, who made up for the distinguished looks which they did not possess by ill-assumed dignity; of men tired from office-work, with yellow faces, stooped shoulders, and with one shoulder higher than the other, in consequence of, their long hours of writing at a desk. Their