Farewell!

"Farewell!" is a poignant short story by Guy de Maupassant that explores themes of love, longing, and societal expectations. The narrative centers around a bittersweet farewell between two lovers who are forced to part due to societal pressures and personal circumstances. Maupassant's masterful prose captures the depth of their emotions and the inevitability of their separation, highlighting the tension between passion and duty. Through vivid imagery and a melancholic tone, the story reflects on the fleeting nature of happiness and the ache of yearning that lingers long after goodbyes are spoken.

								
The two friends were getting near the end of their dinner. Through the
cafe windows they could see the Boulevard, crowded with people. They
could feel the gentle breezes which are wafted over Paris on warm summer
evenings and make you feel like going out somewhere, you care not where,
under the trees, and make you dream of moonlit rivers, of fireflies and
of larks.

One of the two, Henri Simon, heaved a deep sigh and said:

“Ah! I am growing old. It's sad. Formerly, on evenings like this, I felt
full of life. Now, I only feel regrets. Life is short!”

He was perhaps forty-five years old, very bald and already growing
stout.

The other, Pierre Carnier, a trifle older, but thin and lively,
answered:

“Well, my boy, I have grown old without noticing it in the least. I
have always been merry, healthy, vigorous and all the rest. As one sees
oneself in the mirror every day, one does not realize the work of age,
for it is slow, regular, and it modifies the countenance so gently that
the changes are unnoticeable. It is for this reason alone that we do
not die of sorrow after two or three years of excitement. For we cannot
understand the alterations which time produces. In order to appreciate
them one would have to remain six months without seeing one's own face
--then, oh, what a shock!

“And the women, my friend, how I pity the poor beings! All their joy,
all their power, all their life, lies in their beauty, which lasts ten
years.

“As I said, I aged without noticing it; I thought myself practically
a youth, when I was almost fifty years old. Not feeling the slightest
infirmity, I went about, happy and peaceful.

“The revelation of my decline came to me in a simple and terrible
manner, which overwhelmed me for almost six months--then I became
resigned.

“Like all men, I have often been in love, but most especially once.

“I met her at the seashore, at Etretat, about twelve years ago, shortly
after the war. There is nothing prettier than this beach during the
morning bathing hour. It is small, shaped like a horseshoe, framed
by high white cliffs, which are pierced by strange holes called the
'Portes,' one stretching out into the ocean like the leg of a giant, the
other short and dumpy. The women gather on the narrow strip of sand
in this frame of high rocks, which they make into a gorgeous garden of
beautiful gowns. The sun beats down on the shores, on the multicolored
parasols, on the blue-green sea; and all is gay, delightful, smiling.
You sit down at the edge of the water and you watch the bathers. The
women come down, wrapped in long bath robes, which they throw off
daintily when they reach the foamy edge of the rippling waves; and they
run into the water with a rapid little step, stopping from time to time
for a delightful little thrill from the cold water, a short gasp.

“Very few stand the test of the bath. It is there that they can be
judged, from the ankle to the throat. Especially on leaving the water
are the defects revealed, although water is a powerful aid to flabby
skin.

“The first time that I saw this young woman in the water, I was
delighted, entranced. She stood the test well. There are faces whose
charms appeal to you at first glance and delight you instantly. You seem
to have found the woman whom you were born to love. I had that feeling
and that shock.

“I was introduced, and was soon smitten worse than I had ever been
before. My heart longed for her. It is a terrible yet delightful thing
thus to be dominated by a young woman. It is almost torture, and yet
infinite delight. Her look, her smile, her hair fluttering in the wind,
the little lines of her face, the slightest movement of her features,
delighted me, upset me, entranced me. She had captured me, body and
soul, by her gestures, her manners, even by her clothes, which seemed to
take on a peculiar charm as soon as she wore them. I grew tender at the
sight of her veil on some piece of furniture, her gloves thrown on a
chair. Her gowns seemed to me inimitable. Nobody had hats like hers.

“She was married, but her husband came only on Saturday, and left on
Monday. I didn't concern myself about him, anyhow. I wasn't jealous of
him, I don't know why; never did a creature seem to me to be of less
importance in life, to attract my attention less than this man.

“But she! how I loved her! How beautiful, graceful and young she was!
She was youth, elegance, freshness itself! Never before had I felt so
strongly what a pretty, distinguished, delicate, charming, graceful
being woman is. Never before had I appreciated the seductive beauty to
be found in the curve of a cheek, the movement of a lip, the pinkness of
an ear, the shape of that foolish organ called the nose.

“This lasted three months; then I left for America, overwhelmed with
sadness. But her memory remained in me, persistent, triumphant. From far
away I was as much hers as I had been when she was near me. Years passed
by, and I did not forget her. The charming image of her person was ever
before my eyes and in my heart. And my love remained true to her, a
quiet tenderness now, something like the beloved memory of the most
beautiful and the most enchanting thing I had ever met in my life.

“Twelve years are not much in a lifetime! One does not feel them slip
by. The years follow each other gently and quickly, slowly yet rapidly,
each one is long and yet so soon over! They add up so rapidly, they
leave so few traces behind them, they disappear so completely, that,
when one turns round to look back over bygone years, one sees nothing
and yet one does not understand how one happens to be so old. It seemed
to me, really, that hardly a few months separated me from that charming
season on the sands of Etretat.

“Last spring I went to dine with some friends at Maisons-Laffitte.

“Just as the train was leaving, a big, fat lady, escorted by four little
girls, got into my car. I hardly looked at this mother hen, very big,
very round, with a face as full as the moon framed in an enormous,
beribboned hat.

“She was puffing, out of breath from having been forced to walk quickly.
The children began to chatter. I unfolded my paper and began to read.

“We had just passed Asnieres, when my neighbor suddenly turned to me and
said:

“'Excuse me, sir, but are you not Monsieur Garnier?'

“'Yes, madame.'

“Then she began to laugh, the pleased laugh of a good woman; and yet it
was sad.

“'You do not seem to recognize me.'

“I hesitated. It seemed to me that I had seen that face somewhere; but
where? when? I answered:

“'Yes--and no. I certainly know you, and yet I cannot recall your name.'

“She blushed a little:

“'Madame Julie Lefevre.'

“Never had I received such a shock. In a second it seemed to me as
though it were all over with me! I felt that a veil had been torn
from my eyes and that I was going to make a horrible and heartrending
discovery.

“So that was she! That big, fat, common woman, she! She had become the
mother of these four girls since I had last her. And these little beings

								Rate this book:0.0 / 0 votes