Happiness

"Happiness" by Guy de Maupassant is a poignant short story that explores the complexities of love, desire, and the pursuit of happiness. The narrative follows the character of the rich and promising businessman, a man who seemingly has it all yet grapples with a profound sense of disillusionment. Through his interactions and experiences, Maupassant delves into the fleeting nature of joy and the intricate ways in which personal fulfillment often eludes individuals. The story is a reflection on the contradictions of human emotion, ultimately prompting readers to consider the true sources of happiness.

• Short story

								
The sky was blue, with light clouds that looked like swans slowly
sailing on the waters of a lake, and the atmosphere was so warm, so
saturated with the subtle odors of the mimosas, that Madame de
Viellemont ordered coffee to be served on the terrace which overlooked
the sea.

And while the steam rose from the delicate china cups, one felt an
almost inexpressible pleasure in looking at the sails, which were
gradually becoming lost in the mysterious distance, and at the almost
motionless sea, which had the sheen of jewels, which attracted the eyes
like the looks of a dreamy woman.

Monsieur de Pardeillac, who had arrived from Paris, fresh from the
remembrance of the last election there, from that Carnival of variegated
posters, which for weeks had imparted the strange aspect of some
Oriental bazaar to the whole city, had just been relating the victory of
The General, and went on to say that those who had thought that the
game was lost, were beginning to hope again.

After listening to him, old Count de Lancolme, who had spent his whole
life in rummaging libraries, and who had certainly compiled more
manuscripts than any Benedectine friar, shook his bald head, and
exclaimed in his shrill, rather mocking voice:

"Will you allow me to tell you a very old story, which has just come
into my head, while you were speaking, my dear friend, which I read
formerly in an old Italian city, though I forget at this moment where it
was?

"It happened in the fifteenth century, which is far removed from our
epoch, but you shall judge for yourselves whether it might not have
happened yesterday.

"Since the day, when mad with rage and rebellion, the town had made a
bonfire of the Ducal palace, and had ignominiously expelled that
patrician who had been their podestat[23], as if he had been some
vicious scoundrel, had thrust his lovely daughter into a convent, and
had forced his sons, who might have claimed their parental heritage, and
have again imposed the abhorred yoke upon them, into a monastery, the
town had never known any prosperous times. One after another the shops
closed, and money became as scarce as if there had been an invasion of
barbarian hordes, who had emptied the State treasury, and stolen the
last gold coin.

[Footnote 23: Venetian and Genoese magistrate.--TRANSLATOR.]

"The poor people were in abject misery, and in vain held out their hands
to passers-by under the church porches, and in the squares, while only
the watchmen disturbed the silence of the starlit nights, by their
monotonous and melancholy call, which announced the flight of the hours
as they passed.

"There were no more serenades; no longer did viols and flutes trouble
the slumbers of the lovers' choice; no longer were amorous arms thrown
round women's supple waists, nor were bottles of red wine put to cool in
the fountains under the trees. There were no more love adventures, to
the rhythm of laughter and of kisses; nothing but heavy, monotonous
weariness, and the anxiety as to what the next day might bring forth,
and ceaseless, unbridled ambitions and lusts.

"The palaces were deserted, one by one, as if the plague were raging,
and the nobility had fled to Florence and to Rome. In the beginning, the
common people, artisans and shop-keepers had installed themselves in
power, as in a conquered city, and had seized posts of honor and
well-paid offices, and had sacked the Treasury with their greedy and
eager hands. After them, came the middle classes, and those solemn
upstarts and hypocrites, like leathern bottles blown out with wind,
acting the tyrant and lying without the least shame, disowned their
former promises, and would soon have given the finishing stroke to the
unfortunate city, which was already at its last shifts.

"Discontent was increasing, and the sbirri[24] could scarcely find
time to tear the seditious placards, which had been posted up by unknown
hands, from the walls.

[Footnote 24: Italian police officers.--TRANSLATOR]

"But now that the old podestat had died in exile, worn out with grief,
and that his children, who had been brought up under monastic rules, and
were accustomed to nothing so much as to praying, thought only of their
own salvation, there was nobody who could take his place.

"And so these kinglets profited by the occasion to strut about at their
ease like great nobles, to cram themselves with luxurious meals, to
increase their property by degrees, to put everything up for sale, and
to get rid of those who, later on, could have called for accounts, and
have nailed them to the pillory by their ears.

"Their arrogance knew no bounds, and when they were questioned about
their acts, they only replied by menaces or raillery, and this state of
affairs lasted for twenty years, when, as war was imminent with Lucca,
the Council raised troops and enrolled mercenaries. Several battles were
fought in which the enemy was beaten and was obliged to flee, abandoning
their colors, their arms, prisoners, and all the booty in their camp.

"The man who had led the soldiers from battle, whom they had acclaimed
as triumphant and laurel-crowned Caesar, around their campfires, was a
poor condottiere[25], who possessed nothing in the world except his
clothes, his buff jerkin and his heavy sword.

[Footnote 25: Italian mercenary or free-lance, in the Middle
Ages.--TRANSLATOR.]

"They called him Hercules, on account of his strong muscles, his
imposing build, and his large head, and also Malavista, because in
those butcheries he had no pity, no weakness, but seemed, with his great
murderous arms, as if he had the long reach of death itself. He had
neither title, deeds, fortune, nor relations, for he had been born one
night in the tent of a female camp follower; for a long time, an old,
broken drum had been his cradle, and he had grown up anyhow, without
knowing those maternal kisses and endearments that warm the heart, or
the pleasure of not always sleeping on a hard bed, or of always eating
tough beef, or of being obliged to tighten his sword belt when luck had
turned like a weathercock when the wind shifts, and a man would gladly
give all his share of the next booty for a moldy crust of bread and a
glass of water.

"He was a simple and a brave man, whose heart was as virgin as some
virgin shore, on which no human foot has ever yet left its imprint.

"The Chiefs of the Council were imprudent enough to summon Hercules
Malavista within the walls of the town, and to celebrate his arrival
with almost imperial splendor, more, however, to deceive the people and
to regain their waning popularity by means of some one else, by a
ceremony copied from those of Pagan Rome, than to honor and recompense
the services of a soldier whom they despised at the bottom of their
hearts.

"The bells rang a full peal, and the archbishop and clergy and choir
boys went to meet the Captain, singing psalms and hymns of joy, as if it
might have been Easter. The streets and squares were strewn with

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