No Quarter

"No Quarter" (original title: "Sans Quarter") is a short story by the renowned French writer Guy de Maupassant, known for his keen observations of human nature and society. The narrative unfolds during the Franco-Prussian War, delving into the grim realities of conflict and the moral complexities that arise in the face of survival. Through vivid characterizations and poignant imagery, Maupassant explores themes of loyalty, betrayal, and the psychological toll of war, capturing the stark contrasts between honor and cowardice in tumultuous times. As with many of his works, "No Quarter" reflects Maupassant's masterful storytelling and his deep understanding of the human condition.

								
The broad sunlight threw its burning rays on the fields, and under this
shower of flame life burst forth in glowing vegetation from the earth.
As far as the eye could see, the soil was green; and the sky was blue to
the verge of the horizon. The Norman farms scattered through the plain
seemed at a distance like little doors enclosed each in a circle of thin
beech trees. Coming closer, on opening the worm-eaten stile, one fancied
that he saw a giant garden, for all the old apple-trees, as knotted as
the peasants, were in blossom. The weather-beaten black trunks, crooked,
twisted, ranged along the enclosure, displayed beneath the sky their
glittering domes, rosy and white. The sweet perfume of their blossoms
mingled with the heavy odors of the open stables and with the fumes of
the steaming dunghill, covered with hens and their chickens. It was
midday. The family sat at dinner in the shadow of the pear-tree planted
before the door--the father, the mother, the four children, the two
maid-servants, and the three farm laborers. They scarcely uttered a
word. Their fare consisted of soup and of a stew composed of potatoes
mashed up in lard.

From time to time one of the maid-servants rose up and went to the
cellar to fetch a pitcher of cider.

The husband, a big fellow of about forty, stared at a vine-tree, quite
exposed to view, which stood close to the farm-house twining like a
serpent under the shutters the entire length of the wall.

He said, after a long silence:

"The father's vine-tree is blossoming early this year. Perhaps it will
bear good fruit."

The peasant's wife also turned round, and gazed at the tree without
speaking.

This vine-tree was planted exactly in the place where the father of the
peasant had been shot.

It was during the war of 1870. The Prussians were in occupation of the
entire country. General Faidherbe, with the Army of the North, was at
their head.

Now the Prussian staff had taken up its quarters in this farm-house. The
old peasant who owned it, Pere Milon Pierre, received them, and gave
them the best treatment he could.

For a whole month the German vanguard remained on the look-out in the
village. The French were posted ten leagues away without moving; and yet
each night, some of the Uhlans disappeared.

All the isolated scouts, those who were sent out on patrol, whenever
they started in groups of two or three, never came back.

They were picked up dead in the morning in a field, near a farm-yard, in
a ditch. Their horses even were found lying on the roads with their
throats cut by a saber-stroke. These murders seemed to have been
accomplished by the same men, who could not be discovered.

The country was terrorized. Peasants were shot on mere information,
women were imprisoned, attempts were made to obtain revelations from
children by fear.

But, one morning, Pere Milon was found stretched in his stable, with a
gash across his face.

Two Uhlans ripped open were seen lying three kilometers away from the
farm-house. One of them still grasped in his hand his blood-stained
weapon. He had fought and defended himself.

A council of war having been immediately constituted, in the open air,
in front of the farm-house, the old man was brought before it.

He was sixty-eight years old. He was small, thin, a little crooked, with
long hands resembling the claws of a crab. His faded hair, scanty and
slight, like the down on a young duck, allowed his scalp to be plainly
seen. The brown, crimpled skin of his neck showed the big veins which
sank under his jaws and reappeared at his temples. He was regarded in
the district as a miser and a hard man in business transactions.

He was placed standing between four soldiers in front of the kitchen
table, which had been carried out of the house for the purpose. Five
officers and the Colonel sat facing him. The Colonel was the first to
speak.

"Pere Milon," he said, in French, "since we came here, we have had
nothing to say of you but praise. You have always been obliging, and
even considerate towards us. But to-day a terrible accusation rests on
you, and the matter must be cleared up. How did you get the wound on
your face?"

The peasant gave no reply.

The Colonel went on:

"Your silence condemns you, Pere Milon. But I want you to answer me, do
you understand. Do you know who has killed the two Uhlans who were found
this morning near the cross-roads?"

The old man said in a clear voice:

"It was I!"

The Colonel, surprised, remained silent for a second, looking
steadfastly at the prisoner. Pere Milon maintained his impassive
demeanor, his air of rustic stupidity, with downcast eyes, as if he were
talking to his curé. There was only one thing that could reveal his
internal agitation, the way in which he slowly swallowed his saliva with
a visible effort, as if he were choking.

The old peasant's family--his son Jean, his daughter-in-law, and two
little children stood ten paces behind scared and dismayed.

The Colonel continued:

"Do you know also who killed all the scouts of our Army, whom we have
found every morning, for the past month, lying here and there in the
fields?"

The old man answered with the same brutal impassiveness:

"It was I!"

"It is you, then, that killed them all?"

"All of them--yes, it was I."

"You alone?"

"I alone."

"Tell me the way you managed to do it?"

This time the peasant appeared to be affected; the necessity of speaking
at some length incommoded him.

"I know myself. I did it the way I found easiest."

The Colonel proceeded:

"I warn you, you must tell me everything. You will do well, therefore,
to make up your mind about it at once. How did you begin it?"

The peasant cast an uneasy glance towards his family, who remained in a
listening attitude behind him. He hesitated for another second or so,
then all of a sudden, he came to a resolution on the matter.

"I came home one night about ten o'clock and the next day you were here.
You and your soldiers gave me fifty crowns for forage with a cow and two
sheep. Said I to myself: 'As long as I get twenty crowns out of them,
I'll sell them the value of it.' But then I had other things in my
heart, which I'll tell you about now. I came across one of your
cavalrymen smoking his pipe near my dike, just behind my barn. I went
and took my scythe off the hook, and I came back with short steps from
behind, while he lay there without hearing anything. And I cut off his
head with one stroke, like a feather, while he only said 'Oof!' You have
only to look at the bottom of the pond; you'll find him there in a
coal-bag, with a big stone tied to it.

"I got an idea into my head. I took all he had on him from his boots to
his cap, and I hid them in the bake-house in the Martin wood behind the
farm-yard."

The old man stopped. The officers, speechless, looked at one another.
The examination was resumed, and this is what they were told.

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