Old Mongilet Page #2

"Old Mongilet" is a short story by Guy de Maupassant that explores themes of aging, love, and the passage of time. The narrative revolves around the character of Mongilet, an elderly man who reflects on his life, relationships, and the fleeting nature of youth. Through Maupassant's keen observations and rich characterizations, the story delves into the complexities of human emotions and the bittersweet nostalgia that often accompanies reminiscence. Employing his signature realism, Maupassant captures the essence of life's transient beauty, inviting readers to contemplate the inevitability of change and the enduring power of memory.

								


“She yelled so that I should hear:

“'No, I will not give it to you! As the man has had luncheon here, the least he can do is to pay your expenses for the day.'

“Boivin came back to fetch me. As I wished to be polite I bowed to the mistress of the house, stammering:

“'Madame—many thanks—kind welcome.'

“'That's all right,' she replied. 'But do not bring him back drunk, for you will have to answer to me, you know!'

“We set out. We had to cross a perfectly bare plain under the burning sun. I attempted to gather a flower along the road and gave a cry of pain. It had hurt my hand frightfully. They call these plants nettles. And, everywhere, there was a smell of manure, enough to turn your stomach.

“Boivin said, 'Have a little patience and we will reach the river bank.'

“We reached the river. Here there was an odor of mud and dirty water, and the sun blazed down on the water so that it burned my eyes. I begged Boivin to go under cover somewhere. He took me into a kind of shanty filled with men, a river boatmen's tavern.

“He said:

“'This does not look very grand, but it is very comfortable.'

“I was hungry. I ordered an omelet. But to and behold, at the second glass of wine, that beggar, Boivin, lost his head, and I understand why his wife gave him water diluted.

“He got up, declaimed, wanted to show his strength, interfered in a quarrel between two drunken men who were fighting, and, but for the landlord, who came to the rescue, we should both have been killed.

“I dragged him away, holding him up until we reached the first bush where I deposited him. I lay down beside him and, it seems, I fell asleep. We must certainly have slept a long time, for it was dark when I awoke. Boivin was snoring at my side. I shook him; he rose but he was still drunk, though a little less so.

“We set out through the darkness across the plain. Boivin said he knew the way. He made me turn to the left, then to the right, then to the left. We could see neither sky nor earth, and found ourselves lost in the midst of a kind of forest of wooden stakes, that came as high as our noses. It was a vineyard and these were the supports. There was not a single light on the horizon. We wandered about in this vineyard for about an hour or two, hesitating, reaching out our arms without finding any limit, for we kept retracing our steps.

“At length Boivin fell against a stake that tore his cheek and he remained in a sitting posture on the ground, uttering with all his might long and resounding hallos, while I screamed 'Help! Help!' as loud as I could, lighting candle-matches to show the way to our rescuers, and also to keep up my courage.

“At last a belated peasant heard us and put us on our right road. I took Boivin to his home, but as I was leaving him on the threshold of his garden, the door opened suddenly and his wife appeared, a candle in her hand. She frightened me horribly.

“As soon as she saw her husband, whom she must have been waiting for since dark, she screamed, as she darted toward me:

“'Ah, scoundrel, I knew you would bring him back drunk!'

“My, how I made my escape, running all the way to the station, and as I thought the fury was pursuing me I shut myself in an inner room as the train was not due for half an hour.

“That is why I never married, and why I never go out of Paris.”
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