One Evening Page #4

"One Evening" by Guy de Maupassant is a captivating short story that revolves around a chance encounter between a man and a woman during a serene evening. As they converse, their dialogue reveals their inner thoughts and desires, reflecting themes of love, longing, and the complexities of human relationships. The narrative encapsulates the allure of fleeting connections and the profound emotions that can arise in a brief moment, showcasing Maupassant's mastery of character exploration and atmospheric storytelling.

• Short story

								

wait!...And I would have seized her by the throat until I choked her....
Or else I would have held her fingers into the fire. ...Oh! how I should
have enjoyed doing it! ...Speak!...Speak!...You will not? I would have
held them on the coals, and when the tips were burnt, she would have
confessed... certainly she would have confessed!"

Trémoulin was sitting up, shouting, with clenched fists. Around us, on
the neighboring roofs, people awoke and sat up, as he was disturbing
their sleep. As for me, I was moved and powerfully interested, and in
the darkness I could see that little woman, that little, fair, lively,
artful woman, as if I had known her personally. I saw her selling her
books, talking with the men whom her childish ways attracted, and in her
delicate, doll-like head, I could see little crafty ideas, silly ideas,
the dreams which a milliner smelling of musk attached to all heroes of
romantic adventures. I suspected her just like he did, I hated and
detested her, and would willingly have burnt her fingers and made her
confess.

Presently, he continued more calmly: "I do not know why I have told you
all this, for I have never mentioned it to anyone, but then, I have not
seen anybody or spoken to anybody for two years! And it was seething in
my heart like a fermenting wine. I have got rid of it, and so much the
worse for you. Well, I had made a mistake, but it was worse than I
thought, much worse. Just listen. I employed the means which a man
always does under such circumstances, and pretended that I was going to
be away from home for a day, and whenever I did this my wife went out to
lunch. I need not tell you how I bribed a waiter in the restaurant to
which they used to go, so that I might surprise them.

"He was to open the door of their private room for me and I arrived at
the appointed time, with the fixed determination of killing them both. I
could see the whole scene, just as if it had already occurred! I could
see myself going in. A small table covered with glasses, bottles and
plates separated her from Montina, and they would be so surprised when
they saw me, that they would not even attempt to move, and without a
word, I should bring down the loaded stick which I had in my hand, on
the man's head. Killed by one blow, he would fall with his head on the
table, and then, turning towards her, I should leave her time--a few
moments--to understand it all and to stretch out her arms towards me,
mad with terror, before dying in her turn. Oh! I was ready, strong,
determined, and pleased, madly pleased at the idea. The idea of the
terrified look that she would throw at my raised stick, of her arms that
she would stretch out to me, of her horrified cry, of her livid and
convulsed looks, avenged me beforehand. I would not kill her at one
blow! You will think me cruel, I dare say; but you do not know what a
man suffers. To think that a woman, whether she be wife or mistress,
whom one loves, gives herself to another, yields herself up to him as
she does to you, and receives kisses from his lips, as she does from
yours! It is a terrible, an atrocious thing to think of. When one feels
that torture, one is ready for anything. I only wonder that more women
are not murdered, for every man who has been deceived longs to commit
murder, has dreamt of it in the solitude of his own room, or on a
deserted road, and has been haunted by the one fixed idea of satisfied
vengeance.

"I arrived at the restaurant, and asked whether they were there. The
waiter whom I had bribed replied: 'Yes, Monsieur,' and taking me
upstairs, he pointed to a door, and said: 'That is the room!' So I
grasped my stick, as if my fingers had been made of iron, and went in. I
had chosen a most appropriate moment, for they were kissing most
lovingly, but it was not Montina; it was General de la Fléche, who was
sixty-six years old, and I had so fully made up my mind that I should
find the other one there, I was motionless from astonishment.

"And then ... and then, I really do not quite know what I thought; no, I
really do not know. If I had found myself face to face with the other, I
should have been convulsed with rage, but on seeing this old man, with a
fat stomach and pendulous cheeks, I was nearly choked with disgust. She,
who did not look fifteen, small and slim as she was, had given herself
to this fat man, who was nearly paralyzed, because he was a marquis and
a general, the friend and representative of dethroned kings. No, I do
not know what I felt, nor what I thought. I could not have lifted my
hand against this old man; it would have been a disgrace to me, and I no
longer felt inclined to kill my wife, but all women who could be guilty
of such things! I was no longer jealous, but felt distracted, as if I
had seen the horror of horrors!

"Let people say what they like of men, they are not so vile as that! If a
man is known to have given himself up to an old woman in that fashion,
people point their fingers at him. The husband or lover of an old woman
is more despised than a thief. We men are a decent lot, as a rule, but
many women, especially in Paris, are absolutely bad. They will give
themselves to all men, old or young, from the most contemptible and
different motives, because it is their profession, their vocation, and
their function. They are the eternal, unconscious, and serene
prostitutes, who give up their bodies, because they are the merchandise
of love, which they sell or give, to the old man who frequents the
pavements with money in his pocket, or else for glory, to a lecherous
old king, or to a celebrated and disgusting old man."

He vociferated like a prophet of old, in a furious voice, under the
starry sky, and with the rage of a man in despair, he repeated all the
glorified disgrace of all the mistresses of old kings, the respectable
shame of all those virgins who marry old husbands, the tolerated
disgrace of all those young women who accept old kisses with a smile.

I could see them, as he evoked their memory, since the beginning of the
world, surging round us in that Eastern night, girls, beautiful girls,
with vile souls, who, like the lower animals, who know nothing of the
age of the male, are docile to senile desires. They rose up before one,
the handmaids of the patriarchs, who are mentioned in the Bible, Hagar,
Ruth, the daughters of Lot, Abigail, Abishag, the virgin of Shunam, who
reanimated David with her caresses when he was dying, and the others,
young, stout, white, patricians or plebeians, irresponsible females
belonging to a master, and submissive slaves, whether caught by the
attraction of royalty, or bought as slaves!

"What did you do?" I asked.

"I went away," he replied simply. And we remained sitting side by side
for a long time without speaking, only dreaming! ...

I have retained an impression of that evening that I can never forget.
All that I saw, felt, and heard, our fishing excursion, the octopus
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