The Gamekeeper

"The Gamekeeper" by Guy de Maupassant is a poignant short story that explores themes of love, jealousy, and the complexities of human relationships. Set in the French countryside, the narrative revolves around a gamekeeper who becomes entangled in an emotional affair with a young woman. As tensions mount between his feelings for her and his sense of duty, the story delves into the repercussions of their relationship against a backdrop of societal expectations and personal conflict. Maupassant's vivid prose and keen psychological insight bring depth to the characters and highlight the fragility of love.

								
It was after dinner, and we were talking about adventures and accidents
which happened while out shooting.

An old friend, known to all of us, M. Boniface, a great sportsman and
a connoisseur of wine, a man of wonderful physique, witty and gay,
and endowed with an ironical and resigned philosophy, which manifested
itself in caustic humor, and never in melancholy, suddenly exclaimed:

“I know a story, or rather a tragedy, which is somewhat peculiar. It is
not at all like those which one hears of usually, and I have never told
it, thinking that it would interest no one.

“It is not at all sympathetic. I mean by that, that it does not arouse
the kind of interest which pleases or which moves one agreeably.

“Here is the story:

“I was then about thirty-five years of age, and a most enthusiastic
sportsman.

“In those days I owned a lonely bit of property in the neighborhood of
Jumieges, surrounded by forests and abounding in hares and rabbits.
I was accustomed to spending four or five days alone there each year,
there not being room enough to allow of my bringing a friend with me.

“I had placed there as gamekeeper, an old retired gendarme, a good man,
hot-tempered, a severe disciplinarian, a terror to poachers and fearing
nothing. He lived all alone, far from the village, in a little house,
or rather hut, consisting of two rooms downstairs, with kitchen and
store-room, and two upstairs. One of them, a kind of box just large
enough to accommodate a bed, a cupboard and a chair, was reserved for my
use.

“Old man Cavalier lived in the other one. When I said that he was alone
in this place, I was wrong. He had taken his nephew with him, a young
scamp about fourteen years old, who used to go to the village and run
errands for the old man.

“This young scapegrace was long and lanky, with yellow hair, so light
that it resembled the fluff of a plucked chicken, so thin that he seemed
bald. Besides this, he had enormous feet and the hands of a giant.

“He was cross-eyed, and never looked at anyone. He struck me as being
in the same relation to the human race as ill-smelling beasts are to the
animal race. He reminded me of a polecat.

“He slept in a kind of hole at the top of the stairs which led to the
two rooms.

“But during my short sojourns at the Pavilion--so I called the hut
--Marius would give up his nook to an old woman from Ecorcheville,
called Celeste, who used to come and cook for me, as old man Cavalier's
stews were not sufficient for my healthy appetite.

“You now know the characters and the locality. Here is the story:

“It was on the fifteenth of October, 1854--I shall remember that date as
long as I live.

“I left Rouen on horseback, followed by my dog Bock, a big Dalmatian
hound from Poitou, full-chested and with a heavy jaw, which could
retrieve among the bushes like a Pont-Andemer spaniel.

“I was carrying my satchel slung across my back and my gun diagonally
across my chest. It was a cold, windy, gloomy day, with clouds scurrying
across the sky.

“As I went up the hill at Canteleu, I looked over the broad valley of
the Seine, the river winding in and out along its course as far as the
eye could see. To the right the towers of Rouen stood out against the
sky, and to the left the landscape was bounded by the distant slopes
covered with trees. Then I crossed the forest of Roumare and, toward
five o'clock, reached the Pavilion, where Cavalier and Celeste were
expecting me.

“For ten years I had appeared there at the same time, in the same
manner; and for ten years the same faces had greeted me with the same
words:

“'Welcome, master! We hope your health is good.'

“Cavalier had hardly changed. He withstood time like an old tree; but
Celeste, especially in the past four years, had become unrecognizable.

“She was bent almost double, and, although still active, when she walked
her body was almost at right angles to her legs.

“The old woman, who was very devoted to me, always seemed affected at
seeing me again, and each time, as I left, she would say:

“'This may be the last time, master.'

“The sad, timid farewell of this old servant, this hopeless resignation
to the inevitable fate which was not far off for her, moved me strangely
each year.

“I dismounted, and while Cavalier, whom I had greeted, was leading
my horse to the little shed which served as a stable, I entered the
kitchen, which also served as dining-room, followed by Celeste.

“Here the gamekeeper joined us. I saw at first glance that something was
the matter. He seemed preoccupied, ill at ease, worried.

“I said to him:

“'Well, Cavalier, is everything all right?'

“He muttered:

“'Yes and no. There are things I don't like.'

“I asked:

“'What? Tell me about it.'

“But he shook his head.

“'No, not yet, monsieur. I do not wish to bother you with my little
troubles so soon after your arrival.'

“I insisted, but he absolutely refused to give me any information before
dinner. From his expression, I could tell that it was something very
serious.

“Not knowing what to say to him, I asked:

“'How about game? Much of it this year?'

“'Oh, yes! You'll find all you want. Thank heaven, I looked out for
that.'

“He said this with so much seriousness, with such sad solemnity, that
it was really almost funny. His big gray mustache seemed almost ready to
drop from his lips.

“Suddenly I remembered that I had not yet seen his nephew.

“'Where is Marius? Why does he not show himself?'

“The gamekeeper started, looking me suddenly in the face:

“Well, monsieur, I had rather tell you the whole business right away;
it's on account of him that I am worrying.'

“'Ah! Well, where is he?'

“'Over in the stable, monsieur. I was waiting for the right time to
bring him out.'

“'What has he done?'

“'Well, monsieur----'

“The gamekeeper, however, hesitated, his voice altered and shaky, his
face suddenly furrowed by the deep lines of an old man.

“He continued slowly:

“'Well, I found out, last winter, that someone was poaching in the woods
of Roseraies, but I couldn't seem to catch the man. I spent night after
night on the lookout for him. In vain. During that time they began
poaching over by Ecorcheville. I was growing thin from vexation. But as
for catching the trespasser, impossible! One might have thought that the
rascal was forewarned of my plans.

“'But one day, while I was brushing Marius' Sunday trousers, I found
forty cents in his pocket. Where did he get it?

“'I thought the matter over for about a week, and I noticed that he used
to go out; he would leave the house just as I was coming home to go to
bed--yes, monsieur.

“'Then I started to watch him, without the slightest suspicion of the
real facts. One morning, just after I had gone to bed before him, I got
right up again, and followed him. For shadowing a man, there is nobody
like me, monsieur.

“'And I caught him, Marius, poaching on your land, monsieur; he my
nephew, I your keeper!

“'The blood rushed to my head, and I almost killed him on the spot, I
hit him so hard. Oh! yes, I thrashed him all right. And I promised him

								Rate this book:0.0 / 0 votes