The Inn

"The Inn" is a short story by Guy de Maupassant that explores themes of human nature, desire, and the complexities of relationships in a rustic setting. The narrative unfolds at a remote inn, where a chance encounter between the protagonist and a local innkeeper leads to a poignant examination of love, longing, and societal expectations. Through Maupassant's evocative prose and keen insights into character psychology, the story captures the intricacies of emotion and the impact of fleeting moments in life.

								
Resembling in appearance all the wooden hostelries of the High Alps
situated at the foot of glaciers in the barren rocky gorges that
intersect the summits of the mountains, the Inn of Schwarenbach serves
as a resting place for travellers crossing the Gemini Pass.

It remains open for six months in the year and is inhabited by the
family of Jean Hauser; then, as soon as the snow begins to fall and to
fill the valley so as to make the road down to Loeche impassable, the
father and his three sons go away and leave the house in charge of the
old guide, Gaspard Hari, with the young guide, Ulrich Kunsi, and Sam,
the great mountain dog.

The two men and the dog remain till the spring in their snowy prison,
with nothing before their eyes except the immense white slopes of the
Balmhorn, surrounded by light, glistening summits, and are shut in,
blocked up and buried by the snow which rises around them and which
envelops, binds and crushes the little house, which lies piled on the
roof, covering the windows and blocking up the door.

It was the day on which the Hauser family were going to return to
Loeche, as winter was approaching, and the descent was becoming
dangerous. Three mules started first, laden with baggage and led by
the three sons. Then the mother, Jeanne Hauser, and her daughter Louise
mounted a fourth mule and set off in their turn and the father followed
them, accompanied by the two men in charge, who were to escort the
family as far as the brow of the descent. First of all they passed round
the small lake, which was now frozen over, at the bottom of the mass of
rocks which stretched in front of the inn, and then they followed the
valley, which was dominated on all sides by the snow-covered summits.

A ray of sunlight fell into that little white, glistening, frozen desert
and illuminated it with a cold and dazzling flame. No living thing
appeared among this ocean of mountains. There was no motion in this
immeasurable solitude and no noise disturbed the profound silence.

By degrees the young guide, Ulrich Kunsi, a tall, long-legged Swiss,
left old man Hauser and old Gaspard behind, in order to catch up the
mule which bore the two women. The younger one looked at him as he
approached and appeared to be calling him with her sad eyes. She was a
young, fairhaired little peasant girl, whose milk-white cheeks and pale
hair looked as if they had lost their color by their long abode amid the
ice. When he had got up to the animal she was riding he put his hand on
the crupper and relaxed his speed. Mother Hauser began to talk to him,
enumerating with the minutest details all that he would have to attend
to during the winter. It was the first time that he was going to stay up
there, while old Hari had already spent fourteen winters amid the snow,
at the inn of Schwarenbach.

Ulrich Kunsi listened, without appearing to understand and looked
incessantly at the girl. From time to time he replied: “Yes, Madame
Hauser,” but his thoughts seemed far away and his calm features remained
unmoved.

They reached Lake Daube, whose broad, frozen surface extended to the end
of the valley. On the right one saw the black, pointed, rocky summits
of the Daubenhorn beside the enormous moraines of the Lommern glacier,
above which rose the Wildstrubel. As they approached the Gemmi pass,
where the descent of Loeche begins, they suddenly beheld the immense
horizon of the Alps of the Valais, from which the broad, deep valley of
the Rhone separated them.

In the distance there was a group of white, unequal, flat, or pointed
mountain summits, which glistened in the sun; the Mischabel with its two
peaks, the huge group of the Weisshorn, the heavy Brunegghorn, the lofty
and formidable pyramid of Mount Cervin, that slayer of men, and the
Dent-Blanche, that monstrous coquette.

Then beneath them, in a tremendous hole, at the bottom of a terrific
abyss, they perceived Loeche, where houses looked as grains of sand
which had been thrown into that enormous crevice that is ended and
closed by the Gemmi and which opens, down below, on the Rhone.

The mule stopped at the edge of the path, which winds and turns
continually, doubling backward, then, fantastically and strangely, along
the side of the mountain as far as the almost invisible little village
at its feet. The women jumped into the snow and the two old men joined
them. “Well,” father Hauser said, “good-by, and keep up your spirits
till next year, my friends,” and old Hari replied: “Till next year.”

They embraced each other and then Madame Hauser in her turn offered her
cheek, and the girl did the same.

When Ulrich Kunsi's turn came, he whispered in Louise's ear, “Do not
forget those up yonder,” and she replied, “No,” in such a low voice that
he guessed what she had said without hearing it. “Well, adieu,” Jean
Hauser repeated, “and don't fall ill.” And going before the two women,
he commenced the descent, and soon all three disappeared at the first
turn in the road, while the two men returned to the inn at Schwarenbach.

They walked slowly, side by side, without speaking. It was over, and
they would be alone together for four or five months. Then Gaspard
Hari began to relate his life last winter. He had remained with Michael
Canol, who was too old now to stand it, for an accident might happen
during that long solitude. They had not been dull, however; the only
thing was to make up one's mind to it from the first, and in the end one
would find plenty of distraction, games and other means of whiling away
the time.

Ulrich Kunsi listened to him with his eyes on the ground, for in his
thoughts he was following those who were descending to the village. They
soon came in sight of the inn, which was, however, scarcely visible, so
small did it look, a black speck at the foot of that enormous billow of
snow, and when they opened the door Sam, the great curly dog, began to
romp round them.

“Come, my boy,” old Gaspard said, “we have no women now, so we must get
our own dinner ready. Go and peel the potatoes.” And they both sat down
on wooden stools and began to prepare the soup.

The next morning seemed very long to Kunsi. Old Hari smoked and spat
on the hearth, while the young man looked out of the window at the
snow-covered mountain opposite the house.

In the afternoon he went out, and going over yesterday's ground again,
he looked for the traces of the mule that had carried the two women.
Then when he had reached the Gemmi Pass, he laid himself down on his
stomach and looked at Loeche.

The village, in its rocky pit, was not yet buried under the snow, from
which it was sheltered by the pine woods which protected it on all
sides. Its low houses looked like paving stones in a large meadow
from above. Hauser's little daughter was there now in one of those
gray-colored houses. In which? Ulrich Kunsi was too far away to be able
to make them out separately. How he would have liked to go down while he
was yet able!

But the sun had disappeared behind the lofty crest of the Wildstrubel

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