The Marquis

"The Marquis" is a short story by Guy de Maupassant that explores themes of social status, desire, and the complexities of human relationships. Set in the context of 19th-century French society, the narrative revolves around a young woman's encounter with a nobleman, the Marquis, who embodies both charm and decadence. Through their interactions, Maupassant delves into the intricacies of love and manipulation, revealing the stark contrasts between the allure of the aristocracy and the moral dilemmas faced by individuals drawn into their world. The story captures Maupassant's keen observations on human nature and societal norms, ultimately leaving readers to reflect on the cost of ambition and the nature of true fulfillment.

• Short story

								
It was quite useless to expostulate when that obstinate little Sonia,
with a Russian name and Russian caprices, had said: "I choose to do it."
She was so delicate and pretty also, with her slightly turned-up nose,
and her rosy and childish cheeks, while every female perversity was
reflected in the depths of her strange eyes, which were the color of the
sea on a stormy evening. Yes, she was very charming, very fantastic, and
above all, so Russian, so deliciously and imperiously Russian, and all
the more Russian, as she came from Montmarte, and in spite of this, not
one of her seven lovers who composed her usual menagerie had laughed
when their enslaver said one day:

"You know my feudal castle at Pludun-Herlouët, near Saint
Jacut-de-la-Mer, which I bought two years ago, and in which I have not
yet set foot? Very well, then! The day after to-morrow, which is the
first of May, we will have a house-warming there."

The seven had not asked for any further explanation, but had accompanied
little Sonia, and were now ready to sit down to dinner under her
presidency in the dining-room of the old castle, which was situated ten
hours from Paris. They had arrived there that morning; they were going
to have dinner and supper together, and start off again at daybreak next
morning; such were Sonia's orders, and nobody had made the slightest
objection.

Two of her admirers, however, who were not yet used to her sudden whims,
had felt some surprise, which was quickly checked by expressions of
enthusiastic pleasure on the part of the others.

"What a delightful, original idea! Nobody else would have thought of
such things! Positively, nobody else. Oh! these Russians!" But those who
had known her for some time, and who had been consequently educated not
to be surprised at anything, found it all quite natural.

It was half-past six in the evening, and the gentlemen were going to
dress. Sonia had made up her mind to keep on her morning-gown, or if she
dressed, she would do so later. Just then she was not inclined to move
out of her great rocking-chair, from which she could see the sun setting
over the sea. The sight always delighted her very much. It might have
been taken for a large red billiard ball, rebounding from the green
cloth. How funny it was! And how lucky that she was all alone to look at
it, for those seven would not have understood it at all! Those men never
have any soul, have they?

Certainly, the sunset was strange at first, but at length it made her
sad, and just now Sonia's heart felt almost heavy, though the very
sadness was sweet. She was congratulating herself more than ever on
being alone, so as to enjoy that languor, which was almost like a gentle
dream, when, in perfect harmony with that melancholy and sweet
sensation, a voice rose from the road, which was overhung by the
terrace; a tremulous, but fresh and pure voice sang the following words
to a slow melody:

    "Walking in Paris,
      Having my drink,
    A friend of mine whispered:
     What do you think?
    If love makes you thirsty,
    Then wine makes you lusty."

The sound died away, as the singer continued on his way, and Sonia was
afraid that she should not hear the rest; it was really terrible; so she
jumped out of the rocking-chair, ran to the balustrade of terrace, and
leaning over it, she called out: "Sing it again! I insist on it. The
song, the whole song!"

On hearing this, the singer looked round and then came back, without
hurrying, however, and as if he were prompted by curiosity, rather than
by any desire to comply with her order, and holding his hand over his
eyes, he looked at Sonia attentively, who, on her part, had plenty of
time to look closely at him.

He was an old man of about sixty-five, and his rags and the wallet over
his shoulder denoted a beggar, but Sonia immediately noticed that there
was a certain amount of affectation in his wretchedness. His hair and
beard were not shaggy and ragged, like such men usually wear them, and
evidently he had his hair cut occasionally, and he had a fine, and even
distinguished face, as Sonia said to herself. But she did not pay much
attention to that, as for some time she had noticed that old men at the
seaside nearly all looked like gentlemen.

When he got to the foot of the terrace, the beggar stopped, and wagged
his head and said: "Pretty! The little woman is very pretty!" But he did
not obey Sonia's order, who repeated it, almost angrily this time,
beating a violent tattoo on the stone-work. "The song, the whole song!"

He did not seem to hear, but stood there gaping, with a vacant smile on
his face, and as his head was rather inclined towards his left shoulder,
a thin stream of saliva trickled from his lips onto his beard, and his
looks became more and more ardent. "How stupid I am!" Sonia suddenly
thought. "Of course he is waiting for something." She felt in her
pocket, in which she always carried some gold by way of half-pence, took
out a twenty-franc piece and threw it down to the old man. He, however,
did not take any notice of it, but continued looking at her
ecstatically, and was only roused from his state of bliss by receiving a
handful of gravel which she threw at him, right in his face.

"Do sing!" she exclaimed. "You must; I will have it; I have paid you."
And then, still smiling, he picked up the napoleon and threw it back
onto the terrace, and then he said proudly, though in a very gentle
voice: "I do not ask for charity, little lady; but if it gives you
pleasure, I will sing you the whole song, the whole of it, as often as
you please." And he began the song again, in his tremulous voice, which
was more tremulous than it had been before, as if he were much touched.

Sonia was overcome, and without knowing was moved into tears; delighted
because the man had spoken to her so familiarly, and rather ashamed at
having treated him as a beggar; and now her whole being was carried away
by the slow rhythm of the melody, which related an old love story, and
when he had done he again looked at her with a smile, and as she was
crying, he said to her: "I dare say you have a beautiful horse, or a
little dog that you are very fond of, which is ill. Take me to it, and I
will cure it: I understand it thoroughly. I will do it gratis, because
you are so pretty."

She could not help laughing. "You must not laugh," he said. "What are
you laughing at? Because I am poor? But I am not, for I had work
yesterday, and again to-day. I have a bag full. See, look here!" And
from his belt he drew a leather purse in which coppers rattled. He
poured them out into the palm of his hand, and said merrily: "You see,
little one, I have a purse. Forty-seven sous; forty-seven!" "So you will
not take my napoleon?" Sonia said. "Certainly not," he replied. "I do
not want it; and then, I tell you again, I will not accept alms. So you

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