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108 pages

English

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Pierre and Jean is a short realist novel by Guy de Maupassant. The relationship of two brothers to each other and to their mother begins to change when a family friend dies and leaves all his money to one brother, bringing his legitimacy into question. The novel is a psycho-realist portrayal of the power of heredity and money within relationships.

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Publié par	The Floating Press
Date de parution	01 juin 2009
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781775415848
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0164€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

PIERRE AND JEAN
* * *
GUY DE MAUPASSANT
Translated by
CLARA BELL

*

Pierre and Jean First published in 1888.
ISBN 978-1-775415-84-8
© 2009 THE FLOATING PRESS.
While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike.
Visit www.thefloatingpress.com
Contents
*
Chapter I Chapter II Chapter III Chapter IV Chapter V Chapter VI Chapter VII Chapter VIII Chapter IX
Chapter I
*
"Tschah!" exclaimed old Roland suddenly, after he had remainedmotionless for a quarter of an hour, his eyes fixed on the water, whilenow and again he very slightly lifted his line sunk in the sea.
Mme. Roland, dozing in the stern by the side of Mme. Rosemilly, who hadbeen invited to join the fishing-party, woke up, and turning her head tolook at her husband, said:
"Well, well! Gerome."
And the old fellow replied in a fury:
"They do not bite at all. I have taken nothing since noon. Only menshould ever go fishing. Women always delay the start till it is toolate."
His two sons, Pierre and Jean, who each held a line twisted round hisforefinger, one to port and one to starboard, both began to laugh, andJean remarked:
"You are not very polite to our guest, father."
M. Roland was abashed, and apologized.
"I beg your pardon, Mme. Rosemilly, but that is just like me. I inviteladies because I like to be with them, and then, as soon as I feel thewater beneath me, I think of nothing but the fish."
Mme. Roland was now quite awake, and gazing with a softened look at thewide horizon of cliff and sea.
"You have had good sport, all the same," she murmured.
But her husband shook his head in denial, though at the same time heglanced complacently at the basket where the fish caught by the threemen were still breathing spasmodically, with a low rustle of clammyscales and struggling fins, and dull, ineffectual efforts, gasping inthe fatal air. Old Roland took the basket between his knees and tiltedit up, making the silver heap of creatures slide to the edge that hemight see those lying at the bottom, and their death-throes became moreconvulsive, while the strong smell of their bodies, a wholesome reekof brine, came up from the full depths of the creel. The old fishermansniffed it eagerly, as we smell at roses, and exclaimed:
"Cristi! But they are fresh enough!" and he went on: "How many did youpull out, doctor?"
His eldest son, Pierre, a man of thirty, with black whiskers trimmedsquare like a lawyer's, his mustache and beard shaved away, replied:
"Oh, not many; three or four."
The father turned to the younger. "And you, Jean?" said he.
Jean, a tall fellow, much younger than his brother, fair, with a fullbeard, smiled and murmured:
"Much the same as Pierre—four or five."
Every time they told the same fib, which delighted father Roland. He hadhitched his line round a row-lock, and folding his arms he announced:
"I will never again try to fish after noon. After ten in the morning itis all over. The lazy brutes will not bite; they are taking their siestain the sun." And he looked round at the sea on all sides, with thesatisfied air of a proprietor.
He was a retired jeweller who had been led by an inordinate love ofseafaring and fishing to fly from the shop as soon as he had made enoughmoney to live in modest comfort on the interest of his savings. Heretired to le Havre, bought a boat, and became an amateur skipper.His two sons, Pierre and Jean, had remained at Paris to continue theirstudies, and came for the holidays from time to time to share theirfather's amusements.
On leaving school, Pierre, the elder, five years older than Jean, hadfelt a vocation to various professions and had tried half a dozen insuccession, but, soon disgusted with each in turn, he started afreshwith new hopes. Medicine had been his last fancy, and he had set to workwith so much ardour that he had just qualified after an unusually shortcourse of study, by a special remission of time from the minister. Hewas enthusiastic, intelligent, fickle, but obstinate, full of Utopiasand philosophical notions.
Jean, who was as fair as his brother was dark, as deliberate as hisbrother was vehement, as gentle as his brother was unforgiving, hadquietly gone through his studies for the law and had just taken hisdiploma as a licentiate, at the time when Pierre had taken his inmedicine. So they were now having a little rest at home, and both lookedforward to settling in Havre if they could find a satisfactory opening.
But a vague jealousy, one of those dormant jealousies which grow upbetween brothers or sisters and slowly ripen till they burst, on theoccasion of a marriage perhaps, or of some good fortune happening toone of them, kept them on the alert in a sort of brotherly andnon-aggressive animosity. They were fond of each other, it is true, butthey watched each other. Pierre, five years old when Jean was born,had looked with the eyes of a little petted animal at that other littleanimal which had suddenly come to lie in his father's and mother's armsand to be loved and fondled by them. Jean, from his birth, had alwaysbeen a pattern of sweetness, gentleness, and good temper, and Pierre hadby degrees begun to chafe at ever-lastingly hearing the praises of thisgreat lad, whose sweetness in his eyes was indolence, whose gentlenesswas stupidity, and whose kindliness was blindness. His parents, whosedream for their sons was some respectable and undistinguished calling,blamed him for so often changing his mind, for his fits of enthusiasm,his abortive beginnings, and all his ineffectual impulses towardsgenerous ideas and the liberal professions.
Since he had grown to manhood they no longer said in so many words:"Look at Jean and follow his example," but every time he heard them say"Jean did this—Jean does that," he understood their meaning and thehint the words conveyed.
Their mother, an orderly person, a thrifty and rather sentimental womanof the middle class, with the soul of a soft-hearted book-keeper, wasconstantly quenching the little rivalries between her two big sonsto which the petty events of their life constantly gave rise. Anotherlittle circumstance, too, just now disturbed her peace of mind, andshe was in fear of some complications; for in the course of the winter,while her boys were finishing their studies, each in his own line, shehad made the acquaintance of a neighbour, Mme. Rosemilly, the widow of acaptain of a merchantman who had died at sea two years before. The youngwidow—quite young, only three-and-twenty—a woman of strong intellectwho knew life by instinct as the free animals do, as though shehad seen, gone through, understood, and weighted every conceivablecontingency, and judged them with a wholesome, strict, and benevolentmind, had fallen into the habit of calling to work or chat for an hourin the evening with these friendly neighbours, who would give her a cupof tea.
Father Roland, always goaded on by his seafaring craze, would questiontheir new friend about the departed captain; and she would talk of him,and his voyages, and his old-world tales, without hesitation, like aresigned and reasonable woman who loves life and respects death.
The two sons on their return, finding the pretty widow quite at home inthe house, forthwith began to court her, less from any wish to charm herthan from the desire to cut each other out.
Their mother, being practical and prudent, sincerely hoped that one ofthem might win the young widow, for she was rich; but then she wouldhave liked that the other should not be grieved.
Mme. Rosemilly was fair, with blue eyes, a mass of light waving hair,fluttering at the least breath of wind, and an alert, daring, pugnaciouslittle way with her, which did not in the least answer to the sobermethod of her mind.
She already seemed to like Jean best, attracted, no doubt, by anaffinity of nature. This preference, however, she betrayed only byan almost imperceptible difference of voice and look and also byoccasionally asking his opinion. She seemed to guess that Jean'sviews would support her own, while those of Pierre must inevitablybe different. When she spoke of the doctor's ideas on politics, art,philosophy, or morals, she would sometimes say: "Your crotchets." Thenhe would look at her with the cold gleam of an accuser drawing up anindictment against women—all women, poor weak things.
Never till his sons came home had M. Roland invited her to join hisfishing expeditions, nor had he ever taken his wife; for he liked to putoff before daybreak, with his ally, Captain Beausire, a master marinerretired, whom he had first met on the quay at high tides and with whomhe had struck up an intimacy, and the old sailor Papagris, known as JeanBart, in whose charge the boat was left.
But one evening of the week before, Mme. Rosemilly, who had been diningwith them, remarked, "It must be great fun to go out fishing." Thejeweller, flattered by her interest and suddenly fired with the wishto share his favourite sport with her, and to make a convert after themanner of priests, exclaimed: "Would you like to come?"
"To be sure I should."
"Next Tuesday?"
"Yes, next Tuesday."
"Are you the woman to be ready to start at five in the morning?"
She exclaimed in horror:
"No, indeed: that is too much."
He was disappointed and chilled, suddenly doubting her true vocation.However, he said:
"At what hour can you be ready?"
"Well—at nine?"
"Not before?"
"No, not before. Even that is very early."
The old fellow hesitated; he certainly would catch nothing, for when thesun has warmed the sea the fish bite no more; but t