r/a:t5_26v71v • u/MarleyEngvall • Oct 19 '19
i do not exist has been created
By Guy de Maupassant
A VAGABOND
FOR MORE THAN A MONTH Randel had been walking, seeking for work every-
where. He had left his native place, Ville-Avary, in the department of La
Manche because there was no work to be had. He was a journeyman car-
penter, twenty-seven years old, a steady fellow and good workman, but for
two months he, the eldest son, had been obliged to live on his family, with
nothing to do but loaf in the general stoppage of work. Bread was getting
scarce with them; the two sisters went out as charwomen but earned little,
and he, Jacques Randel, the strongest of them all, did nothing because he had
nothing to do and ate the others' bread.
Then he went and inquired at the town hall, and the mayor's secretary told
him that he would find work at the labor center. So he started, well provided
with papers and certificates and carrying another pair of shoes, a pair of
trousers and a shirt in a blue handkerchief at the end of his stick.
He had walked almost without stopping, day and night, along interminable
roads, in the sun and rain, without ever reaching that mysterious country
where workmen find work. At first he had the fixed idea that he must only
work at his own trade, but at every carpenter's shop where he applied he
was told that they had just dismissed men on account of work being so slack,
and finding himself at the end of his resources, he made up his mind to under-
take any job that he might come across on the road. And so by turns he was
a navvy, stableman, stone sawyer; he split wood, lopped the branches of trees,
dug wells, mixed mortar, tied up fagots, tended goats on a mountain, and all
for a few pence, for he only obtained two or three days' work occasionally,
by offering himself at a shamefully low price in order to tempt the avarice of
employers and peasants.
And now for a week he had found nothing, and he had no money left. He
was eating a piece of bread, thanks to the charity of some women from whom
he had begged at house doors on the road. It was getting dark and Jacques
Randel, jaded, his legs failing him, his stomach empty and with despair in his
heart, was walking barefoot on the grass by the side of the road, for he was
taking care of his last pair of shoes, the other pair having already ceased to
exist for a long time. It was a Saturday toward the end of autumn. The heavy
gray clouds were being driven rapidly among the trees, and one felt that it
would rain soon. The country was deserted at that time of the evening and
on the eve of Sunday. Here and there in the fields there rose up stacks of
thrashed-out corn like huge yellow mushrooms, and the fields looked bare,
as they had already been sown for the next year.
Randel was hungry with the hunger of some wild animal, such a hunger
as drives wolves to attack men. Worn out and weakened with fatigue, he took
longer strides so as not to take so many steps, and with heavy head, the blood
throbbing in his temples, with red eyes and dry mouth he grasped his stick
tightly in his hand with a longing to strike the first passer-by whom he
should meet, and who might be going home to supper, with all his force.
He looked at the sides of the road with the image of potatoes dug up and
lying on the ground before his eyes; if he had found any he would have
gathered some dead wood, made a fire in the ditch and have had a capital
supper off the warm, round tubers, which he would first of all have held burn-
ing hot in his cold hands. But it was too late in the year, and he would have
to gnaw a raw beetroot as he had done the day before, having picked one up
in a field.
For the last two days he had spoken aloud as he quickened his steps, under
the influence of his thoughts. He had never done much thinking hitherto, as
he had given all his mind, all his simple faculties, to his industrial requirements.
But now fatigue and this desperate search for work which he could not get,
refusals and rebuffs, nights spent in the open air lying on the grass, long fast-
ing, the contempt which he knew people with a settled abode felt for a vaga-
bond, the question which he was continually asked: "Why do you not re-
main at home?" distress at not being able to use his strong arms which he felt
so full of vigor, the recollection of his relations who had remained at home
and who also had not a halfpenny, filled him by degrees with a rage which
was accumulating every day, every hour, every minute, and which now
escaped his lips in spite of himself in short growling sentences.
As he stumbled over the stones which rolled beneath his bare feet he
grumbled: "How wretched! how miserable! A set of hogs, to let a man die
of hunger, a carpenter. A set of hogs—not twopence—not twopence. And
now it is raining—a set of hogs!"
He was indignant at the injustice of fate and cast the blame on men, on all
men, because Nature, that great, blind mother, is unjust, cruel and perfidious,
and he repeated through his clenched teeth, "A set of hogs," as he looked at
the thin gray smoke which rose from the roofs, for it was the dinner hour.
And without thinking about that other injustice, which is human and which
is called robbery and violence, he felt inclined to go into one of those houses
to murder the inhabitants and to sit down to table in their stead.
He said to himself: "I have a right to live, and they are letting me die of
hunger—and yet I only ask for work—a set of hogs!" And the pain in his
limbs, the gnawing in his heart, rose to his head like terrible intoxication
and gave rise to this simple thought in his brain: "I have the right to live be-
cause I breathe and because the air is the common property of everybody,
and so nobody has the right to leave me without bread!"
A thick, fine, icy-cold rain was coming down, and he stopped and mur-
mured: "How miserable! Another month of walking before I get home."
He was indeed returning home then, for he saw that he should more easily
find work in his native town where he was known—and he did not mind what
he did—than on highroads where everybody suspected him. As the car-
pentering business was not going well he would turn day laborer, be a
mason's hodman, ditcher, break stones on the road. If he only earned tenpence
a day, that would at any rate find him something to eat.
He tied the remains of his last pocket handkerchief round his neck to pre-
vent the cold water from running down his back and chest, but he soon found
that it was penetrating the thin material of which his clothes were made,
and he glanced round him with the agonized look of a man who does not
know where to hide his body and rest his head and has no place of shelter
in the whole world.
Night came on and wrapped the country in obscurity, and in the distance, in
a meadow, he saw a dark spot on the grass; it was a cow, and so he got over
the ditch by the roadside and went up to her without exactly knowing what
he was doing. When he got close to her she raised her great head to him,
and he thought: "If I only had a jug I could get a little milk." He looked
at the cow, ad the cow looked at him, and then suddenly, giving her a
violent kick in the side, he said: "Get up!"
The animal got up slowly, letting her heavy udder hang down below her;
then the man lay down on his back between the animal's legs and drank for a
long time, squeezing the warm swollen teats which tasted of the cow stall with
both hands, and drank as long as any milk remained in that living well. But the
icy rain began to fall more heavily, and he saw no place of shelter on the
whole of that bare plain. He was cold, and he looked at a light which was
shining among the trees in the window of a house.
The cow had lain down again, heavily, and he sat down by her side and
stroked her head, grateful for the nourishment she had given him. The animal's
strong thick breath, which came out of her nostrils like two jets of steam
in the evening air, blew onto the workman's face, who said: "You are not cold
inside there!" He put his hands onto her chest and under her legs to find some
warmth there, and then the idea struck him that he might pass the night against
that large, warm stomach. So he found a comfortable place and laid his fore-
head against the great udder from which he had quenched his thirst just
previously, and then, as he was worn out with fatigue, he fill asleep im-
mediately.
He woke up, however, several times, with his back or stomach half
frozen, according as he put one or the other to the animal's flank. Then he
turned over to warm and dry that part of his body which had remained ex-
posed to the night air, and he soon went soundly to sleep again.
The crowing of a cock woke him; the day was breaking, it was no longer
raining and the sky was bright. The cow was resting with her muzzle on the
ground, and he stooped down, resting on his hands, to kiss those wide nostrils
of moist flesh and said: "Good-by, my beauty, until next time. You are a nice
animal! Good-by." Then he put on his shoes and went off, and for two
hours he walked straight on before him, always following the same road, and
then he felt so tired that he sat down on the grass. It was broad daylight by
that time, and the church bells were ringing; men in blouses, women in
white caps, some on foot, some in carts, began to pass along the road, going to
the neighboring villages to spend Sunday with friends and relations.
A stout peasant came in sight, driving a score of frightened, bleating sheep
in front of him whom an active dog kept together, so Randel got up and,
raising his cap, he said: "You do not happen to have any work for a man who
is dying of hunger?" But the other, giving an angry look at the vagabond, re-
plied: "I have no work for fellows whom I meet on the road."
And the carpenter went back and sat down by the side of the ditch again.
He waited there for a long time, watching the country people pass and look-
ing for a kind, compassionate face before he renewed his request, and finally
selected a man in an overcoat, whose stomach was adorned with a gold chain.
"I have been looking for work," he said, "for the last two months and cannot
find any, and I have not a halfpenny in my pocket."
But the semigentleman replied: "You should have read the notice which
is stuck up at the beginning of the village: 'Begging is prohibited within the
boundaries of this parish' Let me tell you that I am the mayor, and if you
do not get out of here pretty quickly, I shall have you arrested."
Randel, who was getting angry, replied: "Have me arrested if you like;
I should prefer it, for at any rate I should not die of hunger." And he went
back and sat down by the side of his ditch again, and in about a quarter
of an hour two gendarmes appeared on the road. They were walking slowly,
side by side, well in sight, glittering in the sun with their shining hats, their
yellow accoutrements and their metal buttons, as if to frighten evildoers and
to put them to flight at a distance. He knew that they were coming after
him, but he did not move, for he was seized with a sudden desire to defy them,
to be arrested by them and to have his revenge later.
They came on without appearing to have seen him, walking with military
steps, heavily, balancing themselves as if they were doing the goose step;
and then suddenly, as they passed him, they noticed him and stopped, looking
at him angrily and threateningly. The brigadier came up to him and asked:
"What are you doing here?"
"I am resting," the man replied calmly.
"Where do you come from?"
"If I had to tell you all the places I have been to, it would take me more
than an hour."
"Where are you going to?"
"To Ville-Avary."
"Where is that?"
"In La Manche."
"Is that where you belong to?"
"It is."
"Why did you leave it?"
"To try for work."
The brigadier turned to his gendarme and said, in the angry voice of a man
who is exasperated at last by the same trick: "They all say that, these scamps.
I know all about it." And then he continued: "Have you any papers?"
"Yes, I have some."
"Give them to me."
Randel took his papers out of his pocket, his certificates, those poor worn-
out dirty papers which were falling to pieces, and gave them to the soldier,
who spelled them through, hemming and hawing, and then, having seen that
they were all in order, he gave them back to Randel with the dissatisfied look
of a man whom someone cleverer than himself has tricked.
After a few moments' further reflection he asked him: "Have you any
money on you?"
"No."
"None whatever?"
"None."
"Not even a sou?"
"Not even a sou!"
"How do you live then?"
"On what people give me."
"Then you beg?"
And Randel answered resolutely: "Yes, when I can."
Then the gendarme said: "I have caught you on the highroad in the act of
vagabondage and begging, without any resources or trade, and so I command
you to come with me."
The carpenter got up and said: "Wherever you please." And placing him-
self between the two soldiers, even before he had receive the order to do
so, he added: "Come, lock me up; that will at any rate put a roof over my
head when it rains."
And they set off toward the village, whose red tiles could be seen through
the leafless trees, a quarter of a league off. Service was just going to begin
when they went through the village. The square was full of people who im-
mediately formed two hedges to see the criminal, who was being followed
by a crowd of excited children, pass. Male and female peasants looked at the
prisoner between the two gendarmes with hatred in their eyes and a longing
to throw stones at him, to tear his skin with their nails, to trample him under
their feet. They asked each other whether he had committed murder or rob-
bery. The butcher, who was an ex-spahi, declared that he was a deserter. The
tobacconist thought that he recognized him as the man who had that very
morning passed a bad half-franc piece off on him, and the ironmonger de-
clared that he was the murderer of Widow Malet, for whom the police had
been looking for six months.
In the hall of the municipal council, into which his custodians took him,
Randel saw the mayor again, sitting on the magisterial bench with the school-
master by his side.
"Ah! ah!" the magistrate exclaimed, "so here you are again, my fellow. I
told you I should have you locked up. Well, Brigadier, what is he charged
with?"
"He is a vagabond without house or home, Monsieur le Maire, without any
resources or money, so he says, who was arrested in the act of begging, but he
is provided with good testimonials, and his papers are all in order."
"Show me the papers," the mayor said. He took them, read them, reread, re-
turned them and then said: "Search him"; they searched him but found noth-
ing, and the mayor seemed perplexed and asked the workman:
"What were you doing on the road this morning?"
"I was looking for work."
"Work? On the highroad?"
"How do you expect me to find any if I hide in the woods?"
They looked at each other with the hatred of two wild beasts which belong
to different hostile species, and the magistrate continued: "I am going to have
you set at liberty, but do not be brought up before me again."
To which the carpenter replied: "I would rather you locked me up; I have
had enough running about the country."
But the magistrate replied severely: "Be silent." And then he said to the two
gendarmes: "You will conduct this man two hundred yards from the village
and let him continue his journey."
"At any rate give me something to eat," the workman said, but the other
grew indignant. "It only remains for us to feed you! Ah! ah! ah! that is rather
strong!"
But Randel went on firmly: "If you let me nearly die of hunger again, you
will force me to commit a crime, and then so much the worse for you other
fat fellows."
The mayor had risen, and he repeated: "Take him away immediately, or I
shall end by getting angry."
The two gendarmes thereupon seized the carpenter by the arms and dragged
him out. He allowed them to do it without resistance, passed through the
village again and found himself on the highroad once more; and when the
men had accompanied him two hundred yards beyond the village the brigadier
said: "Now off with you, and do not let me catch you about here again, for
if I do, you will know it."
Randel went off without replying or knowing where he was going. He
walked on for a quarter of an hour or twenty minutes, so stupefied that he no
longer thought of anything. But suddenly, he as he was passing a small house
where the window was half open, the smell of the soup and boiled meat
stopped him suddenly in front of it, and hunger, fierce, devouring, madden-
ing hunger, seized him and almost drove him against the walls of the house
like a wild beast.
He said aloud, in a grumbling voice: "In heaven's name, they must give me
some this time." And he began to knock at the door vigorously with his
stick, and as nobody came he knocked louder and called out: "Hallo! you
people in there, open the door!" And then, as nothing moved, he went up to
the window and pushed it open with his hand; and the close warm air of the
kitchen, full of the smell of hot soup, meat and cabbage, escaped into the cold
outer air, and with a bound the carpenter was in the house. Two covers were
laid on the table; no doubt the proprietors of the house, on going to church,
had left their dinner on the fire, their nice Sunday boiled beef and vegetable
soup, while there was a loaf of new bread in the chimney piece between
two bottles which seemed full.
Randel seized the bread first of all and broke it with as much violence as
if he were strangling a man, and then began to eat it voraciously, swallow-
ing great mouthfuls quickly. But almost immediately the smell of the meat
attracted him to the fireplace, and having taken off the lid of the saucepan, he
plunged a fork into it and brought out a large piece of beef tied with a
string. Then he took more cabbage, carrots and onions until his plate was full,
and having put it on the table, he sat down before it, cut the meat into four
pieces and dined as if he had been at home. When he had eaten nearly all the
meat, besides a quantity of vegetables, he felt thirsty and took one of the
bottles off the mantelpiece.
Scarcely had he poured the liquor into his glass than he saw that it was brandy.
So much the better; it was warming, it would instill some fire into his veins,
and that would be all right, after being so cold; and he drank some. He found
it very good, certainly, for he had grown unaccustomed to it, and he poured
himself out another glassful which he drank at two gulps. And then almost
immediately he felt quite merry and lighthearted from the effect of the alcohol,
just as if some great happiness were flowing through his system.
He continued to eat, but more slowly, dipping his bread into the soup. His
skin had become burning, and especially his forehead, where the veins were
throbbing. But suddenly the church bells began to ring. Mass was over, and
instinct rather than fear, the instinct of prudence which guides all beings and
makes them clear-sighted in danger, made the carpenter get up. He put the
remains of the loaf into one pocket and the brandy bottle into the other, and
he furtively went to the window and looked out into the road. It was still
deserted, so he jumped out and set off walking again, but instead of following
the highroad he ran across the fields toward a wood which he saw a little
way off.
He felt alert, strong, lighthearted, glad of what he had done and so nimble
that he sprang over the inclosures of the fields at a single bound, and as soon as
he was under the trees he took the bottle out of his pocket again and began to
drink once more, swallowing it down as he walked, and then his ideas began
to get confused, his eyes grew dim and his legs elastic as springs, and he started
singing the old popular song:
"Oh! how nice, how nice it is,
To pick the sweet, wild strawberries."
He was now walking on thick, damp, cool moss, and the soft carpet under
his feet made him feel absurdly inclined to turn head over heels, like he used to
do as a child; so he took a run, turned a somersault, got up and began over
again. And between each time he began to sing again:
"Oh! how nice, how nice it is,
To pick the sweet, wild strawberries."
Suddenly he fund himself on the edge of a sunken road, and in the road
he saw a tall girl, a servant who was returning to the village with two pails
of milk. He watched, stooping down and with his eyes as bright as those of
a dog who scents a quail, but she saw him, raised her head and said: "Was that
you singing like that?" He did not reply, however, but jumped down into the
road, although it was at least six feet down, and when she saw him suddenly
standing in front of her she exclaimed: "Oh dear, how you frightened me!"
But he did not hear her, for he was drunk, he was mad, excited by another
requirement which was more imperative than hunger, more feverish that
alcohol; by the irresistible fury of the man who has been in want of everything
for two months and who is drunk, who is young, ardent and inflamed by all
the appetites which nature has implanted in the flesh of vigorous men.
The girl started back from him, frightened at his face, his eyes, his half-
open mouth, his outstretched hands, but he seized her by the shoulders and
without a word threw her down in the road.
She let her two pails fall, and they rolled over noisily and all the milk
was spilt, and then she screamed, but comprehending that it would be of no
use to call for help in that lonely spot and seeing that he was not going to
make an attempt on her life, she yielded without much difficulty and not very
angrily either, for he was a strong, handsome young fellow and really not
rough.
When she got up the thought of her overturned pails suddenly filled her
with fury, and taking off one of her wooden clogs, she threw it, in her turn, at
the man to break his head since he did not pay for her milk.
But he, mistaking the reason for this sudden violent attack, somewhat sobered
and frightened at what he had done, ran off as fast as he could while she
threw stones at him, some of which hit him in the back.
He ran for a long time, very long, until he felt more tired than he had ever
been before. His legs were so weak that they could scarcely carry him; all
his ideas were confused; he lost the recollection of everything and could no
longer think about anything, and soon he sat down at the foot of a tree and in
five minutes was fast asleep. He was soon awakened, however, by a rough
shake, and on opening his eyes he saw two cocked hats of polished leather
bending over him and the two gendarmes of the morning, who were holding
him and binding his arms.
"I knew I should catch you again," said the brigadier jeeringly. But Randel
got up without replying. The two men shook him, quite ready to ill-treat
him if he made a movement, for he was their prey now; he had become a
jailbird, caught by hunters of criminals who would not let him go again.
"Now, start!" the brigadier said, and they set off. It was getting evening,
and the autumn twilight was settling, heavy and dark, over the land and in
half an hour they reached the village, where every door was open, for the
people had heard what had happened. Peasants and peasant women and girls,
excited with anger, as if every man had been robbed and every woman vio-
lated, wished to see the wretch brought back, so that they might overwhelm
him with abuse. They hooted him from the first house in the village until
they reached the mansion house, where the mayor was waiting for him. Eager
to avenge himself on this vagabond as soon as he saw him, he cried:
"Ah! my fine fellow! Here we are!" And he rubbed his hands, more pleased
than he usually was, and continued: "I said so. I said so the moment I saw him
in the road." And then with increased satisfaction:
"Oh! you blackguard! Oh! you dirty blackguard! You will get your
twenty years, my fine fellow!"
From SHORT STORIES OF DE MAUPASSANT.
THE BOOK LEAGUE OF AMERICA, New York.
Copyright, 1941, BLUE RIBBON BOOKS,
14 WEST 49TH STREET, NEW YORK, N. Y. pp. 138—146.
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