A Type Study in Narration.

97. The following story by Maupassant has been called by good judges a perfect short story, not only because of its faultless structure but because of its truth. It is an immutable social law that a man whose general character and reputation is that of a rogue cannot prove himself guiltless of an offence that fits him. It is a great story too because the law of cause and effect is in full operation; the events do not make or modify the character; the character actually creates the events and the plot.

A Piece of String.

By every road round Goderville the country men with their wives were coming toward the town, for it was market-day. The men plodded on, their bodies lurching forward at every movement of their long twisted limbs which were deformed by hard work— by holding the plough, which throws up the left shoulder and twists the figure; by mowing grain which forces out the knees in the effort to stand quite steady; in short, by all the tedious and painful toil of the fields. Their blue blouses starched and shining as if they had been varnished, with collar and cuffs stitched in a neat design, were inflated about their bony forms, exactly like balloons ready to soar, but putting forth a head, two arms, and two legs.

Some were leading a cow or a calf by a rope; and, just behind, their wives lashed the animal over the back with a leafy branch, to hasten its pace. On their arms the women carried large baskets, whence protruded the heads of chickens or ducks; and they walked with shorter, quicker steps than the men; their withered, upright figures wrapped in scanty little shawls pinned over their flat breasts, their hair closely done up in white cloths, with a cap above.

Now a cart passed by, jerked along by an ambling nag and it shook up queerly the two men sitting side by side

and a woman at the bottom of the vehicle who held on to the sides to ease the heavy jolting.

In the market-place at Goderville a crowd had gathered, a mingled multitude of men and beasts. The horns of the cattle, the tall, long-napped hats of the rich peasants, and the head-dresses of the peasant women rose above the surface of that living sea; and the harsh, shrill, squeaking voices made a continuous and savage roar; while at times there rose above it a burst of laughter from the husky throat of an amused country fellow, or the long-drawn moo of a cow tied to a wall.

Master Hauchecorne, of Breaute, had just arrived at Goderville, and was making his way toward the marketplace when he saw on the ground a little piece of string. Master Hauchecorne, economical like all true Normans, considered everything worth picking up which might be of use; so he stooped painfully down, for he suffered from rheumatism, took the bit of twine from the ground, and was preparing to roll it up with care, when he noticed Master Malandain the harness-maker on his door-step, looking at him. They had once had a difference in regard to a halter, and they remained angry, with ill-will on both sides. Master Hauchecorne was seized with a feeling of shame at being caught thus by his enemy looking in the dirt for a piece of string. He hastily concealed his find under his blouse, then in the pocket of his trousers; then he pretended still to be looking on the ground for something he failed to find, and at last went away toward the market-place, his head thrust forward, his body doubled up by his pains.

The women had placed their great baskets at their feet; and they drew out their poultry and placed it on the ground, where it lay with legs tied, scared eye, and scarlet comb.

They listened to offers, dryly maintaining their price with

impassive countenance; or, all at once deciding to accept the proposed reduction, they cried out to the customer who was slowly moving away:

"Oh, say, Mas' Anthime, I'll let you have it."

Then little by little the market-place was emptied, and when the Angelus sounded noon, those who lived at a distance, scattered to the inns.

At Jourdain's the great dining-room was filled with eaters, just as the vast court was filled with vehicles of every kind -carts, gigs, wagons, tilburies, nameless tilt-carts, yellow with mud, misshapen, patched, their shafts pointing to the skies like two arms, or else their noses to the ground and their tails in the air.

Opposite the diners as they sat at table the fire burned freely in the huge chimney, throwing out a lively warmth upon the backs of the row upon the right. On three spits chickens, pigeons, and legs of lamb were turning before the fire; and a savory odor of roast meat, and of gravy streaming over its crisp, brown surface, floated up from the hearth, kindling the appetite till the mouth watered for the viands.

All the aristocracy of the plough were eating there with Master Jourdain, innkeeper and horse-dealer, a knave whose pockets were well lined.

The plates went round, and were emptied, as were the jugs of yellow cider. Each told of his affairs, his bargains, and his sales, and all discussed the crops. The season was good for vegetables, but a little wet for grain.

All at once the rub-a-dub of the drum sounded in the court before the house. In a moment every man was on his feet (save some of the more indifferent) and rushed to door or windows, his mouth still full, and his napkin in his hand.

After he had finished his tattoo, the public crier raised his voice, launching his jerky phrases with pauses quite out of place:

"Be it known to the inhabitants of Goderville, and in general to all persons present at the market, that there has been lost this morning, on the road from Beuzeville, between nine and ten o'clock, a black leather pocket-book, containing five hundred francs and business papers. You are requested to return it to the mayor's office without delay, or to Master Fortune Houlbreque, of Manneville. There will be a twenty francs reward."

So the meal went on.

As they were draining their coffee cups, a police officer appeared on the threshold. He asked: "Is Master Hauchecorne, of Breaute, here?"

Master Hauchecorne, who was seated at the opposite end of the table, answered: "That's me."

The officer replied: "Master Hauchecorne, will you have the kindness to accompany me to the office of the mayor? His honor, the mayor, wishes to speak with you."

The farmer, surprised, disturbed, finished his glass at a gulp, rose and, even more bent than in the morning, since the first steps after each period of rest were particularly difficult, he started along, saying over and over: "That's me, that's me.”

So he followed the officer.

The mayor was waiting for him, seated in an armchair. He was the notary of the district, a big, severe man, pompous in his speech. "Master Hauchecorne," said he, "you were seen this morning to pick up, on the road from Beuzeville, the pocket-book lost by master Houlbreque, of Manneville."

The old fellow stood looking at the mayor, speechless, already terrified by the suspicion that rested upon him, without in the least knowing why. "Me, me! I picked up that pocket-book?"

"Yes, you."

"Word of honor, I don't know nothing about it at all."

"Seen? Me? Who says he saw me?"

"M. Malandain, the harness-maker."

Then the old man remembered, understood; and, reddening with anger, he said: "Uh! 'e saw me, did 'e, the rat! 'E saw me pick up this string here; see here, your honor." And, fumbling at the bottom of his pocket, he drew out a little piece of twine.

But the mayor incredulously shook his head. "You will not make me believe, Master Hauchecorne, that M. Malandain, who is a man of his word, has mistaken this string for a pocket-book."

The farmer, furious, raising his hand and spitting to attest his good faith, repeated: "Nevertheless, it is the truth of the good God, the solemn truth, your honor. There! on my soul and salvation, I swear it.”

The mayor replied: "After you had picked up the object, you even hunted about a long time in the dust, to see if some piece of money had not slipped out of it.”

"How

The man was stifled with indignation and fear. can they tell! how can they tell!-such lies as that to libel an honest man! How can they tell!"

He might protest; no one believed him.

He was confronted with M. Malandain, who repeated and sustained his declaration. They abused one another for an hour. At his request, Master Hauchecorne was searched. Nothing was found on him.

At last the mayor, much perplexed, sent him away, warning him that he would lay the matter before the court and ask for instructions.

The news had spread. On his leaving the mayor's office, the old man was surrounded and questioned with a curiosity that was serious or jesting, but into which no