The life work of Henri René Guy de Maupassant
Maupassant, Guy de, 1850-1893
':^1 ■sl- -^■'\:Kr-^-:^^aP':.::Mr- -■'lH / -0 ^iiSB4/^N. ■^,^J '1^ /r^ ^T-^ .^C '< 1^ -iWM. *; U - :h i^>-^ k'^m ^-■^»-^-^ \ ' 6'A - ■ .-» =v -■ -v/. - ■:''^' .• ,' 4^^^ g^. 1 '4,f,yf^^-f»03^.'^'**:^'^eiyrSi<tnm.: Embracing ROMANCE.TRAVEL.COMEDY SfVERSE. For the first time Complete in Englisti. With a Critical Preface by PAUL BOURGET of the French Academy and an Introduction by Robert .\mot.M.A. LLUSTRATED FROM ORIGINAL DRAWINGS. V3 -^Tr T BY EMINENT \ %^ J^ (( FRENCH AND. AMERICAN ARTISTS \ '/Oi THI ST.DUNSTAN SOCIETY [f /f/")?5A\ Akron. Ohio. \\0\^^\^\ FROM AN ORIGINAL PHOTOGRAPH. The Grand Mosque of Algiers. r AU SOLEIL, or AFRICAN WANDERINGS LA VIE ERRANTE, or IN VAGABONDIA By GUY DE MAUPASSANT T VOL. XII. SAINT DUNSTAN SOCIETY Akron, Ohio Copyright, 1003, by M, WALTER DUNNE Zniired at Stationers' Hall, Lottdo» TABLE OF COIMTENTS AU SOLEIL PAGI I. IN THE SUN I H, THE SEA 5 III. ALGIERS 8 IV. THE PROVINCE OF ORAN 12 V, BOU-AMAMA 2} VI. THE PROVINCE OF ALGERIA }2 VII. A SALT LAKE 50 VIII. KABYLIA, BOUGIE 95 IX. CONSTANTINE II4 X. AT THE SEASHORE I 18 XL IN BRITTANY I50 XII. THE CREUSOT IRONWORKS I49 LA VIE ERRANTE I. WEARINESS 5 11. NIGHT 9 III. THE ITALIAN COAST I9 IV. SICILY 38 V. FROM ALGIERS TO TUNIS 88 VI. TUNIS 98 VII. ON THE ROAD TO KAIRWAN II8 (ix) ILLUSTRATIONS THE GRAND MOSQUE OF ALGIERS FrontisfUc* GROUP OF KABYLES WITH A TAME LIONESS .... 102 AU SOLEIL I. In the Sun 4» IFE, which is so brief and yet so long, becomes unbearable some- times. It unfolds itself, always the same, with death at the end. We can neither stop it, nor change it, nor can we even understand it. '^ *' Often, indeed, a rebellious feehng comes -p*" over us, as we realize the uselessness -"/ of such an effort. Whatever we do, we must die! whatever we believe, whatever we think, whatever we attempt, :^ in the end we die! And it seems as if we must die to-morrow, without yet knowing anything, though we are heartsick with what we do know. When we realize this, we feel crushed with the everlasting misery of things, with human weakness, and the monotony of one's actions. We rise, we walk, we lean out of the window. Opposite us, neighbors are breakfasting, as they break- fasted yesterday, as they will breakfast to-morrow. 12 G. de M.— I (O 2 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT There is a father, a mother, and four children. About three years ago the grandmother was with them — she is not there now. The father has changed very much since we became neighbors. He does not notice it, but seems content, even happy — the idiot! They speak of a wedding, then of a death, then of the tender chicken they are eating, of the maid, who is dishonest. They trouble themselves about a hun- dred things, utterly useless and silly, — foo.'s! The sight of their apartment, which they have oc- cupied for eighteen years, fills me with disgust. And this is what we call life! Four walls, two doors, one window, a bed, a table, and a few chairs, that is all! A prison! All abodes occupied for any length of time become prisons! Oh! to run away from it all, to avoid the well-known places, the same actions at the same hour, and, above all things, the same thoughts. When you are weary enough to cry from morn- ing till night, too listless to lift a glass of water to your lips, tired even of friendly faces, which, seen so often, cause irritation, sick of odiously placid neigh- bors, of familiar and monotonous things, of your house, your street, of the maid who comes to ask what you will have for dinner and turns abruptly on her heels, — those down-trodden heels that at every step raise the ragged edge of her dirty skirt, — when you are weary of the persistent fidelity of your dog, of the unchangeable colors of the wall-hangings, of the regularity of meals, of sleep in the same bed, of each action repeated daily, weary of yourself, of your own voice, of things repeated continually, of the nar- row circle of your ideas, weary even of your own AU SOLEIL J face in the mirror, — then leave everything, and enter a life of new and changed surroundings. Traveling is a vision in which we leave a known reality to enter an unexplored reality, which seems like a dream. A station, a seaport, a whistling train with its es- cape of steam, a large steamer passing out to sea! Who can witness these things without a feeling of envy, a longing to be one of the travelers ? We all dream of some special country; with one it is Sweden, with another the Indies; one person prefers Greece, another Japan. As for me, I was at- tracted to Africa. It was an imperious longing that possessed me, a sense of craving for the neglected and abandoned desert, a presentiment of incipient passion. I left Paris on the sixth of July, 1881. I wished to see Africa, land of the sun and the sand, in midsum- mer, under the heavy tropical heat, in the dazzling, blinding glare of a great white light. Everyone knows the beautiful lines of the poet Leconte de Lisle, upon the midi, the sun of the desert, the midi, whose rays spread over plains of motionless and limitless sand, that made me leave the blossoming shores of the Seine, as sung by Madame Deshoulieres, the fresh morning bath, and the deep shadows of the wood, for these burning solitudes. Another reason made Algiers particularly attractive to me at that time. Bou-Amama — that will-o'-the- wisp — was conducting that fantastical campaign of which so many foolish things were said and written. It was rumored that the Mussulman population was preparing a general insurrection; that they were to A WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT make a final effort; and that immediately after the Ramadan war would break out all over Algiers. It would be curious to see the Arab in these circum- stances, and to attempt to read his soul, a thing that colonists never think of doing. Flaubert has said: "One can imagine the desert, the Pyramids, the Sphinx, without having seen them; but what onfc cannot imagine is the head of a Turk- ish barber, as he squats on his doorstep." Would it not be still more interesting to know what goes on in that head? II. The Sea M ARSEiLLES throbs under the joy- ful sun of a summer dav. It laughs, with its flag-masted ifes, its head crowned with straw, as if for a masquerade, its in- habitants busy and noisy. It rings with its peculiar accent, that ac- cent heard through all the streets, that accent with which it challenges ie world. A native of Marseilles is considered amusing wherever he goes, he seems a kind of foreigner mur- ) dering the French language; in Marseilles i^^ itself the natives combine to exaggerate this odd accent, which makes it appear like the language of a farco. Marseilles in the sun, perspiring freely, smells of garHc, of beggars, and a hundred other things. It smells of unnamable foods nibbled by negroes, Turks, Greeks, Italians, Maltese, Spaniards, English, Corsicans, as well as the natives of Mar- seilles, all lying down, sitting, or loitering on the wharves. (5) 5 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT In the basin of the Joliette, the heavily-laden steamers, with bows turned seaward, are getting up steam, and are crowded with men loading them with merchandise. One of these, the " Abd-el-Kader," suddenly roars, for the old whistle has been abolished and replaced by a sort of siren, which has the cry of an animal, a frightful voice coming from the mouth of a smoking monster. The great steamer, leaving its moorings, passes slowly in the Jiiidst of its fellows, and suddenly, the captain having given the order of "Full speed ahead!" it plunges forward, all eagerness, clearing a passage through the sea, leaving behind it a long white trail, while the coast retreats and Marseilles disappears on the horizon. It is dinner hour on board and there are not many passengers, for few persons care to go to Algiers in July. At the end of the table sits a colonel, next him an engineer, then a physician and two merchants of Algiers, with their wives. The talk is of the country we are going to, and its form of govern- ment. The colonel is emphatically in favor of a .military government, speaks of tactics in the desert, and declares that telegraphy is useless and even dangerous to the army. He must have experienced some disappoint- ment in war, through the fault of the telegraph. The engineer thinks it would be wise to place the colonies in the hands of a bridge-inspector who would build canals, dams, roads, and a hundred other things. The captain of the steamer, in a witty way, says that a seaman would be still better, as Algiers is inacces- AU SOLEIL ^ sible, save by water. The merchants point out the glaring faults of the present governor, and everyone laughs, and all wonder how anyone could make such mistakes. Then we go up on the bridge, where nothing is to be seen but the sea — the sea so calm without a ripple, and silvered by the rays of the moon. The enormous vessel seems to glide over it, leaving in its wake a long trail of liquid fire. Overhead the sky is of a bluish black, strewn with glittering stars, ob- scured at times by the immense volume of smoke issuing from the ship's funnels, while the lantern at the top of the mast might be mistaken for a large star, moving in and out among myriad points of light. Nothing is heard but the dull roar of ma- chinery in the hold of the ship. How charming are the quiet hours of the night, on the bridge of a ves- sel speeding onward 1 All next day one lies thinking, under the spread- out awnings, with the ocean on all sides. The night comes again, and again the day follows. One has slept in the narrow cabin, on a bunk shaped like a coffm. Up and about: it is four o'clock! What an awakening! We see a long hill, and, facing us, a white spot, which gradually grows larger — it is Algiers! ni. ^<;:::^ u Algiers NEXPECTED visioH, wMch enrap- tures the soul! Algiers is beyond my fondest hopes! How pretty the snow-white city with its dazzling light! An immense terrace, borne upon graceful arches, borders the harbor. Above it rise immense "^ European hotels, and there also is the French quarter. Still higher is the little Arabian town, with in- numerable tiny, white, odd-looking I "^ l^^_J houses, which stand so close together (^l^y^^^t^ -r 'IS to appear to be entangled, and are * ' divided by streets that look like lighted tunnels. The top row of these is sup- ported by white-painted posts, the roofs of the houses being contiguous. There are abrupt declivi- ties into inhabited holes, mysterious staircases toward dwellings, which look like burrows filled with crawl- ing Arabs. A woman passes; she is grave and veiled, her ankles are bare and anything but attractive, black with the accumulation of dirt and perspiration. (8) AU SOLEIL Q From the end of the pier the view is marvelous. You gaze entranced at this brilliant cascade of houses, appearing to tumble down over one another, from the top of the hills to the sea. The effect is like the froth of a torrent, a froth of unusual whiteness; and here and there, like an immense bubble, a glaring mosque shines in the sunlight. Everywhere you see a stupefied population crawl- ing about. Beggars innumerable, clad in a simple shirt, or in two rugs sewed together in the shape of a chasuble, or in a bag with holes made in it for the head and arms, always barelegged and barefooted, covered with vermin as well as rags, come and go, abuse each other, and fight. Tartarin would say that they smelled of the Turk; for everything smells of the Turk here. And then you see a whole world of black-skinned babies, half-caste Arabs, negroes and whites, an ant-hill of shoeblacks, tormenting one hke flies, bold and vicious at three years of age, and as sly as monkeys, insulting travelers in their native tongue, and following them about with their cry: " CU, Mossieu " (Shine, Sir). The following incident occurred on the day of my arrival and it sums up the history of Algiers and its colonization. As 1 was sitting in front of a cafd, a young black took hold of my feet, almost by force, and began polishing my shoes with great energy. After he had worked on them for about fifteen min- utes and made them shine like glass, I gave him two sous. He said: "Me'ci, Monsieur" (Thank you, Sir) but did not attempt to rise. As he remained squatting at my feet, rolling his eyes as if about to have a fit, I said: "Be off, Arab!" For a moment 10 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT he neither answered nor moved, then suddenly catch- ing up his shoe-box with both hands, he darted down the street, when I saw a tall negro boy ap- parently about sixteen, who had been hiding in a doorv/ay, pounce on the little fellow. He struck him, stole his two sous from him, and walked away laughing quietly, while the poor little beggar howled with all his might. I was indignant. My neighbor at table, an Afri- can officer, who was also a friend, said to me: "Leave them alone, it is the custom. So long as the younger boys are not strong enough to take the sous from their companions, they black shoes, but as soon as they feel able to knock down the little ones, they do not work any more. They watch for the small bootblacks, and rifle their pockets." My companion added smilingly: "Nearly everyone does the same here." The European quarter, pretty from afar, has, on nearer view, the look of a new city sprung up in a climate that does not agree with it. On landing, a large sign attracts the eye — "Algerian Skating Rink." At the first step you take you are uncomfortable, held by the sensation of a progress not applicable to that country, of a brutish, awkward civilization, little adapted to the customs, the sky, and the people. It is we who look barbarous among these barbarians, who are brutes, it is true, but brutes who are at home, and to whom the centuries have taught many customs the sense of which we do not appear to understand. Napoleon 111. once said a wise thing (probably whispered to him by one of his ministers): "Algiers AU SOLEIL II does not need conquerors so much as initiators." But we have remained brutal, awkward conquer- ors, infatuated with our stereotyped ideas. Our morals, which we have flaunted before these people, our Parisian houses, our customs even, all these of- fend the taste, as would glaring faults in art, common sense, and understanding. Everything we do seems wrong, a challenge to this country, not so much to its inhabitants as to the land itself. A few days after my arrival, I was a spectator at a ball given in the open air, at Mustapha. You might have thought it was at Neuilly. Gingerbread shops, shooting galleries, ring-and-toss, somnambu- lists, clerks dancing with shopgirls the real French quadrille, while behind this inclosure, where one paid on entering, in the large and sandy drill ground, hundreds of Arabs lay motionless in their white tat- tered garments, with the moon shining down brightly, while all listened with grave and serious faces to the general uproar of the French pleasure-seekers. IV. The Province of Oran o GO to Oran from Algiers takes a day in the train. One first crosses the plain of Mitidja, which is fer- tile, shady, and well populated. This is always pointed out to travelers to prove the fertility of this colony of ours. Without doubt the Mitidja and the Kabylie are two beautiful coun- tries. The Kabylie has certainly more inhabitants than Calais; the Mitidja will have as many before long. What is to be colonized then? is asked; but I will take up this subject later. i^f The train rolls on; the cultivated plains disap- / pear; the land becomes barren and sandy, the real land of Africa. The horizon stretches out as far as the eye can see, in a long, sterile, burning line. We follow the immense valley of the Chelif, shut in between mountains desolate in their grayness, with- out a tree, without a blade of grass. As we go along, the mountains grow lower and lower, opening up here and there, as if to show the wretched misery of (12) AU SOLEIL I ^ the ground, parched by the burning sun. An unlim- ited space stretches out, perfectly flat, bound in the far distance by the invisible line which joins the sky to the earth. And here and there, in these barren soHtudes, we see numerous white spots which might be taken for the eggs of some giant bird. They are marabouts, altars raised to the glory of Allah. In this yellow, endless plain, sometimes we see sunburned Europeans standing about, watching the speeding train as it flies past, and close to them, in mushroom-like tents, we perceive bearded soldiers. These are hamlets of small agriculturists, protected by a detachment of regulars. On this stretch of barren and dusty land, we make out, now and then, what looks like a small cloud running along, close to the ground, and as- cending slowly toward the sky. It is a rider, whose horse's hoofs raise this cloud-like, fine, burning dust. Each of these clouds turns out to be a man, whose hooded cape we finally can make out. Now and then we see native encampments. They are barely perceptible, these Arab tents, as they are usually hidden near some dried-up torrent, where children lead goats or sheep or sometimes a cow to pasture, although the word "pasture" in a country like this seems a mockery. The color of the brown Hnen huts, surrounded by dried briers, blends with the monotonous hue of the earth. On the embank- ment, made by the railroad, a dark-skinned man, with calfless legs, enveloped in whitish rags, con- templates the iron monster passing by. Further on we meet a troop of nomads on the march. The caravan advances, leaving a cloud of 14 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT dust behind it. The women and children are riding donkeys and small horses; the men are walking ahead with much majesty of demeanor. It is like this all along. When the train stops, every hour or so, a European village appears, with a few houses, such as might be seen in Nanterre or Rueil, some dried-up trees, one of which bears the French flag, in honor of the fourteenth of July; and at one of the gates a gendarme stands, an exact counter- part of the gendarme one sees at Rueil or Nanterre. The heat is intense. No metal of any kind, even that inside the car, can be touched with impunity. The water in the gourds burns the mouth, and the air that blows through the car appears to come from an overheated oven. At Orleanville the thermometer registers ioo° in the shade! We arrive at Oran in time for dinner. Oran is a real European town, and a commercial one, more Spanish than French, and with very little of interest. One meets in the streets fine-looking girls with dark eyes, complexions of ivory, and beautiful teeth. When the weather is clear, it is said that the coast of Spain, their native country, can be seen from here. As soon as one sets foot on this African soil, one is seized with the desire to go further south. So I took a ticket for Saida, which is reached by a nar- row-gauge railroad ascending to the heights. Around Saida, with his horsemen about him, that will-o'-the- wisp, Bou-Amama, is to be seen sometimes. After a few hours of travel we reach the first slope of the Atlas mountains. The train pants and puffs as it climbs; it advances slowly, winds around AU SOLEIL 15 the side of the barren hills, passes near a large lake formed by rivers, which is protected by the famous dam, the Habra. An immense wall, fifteen hundred feet long, one hundred and twenty feet high, one hundred and twenty feet wide, damming forty-two million cubic feet of water, rises over the bound- less plain. This dam broke down a year ago, drowning hun- dreds of men and causing destruction to the whole country. At that time a national subscription was being taken up for the families of the men lost in a flood in Hungary or Spain; but no one took any in- terest in this French disaster. We then pass narrow defiles between mountains that look as if they had been scorched by a recent fire; we outline peaks, veer along slopes, swerving to right and left to avoid obstacles, finally attaining great speed in the open country, while still zigzag- ging a little, as if through sheer force of habit. The cars are rather small, the engine being no larger than an ordinary street-car. It appears ex- hausted at times, groaning and puffing, and proceed- ing so slowly that one could almost follow it on foot; then suddenly it starts off again at great speed. The whole country is barren and desolate. The Sun, king of Africa, ferocious ravager that he is, has devoured the flesh of these valleys, leaving only stones and dust, where nothing can grow. Saida is a little town after the French style, and it appears to be inhabited only by generals. There are at least ten or twelve of them, and they seem to be forever holding conventions. One feels like cry- ip<$ out to them: "Well, general, where is Bou- l6 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT Amama to-day?" The civilian here has no respect for the man in uniform. The principal inn leaves much to be desired. I sleep on a mattress in a whitewashed room. The heat is unbearable. I close my eyes, hoping to sleep, but alasl My window is open and looks out on a small courtyard. I hear dogs barking; they seem far, very far away, barking jerkily, as if answering one an- other. In a short time they come nearer, they are now close to the house, among the vines in the street. There are five hundred, perhaps a thousand, starving and ferocious dogs, who guarded the Spanish encampments on the heights. Their masters dead or gone away, these animals have banded and wander about in search of food; then, discovering the town, they descended on it, encircling it like an army. During the day they sleep in ravines, in holes in the mountains, but as soon as night falls, they come into Saida for food. The men who are late in returning home carry revolvers with them, for they are usually followed by twenty or thirty of these brownish dogs, which might be taken for wolves. They bark at times in a continuous way, fearful to hear, enough to drive one crazy. Then other cries are heard, the shrill yelps of jackals, and above it all one hears the strong and singular voice of the hyena imitating the dog's cry in order to attract and devour him. Until daybreak this uproar continues witnout ceasing. Saida, before it was occupied by the French, was protected by a small fortress built by Abd-el-Kader. AU SOLEIL ,^ The new town is on low ground, surrounded by bald, rocky heights. A narrow river, across which one could almost leap, waters the surrounding fields, where grow beautiful vines. Toward the south the neighboring hills look like a wall; these are the last steps leading up to the heights. On the left rises a rock of brilliant red, about fifty feet high, and on its summit is the debris of ruined masonry. This is all that remains of the Saida built by Abd-el-Kader. This rock, seen from afar, seems to cling to the mountain, but on climbing it one is filled with surprise and ad- miration. A deep ravine, hollowed out between two walls, divides this ancient redoubt from the neighbor- ing hill. This hill is of purplish stone, slashed here and there with fissures, where fall the winter rains. Through this ravine runs the river, in the midst of bushes of rose-colored laurels. From above, it looks like an Oriental rug spread in a corridor. This carpet of flow- ers is dotted here and there with ferns. The descent of the valley is by a path used only by goatherds. Further on, a stream (L'Oued Saida), which is here called a river, but in reality is only a brook, ripples among the rocks under large blossoming shrubs, floating and undulating gracefully. The water is warm, almost hot. Enormous crabs, on seeing me, creep along with a singular rapidity, and with raised pincers. Large green lizards disappear in the foliage. Sometimes a snake glides by. The ravine narrows, as if about to close. A loud noise above my head startles me. An eagle, sur- prised in its nest, soars away toward the blue sky, with slow but strongly-beating wings, so large that they seem to touch both walls. 12 G. de M.— 2 l8 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT In about an hour I struck the road leading toward Ain-el-Hadjar, cHmbing up over the dusty hill. In front of me walked a bent old woman, in a black skirt and cap, carrying a basket in one hand and in the other a kind of parasol, a huge red sun- shade. A white woman here — where one sees none but the tall negro woman, with her yellow, red, and blue garments, leaving, as she passes, that odor of human flesh that will turn the stoutest stomach! The old woman, exhausted, sat in the dust, panting in the torrid heat. Her face was wrinkled by innum- erable lines, like those one sees in a crumpled gar- ment, and her look was weary, depressed, and hopeless. I spoke to her. She was an Alsatian, who had been sent to this country, with her four sons, after the war. She said to me: "You come from over there.?" That "over there" grieved me, "Yes." And she began to weep. Then she told me her simple story. Some land in this country had been promised to them, and they had come, this mother with her children. Three of her sons had died in this mur- derous climate, and now there remained but one, who was sick. Their fields, though large, yielded nothing, for want of water. The poor old woman kept re- peating: "Ashes, sir, nothing but burned ashes! One cannot grow a cabbage; not even a single cabbage!" She clung to that idea of a single cabbage, the pos- session of which probably represented to her the sum of earthly happiness. I never saw anything so pathetic as this good woman from Alsace thrown on this soil of fire where AU SOLEIL »9 not even one cabbage could grow. How often she must have thought of the old country, the green country of her youth, this poor old soul! On leaving me she asked: "Do you know whether they v/ould give us any land in Tunisia ? They say it is a good country. It is sure to be better than this, anyway, and it might save my son's life." I had a constant desire to go further south. But the whole country was at war, and 1 could not ven- ture alone. A chance arose, however, as a train was about to take provisions to the troops encamped along the salt lakes. It was a day when the sirocco was raging. From early morning the south wind blew with its slow, heavy, devouring breath. At seven o'clock the small convoy started out, consisting of two detachments of infantry, with their officers, three trains with water cisterns, and the en- gineers of the company, for no train during the last three weeks had been able to reach the end of the line, part of which had been destroyed by the Arabs. The engine, called "The Hyena," starts out straight for the mountain, making as if it would go through it. Then suddenly it curves to one side, dips into a narrow valley, describes a half circle, and reappears about fifty feet above the spot where it was a little while ago. It turns again, ascends, zigzagging all the time, unfolding like a long ribbon creeping toward the summit. There are large buildings along the way, chim- neys of factories, an abandoned town. These are the magnificent mills of the Franco-Algerian Company. 20 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT It was here that the grain was milled, before the Spaniards were massacred. This place is called Ain- el-Hadjar. We climb still higher. The engine pants, groans, slows up, and finally stops. Three times it tries to start again, but fails each time. It goes back a little to get a start, but at this point it remains still, without the strength to ascend the rough slope. Then the officers order the soldiers out to help in pushing up the train. It starts ahead slowly, moving step by step. We all joke and laugh, the men mak- ing fun of the engine. At last it is all over. Here we are on the heights. The engineer, leaning far out, watches the tracks ceaselessly, for fear they may be cut away; and we are all intent on the horizon, alert to discover the smallest cloud of dust which might indicate a rider, still invisible. We all carry guns and pistols. Sometimes a jackal runs past us; an enormous hawk flies away, leaving a camel's carcass almost entirely devoured; wild hens, very much like par- tridges, disappear among the dwarf-like palms. Two small companies of foot-soldiers are camping at the village of Tafraoua, where we stop. A great many Spaniards were killed at this spot. At Kralfallah, there is a company of Zouaves, hur- riedly building a stronghold, with rails, beams, tele- graph poles, anything they can lay their hands on. We take breakfast here, and the three officers, all young and gay, offer us some coffee. The train starts once more. It runs along on the limitless plain, where tufts of alfa make it look like AU SOLEIL 21 a smooth stretch of sea. The sirocco becomes un- bearable, throwing up in our faces the burning air of the desert, and now and then, on the horizon, a dim form appears. Now it is an ishmd, again a lake, or rocks sunk in water; it is a mirage. On a sloping hill we see blackened stones and men's bones, the remains of Spaniards. And still we see more dead camels, always half-eaten by hawks. We go through a forest, but what a strange forest! An ocean of sand, where tufts of evergreen, here and there, look like giant heads of lettuce in a gigantic kitchen garden. Sometimes we fancy we see a rider in the dis- tance, but no, he disappears: we must have made a mistake. We reach L'Oued-Fallette, still in the midst of a deserted and gloomy land. Then I wander away with two companions, always toward the south. We climb a low hill in the intense heat. The sirocco sheds fire; it dries the perspiration from one's face as soon as it appears, burns the lips and eyes, and dries up the throat. Under every stone we find scorpions. Around the train, which looks from here like a big black beast lying down on the dry sand, the soldiers load the weapons sent from the nearest en- campment. Then they move away in the dust, slowly, with weary steps, under the scorching sun. We see them for a long while, then they disappear in a cloud of dust. There are now six of us on the train. We can- not touch anything, for everything burns. The brasses of the car seem reddened as if with fire. We scream if our hands touch the steel of our pistols. 22 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT A few days ago the tribe of Rezaina, turning reb- els, crossed this salt lake, that we found we could not reach to-day, as the hour was too late. The heat was so great when these people crossed that dried marsh that they lost all their water-bottles, while six- teen of their children died in their mothers' arms. The train whistles, and we leave L'Oued-Fallette. A remarkable deed had made this place famous. A military post was established here and guarded by a detachment from the 15th Regulars. One night two Arab soldiers arrived at the outposts, after riding horseback for ten hours, bringing an important order from the general commanding the forces at Saida. According to custom, they waved a lighted torch to make themselves known. The sentinel, a raw re- cruit, not knowing the regulations and customs of the south, and not having been instructed therein, dis- charged his gun at the couriers. The poor devils ad- vanced notwithstanding, when the whole post took to arms, and, putting themselves in position, fired a fusillade. After a hundred and fifty shots, the two Arabs gave up and went away, one of them having a ball in his shoulder. Next day they arrived at head- quarters, bringing back their dispatch. V. v Bou-Amama * ERY clever is the man who can solve, even to-day, the riddle of Bou-Amama. That man whom no one ever saw, who made game of our army, disappeared so completely as to make one think that he never existed. Officers deserving of credence, who believed they knew him, have described him to me, others, no less truthful, posi- tive also of having seen him, have given me an entirely different description of him. At all events, this prowler was the chief of only a very small band of men, probably driven to rebellion through starvation. These men never fought but to rob villages or pillage trains. They do not appear to have acted thus from hatred or because of religious fanaticism, but simply from hunger. With our system of colonization, consisting as it does in ruining the Arab, in depriving him of his rest, in pursuing him without mercy, we must expect to see insurrections. (23) 24 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT Another reason for this campaign was the presence of Spaniards on the heights. In that ocean of alfa, in that gloomy, greenish stretch, motionless under the burning sun, dwelt a real nation, hordes of swarthy-faced men, adventurers whom distress or other reasons had driven from their native land. Wilder and much more feared than the Arabs even, isolated from cities, from all law, all power, they did what their ancestors had always done before them in a new country, -they were violent, bloodthirsty, terrifying even to the primitive inhab- itants. The vengeance the Arabs wreaked on them was fearful. Here, in a few words, is the apparent origin of the insurrection. Two Mussulman priests preached rebellion openly to one of the tribes of the south. Lieutenant Weinbrennar was sent with an order to arrest the chief of the tribe. This officer had only four men with him. He was assassinated. Colonel Innocenti was sent to avenge his death, and the aid of the military chief of Saida was given to him. On the road the armed contingent of natives met the Trafis who were also to join Colonel Innocenti. Quarrels arose between them, when the Trafis turned rebels and left to join Bou-Amama. Here occurred the affair of Chellala, which has been so often related. After the sacking of his convoy, the colonel, who seems to have been spoken of very disparagingly by everyone, returned by forced marches toward the Kreider, in order to re-enforce his column, thereby leaving the road entirely unprotected. His adversary was quick in taking advantage of this. AU SOLEIL 25 I must mention here a strange fact. On the same day the official dispatches reported Bou-Amama as being in two places one hundred and fifty miles apart. The chief, profiting by this chance, passed within twelve miles of Geryville, and on the way killed Brigadier Bringeard, who had been sent into this openly rebellious country with only a handful of men to establish telegraphic communications. After this assassination Bou-Amama proceeded on his way northward. He then crossed the territory of the Hassassenas and the Harrars, and virtually gave those two tribes the order for a general massacre, which was carried out soon after. At last he arrived at Ain-Ketifa, and two days later was camping at Haci-Tirsine, only twenty-two rniles from Saida. The military authorities, becoming alarmed at last, sent word to the Franco-Algerian Company to recall all their agents, the country not being considered safe. Trains were running all night to the extreme limit of the line; but it was impossible to recall all the men in a few hours as they were scattered over a territory of a hundred and fifty miles. And on the eleventh, at daybreak, the massacre began. The murdering was done chiefly by the tribes of the Hassassenas and those of the Harrars, who were exasperated with the Spaniards living on their terri- tories. And yet, on pretext of not inciting them to rebel- lion, these tribes who had slaughtered nearly three hundred men, women, and children, went unpunished. 26 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT Arab riders found loaded with spoils, and with gar- ments belonging to Spanish women on their saddles, were released, it is said, on the plea that proof of their complicity was wanting. So, on the night of the thirteenth, Bou-Amama was camping at Haci-Tirsine, twenty-two miles from Saida. At the same time, General Cerez was tele- graphing to the governor that the rebel chief was at- tempting to return south. In the next few days this daring fellow pillaged the villages of Tafraoua and Kralfallah, loading his camels with booty and carrying away with him provisions and merchandise to the value of millions of francs. He rode up once more to Haci-Tirsine to reorgan- ize his troops; he broke his convoy in two, one sec- tion of which went toward Ain-Ketifa. There it was stopped and pillaged by the mounted Arabs (section Brunetiere). The other section, commanded by Bou-Amama himself, was caught between General Detrie's column, which was camping at El-Maya, and that of General Mallaret, whose headquarters were at Ksar-el Krelifa, near the Kreider. To pass between the two camps was no easy task. Bou-Amama sent a party of , riders before the camp of General Detrie, who pursued them with his whole army as far as Ain-Sfisifa, far beyond the salt lake, convinced that he was on the chief's track. The ruse was successful. The road was free. The day following the general's departure the insur- gent chief occupied Detrie's camp; this was c.n the fourteenth of June. AU SOLEIL 27 On the other hand, Colonel Mallaret, instead of guarding the passage of the Kreider, encamped at Ksar-el-Krelifa, four miles further on. Bou-Amama immediately sent a great number of riders to file past the military post, and the colonel contented himself by firing six cannon-shots, which have become leg- endary. During this time the convoy of camels was passing the Kreider, at the only point where crossing was possible. From there the chief must have put his provisions under shelter with the Mogrars, his tribe, stationed four hundred miles south of Geryville. Whence come these many precise details ? will be asked. From everyone. They are sure to be con- tested, I know; if not on one point, then on another. 1 cannot affirm these facts; I have gathered only those which seemed probable. It would be impossible, in Algiers, to be positive about anything happening three miles beyond any one spot. As for military news, during all this campaign it appeared to be supplied by some practical joker. Bou-Amama was signaled at six different places on the same day by six different commanding officers, who were sure, one and all, of holding him. A complete collection of these official dispatches, with a httle supplement containing those of authorized agents, would make amusing reading. Certain dispatches, whose improb- ability was too evident, were actually suppressed in the telegraph offices in Algiers. An amusing caricature, made by a colonist, gives to my mind a very good explanation of the situation. It represents an old general, fat, gold-laced, with enormous mustaches, standing facing the desert. He contemplates with a puzzled look this immense, bare 28 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT Stretch of country, whose limit his eye cannot reach, and murmurs to himself: "They are there! . .. Somewhere!" Then he turns to his aide-de-camp, motionless behind him, saying pompously: "Tele- graph the government that the enemy is before me, and that I start in pursuit!" The only reliable information 1 got came from Spanish prisoners, who had escaped from Bou-Amama. I had occasion to converse through an interpreter with one of these, and this is what he told me: His name was Bias Rojo Belisaire. While leading a convoy of seven carts, on the night of the tenth of June, he, with his men, found a number of broken carts on the road, and scattered here and there were the bodies of the murdered drivers. One of them was still alive, and they tried to revive him, but a troop of Arabs fell upon them. The Spaniards, having but one gun, surrendered; but they were all killed on the spot, except this Bias Rojo, spared, no doubt, on ac- count of his youth and handsome face. We know that the Arabs are not indifferent to beauty in men. He was brought into camp, where he found other prisoners. At midnight, for no apparent reason, one of these was killed, he was told. The next day, on the eleventh, Bias learned that more prisoners had been killed. The day had been set apart for a general massa- cre. At night, the raiders brought in two women and a child. On the twelfth, they broke camp and were on the march all day. On the thirteenth, at night, they camped at Dayat- Kereb. AU SOLEIL 29 On the fourteenth, they marched toward Ksar- Krelifa, This was the day on which the Mallaret affair took place, and the prisoner did not hear the cannon, which leaves it to be supposed that Bou-Amama sent only a small detachment of men to file past the French post, while the convoy with the spoils, with which was Bias, passed the salt lake, some miles further, well under shelter from fire. For eight days they walked to and fro, without any apparent aim. On arriving at Tis-Moulins the Arabs, who quarreled continually, finally separated, each chief taking his prisoners with him. Bou-Amama was very considerate to his captives, especially the women, whom he assigned to a special tent, where they were guarded. One of these, a beautiful girl of eighteen, had been compelled to live with one of the chiefs, who threatened her with death if she resisted; but when Bou-Amama heard of it, he refused to sanction such a union. Bias Rojo was in the service of Bou-Amama, but he never saw him. He saw only his son, who di- rected the military operations. He appeared to be about thirty years of age, a tall, thin man, pale, with deep-set eyes, and he wore a short beard. He owned two sorrel horses, one of which had formerly belonged to the French commanding officer, Jacquet. Bias Rojo had not heard about the shots fired at the Kreider. He eventually ran away when near Bas- Yala, but, not knowing the country very well, he was compelled to follow the channel of dried-up rivers, and after walking for three days and three nights, he arrived at Marhoun. =0 WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT He told me that Bou-Amama had with him five hundred horsemen and three hundred foot-soldiers, besides a convoy of camels to carry the spoils. For two weeks after the massacres, the trains went to and fro on the short railroad. At times, those in charge of it gathered in some wounded Spaniards and fine-looking women, naked and bleed- ing. The inhabitants of the country all join in saying that the military authorities, with a little foresight, could have avoided this butchery. They could not, it seems, manage a handful of rebels. What was the reason of their inabihty to do so, when one compares the perfection of our firearms with the ancient muskets of the Arabs ? I leave it to others to indi- cate the cause and explain it all. The Arabs have this advantage over us, however, against which we struggle in vain. They are the sons of this country. Living on figs and a few grains of wheat, indefatigable on this soil, which exhausts men from the north, riding horses as strong and sturdy as themselves, and like them insensible to the heat, these men can ride a hundred miles a day. Having no baggage, nor convoys of provisions to drag after them, they go from place to place with surprising rapidity. They pass between two camps at a furious gallop, and a few miles further attack a village which everyone thought quite safe, and they return at the same pace, when they are supposed to be miles away. In European wars, no matter how prompt is the march of an army, it cannot be moved about without its whereabouts being known. The mass of baggage AU SOLEIL 31 is fatal to quick movements and always discloses the route followed. A party of Arabs leaves no more trace of its passage than a flight of birds. These roving horsemen come and go around us with the rapidity of flying swallows. When they attack, we can conquer them and nearly always beat them, notwithstanding their courage. 