That Pig, Morin
I
“Look here,” I said to Labarbe, “you have again repeated those words, ‘That pig, Morin.’ Why on earth do I never hear Morin’s name mentioned without his being called a pig?”
Labarbe, who has since become a Deputy, blinked at me like an owl and said: “Do you mean to say that you do not know Morin’s story, and yet you come from La Rochelle?” I confessed that I did not know Morin’s story, and then Labarbe rubbed his hands, and began his narrative.
“You knew Morin, did you not, and you remember his large drapery shop on the Quai de la Rochelle?”
“Yes, perfectly.”
“Well, you must know that in 1862 or ’63 Morin went to spend a fortnight in Paris for pleasure, or for his pleasures, but under the pretext of renewing his stock, and you also know what a fortnight in Paris means for a country shopkeeper; it fires his blood. The theatre every evening, women brushing up against you, and a continual state of mental excitement; it drives one mad. One sees nothing but dancers in tights, actresses in very low dresses, round legs, plump shoulders, all nearly within reach of one’s hands, without daring or being able to touch them. It is rare for one to have even an affair or two with the commoner sort. And one leaves with heart still aflutter, and a mind still exhilarated by a sort of longing for kisses which tickle one’s lips.
“Morin was in that state when he took his ticket for La Rochelle by the 8:40 night express. Full of regrets and longings he was walking up and down the big waiting-room at the station, when he suddenly came to a halt in front of a young lady who was kissing an old one. She had her veil up, and Morin murmured with delight: ‘By Jove, what a beautiful woman!’
“When she had said ‘Goodbye’ to the old lady, she went into the waiting-room, and Morin followed her; then she went on to the platform and Morin still followed her; then she got into an empty carriage, and he again followed her. There were very few travellers by the express, the engine whistled, and the train started. They were alone. Morin devoured her with his eyes. She appeared to be about nineteen or twenty, and was fair, tall, and had an emancipated air. She wrapped a travelling rug round her legs and stretched herself on the seat to sleep.
“Morin wondered who she was. And a thousand conjectures, a thousand projects went through his mind. He said to himself: ‘So many stories are told of adventures on railway journeys, maybe I am going to have one. Who knows? An affair of this kind can take place so quickly. Perhaps all that I need is a little courage. Was it not Danton who said: “Audacity, more audacity, and always audacity”? If it was not Danton, it was Mirabeau. Anyhow, what does that matter? But then, I am lacking in courage, and that is the difficulty. Oh! if one only knew, if one could only read people’s minds! I will bet that every day one misses magnificent opportunities without knowing it. The slightest sign would be enough to let me know that she is perfectly agreeable …’
“Then he imagined combinations which led him to triumph. He pictured some chivalrous deed, or merely some slight service which he rendered her, a lively, gallant conversation which ended in a declaration, which ended in—in what you can guess.
“But he could find no opening; he had no pretext, and he waited for some fortunate circumstance, with his heart wildly beating, and his mind topsy-turvy. The night passed, and the pretty girl still slept, while Morin was meditating her downfall. The day broke and soon the first ray of sunlight appeared in the sky, a long, clear ray which shone on the face of the sleeping girl, and woke her, so she sat up, looked at the country, then at Morin, and smiled. She smiled like a happy woman, with an engaging and bright look, and Morin trembled. Obviously that smile was intended for him, it was a discreet invitation, the signal which he was waiting for. That smile meant: ‘How stupid, what a ninny, what a dolt, what a donkey you are, to have sat there on your seat like a stick all night.
“ ‘Just look at me. Am I not charming? And you have sat like that for a whole night, alone with a pretty woman, without venturing to do anything, you great booby!’
“She was still smiling as she looked at him; she even began to laugh; and he was losing his head trying to find something suitable to say, no matter what. But he could think of nothing, nothing, and then, arming himself with Dutch courage, he said to himself: ‘It can’t be helped, I will risk everything,’ and suddenly without the slightest warning, he moved towards her, his arms extended, his lips protruding, and seizing her in his arms, kissed her.
“She sprang up with a bound, shouting: ‘Help! help!’ and screaming with terror; then she opened the carriage door, and waved her arm outside, mad with fear and trying to jump out, while Morin, who was almost distracted, and feeling sure that she would throw herself out, held her by her skirt and stammered: ‘Oh! Madame! Oh! Madame!’
“The train slackened speed, and then stopped. Two guards rushed up at the young woman’s frantic signals, and she threw herself into their arms, stammering: ‘That man tried—tried—to—to—’
“And then she fainted.
“They were at Mauzé station, and the gendarme on duty arrested Morin. When the victim of his brutality had regained her consciousness, she made her charge against him, and the police drew it up. The poor draper did not reach home till night, with a prosecution hanging over him for an outrage on morals in a public place.
II
“At that time I was editor-in-chief of the Fanal des Charentes, and I used to meet Morin every day at the Café du Commerce. The day after his adventure he came to see me, as he did not know what to do. I did not conceal my opinion from him. ‘You are no better than a pig. No decent man behaves like that.’
“He wept. His wife had given him a beating, and he foresaw his trade ruined, his name dragged through the mire and dishonoured, his friends outraged and cutting him in the street. In the end he excited my pity, and I sent for my colleague Rivet, a bantering but very sensible little man, to give us his advice.
“He advised me to see the Public Prosecutor, who was a friend of mine, and so I sent Morin home, and went to call on the magistrate. He told me that the woman who had been insulted was a young lady, Mademoiselle Henriette Bonnel, who had just received her certificate as a teacher in Paris, and who, being an orphan, spent her holidays with her uncle and aunt, who were very respectable lower middle-class people in Mauzé. What made Morin’s case all the more serious was, that the uncle had lodged a complaint. But the public official consented to let the matter drop if this complaint were withdrawn, so that we must try and get him to do this.
“I went back to Morin’s and found him in bed, ill with excitement and distress. His wife, a tall, rawboned woman with a beard, was abusing him continually, and she showed me into the room, shouting at me: ‘So you have come to see that pig, Morin. Well, there he is, the beauty!’ And she planted herself in front of the bed, with her hands on her hips. I told him how matters stood, and he begged me to go and see her uncle and aunt. It was a delicate mission, but I undertook it, and the poor devil never ceased repeating: ‘I assure you I did not even kiss her, no, not even that. I will take my oath on it!’
“I replied: ‘It doesn’t matter; you are nothing but a pig.’ And I took a thousand francs which he gave me, to employ them as I thought best, but as I did not care to venture to the house of her relations alone, I begged Rivet to go with me, which he agreed to do, on condition that we should go there at once, for he had some urgent business at La Rochelle the following afternoon. So two hours later we rang at the door of a nice country-house. A beautiful girl came and opened the door to us, who was assuredly the young lady in question, and I said to Rivet in a low voice: ‘Confound it! I begin to understand Morin!’
“The uncle, Monsieur Tonnelet, was, as it happened, a subscriber to the Fanal, and was a fervent political coreligionist of ours. He received us with open arms, and congratulated us and wished us joy; he was delighted at having the two editors of his favourite newspaper in his house, and Rivet whispered to me: ‘I think we shall be able to arrange the affair of that pig, Morin.’
“The niece had left the room, and I introduced the delicate subject. I invoked the spectre of scandal before his eyes; I emphasised the inevitable loss of esteem which the young lady would suffer if such an affair became known, for nobody would believe in a simple kiss. The good man seemed undecided, but could not make up his mind about anything without his wife, who would not be in until late that evening. But suddenly he uttered an exclamation of triumph: ‘Look here, I have an excellent idea. I shall not let you leave now that you are here. You can both dine here and spend the night, and when my wife comes home, I hope we shall be able to arrange matters.’
“Rivet resisted at first, but the wish to extricate that pig, Morin, decided him, and we accepted the invitation. So the uncle got up delighted, called his niece, and proposed that we should take a stroll in his grounds, saying: ‘We will leave serious matters until tonight.’ Rivet and he began to talk politics, and I soon found myself lagging a little behind with the girl, who was really charming! charming! and with infinite precautions I began to speak to her about her adventure, and try to make her my ally. She did not, however, appear in the least confused, and listened to me with an air of great amusement.
“I said to her: ‘Just think, Mademoiselle, how unpleasant it will be for you. You will have to appear in court, to encounter malicious glances, to speak before everybody, and to relate in public that unfortunate occurrence in the railway-carriage. Do you not think, between ourselves, that it would have been much better for you to have put that dirty scoundrel in his place without calling for assistance, and merely to have changed your carriage?’
“She began to laugh, and replied: ‘What you say is quite true! but what could I do? I was frightened, and when one is frightened, one does not stop to reason with oneself. As soon as I realized the situation, I was very sorry that I had called out, but then it was too late. You must also remember that the idiot threw himself upon me like a madman, without saying a word and looking like a lunatic. I did not even know what he wanted of me.’
“She looked me full in the face, without being nervous or intimidated, and I said to myself: ‘She is a girl with her wits about her: I can quite see how that pig, Morin, came to make a mistake,’ and I went on, jokingly: ‘Come, Mademoiselle, confess that he was excusable, for after all, a man cannot find himself opposite such a pretty girl as you are, without feeling a legitimate desire to kiss her.’
“She laughed more than ever, and showed her teeth, and said: ‘Between the desire and the act, Monsieur, there is room for respect.’ It was a curious expression to use, although not very clear. Abruptly I asked: ‘Well now, supposing I were to kiss you now, what would you do?’ She stopped, looked at me up and down, and then said calmly: ‘Oh! you? That is quite another matter.’
“I knew perfectly well, by Jove, that it was not the same thing at all, as everybody in the neighbourhood called me ‘Handsome Labarbe.’ I was thirty years old in those days, but I asked her: ‘And why, pray?’
“She shrugged her shoulders, and replied: ‘Well! because you are not so stupid as he is.’ And then she added, with a sidelong glance: ‘Nor so ugly, either.’
“Before she could make a movement to avoid me, I had planted a hearty kiss on her cheek. She sprang aside, but it was too late, and then she said: ‘Well, you are not very bashful, either! But don’t do that sort of thing again.’
“I put on a humble look and said in a low voice: ‘Oh! Mademoiselle, as for me, if I long for one thing more than another, it is to be summoned before a magistrate on the same charge as Morin.’
“ ‘Why?’ she asked.
“Looking steadily at her, I replied: ‘Because you are one of the most beautiful creatures living; because it would be an honour and a title to glory for me to have offered you violence, and because people would have said, after seeing you: “Well, Labarbe richly deserves what he has got, but he is a lucky fellow, all the same.” ’
“She began to laugh heartily again, and said: ‘How funny you are!’ And she had not finished the word funny, before I had her in my arms and was showering hungry kisses wherever I could find a place, on her hair, her forehead, her eyes, her mouth occasionally, on her cheeks, in fact, all over her head, some part of which she was obliged to leave exposed, in spite of herself, in order to defend the others. At last she managed to release herself, blushing and angry. ‘You are very ill-mannered, Monsieur,’ she said, ‘and I am sorry I listened to you.’
“I took her hand in some confusion, and stammered out: ‘I beg your pardon, I beg your pardon, Mademoiselle. I have offended you; I have acted like a brute! Do not be angry with me for what I have done. If you knew—’
“I vainly sought for some excuse, and in a few moments she said: ‘There is nothing for me to know, Monsieur.’ But I had found something to say, and I cried: ‘Mademoiselle, I have been in love with you for a whole year!’
“She was really surprised, and raised her eyes to look at me, and I went on: ‘Yes, Mademoiselle, listen to me. I do not know Morin, and I do not care anything about him. It does not matter to me in the least if he is committed for trial and locked up meanwhile. I saw you here last year; you were down there at the gate, and I was so taken with you, that the thought of you has never left me since, and it does not matter to me whether you believe me or not. I thought you adorable, and the remembrance of you took such a hold on me that I longed to see you again, and so I made use of that fool, Morin, as a pretext, and here I am. Circumstances have made me exceed the due limits of respect, and I can only beg you to pardon me.’
“She was trying to read the truth in my eyes, and was ready to smile again; then she murmured: ‘You humbug!’ But I raised my hand, and said in a sincere voice (and I really believe that I was sincere): ‘I swear to you that I am speaking the truth.’ She replied quite simply: ‘Really?’
“We were alone, quite alone, as Rivet and her uncle had disappeared in a side walk, and I made her a real declaration of love, prolonged and gentle, while I squeezed and kissed her fingers, and she listened to it as to something new and agreeable, without exactly knowing how much of it she was to believe, while in the end I felt agitated, and at last really myself believed what I said. I was pale, anxious, and trembling, and I gently put my arm round her waist, and spoke to her softly, whispering into the little curls over her ears. She seemed dead, so absorbed in thought was she.
“Then her hand touched mine, and she pressed it, and I gently circled her waist with a trembling, and gradually a firmer, grasp. She did not move now, and I touched her cheeks with my lips, and suddenly, without seeking them, mine met hers. It was a long, long kiss, and it would have lasted longer still, if I had not heard ‘Ahem, ahem’ just behind me. She made her escape through the bushes, and I, turning round, saw Rivet coming toward me. He stopped in the middle of the path and said without even smiling: ‘So that is the way in which you settle the affair of that pig, Morin.’
“I replied, conceitedly: ‘One does what one can, my dear fellow. But what about the uncle? How have you got on with him? I will answer for the niece.’
“ ‘I have not been so fortunate with him,’ he replied. Whereupon I took his arm, and we went indoors.
III
“Dinner made me lose my head altogether. I sat beside her, and my hand continually met hers under the tablecloth, my foot touched hers, and our glances met and melted together.
“After dinner we took a walk by moonlight, and I whispered to her all the tender things that rose in my heart. I held her close to me, embracing her every moment, and pressing my lips against hers. Her uncle and Rivet were arguing as they walked in front of us, their shadows following solemnly behind them on the sandy paths. We went in, and soon a messenger brought a telegram from her aunt, saying that she would not return until the first train the next morning, at seven o’clock.
“ ‘Very well, Henriette,’ her uncle said, ‘go and show the gentlemen their rooms.’ She showed Rivet his first, and he whispered to me: ‘There was no danger of her taking us into yours first.’ Then she took me to my room, and as soon as she was alone with me, I took her in my arms again and tried to excite her senses and overcome her resistance, but when she felt that she was near succumbing, she escaped out of the room, and I got between the sheets, very much put out and excited, and feeling rather foolish, for I knew that I should not sleep much. I was wondering how I could have committed such a mistake, when there was a gentle knock at my door, and on my asking who was there, a low voice replied: ‘I.’
“I dressed myself quickly and opened the door, and she came in. ‘I forgot to ask you what you take in the morning,’ she said, ‘chocolate, tea, or coffee?’ I put my arms around her impetuously and said, devouring her with kisses: ‘I will take—I will take—’ But she freed herself from my arms, blew out my candle, and disappeared, and left me alone in the dark, furious, trying to find some matches and not able to do so. At last I got some and I went into the passage, feeling half mad, with my candlestick in my hand.
“What was I going to do? I did not stop to think, I only wanted to find her, and I would. I went a few steps without reflecting, but then I suddenly thought to myself: ‘Suppose I should go into the uncle’s room, what should I say?’ And I stood still, with my head a void, and my heart beating.
“But in a few moments, I thought of an answer: ‘Of course, I shall say that I was looking for Rivet’s room, to speak to him about an important matter,’ and I began to inspect all the doors, trying to find hers. At random I took hold of a key, turned it, the door opened and I went in. There was Henriette, sitting on her bed and looking at me in terror. So I gently pushed the bolt, and going up to her on tiptoe, I said: ‘I forgot to ask you for something to read, Mademoiselle.’ She struggled, but I soon opened the book I was looking for. I will not tell you its title, but it is the most wonderful of romances, the divinest of poems. And when once I had turned the first page, she let me turn over as many leaves as I liked, and I got through so many chapters that our candles were quite burned out.
“Then, after thanking her, I was stealthily returning to my room, when a rough hand seized me, and a voice—it was Rivet’s—whispered in my ear: ‘Are you still settling the affair of that pig, Morin?’
“At seven o’clock the next morning, she herself brought me a cup of chocolate. I have never drunk anything like it, soft, velvety, perfumed, intoxicating, a chocolate to make one swoon with pleasure. I could scarcely take away my mouth from the delicious lips of her cup. She had hardly left the room when Rivet came in. He seemed nervous and irritable like a man who had not slept, and he said to me crossly: ‘If you go on like this, you will end by spoiling the affair of that pig, Morin!’
“At eight o’clock the aunt arrived. Our discussion was very short, the good people withdrew their complaint, and I left five hundred francs for the poor of the town. They wanted to keep us for the day, and they arranged an excursion to go and see some ruins. Henriette made signs to me to stay, behind her uncle’s back, and I accepted, but Rivet was determined to go. I took him aside, and begged and prayed him: ‘Come on, old man, do it for my sake.’ He appeared quite exasperated and kept saying to me: ‘I have had enough of that pig Morin’s affair, do you hear?’
“Of course I was obliged to go also, and it was one of the hardest moments of my life. I could have gone on settling that business as long as I lived, and when we were in the railway carriage, after shaking hands with her in silence, I said to Rivet: ‘You are a mere brute!’ And he replied: ‘My dear fellow, you were beginning to get on my nerves confoundedly.’
“On getting to the Fanal office, I saw a crowd waiting for us, and as soon as they saw us, they all exclaimed: ‘Well, have you settled the affair of that pig, Morin?’ All La Rochelle was excited about it, and Rivet, who had got over his ill humour on the journey, had great difficulty in keeping himself from laughing as he said: ‘Yes, we have managed it, thanks to Labarbe.’ And we went to Morin’s.
“He was sitting in an armchair, with mustard plasters on his legs, and cold bandages on his head, nearly dead with misery. He was coughing incessantly with the short cough of a dying man, without anyone knowing how he had caught this cold, and his wife seemed like a tigress ready to eat him. As soon as he saw us he trembled so violently as to make his hands and knees shake, so I said to him immediately: ‘It is all settled, you dirty scamp, but don’t do such a thing again.’
“He got up, choking, took my hands and kissed them as if they had belonged to a prince, cried, nearly fainted, embraced Rivet, and even kissed Madame Morin, who gave him a push that sent him staggering back into his armchair. But he never got over the blow: his mind had been too upset. In all the country round, moreover, he was called nothing but ‘that pig, Morin,’ and the epithet went through him like a sword-thrust every time he heard it. When a street-boy called after him: ‘Pig!’ he turned his head instinctively. His friends also overwhelmed him with horrible jokes, and used to chaff him, whenever they were eating ham, by saying: ‘Is this a bit of you?’ He died two years later.
“As for myself, when I was a candidate for the Chamber of Deputies in 1875, I called on the new notary at Tousserre, Monsieur Belloncle, to solicit his vote, and a tall, handsome, richly-dressed woman received me. ‘Don’t you remember me?’ she said.
“I stammered out: ‘No … No … Madame.’
“ ‘Henriette Bonnel?’
“ ‘Ah!’ And I felt myself turning pale, while she seemed perfectly at her ease, and looked at me with a smile.
“As soon as she had left me alone with her husband, he took both of my hands, and squeezing them as if he meant to crush them, he said: ‘I have been intending to go and see you for a long time, my dear sir, for my wife has very often talked to me about you. I know under what painful circumstances you made her acquaintance, and I know also how perfectly you behaved, how full of delicacy, tact, and devotion you showed yourself in the affair—’ He hesitated, and then said in a lower tone, as if he had been saying something low and coarse: ‘In the affair of that pig, Morin.’ ”