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Selected Writings-Part23_Guy De Maupassant(1850-1893)_Translated Works(翻译文学)-第2页

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I said to myself. For ten years I had entered and re-entered in

the same way, without ever experiencing the least inquietude. I



never had any fear at nights. The sight of a man, a marauder, or

a thief would have thrown me into a fit of anger, and I would



have rushed at him without any hesitation. Moreover, I was

armed--I had my revolver. But I did not touch it, for I was



anxious to resist that feeling of dread with which I was seized.

What was it? Was it a presentiment--that mysterious presentiment



which takes hold of the senses of men who have witnessed

something which, to them, is inexplicable? Perhaps? Who knows?



In proportion as I advanced, I felt my skin quiver more and more,

and when I was close to the wall, near the outhouses of my large



residence, I felt that it would be necessary for me to wait a few

minutes before opening the door and going inside. I sat down,



then, on a bench, under the windows of my drawing-room. I rested

there, a little disturbed, with my head leaning against the wall,



my eyes wide open, under the shade of the foliage. For the first

few minutes, I did not observe anything unusual around me; I had



a humming noise in my ears, but that has happened often to me.

Sometimes it seemed to me that I heard trains passing, that I



heard clocks striking, that I heard a multitude on the march.

Very soon, those humming noises became more distinct, more



concentrated, more determinable, I was deceiving myself. It was

not the ordinary tingling of my arteries which transmitted to my



ears these rumbling sounds, but it was a very distinct, though

confused, noise which came, without any doubt whatever, from the



interior of my house. Through the walls I distinguished this

continued noise,--I should rather say agitation than noise,--an



indistinct moving about of a pile of things, as if people were

tossing about, displacing, and carrying away surreptitiously all



my furniture.

I doubted, however, for some considerable time yet, the evidence



of my ears. But having placed my ear against one of the

outhouses, the better to discover what this strange disturbance



was, inside my house, I became convinced, certain, that something

was taking place in my residence which was altogether abnormal



and incomprehensible. I had no fear, but I was--how shall I

express it--paralyzed by astonishment. I did not draw my



revolver, knowing very well that there was no need of my doing

so.



I listened a long time, but could come to no resolution, my mind

being quite clear, though in myself I was naturally anxious. I



got up and waited, listening always to the noise, which gradually

increased, and at intervals grew very loud, and which seemed to



become an impatient, angry disturbance, a mysterious commotion.

Then, suddenly, ashamed of my timidity, I seized my bunch of



keys. I selected the one I wanted, guided it into the lock,

turned it twice, and pushing the door with all my might, sent it



banging against the partition.

The collision sounded like the report of a gun, and there



responded to that explosive noise, from roof to basement of my

residence, a formidabletumult. It was so sudden, so terrible, so



deafening, that I recoiled a few steps, and though I knew it to

be whollyuseless, I pulled my revolver out of its case.



I continued to listen for some time longer. I could distinguish

now an extraordinary pattering upon the steps of my grand



staircase, on the waxed floors, on the carpets, not of boots, or

of naked feet, but of iron and wooden crutches, which resounded



like cymbals. Then I suddenly discerned, on the threshold of my

door, an armchair, my large reading easy-chair, which set off



waddling. It went away through my garden. Others followed it,

those of my drawing-room, then my sofas, dragging themselves






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