A Piece of String It all smelled of the stable, of milk, of hay and of

perspiration, giving off that half-human, half-animal

Guy de Maupassant odor which is peculiar to country folks.

<2>
It was market-day, and from all the country round
Goderville the peasants and their wives were Maitre Hauchecorne, of Breaute, had just arrived
coming toward the town. The men walked slowly, at Goderville and was making his way toward the
throwing the whole body forward at every step of square when he perceived on the ground a little
their long, crooked legs. They were deformed from piece of string. Maitre Hauchecorne, economical as
pushing the plough which makes the left- shoulder are all true Normans, reflected that everything was
higher, and bends their figures side-ways; from worth picking up which could be of any use, and he
reaping the grain, when they have to spread their stooped down, but painfully, because he suffered
legs so as to keep on their feet. Their starched blue from rheumatism. He took the bit of thin string from
blouses, glossy as though varnished, ornamented at the ground and was carefully preparing to roll it up
collar and cuffs with a little embroidered design and when he saw Maitre Malandain, the harness maker,
blown out around their bony bodies, looked very on his doorstep staring at him. They had once had a
much like balloons about to soar, whence issued quarrel about a halter, and they had borne each
two arms and two feet. other malice ever since. Maitre Hauchecorne was
overcome with a sort of shame at being seen by his
Some of these fellows dragged a cow or a calf at
enemy picking up a bit of string in the road. He
the end of a rope. And just behind the animal
quickly hid it beneath his blouse and then slipped it
followed their wives beating it over the back with a
into his breeches, pocket, then pretended to be still
leaf-covered branch to hasten its pace, and carrying
looking for something on the ground which he did
large baskets out of which protruded the heads of
not discover and finally went off toward the market-
chickens or ducks. These women walked more
place, his head bent forward and his body almost
quickly and energetically than the men, with their
doubled in two by rheumatic pains.
erect, dried-up figures, adorned with scanty little
shawls pinned over their flat bosoms, and their He was at once lost in the crowd, which kept
heads wrapped round with a white cloth, enclosing moving about slowly and noisily as it chaffered and
the hair and surmounted by a cap. bargained. The peasants examined the cows, went
off, came back, always in doubt for fear of being
Now a char-a-banc passed by, jogging along
cheated, never quite daring to decide, looking the
behind a nag and shaking up strangely the two men
seller square in the eye in the effort to discover the
on the seat, and the woman at the bottom of the cart
tricks of the man and the defect in the beast.
who held fast to its sides to lessen the hard jolting.
The women, having placed their great baskets at
In the market-place at Goderville was a great
their feet, had taken out the poultry, which lay upon
crowd, a mingled multitude of men and beasts. The
the ground, their legs tied together, with terrified
horns of cattle, the high, long-napped hats of
eyes and scarlet combs.
wealthy peasants, the headdresses of the women
came to the surface of that sea. And the sharp, They listened to propositions, maintaining their
shrill, barking voices made a continuous, wild din, prices in a decided manner with an impassive face
while above it occasionally rose a huge burst of or perhaps deciding to accept the smaller price
laughter from the sturdy lungs of a merry peasant or offered, suddenly calling out to the customer who
a prolonged bellow from a cow tied fast to the wall was starting to go away:
of a house.
"All right, I'll let you have them, Mait' Anthime."
 Then, little by little, the square became empty, business papers. You are requested to return it to
and when the Angelus struck midday those who the mayor's office at once or to Maitre Fortune
lived at a distance poured into the inns. Houlbreque, of Manneville. There will be twenty
francs reward."
<3>
<4>
At Jourdain's the great room was filled with
eaters, just as the vast court was filled with vehicles Then the man went away. They heard once more
of every sort -- wagons, gigs, chars-a- bancs, at a distance the dull beating of the drum and the
tilburies, innumerable vehicles which have no name, faint voice of the crier. Then they all began to talk of
yellow with mud, misshapen, pieced together, this incident, reckoning up the chances which Maitre
raising their shafts to heaven like two arms, or it may Houlbreque had of finding or of not finding his
be with their nose on the ground and their rear in the pocketbook again.
air.
The meal went on. They were finishing their coffee
Just opposite to where the diners were at table when the corporal of gendarmes appeared on the
the huge fireplace, with its bright flame, gave out a threshold.
burning heat on the backs of those who sat at the
right. Three spits were turning, loaded with chickens, He asked:
with pigeons and with joints of mutton, and a
delectable odor of roast meat and of gravy flowing "Is Maitre Hauchecorne, of Breaute, here?"
over crisp brown skin arose from the hearth, kindled
Maitre Hauchecorne, seated at the other end of
merriment, caused mouths to water.
the table answered:
All the aristocracy of the plough were eating there
"Here I am, here I am."
at Mait' Jourdain's, the innkeeper's, a dealer in
horses also and a sharp fellow who had made a And he followed the corporal.
great deal of money in his day.
The mayor was waiting for him, seated in an
The dishes were passed round, were emptied, as armchair. He was the notary of the place, a tall,
were the jugs of yellow cider. Every one told of his grave man of pompous speech.
affairs, of his purchases and his sales. They
exchanged news about the crops. The weather was "Maitre Hauchecorne," said he, "this morning on
good for greens, but too wet for grain. the Beuzeville road, you were seen to pick up the
pocketbook lost by Maitre Houlbreque, of
Suddenly the drum began to beat in the courtyard Manneville."
before the house. Every one, except some of the
most indifferent, was on their feet at once and ran to The countryman looked at the mayor in
the door, to the windows, their mouths full and amazement frightened already at this suspicion
napkins in their hand. which rested on him, he knew not why.

When the public crier had finished his tattoo he "I -- I picked up that pocketbook?"
called forth in a jerky voice, pausing in the wrong
places: "Yes, YOU."

"Be it known to the inhabitants of Goderville and "I swear I don't even know anything about it."
in general to all persons present at the market that
there has been lost this morning on the Beuzeville "You were seen."
road, between nine and ten o'clock, a black leather
"I was seen -- I? Who saw me?"
pocketbook containing five hundred francs and
 "M. Malandain, the harness-maker." At last the mayor, much perplexed, sent him
away, warning him that he would inform the public
Then the old man remembered, understood, and, prosecutor and ask for orders.
reddening with anger, said:
The news had spread. When he left the mayor's
"Ah! he saw me, did he, the rascal? He saw me office the old man was surrounded, interrogated
picking up this string here, M'sieu le Maire." with a curiosity which was serious or mocking, as
the case might be, but into which no indignation
And fumbling at the bottom of his pocket, he entered. And he began to tell the story of the string.
pulled out of it the little end of string. They did not believe him. They laughed.
<5> He passed on, buttonholed by every one, himself
buttonholing his acquaintances, beginning over and
But the mayor incredulously shook his head:
over again his tale and his protestations, showing his
"You will not make me believe, Maitre pockets turned inside out to prove that he had
Hauchecorne, that M. Malandain, who is a man nothing in them.
whose word can be relied on, has mistaken this
<6>
string for a pocketbook."
They said to him:
The peasant, furious, raised his hand and spat on
the ground beside him as if to attest his good faith, "You old rogue!"
repeating:
He grew more and more angry, feverish, in despair
"For all that, it is God's truth, M'sieu le Maire. at not being believed, and kept on telling his story.
There! On my soul's salvation, I repeat it."
The night came. It was time to go home. He left
The mayor continued: with three of his neighbors, to whom he pointed out
the place where he had picked up the string, and all
"After you picked up the object in question, you
the way he talked of his adventure.
even looked about for some time in the mud to see if
a piece of money had not dropped out of it." That evening he made the round of the village of
Breaute for the purpose of telling every one. He met
The good man was choking with indignation and
only unbelievers.
fear.
He brooded over it all night long.
"How can they tell -- how can they tell such lies
as that to slander an honest man! How can they?" The next day, about one in the afternoon, Marius
Paumelle, a farm hand of Maitre Breton, the market
His protestations were in vain; he was not
gardener at Ymauville, returned the pocketbook and
believed.
its contents to Maitre Holbreque, of Manneville.
He was confronted with M. Malandain, who
This man said, indeed, that he had found it on the
repeated and sustained his testimony. They railed at
road, but not knowing how to read, he had carried it
one another for an hour. At his own request Maitre
home and given it to his master.
Hauchecorne was searched. Nothing was found on
him. The news spread to the environs. Maitre
Hauchecorne was informed. He started off at once
and began to relate his story with the denoument.
He was triumphant.
 "What grieved me," said he, "was not the thing The farmer was speechless. He understood at
itself, do you understand, but it was being accused last. They accused him of having had the
of lying. Nothing does you so much harm as being in pocketbook brought back by an accomplice, by a
disgrace for lying." confederate.

All day he talked of his adventure. He told it on the He tried to protest. The whole table began to
roads to the people who passed, at the cabaret to laugh.
the people who drank and next Sunday when they
came out of church. He even stopped strangers to He could not finish his dinner, and went away
tell them about it. He was easy now, and yet amid a chorus of jeers.
something worried him without his knowing exactly
what it was. People had a joking manner while they He went home indignant, choking with rage, with
listened. They did not seem convinced. He seemed confusion, the more cast down since with his
to feel their remarks behind his back. Norman craftiness he was, perhaps, capable of
having done what they accused him of and even of
<7> boasting of it as a good trick. He was dimly
conscious that it was impossible to prove his
On Tuesday of the following week he went to innocence, his craftiness being so well known. He
market at Goderville, prompted solely by the need of felt himself struck to the heart by the injustice of the
telling his story. suspicion.

Malandain, standing on his doorstep, began to <8>

laugh as he saw him pass. Why?
He began anew to tell his tale, lengthening his
He accosted a farmer of Criquetot, who did not let recital every day, each day adding new proofs, more
hire finish, and giving him a punch in the pit of the energetic declarations and more sacred oaths,
stomach cried in his face: "Oh, you great rogue!" which he thought of, which he prepared in his hours
Then he turned his heel upon him. of solitude, for his mind was entirely occupied with
the story of the string. The more he denied it, the
Maitre Hauchecorne remained speechless and more artful his arguments, the less he was believed.
grew more and more uneasy. Why had they called
him "great rogue"? "Those are liars proofs," they said behind his
back.
When seated at table in Jourdain's tavern he
began again to explain the whole affair. He felt this. It preyed upon him and he exhausted
himself in useless efforts.
A horse dealer of Montivilliers shouted at him:
He was visibly wasting away.
"Get out, get out, you old scamp! I know all about
your old string." Jokers would make him tell the story of "the piece
of string" to amuse them, just as you make a soldier
Hauchecorne stammered: who has been on a campaign tell his story of the
battle. His mind kept growing weaker and about the
"But since they found it again, the pocketbook!" end of December he took to his bed.
But the other continued: He passed away early in January, and, in the
ravings of death agony, he protested his innocence,
"Hold your tongue, daddy; there's one who finds it
repeating:
and there's another who returns it. And no one the
wiser."
 "A little bit of string -- a little bit of string. See, here
it is, M'sieu le Maire."