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Dane Allred examines the "Abundance" of the universe in his list of "1001 Thanks"
Episodes
Saturday Nov 06, 2010
Saturday Nov 06, 2010
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TRUE! nervous, very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why WILL you say that I am mad? The disease had sharpened my senses, not destroyed, not dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing acute. I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard many things in hell. How then am I mad? Hearken! and observe how healthily, how calmly, I can tell you the whole story.
It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my brain, but, once conceived, it haunted me day and night. Object there was none. Passion there was none. I loved the old man. He had never wronged me. He had never given me insult. For his gold I had no desire. I think it was his eye! Yes, it was this! One of his eyes resembled that of a vulture -- a pale blue eye with a film over it. Whenever it fell upon me my blood ran cold, and so by degrees, very gradually, I made up my mind to take the life of the old man, and thus rid myself of the eye for ever.
Now this is the point. You fancy me mad. Madmen know nothing. But you should have seen me. You should have seen how wisely I proceeded -- with what caution -- with what foresight, with what dissimulation, I went to work! I was never kinder to the old man than during the whole week before I killed him. And every night about midnight I turned the latch of his door and opened it oh, so gently! And then, when I had made an opening sufficient for my head, I put in a dark lantern all closed, closed so that no light shone out, and then I thrust in my head. Oh, you would have laughed to see how cunningly I thrust it in! I moved it slowly, very, very slowly, so that I might not disturb the old man's sleep. It took me an hour to place my whole head within the opening so far that I could see him as he lay upon his bed. Ha! would a madman have been so wise as this? And then when my head was well in the room I undid the lantern cautiously -- oh, so cautiously -- cautiously (for the hinges creaked), I undid it just so much that a single thin ray fell upon the vulture eye. And this I did for seven long nights, every night just at midnight, but I found the eye always closed, and so it was impossible to do the work, for it was not the old man who vexed me but his Evil Eye. And every morning, when the day broke, I went boldly into the chamber and spoke courageously to him, calling him by name in a hearty tone, and inquiring how he had passed the night. So you see he would have been a very profound old man, indeed, to suspect that every night, just at twelve, I looked in upon him while he slept.
Upon the eighth night I was more than usually cautious in opening the door. A watch's minute hand moves more quickly than did mine. Never before that night had I felt the extent of my own powers, of my sagacity. I could scarcely contain my feelings of triumph. To think that there I was opening the door little by little, and he not even to dream of my secret deeds or thoughts. I fairly chuckled at the idea, and perhaps he heard me, for he moved on the bed suddenly as if startled. Now you may think that I drew back -- but no. His room was as black as pitch with the thick darkness (for the shutters were close fastened through fear of robbers), and so I knew that he could not see the opening of the door, and I kept pushing it on steadily, steadily.
I had my head in, and was about to open the lantern, when my thumb slipped upon the tin fastening , and the old man sprang up in the bed, crying out, "Who's there?"
I kept quite still and said nothing. For a whole hour I did not move a muscle, and in the meantime I did not hear him lie down. He was still sitting up in the bed, listening; just as I have done night after night hearkening to the death watches in the wall.
Presently, I heard a slight groan, and I knew it was the groan of mortal terror. It was not a groan of pain or of grief -- oh, no! It was the low stifled sound that arises from the bottom of the soul when overcharged with awe. I knew the sound well. Many a night, just at midnight, when all the world slept, it has welled up from my own bosom, deepening, with its dreadful echo, the terrors that distracted me. I say I knew it well. I knew what the old man felt, and pitied him although I chuckled at heart. I knew that he had been lying awake ever since the first slight noise when he had turned in the bed. His fears had been ever since growing upon him. He had been trying to fancy them causeless, but could not. He had been saying to himself, "It is nothing but the wind in the chimney, it is only a mouse crossing the floor," or, "It is merely a cricket which has made a single chirp." Yes he has been trying to comfort himself with these suppositions; but he had found all in vain. ALL IN VAIN, because Death in approaching him had stalked with his black shadow before him and enveloped the victim. And it was the mournful influence of the unperceived shadow that caused him to feel, although he neither saw nor heard, to feel the presence of my head within the room.
When I had waited a long time very patiently without hearing him lie down, I resolved to open a little -- a very, very little crevice in the lantern. So I opened it -- you cannot imagine how stealthily, stealthily -- until at length a single dim ray like the thread of the spider shot out from the crevice and fell upon the vulture eye.
It was open, wide, wide open, and I grew furious as I gazed upon it. I saw it with perfect distinctness -- all a dull blue with a hideous veil over it that chilled the very marrow in my bones, but I could see nothing else of the old man's face or person, for I had directed the ray as if by instinct precisely upon the damned spot.
And now have I not told you that what you mistake for madness is but over-acuteness of the senses? now, I say, there came to my ears a low, dull, quick sound, such as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I knew that sound well too. It was the beating of the old man's heart. It increased my fury as the beating of a drum stimulates the soldier into courage.
But even yet I refrained and kept still. I scarcely breathed. I held the lantern motionless. I tried how steadily I could maintain the ray upon the eye. Meantime the hellish tattoo of the heart increased. It grew quicker and quicker, and louder and louder, every instant. The old man's terror must have been extreme! It grew louder, I say, louder every moment! -- do you mark me well? I have told you that I am nervous: so I am. And now at the dead hour of the night, amid the dreadful silence of that old house, so strange a noise as this excited me to uncontrollable terror. Yet, for some minutes longer I refrained and stood still. But the beating grew louder, louder! I thought the heart must burst. And now a new anxiety seized me -- the sound would be heard by a neighbour! The old man's hour had come! With a loud yell, I threw open the lantern and leaped into the room. He shrieked once -- once only. In an instant I dragged him to the floor, and pulled the heavy bed over him. I then smiled gaily, to find the deed so far done. But for many minutes the heart beat on with a muffled sound. This, however, did not vex me; it would not be heard through the wall. At length it ceased. The old man was dead. I removed the bed and examined the corpse. Yes, he was stone, stone dead. I placed my hand upon the heart and held it there many minutes. There was no pulsation. He was stone dead. His eye would trouble me no more.
If still you think me mad, you will think so no longer when I describe the wise precautions I took for the concealment of the body. The night waned, and I worked hastily, but in silence.
I took up three planks from the flooring of the chamber, and deposited all between the scantlings. I then replaced the boards so cleverly so cunningly, that no human eye -- not even his -- could have detected anything wrong. There was nothing to wash out -- no stain of any kind -- no blood-spot whatever. I had been too wary for that.
When I had made an end of these labours, it was four o'clock -- still dark as midnight. As the bell sounded the hour, there came a knocking at the street door. I went down to open it with a light heart, -- for what had I now to fear? There entered three men, who introduced themselves, with perfect suavity, as officers of the police. A shriek had been heard by a neighbour during the night; suspicion of foul play had been aroused; information had been lodged at the police office, and they (the officers) had been deputed to search the premises.
I smiled, -- for what had I to fear? I bade the gentlemen welcome. The shriek, I said, was my own in a dream. The old man, I mentioned, was absent in the country. I took my visitors all over the house. I bade them search -- search well. I led them, at length, to his chamber. I showed them his treasures, secure, undisturbed. In the enthusiasm of my confidence, I brought chairs into the room, and desired them here to rest from their fatigues, while I myself, in the wild audacity of my perfect triumph, placed my own seat upon the very spot beneath which reposed the corpse of the victim.
The officers were satisfied. My MANNER had convinced them. I was singularly at ease. They sat and while I answered cheerily, they chatted of familiar things. But, ere long, I felt myself getting pale and wished them gone. My head ached, and I fancied a ringing in my ears; but still they sat, and still chatted. The ringing became more distinct: I talked more freely to get rid of the feeling: but it continued and gained definitiveness -- until, at length, I found that the noise was NOT within my ears.
No doubt I now grew VERY pale; but I talked more fluently, and with a heightened voice. Yet the sound increased -- and what could I do? It was A LOW, DULL, QUICK SOUND -- MUCH SUCH A SOUND AS A WATCH MAKES WHEN ENVELOPED IN COTTON. I gasped for breath, and yet the officers heard it not. I talked more quickly, more vehemently but the noise steadily increased. I arose and argued about trifles, in a high key and with violent gesticulations; but the noise steadily increased. Why WOULD they not be gone? I paced the floor to and fro with heavy strides, as if excited to fury by the observations of the men, but the noise steadily increased. O God! what COULD I do? I foamed -- I raved -- I swore! I swung the chair upon which I had been sitting, and grated it upon the boards, but the noise arose over all and continually increased. It grew louder -- louder -- louder! And still the men chatted pleasantly , and smiled. Was it possible they heard not? Almighty God! -- no, no? They heard! -- they suspected! -- they KNEW! -- they were making a mockery of my horror! -- this I thought, and this I think. But anything was better than this agony! Anything was more tolerable than this derision! I could bear those hypocritical smiles no longer! I felt that I must scream or die! -- and now -- again -- hark! louder! louder! louder! LOUDER! --
"Villains!" I shrieked, "dissemble no more! I admit the deed! -- tear up the planks! -- here, here! -- it is the beating of his hideous heart!"
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Friday Nov 05, 2010
Friday Nov 05, 2010
Master of mystery and the macabre, he may be one of America’s most famous writers. Well respected in France, his works were translated there by Charles Baudelaire. Married to his 13 year-old cousin, she died only seven years later, and “the death of a beautiful woman” became one of this writer’s frequent themes. Known best for his scary short stories and poems, who is this writer born January 19th, 1809 in Boston, Massachusetts?
We’ll find out in a moment on Biography Out Loud.
Edgar Allan Poe’s father abandoned his family, and Poe’s mother died a year later. Never formally adopted by the Allan’s, Poe and his foster father had a turbulent relationship. Poe signed with the U.S. Army as “Edgar A. Perry”, later deciding to try to end his enlistment early. Revealing his false identity, his commanding officer made Poe write to his foster father who later supported the discharge. Poe found someone to replace him in Army, and John Allan wrote in support of Poe enlisting in West Point. Edgar Allan Poe was also later discharged from there.
Though a struggling writer most of his life, “The Raven” made him famous overnight although he was only paid nine dollars for the poem. Known for “The Tell-Tale Heart”, “The Black Cat”, “Annabelle Lee” and “A Cask of Amontillado”, Poe was one of the first writer’s to attempt to make a living full-time from his work. Found disoriented and wandering the streets of Baltimore on October 3rd, 1849, Poe died four days later, only 40 years old.
One hundred years after his birth, cognac and three roses were left on his grave. The tradition carried on for more than 60 years. When the “Poe Toaster” didn’t appear in 2010, leading to speculation the person who has carried on this tradition may have died.
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Thursday Nov 04, 2010
Thursday Nov 04, 2010
Giving up or giving in?
When I try something new for a while,
It ends up with a frown or a smile.
I like it, I do it.
I hate it, I’m through it,
It’s a good thing I’m adjustibile.
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Thursday Nov 04, 2010
Thursday Nov 04, 2010
More than 15 years ago, my wife Debbie had bone cancer. After surgeries, hospitalization and chemotherapy, she was upbeat even when she lost her hair. Now it’s been 15 years, and she’s still here and kicking. I remember back to how brave she was to go to school and teach with a fanny pack hanging around her waist. It was pumping chemotherapy directly into her heart.
Very soon after Debbie's last chemo treatment we were given a week's vacation to Hawaii by her parents. The kids weren't very old, maybe 13 and 10, and Debbie was still very weak, but we were all excited for our first trip to Hawaii.
I think it was supposed to be a time for Debbie to rest, but who knows when we would ever get back again, so I kept her entertained and tired, and after it was over she had to return home to rest from her vacation.
We stayed on the island of Oahu the entire week visiting the Polynesian Cultural Center, the Dole Pineapple Plantation, the North Shore for shaved ice, and we even went twice to Hanauma Bay to snorkel. Debbie couldn't do much more than sit on the shore and soak up the sun, which is not such a bad thing in Hawaii.
She did try to go in the water once and feed the fish, but they mobbed her and she had to get out. I was just glad she was doing better, and it was fun for the family to have some time together.
I continued my usual introspection by discovering an ingrown hair on a very disturbing place which shall not be revealed at this time. Suffice it say that any man with an ingrown hair there would freak out just as I did. I didn't want to ruin the vacation by insisting on a visit to the hospital, and it didn't seem to be spreading or causing any disfiguration, so I decided to be manly about it and wait until we returned to the states.
For all I knew, I was the victim of a special kind of cancer that no one discussed and I had never heard of before. We had been dealing with cancer for over a year now, and I think it was natural that this thought came across my mind. I almost went crazy with anticipation wondering if I would live or die.
Dr. Wylie just laughed when I finally showed up in his office. He expected it to clear up with no residual effects, and he was correct. I continue to function normally, if you know what I mean.
The other event that confirms my lack of brain cells occurred on the east side of the island away from the crowds of Waikiki Beach, thank goodness.
It was a beautiful beach which we had almost entirely to ourselves, just past the blowhole and sort of by the Buddhist temple which we had visited previously. The koi were so thick at the Buddhist temple that there seemed to be no water in the stream.
But at this pristine beach there was what appeared to be a blob of blue bubble gum marring the sands. I was quite indignant that someone would be careless enough to spit out their gum on this wonderful beach, and my indignation led me to action. I bent over and picked up the gum.
It stung me.
I was puzzled, since I had never been stung by a wad of gum before. It was one of the strangest things I have ever experienced, and with my lack of brain cells, I did the only thing I could think of.
I picked it up again.
And it stung me again. This time I threw it to the ground, which meant I threw it on my calf, whereupon I was stung again.
I was completely dumbfounded. As I looked more closely at this wad of gum on the beach, I noticed a long thin string which extended into the ocean emanating from the blue blob. Slowly I realized I was looking at a blue jellyfish, and I think it was a Portuguese Man'O'War jellyfish. Which apparently extends parts of itself out to sting unsuspecting prey like me.
I was now hurting like I had been stung in three places by a giant bee. I commented on the stings to my wife who only laughed. She had been through so much worse, and I’ve injured myself so regularly she knows better than to pity me. Someone nearby must have heard what had happened and commented that urine usually took the pain out of the sting. I immediately went to the restrooms.
I haven't picked up blue bubble gum from the beach since, and I advise you to avoid it, too.
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Monday Nov 01, 2010
Monday Nov 01, 2010
This is the complete episode of Abundance "Friends" from Oct. 24th
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Saturday Oct 30, 2010
Saturday Oct 30, 2010
Friend or Foe?
The old wisdom says giving come and go,
But enemies accumulate, so
Sort them out carefully,
Pray and find prayerfully
Which is your friend and which is your foe.
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Saturday Oct 30, 2010
Saturday Oct 30, 2010
AUGUST 29, 1859
by Oliver Wendell Holmes
I REMEMBER--why, yes! God bless me! and was it so long ago?
I fear I'm growing forgetful, as old folks do, you know;
It must have been in 'forty--I would say 'thirty-nine--
We talked this matter over, I and a friend of mine.
He said, "Well now, old fellow, I'm thinking that you and I,
If we act like other people, shall be older by and by;
What though the bright blue ocean is smooth as a pond can be,
There is always a line of breakers to fringe the broadest sea.
"We're taking it mighty easy, but that is nothing strange,
For up to the age of thirty we spend our years like Change;
But creeping up towards the forties, as fast as the old years fill,
And Time steps in for payment, we seem to change a bill."
"I know it," I said, "old fellow; you speak the solemn truth;
A man can't live to a hundred and likewise keep his youth;
But what if the ten years coming shall silver-streak my hair,
You know I shall then be forty; of course I shall not care.
"At forty a man grows heavy and tired of fun and noise;
Leaves dress to the five-and-twenties and love to the silly boys;
No foppish tricks at forty, no pinching of waists and toes,
But high-low shoes and flannels and good thick worsted hose."
But one fine August morning I found myself awake
My birthday:--By Jove, I'm forty! Yes, forty, and no mistake!
Why, this is the very milestone, I think I used to hold,
That when a fellow had come to, a fellow would then be old!
But that is the young folks' nonsense; they're full of their
foolish stuff;
A man's in his prime at forty,--I see that plain enough;
At fifty a man is wrinkled, and may be bald or gray;
I call men old at fifty, in spite of all they say.
At last comes another August with mist and rain and shine;
Its mornings are slowly counted and creep to twenty-nine,
And when on the western summits the fading light appears,
It touches with rosy fingers the last of my fifty years.
There have been both men and women whose hearts were firm and bold,
But there never was one of fifty that loved to say "I'm old";
So any elderly person that strives to shirk his years,
Make him stand up at a table and try him by his peers.
Now here I stand at fifty, my jury gathered round;
Sprinkled with dust of silver, but not yet silver-crowned,
Ready to meet your verdict, waiting to hear it told;
Guilty of fifty summers; speak! Is the verdict “old”?
No! Say that his hearing fails him; say that his sight grows dim;
Say that he's getting wrinkled and weak in back and limb,
Losing his wits and temper, but pleading, to make amends,
The youth of his fifty summers he finds in his twenty friends.
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Friday Oct 29, 2010
Friday Oct 29, 2010
The Diamond Necklace
by Guy De Maupassant
The girl was one of those pretty and charming young creatures who sometimes are born, as if by a slip of fate, into a family of clerks. She had no dowry, no expectations, no way of being known, understood, loved, married by any rich and distinguished man; so she let herself be married to a little clerk of the Ministry of Public Instruction.
She dressed plainly because she could not dress well, but she was unhappy as if she had really fallen from a higher station; since with women there is neither caste nor rank, for beauty, grace and charm take the place of family and birth. Natural ingenuity, instinct for what is elegant, a supple mind are their sole hierarchy, and often make of women of the people the equals of the very greatest ladies.
Mathilde suffered ceaselessly, feeling herself born to enjoy all delicacies and all luxuries. She was distressed at the poverty of her dwelling, at the bareness of the walls, at the shabby chairs, the ugliness of the curtains. All those things, of which another woman of her rank would never even have been conscious, tortured her and made her angry. The sight of the little Breton peasant who did her humble housework aroused in her despairing regrets and bewildering dreams. She thought of silent antechambers hung with Oriental tapestry, illumined by tall bronze candelabra, and of two great footmen in knee breeches who sleep in the big armchairs, made drowsy by the oppressive heat of the stove. She thought of long reception halls hung with ancient silk, of the dainty cabinets containing priceless curiosities and of the little coquettish perfumed reception rooms made for chatting at five o'clock with intimate friends, with men famous and sought after, whom all women envy and whose attention they all desire.
When she sat down to dinner, before the round table covered with a tablecloth in use three days, opposite her husband, who uncovered the soup tureen and declared with a delighted air, "Ah, the good soup! I don't know anything better than that," she thought of dainty dinners, of shining silverware, of tapestry that peopled the walls with ancient personages and with strange birds flying in the midst of a fairy forest; and she thought of delicious dishes served on marvelous plates and of the whispered gallantries to which you listen with a sphinx-like smile while you are eating the pink meat of a trout or the wings of a quail.
She had no gowns, no jewels, nothing. And she loved nothing but that. She felt made for that. She would have liked so much to please, to be envied, to be charming, to be sought after.
She had a friend, a former schoolmate at the convent, who was rich, and whom she did not like to go to see any more because she felt so sad when she came home.
But one evening her husband reached home with a triumphant air and holding a large envelope in his hand.
"There," said he, "there is something for you."
She tore the paper quickly and drew out a printed card which bore these words:
The Minister of Public Instruction and Madame Georges Ramponneau request the honor of M. and Madame Loisel's company at the palace of the Ministry on Monday evening, January 18th.
Instead of being delighted, as her husband had hoped, she threw the invitation on the table crossly, muttering:
"What do you wish me to do with that?"
"Why, my dear, I thought you would be glad. You never go out, and this is such a fine opportunity. I had great trouble to get it. Everyone wants to go; it is very select, and they are not giving many invitations to clerks. The whole official world will be there."
She looked at him with an irritated glance and said impatiently:
"And what do you wish me to put on my back?"
He had not thought of that. He stammered:
"Why, the gown you go to the theatre in. It looks very well to me."
He stopped, distracted, seeing that his wife was weeping. Two great tears ran slowly from the corners of her eyes toward the corners of her mouth.
"What's the matter? What's the matter?" he answered.
By a violent effort she conquered her grief and replied in a calm voice, while she wiped her wet cheeks:
"Nothing. Only I have no gown, and, therefore, I can't go to this ball. Give your card to some colleague whose wife is better equipped than I am."
He was in despair. He resumed:
"Come, let us see, Mathilde. How much would it cost, a suitable gown, which you could use on other occasions--something very simple?"
She reflected several seconds, making her calculations and wondering also what sum she could ask without drawing on herself an immediate refusal and a frightened exclamation from the economical clerk.
Finally she replied hesitating:
"I don't know exactly, but I think I could manage it with four hundred francs."
He grew a little pale, because he was laying aside just that amount to buy a gun and treat himself to a little shooting next summer on the plain of Nanterre, with several friends who went to shoot larks there of a Sunday.
But he said:
"Very well. I will give you four hundred francs. And try to have a pretty gown."
The day of the ball drew near and Madame Loisel seemed sad, uneasy, anxious. Her frock was ready, however. Her husband said to her one evening:
"What is the matter? Come, you have seemed very queer these last three days."
And she answered:
"It annoys me not to have a single piece of jewelry, not a single ornament, nothing to put on. I shall look poverty-stricken. I would almost rather not go at all."
"You might wear natural flowers," said her husband. "They're very stylish at this time of year. For ten francs you can get two or three magnificent roses."
She was not convinced.
"No; there's nothing more humiliating than to look poor among other women who are rich."
"How stupid you are!" her husband cried. "Go look up your friend, Madame Forestier, and ask her to lend you some jewels. You're intimate enough with her to do that."
She uttered a cry of joy:
"True! I never thought of it."
The next day she went to her friend and told her of her distress.
Madame Forestier went to a wardrobe with a mirror, took out a large jewel box, brought it back, opened it and said to Madame Loisel:
"Choose, my dear."
She saw first some bracelets, then a pearl necklace, then a Venetian gold cross set with precious stones, of admirable workmanship. She tried on the ornaments before the mirror, hesitated and could not make up her mind to part with them, to give them back. She kept asking:
"Haven't you any more?"
"Why, yes. Look further; I don't know what you like."
Suddenly she discovered, in a black satin box, a superb diamond necklace, and her heart throbbed with an immoderate desire. Her hands trembled as she took it. She fastened it round her throat, outside her high-necked waist, and was lost in ecstasy at her reflection in the mirror.
Then she asked, hesitating, filled with anxious doubt:
"Will you lend me this, only this?"
"Why, yes, certainly."
She threw her arms round her friend's neck, kissed her passionately, then fled with her treasure.
The night of the ball arrived. Madame Loisel was a great success. She was prettier than any other woman present, elegant, graceful, smiling and wild with joy. All the men looked at her, asked her name, sought to be introduced. All the attaches of the Cabinet wished to waltz with her. She was remarked by the minister himself.
She danced with rapture, with passion, intoxicated by pleasure, forgetting all in the triumph of her beauty, in the glory of her success, in a sort of cloud of happiness comprised of all this homage, admiration, these awakened desires and of that sense of triumph which is so sweet to woman's heart.
She left the ball about four o'clock in the morning. Her husband had been sleeping since midnight in a little deserted anteroom with three other gentlemen whose wives were enjoying the ball.
He threw over her shoulders the wraps he had brought, the modest wraps of common life, the poverty of which contrasted with the elegance of the ball dress. She felt this and wished to escape so as not to be remarked by the other women, who were enveloping themselves in costly furs.
Loisel held her back, saying: "Wait a bit. You will catch cold outside. I will call a cab."
But she did not listen to him and rapidly descended the stairs. When they reached the street they could not find a carriage and began to look for one, shouting after the cabmen passing at a distance.
They went toward the Seine in despair, shivering with cold. At last they found on the quay one of those ancient night cabs which, as though they were ashamed to show their shabbiness during the day, are never seen round Paris until after dark.
It took them to their dwelling in the Rue des Martyrs, and sadly they mounted the stairs to their flat. All was ended for her. As to him, he reflected that he must be at the ministry at ten o'clock that morning.
She removed her wraps before the glass so as to see herself once more in all her glory. But suddenly she uttered a cry. She no longer had the necklace around her neck!
"What is the matter with you?" demanded her husband, already half undressed.
She turned distractedly toward him.
"I have--I have--I've lost Madame Forestier's necklace," she cried.
He stood up, bewildered.
"What!--how? Impossible!"
They looked among the folds of her skirt, of her cloak, in her pockets, everywhere, but did not find it.
"You're sure you had it on when you left the ball?" he asked.
"Yes, I felt it in the vestibule of the minister's house."
"But if you had lost it in the street we should have heard it fall. It must be in the cab."
"Yes, probably. Did you take his number?"
"No. And you--didn't you notice it?"
"No."
They looked, thunderstruck, at each other. At last Loisel put on his clothes.
"I shall go back on foot," said he, "over the whole route, to see whether I can find it."
He went out. She sat waiting on a chair in her ball dress, without strength to go to bed, overwhelmed, without any fire, without a thought.
Her husband returned about seven o'clock. He had found nothing.
He went to police headquarters, to the newspaper offices to offer a reward; he went to the cab companies--everywhere, in fact, whither he was urged by the least spark of hope.
She waited all day, in the same condition of mad fear before this terrible calamity.
Loisel returned at night with a hollow, pale face. He had discovered nothing.
"You must write to your friend," said he, "that you have broken the clasp of her necklace and that you are having it mended. That will give us time to turn round."
She wrote at his dictation.
At the end of a week they had lost all hope. Loisel, who had aged five years, declared:
"We must consider how to replace that ornament."
The next day they took the box that had contained it and went to the jeweler whose name was found within. He consulted his books.
"It was not I, madame, who sold that necklace; I must simply have furnished the case."
Then they went from jeweler to jeweler, searching for a necklace like the other, trying to recall it, both sick with chagrin and grief.
They found, in a shop at the Palais Royal, a string of diamonds that seemed to them exactly like the one they had lost. It was worth forty thousand francs. They could have it for thirty-six.
So they begged the jeweler not to sell it for three days yet. And they made a bargain that he should buy it back for thirty-four thousand francs, in case they should find the lost necklace before the end of February.
Loisel possessed eighteen thousand francs which his father had left him. He would borrow the rest.
He did borrow, asking a thousand francs of one, five hundred of another, five louis here, three louis there. He gave notes, took up ruinous obligations, dealt with usurers and all the race of lenders. He compromised all the rest of his life, risked signing a note without even knowing whether he could meet it; and, frightened by the trouble yet to come, by the black misery that was about to fall upon him, by the prospect of all the physical privations and moral tortures that he was to suffer, he went to get the new necklace, laying upon the jeweler's counter thirty-six thousand francs.
When Madame Loisel took back the necklace Madame Forestier said to her with a chilly manner:
"You should have returned it sooner; I might have needed it."
She did not open the case, as her friend had so much feared. If she had detected the substitution, what would she have thought, what would she have said? Would she not have taken Madame Loisel for a thief?
Thereafter Madame Loisel knew the horrible existence of the needy. She bore her part, however, with sudden heroism. That dreadful debt must be paid. She would pay it. They dismissed their servant; they changed their lodgings; they rented a garret under the roof.
She came to know what heavy housework meant and the odious cares of the kitchen. She washed the dishes, using her dainty fingers and rosy nails on greasy pots and pans. She washed the soiled linen, the shirts and the dishcloths, which she dried upon a line; she carried the slops down to the street every morning and carried up the water, stopping for breath at every landing. And dressed like a woman of the people, she went to the fruiterer, the grocer, the butcher, a basket on her arm, bargaining, meeting with impertinence, defending her miserable money, sou by sou.
Every month they had to meet some notes, renew others, obtain more time.
Her husband worked evenings, making up a tradesman's accounts, and late at night he often copied manuscript for five sous a page.
This life lasted ten years.
At the end of ten years they had paid everything, everything, with the rates of usury and the accumulations of the compound interest.
Madame Loisel looked old now. She had become the woman of impoverished households--strong and hard and rough. With frowsy hair, skirts askew and red hands, she talked loud while washing the floor with great swishes of water. But sometimes, when her husband was at the office, she sat down near the window and she thought of that gay evening of long ago, of that ball where she had been so beautiful and so admired.
What would have happened if she had not lost that necklace? Who knows? Who knows? How strange and changeful is life! How small a thing is needed to make or ruin us!
But one Sunday, having gone to take a walk in the Champs Elysees to refresh herself after the labors of the week, she suddenly perceived a woman who was leading a child. It was Madame Forestier, still young, still beautiful, still charming.
Madame Loisel felt moved. Should she speak to her? Yes, certainly. And now that she had paid, she would tell her all about it. Why not?
She went up.
"Good-day, Jeanne."
The other, astonished to be familiarly addressed by this plain good-wife, did not recognize her at all and stammered:
"But--madame!--I do not know--You must have mistaken."
"No. I am Mathilde Loisel."
Her friend uttered a cry.
"Oh, my poor Mathilde! How you are changed!"
"Yes, I have had a pretty hard life, since I last saw you, and great poverty--and that because of you!"
"Of me! How so?"
"Do you remember that diamond necklace you lent me to wear at the ministerial ball?"
"Yes. Well?"
"Well, I lost it."
"What do you mean? You brought it back."
"I brought you back another exactly like it. And it has taken us ten years to pay for it. You can understand that it was not easy for us, for us who had nothing. At last it is ended, and I am very glad."
Madame Forestier had stopped.
"You say that you bought a necklace of diamonds to replace mine?"
"Yes. You never noticed it, then! They were very similar."
And she smiled with a joy that was at once proud and ingenuous.
Madame Forestier, deeply moved, took her hands.
"Oh, my poor Mathilde! Why, my necklace was paste! It was worth at most only five hundred francs!"
LITERATURE OUT LOUD
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Tuesday Oct 26, 2010
Tuesday Oct 26, 2010
An audio version of this episode is available below.
Born on August 5th, 1850, he once said, “I entered literary life as a meteor, and I shall leave it like a thunderbolt.” One of many French people who despised the Eiffel Tower, he would often eat at the restaurant at its base to avoid having to see the structure. Who is this outspoken author who has been called one of the fathers of the modern short story? We’ll find out in a moment on Biography Out Loud.
Biography Out Loud
Guy de Maupassant
Guy de Maupassant and forty-six other notable French authors and artists wrote a letter to the Minister of Public Works protesting the construction of the Eiffel Tower. An influential writer, Maupassant is credited with inspiring the works of several authors including O. Henry, Somerset Maugham and Henry James. When he was eighteen, he saved the poet Algernon Charles Swinburne from drowning, and was passionate about boating. He served as a Naval clerk in the Franco-Prussian War for ten years. Flaubert was a great influence on Guy de Maupassant, guiding him in his efforts in writing. Maupassant became very popular with multiple reprinting of his short stories and novels. He knew Alexander Dumas, Turgenev and Zola. Maupassant once said, “It is the encounters with people that make life worth living.”
He desired more and more solitude in his advancing years, fearing death and feeling persecuted. He tried to commit suicide but was placed in a private asylum where he died on July 6th, 1893. Writing his own epitaph, he said, “I have coveted everything and taken pleasure in nothing."
In his short story, “A Wife’s Confession”, Guy de Maupassant says, “A legal kiss is never as good as a stolen one.”
LITERATURE OUT LOUD
Click here for a complete INDEX
LITERATURE OUT LOUD -- see and hear great literature Audio narrations with synchronized visual text
The Complete Collection of
SHAKESPEARE'S SONNETS
all 154 poems $3.99 DVD with FREE shipping
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Tuesday Oct 26, 2010
Tuesday Oct 26, 2010
Rules of Engagement
Friends
Brett was probably a better friend than I was. We did a lot of fun stuff together in high school, but I knew he had one weakness. I exploited it shamelessly and often. But it was really, really hard to resist, and I’m not known for my strong will when it comes to humor, especially at the expense of my fellow man. Will Rogers said it this way, “Everything is funny when it happens to someone else.”
So some background explanation will be necessary here. Brett was a kind of new kid at the high school, having gone to another junior high school. I was really only an established kid because I had moved in a year before. So as two newer kids we found each other as friends.
But I learned Brett had been hit by a car when he was in junior high. He said he was hit hard enough to fly 50 feet through the air. I don’t think there was any permanent damage, but when you have flown through the air after a collision with a car, there will always be some psychological scars.
Like when you get ready to cross the street.
The first few times Brett looked both ways about nine times I thought he was just being extra careful. But when I finally asked him about it, he told me about the accident. I felt bad that he had suffered such a trauma, but I should have warned him to be careful what he shared with me. I like to laugh, and sometimes, well, most times it’s at the expense of others.
It may explain why we tell Helen Keller jokes. We aren’t blind and deaf, but we also didn’t start a university and tour the world as one of the most famous people ever. Helen Keller overcame so much it makes many of us feel like slackers, and complaining about our aches and pains makes us seem like whiners. Did you know Helen Keller had an incredible playhouse in her backyard? Neither did she.
See what I mean? I’m trying to praise one of the great women the world has ever been blessed with, and I resort to cheap jokes. No more Helen Keller jokes.
But it was more than I could resist to not take advantage of this incredible opportunity every time we crossed the street. I even got to know the routine so well I could tell just before he was about to cross the street.
Which was when I usually reached over and jabbed him in the side and yelled “Boo!”.
He always jumped, and I always laughed. He laughed a little, too. But he probably didn’t think it was funny. It didn’t stop me from doing it whenever I had the chance.
Sometimes I’m not the best of friends.
You already know about my friend who squirted milk and then soda through his nose. But the really bad thing is I haven’t kept in touch with these high school friends since then. I went off to college, Brett went off to the service, and everyone else scattered the way we all do after high school.
But it hasn’t kept me from making new friends I turn out neglecting later. It’s like the friends I made when I lived in California for a couple of years. When they visited me in Utah later, we decided to run a 5K road race together. It was the beginning of my love of running, and has resulted in my running four marathons; very slowly. But that was the end of the contacts. I probably saw those friends once more since then, and that’s been 30 years.
A similar thing happens with actors. When the cast is together, there is a true camaraderie which makes everyone to stay in touch forever, but then when the show is over, nearly every actor moves on to the next show and the next group of true friends. I’ve been in so many plays, movies and commercials that when I see a familiar face we usually have to go through a list until we find out what we did together before.
These stages we go through might be normal, and passing from one cadre of friends to another may be the way we deal with change. We fall asleep each night and wake to what we think is the same world we were dealing with yesterday. But today is a word that carries change, and as we live each day, we encounter the new, the exciting, the disappointments and a kaleidoscope of difference. We feel the same, but while we slept, we have also changed.
Maybe one day I’ll change into a better friend. But as they say, never try to change a man unless he is in diapers.
LITERATURE OUT LOUD
Click here for a complete INDEX
LITERATURE OUT LOUD -- see and hear great literature Audio narrations with synchronized visual text
The Complete Collection of
SHAKESPEARE'S SONNETS
all 154 poems $3.99 DVD with FREE shipping
Essential Oils -- create your own business -- click on the logo to begin