Short Stories: The Inn by Guy de Maupassant 1/9/12 10:54 PM

Guy de Maupassant

The Inn

Resembling in appearance all the wooden hostelries of the High

Alps situated at the foot of glaciers in the barren rocky gorges that
intersect the summits of the mountains, the Inn of Schwarenbach
serves as a resting place for travellers crossing the Gemini Pass.
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It remains open for six months in the year and is inhabited by
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the family of Jean Hauser; then, as soon as the snow begins to fall
- printable version and to fill the valley so as to make the road down to Loeche
impassable, the father and his three sons go away and leave the
- iphone app house in charge of the old guide, Gaspard Hari, with the young
guide, Ulrich Kunsi, and Sam, the great mountain dog.
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- more stories by this author The two men and the dog remain till the spring in their snowy
prison, with nothing before their eyes except the immense white
- mark story for later slopes of the Balmhorn, surrounded by light, glistening summits,
and are shut in, blocked up and buried by the snow which rises
around them and which envelops, binds and crushes the little
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house, which lies piled on the roof, covering the windows and
blocking up the door.

It was the day on which the Hauser family were going to return
to Loeche, as winter was approaching, and the descent was
becoming dangerous. Three mules started first, laden with baggage
and led by the three sons. Then the mother, Jeanne Hauser, and
her daughter Louise mounted a fourth mule and set off in their turn
and the father followed them, accompanied by the two men in
charge, who were to escort the family as far as the brow of the
descent. First of all they passed round the small lake, which was
now frozen over, at the bottom of the mass of rocks which
stretched in front of the inn, and then they followed the valley,
which was dominated on all sides by the snow-covered summits.

A ray of sunlight fell into that little white, glistening, frozen

desert and illuminated it with a cold and dazzling flame. No living
thing appeared among this ocean of mountains. There was no
motion in this immeasurable solitude and no noise disturbed the
profound silence.

< 2 >

By degrees the young guide, Ulrich Kunsi, a tall, long-legged

Swiss, left old man Hauser and old Gaspard behind, in order to
catch up the mule which bore the two women. The younger one
looked at him as he approached and appeared to be calling him
with her sad eyes. She was a young, fairhaired little peasant girl,
whose milk-white cheeks and pale hair looked as if they had lost
their color by their long abode amid the ice. When he had got up to

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Short Stories: The Inn by Guy de Maupassant 1/9/12 10:54 PM

their color by their long abode amid the ice. When he had got up to
the animal she was riding he put his hand on the crupper and
relaxed his speed. Mother Hauser began to talk to him,
enumerating with the minutest details all that he would have to
attend to during the winter. It was the first time that he was going
to stay up there, while old Hari had already spent fourteen winters
amid the snow, at the inn of Schwarenbach.

Ulrich Kunsi listened, without appearing to understand and

looked incessantly at the girl. From time to time he replied: "Yes,
Madame Hauser," but his thoughts seemed far away and his calm
features remained unmoved.

They reached Lake Daube, whose broad, frozen surface

extended to the end of the valley. On the right one saw the black,
pointed, rocky summits of the Daubenhorn beside the enormous
moraines of the Lommern glacier, above which rose the
Wildstrubel. As they approached the Gemmi pass, where the
descent of Loeche begins, they suddenly beheld the immense
horizon of the Alps of the Valais, from which the broad, deep valley
of the Rhone separated them.

In the distance there was a group of white, unequal, flat, or

pointed mountain summits, which glistened in the sun; the
Mischabel with its two peaks, the huge group of the Weisshorn, the
heavy Brunegghorn, the lofty and formidable pyramid of Mount
Cervin, that slayer of men, and the Dent- Blanche, that monstrous
coquette.

Then beneath them, in a tremendous hole, at the bottom of a

terrific abyss, they perceived Loeche, where houses looked as
grains of sand which had been thrown into that enormous crevice
that is ended and closed by the Gemmi and which opens, down
below, on the Rhone.

< 3 >

The mule stopped at the edge of the path, which winds and
turns continually, doubling backward, then, fantastically and
strangely, along the side of the mountain as far as the almost
invisible little village at its feet. The women jumped into the snow
and the two old men joined them. "Well," father Hauser said,
"good-by, and keep up your spirits till next year, my friends," and
old Hari replied: "Till next year."

They embraced each other and then Madame Hauser in her turn
offered her cheek, and the girl did the same.

When Ulrich Kunsi's turn came, he whispered in Louise's ear,

"Do not forget those up yonder," and she replied, "No," in such a
low voice that he guessed what she had said without hearing it.
"Well, adieu," Jean Hauser repeated, "and don't fall ill." And going
before the two women, he commenced the descent, and soon all
three disappeared at the first turn in the road, while the two men
returned to the inn at Schwarenbach.

They walked slowly, side by side, without speaking. It was over,

and they would be alone together for four or five months. Then
Gaspard Hari began to relate his life last winter. He had remained
with Michael Canol, who was too old now to stand it, for an
accident might happen during that long solitude. They had not
been dull, however; the only thing was to make up one's mind to it
from the first, and in the end one would find plenty of distraction,
games and other means of whiling away the time.

Ulrich Kunsi listened to him with his eyes on the ground, for in

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Ulrich Kunsi listened to him with his eyes on the ground, for in
his thoughts he was following those who were descending to the
village. They soon came in sight of the inn, which was, however,
scarcely visible, so small did it look, a black speck at the foot of
that enormous billow of snow, and when they opened the door
Sam, the great curly dog, began to romp round them.

"Come, my boy," old Gaspard said, "we have no women now,

so we must get our own dinner ready. Go and peel the potatoes."
And they both sat down on wooden stools and began to prepare
the soup.

< 4 >

The next morning seemed very long to Kunsi. Old Hari smoked
and spat on the hearth, while the young man looked out of the
window at the snow- covered mountain opposite the house.

In the afternoon he went out, and going over yesterday's

ground again, he looked for the traces of the mule that had carried
the two women. Then when he had reached the Gemmi Pass, he
laid himself down on his stomach and looked at Loeche.

The village, in its rocky pit, was not yet buried under the snow,
from which it was sheltered by the pine woods which protected it
on all sides. Its low houses looked like paving stones in a large
meadow from above. Hauser's little daughter was there now in one
of those gray-colored houses. In which? Ulrich Kunsi was too far
away to be able to make them out separately. How he would have
liked to go down while he was yet able!

But the sun had disappeared behind the lofty crest of the
Wildstrubel and the young man returned to the chalet. Daddy Hari
was smoking, and when he saw his mate come in he proposed a
game of cards to him, and they sat down opposite each other, on
either side of the table. They played for a long time a simple game
called brisque and then they had supper and went to bed.

The following days were like the first, bright and cold, without
any fresh snow. Old Gaspard spent his afternoons in watching the
eagles and other rare birds which ventured on those frozen
heights, while Ulrich returned regularly to the Gemmi Pass to look
at the village. Then they played cards, dice or dominoes and lost
and won a trifle, just to create an interest in the game.

One morning Hari, who was up first, called his companion. A

moving, deep and light cloud of white spray was falling on them
noiselessly and was by degrees burying them under a thick, heavy
coverlet of foam. That lasted four days and four nights. It was
necessary to free the door and the windows, to dig out a passage
and to cut steps to get over this frozen powder, which a twelve
hours' frost had made as hard as the granite of the moraines.

< 5 >

They lived like prisoners and did not venture outside their
abode. They had divided their duties, which they performed
regularly. Ulrich Kunsi undertook the scouring, washing and
everything that belonged to cleanliness. He also chopped up the
wood while Gaspard Hari did the cooking and attended to the fire.
Their regular and monotonous work was interrupted by long games
at cards or dice, and they never quarrelled, but were always calm
and placid. They were never seen impatient or ill- humored, nor did
they ever use hard words, for they had laid in a stock of patience
for their wintering on the top of the mountain.

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Sometimes old Gaspard took his rifle and went after chamois,
and occasionally he killed one. Then there was a feast in the inn at
Schwarenbach and they revelled in fresh meat. One morning he

went out as usual. The thermometer outside marked eighteen

degrees of frost, and as the sun had not yet risen, the hunter
hoped to surprise the animals at the approaches to the Wildstrubel,
and Ulrich, being alone, remained in bed until ten o'clock. He was
of a sleepy nature, but he would not have dared to give way like
that to his inclination in the presence of the old guide, who was
ever an early riser. He breakfasted leisurely with Sam, who also
spent his days and nights in sleeping in front of the fire; then he
felt low-spirited and even frightened at the solitude, and was-
seized by a longing for his daily game of cards, as one is by the
craving of a confirmed habit, and so he went out to meet his
companion, who was to return at four o'clock.

The snow had levelled the whole deep valley, filled up the
crevasses, obliterated all signs of the two lakes and covered the
rocks, so that between the high summits there was nothing but an
immense, white, regular, dazzling and frozen surface. For three
weeks Ulrich had not been to the edge of the precipice from which
he had looked down on the village, and he wanted to go there
before climbing the slopes which led to Wildstrubel. Loeche was
now also covered by the snow and the houses could scarcely be
distinguished, covered as they were by that white cloak.

< 6 >

Then, turning to the right, he reached the Loemmern glacier.

He went along with a mountaineer's long strides, striking the snow,
which was as hard as a rock, with his ironpointed stick, and with
his piercing eyes he looked for the little black, moving speck in the
distance, on that enormous, white expanse.

When he reached the end of the glacier he stopped and asked

himself whether the old man had taken that road, and then he
began to walk along the moraines with rapid and uneasy steps. The
day was declining, the snow was assuming a rosy tint, and a dry,
frozen wind blew in rough gusts over its crystal surface. Ulrich
uttered a long, shrill, vibrating call. His voice sped through the
deathlike silence in which the mountains were sleeping; it reached
the distance, across profound and motionless waves of glacial
foam, like the cry of a bird across the waves of the sea. Then it
died away and nothing answered him.

He began to walk again. The sun had sunk yonder behind the
mountain tops, which were still purple with the reflection from the
sky, but the depths of the valley were becoming gray, and
suddenly the young man felt frightened. It seemed to him as if the
silence, the cold, the solitude, the winter death of these mountains
were taking possession of him, were going to stop and to freeze his
blood, to make his limbs grow stiff and to turn him into a
motionless and frozen object, and he set off running, fleeing
toward his dwelling. The old man, he thought, would have returned
during his absence. He had taken another road; he would, no
doubt, be sitting before the fire, with a dead chamois at his feet.
He soon came in sight of the inn, but no smoke rose from it. Ulrich
walked faster and opened the door. Sam ran up to him to greet
him, but Gaspard Hari had not returned. Kunsi, in his alarm, turned
round suddenly, as if he had expected to find his comrade hidden
in a corner. Then he relighted the fire and made the soup, hoping
every moment to see the old man come in. From time to time he
went out to see if he were not coming. It was quite night now, that
wan, livid night of the mountains, lighted by a thin, yellow crescent
moon, just disappearing behind the mountain tops.
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moon, just disappearing behind the mountain tops.

< 7 >

Then the young man went in and sat down to warm his hands
and feet, while he pictured to himself every possible accident.
Gaspard might have broken a leg, have fallen into a crevasse,
taken a false step and dislocated his ankle. And, perhaps, he was
lying on the snow, overcome and stiff with the cold, in agony of
mind, lost and, perhaps, shouting for help, calling with all his might
in the silence of the night.. But where? The mountain was so vast,
so rugged, so dangerous in places, especially at that time of the
year, that it would have required ten or twenty guides to walk for a
week in all directions to find a man in that immense space. Ulrich
Kunsi, however, made up his mind to set out with Sam if Gaspard
did not return by one in the morning, and he made his
preparations.

He put provisions for two days into a bag, took his steel
climbing iron, tied a long, thin, strong rope round his waist, and
looked to see that his ironshod stick and his axe, which served to
cut steps in the ice, were in order. Then he waited. The fire was
burning on the hearth, the great dog was snoring in front of it, and
the clock was ticking, as regularly as a heart beating, in its
resounding wooden case. He waited, with his ears on the alert for
distant sounds, and he shivered when the wind blew against the
roof and the walls. It struck twelve and he trembled: Then,
frightened and shivering, he put some water on the fire, so that he
might have some hot coffee before starting, and when the clock
struck one he got up, woke Sam, opened the door and went off in
the direction of the Wildstrubel. For five hours he mounted, scaling
the rocks by means of his climbing irons, cutting into the ice,
advancing continually, and occasionally hauling up the dog, who
remained below at the foot of some slope that was too steep for
him, by means of the rope. It was about six o'clock when he
reached one of the summits to which old Gaspard often came after
chamois, and he waited till it should be daylight.

< 8 >

The sky was growing pale overhead, and a strange light,

springing nobody could tell whence, suddenly illuminated the
immense ocean of pale mountain summits, which extended for a
hundred leagues around him. One might have said that this vague
brightness arose from the snow itself and spread abroad in space.
By degrees the highest distant summits assumed a delicate, pink
flesh color, and the red sun appeared behind the ponderous giants
of the Bernese Alps.

Ulrich Kunsi set off again, walking like a hunter, bent over,
looking for tracks, and saying to his dog: "Seek, old fellow, seek!"

He was descending the mountain now, scanning the depths

closely, and from time to time shouting, uttering aloud, prolonged
cry, which soon died away in that silent vastness. Then he put his
ear to the ground to listen. He thought he could distinguish a voice,
and he began to run and shouted again, but he heard nothing more
and sat down, exhausted and in despair. Toward midday he
breakfasted and gave Sam, who was as tired as himself, something
to eat also, and then he recommenced his search.

When evening came he was still walking, and he had walked

more than thirty miles over the mountains. As he was too far away
to return home and too tired to drag himself along any further, he
dug a hole in the snow and crouched in it with his dog under a

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dug a hole in the snow and crouched in it with his dog under a
blanket which he had brought with him. And the man and the dog
lay side by side, trying to keep warm, but frozen to the marrow
nevertheless. Ulrich scarcely slept, his mind haunted by visions and
his limbs shaking with cold.

Day was breaking when he got up. His legs were as stiff as iron
bars and his spirits so low that he was ready to cry with anguish,
while his heart was beating so that he almost fell over with
agitation, when he thought he heard a noise.

Suddenly he imagined that he also was going to die of cold in

the midst of this vast solitude, and the terror of such a death
roused his energies and gave him renewed vigor. He was
descending toward the inn, falling down and getting up again, and
followed at a distance by Sam, who was limping on three legs, and
they did not reach Schwarenbach until four o'clock in the
afternoon. The house was empty and the young man made a fire,
had something to eat and went to sleep, so worn out that he did
not think of anything more.

< 9 >

He slept for a long time, for a very long time, an irresistible

sleep. But suddenly a voice, a cry, a name, "Ulrich!" aroused him
from his profound torpor and made him sit up in bed. Had he been
dreaming? Was it one of those strange appeals which cross the
dreams of disquieted minds? No, he heard it still, that
reverberating cry-which had entered his ears and remained in his
flesh-to the tips of his sinewy fingers. Certainly somebody had
cried out and called "Ulrich!" There was somebody there near the
house, there could be no doubt of that, and he opened the door
and shouted, "Is it you, Gaspard?" with all the strength of his
lungs. But there was no reply, no murmur, no groan, nothing. It
was quite dark and the snow looked wan.

The wind had risen, that icy wind that cracks the rocks and
leaves nothing alive on those deserted heights, and it came in
sudden gusts, which were more parching and more deadly than the
burning wind of the desert, and again Ulrich shouted: "Gaspard!
Gaspard! Gaspard." And then he waited again. Everything was
silent on the mountain.

Then he shook with terror and with a bound he was inside the
inn, when he shut and bolted the door, and then he fell into a chair
trembling all over, for he felt certain that his comrade had called
him at the moment he was expiring.

He was sure of that, as sure as one is of being alive or of eating

a piece of bread. Old Gaspard Hari had been dying for two days
and three nights somewhere, in some hole, in one of those deep,
untrodden ravines whose whiteness is more sinister than
subterranean darkness. He had been dying for two days and three
nights and be had just then died, thinking of his comrade. His soul,
almost before it was released, had taken its flight to the inn where
Ulrich was sleeping, and it had called him by that terrible and
mysterious power which the spirits of the dead have to haunt the
living. That voiceless soul had cried to the worn-out soul of the
sleeper; it had uttered its last farewell, or its reproach, or its curse
on the man who had not searched carefully enough.

< 10 >

And Ulrich felt that it was there, quite close to him, behind the
wall, behind the door which be had just fastened. It was wandering
about, like a night bird which lightly touches a lighted window with

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about, like a night bird which lightly touches a lighted window with
his wings, and the terrified young man was ready to scream with
horror. He wanted to run away, but did not dare to go out; he did
not dare, and he should never dare to do it in the future, for that
phantom would remain there day and night, round the inn, as long
as the old man's body was not recovered and had not been
deposited in the consecrated earth of a churchyard.

When it was daylight Kunsi recovered some of his courage at

the return of the bright sun. He prepared his meal, gave his dog
some food and then remained motionless on a chair, tortured at
heart as he thought of the old man lying on the snow, and then, as
soon as night once more covered the mountains, new terrors
assailed him. He now walked up and down the dark kitchen, which
was scarcely lighted by the flame of one candle, and he walked
from one end of it to the other with great strides, listening,
listening whether the terrible cry of the other night would again
break the dreary silence outside. He felt himself alone, unhappy
man, as no man had ever been alone before! He was alone in this
immense desert of Snow, alone five thousand feet above the
inhabited earth, above human habitation, above that stirring,
noisy, palpitating life, alone under an icy sky! A mad longing
impelled him to run away, no matter where, to get down to Loeche
by flinging himself over the precipice; but he did not even dare to
open the door, as he felt sure that the other, the dead man, would
bar his road, so that he might not be obliged to remain up there
alone:

Toward midnight, tired with walking, worn out by grief and fear,
he at last fell into a doze in his chair, for he was afraid of his bed
as one is of a haunted spot. But suddenly the strident cry of the
other evening pierced his ears, and it was so shrill that Ulrich
stretched out his arms to repulse the ghost, and he fell backward
with his chair.

< 11 >

Sam, who was awakened by the noise, began to howl as

frightened dogs do howl, and he walked all about the house trying
to find out where the danger came from. When he got to the door,
he sniffed beneath it, smelling vigorously, with his coat bristling
and his tail stiff, while he growled angrily. Kunsi, who was terrified,
jumped up, and, holding his chair by one leg, he cried: "Don't
come in, don't come in, or I shall kill you." And the dog, excited by
this threat, barked angrily at that invisible enemy who defied his
master's voice. By degrees, however, he quieted down and came
back and stretched himself in front of the fire, but he was uneasy
and kept his head up and growled between his teeth.

Ulrich, in turn, recovered his senses, but as he felt faint with

terror, he went and got a bottle of brandy out of the sideboard,
and he drank off several glasses, one after anther, at a gulp. His
ideas became vague, his courage revived and a feverish glow ran
through his veins.

He ate scarcely anything the next day and limited himself to

alcohol, and so he lived for several days, like a drunken brute. As
soon as he thought of Gaspard Hari, he began to drink again, and
went on drinking until he fell to the ground, overcome by
intoxication. And there he remained lying on his face, dead drunk,
his limbs benumbed, and snoring loudly. But scarcely had he
digested the maddening and burning liquor than the same cry,
"Ulrich!" woke him like a bullet piercing his brain, and he got up,
still staggering, stretching out his hands to save himself from
falling, and calling to Sam to help him. And the dog, who appeared
to be going mad like his master, rushed to the door, scratched it
with his claws and gnawed it with his long white teeth, while the
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Short Stories: The Inn by Guy de Maupassant 1/9/12 10:54 PM

with his claws and gnawed it with his long white teeth, while the
young man, with his head thrown back drank the brandy in
draughts, as if it had been cold water, so that it might by and by
send his thoughts, his frantic terror, and his memory to sleep
again.

< 12 >

In three weeks he had consumed all his stock of ardent spirits.

But his continual drunkenness only lulled his terror, which awoke
more furiously than ever as soon as it was impossible for him to
calm it. His fixed idea then, which had been intensified by a month
of drunkenness, and which was continually increasing in his
absolute solitude, penetrated him like a gimlet. He now walked
about the house like a wild beast in its cage, putting his ear to the
door to listen if the other were there and defying him through the
wall. Then, as soon as he dozed, overcome by fatigue, he heard
the voice which made him leap to his feet.

At last one night, as cowards do when driven to extremities, he

sprang to the door and opened it, to see who was calling him and
to force him to keep quiet, but such a gust of cold wind blew into
his face that it chilled him to the bone, and he closed and bolted
the door again immediately, without noticing that Sam had rushed
out. Then, as he was shivering with cold, he threw some wood on
the fire and sat down in front of it to warm himself, but suddenly
he started, for somebody was scratching at the wall and crying. In
desperation he called out: "Go away!" but was answered by
another long, sorrowful wail.

Then all his remaining senses forsook him from sheer fright. He
repeated: "Go away!" and turned round to try to find some corner
in which to hide, while the other person went round the house still
crying and rubbing against the wall. Ulrich went to the oak
sideboard, which was full of plates and dishes and of provisions,
and lifting it up with superhuman strength, he dragged it to the
door, so as to form a barricade. Then piling up all the rest of the
furniture, the mattresses, palliasses and chairs, he stopped up the
windows as one does when assailed by an enemy.

But the person outside now uttered long, plaintive, mournful

groans, to which the young man replied by similar groans, and thus
days and nights passed without their ceasing to howl at each other.
The one was continually walking round the house and scraped the
walls with his nails so vigorously that it seemed as if he wished to
destroy them, while the other, inside, followed all his movements,
stooping down and holding his ear to the walls and replying to all
his appeals with terrible cries. One evening, however, Ulrich heard
nothing more, and he sat down, so overcome by fatigue, that he
went to sleep immediately and awoke in the morning without a
thought, without any recollection of what had happened, just as if
his head had been emptied during his heavy sleep, but he felt
hungry, and he ate.

< 13 >

The winter was over and the Gemmi Pass was practicable again,
so the Hauser family started off to return to their inn. As soon as
they had reached the top of the ascent the women mounted their
mule and spoke about the two men whom they would meet again
shortly. They were, indeed, rather surprised that neither of them
had come down a few days before, as soon as the road was open,
in order to tell them all about their long winter sojourn. At last,
however, they saw the inn, still covered with snow, like a quilt. The
door and the window were closed, but a little smoke was coming

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Short Stories: The Inn by Guy de Maupassant 1/9/12 10:54 PM

door and the window were closed, but a little smoke was coming
out of the chimney, which reassured old Hauser. On going up to
the door, however, he saw the skeleton of an animal which had
been torn to pieces by the eagles, a large skeleton lying on its side.

They all looked close at it and the mother said:

"That must be Sam," and then she shouted: "Hi, Gaspard!" A

cry from the interior of the house answered her and a sharp cry
that one might have thought some animal had uttered it. Old
Hauser repeated, "Hi, Gaspard!" and they heard another cry similar
to the first.

Then the three men, the father and the two sons, tried to open
the door, but it resisted their efforts. From the empty cow-stall
they took a beam to serve as a battering-ram and hurled it against
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He allowed them to go up to him and to touch him, but he did Book Now & Save.
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Little Louise Hauser nearly died that summer of decline, which
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