Correspondence by Guy De Maupassant

Name: Correspondence
Author: Guy De Maupassant

The novel revolves around a young man who becomes infatuated with a woman he meets through correspondence. He begins to write her letters, pouring out his emotions and desires, but she remains elusive and distant in her responses. As the exchange continues, the young man's obsession grows, and he starts to question the nature of their relationship. He becomes convinced that she is manipulating him, using their correspondence as a means to satisfy her own curiosity about men. The novel explores themes of loneliness, isolation, and the blurring of reality and fantasy in relationships. Through the protagonist's letters, the reader gains insight into his inner world, revealing a complex web of emotions and motivations. Ultimately, the young man's obsession reaches a tragic conclusion, highlighting the dangers of unchecked passion and the fragility of human connections.

By Guy De Maupassant · First published 1887 · Genre: Epistolary Fiction, Social Commentary, Realism · 2,242 words

First lines

Madame de X to Madame de Z Étretat, Friday. My Dear Aunt, I am slowly making my way down to you. I shall be at Fresnes on the 2nd of September, in time for the opening of the hunting season, which I am anxious not to miss, because I want to tease the menfolk. You are too indulgent, my dear Aunt, when you are alone with them, in allowing them to appear at dinner, on the plea of fatigue, without changing their clothes or shaving after they return. So they are delighted when I am not there, but I shall be there, and I shall review them at dinnertime like a general; and if I find any one of them a little untidy, however little it is, I will send him to the kitchen to the servants. Men today have so little consideration and breeding that one must be strict. We are indeed passing through a period of vulgarity. When they quarrel amongst themselves they abuse each other like pickpockets, and even in our presence they behave much worse than the servants. It is especially noticeable at the seaside. The men are there in large numbers, and one can judge them en masse. Oh! How coarse they are! Just think -- in a railway carriage, one of them, a gentleman who at first glance seemed all right -- thanks to his tailor -- had the exquisite taste to take off his boots and put on a pair of down-at-heel felt slippers. Another, an old man, who must have been one of the New Rich (for these have the worst manners), seated opposite to me, carefully placed both his feet on the seat just beside me. Everybody does it. At the watering-places, vulgarity runs riot. I should add that perhaps my revulsion arises from the fact that I am not used to mixing with the class of people that one meets there; their ways would not shock me so much if I came across them more often. In the hotel office I was almost knocked over by a young man who reached over my head for his key. Another, coming out from a ball at the Casino, ran against me with such violence, without apologising or raising his hat, that the blow gave me a pain in the chest. They are all like that. See how they greet women on the terrace; they hardly acknowledge them at all. They simply raise their hands to their hats. However, as they are all bald, it is better so. But one thing which exasperates and offends me more than anything else is the freedom with which they discuss in public the most revolting intrigues, without any kind of precaution. When two men get together, they tell each other the most dreadful stories as coarsely and disgustingly as possible, without troubling in the least to see whether a woman is within earshot. Yesterday on the beach I was compelled to change my place to avoid hearing any more of a smutty anecdote, told in words so brutal that I felt humiliated, as well as indignant at having heard what I did. Should not the most elementary good taste lead them to speak in whispers of these things when near us? Étretat is, moreover, a hotbed of scandal, and therefore the home of gossips. From five until seven o'clock you can see them wandering in search of titbits of scandal, which they retail from one group to another. As you told me, dear Aunt, tittle-tattle is the hallmark of mean people and petty minds. It is also the consolation of women who are neither loved nor courted. I have only to look to those who are recognised as the worst gossips to be convinced that you were quite right. The other day I went to a musical evening at the Casino, given by a remarkable artiste, Madame Masson, whose singing is a delight. It gave me the opportunity of applauding the admirable Coquelin and two charming pensioners from the Vaudeville theatre, Monsieur and Madame Meillet. In these circumstances I was able to see all the bathers gathered together on the beach this year. Few of them have any distinction. The following day I went to Yport to lunch. I noticed a bearded man coming out of a big house like a fortress. It was the painter Jean Paul Laurens. Apparently not satisfied with putting a wall round the figures he paints, he must wall himself in too. Later on I was sitting on the shingle beside a young man with a gentle, refined face, and quiet manners, who was reading poetry. But he was reading with so much concentration -- so much passion, may I say? -- that he never even once looked at me. I felt rather shocked and asked the head of the bathing-tents the man's name, as if it were a matter of no importance. I smiled to myself at this reader of rhymes who seemed -- for a man -- somewhat behind the times. There's someone quite unsophisticated, I thought. Well, Aunt, at present I dote on my unknown friend. Just imagine, his name is Sully Prudhomme. I went and sat beside him again to study him in comfort. His face in particular bears the stamp of refinement and tranquillity, and as someone came up to speak I heard his voice, which was gentle and rather timid. It is obvious that this man is not shouting vulgarisms in public, that he is not knocking against women without apologising. He must be a fastidious soul. This winter I will see if I can manage to have him introduced to me. There is nothing more, my dear Aunt, so I conclude in haste as it is about post time. I kiss your hands and both your cheeks. Your Devoted Niece, Berthe de X. P. S. However, I must add, to justify French politeness, that when travelling our own people are models of good manners compared with the unspeakable English, who seem to have been brought up by stable-boys, so careful are they never to practise any self-restraint themselves, and always to make things uncomfortable for their neighbours.

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Correspondence is listed on Textopian as a short story by Guy De Maupassant, dated 1887 CE.

This source record anchors work identity, reading entry points, and catalog context for checking claims about the work.

Work type: Short story
Author: Guy De Maupassant
Date: 1887 CE
Language: English
Genres: Epistolary Fiction, Social Commentary, Realism, Psychological Fiction, Satire
Length: 2,242 words
Structure: 1 section, 2 paragraphs
Reading fit: Fairly Easy (7th Grade)

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Genres

Epistolary Fiction — The narrative is structured as a series of letters exchanged between two characters, which is a defining characteristic of epistolary fiction.
Social Commentary — The text critiques social norms and behaviors, particularly regarding gender dynamics and manners in society.
Realism — The work portrays everyday life and social interactions with a focus on realistic dialogue and character observations.
Psychological Fiction — The characters' thoughts and feelings about societal behaviors reveal deeper psychological insights into their personalities.