That Pig of a Morin

by Guy de Maupassant

Henri René Albert Guy de Maupassant (French: [ɡid(ə) mopasɑ̃]; 5 August 1850 – 6 July 1893) was a popular French writer, considered one of the fathers of the modern short story and one of the form's finest exponents.

Maupassant was a protégé of Flaubert and his stories are characterized by economy of style and efficient, effortless dénouements (dramatic structure). Many are set during the Franco-Prussian War of the 1870s, describing the futility of war and the innocent civilians who, caught up in events beyond their control, are permanently changed by their experiences. He wrote some 300 short stories, six novels, three travel books, and one volume of verse

Genres: Short Stories, Fiction, France

Unknown Binding

About the author

Henri René Albert Guy de Maupassant was a popular 19th-century French writer. He is one of the fathers of the modern short story. A protege of Flaubert, Maupassant's short stories are characterized by their economy of style and their efficient effortless dénouement. He also wrote six short novels. A number of his stories often denote the futility of war and the innocent civilians who get crushed in it - many are set during the Franco-Prussian War of the 1870s.

Reviews

[Paul Morin · Rating 4 out of 5]

All life is here in these elemental tales which resonate with the same moral tone as Aesop's fables. From the sublime to the ridiculous, there is a Biblical quality to these stories of love, sex, death, betrayal, degradation (it is French after all) and beauty. What more could you ask for during the wee small hours of Coronavirus lockdown? As for that pig Morin, I just hope he's no ancestor.

[Classic reverie · Rating 5 out of 5]

Guy de Maupassant's "That Pig of a Morin" is a short story about a fool that looks to find his adventure in the ciity.

Story in short- A business man meets a beautiful young lady on a long train ride and ends up with being taken on another ride.

➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖
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“Here, my friend,” I said to Labarbe, “you have just repeated those five words, that pig of a Morin. Why on earth do I never hear Morin’s name mentioned without his being called a pig?” Labarbe, who is a deputy, looked at me with his owl-like eyes and said: “Do you mean to say that you do not know Morin’s story and you come from La Rochelle?” I was obliged to declare that I did not know
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Morin’s story, so Labarbe rubbed his hands and began his recital. “You knew Morin, did you not, and you remember his large linen-draper’s shop on the Quai de la Rochelle?” “Yes, perfectly.” “Well, then. You must know that in 1862 or ‘63 Morin went to spend a fortnight in Paris for pleasure; or for his pleasures, but under the pretext of renewing his stock, and you also know what a fortnight in Paris means to a country shopkeeper; it fires his blood. The theatre every
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evening, women’s dresses rustling up against you and continual excitement; one goes almost mad with it. One sees nothing but dancers in tights, actresses in very low dresses, round legs, fat shoulders, all nearly within reach of one’s hands, without daring, or being able, to touch them, and one scarcely tastes food. When one leaves the city one’s heart is still all in a flutter and one’s mind still exhilarated by a sort of longing for kisses which tickles one’s lips. “Morin was in that condition when he took his ticket for La Rochelle by the eight-forty night express. As he was walking up and down the waiting-room at the station he stopped suddenly in front of a young lady who was kissing an old one. She had her veil up, and Morin murmured with delight: ‘By Jove what a pretty woman!’ “When she had said ‘good-by’ to the old lady she went into the waiting-room, and Morin followed her; then she went on the platform and Morin still followed her; then she got into an empty carriage, and he again followed her. There were

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very few travellers on the express. The engine whistled and the train started. They were alone. Morin devoured her with his eyes. She appeared to be about nineteen or twenty and was fair, tall, with a bold look. She wrapped a railway rug round her and stretched herself on the seat to sleep. “Morin asked himself: ‘I wonder who she is?’ And a thousand conjectures, a thousand projects went through his head. He said to himself: ‘So many adventures are told as happening on railway journeys
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that this may be one that is going to present itself to me. Who knows? A piece of good luck like that happens very suddenly, and perhaps I need only be a little venturesome.

❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌spoiler alert

Morin is a married man who travels by train to the city for business and sees a young lady who he looks to talk to but cannot find the words and after she smiles at him, he rushes to kiss her. She screams and calls for help, who arrest Morin. Morin a family and business man looks to quite this business with the young lady and he enlists Labarbe to help. Labarbe has a friend, Rivet try to convince the young lady's family to drop charges. Labarbe sees the young lady and romances and kisses her, she says she treats him differently than Morin because he was not idiotic and he is not ugly. The charges are dropped but Labarbe is dragged away from the young lady's home by his friend. He could have gone back he had told her that he loves her but he doesn't come back and sees her years later with her husband who thanks him for taking care of the matter, I would think in not talking in public and she obviously did not tell him about his advances. Morin was not the pig as much as Labarbe was the pig but I am sure he doesn't see it that way.


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“Then he imagined to himself combinations which conducted him to triumph. He pictured some chivalrous deed or merely some slight service which he rendered her, a lively, gallant conversation which ended in a declaration. “But he could find no opening, had no pretext, and he waited for some fortunate circumstance, with his heart beating and his mind topsy-turvy. The night passed and the pretty girl still slept, while
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Morin was meditating his own fall. The day broke and soon the first ray of sunlight appeared in the sky, a long, clear ray which shone on the face of the sleeping girl and woke her. She sat up, looked at the country, then at Morin and smiled. She smiled like a happy woman, with an engaging and bright look, and Morin trembled. Certainly that smile was intended for him; it was discreet invitation, the signal which he was waiting for. That smile meant to say: ‘How stupid, what a ninny, what a dolt, what a donkey
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you are, to have sat there on your seat like a post all night! “‘Just look at me, am I not charming? And you have sat like that for the whole night, when you have been alone with a pretty woman, you great simpleton!’ “She was still smiling as she looked at him; she even began to laugh; and he lost his head trying to find something suitable to say, no matter what. But he could think of nothing, nothing, and then, seized with a coward’s courage, he said to himself:
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“‘So much the worse, I will risk everything,’ and suddenly, without the slightest warning, he went toward her, his arms extended, his lips protruding, and, seizing her in his arms, he kissed her. “She sprang up immediately with a bound, crying out: ‘Help! help!’ and screaming with terror; and then she opened the carriage door and waved her arm out, mad with terror and trying to jump out, while Morin, who was almost distracted and feeling sure that she would throw herself out, held her by the

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skirt and stammered: ‘Oh, madame! oh, madame!’ “The train slackened speed and then stopped. Two guards rushed up at the young woman’s frantic signals. She threw herself into their arms, stammering: ‘That man wanted — wanted — to — to— ‘ And then she fainted. “They were at Mauze station, and the gendarme on duty arrested Morin. When the victim of his indiscreet admiration had regained her consciousness, she made her charge against him, and the police drew it
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up. The poor linen draper did not reach home till night, with a prosecution hanging over him for an outrage to morals in a public place.” II “At that time I was editor of the Fanal des Charentes, and I used to meet Morin every day at the Cafe du Commerce, and the day after his adventure. he came to see me, as he did not know what to do. I did not hide my opinion from him, but said to him: ‘You are no better than a pig. No decent man behaves like that.’

[Tom · Rating 4 out of 5]

3.5⭐

AKA: Ce Cochon de Morin




“'So much the worse, I will risk everything,' and suddenly, without the slightest warning, he went toward her, his arms extended, his lips protruding, and, seizing her in his arms, he kissed her."

That Pig of A Morin Adolf Dehn 1945 lithograph from Tales of Guy de Maupassant

[Mustafa Al-khalidy · Rating 4 out of 5]

المراجعة تحتوي على حرق لأحداث القصة ولكن لا يؤثر على جماليتها



ذلك الخنزير موران

قصة قصيرة للأديب الفرنسي موباسان
تدور أحداثها عن وصول سائح لقرية ما، فيرى أن الناس ينهون كل كلام لهم بجملة (ذلك الخنزير موران) That pig of a moran
كلما ذكروا تصرف سيء انهوه بهذه الجملة
وبلغت اهمية هذه الأسم أن الناس بدأوا يؤرخون السنوات حسب هذا الشخص موران (سنة ٦٣ لموران بعد شهرين من موران… )

فيكاد يصاب صاحبنا بالجنون وهو يريد أن يعرف من هذا موران ولماذا كل القرية تذكره بهذا الشكل السيء

فيسأل أحد الاشخاص فيجيبه احقًا لا تعرف الخنزير موران؟!

ويبدء بقص حادثة موران، والذي يتبين أنه قروي فقير يقرر في يوم ما أن يزور باريس وهناك يرى فتاة جميلة ويعجب بها فيجلس يراقبها وهي نائمة في عربة القطار وفي كل مرة يفكر بتقبيلها، لكن يمنع نفسه كلما هم بذلك الى أن تستيقظ بالصباح وتبتسم له وهنا يقرر موران تقبيلها على خدها فتبدء بالصراخ ويتجمع عليه الناس ويضربوه وتشيع قصته في مدينته، مدينة La Rochelle
فيبدء الناس بلومه على اتيانه هذا الفعل المنحط الذي يمرغ سمعة الأنسان في الأرض ويجعله احط من الحيوانات ويبدءون باتباع اسمه بكلمة خنزير لدرجة تصبح جملة(ذلك الخنزير موران) أشبه بلفظة واحدة. حتى أن الراوي يخبره

"بأنه اشبه بخنزير فلا يوجد انسان يصل الى هذه الحطة"
ولكن يحزن عليه وقرر مساعدة صاحبنا الخنزير اقصد صاحبنا موران

ويتجه الى المدينة لرؤية الفتاة
وعندما يراها يفتن بها وبجمالها ويبدء بلوم موران الخنزير على تصرفه هكذا تصرف مع فتاة مثلها ولكنه يستدرك ويخبرها أن ذلك الخنزير معذور فالرجل لا يستطيع أن يجد نفسه اما حسناء مثلها ويمنع نفسه من تقبيلها

فتضحك وتجيبه :- ولكن يا سيدي بين الرغبة والفعل هناك مساحة من الأحترام

Between the desire and the act, monsieur, there is room for respect.


فيستغل الراوي ضحكتها ويخبره:-
"لنفترض أنني قمت بتقبيلك الآن ما الذي سيحدث "

فتجيبه:- أنت؟ هذا مسألة اخرى، لأنك لست غبيًا مثل ذلك


وهنا يقوم الراوي بأستغلال هذه الفرصة ويقبلها فتدفعه فقط بالبداية

ولكنه يستمر بتكرار الأمر حتى ترضخ له

وخلال هذا كله لا ينسيان أن يلعنا ذلك الخنزير موران لأتيانه بفعل منحط.


موران بالرواية تعبير عن الأشخاص الذين نستخدمهم لأقناع أنفسنا بأننا افضل وأننا ممتازون. حتى أن اتينا بافعال اقبح من افعالهم او مساوية لها فالبنهاية لا أحد يستطيع أن يأتي بفعل منحط مثل الخنزير موران

[Lloyd Hughes · Rating 3 out of 5]

Married merchant travels to the big city on business. While there he experience the rich foods and the theater where there are copious young camels with fat shoulders dressed in low-cut dresses whose petticoats brush against his leg. It’s enough to overheat any man. Returning on the train he shares a compartment with an especially comely young woman aged 20. The blood overheats and he plants a big kiss right on her cheek. This causes a big problem...3 stars

[Forked Radish · Rating 1 out of 5]

Another tawdry one from that pig of a Maupassant.

[Annepos · Rating 3 out of 5]

Freaky French People

[Matt · Rating 3 out of 5]

I wasn't sure what to make of this. Could be the cultural differences but I find short stories that are told in first person through conversation with another to be ineffectual. Perhaps this would be solved by my reading of the rest of Mapassant's collection.

The first paragraph notes that the narrator spoke to Labarbe, who in turn is the narrator for this particular short story. From there Labarbe told the entirety of the story, first about Morin in third person, and then his chapter in first person, speaking of his own thoughts along the way.

As for the purpose of such a story, I cannot say for sure. Perhaps the focus of the story is on the approach; Morin's inability to feint respect led to a tumultuous encounter, whereas Labarbe was able to push further and further while showing the slightest hint of respect for the lady in question.

Perhaps this story could be about the holy vow of marriage, in that Morin broke his in his short-sighted effort to kiss Henriette. Meanwhile Labarbe, seemingly unmarried, was able to win the young woman's affections with ease.

Perhaps even, this is a simple matter of superficiality; this story of two men, one repulsive, and the other, charming, and the difference in the reaction of an entire town when each man approaches the same beautiful woman.

While it could be any of those points above, I believe the dichotomous reactions the town, Henriette, and her husband project upon Labarbe and Morin are realistic ones, now as much as in the 1800's. I'm excited to find that works written over a hundred and twenty five years ago still hold lessons for readers today. This was a good story to kick off my season with goodreads.