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The Magic Couch: (Guy De Maupassant Masterpiece Collection)

von Guy de Maupassant

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The Seine flowed past my house, without a ripple on its surface, and gleaming in the bright morning sunlight. It was a beautiful, broad, indolent silver stream, with crimson lights here and there; and on the opposite side of the river were rows of tall trees that covered all the bank with an immense wall of verdure. The sensation of life which is renewed each day, of fresh, happy, loving life trembled in the leaves, palpitated in the air, was mirrored in the water.… (mehr)
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Guy de Maupassant (1850-1893), universally recognized master of the short-story, is best known for such tales as ‘The Diamond Necklace’ and ‘The Piece of String’, but if anybody would care to become more fully acquainted with his sharp satiric sting and caustic bite, we can turn to ‘The Magic Couch’, a very short story of a wealthy Parisian bathing in the bright morning light of Paris, the crisp air, the lush trees, the beauty of the Seine, when he is handed the morning paper and reads the headline: over 8,500 people killed themselves this past year.

This headline and statistic prompts our well-to-do narrator to vividly visualize a number of grim scenes. We read, “In a moment I seemed to see them! I saw this voluntary and hideous massacre of the despairing who were weary of life. I saw men bleeding, their jaws fractured, their skulls cloven, their breasts pierced by a bullet, slowly dying, alone in a little room in a hotel, giving no thought to their wound, but thinking only of their misfortunes.” And this is only the beginning: his imagination and visualizations become more lurid, explicit, shocking, grisly and morbid; so much so that he begins to dream in wild ways on the subject of suicide until he finds himself standing in front of the Parisian Suicide Bureau.

Quickly, very quickly, he enters the building and is immediately brought before the Secretary of the Bureau who is more than happy to answer all his questions. The Secretary goes on to tell him how the Bureau aids people wishing to die by putting them to death in a clean, gentle and perfectly agreeable manner. The narrator’s exchange with the Secretary becomes progressively more bizarre – he is told how all the suicides became an unending horror-show for all the people who loved life and also set a poor example for children. Something needed to be done. By government decree, suicides were centralized. The Secretary goes on to explain how the suicidal population makes its way to the Bureau and the day-to-day details of running his Bureau, including how a club was formed to oversee operations and how arrangements are made so club members experience maximum enjoyment.

For a grand finale, the Secretary invites the narrator into the suicide room reserved for club members. Everything is decorated and arranged to accord with the highest and most refined aesthetic tastes. The narrator accepts the Secretary’s offer to sample the fragrant, pleasurable asphyxiating gas. The narrator reflects, “A little uneasy I seated myself on the low couch covered with crepe de Chine and stretched myself full length, and was at once bathed in a delicious odor of mignonette. I opened my mouth in order to breathe it in, for my mind had already become stupefied and forgetful of the past and was a prey, in the first stages of asphyxia, to the enchanting intoxication of a destroying and magic opium.” At this point someone shakes his arm; he is awakened out of his dream by his servant, a servant who says he is off to see the body of someone who that very morning threw himself in the Seine.

So, let us pause and take stock of this Maupassant story. For starters, the story’s surrealism reminds me of a number of Franz Kafka’s fable-like tales. Also, what the narrator finds in the suicide bureau could easily be one of the rooms of the magic theater from Hermann Hesse’s Steppenwolf. I’m sure readers of modern literature will find in this tales echoes of a number of other stories and novels. What really strikes me is how sensitive artists and writers in the 19th century like Maupassant could clearly see the dire consequences of a society and civilization transformed from rural agrarian to urban industrial. Such a tale is a universe away from the scientific positivism of the day.

Back on the topic of suicide. This is one of the most sensitive and difficult subjects the modern world has had to wrestled with over the 100 years since Maupassant wrote this tale. The fact that there are a large number of tragic suicides, particularly among the young and college-age population, speaks to spheres of human development and personality and economics we as a modern society have yet to adequately address. Personally, I am reminded of the words of 19th century German philosopher, Arthur Schopenhauer: “Compare the impression made upon one by the news that a friend has committed a crime, say a murder, an act of cruelty or deception, or theft, with the news that he has died a voluntary death. Whilst news of the first kind will incite intense indignation, the greatest displeasure, and a desire for punishment or revenge, news of the second will move us to sorrow and compassion; moreover, we will frequently have a feeling of admiration for his courage rather than one of moral disapproval, which accompanies a wicked act. Who has not had acquaintances, friends, relatives, who have voluntarily left this world?”

As noted above, ‘The Magic Couch’ is as relevant today as it was in Maupassant’s day. Here is a link for all of the tales of Guy de Maupassant. ‘The Magic Couch’ is the last tale listed in volume XIII -- http://www.gutenberg.org/files/28076/28076-h/28076-h.htm




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  GlennRussell | Feb 16, 2017 |
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The Seine flowed past my house, without a ripple on its surface, and gleaming in the bright morning sunlight. It was a beautiful, broad, indolent silver stream, with crimson lights here and there; and on the opposite side of the river were rows of tall trees that covered all the bank with an immense wall of verdure. The sensation of life which is renewed each day, of fresh, happy, loving life trembled in the leaves, palpitated in the air, was mirrored in the water.

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