This is not a Story

This is not a Story
Denis Diderot

Denis Diderot

This is not a Story

This Is Not A Story

When one tells a story it is for a listener; and however short the story is, it is highly unlikely that the teller is not occasionally interrupted by his audience. So I have introduced into the narration that will be read, and which is not a story, or which is a bad one if you have doubts about that, a character that might approximate the role of the reader; and I begin.

* * * * *

And you conclude right there?

– That a subject this interesting must make us dizzy, be the talk of the town for a month, be phrased and rephrased until flavorless, produce a thousand arguments, at least twenty leaflets, and around a hundred bits of verse in favor or against. In spite of all the finesse, learning, and pure grit of the author, given that his work has not lead to any violence it is mediocre. Very mediocre.

– But it seems to me that we owe him a rather agreeable evening, and that this reading has brought…

– What? A litany of worn-out vignettes fired from left and right, saying just one single thing known for all eternity, that man and woman are extraordinarily unfortunate beasts.

– Nevertheless the epidemic has won you over, and you have contributed just like any other.

– Whether or not it be to one´s taste, it is only good taste to strike the tone given. When meeting company, we customarily tidy up appearances at the door of the apartment for whomever we are seeing; we pretend to be funny when we are sad; sad, when we would have liked to be funny. We do not want to appear out of place anywhere; so the literary hack politicizes, the political pundit talks metaphysics, the metaphysician moralizes, the moralist talks finance, the financier, letters or logic. Rather than listen or keep quiet, each ramble on about what they are ignorant of, and everyone bores each other with silly vanity or politeness.

– You are in a bad mood.

– I usually am.

– And I think it is appropriate for me to reserve my vignette for a better time.

– You mean you will wait for me to leave.

– It is not that.

– Or you are afraid that I might have less indulgence for you, face to face, than I would for your average gentleman.

– It is not that.

– Be agreeable then and tell me what it is.

– That my vignette will not prove any better than those that have annoyed you.

– Hmph. Tell it anyway.

– No. You have had enough.

– You know that of all the ways the others have enraged me, yours is the most unpleasant?

– And what is mine?

– That of being asked to do the thing you are dying to do. Well, my friend, I ask you, I pray you satisfy yourself.

– Satisfy myself?

– Begin, by God, begin.

– I will try to be short.

– That cannot hurt.

Here, a little out of spite, I coughed, I spat, I drew my handkerchief out slowly, I blew my nose, I opened my snuff box, I took out a pinch of snuff; and I heard my fellow man say between his teeth: `If the telling is short, the preliminaries are long…´ I had the urge to call a servant under the pretext of some errand. But I did not, and I said:

* * * * *

It must be admitted that there are very good men, and very bad women.

– One sees that every day, and sometimes without leaving the house. Go on?

– Go on? I knew an Alsatian beauty. Beautiful enough to make old men come running and stop younger ones in their tracks.

– I also knew her. Her name was Madame Reymer.

– That is correct. A newcomer from Nancy by the name of Tanié fell madly in love with her. He was poor, one of those lost children chased from the house by harsh parents with a large family, thrown into the world with no idea what will become of them, knowing instinctually that there will never be a worse sort than the one they are fleeing from. Tanié was infatuated with Madame Raymer, consumed by a passion that gave him courage and ennobled all his actions in his eyes, so that he willingly performed those most disturbing and vile to soothe the misery of his soul. During the day he would work the docks; at evening he begged in the streets.

– It was wonderful, but it could not last.

– Tanié, sick of living on the brink, or rather of keeping a charming woman in poverty, ever haunted by rich men urging her to rid herself of that beggar Tanié…

– Which she would have done fifteen days or a month later.

– and to accept their riches, decided to leave her and set out in search of fortune abroad. He hunted around and won passage on one of the king´s ships. It came time to depart. He took leave of Madame Reymer. `My love,´ he said to her, `I can no longer exploit your affections. I have accepted the inevitable. I am leaving.´ `You are leaving!´ `Yes…´ `And where are you going?´ `To the islands. You deserve something more, and I can no longer come between you and it.´

– Kindhearted Tanié!..

– `And what is to become of me?..´

– Traitor!..

– `You are surrounded by people who want to please you. I release you from your promises, I release you from your vows. Find the suitor that is most agreeable to you; accept him. I beg of you…´ `Oh Tanié! If you so desire…´

– No need to pantomime Madame Reymer. I get it…

– `As I leave, all I ask is that you not commit yourself to anything that might stand between us permanently. Promise me, my beautiful friend. Whatever country on earth I find myself in, you will know something terrible has befallen me if a year goes by without my bearing you witness of my tender attachment. Do not cry…´

– Women can cry on command.

– `…and do not fight against plans that are in the end inspired by the reproaches of my heart and from which they would not keep me.´ And just like that Tanié left for Saint-Domingue.

– And just in time, for Madame Reymer as for himself.