b. Originally a light, one-horse pleasure
carriage with two seats.

[5] 35:30 tilbury. An old form of gig, seating two persons.

[6] 37:20 petit verre. Little glass.

BIOGRAPHY

Henri Rene Albert Guy de Maupassant, French novelist, dramatist, and
short-story writer, was born in 1850. Until he was thirteen years old
he had no teacher except his mother, who personally superintended the
training of her two sons. Life for the two boys, during these early
years, was free and happy, Guy was a strong and robust Norman,
overflowing with animal spirits and exuberant with the joy of youthful
life.

When thirteen years of age Maupassant attended the seminary at Yvetot,
where he found school life irksome and a most distasteful contrast to
his former free life. Later he became a student in the Lycee in Rouen.
His experience as a student here was very pleasant, and he easily
acquired his degree. In 1870 he was appointed to a clerkship in the
Navy, and a little later to a more lucrative position in the
Department of Public Instruction. His work in these two positions
suffered very materially because of his negligence and daily practice
in writing verses and essays for Flaubert, the most careful literary
technicist in the history of literature, to criticize. For seven years
Maupassant served this severe task-master, always writing, receiving
criticisms, and publishing nothing.

Immediately after the publication of his first story Maupassant was
hailed as a finished master artist. From 1880 to 1890 he published six
novels, sixteen volumes of short-stories, three volumes of travels,
and many newspaper articles. This gigantic task was performed only
because of his regular habits and splendid physique. He wrote
regularly every morning from seven o'clock until noon, and at night
always wrote out notes on the impressions from his experiences of the
day.

Maupassant was a natural artist deeply in love with the technique of
his work. He did not write for money, although he believed that a
writer should have plenty of this world's possessions, nor did he
write for art's sake. In fact he avoided talking on the subject of
writing and to all appearances seemed to despise his profession. He
wrote because the restless, immitigable force within him compelled him
to work like a slave. He thought little of morals, or religion, but
was enamored with physical life and its insolvable problems. He was,
above everything else, a truthful man. Som