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Updated: May 21, 2025
You and Dagmar are well rid of me. I see I'm offending you here in Paris you look nauseated most of the time. Let's go on to Switzerland and climb mountains." Waram was nauseated. They went to Salvan and there a curious thing happened. They were walking one afternoon along the road to Martigny. The valley was full of shadows like a deep green cup of purple wine.
And I'll go on, with that clanking hardware store around my neck. It can be done, can't it? Better for you and for Dagmar. I'm not being philanthropic. I'm looking, not for a reprieve, but for release. No one knows this fellow in Salvan he probably came up from the Rhone and was on his way to Chamonix. What d'you think was the matter with him?" "Heart," Doctor Waram answered.
A gentleman.... Salvan ... a very famous gentleman.... And they have telegraphed his wife.... I heard it from Simon Ravanel.... It seems that the gentleman was smashed to bits brise en morceau. Épouvantable, n'est ce pas?" Grimshaw began to tremble. "Yes, yes," he said irritably. "But I am tired, little one. Go out, and shut the door!"
A boulevardier... gay, perverse, witty.... The thought delighted him and he hurried through the forest, anxious to pass through Salvan before Doctor Waram got there. He felt extraordinarily light and exhilarated now, intoxicated, vibrant. His spirit soared; almost he heard the rushing of his old self forward toward some unrecognizable and beautiful freedom.
The guide who had said "The tall monsieur will not arrive" now greeted him with a fraternal: "How is trade?" "Very good, thanks," Grimshaw said. Beyond the village he quickened his pace, and easing the load on his back by putting his hands under the leather straps, he swung toward Finhaut. Behind him he heard the faint ringing of the church bells in Salvan. Waram had reported the "tragedy."
Then he whistled to the dog and set off after his flock. But the dog, whining and trembling, followed Grimshaw, and would not be shaken off until Grimshaw had pelted him with small stones. I think the poet was strangely flattered by this encounter. He passed through Salvan with his head in the air, challenging recognition. But there was no recognition.
The body, hidden near the roadside until nightfall, was carried through the woods to the rochers du soir, that little plateau on the brink of the tremendous wall of rock which rises from the Rhone valley to the heights near Salvan. There the two men left it and returned to their hotel to sleep.
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