On New Year’s Day, 1892, Guy de Maupassant’s mother fell on her knees and begged the 42 year old writer not to leave her home – to stay with her and rest. She was horrified by his shaggy appearance, and her premonitions proved cringingly accurate. Refusing her pleas, he fled into the night. His mind reeling from the syphilis boiling in his brain, the artist arrived at his home in Cannes where his manservant valiantly attempted to rally his spirits. In the morning he rose and