A Woman's Life Page #12

"A Woman's Life" (French: "Une vie") by Guy de Maupassant tells the poignant story of Jeanne, a young noblewoman in the 19th century, as she navigates the complexities of love, marriage, and societal expectations. Spanning her life from a romanticized youth to a disillusioned adulthood, the novel explores themes of gender, class, and the harsh realities faced by women. Through Jeanne's experiences, Maupassant critiques the constraints imposed by society and highlights the emotional turmoil that often accompanies personal choices. The narrative is both a reflection on the individual's struggle for autonomy and a subtle commentary on the limitations placed on women of the era.

								


The shadows of the linden and the plane tree fell on the moonlit grass
which stretched away to the shadows of the wood.

Irresistibly attracted by the beauty of the sight, Jeanne turned and
said:

"Papa, we are going for a walk on the grass."

"Very well, my dear," answered the baron, without looking up from his game.

Jeanne and the vicomte went out and walked slowly down the grass till
they reached the little wood at the bottom. They stayed out so long that
at last the baroness, feeling tired and wanting to go to her room, said:

"We must call in the lovers."

The baron glanced at the moonlit garden, where the two figures could be
seen walking slowly about.

"Leave them alone," he answered, "it is so pleasant out of doors; Lison
will wait up for them; won't you, Lison?"

The old maid looked up, and answered in her timid voice: "Oh, yes,
certainly."

The baron helped his wife to rise, and, tired himself by the heat of the
day,

"I will go to bed, too," he said. And he went upstairs with the
baroness.

Then Aunt Lison got up, and, leaving her work on the arm of the easy
chair, leant out of the window and looked at the glorious night. The two
sweethearts were walking backwards and forwards across the grass,
silently pressing each other's hands, as they felt the sweet influence
of the visible poetry that surrounded them.

Jeanne saw the old maid's profile in the window, with the lighted lamp
behind.

"Look," she said, "Aunt Lison is watching us."

"Yes, so she is," answered the vicomte in the tone of one who speaks
without thinking of what he is saying; and they continued their slow
walk and their dreams of love. But the dew was falling, and they began
to feel chilled.

"We had better go in now," said Jeanne.

They went into the drawing-room, and found Aunt Lison bending over the
knitting she had taken up again; her thin fingers were trembling as if
they were very tired. Jeanne went up to her.

"Aunt, we will go to bed now," she said.

The old maid raised her eyes; they were red as if she had been crying,
but neither of the lovers noticed it. Suddenly the young man saw that
Jeanne's thin slippers were quite wet, and fearing she would catch cold:

"Are not your dear little feet cold?" he asked affectionately.

Aunt Lison's fingers trembled so they could no longer hold the work; her
ball of wool rolled across the floor, and, hiding her face in her hands,
she began to sob convulsively. For a moment Jeanne and the vicomte stood
looking at her in mute surprise, then Jeanne, feeling frightened, knelt
down beside her, drew away her hands from her face, and asked in dismay:

"What is it, Aunt Lison? What is the matter with you?"

The poor, old maid, trembling all over, stammered out in a broken voice:

"When he asked you--'Are--are not your dear little feet--cold?'--I--I
thought how no one had--had ever said anything like that to me."

Jeanne felt full of pity for her aunt, but it seemed very funny to think
of anyone making love to Lison, and the vicomte turned his head away to
hide his laughter. Lison started up, left her wool on the ground and her
knitting on the armchair, and abruptly leaving the room, groped her way
up the dark staircase to her bedroom.

The two young people looked at one another, feeling sorry for her, and
yet rather amused.

"Poor auntie," murmured Jeanne.

"She must be a little mad this evening," replied Julien.

They were holding each other's hands as if they could not make up their
minds to say good-night, and very gently they exchanged their first kiss
before Aunt Lison's empty chair. The next day they had forgotten all
about the old maid's tears.

The fortnight before her marriage, Jeanne passed calmly and peacefully,
as if she were almost exhausted by the number of pleasant hours she had
lately had. The morning of the eventful day she had no time to think;
she was only conscious of a great sense of nothingness within her, as if
beneath her skin, her flesh, and blood, and bones had vanished, and she
noticed how her fingers trembled when she touched anything.

She did not regain her self-possession till she was going through the
marriage service. Married! She was married! Everything which had
happened since dawn seemed a dream, and all around her seemed changed;
people's gestures had a new meaning; even the hours of the day did not
seem to be in their right places. She felt stunned at the change. The
day before nothing had been altered in her life; her dearest hope had
only become nearer--almost within her grasp. She had fallen asleep a
girl, now she was a woman. She had crossed the barrier which hides the
future with all its expected joys and fancied happiness, and she saw
before her an open door; she was at last going to realize her dreams.

After the ceremony they went into the vestry, which was nearly empty,
for there were no wedding guests; but when they appeared at the door of
the church a loud noise made the bride start and the baroness shriek; it
was a salvo fired by the peasants, who had arranged to salute the bride,
and the shots could be heard all the way to Les Peuples.

Breakfast was served for the family, the curé from Yport, the Abbé
Picot, and the witnesses. Then everyone went to walk in the garden till
dinner was ready. The baron and the baroness, Aunt Lison, the mayor, and
the abbé walked up and down the baroness's path, and the priest from
Yport strode along the other avenue reading his breviary.

From the other side of the château came the noisy laughter of the
peasants drinking cider under the apple-trees. The whole countryside in
its Sunday garb was in the court, and the girls and young men were
playing games and chasing each other.

Jeanne and Julien went across the wood, and at the top of the slope
stood silently looking at the sea. It was rather chilly, although it was
the middle of August; there was a north wind, and the sun was shining in
the midst of a cloudless sky, so the young couple crossed the plain to
find shelter in the wooded valley leading to Yport. In the coppice no
wind could be felt, and they left the straight road and turned into a
narrow path running under the trees.

They could hardly walk abreast, and he gently put his arm round her
waist; she did not say anything, but her heart throbbed, and her breath
came quickly; the branches almost touched their heads, and they often
had to bend low to pass under them. She broke off a leaf; underneath it
lay two lady-birds looking like delicate, red shells.

"Look, it's a husband and wife," she said, innocently, feeling a little
more at ease.

Julien's mouth brushed her ear.

"To-night you will be my little wife," he said.

Although she had learnt a great deal since she had been living among the
fields, as yet only the poetical side of love had presented itself to
her mind, and she did not understand him. Was she not already his wife?
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