A Woman's Life Page #16

"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.

								

action. Then the sailor pointed towards the horizon.

"There are the Sanguinaires," he said.

Julien had his arm round his wife's waist, and they both strained their
eyes to see what the captain was pointing out. As last they saw some
pointed rocks that the boat rounded before entering a large, calm bay,
surrounded by high mountains, whose steep sides looked as though they
were covered with moss.

"That is the undergrowth," said the captain, pointing out this verdure.

The circle of mountains seemed to close in behind the boat as she slowly
steamed across the azure water which was so transparent that in places
the bottom could be seen. Ajaccio came in sight; it was a white town at
the foot of the mountains, with a few small Italian boats lying at
anchor in the harbor, and four or five row-boats came beside the Roi
Louis to take off the passengers. Julien, who was looking after the
luggage, asked his wife in a low tone:

"A franc is enough, isn't it, to give the steward?"

The whole week he had been constantly asking her this question which she
hated.

"When you don't know what is enough, give too much," she answered, a
little impatiently.

He haggled with every one, landlords and hotel-waiters, cabmen and
shopmen, and when he had obtained the reduction he wanted, he would rub
his hands, and say to Jeanne: "I don't like to be robbed." She trembled
when the bills were brought, for she knew beforehand the remarks he
would make on each item, and felt ashamed of his bargaining; and when
she saw the scornful look of the servants as her husband left his small
fee in their hands, she blushed to the roots of her hair. Of course he
had a discussion with the boatmen who took them ashore.

The first tree she saw on landing was a palm, which delighted her. They
went to a big empty hotel standing at the corner of a vast square, and
ordered lunch. When they had finished dessert, Jeanne got up to go and
wander about the town, but Julien, taking her in his arms, whispered
tenderly in her ear:

"Shall we go upstairs for a little while, my pet?"

"Go upstairs?" she said, with surprise; "but I am not at all tired."

He pressed her to him: "Don't you understand? For two days--"

She blushed crimson.

"Oh, what would everyone say? what would they think? You could not ask
for a bedroom in the middle of the day. Oh, Julien, don't say anything
about it now, please don't."

"Do you think I care what the hotel-people say or think?" he
interrupted. "You'll see what difference they make to me." And he rang
the bell.

She did not say anything more, but sat with downcast eyes, disgusted at
her husband's desires, to which she always submitted with a feeling of
shame and degradation; her senses were not yet aroused, and her husband
treated her as if she shared all his ardors. When the waiter answered
the bell, Julien asked him to show them to their room; the waiter, a man
of true Corsican type, bearded to the eyes, did not understand, and kept
saying that the room would be quite ready by the evening. Julien got out
of patience.

"Get it ready at once," he said. "The journey has tired us and we want
to rest."

A slight smile crept over the waiter's face, and Jeanne would have liked
to run away; when they came downstairs again, an hour later, she hardly
dared pass the servants, feeling sure that they would whisper and laugh
behind her back. She felt vexed with Julien for not understanding her
feelings, and wondering at his want of delicacy; it raised a sort of
barrier between them, and, for the first time, she understood that two
people can never be in perfect sympathy; they may pass through life side
by side, seemingly in perfect union, but neither quite understands the
other, and every soul must of necessity be for ever lonely.

They stayed three days in the little town which was like a furnace, for
every breath of wind was shut out by the mountains. Then they made out a
plan of the places they should visit, and decided to hire some horses.
They started one morning at daybreak on the two wiry little Corsican
horses they had obtained, and accompanied by a guide mounted on a mule
which also carried some provisions, for inns are unknown in this wild
country. At first the road ran along the bay, but soon it turned into a
shallow valley leading to the mountains. The uncultivated country seemed
perfectly bare, and the sides of the hills were covered with tall weeds,
turned sere and yellow by the burning heat; they often crossed ravines
where only a narrow stream still ran with a gurgling sound, and
occasionally they met a mountaineer, sometimes on foot, sometimes riding
his little horse, or bestriding a donkey no bigger than a dog; these
mountaineers always carried a loaded gun which might be old and rusty,
but which became a very formidable weapon in their hands. The air was
filled with the pungent smell of the aromatic plants with which the isle
is covered, and the road sloped gradually upwards, winding round the
mountains.

The peaks of blue and pink granite made the island look like a fairy
palace, and, from the heights, the forests of immense chestnut trees on
the lower parts of the hills looked like green thickets. Sometimes the
guide would point to some steep height, and mention a name; Jeanne and
Julien would look, at first seeing nothing, but at last discovering the
summit of the mountain. It was a village, a little granite hamlet,
hanging and clinging like a bird's nest to the vast mountain. Jeanne got
tired of going at a walking pace for so long.

"Let us gallop a little," she said, whipping up her horse.

She could not hear her husband behind her, and, turning round to see
where he was, she burst out laughing. Pale with fright, he was holding
onto his horse's mane, almost jolted out of the saddle by the animal's
motion. His awkwardness and fear were all the more funny, because he was
such a grave, handsome man. Then they trotted gently along the road
between two thickets formed of juniper trees, green oaks, arbutus trees,
heaths, bay trees, myrtles, and box trees, whose branches were formed
into a network by the climbing clematis, and between and around which
grew big ferns, honeysuckles, rosemary, lavender, and briars, forming a
perfectly impassable thicket, which covered the hill like a cloak. The
travelers began to get hungry, and the guide rejoined them and took them
to one of those springs so often met with in a mountainous country, with
the icy water flowing from a little hole in the rock where some
passer-by has left the big chestnut leaf which conveyed the water to his
mouth. Jeanne felt so happy that she could hardly help shouting aloud;
and they again remounted and began to descend, winding round the Gulf of
Sagone.

As evening was drawing on they went through Cargése, the Greek village
founded so long ago by fugitives driven from their country. Round a
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