A Woman's Life Page #17

"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.

								

fountain was a group of tall, handsome and particularly graceful girls,
with well formed hips, long hands, and slender waists; Julien cried
"Good-night" to them, and they answered him in the musical tongue of
their ancestors. When they got to Piana they had to ask for hospitality
quite in the way of the middle ages, and Jeanne trembled with joy as
they waited for the door to open in answer to Julien's knock. Oh, that
was a journey! There they did indeed meet with adventures!

They had happened to appeal to a young couple who received them as the
patriarch received the messenger of God, and they slept on a straw
mattress in an old house whose woodwork was so full of worms that it
seemed alive. At sunrise they started off again, and soon they stopped
opposite a regular forest of crimson rocks; there were peaks, columns,
and steeples, all marvelously sculptured by time and the sea. Thin,
round, twisted, crooked, and fantastic, these wonderful rocks nine
hundred feet high, looked like trees, plants, animals, monuments, men,
monks in their cassocks, horned demons and huge birds, such as one sees
in a nightmare, the whole forming a monstrous tribe which seemed to have
been petrified by some eccentric god.

Jeanne could not speak, her heart was too full, but she took Julien's
hand and pressed it, feeling that she must love something or some one
before all this beauty; and then, leaving this confusion of forms, they
came upon another bay surrounded by a wall of blood-red granite, which
cast crimson reflections into the blue sea. Jeanne exclaimed, "Oh,
Julien!" and that was all she could say; a great lump came in her throat
and two tears ran down her cheeks. Julien looked at her in astonishment.

"What is it, my pet?" he asked.

She dried her eyes, smiled, and said in a voice that still trembled a
little. "Oh, it's nothing, I suppose I am nervous. I am so happy that
the least thing upsets me."

He could not understand this nervousness; he despised the hysterical
excitement to which women give way and the joy or despair into which
they are cast by a mere sensation, and he thought her tears absurd. He
glanced at the bad road.

"You had better look after your horse," he said.

They went down by a nearly impassable road, then turning to the right,
proceeded along the gloomy valley of Ota. The path looked very
dangerous, and Julien proposed that they should go up on foot. Jeanne
was only too delighted to be alone with him after the emotion she had
felt, so the guide went on with the mule and horses, and they walked
slowly after him. The mountain seemed cleft from top to bottom, and the
path ran between two tremendous walls of rock which looked nearly black.
The air was icy cold, and the little bit of sky that could be seen
looked quite strange, it seemed so far away. A sudden noise made Jeanne
look up. A large bird flew out of a hole in the rock; it was an eagle,
and its open wings seemed to touch the two sides of the chasm as it
mounted towards the sky. Farther on, the mountain again divided, and the
path wound between the two ravines, taking abrupt turns. Jeanne went
first, walking lightly and easily, sending the pebbles rolling from
under her feet and fearlessly looking down the precipices. Julien
followed her, a little out of breath, and keeping his eyes on the ground
so that he should not feel giddy and it seemed like coming out of Hades
when they suddenly came into the full sunlight.

They were very thirsty, and, seeing a damp track, they followed it till
they came to a tiny spring flowing into a hollow stick which some
goat-herd had put there; all around the spring the ground was carpeted
with moss, and Jeanne knelt down to drink. Julien followed her example,
and as she was slowly enjoying the cool water, he put his arm around her
and tried to take her place at the end of the wooden pipe. In the
struggle between their lips they would in turns seize the small end of
the tube and hold it in their mouths for a few seconds; then, as they
left it, the stream flowed on again and splashed their faces and necks,
their clothes and their hands. A few drops shone in their hair like
pearls, and with the water flowed their kisses.

Then Jeanne had an inspiration of love. She filled her mouth with the
clear liquid, and, her cheeks puffed out like bladders, she made Julien
understand that he was to quench his thirst at her lips. He stretched
his throat, his head thrown backwards and his arms open, and the deep
draught he drank at this living spring enflamed him with desire. Jeanne
leant on his shoulder with unusual affection, her heart throbbed, her
bosom heaved, her eyes, filled with tears, looked softer, and she
whispered:

"Julien, I love you!"

Then, drawing him to her, she threw herself down and hid her
shame-stricken face in her hands. He threw himself down beside her, and
pressed her passionately to him; she gasped for breath as she lay
nervously waiting, and all at once she gave a loud cry as though
thunderstruck by the sensation she had invited. It was a long time
before they reached the top of the mountain, so fluttered and exhausted
was Jeanne, and it was evening when they got to Evisa, and went to the
house of Paoli Palabretti, a relation of the guide's. Paoli was a tall
man with a slight cough, and the melancholy look of a consumptive; he
showed them their room, a miserable-looking chamber built of stone, but
which was handsome for this country, where no refinement is known. He
was expressing in his Corsican patois (a mixture of French and Italian)
his pleasure at receiving them, when a clear voice interrupted him, and
a dark little woman, with big black eyes, a sun-kissed skin, and a
slender waist, hurried forward, kissed Jeanne, shook Julien by the hand
and said: "Good-day, madame; good-day, monsieur; are you quite well?"
She took their hats and shawls and arranged everything with one hand,
for her other arm was in a sling; then she turned them all out, saying
to her husband: "Take them for a walk till dinner is ready."

M. Palabretti obeyed at once, and, walking between Jeanne and her
husband, he took them round the village. His steps and his words both
drawled, and he coughed frequently, saying at each fit, "The cold air
has got on my lungs." He led them under some immense chestnut-trees,
and, suddenly stopping, he said in his monotonous voice:

"It was here that Mathieu Lori killed my cousin Jean Rinaldi. I was
standing near Jean, just there, when we saw Mathieu about three yards
off. 'Jean,' he cried; 'don't go to Albertacce; don't you go, Jean, or
I'll kill you:' I took Jean's arm. 'Don't go Jean,' I said, 'or he'll do
it.' It was about a girl, Paulina Sinacoupi, that they were both after.
Then Jean cried out, 'I shall go, Mathieu; and you won't stop me,
either.' Then Mathieu raised his gun, and, before I could take aim, he
fired. Jean leaped two feet from the ground, monsieur, and then fell
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