A Woman's Life Page #21

"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.

								

eleven o'clock. Everyone came to look at the work now it was done, and
the carriage was drawn out of the coach-house that they might the better
judge of the effect. The design was pronounced perfect, and Bataille
received a great many compliments before he strapped his box on his back
and went off again; the baron, his wife, Jeanne and Julien all agreed
that the painter was a man of great talent, and would, no doubt, have
become an artist, if circumstances had permitted.

For the sake of economy, Julien had accomplished some reforms which
brought with them the need of fresh arrangements. The old coachman now
performed the duties of gardener, the vicomte himself undertaking to
drive, and as he was obliged to have someone to hold the horses when the
family went to make a visit, he had made a groom of a young cowherd
named Marius. The horses had been sold to do away with the expense of
their keep, so he had introduced a clause in Couillard's and Martin's
leases by which the two farmers bound themselves to each provide a horse
once a month, on whatever day the vicomte chose.

When the day came the Couillards produced a big, raw-boned, yellowish
horse, and the Martins a little, white, long-haired nag; the two horses
were harnessed, and Marius, buried in an old livery of Simon's, brought
the carriage round to the door. Julien, who was in his best clothes,
would have looked a little like his old, elegant self, if his long beard
had not made him look common. He inspected the horses, the carriage, and
the little groom, and thought they looked very well, the only thing of
any importance in his eyes being the new coat-of-arms. The baroness came
downstairs on her husband's arm, got in, and had some cushions put
behind her back; then came Jeanne. She laughed first at the strange pair
of horses, and her laughter increased when she saw Marius with his face
buried under his cockaded hat (which his nose alone prevented from
slipping down to his chin), and his hands lost in his ample sleeves, and
the skirts of his coat coming right down to his feet, which were encased
in enormous boots; but when she saw him obliged to throw his head right
back before he could see anything, and raise his knee at each step as
though he were going to take a river in his stride, and move like a
blind man when he had an order given him, she gave a shout of laughter.
The baron turned round, looked for a moment at the little fellow who
stood looking so confused in his big clothes, and then he too was
overcome with laughter, and, hardly able to speak, called out to his
wife:

"Lo-lo-look at Ma-Marius! Does-doesn't he look fun-funny?"

The baroness leaned out of the carriage-window, and, catching sight of
Marius, she was shaken by such a fit of laughter that the carriage moved
up and down on its springs as if it were jolting over some deep ruts.

"What on earth is there to laugh at like that?" said Julien, his face
pale with anger. "You must be perfect idiots, all of you."

Jeanne sat down on the steps, holding her sides and quite unable to
contain herself; the baron followed her example, and, inside the
carriage, convulsive sneezes and a sort of continual clucking intimated
that the baroness was suffocating with laughter. At last Marius' coat
began to shake; no doubt, he understood the cause of all this mirth, and
he giggled himself, beneath his big hat. Julien rushed towards him in a
rage; he gave him a box on the ear which knocked the boy's hat off and
sent it rolling onto the grass; then, turning to the baron, he said, in
a voice that trembled with anger:

"I think you ought to be the last one to laugh. Whose fault is it that
you are ruined? We should not be like this if you had not squandered
your fortune and thrown away your money right and left."

All the laughter stopped abruptly, but no one spoke. Jeanne, ready to
cry now, quietly took her place beside her mother. The baron, without a
word, sat down opposite, and Julien got up on the box, after lifting up
the crying boy whose cheek was beginning to swell. The long drive was
performed in silence, for they all felt awkward and unable to converse
on ordinary topics. They could only think of the incident that had just
happened, and, rather than broach such a painful subject, they preferred
to sit in dull silence.

They went past a great many farm-houses startling the black fowls and
sending them to the hedges for refuge, and sometimes a yelping dog
followed for a little while and then ran back to his kennel with
bristling hair, turning round every now and then to send another bark
after the carriage. A lad in muddy sabots, was slouching along with his
hands in his pockets, his blouse blown out by the wind and his long lazy
legs dragging one after the other, and as he stood on one side for the
carriage to pass, he awkwardly pulled off his cap. Between each farm lay
meadows with other farms dotted here and there in the distance, and it
seemed a long while before they turned up an avenue of firs which
bordered the road. Here the carriage leant on one side as it passed over
the deep ruts, and the baroness felt frightened and began to give little
screams. At the end of the avenue there was a white gate which Marius
jumped down to open, and then they drove round an immense lawn and drew
up before a high, gloomy-looking house which had all its shutters
closed.

The hall-door opened, and an old, semi-paralyzed servant (in a red and
black striped waistcoat, over which was tied an apron) limped sideways
down the steps; after asking the visitors' names he showed them into a
large drawing-room, and drew up the closed Venetian blinds. The
furniture was all covered up, and the clock and candelabra were
enveloped in white cloths; the room smelt moldy, and its damp, cold
atmosphere seemed to chill one to the very heart. The visitors sat down
and waited. Footsteps could be heard on the floor above, hurrying along
in an unusual bustle, for the lady of the house had been taken unawares
and was changing her dress as quickly as possible; a bell rang several
times and then they could hear more footsteps on the stairs. The
baroness, feeling thoroughly cold, began to sneeze frequently; Julien
walked up and down the room, Jeanne sat by her mother, and the baron
stood with his back against the marble mantelpiece.

At last a door opened, and the Vicomte and Vicomtesse de Briseville
appeared. They were a little, thin couple of an uncertain age, both very
formal and rather embarrassed. The vicomtesse wore a flowered silk gown
and a cap trimmed with ribbons, and when she spoke it was in a sharp,
quick voice. Her husband was in a tight frock-coat; his hair looked as
if it had been waxed, and his nose, his eyes, his long teeth and his
coat, which was evidently his best one, all shone as if they had been
polished with the greatest care. He returned his visitors' bow with a
bend of the knees.

When the ordinary complimentary phrases had been exchanged no one knew
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