A Woman's Life Page #22

"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.

								

what to say next, so they all politely expressed their pleasure at
making this new acquaintance and hoped it would be a lasting one; for,
living as they did in the country all the year round, an occasional
visit made an agreable change. The icy air of the drawing-room froze the
very marrow of their bones, and the baroness was seized by a fit of
coughing, interrupted at intervals by a sneeze. The baron rose to go.

"You are not going to leave us already? Pray, stay a little longer,"
said the Brisevilles.

But Jeanne followed her father's example in spite of all the signs made
her by Julien, who thought they were leaving too soon. The vicomtesse
would have rung to order the baron's carriage, but the bell was out of
order, so the vicomte went to find a servant. He soon returned, to say
that the horses had been taken out, and the carriage would not be ready
for some minutes. Everyone tried to find some subject of conversation;
the rainy winter was discussed, and Jeanne, who could not prevent
herself shivering, try as she would, asked if their hosts did not find
it very dull living alone all the year round. Such a question astounded
the Brisevilles. Their time was always fully occupied, what with writing
long letters to their numerous aristocratic relations and pompously
discussing the most trivial matters, for in all their useless, petty
occupations, they were as formally polite to each other as they would
have been to utter strangers. At last the carriage, with its two
ill-matched steeds, drew up before the door, but Marius was nowhere to
be seen; he had gone for a walk in the fields, thinking he would not be
wanted again until the evening. Julien, in a great rage, left word for
him to be sent after them on foot, and, after a great many bows and
compliments, they started for Les Peuples again.

As soon as they were fairly off, Jeanne and the baron, in spite of the
uncomfortable feeling that Julien's ill-temper had caused, began to
laugh and joke about the Brisevilles' ways and tones. The baron imitated
the husband and Jeanne the wife, and the baroness, feeling a little hurt
in her reverence for the aristocracy, said to them:

"You should not joke in that way. I'm sure the Brisevilles are very
well-bred people, and they belong to excellent families."

They stopped laughing for a time, out of respect for the baroness's
feelings, but every now and then Jeanne would catch her father's eye,
and then they began again. The baron would make a very stiff bow, and
say in a solemn voice:

"Your château at Les Peuples must be very cold, madame, with the
sea-breeze blowing on it all day long."

Then Jeanne put on a very prim look, and said with a smirk, moving her
head all the time like a duck on the water:

"Oh, monsieur, I have plenty to fill up my time. You see we have so many
relations to whom letters must be written, and M. de Briseville leaves
all correspondence to me, as his time is taken up with the religious
history of Normandy that he is writing in collaboration with the Abbé
Pelle."

The baroness could not help smiling, but she repeated, in a half-vexed,
half-amused tone:

"It isn't right to laugh at people of our own rank like that."

All at once the carriage came to a standstill, and Julien called out to
someone on the road behind; Jeanne and the baron leant out of the
windows, and saw some singular creature rolling, rather than running,
towards them. Hindered by the floating skirts of his coat, unable to see
for his hat, which kept slipping over his eyes, his sleeves waving like
the sails of a windmill, splashing through the puddles, stumbling over
every large stone in his way, hastening, jumping, covered with mud,
Marius was running after the carriage as fast as his legs could carry
him. As soon as he came up Julien leant down, caught hold of him by the
coat collar, and lifted him up on the box seat; then, dropping the
reins, he began to pommel the boy's hat, which at once slipped down to
his shoulders. Inside the hat, which sounded as if it had been a drum,
Marius yelled at the top of his voice, but it was in vain that he
struggled and tried to jump down, for his master held him firmly with
one hand while he beat him with the other.

"Papa! oh, papa!" gasped Jeanne; and the baroness, filled with
indignation, seized her husband's arm, and exclaimed: "Stop him,
Jacques, stop him!" The baron suddenly let down the front window, and,
catching hold of the vicomte's sleeve:

"Are you going to stop beating that child?" he said in a voice that
trembled with anger.

Julien turned round in astonishment.

"But don't you see what a state the little wretch has got his livery
into?"

"What does that matter to me?" exclaimed the baron, with his head
between the two. "You sha'n't be so rough with him."

Julien got angry.

"Kindly leave me alone," he said; "it's nothing to do with you;" and he
raised his hand to strike the lad again. The baron caught hold of his
son-in-law's wrist, and flung his uplifted hand heavily down against the
woodwork of the seat, crying:

"If you don't stop that, I'll get out and soon make you."

He spoke in so determined a tone that the vicomte's rage suddenly
vanished, and, shrugging his shoulders, he whipped up the horses, and
the carriage moved on again. All this time Jeanne and her mother had sat
still, pale with fright, and the beating of the baroness's heart could
be distinctly heard. At dinner that evening Julien was more agreeable
than usual, and behaved as if nothing had happened. Jeanne, her father,
and Madame Adélaïde easily forgave, and, touched by his good temper,
they joined in his gayety with a feeling of relief. When Jeanne
mentioned the Brisevilles, her husband even made a joke about them,
though he quickly added:

"But one can see directly that they are gentlepeople."

No more visits were paid, as everyone dreaded any reference to Marius,
but they were going to send cards to their neighbors on New Year's day,
and then wait to call on them until spring came, and the weather was
warmer.

On Christmas day and New Year's day, the curé, the mayor, and his wife
dined at Les Peuples, and their two visits formed the only break in the
monotonous days. The baron and baroness were to leave the château on the
ninth of January; Jeanne wanted them to stay longer, but Julien did not
second her invitation, so the baron ordered the post-chaise to be sent
from Rouen. The evening before they went away was clear and frosty, so
Jeanne and her father walked down to Yport, for they had not been there
since Jeanne's return from Corsica.

They went across the wood where she had walked on her wedding-day with
him whose companion she was henceforth to be, where she had received his
first kiss, and had caught her first glimpse of that sensual love which
was not fully revealed to her till that day in the valley of Ota when
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