A Woman's Life Page #28

"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.

								


When the doctor came she was very excited because they would not let her
see the maid, and they told him what was the matter. Jeanne burst into
tears and almost shrieked: "I will see her! I will see her!"

The doctor took her hand and said in a low voice:

"Calm yourself, madame. Any violent emotion might have very serious
results just now, for you are enceinte."

Jeanne's tears ceased directly; even as the doctor spoke she fancied she
could feel a movement within her, and she lay still, paying no attention
to what was being said or done around her. She could not sleep that
night; it seemed so strange to think that within her was another life,
and she felt sorry because it was Julien's child, and full of fears in
case it should resemble its father.

The next morning she sent for the baron.

"Papa, dear," she said, "I have made up my mind to know the whole truth;
especially now. You hear, I will know it, and you know, you must let
me do as I like, because of my condition. Now listen; go and fetch M. le
curé; he must be here to make Rosalie tell the truth. Then, as soon as
he is here, you must send her up to me, and you and mamma must come too;
but, whatever you do, don't let Julien know what is going on."

The priest came about an hour afterwards. He was fatter than ever, and
panted quite as much as the baroness. He sat down in an armchair and
began joking, while he wiped his forehead with his checked handkerchief
from sheer habit.

"Well, Madame la baronne, I don't think we are either of us getting
thinner; in my opinion we make a very handsome pair." Then turning to
the invalid, he said: "Ah, ah! my young lady, I hear we're soon to have
a christening, and that it won't be the christening of a boat either,
this time, ha, ha, ha!" Then he went on in a grave voice, "It will be
one more defender for the country, or," after a short silence, "another
good wife and mother like you, madame," with a bow to the baroness.

The door flew open and there stood Rosalie, crying, struggling, and
refusing to move, while the baron tried to push her in. At last he gave
her a sudden shake, and threw her into the room with a jerk, and she
stood in the middle of the floor, with her face in her hands, sobbing
violently. Jeanne started up as white as a sheet, and her heart could be
seen beating under her thin nightdress. It was some time before she
could speak, but at last she gasped out:

"There--there--is no--need for me to--question you. Your confusion in my
presence--is--is quite sufficient--proof--of your guilt."

She stopped for a few moments for want of breath, and then went on
again:

"But I wish to know all. You see that M. le curé is here, so you
understand you will have to answer as if you were at confession."

Rosalie had not moved from where the baron had pushed her; she made no
answer, but her sobs became almost shrieks. The baron, losing all
patience with her, seized her hands, drew them roughly from her face and
threw her on her knees beside the bed, saying:

"Why don't you say something? Answer your mistress."

She crouched down on the ground in the position in which Mary Magdalene
is generally depicted; her cap was on one side, her apron on the floor,
and as soon as her hands were free she again buried her face in them.

"Come, come, my girl," said the curé, "we don't want to do you any harm,
but we must know exactly what has happened. Now listen to what is asked
you and answer truthfully."

Jeanne was leaning over the side of the bed, looking at the girl.

"Is it not true that I found you in Julien's bed?" she asked.

"Yes, madame," moaned out Rosalie through her fingers.

At that the baroness burst into tears also, and the sound of her sobs
mingled with the maid's.

"How long had that gone on?" asked Jeanne, her eyes fixed on the maid.

"Ever since he came here," stammered Rosalie.

"Since he came here," repeated Jeanne, hardly understanding what the
words meant. "Do you mean since--since the spring?"

"Yes, madame."

"Since he first came to the house?"

"Yes, madame."

"But how did it happen? How did he come to say anything to you about
it?" burst out Jeanne, as if she could keep back the questions no
longer. "Did he force you, or did you give yourself to him? How could
you do such a thing?"

"I don't know," answered Rosalie, taking her hands from her face and
speaking as if the words were forced from her by an irresistible desire
to talk and to tell all. "The day he dined 'ere for the first time, 'e
came up to my room. He 'ad 'idden in the garret and I dursn't cry out
for fear of what everyone would say. He got into my bed, and I dunno'
how it was or what I did, but he did just as 'e liked with me. I never
said nothin' about it because I thought he was nice."

"But your--your child? Is it his?" cried Jeanne.

"Yes, madame," answered Rosalie, between her sobs. Then neither said
anything more, and the silence was only broken by the baroness's and
Rosalie's sobs.

The tears rose to Jeanne's eyes, and flowed noiselessly down her cheeks.
So her maid's child had the same father as her own! All her anger had
evaporated and in its place was a dull, gloomy, deep despair. After a
short silence she said in a softer, tearful voice.

"After we returned from--from our wedding tour--when did he begin
again?"

"The--the night you came back," answered the maid, who was now almost
lying on the floor.

Each word rung Jeanne's heart. He had actually left her for this girl
the very night of their return to Les Peuples! That, then, was why he
had let her sleep alone. She had heard enough now; she did not want to
know anything more, and she cried to the girl:

"Go away! go away!"

As Rosalie, overcome by her emotion, did not move, she called to her
father:

"Take her away! Carry her out of the room!"

But the curé, who had said nothing up to now, thought the time had come
for a little discourse.

"You have behaved very wickedly," he said to Rosalie, "very wickedly
indeed, and the good God will not easily forgive you. Think of the
punishment which awaits you if you do not live a better life henceforth.
Now you are young is the time to train yourself in good ways. No doubt
Madame la baronne will do something for you, and we shall be able to
find you a husband--"

He would have gone on like this for a long time had not the baron seized
Rosalie by the shoulders, dragged her to the door and thrown her into
the passage like a bundle of clothes.

When he came back, looking whiter even than his daughter, the curé began
again:

"Well, you know, all the girls round here are the same. It is a very bad
state of things, but it can't be helped, and we must make a little
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