A Woman's Life Page #30

"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.

								


Then the curé shook hands with the baroness, and rose to go.

"Don't get up, Madame la baronne, don't get up," he exclaimed. "I know
the value of a step too well myself."

As he went out he met Aunt Lison coming to see her patient. She did not
notice that anything extraordinary had happened. No one had told her
anything, and, as usual, she had not the slightest idea of what was
going on.

VIII

Rosalie had left the house and the time of Jeanne's confinement was
drawing near. The sorrow she had gone through had taken away all
pleasure from the thought of becoming a mother, and she waited for the
child's birth without any impatience or curiosity, her mind entirely
filled with her presentiment of coming evils.

Spring was close at hand. The bare trees still trembled in the cold
wind, but, in the damp ditches, the yellow primroses were already
blossoming among the decaying autumn leaves. The rain-soaked fields, the
farm-yards and the commons exhaled a damp odor, as of fermenting
liquor, and little green leaves peeped out of the brown earth and
glistened in the sun.

A big, strongly-built woman had been engaged in Rosalie's place, and she
now supported the baroness in her dreary walks along the avenue, where
the track made by her foot was always damp and muddy.

Jeanne, low-spirited and in constant pain, leant on her father's arm
when she went out, while on her other side walked Aunt Lison, holding
her niece's hand, and thinking nervously, of this mysterious suffering
that she would never know. They would all three walk for hours without
speaking a word, and, while they were out, Julien went all over the
country on horseback, for he had suddenly become very fond of riding.

The baron, his wife, and the vicomte, paid a visit to the Fourvilles
(whom Julien seemed to know very well, though no one at the château knew
exactly how the acquaintance had begun), and another duty call was paid
to the Brisevilles, and those two visits were the only break in their
dull, monotonous life.

One afternoon, about four o'clock, two people on horseback trotted up to
the château. Julien rushed into his wife's room in great excitement:

"Make haste and go down," he exclaimed. "Here are the Fourvilles. They
have come simply to make a neighborly call as they know the condition
you are in. Say I am out but that I shall be in soon. I am just going to
change my coat."

Jeanne went downstairs and found in the drawing-room a gigantic man with
big, red moustaches, and a pale, pretty woman with a sad-looking face,
sentimental eyes and hair of a dead gold that looked as if the sun had
never caressed it. When the fair-haired woman had introduced the big man
as her husband, she said:

"M. de Lamare, whom we have met several times, has told us how unwell
you are, so we thought we would not put off coming to see you any
longer. You see we have come on horseback, so you must look upon this
simply as a neighborly call; besides, I have already had the pleasure of
receiving a visit from your mother and the baron."

She spoke easily in a refined, familiar way, and Jeanne fell in love
with her at once. "In her I might, indeed, find a friend," she thought.

The Comte de Fourville, unlike his wife, seemed as much out of place in
a drawing-room as a bull in a china shop. When he sat down he put his
hat on a chair close by him, and then the problem of what he should do
with his hands presented itself to him. First he rested them on his
knees, then on the arms of his chair, and finally joined them as if in
prayer.

Julien came in so changed in appearance that Jeanne stared at him in
mute surprise. He had shaved himself and looked as handsome and charming
as when he was wooing her. His hair, just now so coarse and dull, had
been brushed and sprinkled with perfumed oil till it had recovered its
soft shining waves, and his large eyes, which seemed made to express
nothing but love, had their old winning look in them. He made himself as
amiable and fascinating as he had been before his marriage. He pressed
the hairy paw of the comte, who seemed much relieved by his presence,
and kissed the hand of the comtesse, whose ivory cheek became just
tinged with pink.

When the Fourvilles were going away the comtesse said:

"Will you come for a ride on Thursday, vicomte?" And as Julien bowed and
replied, "I shall be very pleased, madame," she turned and took Jeanne's
hand, saying to her, affectionately:

"When you are well again we must all three go for long rides together.
We could make such delightful excursions if you would."

Then she gracefully caught up the skirt of her riding-habit and sprang
into the saddle as lightly as a bird, and her husband, after awkwardly
raising his hat, leapt on his huge horse, feeling and looking at his
ease as soon as he was mounted.

"What charming people!" cried Julien, as soon as they were out of sight.
"We may, indeed, think ourselves lucky to have made their acquaintance."

"The little comtesse is delightful," answered Jeanne, feeling pleased
herself though she hardly knew why. "I am sure I shall like her; but the
husband seems a bear. How did you get to know them?"

"I met them one day at the Brisevilles," he replied, rubbing his hands
together cheerfully. "The husband certainly is a little rough, but he is
a true gentleman. He is passionately fond of shooting."

Nothing else happened until the end of July. Then, one Tuesday evening,
as they were all sitting under the plane-tree beside a little table, on
which stood two liqueur glasses and a decanter of brandy, Jeanne
suddenly turned very white and put both her hands to her side with a
cry. A sharp pain had shot through her and at once died away. In about
ten minutes came another one, hardly so severe but of longer duration
than the first. Her father and husband almost carried her indoors, for
the short distance between the plane-tree and her room seemed miles to
her; she could not stifle her moans, and, overpowered by an intolerable
sense of heaviness and weight, she implored them to let her sit down and
rest.

The child was not expected until September but, in case of accident, a
horse was harnessed and old Simon galloped off after the doctor. He came
about midnight and at once recognized the signs of a premature
confinement. The actual pain had a little diminished, but Jeanne felt an
awful deathly faintness, and she thought she was going to die, for Death
is sometimes so close that his icy breath can almost be felt.

The room was full of people. The baroness lay back in an armchair
gasping for breath; the baron ran hither and thither, bringing all
manner of things and completely losing his head; Julien walked up and
down looking very troubled, but really feeling quite calm, and the Widow
Dentu, whom nothing could surprise or startle, stood at the foot of the
bed with an expression suited to the occasion on her face.
								Rate this book:0.0 / 0 votes