A Woman's Life Page #34

"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.

								

of impatience. Then afraid of arousing her husband's quarrelsome temper,
she consented to stay, though the idea of not seeing Paul till the next
day was torture to her.

They spent a delightful afternoon. First of all the visitors were taken
to see the springs which flowed from the foot of a moss-covered rock
into a crystal basin of water which bubbled as if it were boiling, and
then they went in a boat among the dry reeds, where paths of water had
been formed by cutting down the rushes.

The comte rowed (his two dogs sitting each side of him with their noses
in the air) and each vigorous stroke of the oars lifted the boat half
out of the water and sent it rapidly on its way. Jeanne let her hand
trail in the water, enjoying the icy coolness, which seemed to soothe
her, and Julien and the comtesse, well wrapped up in rugs, sat in
smiling silence in the stern of the boat, as if they were too happy to
talk.

The evening drew on, and with it the icy, northerly wind came over the
withered reeds. The sun had disappeared behind the firs, and it made one
cold only to look at the crimson sky, covered with tiny, red
fantastically-shaped clouds.

They all went in to the big drawing-room where an enormous fire was
blazing. The room seemed to be filled with an atmosphere of warmth and
comfort, and the comte gayly took up his wife in his strong arms like a
child, and gave her two hearty kisses on her cheeks.

Jeanne could not help smiling at this good-natured giant to whom his
moustaches gave the appearance of an ogre. "What wrong impressions of
people one forms every day," she thought; and, almost involuntarily, she
glanced at Julien. He was standing in the doorway his eyes fixed on the
comte and his face very pale. His expression frightened her and, going
up to him, she asked:

"What is the matter? are you ill?"

"There's nothing the matter with me," he answered, churlishly. "Leave me
alone. I only feel cold."

Dinner was announced and the comte begged permission for his dogs to
come into the dining-room. They came and sat one on each side of their
master, who every minute threw them some scrap of food. The animals
stretched out their heads, and wagged their tails, quivering with
pleasure as he drew their long silky ears through his fingers.

After dinner, when Jeanne and Julien began to say good-bye, the comte
insisted on their staying to see some fishing by torchlight. They and
the comtesse stood on the steps leading down to the lake, while the
comte got into his boat with a servant carrying a lighted torch and a
net. The torch cast strange trembling reflections over the water, its
dancing glimmers even lighting up the firs beyond the reeds; and
suddenly, as the boat turned round, an enormous fantastic shadow was
thrown on the background of the illumined wood. It was the shadow of a
man, but the head rose above the trees and was lost against the dark
sky, while the feet seemed to be down in the lake. This huge creature
raised its arms as if it would grasp the stars; the movement was a rapid
one, and the spectators on the steps heard a little splash.

The boat tacked a little, and the gigantic shadow seemed to run along
the wood, which was lighted up as the torch moved with the boat; then it
was lost in the darkness, then reappeared on the château wall, smaller,
but more distinct; and the loud voice of the comte was heard exclaiming:

"Gilberte, I have caught eight!"

The oars splashed, and the enormous shadow remained standing in the same
place on the wall, but gradually it became thinner and shorter; the head
seemed to sink lower and the body to get narrower, and when M. de
Fourville came up the steps, followed by the servant carrying the torch,
it was reduced to his exact proportions, and faithfully copied all his
movements. In the net he had eight big fish which were still quivering.

As Jeanne and Julien were driving home, well wrapped up in cloaks and
rugs which the Fourvilles had lent them,

"What a good-hearted man that giant is," said Jeanne, almost to herself.

"Yes," answered Julien; "but he makes too much show of his affection,
sometimes, before people."

A week after their visit to the Fourvilles, they called on the
Couteliers, who were supposed to be the highest family in the province,
and whose estate lay near Cany. The new château, built in the reign of
Louis XIV, lay in a magnificent park, entirely surrounded by walls, and
the ruins of the old château could be seen from the higher parts of the
grounds.

A liveried servant showed the visitors into a large, handsome room. In
the middle of the floor an enormous Sèvres vase stood on a pedestal,
into which a crystal case had been let containing the king's autograph
letter, offering this gift to the Marquis Léopold Hervé Joseph Germer de
Varneville, de Rollebosc de Coutelier. Jeanne and Julien were looking at
this royal present when the marquis and marquise came in, the latter
wearing her hair powdered.

The marquise thought her rank constrained her to be amiable, and her
desire to appear condescending made her affected. Her husband was a big
man, with white hair brushed straight up all over his head, and a
haughtiness in his voice, in all his movements, in his every attitude
which plainly showed the esteem in which he held himself. They were
people who had a strict etiquette for everything, and whose feelings
seemed always stilted, like their words.

They both talked on without waiting for an answer, smiled with an air of
indifference, and behaved as if they were accomplishing a duty imposed
upon them by their superior birth, in receiving the smaller nobles of
the province with such politeness. Jeanne and Julien tried to make
themselves agreeable, though they felt ill at ease, and when the time
came to conclude their visit they hardly knew how to retire, though they
did not want to stay any longer. However, the marquise, herself, ended
the visit naturally and simply by stopping short the conversation, like
a queen ending an audience.

"I don't think we will call on anyone else, unless you want to," said
Julien, as they were going back. "The Fourvilles are quite as many
friends as I want."

And Jeanne agreed with him.

Dark, dreary December passed slowly away. Everyone stayed at home like
the winter before, but Jeanne's thoughts were too full of Paul for her
ever to feel dull. She would hold him in her arms covering him with
those passionate kisses which mothers lavish on their children, then
offering the baby's face to his father:

"Why don't you kiss him?" she would say. "You hardly seem to love him."

Julien would just touch the infant's smooth forehead with his lips,
holding his body as far away as possible, as if he were afraid of the
little hands touching him in their aimless movements. Then he would go
quickly out of the room, almost as though the child disgusted him.

The mayor, the doctor, and the curé came to dinner occasionally, and
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