A Woman's Life Page #35

"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.

								

sometimes the Fourvilles, who had become very intimate with Jeanne and
her husband. The comte seemed to worship Paul. He nursed the child on
his knees from the time he entered Les Peuples to the time he left,
sometimes holding him the whole afternoon, and it was marvelous to see
how delicately and tenderly he touched him with his huge hands. He would
tickle the child's nose with the ends of his long moustaches, and then
suddenly cover his face with kisses almost as passionate as Jeanne's. It
was the great trouble of his life that he had no children.

March was bright, dry, and almost mild. The Comtesse Gilberte again
proposed that they should all four go for some rides together, and
Jeanne, a little tired of the long weary evenings and the dull,
monotonous days, was only too pleased at the idea and agreed to it at
once. It took her a week to make her riding-habit, and then they
commenced their rides.

They always rode two and two, the comtesse and Julien leading the way,
and the comte and Jeanne about a hundred feet behind. The latter couple
talked easily and quietly as they rode along, for, each attracted by the
other's straightforward ways and kindly heart, they had become fast
friends. Julien and the comtesse talked in whispers alternated by noisy
bursts of laughter, and looked in each other's eyes to read there the
things their lips did not utter, and often they would break into a
gallop, as if impelled by a desire to escape alone to some country far
away.

Sometimes it seemed as if something irritated Gilberte. Her sharp tones
would be borne on the breeze to the ears of the couple loitering behind,
and the comte would say to Jeanne, with a smile:

"I don't think my wife got out of bed the right side this morning."

One evening, as they were returning home, the comtesse began to spur her
mare, and then pull her in with sudden jerks on the rein.

"Take care, or she'll run away with you," said Julien two or three
times.

"So much the worse for me; it's nothing to do with you," she replied, in
such cold, hard tones that the clear words rang out over the fields as
if they were actually floating in the air.

The mare reared, kicked, and foamed at the mouth and the comte cried out
anxiously:

"Do take care what you are doing, Gilberte!"

Then, in a fit of defiance, for she was in one of those obstinate moods
that will brook no word of advice, she brought her whip heavily down
between the animal's ears. The mare reared, beat the air with her fore
legs for a moment, then, with a tremendous bound, set off over the plain
at the top of her speed. First she crossed a meadow, then some ploughed
fields, kicking up the wet heavy soil behind her, and going at such a
speed that in a few moments the others could hardly distinguish the
comtesse from her horse.

Julien stood stock still, crying: "Madame! Madame!" The comte gave a
groan, and, bending down over his powerful steed, galloped after his
wife. He encouraged his steed with voice and hand, urged it on with whip
and spur, and it seemed as though he carried the big animal between his
legs, and raised it from the ground at every leap it took. The horse
went at an inconceivable speed, keeping a straight line regardless of
all obstacles; and Jeanne could see the two outlines of the husband and
wife diminish and fade in the distance, till they vanished altogether,
like two birds chasing each other till they are lost to sight beyond the
horizon.

Julien walked his horse up to his wife, murmuring angrily: "She is mad
to-day." And they both went off after their friends, who were hidden in
a dip in the plain. In about a quarter of an hour they saw them coming
back, and soon they came up to them.

The comte, looking red, hot and triumphant, was leading his wife's
horse. The comtesse was very pale; her features looked drawn and
contracted, and she leant on her husband's shoulder as if she were going
to faint. That day Jeanne understood, for the first time, how madly the
comte loved his wife.

All through the following month the comtesse was merrier than she had
ever been before. She came to Les Peuples as often as she could, and was
always laughing and jumping up to kiss Jeanne. She seemed to have found
some unknown source of happiness, and her husband simply worshiped her
now, following her about with his eyes and seeking every pretext for
touching her hand or her dress.

"We are happier now than we have ever been before," he said, one
evening, to Jeanne. "Gilberte has never been so affectionate as she is
now; nothing seems to vex her or make her angry. Until lately I was
never quite sure that she loved me, but now I know she does."

Julien had changed for the better also; he had become gay and
good-tempered, and their friendship seemed to have brought peace and
happiness to both families.

The spring was exceptionally warm and forward. The sun cast his warm
rays upon the budding trees and flowers from early morn until the sweet,
soft evening. It was one of those favored years when the world seems to
have grown young again, and nature to delight in bringing everything to
life once more.

Jeanne felt a vague excitement in the presence of this reawakening of
the fields and woods. She gave way to a sweet melancholy and spent hours
languidly dreaming. All the tender incidents of her first hours of love
came back to her, not that any renewal of affection for her husband
stirred her heart; that had been completely destroyed; but the soft
breeze which fanned her cheek and the sweet perfume which filled the air
seemed to breathe forth a tender sigh of love which made her pulse beat
quicker. She liked to be alone, and in the warm sunshine, to enjoy these
vague, peaceful sensations which aroused no thoughts.

One morning she was lying thus half-dormant, when suddenly she saw in
her mind that sunlit space in the little wood near Etretat where for the
first time she had felt thrilled by the presence of the man who loved
her then, where he had for the first time timidly hinted at his hopes,
and where she had believed that she was going to realize the radiant
future of her dreams. She thought she should like to make a romantic,
superstitious pilgrimage to the wood, and she felt as if a visit to that
sunny spot would in some way alter the course of her life.

Julien had gone out at daybreak, she did not know whither, so she
ordered the Martins' little white horse, which she sometimes rode, to be
saddled, and set off.

It was one of those calm days when there is not a leaf nor a blade of
grass stirring. The wind seemed dead, and everything looked as though
it would remain motionless until the end of time; even the insects had
disappeared. A burning, steady heat descended from the sun in a golden
mist, and Jeanne walked her horse along, enjoying the stillness, and
every now and then looking up at a tiny white cloud which hung like a
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