In His Sweetheart's Livery

"In His Sweetheart's Livery" is a short story by French author Guy de Maupassant that explores themes of love, jealousy, and deception. The narrative follows a young man who becomes infatuated with a beautiful woman, only to discover the complex social dynamics and emotional turmoil that accompany their romantic entanglement. Maupassant's keen observations of human nature and his ability to weave intricate character interactions create a poignant commentary on the bittersweet nature of love and the masks people wear in relationships. Through rich prose and vivid imagery, the story captures the essence of longing and the often-unexpected consequences of desire.

• Short story

								
At present she is a great lady, an elegant, intellectual woman, a
celebrated actress; but in the year 1847, when our story begins, she was
a beautiful, but not very moral girl, and then it was that the young,
talented Hungarian poet, who was the first to discover her gifts for the
stage, made her acquaintance.

The slim, ardent girl, with her bright, brown hair and her large blue
eyes, attracted the careless poet, and he loved her, and all that was
good and noble in her nature, put forth fresh buds and blossoms in the
sunshine of his poetic love.

They lived in an attic in the old Imperial city on the Danube, and she
shared his poverty, his triumphs and his pleasures, and she would have
become his true and faithful wife, if the Hungarian revolution had not
torn him from her arms.

The poet became the soldier of freedom, and followed the Magyar
tricolor, and the Honved drums, while she was carried away by the
current of the movement in the capital, and she might have been seen
discharging her musket, like a brave Amazon, at the Croats, who were
defending the town against Görgey's assaulting battalions.

But at last Hungary was subdued, and was governed as if it had been a
conquered country.

It was said that the young poet had fallen at Temesvar, and his mistress
wept for him, and married another man, which was nothing either new or
extraordinary. Her name was now Frau von Kubinyi, but her married life
was not happy; and one day it occurred to her that her lover had told
her that she had talent for the stage, and whatever he said, had always
proved correct, so she separated from her husband, studied a few parts,
appeared on the stage, and the public, the critics, actors and
literature were lying at her feet.

She obtained a very profitable engagement, and her reputation increased
with every part she played; and before the end of a year after her first
appearance, she was the lioness of society. Everybody paid homage to
her, and the wealthiest men tried to obtain her favors; but she remained
cold and reserved, until the General commanding the district, who was a
handsome man of noble bearing, and a gentleman in the highest sense of
the word, approached her.

Whether she was flattered at seeing that powerful man, before whom
millions trembled, and who had to decide over the life and death, the
honor and happiness of so many thousands, fettered by her soft curls, or
whether her enigmatical heart for once really felt what true love was,
suffice it to say, that in a short time she was his acknowledged
mistress, and her princely lover surrounded her with the luxury of an
Eastern queen.

But just then a miracle occurred--the resurrection of a dead man. Frau
von Kubinyi was driving through the Corso in the General's carriage;
she was lying back negligently in the soft cushions, and looking
carelessly at the crowd on the pavement. Then, she caught sight of a
common Austrian soldier and screamed out aloud.

Nobody heard that cry, which came from the depths or a woman's heart,
nobody saw how pale and how excited that woman was, who usually seemed
made of marble, not even the soldier who was the cause of it. He was a
Hungarian poet, who, like so many other Honveds[5], now wore the
uniform of an Austrian soldier.

[Footnote 5: A Hungarian word, meaning literally, Defender of the
Fatherland. The term Honved is applied to the Hungarian Landnehr, or
Militia.--Translator.]

Two days later, to his no small surprise he was told to go to the
General in command, as orderly, and when he reported himself to the
adjutant, he told him to go to Frau von Kubinyi's, and to await her
orders.

Our poet only knew her by report, but he hated and despised the
beautiful woman, who had sold herself to the enemy of the country, most
intensely; he had no choice, however, but to obey.

When he arrived at her house, he seemed to be expected, for the porter
knew his name, took him into his lodge, and without any further
explanation, told him immediately to put on the livery of his mistress,
which was lying there ready for him. He ground his teeth, but resigned
himself without a word to his wretched, though laughable fate; it was
quite clear that the actress had some purpose in making the poet wear
her livery. He tried to remember whether he could formerly have offended
her by his notices as a theatrical critic, but before he could arrive at
any conclusion, he was told to go and show himself to Frau von Kubinyi.

She evidently wished to enjoy his humiliation.

He was shown into a small drawing-room, which was furnished with an
amount of taste and magnificence such as he had never seen before, and
was told to wait. But he had not been alone many minutes, before the
door-curtains were parted and Frau von Kubinyi came in, calm but deadly
pale, in a splendid dressing gown of some Turkish material, and he
recognized his former mistress.

"Irma!" he exclaimed.

The cry came from his heart, and it also affected the heart of the
woman, who was surfeited with pleasure, so greatly that the next moment
she was lying on the breast of the man whom she had believed to be dead,
but only for a moment, and then he freed himself from her.

"We are fated to meet again thus!" she began.

"Not through any fault of mine," he replied bitterly.

"And not through mine either," she said quickly; "everybody thought that
you were dead, and I wept for you; that is my justification."

"You are really too kind," he replied sarcastically. "How can you
condescend to make any excuses to me? I wear your livery, and you have
to order, and I have to obey; our relative positions are clear enough."

Frau von Kubinyi turned away to hide her tears.

"I did not intend to hurt your feelings," he continued: "but I must
confess that it would have been better for both of us, if we had not met
again. But what do you mean by making me wear your livery? It is not
enough that I have been robbed of my happiness? Does it afford you any
pleasure to humiliate me as well?"

"How can you think that?" the actress exclaimed. "Oh! Ever since I have
discovered your unhappy lot, I have thought of nothing but the means of
delivering you from it, and until I succeed in doing this, however, I
can at least make it more bearable for you."

"I understand," the unhappy poet said with a sneer. "And in order to do
this, you have begged your present worshiper, to turn your former lover
into a footman."

"What a thing to say to me!"

"Can you find any other plea?"

"You wish to punish me for having loved you, idolized you, I suppose?"
the painter continued. "So exactly like a woman! But I can perfectly
well understand that the situation promises to have a fresh charm for
you..."

Before he could finish what he was saying, the actress quickly left the
room; he could hear her sobbing, but he did not regret his words, and

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