Woman's Wiles

"Woman's Wiles" is a short story by Guy de Maupassant that delves into the complexities of female allure and manipulation. The narrative centers around the themes of desire, jealousy, and the power dynamics between men and women. Through the experiences of its characters, Maupassant explores how women can wield their charm and intellect to navigate societal expectations and personal relationships, revealing both the strength and vulnerabilities inherent in femininity. The story is a keen observation of human psychology and the often intricate interplay of attraction and deception.

								
"Women?"

"Well, what do you say about women?"

"Well, there are no conjurors more subtle in taking us in at every
available opportunity with or without reason, often for the sole
pleasure of playing tricks on us. And they play these tricks with
incredible simplicity, astonishing audacity, unparalleled ingenuity.
They play tricks from morning till night, and they all do it--the most
virtuous, the most upright, the most sensible of them. You may add that
sometimes they are to some extent driven to do these things. Man has
always idiotic fits of obstinacy and tyrannical desires. A husband is
continually giving ridiculous orders in his own house. He is full of
caprices; his wife plays on them even while she makes use of them for
the purpose of deception. She persuades him that a thing costs so much
because he would kick up a row if its price were higher. And she always
extricates herself from the difficulty cunningly by a means so simple
and so sly that we gape with amazement when by chance we discover them.
We say to ourselves in a stupefied state of mind 'How is it we did not
see this till now?'"

The man who uttered the words was an ex-Minister of the Empire, the
Comte de L----, a thorough profligate, it was said, and a very
accomplished gentleman. A group of young men were listening to him.

He went on:

"I was outwitted by an ordinary uneducated woman in a comic and
thorough-going fashion. I will tell you about it for your instruction.

"I was at the time Minister for Foreign Affairs, and I was in the habit
of taking a long walk every morning in the Champs Elysees. It was the
month of May; I walked along, sniffing in eagerly that sweet odor of
budding leaves.

"Ere long, I noticed, that I used to meet every day a charming little
woman, one of those marvelous, graceful creatures, who bear the
trade-mark of Paris. Pretty? Well, yes and no. Well-made? No, better
than that: her waist was too slight, her shoulders too narrow, her
breast too full, no doubt; but I prefer those exquisite human dolls to
that great statuesque corpse, the Venus of Milo.

"And then this sort of woman trots along in an incomparable fashion, and
the very rustle of her skirt fills the marrow of your bones with desire.
She seemed to give me a side-glance as she passed me. But these women
give you all sorts of looks--you never can tell....

"One morning, I saw her sitting on a bench with an open book between her
hands. I came across, and sat down beside her. Five minutes later, we
were friends. Then, each day, after the smiling salutation 'Good day,
Madame,' 'Good day, Monsieur,' we began to chat. She told me that she
was the wife of a Government clerk, that her life was a sad one, that in
it pleasures were few and cares numerous, and a thousand other things.

"I told her who I was, partly through thoughtlessness, and partly
perhaps through vanity. She pretended to be much astonished.

"Next day, she called at the Ministry to see me; and she came again
there so often that the ushers, having their attention drawn to her
appearance, used to whisper to one another, as soon as they saw her, the
name with which they had christened her 'Madame Leon' that is my
Christian name.

"For three months I saw her every morning without growing tired of her
for a second, so well was she able incessantly to give variety and
piquancy to her physical attractiveness. But one day I saw that her eyes
were bloodshot and glowing with suppressed tears, that she could
scarcely speak, so much was she preoccupied with secret troubles.

"I begged of her, I implored of her, to tell me what was the cause of
her agitation.

"She faltered out at length with a shudder: 'I am--I am pregnant!'

"And she burst out sobbing. Oh! I made a dreadful grimace, and I have no
doubt I turned pale, as men generally do at hearing such a piece of
news. You cannot conceive what an unpleasant stab you feel in your
breast at the announcement of an unexpected paternity of this kind. But
you are sure to know it sooner or later. So, in my turn, I gasped:
'But--but--you are married, are you not?'

"She answered: 'Yes, but my husband has been away in Italy for the last
two months, and he will not be back for some time.'

"I was determined at any cost to get out of my responsibility.

"I said: 'You must go and join him immediately.'

"She reddened to her very temples, and with downcast eyes, murmured:
'Yes--but--' She either dared not or would not finish the sentence.

"I understood, and I prudently enclosed her in an envelope the expenses
of the journey.

"Eight days later, she sent me a letter from Genoa. The following week,
I received one from Florence. Then letters reached me from Leghorn,
Rome, and Naples.

"She said to me: 'I am in good health, my dear love, but I am looking
frightful. I would not care to have you see me till it is all over; you
would not love me. My husband suspects nothing. As his business in this
country will require him to stay there much longer, I will not return to
France till after my confinement.'

"And, at the end of about eight months, I received from Venice these few
words: 'It is a boy.'

"Some time after, she suddenly entered my study one morning, fresher and
prettier than ever, and flung herself into my arms.

"And our former connection was renewed.

"I left the Ministry, and she came to live in my house in the Rue de
Grenelle. She often spoke to me about the child, but I scarcely listened
to what she said about it; it did not concern me. Now and then I placed
a rather large sum of money in her hand, saying: 'Put that by for him.'

"Two more years glided by; and she was more eager to tell me some news
about the youngster--'about Leon.'

"Sometimes she would say in the midst of tears: 'You don't care about
him; you don't even wish to see him. If you know what grief you cause
me!'

"At last I was so much harassed by her that I promised, one day, to go,
next morning, to the Champs Elysees, when she took the child there for
an airing.

"But at the moment when I was leaving the house, I was stopped by a
sudden apprehension. Man is weak and foolish. What if I were to get fond
of this tiny being of whom I was the father--my son?

"I had my hat on my head, my gloves in my hands. I flung down the gloves
on my desk, and my hat on a chair:

"No. Decidedly I will not go; it is wiser not to go.'

"My door flew open. My brother entered the room. He handed me an
anonymous letter he had received that morning:

"'Warn the Comte de L----, your brother, that the little woman of the
Rue Casette is impudently laughing at him. Let him make some inquiries
about her.'

"I had never told anybody about this intrigue, and I now told my brother
the history of it from the beginning to the end. I added:

"For my part, I don't want to trouble myself any further about the

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