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Chapter VIII - Maternity
Rosalie had left the house. Jeanne felt no joy at the thought of being
a mother, she had had so much sorrow. She awaited the advent of her
child without curiosity, still filled with the apprehension of unknown
misfortunes.
A big woman, big as a house, had taken Rosalie's place and supported
the baroness in her monotonous walks along her avenue. The baron gave
his arm to Jeanne, who was now always ailing, while Aunt Lison,
uneasy, and busied about the approaching event, held her other hand,
bewildered at this mystery which she would never know.
They all walked along like this almost in silence for hours at a time,
while Julien was riding about the country on horseback, having
suddenly acquired this taste. Nothing ever came to disturb their
dreary life. The baron, his wife, and the vicomte paid a visit to the
Fourvilles, whom Julien seemed to be already well acquainted with,
without one knowing just how. Another ceremonious visit was exchanged
with the Brisevilles, who were still hidden in their manor house.
One afternoon, about four o'clock, two persons, a lady and gentleman
on horseback, rode up into the courtyard of the chateau. Julien,
greatly excited, ran up to Jeanne's room. "Quick, quick, come
downstairs; here are the Fourvilles. They have just come as neighbors,
knowing your condition. Tell them that I have gone out, but that I
will be back. I will just go and make myself presentable."
Jeanne, much surprised, went downstairs. A pale, pretty young woman
with a sad face, dreamy eyes, and lustreless, fair hair, looking as
though the sunlight had never kissed it, quietly introduced her
husband, a kind of giant, or ogre with a large red mustache. She
added: "We have several times had the pleasure of meeting M. de
Lamare. We heard from him how you were suffering, and we would not put
off coming to see you as neighbors, without any ceremony. You see that
we came on horseback. I also had the pleasure the other day of a visit
from madame, your mother, and the baron."
She spoke with perfect ease, familiar but refined. Jeanne was charmed,
and fell in love with her at once. "This is a friend," she thought.
The Comte de Fourville, on the contrary, seemed like a bear in the
drawing-room. As soon as he was seated, he placed his hat on the chair
next him, did not know what to do with his hands, placed them on his
knees, then on the arms of the chair, and finally crossed his fingers
as if in prayer.
Suddenly Julien entered the room. Jeanne was amazed and did not
recognize him. He was shaved. He looked handsome, elegant, and
attractive as on the day of their betrothal. He shook the comte's
hairy paw, kissed the hand of the comtesse, whose ivory cheeks colored
up slightly while her eyelids quivered.
He began to speak; he was charming as in former days. His large eyes,
the mirrors of love, had become tender again. And his hair, lately so
dull and unkempt, had regained its soft, glossy wave, with the use of
a hairbrush and perfumed oil.
At the moment that the Fourvilles were taking their leave the
comtesse, turning toward him, said: "Would you like to take a ride on
Thursday, dear vicomte?"
As he bowed and murmured, "Why, certainly, madame," she took Jeanne's
hand and said in a sympathetic and affectionate tone, with a cordial
smile: "Oh! when you are well, we will all three gallop about the
country. It will be delightful. What do you say?"
With an easy gesture she held up her riding skirt and then jumped into
the saddle with the lightness of a bird, while her husband, after
bowing awkwardly, mounted his big Norman steed. As they disappeared
outside the gate, Julien, who seemed charmed, exclaimed: "What
delightful people! those are friends who may be useful to us."
Jeanne, pleased also without knowing why, replied: "The little
comtesse is charming, I feel that I shall love her, but the husband
looks like a brute. Where did you meet them?"
He rubbed his hands together good humoredly. "I met them by chance at
the Brisevilles'. The husband seems a little rough. He cares for
nothing but hunting, but he is a real noble for all that."
The dinner was almost cheerful, as though some secret happiness had
come into the house.
Nothing new happened until the latter days of July, when Jeanne was
taken ill. As she seemed to grow worse, the doctor was sent for and at
the first glance recognized the symptoms of a premature confinement.
Her sufferings presently abated a little, but she was filled with a
terrible anguish, a despairing sinking, something like a presentiment,
the mysterious touch of death. It is in these moments when it comes so
near to us that its breath chills our hearts.
The room was full of people. Little mother, buried in an armchair, was
choking with grief. The baron, his hands trembling, ran hither and
thither, carrying things, consulting the doctor and losing his head.
Julien paced up and down, looking concerned, but perfectly calm, and
Widow Dentu stood at the foot of the bed with an appropriate
expression, the expression of a woman of experience whom nothing
astonishes. The cook, Ludivine, and Aunt Lison remained discreetly
concealed behind the door of the lobby.
Toward morning Jeanne became worse, and as her involuntary screams
escaped from between her closed teeth, she thought incessantly of
Rosalie, who had not suffered, who had hardly moaned, who had borne
her child without suffering and without difficulty, and in her
wretched and troubled mind she continually compared their conditions
and cursed God, whom she had formerly thought to be just. She rebelled
at the wicked partiality of fate and at the wicked lies of those who
preach justice and goodness.
At times her sufferings were so great that her mind was a blank. She
had neither strength, life nor knowledge for anything but suffering.
All at once her sufferings ceased. The nurse and the doctor leaned
over her and gave her all attention. Presently she heard a little cry
and, in spite of her weakness, she unconsciously held out her arms.
She was suddenly filled with joy, with a glimpse of a new-found
happiness which had just unfolded. Her child was born, she was
soothed, happy, happy as she never yet had been. Her heart and her
body revived; she was now a mother. She felt that she was saved,
secure from all despair, for she had here something to love.
From now on she had but one thought--her child. She was a fanatical
mother, all the more intense because she had been deceived in her
love, deceived in her hopes. She would sit whole days beside the
window, rocking the little cradle.
The baron and little mother smiled at this excess of tenderness, but
Julien, whose habitual routine had been interfered with and his
overweening importance diminished by the arrival of this noisy and
all-powerful tyrant, unconsciously jealous of this mite of a man who
had usurped his place in the house, kept on saying angrily and
impatiently: "How wearisome she is with her brat!"
She became so obsessed by this affection that she would pass the
entire night beside the cradle, watching the child asleep. As she was
becoming exhausted by this morbid life, taking no rest, growing weaker
and thinner and beginning to cough, the doctor ordered the child to be
taken from her. She got angry, wept, implored, but they were deaf to
her entreaties. His nurse took him every evening, and each night his
mother would rise, and in her bare feet go to the door, listen at the
keyhole to see if he was sleeping quietly, did not wake up and wanted
nothing.
Julien found her here one night when he came home late, after dining
with the Fourvilles. After that they locked her in her room to oblige
her to stay in bed.
The baptism took place at the end of August. The baron was godfather
and Aunt Lison godmother. The child was named Pierre-Simon-Paul and
called Paul for short.
At the beginning of September Aunt Lison left without any commotion.
Her absence was as little felt as her presence.
One evening after dinner the priest appeared. He seemed embarrassed as
if he were burdened by some mystery, and after some idle remarks, he
asked the baroness and her husband to grant him a short interview in
private.
They all three walked slowly down the long avenue, talking with
animation, while Julien, who was alone with Jeanne, was astonished,
disturbed and annoyed at this secret.
He accompanied the priest when he took his leave, and they went off
together toward the church where the Angelus was ringing.
As it was cool, almost cold, the others went into the drawing-room.
They were all dozing when Julien came in abruptly, his face red,
looking very indignant.
From the door he called out to his parents-in-law, without remembering
that Jeanne was there: "Are you crazy, for God's sake! to go and throw
away twenty thousand francs on that girl?"
No one replied, they were so astonished. He continued, bellowing with
rage: "How can one be so stupid as that? Do you wish to leave us
without a sou?"
The baron, who had recovered his composure, attempted to stop him:
"Keep still! Remember that you are speaking before your wife."
But Julien was trembling with excitement: "As if I cared; she knows
all about it, anyway. It is robbing her."
Jeanne, bewildered, looked at him without understanding. She faltered:
"What in the world is the matter?"
Julien then turned toward her, to try and get her on his side as a
partner who has been cheated out of an unexpected fortune. He
hurriedly told her about the conspiracy to marry off Rosalie and about
the gift of the Barville property, which was worth at least twenty
thousand francs. He said: "Your parents are crazy, my dear, crazy
enough to be shut up! Twenty thousand francs! twenty thousand francs!
Why, they have lost their heads! Twenty thousand francs for a
bastard!"
Jeanne listened without emotion and without anger, astonished at her
own calmness, indifferent now to everything but her own child.
The baron was raging, but could find nothing to say. He finally burst
forth and, stamping his foot, exclaimed: "Think of what you are
saying; it is disgusting. Whose fault was it if we had to give this
girl-mother a dowry? Whose child is it? You would like to abandon it
now!"
Julien, amazed at the baron's violence, looked at him fixedly. He then
resumed in a calmer tone: "But fifteen hundred francs would be quite
enough. They all have children before they are legally married. It
makes no difference whose child it is, in any case. Instead of giving
one of your farms, to the value of twenty thousand francs, in addition
to making the world aware of what has happened, you should, to say the
least, have had some regard for our name and our position."
He spoke in a severe tone like a man who stood on his rights and was
convinced of the logic of his argument. The baron, disturbed at this
unexpected discussion, stood there gaping at him. Julien then, seeing
his advantage, concluded: "Happily, nothing has yet been settled. I
know the young fellow who is going to marry her. He is an honest chap
and we can make a satisfactory arrangement with him. I will take
charge of the matter."
And he went out immediately, fearing no doubt to continue the
discussion, and pleased that he had had the last word, a proof, he
thought, that they acquiesced in his views.
As soon as he had left the room, however, the baron exclaimed: "Oh,
that is going too far, much too far!"
But Jeanne, happening to look up at her father's bewildered face,
began to laugh with her clear, ringing laugh of former days, when
anything amused her. She said: "Father, father, did you hear the tone
in which he said: 'Twenty thousand francs?'"
Little mother, whose mirth was as ready as her tears, as she recalled
her son-in-law's angry expression, his indignant exclamations and his
refusal to allow the girl whom he had led astray to be given money
that did not belong to him, delighted also at Jeanne's mirth, gave way
to little bursts of laughter till the tears came to her eyes. The
baron caught the contagion, and all three laughed to kill themselves
as they used to do in the good old days.
As soon as they quieted down a little Jeanne said: "How strange it is
that all this does not affect me. I look upon him now as a stranger. I
cannot believe that I am his wife. You see how I can laugh at
his--his--want of delicacy."
And without knowing why they all three embraced each other, smiling
and happy.
Two days later, after breakfast, just as Julien had started away from
the house on horseback, a strapping young fellow from twenty-one to
twenty-five years old, clad in a brand-new blue blouse with wide
sleeves buttoning at the wrist, slyly jumped over the gate, as though
he had been there awaiting his opportunity all the morning, crept
along the Couillards' ditch, came round the chateau, and cautiously
approached the baron and his wife, who were still sitting under the
plane-tree.
He took off his cap and advanced, bowing in an awkward manner. As soon
as he was close to them he said: "Your servant, Monsieur le Baron,
madame and the company." Then, as no one replied, he said: "It is I, I
am Desire Lecocq."
As the name conveyed nothing to them, the baron asked, "What do you
want?"
Then, altogether upset at the necessity of explaining himself, the
young fellow stuttered out as he gazed alternately at his cap, which
he held in his hands, and at the roof of the chateau: "It was M'sieu
le Cure who said something to me about this matter----" And then he
stopped, fearing he might say too much and compromise his own
interests.
The other, lowering his voice, blurted out: "That matter of your
maid--Rosalie----"
Jeanne, who had guessed what was coming, had risen and moved away with
her infant in her arms.
"Come nearer," said the baron, pointing to the chair his daughter had
just left. The peasant sat down, murmuring: "You are very good." Then
he waited as though he had no more to say. After a long silence, he
screwed up courage, and looking up at the sky, remarked: "There's fine
weather for the time of year. But the earth will be none the better
for it, as the seed is already sown." And then he was silent again.
The baron was growing impatient. He plunged right into the subject and
said drily: "Then it is you who are going to marry Rosalie?"
The man at once became uneasy, his Norman caution being on the alert.
He replied with more animation, but with a tinge of defiance: "That
depends; perhaps yes, perhaps no; it depends."
The baron, annoyed at this hedging, exclaimed angrily: "Answer
frankly, damn it! Was this what you came here for? Yes or no! Will you
marry her? Yes or no!"
The bewildered man looked steadfastly at his feet: "If it is as M'sieu
le Cure said, I will take her, but if it is as M'sieu Julien said, I
will not take her."
"What did M. Julien tell you?"
"M'sieu Julien told me fifteen hundred francs and M'sieu le Cure told
me that I should have twenty thousand. I will do it for twenty
thousand, but I will not do it for fifteen hundred."
The baroness, who was buried in her easy chair, began to giggle at the
anxious expression of the peasant, who, not understanding this
frivolity, glanced at her angrily out of the corner of his eye and
waited in silence.
The baron, who was embarrassed at this bargaining, cut it short by
saying: "I told M. le Cure that you should have the Barville farm
during your lifetime and that then it would revert to the child. It is
worth twenty thousand francs. I do not go back on my word. Is it
settled? Yes or no!"
The man smiled with a humble and satisfied expression, and suddenly
becoming loquacious, said: "Oh, in that case, I will not say no. That
was all that stood in my way. When M'sieu le Cure spoke to me, I was
ready at once, by gosh! and I was very pleased to accommodate the
baron who was giving me that. I said to myself, 'Is it not true that
when people are willing to do each other favors, they can always find
a way and can make it worth while?' But M'sieu Julien came to see me,
and it was only fifteen hundred francs. I said to myself: 'I must see
about that,' and so I came here. That is not to say that I did not
trust you, but I wanted to know. Short accounts make long friends. Is
not that true, M'sieu le Baron?"
The baron interrupted him by asking, "When do you wish to get
married?"
The man became timid again, very much embarrassed, and finally said,
hesitatingly: "I will not do it until I get a little paper."
This time the baron got angry: "Doggone it! you will have the marriage
contract. That is the best kind of paper."
But the peasant was stubborn: "Meanwhile I might take a little turn;
it will not be dark for a while."
The baron rose to make an end of the matter: "Answer yes or no at
once. If you do not wish her, say so; I have another suitor."
The fear of a rival terrified the crafty Norman. He suddenly made up
his mind and held out his hand, as after buying a cow, saying: "Put it
there, M'sieu le Baron; it is a bargain. Whoever draws back is a
skunk!"
The baron shook his hand, then called out: "Ludivine!" The cook
appeared at the window. "Bring us a bottle of wine." They clinked
glasses to seal the matter and the young peasant went off with a light
tread.
Nothing was said to Julien about this visit. The contract was drawn up
with all secrecy and as soon as the banns were published the wedding
took place one Monday morning.
A neighbor carried the child to church, walking behind the bride and
groom, as a sure sign of good luck. And no one in all the district was
surprised; they simply envied Desire Lecocq. "He was born with a
caul," they said, with a sly smile into which there entered no
resentment.
Julien was terribly angry and made such a scene that his parents-in-law
cut short their visit to the "Poplars." Jeanne was only moderately
sad at their departure, for little Paul had become for her an
inexhaustible source of happiness.
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Content of Chapter VIII - Maternity [Guy De Maupassant's novel: Une Vie; or, The History of a Heart]
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