Notre Coeur; or, A Woman's Pastime: A NovelMaupassant, Guy de
General
Notre Coeur; or, A Woman's Pastime: A Novel
Maupassant, Guy de
France -- Fiction; Love -- Fiction; Man-woman relationships -- Fiction
One morning, as he was extended on the sand, watching the women come
out of the water, a little foot caught his attention, because of its
slimness and delicacy. Raising his eyes higher, the entire person
seemed attractive. Of this entire person he had, however, seen only
the ankles and the head, emerging from a white flannel bathing suit,
fastened with care. He may be called sensuous and impressionable, but
it was by grace of form alone that he was captured. Afterward, he was
held by the charm and sweet spirit of the young girl, who was simple
and good and fresh, like her cheeks and her lips.
Presented to the family, he was pleased, and straightway became
love-mad. When he saw Bertha Lannis at a distance, on the long stretch
of yellow sand, he trembled from head to foot. Near her he was dumb,
incapable of saying anything or even of thinking, with a kind of
bubbling in his heart, a humming in his ears, and a frightened feeling
in his mind. Was this love?
He did not know, he understood nothing of it, but the fact remained
that he was fully decided to make this child his wife.
Her parents hesitated a long time, deterred by the bad reputation of
the young man. He had a mistress, it was said,--an old mistress, an old
and strong entanglement, one of those chains that is believed to be
broken, but which continues to hold, nevertheless. Beyond this, he had
loved, for a longer or shorter period, every woman who had come within
reach of his lips.
But he withdrew from the woman with whom he had lived, not even
consenting to see her again. A friend arranged her pension, assuring
her a subsistence. Jack paid, but he did not wish to speak to her,
pretending henceforth that he did not know her name. She wrote letters
which he would not open. Each week brought him a new disguise in the
handwriting of the abandoned one. Each week a greater anger developed
in him against her, and he would tear the envelope in two, without
opening it, without reading a line, knowing beforehand the reproaches
and complaints of the contents.
One could scarcely credit her perseverance, which lasted the whole
winter long, and it was not until spring that her demand was satisfied.
The marriage took place in Paris during the early part of May. It was
decided that they should not take the regular wedding journey. After a
little ball, composed of a company of young cousins who would not stay
past eleven o'clock, and would not prolong forever the cares of the day
of ceremony, the young couple intended to pass their first night at the
family home and to set out the next morning for the seaside, where they
had met and loved.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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