The Works of Guy de Maupassant, Volume 2Maupassant, Guy de
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The Works of Guy de Maupassant, Volume 2
Maupassant, Guy de
French fiction -- Translations into English; Short stories, French -- Translations into English
She thought she had got rid of him altogether, and spent the rest of
the day almost tranquilly, but as worn out as if she had been turning
the threshing machine all day, instead of the old white horse, and she
went to bed as soon as she could, and fell asleep immediately. In the
middle of the night, however, two hands touching the bed, woke her. She
trembled with fear, but she immediately recognized the farmer's voice,
when he said to her: "Don't be frightened, Rose; I have come to speak to
you." She was surprised at first, but when he tried to take liberties
with her, she understood what he wanted, and began to tremble violently,
as she felt quite alone in the darkness, still heavy from sleep, and
quite unprotected, by the side of that man, who stood near her. She
certainly did not consent, but she resisted carelessly, herself
struggling against that instinct which is always strong in simple
natures, and very imperfectly protected, by the undecided will of inert
and feeble natures. She turned her head now to the wall, and now towards
the room, in order to avoid the attentions which the farmer tried to
press on her, and her body writhed a little under the coverlet, as she
was weakened by the fatigue of the struggle, while he became brutal,
intoxicated by desire.
They lived together as man and wife, and one morning he said to her: "I
have put up our banns, and we will get married next month."
She did not reply, for what could she say? She did not resist, for what
could she do?
PART IV
She married him. She felt as if she were in a pit with inaccessible
edges, from which she could never get out, and all kinds of misfortunes
remained hanging over her head, like huge rocks, which would fall on the
first occasion. Her husband gave her the impression of a man whom she
had stolen, and who would find it out some day or other. And then she
thought of her child, who was the cause of her misfortunes, but who was
also the cause of all her happiness on earth, and whom she went to see
twice a year, though she came back more unhappy each time. But she
gradually grew accustomed to her life, her fears were allayed, her heart
was at rest, and she lived with an easier mind, though still with some
vague fear floating in her mind, and so years went on, and the child was
six. She was almost happy now, when suddenly the farmer's temper grew
very bad.
For two or three years he seemed to have been nursing some secret
anxiety, to be trouble by some care, some mental disturbance, which was
gradually increasing. He remained at table a long time after dinner,
with his head in his hands, sad and devoured by sorrow. He always spoke
hastily, sometimes even brutally, and it even seemed as if he bore a
grudge against his wife, for at times he answered her roughly, almost
angrily.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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