The Story of A Farm Girl by Guy de Maupassant
As the weather was very fine, the people on the farm had hurried through
their dinner and had returned to the fields.
The servant, Rose, remained alone in the large kitchen, where the fire
was dying out on the hearth beneath the large boiler of hot water. From
time to time she dipped out some water and slowly washed her dishes,
stopping occasionally to look at the two streaks of light which the sun
threw across the long table through the window, and which showed the
defects in the glass.
Three venturesome hens were picking up the crumbs under the chairs, while
the smell of the poultry yard and the warmth from the cow stall came in
through the half-open door, and a cock was heard crowing in the distance.
When she had finished her work, wiped down the table, dusted the
mantelpiece and put the plates on the high dresser close to the wooden
clock with its loud tick-tock, she drew a long breath, as she felt rather
oppressed, without exactly knowing why. She looked at the black clay
walls, the rafters that were blackened with smoke and from which hung
spiders' webs, smoked herrings and strings of onions, and then she sat
down, rather overcome by the stale odor from the earthen floor, on which
so many things had been continually spilled and which the heat brought
out. With this there was mingled the sour smell of the pans of milk which
were set out to raise the cream in the adjoining dairy.
She wanted to sew, as usual, but she did not feel strong enough, and so
she went to the door to get a mouthful of fresh air, which seemed to do
The fowls were lying on the steaming dunghill; some of them were
scratching with one claw in search of worms, while the cock stood up
proudly in their midst. When he crowed, the cocks in all the neighboring
farmyards replied to him, as if they were uttering challenges from farm
The girl looked at them without thinking, and then she raised her eyes
and was almost dazzled at the sight of the apple trees in blossom. Just
then a colt, full of life and friskiness, jumped over the ditches and
then stopped suddenly, as if surprised at being alone.
She also felt inclined to run; she felt inclined to move and to stretch
her limbs and to repose in the warm, breathless air. She took a few
undecided steps and closed her eyes, for she was seized with a feeling of
animal comfort, and then she went to look for eggs in the hen loft. There
were thirteen of them, which she took in and put into the storeroom; but
the smell from the kitchen annoyed her again, and she went out to sit on
the grass for a time.
The farmyard, which was surrounded by trees, seemed to be asleep. The
tall grass, amid which the tall yellow dandelions rose up like streaks of
yellow light, was of a vivid, fresh spring green. The apple trees cast
their shade all round them, and the thatched roofs, on which grew blue
and yellow irises, with their sword-like leaves, steamed as if the
moisture of the stables and barns were coming through the straw. The girl
went to the shed, where the carts and buggies were kept. Close to it, in
a ditch, there was a large patch of violets, whose fragrance was spread
abroad, while beyond the slope the open country could be seen, where
grain was growing, with clumps of trees in places, and groups of laborers
here and there, who looked as small as dolls, and white horses like toys,
who were drawing a child's cart, driven by a man as tall as one's finger.
She took up a bundle of straw, threw it into the ditch and sat down upon
it. Then, not feeling comfortable, she undid it, spread it out and lay
down upon it at full length on her back, with both arms under her head
and her legs stretched out.
Gradually her eyes closed, and she was falling into a state of delightful
languor. She was, in fact, almost asleep when she felt two hands on her
bosom, and she sprang up at a bound. It was Jacques, one of the farm
laborers, a tall fellow from Picardy, who had been making love to her for
a long time. He had been herding the sheep, and, seeing her lying down in
the shade, had come up stealthily and holding his breath, with glistening
eyes and bits of straw in his hair.
He tried to kiss her, but she gave him a smack in the face, for she was
as strong as he, and he was shrewd enough to beg her pardon; so they sat
down side by side and talked amicably. They spoke about the favorable
weather, of their master, who was a good fellow, then of their neighbors,
of all the people in the country round, of themselves, of their village,
of their youthful days, of their recollections, of their relations, who
had left them for a long time, and it might be forever. She grew sad as
she thought of it, while he, with one fixed idea in his head, drew closer
"I have not seen my mother for a long time," she said. "It is very hard
to be separated like that," and she directed her looks into the distance,
toward the village in the north which she had left.
Suddenly, however, he seized her by the neck and kissed her again, but
she struck him so violently in the face with her clenched fist that his
nose began to bleed, and he got up and laid his head against the stem of
a tree. When she saw that, she was sorry, and going up to him, she said:
"Have I hurt you?" He, however, only laughed. "No, it was a mere nothing;
only she had hit him right on the middle of the nose. What a devil!" he
said, and he looked at her with admiration, for she had inspired him with
a feeling of respect and of a very different kind of admiration which was
the beginning of a real love for that tall, strong wench. When the
bleeding had stopped, he proposed a walk, as he was afraid of his
neighbor's heavy hand, if they remained side by side like that much
longer; but she took his arm of her own accord, in the avenue, as if they
had been out for an evening's walk, and said: "It is not nice of you to
despise me like that, Jacques." He protested, however. No, he did not
despise her. He was in love with her, that was all.
"So you really want to marry me?" she asked.
He hesitated and then looked at her sideways, while she looked straight
ahead of her. She had fat, red cheeks, a full bust beneath her cotton
jacket; thick, red lips; and her neck, which was almost bare, was covered
with small beads of perspiration. He felt a fresh access of desire, and,
putting his lips to her ear, he murmured: "Yes, of course I do."
Then she threw her arms round his neck and kissed him till they were both
out of breath. From that moment the eternal story of love began between
them. They plagued one another in corners; they met in the moonlight
beside the haystack and gave each other bruises on the legs, under the
table, with their heavy nailed boots. By degrees, however, Jacques seemed
to grow tired of her; he avoided her, scarcely spoke to her, and did not
try any longer to meet her alone, which made her sad and anxious; and
soon she found that she was enceinte.
At first she was in a state of consternation, but then she got angry, and
her rage increased every day because she could not meet him, as he
avoided her most carefully. At last, one night, when every one in the
farmhouse was asleep, she went out noiselessly in her petticoat, with
bare feet, crossed the yard and opened the door of the stable where
Jacques was lying in a large box of straw above his horses. He pretended
to snore when he heard her coming, but she knelt down by his side and
shook him until he sat up.
"What do you want?" he then asked her. And with clenched teeth, and
trembling with anger, she replied: "I want—I want you to marry me,
as you promised." But he only laughed and replied: "Oh! if a man were to
marry all the girls with whom he has made a slip, he would have more than
enough to do."
Then she seized him by the throat, threw him or his back, so that he
could not get away from her, and, half strangling him, she shouted into
"I am enceinte, do you hear? I am enceinte!"
He gasped for breath, as he was almost choked, and so they remained, both
of them, motionless and without speaking, in the dark silence, which was
only broken by the noise made by a horse as he, pulled the hay out of the
manger and then slowly munched it.
When Jacques found that she was the stronger, he stammered out: "Very
well, I will marry you, as that is the case." But she did not believe his
promises. "It must be at once," she said. "You must have the banns put
up." "At once," he replied. "Swear solemnly that you will." He hesitated
for a few moments and then said: "I swear it, by Heaven!"
Then she released her grasp and went away without another word.
She had no chance of speaking to him for several days; and, as the stable
was now always locked at night, she was afraid to make any noise, for
fear of creating a scandal. One morning, however, she saw another man
come in at dinner time, and she said: "Has Jacques left?" "Yes;" the man
replied; "I have got his place."
This made her tremble so violently that she could not take the saucepan
off the fire; and later, when they were all at work, she went up into her
room and cried, burying her head in the bolster, so that she might not be
heard. During the day, however, she tried to obtain some information
without exciting any suspicion, but she was so overwhelmed by the
thoughts of her misfortune that she fancied that all the people whom she
asked laughed maliciously. All she learned, however, was that he had left
the neighborhood altogether.
Then a cloud of constant misery began for her. She worked mechanically,
without thinking of what she was doing, with one fixed idea in her head:
"Suppose people were to know."
This continual feeling made her so incapable of reasoning that she did
not even try to think of any means of avoiding the disgrace that she knew
must ensue, which was irreparable and drawing nearer every day, and which
was as sure as death itself. She got up every morning long before the
others and persistently tried to look at her figure in a piece of broken
looking-glass, before which she did her hair, as she was very anxious to
know whether anybody would notice a change in her, and, during the day,
she stopped working every few minutes to look at herself from top to toe,
to see whether her apron did not look too short.
The months went on, and she scarcely spoke now, and when she was asked a
question, did not appear to understand; but she had a frightened look,
haggard eyes and trembling hands, which made her master say to her
occasionally: "My poor girl, how stupid you have grown lately."
In church she hid behind a pillar, and no longer ventured to go to
confession, as she feared to face the priest, to whom she attributed
superhuman powers, which enabled him to read people's consciences; and at
meal times the looks of her fellow servants almost made her faint with
mental agony; and she was always fancying that she had been found out by
the cowherd, a precocious and cunning little lad, whose bright eyes
seemed always to be watching her.
One morning the postman brought her a letter, and as she had never
received one in her life before she was so upset by it that she was
obliged to sit down. Perhaps it was from him? But, as she could not read,
she sat anxious and trembling with that piece of paper, covered with ink,
in her hand. After a time, however, she put it into her pocket, as she
did not venture to confide her secret to any one. She often stopped in
her work to look at those lines written at regular intervals, and which
terminated in a signature, imagining vaguely that she would suddenly
discover their meaning, until at last, as she felt half mad with
impatience and anxiety, she went to the schoolmaster, who told her to sit
down and read to her as follows:
"MY DEAR DAUGHTER: I write to tell you that I am very ill. Our neighbor,
Monsieur Dentu, begs you to come, if you can.
"From your affectionate mother,
"CESAIRE DENTU, Deputy Mayor."
She did not say a word and went away, but as soon as she was alone her
legs gave way under her, and she fell down by the roadside and remained
there till night.
When she got back, she told the farmer her bad news, and he allowed her
to go home for as long as she liked, and promised to have her work done
by a charwoman and to take her back when she returned.
Her mother died soon after she got there, and the next day Rose gave
birth to a seven-months child, a miserable little skeleton, thin enough
to make anybody shudder, and which seemed to be suffering continually, to
judge from the painful manner in which it moved its poor little hands,
which were as thin as a crab's legs; but it lived for all that. She said
she was married, but could not be burdened with the child, so she left it
with some neighbors, who promised to take great care of it, and she went
back to the farm.
But now in her heart, which had been wounded so long, there arose
something like brightness, an unknown love for that frail little creature
which she had left behind her, though there was fresh suffering in that
very love, suffering which she felt every hour and every minute, because
she was parted from her child. What pained her most, however, was the mad
longing to kiss it, to press it in her arms, to feel the warmth of its
little body against her breast. She could not sleep at night; she thought
of it the whole day long, and in the evening, when her work was done, she
would sit in front of the fire and gaze at it intently, as people do
whose thoughts are far away.
They began to talk about her and to tease-her about her lover. They asked
her whether he was tall, handsome and rich. When was the wedding to be
and the christening? And often she ran away to cry by herself, for these
questions seemed to hurt her like the prick of a pin; and, in order to
forget their jokes, she began to work still more energetically, and,
still thinking of her child, she sought some way of saving up money for
it, and determined to work so that her master would be obliged to raise
By degrees she almost monopolized the work and persuaded him to get rid
of one servant girl, who had become useless since she had taken to
working like two; she economized in the bread, oil and candles; in the
corn, which they gave to the chickens too extravagantly, and in the
fodder for the horses and cattle, which was rather wasted. She was as
miserly about her master's money as if it had been her own; and, by dint
of making good bargains, of getting high prices for all their produce,
and by baffling the peasants' tricks when they offered anything for sale,
he, at last, entrusted her with buying and selling everything, with the
direction of all the laborers, and with the purchase of provisions
necessary for the household; so that, in a short time, she became.
indispensable to him. She kept such a strict eye on everything about her
that, under her direction, the farm prospered wonderfully, and for five
miles around people talked of "Master Vallin's servant," and the farmer
himself said everywhere: "That girl is worth more than her weight in
But time passed by, and her wages remained the same. Her hard work was
accepted as something that was due from every good servant, and as a mere
token of good will; and she began to think rather bitterly that if the
farmer could put fifty or a hundred crowns extra into the bank every
month, thanks to her, she was still only earning her two hundred francs a
year, neither more nor less; and so she made up her mind to ask for an
increase of wages. She went to see the schoolmaster three times about it,
but when she got there, she spoke about something else. She felt a kind
of modesty in asking for money, as if it were something disgraceful; but,
at last, one day, when the farmer was having breakfast by himself in the
kitchen, she said to him, with some embarrassment, that she wished to
speak to him particularly. He raised his head in surprise, with both his
hands on the table, holding his knife, with its point in the air, in one,
and a piece of bread in the other, and he looked fixedly at, the girl,
who felt uncomfortable under his gaze, but asked for a week's holiday, so
that she might get away, as she was not very well. He acceded to her
request immediately, and then added, in some embarrassment himself:
"When you come back, I shall have something to say to you myself."
The child was nearly eight months old, and she did not recognize it. It
had grown rosy and chubby all over, like a little roll of fat. She threw
herself on it, as if it had been some prey, and kissed it so violently
that it began to scream with terror; and then she began to cry herself,
because it did not know her, and stretched out its arms to its nurse as
soon as it saw her. But the next day it began to know her, and laughed
when it saw her, and she took it into the fields, and ran about excitedly
with it, and sat down under the shade of the trees; and then, for the
first time in her life, she opened her heart to somebody, although he
could not understand her, and told him her troubles; how hard her work
was, her anxieties and her hopes, and she quite tired the child with the
violence of her caresses.
She took the greatest pleasure in handling it, in washing and dressing
it, for it seemed to her that all this was the confirmation of her
maternity; and she would look at it, almost feeling surprised 'that it
was hers, and would say to herself in a low voice as she danced it in her
arms: "It is my baby, it's my baby."
She cried all the way home as she returned to the farm and had scarcely
got in before her master called her into his room; and she went, feeling
astonished and nervous, without knowing why.
"Sit down there," he said. She sat down, and for some moments they
remained side by side, in some embarrassment, with their arms hanging at
their sides, as if they did not know what to do with them, and looking
each other in the face, after the manner of peasants.
The farmer, a stout, jovial, obstinate man of forty-five, who had lost
two wives, evidently felt embarrassed, which was very unusual with him;
but, at last, he made up his mind, and began to speak vaguely,
hesitating a little, and looking out of the window as he talked. "How is
it, Rose," he said, "that you have never thought of settling in life?"
She grew as pale as death, and, seeing that she gave him no answer, he
went on: "You are a good, steady, active and economical girl; and a wife
like you would make a man's fortune."
She did not move, but looked frightened; she did not even try to
comprehend his meaning, for her thoughts were in a whirl, as if at the
approach of some great danger; so, after waiting for a few seconds, he
went on: "You see, a farm without a mistress can never succeed, even with
a servant like you." Then he stopped, for he did not know what else to
say, and Rose looked at him with the air of a person who thinks that he
is face to face with a murderer and ready to flee at the slightest
movement he may make; but, after waiting for about five minutes, he asked
her: "Well, will it suit you?" "Will what suit me, master?" And he said
quickly: "Why, to marry me, by Heaven!"
She jumped up, but fell back on her chair, as if she had been struck, and
there she remained motionless, like a person who is overwhelmed by some
great misfortune. At last the farmer grew impatient and said: "Come, what
more do you want?" She looked at him, almost in terror, then suddenly the
tears came into her eyes and she said twice in a choking voice: "I
cannot, I cannot!" "Why not?" he asked. "Come, don't be silly; I will
give you until tomorrow to think it over."
And he hurried out of the room, very glad to have got through with the
matter, which had troubled him a good deal, for he had no doubt that she
would the next morning accept a proposal which she could never have
expected and which would be a capital bargain for him, as he thus bound a
woman to his interests who would certainly bring him more than if she had
the best dowry in the district.
Neither could there be any scruples about an unequal match between them,
for in the country every one is very nearly equal; the farmer works with
his laborers, who frequently become masters in their turn, and the female
servants constantly become the mistresses of the establishments without
its making any change in their life or habits.
Rose did not go to bed that night. She threw herself, dressed as she was,
on her bed, and she had not even the strength to cry left in her, she was
so thoroughly dumfounded. She remained quite inert, scarcely knowing that
she had a body, and without being at all able to collect her thoughts,
though, at moments, she remembered something of what had happened, and
then she was frightened at the idea of what might happen. Her terror
increased, and every time the great kitchen clock struck the hour she
broke out in a perspiration from grief. She became bewildered, and had
the nightmare; her candle went out, and then she began to imagine that
some one bad cast a spell over her, as country people so often imagine,
and she felt a mad inclination to run away, to escape and to flee before
her misfortune, like a ship scudding before the wind. An owl hooted; she
shivered, sat up, passed her hands over her face, her hair, and all over
her body, and then she went downstairs, as if she were walking in her
sleep. When she got into the yard she stooped down, so as not to be seen
by any prowling scamp, for the moon, which was setting, shed a bright
light over the fields. Instead of opening the gate she scrambled over the
fence, and as soon as she was outside she started off. She went on
straight before her, with a quick, springy trot, and from time to time
she unconsciously uttered a piercing cry. Her long shadow accompanied
her, and now and then some night bird flew over her head, while the dogs
in the farmyards barked as they heard her pass; one even jumped over the
ditch, and followed her and tried to bite her, but she turned round and
gave such a terrible yell that the frightened animal ran back and cowered
in silence in its kennel.
The stars grew dim, and the birds began to twitter; day was breaking. The
girl was worn out and panting; and when the sun rose in the purple sky,
she stopped, for her swollen feet refused to go any farther; but she saw
a pond in the distance, a large pond whose stagnant water looked like
blood under the reflection of this new day, and she limped on slowly with
her hand on her heart, in order to dip both her feet in it. She sat down
on a tuft of grass, took off her heavy shoes, which were full of dust,
pulled off her stockings and plunged her legs into the still water, from
which bubbles were rising here and there.
A feeling of delicious coolness pervaded her from head to foot, and
suddenly, while she was looking fixedly at the deep pool, she was seized
with dizziness, and with a mad longing to throw herself into it. All her
sufferings would be over in there, over forever. She no longer thought of
her child; she only wanted peace, complete rest, and to sleep forever,
and she got up with raised arms and took two steps forward. She was in
the water up to her thighs, and she was just about to throw her self in
when sharp, pricking pains in her ankles made her jump back, and she
uttered a cry of despair, for, from her knees to the tips of her feet,
long black leeches were sucking her lifeblood, and were swelling as they
adhered to her flesh. She did not dare to touch them, and screamed with
horror, so that her cries of despair attracted a peasant, who was driving
along at some distance, to the spot. He pulled off the leeches one by
one, applied herbs to the wounds, and drove the girl to her master's farm
in his gig.
She was in bed for a fortnight, and as she was sitting outside the door
on the first morning that she got up, the farmer suddenly came and
planted himself before her. "Well," he said, "I suppose the affair is
settled isn't it?" She did not reply at first, and then, as he remained
standing and looking at her intently with his piercing eyes, she said
with difficulty: "No, master, I cannot." He immediately flew into a rage.
"You cannot, girl; you cannot? I should just like to know the reason
why?" She began to cry, and repeated: "I cannot." He looked at her, and
then exclaimed angrily: "Then I suppose you have a lover?" "Perhaps that
is it," she replied, trembling with shame.
The man got as red as a poppy, and stammered out in a rage: "Ah! So you
confess it, you slut! And pray who is the fellow? Some penniless,
half-starved ragamuffin, without a roof to his head, I suppose? Who is
it, I say?" And as she gave him no answer, he continued: "Ah! So you will
not tell me. Then I will tell you; it is Jean Baudu?"—"No, not he,"
she exclaimed. "Then it is Pierre Martin?"—"Oh! no, master."
And he angrily mentioned all the young fellows in the neighborhood, while
she denied that he had hit upon the right one, and every moment wiped her
eyes with the corner of her blue apron. But he still tried to find it
out, with his brutish obstinacy, and, as it were, scratching at her heart
to discover her secret, just as a terrier scratches at a hole to try and
get at the animal which he scents inside it. Suddenly, however, the man
shouted: "By George! It is Jacques, the man who was here last year. They
used to say that you were always talking together, and that you thought
about getting married."
Rose was choking, and she grew scarlet, while her tears suddenly stopped
and dried up on her cheeks, like drops of water on hot iron, and she
exclaimed: "No, it is not he, it is not he!" "Is that really a fact?"
asked the cunning peasant, who partly guessed the truth; and she replied,
hastily: "I will swear it; I will swear it to you—" She tried to
think of something by which to swear, as she did not venture to invoke
sacred things, but he interrupted her: "At any rate, he used to follow
you into every corner and devoured you with his eyes at meal times. Did
you ever give him your promise, eh?"
This time she looked her master straight in the face. "No, never, never;
I will solemnly swear to you that if he were to come to-day and ask me to
marry him I would have nothing to do with him." She spoke with such an
air of sincerity that the farmer hesitated, and then he continued, as if
speaking to himself: "What, then? You have not had a misfortune, as they
call it, or it would have been known, and as it has no consequences, no
girl would refuse her master on that account. There must be something at
the bottom of it, however."
She could say nothing; she had not the strength to speak, and he asked
her again: "You will not?" "I cannot, master," she said, with a sigh, and
he turned on his heel.
She thought she had got rid of him altogether and spent the rest of the
day almost tranquilly, but was as exhausted as if she had been turning
the thrashing machine all day in the place 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 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 and began to tremble violently, as she felt quite alone in
the darkness, still heavy from sleep, and quite unprotected, with that
man standing near her. She certainly did not consent, but she resisted
carelessly struggling against that instinct which is always strong in
simple natures and very imperfectly protected by the undecided will of
inert and gentle races. She turned her head now to the wall, and now
toward the room, in order to avoid the attentions which the farmer tried
to press on her, but she was weakened by fatigue, 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?
She married him. She felt as if she were in a pit with inaccessible sides
from which she could never get out, and all kinds of misfortunes were
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
robbed, 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 it. And so years went on, until 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 troubled by some care, some mental disturbance, which was
gradually increasing. He remained sitting at table 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 had a grudge against
his wife, for at times he answered her roughly, almost angrily.
One day, when a neighbor's boy came for some eggs, and she spoke rather
crossly to him, as she was very busy, her husband suddenly came in and
said to her in his unpleasant voice: "If that were your own child you
would not treat him so." She was hurt and did not reply, and then she
went back into the house, with all her grief awakened afresh; and at
dinner the farmer neither spoke to her nor looked at her, and he seemed
to hate her, to despise her, to know something about the affair at last.
In consequence she lost her composure, and did not venture to remain
alone with him after the meal was over, but left the room and hastened to
It was getting dusk; the narrow nave was in total darkness, but she heard
footsteps in the choir, for the sacristan was preparing the tabernacle
lamp for the night. That spot of trembling light, which was lost in the
darkness of the arches, looked to Rose like her last hope, and with her
eyes fixed on it, she fell on her knees. The chain rattled as the little
lamp swung up into the air, and almost immediately the small bell rang
out the Angelus through the increasing mist. She went up to him, as he
was going out.
"Is Monsieur le Cure at home?" she asked. "Of course he is; this is his
dinnertime." She trembled as she rang the bell of the parsonage. The
priest was just sitting down to dinner, and he made her sit down also.
"Yes, yes, I know all about it; your husband has mentioned the matter to
me that brings you here." The poor woman nearly fainted, and the priest
continued: "What do you want, my child?" And he hastily swallowed several
spoonfuls of soup, some of which dropped on to his greasy cassock. But
Rose did not venture to say anything more, and she got up to go, but the
priest said: "Courage."
And she went out and returned to the farm without knowing what she was
doing. The farmer was waiting for her, as the laborers had gone away
during her absence, and she fell heavily at his feet, and, shedding a
flood of tears, she said to him: "What have you got against me?"
He began to shout and to swear: "What have I got against you? That I have
no children, by—-. When a man takes a wife it is not that they may
live alone together to the end of their days. That is what I have against
you. When a cow has no calves she is not worth anything, and when a woman
has no children she is also not worth anything."
She began to cry, and said: "It is not my fault! It is not my fault!" He
grew rather more gentle when he heard that, and added: "I do not say that
it is, but it is very provoking, all the same."
From that day forward she had only one thought: to have a child another
child; she confided her wish to everybody, and, in consequence of this, a
neighbor told her of an infallible method. This was, to make her husband
drink a glass of water with a pinch of ashes in it every evening. The
farmer consented to try it, but without success; so they said to each
other: "Perhaps there are some secret ways?" And they tried to find out.
They were told of a shepherd who lived ten leagues off, and so Vallin one
day drove off to consult him. The shepherd gave him a loaf on which he
had made some marks; it was kneaded up with herbs, and each of them was
to eat a piece of it, but they ate the whole loaf without obtaining any
results from it.
Next, a schoolmaster unveiled mysteries and processes of love which were
unknown in the country, but infallible, so he declared; but none of them
had the desired effect. Then the priest advised them to make a pilgrimage
to the shrine at Fecamp. Rose went with the crowd and prostrated herself
in the abbey, and, mingling her prayers with the coarse desires of the
peasants around her, she prayed that she might be fruitful a second time;
but it was in vain, and then she thought that she was being punished for
her first fault, and she was seized by terrible grief. She was wasting
away with sorrow; her husband was also aging prematurely, and was wearing
himself out in useless hopes.
Then war broke out between them; he called her names and beat her. They
quarrelled all day long, and when they were in their room together at
night he flung insults and obscenities at her, choking with rage, until
one night, not being able to think of any means of making her suffer more
he ordered her to get up and go and stand out of doors in the rain until
daylight. As she did not obey him, he seized her by the neck and began to
strike her in the face with his fists, but she said nothing and did not
move. In his exasperation he knelt on her stomach, and with clenched
teeth, and mad with rage, he began to beat her. Then in her despair she
rebelled, and flinging him against the wall with a furious gesture, she
sat up, and in an altered voice she hissed: "I have had a child, I have
had one! I had it by Jacques; you know Jacques. He promised to marry me,
but he left this neighborhood without keeping his word."
The man was thunderstruck and could hardly speak, but at last he
stammered out: "What are you saying? What are you saying?" Then she began
to sob, and amid her tears she continued: "That was the reason why I did
not want to marry you. I could not tell you, for you would have left me
without any bread for my child. You have never had any children, so you
cannot understand, you cannot understand!"
He said again, mechanically, with increasing surprise: "You have a child?
You have a child?"
"You took me by force, as I suppose you know? I did not want to marry
you," she said, still sobbing.
Then he got up, lit the candle, and began to walk up and down, with his
arms behind him. She was cowering on the bed and crying, and suddenly he
stopped in front of her, and said: "Then it is my fault that you have no
children?" She gave him no answer, and he began to walk up and down
again, and then, stopping again, he continued: "How old is your child?"
"Just six," she whispered. "Why did you not tell me about it?" he asked.
"How could I?" she replied, with a sigh.
He remained standing, motionless. "Come, get up," he said. She got up
with some difficulty, and then, when she was standing on the floor, he
suddenly began to laugh with the hearty laugh of his good days, and,
seeing how surprised she was, he added: "Very well, we will go and fetch
the child, as you and I can have none together."
She was so scared that if she had had the strength she would assuredly
have run away, but the farmer rubbed his hands and said: "I wanted to
adopt one, and now we have found one. I asked the cure about an orphan
some time ago."
Then, still laughing, he kissed his weeping and agitated wife on both
cheeks, and shouted out, as though she could not hear him: "Come along,
mother, we will go and see whether there is any soup left; I should not
mind a plateful."
She put on her petticoat and they went downstairs; and While she was
kneeling in front of the fireplace and lighting the fire under the
saucepan, he continued to walk up and down the kitchen with long strides,
"Well, I am really glad of this; I am not saying it for form's sake, but
I am glad, I am really very glad."