The Farmer's Wife

by Guy de Maupassant

Said the Baron Rene du Treilles to me:"Will you come and open the hunting season with me at my farm atMarinville? I shall be delighted if you will, my dear boy. In the firstplace, I am all alone. It is rather a difficult ground to get at, andthe place I live in is so primitive that I can invite only my mostintimate friends."I accepted his invitation, and on Saturday we set off on the train goingto Normandy. We alighted at a station called Almivare, and Baron Rene,pointing to a carryall drawn by a timid horse and driven by a bigcountryman with white hair, said:"Here is our equipage, my dear boy."The driver extended his hand to his landlord, and the baron pressed itwarmly, asking:"Well, Maitre Lebrument, how are you?""Always the same, M'sieu le Baron."We jumped into this swinging hencoop perched on two enormous wheels, andthe young horse, after a violent swerve, started into a gallop, pitchingus into the air like balls. Every fall backward on the wooden bench gaveme the most dreadful pain.The peasant kept repeating in his calm, monotonous voice:"There, there! All right all right, Moutard, all right!"But Moutard scarcely heard, and kept capering along like a goat.Our two dogs behind us, in the empty part of the hencoop, were standingup and sniffing the air of the plains, where they scented game.The baron gazed with a sad eye into the distance at the vast Normanlandscape, undulating and melancholy, like an immense English park, wherethe farmyards, surrounded by two or four rows of trees and full ofdwarfed apple trees which hid the houses, gave a vista as far as the eyecould see of forest trees, copses and shrubbery such as landscapegardeners look for in laying out the boundaries of princely estates.And Rene du Treilles suddenly exclaimed:"I love this soil; I have my very roots in it."He was a pure Norman, tall and strong, with a slight paunch, and of theold race of adventurers who went to found kingdoms on the shores of everyocean. He was about fifty years of age, ten years less perhaps than thefarmer who was driving us.The latter was a lean peasant, all skin and bone, one of those men wholive a hundred years.After two hours' travelling over stony roads, across that green andmonotonous plain, the vehicle entered one of those orchard farmyards anddrew up before in old structure falling into decay, where an old maid-servant stood waiting beside a young fellow, who took charge of thehorse.We entered the farmhouse. The smoky kitchen was high and spacious. Thecopper utensils and the crockery shone in the reflection of the hearth.A cat lay asleep on a chair, a dog under the table. One perceived anodor of milk, apples, smoke, that indescribable smell peculiar to oldfarmhouses; the odor of the earth, of the walls, of furniture, the odorof spilled stale soup, of former wash-days and of former inhabitants, thesmell of animals and of human beings combined, of things and of persons,the odor of time, and of things that have passed away.I went out to have a look at the farmyard. It was very large, full ofapple trees, dwarfed and crooked, and laden with fruit which fell on thegrass around them. In this farmyard the Norman smell of apples was asstrong as that of the bloom of orange trees on the shores of the south ofFrance.Four rows of beeches surrounded this inclosure. They were so tall thatthey seemed to touch the clouds at this hour of nightfall, and theirsummits, through which the night winds passed, swayed and sang amournful, interminable song.I reentered the house.The baron was warming his feet at the fire, and was listening to thefarmer's talk about country matters. He talked about marriages, birthsand deaths, then about the fall in the price of grain and the latest newsabout cattle. The "Veularde" (as he called a cow that had been bought atthe fair of Veules) had calved in the middle of June. The cider had notbeen first-class last year. Apricots were almost disappearing from thecountry.Then we had dinner. It was a good rustic meal, simple and abundant, longand tranquil. And while we were dining I noticed the special kind offriendly familiarity which had struck me from the start between the baronand the peasant.Outside, the beeches continued sighing in the night wind, and our twodogs, shut up in a shed, were whining and howling in an uncanny fashion.The fire was dying out in the big fireplace. The maid-servant had goneto bed. Maitre Lebrument said in his turn:"If you don't mind, M'sieu le Baron, I'm going to bed. I am not used tostaying up late."The baron extended his hand toward him and said: "Go, my friend," in socordial a tone that I said, as soon as the man had disappeared:"He is devoted to you, this farmer?""Better than that, my dear fellow! It is a drama, an old drama, simpleand very sad, that attaches him to me. Here is the story:"You know that my father was colonel in a cavalry regiment. His orderlywas this young fellow, now an old man, the son of a farmer. When myfather retired from the army he took this former soldier, then aboutforty; as his servant. I was at that time about thirty. We were livingin our old chateau of Valrenne, near Caudebec-en-Caux."At this period my mother's chambermaid was one of the prettiest girlsyou could see, fair-haired, slender and sprightly in manner, a genuinesoubrette of the old type that no longer exists. To-day these creaturesspring up into hussies before their time. Paris, with the aid of therailways, attracts them, calls them, takes hold of them, as soon as theyare budding into womanhood, these little sluts who in old times remainedsimple maid-servants. Every man passing by, as recruiting sergeants didformerly, looking for recruits, with conscripts, entices and ruins them--these foolish lassies--and we have now only the scum of the female sexfor servant maids, all that is dull, nasty, common and ill-formed, toougly, even for gallantry."Well, this girl was charming, and I often gave her a kiss in darkcorners; nothing more, I swear to you! She was virtuous, besides; and Ihad some respect for my mother's house, which is more than can be said ofthe blackguards of the present day."Now, it happened that my man-servant, the ex-soldier, the old farmer youhave just seen, fell madly in love with this girl, perfectly daft. Thefirst thing we noticed was that he forgot everything, he paid noattention to anything."My father said incessantly:"'See here, Jean, what's the matter with you? Are you ill?'"He replied:"'No, no, M'sieu le Baron. There's nothing the matter with me.'"He grew thin; he broke glasses and let plates fall when waiting on thetable. We thought he must have been attacked by some nervous affection,and sent for the doctor, who thought he could detect symptoms of spinaldisease. Then my father, full of anxiety about his faithful man-servant,decided to place him in a private hospital. When the poor fellow heardof my father's intentions he made a clean breast of it."'M'sieu le Baron'"'Well, my boy?'"'You see, the thing I want is not physic.'"'Ha! what is it, then?'"'It's marriage!'"My father turned round and stared at him in astonishment."'What's that you say, eh?'"'It's marriage.""'Marriage! So, then, you jackass, you're to love.'"'That's how it is, M'sieu le Baron.'"And my father began to laugh so immoderately that my mother called outthrough the wall of the next room:"'What in the world is the matter with you, Gontran?'"He replied:"'Come here, Catherine.'"And when she came in he told her, with tears in his eyes from sheerlaughter, that his idiot of a servant-man was lovesick."But my mother, instead of laughing, was deeply affected."'Who is it that you have fallen in love with, my poor fellow?' sheasked."He answered without hesitation:"'With Louise, Madame le Baronne.'"My mother said with the utmost gravity: 'We must try to arrange thismatter the best way we can.'"So Louise was sent for and questioned by my mother; and she said inreply that she knew all about Jean's liking for her, that in fact Jeanhad spoken to her about it several times, but that she did not want him.She refused to say why."And two months elapsed during which my father and mother never ceased tourge this girl to marry Jean. As she declared she was not in love withany other man, she could not give any serious reason for her refusal. Myfather at last overcame her resistance by means of a big present ofmoney, and started the pair of them on a farm--this very farm. I did notsee them for three years, and then I learned that Louise had died ofconsumption. But my father and mother died, too, in their turn, and itwas two years more before I found myself face to face with Jean."At last one autumn day about the end of October the idea came into myhead to go hunting on this part of my estate, which my father had told mewas full of game."So one evening, one wet evening, I arrived at this house. I was shockedto find my father's old servant with perfectly white hair, though he wasnot more than forty-five or forty-six years of age. I made him dine withme, at the very table where we are now sitting. It was raining hard.We could hear the rain battering at the roof, the walls, and the windows,flowing in a perfect deluge into the farmyard; and my dog was howling inthe shed where the other dogs are howling to-night."All of a sudden, when the servant-maid had gone to bed, the man said ina timid voice:"'M'sieu le Baron.'"'What is it, my dear Jean?'"'I have something to tell you.'"'Tell it, my dear Jean.'"'You remember Louise, my wife.'"'Certainly, I remember her.'"'Well, she left me a message for you.'"'What was it?'"'A--a--well, it was what you might call a confession.'"'Ha--and what was it about?'"'It was--it was--I'd rather, all the same, tell you nothing about it--but I must--I must. Well, it's this--it wasn't consumption she died ofat all. It was grief--well, that's the long and short of it. As soon asshe came to live here after we were married, she grew thin; she changedso that you wouldn't know her, M'sieu le Baron. She was just as I wasbefore I married her, but it was just the opposite, just the opposite."'I sent for the doctor. He said it was her liver that was affected--hesaid it was what he called a "hepatic" complaint--I don't know these bigwords, M'sieu le Baron. Then I bought medicine for her, heaps on heapsof bottles that cost about three hundred francs. But she'd take none ofthem; she wouldn't have them; she said: "It's no use, my poor Jean; itwouldn't do me any good." I saw well that she had some hidden trouble;and then I found her one time crying, and I didn't know what to do, no,I didn't know what to do. I bought her caps, and dresses, and hair oil,and earrings. Nothing did her any good. And I saw that she was going todie. And so one night at the end of November, one snowy night, after shehad been in bed the whole day, she told me to send for the cure. So Iwent for him. As soon as he came--"Jean," she said, "I am going to make a confession to you. I owe it toyou, Jean. I have never been false to you, never! never, before or afteryou married me. M'sieu le Cure is there, and can tell you so; he knowsmy soul. Well, listen, Jean. If I am dying, it is because I was notable to console myself for leaving the chateau, because I was too fond ofthe young Baron Monsieur Rene, too fond of him, mind you, Jean, there wasno harm in it! This is the thing that's killing me. When I could seehim no more I felt that I should die. If I could only have seen him, Imight have lived, only seen him, nothing more. I wish you'd tell himsome day, by and by, when I am no longer here. You will tell him, swearyou, will, Jean--swear it--in the presence of M'sieu le Cure! It willconsole me to know that he will know it one day, that this was the causeof my death! Swear it!"'Well, I gave her my promise, M'sieu It Baron, and on the faith of anhonest man I have kept my word.'"And then he ceased speaking, his eyes filling with tears."Good God! my dear boy, you can't form any idea of the emotion thatfilled me when I heard this poor devil, whose wife I had killed withoutsuspecting it, telling me this story on that wet night in this verykitchen."I exclaimed: 'Ah! my poor Jean! my poor Jean!'"He murmured: 'Well, that's all, M'sieu le Baron. I could not help it,one way or the other--and now it's all over!'"I caught his hand across the table, and I began to weep."He asked, 'Will you come and see her grave?' I nodded assent, for Icouldn't speak. He rose, lighted a lantern, and we walked through theblinding rain by the light of the lantern."He opened a gate, and I saw some crosses of black wood."Suddenly he stopped before a marble slab and said: 'There it is,' and heflashed the lantern close to it so that I could read the inscription:"'TO LOUISE HORTENSE MARINET,"'Wife of Jean-Francois Lebrument, Farmer,"'SHE WAS A FAITHFUL WIFE. GOD REST HER SOUL.'"We fell on our knees in the damp grass, he and I, with the lanternbetween us, and I saw the rain beating on the white marble slab. And Ithought of the heart of her sleeping there in her grave. Ah! poor heart!poor heart! "Since then I come here every year. And I don't know why,but I feel as if I were guilty of some crime in the presence of this manwho always looks as if he forgave me."

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