The Model

by Guy de Maupassant

Curving like a crescent moon, the little town of Etretat, with its whitecliffs, its white, shingly beach and its blue sea, lay in the sunlight athigh noon one July day. At either extremity of this crescent its two"gates," the smaller to the right, the larger one at the left, stretchedforth--one a dwarf and the other a colossal limb--into the water, and thebell tower, almost as tall as the cliff, wide below, narrowing at thetop, raised its pointed summit to the sky.On the sands beside the water a crowd was seated watching the bathers.On the terrace of, the Casino another crowd, seated or walking, displayedbeneath the brilliant sky a perfect flower patch of bright costumes, withred and blue parasols embroidered with large flowers in silk.On the walk at the end of the terrace, other persons, the restful, quietones, were walking slowly, far from the dressy throng.A young man, well known and celebrated as a painter, Jean Sumner, waswalking with a dejected air beside a wheeled chair in which sat a youngwoman, his wife. A manservant was gently pushing the chair, and thecrippled woman was gazing sadly at the brightness of the sky, thegladness of the day, and the happiness of others.They did not speak. They did not look at each other."Let us stop a while," said the young woman.They stopped, and the painter sat down on a camp stool that the servanthanded him.Those who were passing behind the silent and motionless couple looked atthem compassionately. A whole legend of devotion was attached to them.He had married her in spite of her infirmity, touched by her affectionfor him, it was said.Not far from there, two young men were chatting, seated on a bench andlooking out into the horizon."No, it is not true; I tell you that I am well acquainted with JeanSumner.""But then, why did he marry her? For she was a cripple when she married,was she not?""Just so. He married her--he married her--just as every one marries,parbleu! because he was an idiot!""But why?""But why--but why, my friend? There is no why. People do stupid thingsjust because they do stupid things. And, besides, you know very wellthat painters make a specialty of foolish marriages. They almost alwaysmarry models, former sweethearts, in fact, women of doubtful reputation,frequently. Why do they do this? Who can say? One would suppose thatconstant association with the general run of models would disgust themforever with that class of women. Not at all. After having posed themthey marry them. Read that little book, so true, so cruel and sobeautiful, by Alphonse Daudet: 'Artists' Wives.'"In the case of the couple you see over there the accident occurred in aspecial and terrible manner. The little woman played a frightful comedy,or, rather, tragedy. She risked all to win all. Was she sincere? Didshe love Jean? Shall we ever know? Who is able to determine preciselyhow much is put on and how much is real in the actions of a woman? Theyare always sincere in an eternal mobility of impressions. They arefurious, criminal, devoted, admirable and base in obedience to intangibleemotions. They tell lies incessantly without intention, without knowingor understanding why, and in spite of it all are absolutely frank intheir feelings and sentiments, which they display by violent, unexpected,incomprehensible, foolish resolutions which overthrow our arguments, ourcustomary poise and all our selfish plans. The unforeseenness andsuddenness of their determinations will always render them undecipherableenigmas as far as we are concerned. We continually ask ourselves:'Are they sincere? Are they pretending?'"But, my friend, they are sincere and insincere at one and the same time,because it is their nature to be extremists in both and to be neither onenor the other."See the methods that even the best of them employ to get what theydesire. They are complex and simple, these methods. So complex that wecan never guess at them beforehand, and so simple that after having beenvictimized we cannot help being astonished and exclaiming: 'What! Didshe make a fool of me so easily as that?'"And they always succeed, old man, especially when it is a question ofgetting married."But this is Sumner's story:"The little woman was a model, of course. She posed for him. She waspretty, very stylish-looking, and had a divine figure, it seems. Hefancied that he loved her with his whole soul. That is another strangething. As soon as one likes a woman one sincerely believes that theycould not get along without her for the rest of their life. One knowsthat one has felt the same way before and that disgust invariablysucceeded gratification; that in order to pass one's existence side byside with another there must be not a brutal, physical passion which soondies out, but a sympathy of soul, temperament and temper. One shouldknow how to determine in the enchantment to which one is subjectedwhether it proceeds from the physical, from a certain sensuousintoxication, or from a deep spiritual charm."Well, he believed himself in love; he made her no end of promises offidelity, and was devoted to her."She was really attractive, gifted with that fashionable flippancy thatlittle Parisians so readily affect. She chattered, babbled, made foolishremarks that sounded witty from the manner in which they were uttered.She used graceful gesture's which were calculated to attract a painter'seye. When she raised her arms, when she bent over, when she got into acarriage, when she held out her hand to you, her gestures were perfectand appropriate."For three months Jean never noticed that, in reality, she was like allother models."He rented a little house for her for the summer at Andresy."I was there one evening when for the first time doubts came into myfriend's mind."As it was a beautiful evening we thought we would take a stroll alongthe bank of the river. The moon poured a flood of light on the tremblingwater, scattering yellow gleams along its ripples in the currents and allalong the course of the wide, slow river."We strolled along the bank, a little enthused by that vague exaltationthat these dreamy evenings produce in us. We would have liked toundertake some wonderful task, to love some unknown, deliciously poeticbeing. We felt ourselves vibrating with raptures, longings, strangeaspirations. And we were silent, our beings pervaded by the serene andliving coolness of the beautiful night, the coolness of the moonlight,which seemed to penetrate one's body, permeate it, soothe one's spirit,fill it with fragrance and steep it in happiness."Suddenly Josephine (that is her name) uttered an exclamation:"'Oh, did you see the big fish that jumped, over there?'"He replied without looking, without thinking:"'Yes, dear.'"She was angry."'No, you did not see it, for your back was turned.'"He smiled."'Yes, that's true. It is so delightful that I am not thinking ofanything.'"She was silent, but at the end of a minute she felt as if she must saysomething and asked:"'Are you going to Paris to-morrow?'"'I do not know,' he replied."She was annoyed again."'Do you think it is very amusing to walk along without speaking? Peopletalk when they are not stupid.'"He did not reply. Then, feeling with her woman's instinct that she wasgoing to make him angry, she began to sing a popular air that hadharassed our ears and our minds for two years:"'Je regardais en fair.'"He murmured:"'Please keep quiet.'"She replied angrily:"'Why do you wish me to keep quiet?'"'You spoil the landscape for us!' he said."Then followed a scene, a hateful, idiotic scene, with unexpectedreproaches, unsuitable recriminations, then tears. Nothing was leftunsaid. They went back to the house. He had allowed her to talk withoutreplying, enervated by the beauty of the scene and dumfounded by thisstorm of abuse."Three months later he strove wildly to free himself from thoseinvincible and invisible bonds with which such a friendship chains ourlives. She kept him under her influence, tyrannizing over him, makinghis life a burden to him. They quarreled continually, vituperating andfinally fighting each other."He wanted to break with her at any cost. He sold all his canvases,borrowed money from his friends, realizing twenty thousand francs (he wasnot well known then), and left them for her one morning with a note offarewell."He came and took refuge with me."About three o'clock that afternoon there was a ring at the bell. I wentto the door. A woman sprang toward me, pushed me aside, came in and wentinto my atelier. It was she!"He had risen when he saw her coming.'"She threw the envelope containing the banknotes at his feet with a trulynoble gesture and said in a quick tone:"'There's your money. I don't want it!'"She was very pale, trembling and ready undoubtedly to commit any folly.As for him, I saw him grow pale also, pale with rage and exasperation,ready also perhaps to commit any violence."He asked:"'What do you want?'"She replied:"'I do not choose to be treated like a common woman. You implored me toaccept you. I asked you for nothing. Keep me with you!'"He stamped his foot."'No, that's a little too much! If you think you are going--'"I had seized his arm."'Keep still, Jean. . . Let me settle it.'"I went toward her and quietly, little by little, I began to reason withher, exhausting all the arguments that are used under similarcircumstances. She listened to me, motionless, with a fixed gaze,obstinate and silent."Finally, not knowing what more to say, and seeing that there would be ascene, I thought of a last resort and said:"'He loves you still, my dear, but his family want him to marry some one,and you understand--'"She gave a start and exclaimed:"'Ah! Ah! Now I understand:"And turning toward him, she said:"'You are--you are going to get married?'"He replied decidedly" 'Yes.'"She took a step forward."'If you marry, I will kill myself! Do you hear?'"He shrugged his shoulders and replied:"'Well, then kill yourself!'"She stammered out, almost choking with her violent emotion:"'What do you say? What do you say? What do you say? Say it again!'"He repeated:"'Well, then kill yourself if you like!'"With her face almost livid, she replied:"'Do not dare me! I will throw myself from the window!'"He began to laugh, walked toward the window, opened it, and bowing withthe gesture of one who desires to let some one else precede him, he said:"'This is the way. After you!'"She looked at him for a second with terrible, wild, staring eyes. Then,taking a run as if she were going to jump a hedge in the country, sherushed past me and past him, jumped over the sill and disappeared."I shall never forget the impression made on me by that open window afterI had seen that body pass through it to fall to the ground. It appearedto me in a second to be as large as the heavens and as hollow as space.And I drew back instinctively, not daring to look at it, as though Ifeared I might fall out myself."Jean, dumfounded, stood motionless."They brought the poor girl in with both legs broken. She will neverwalk again."Jean, wild with remorse and also possibly touched with gratitude, madeup his mind to marry her."There you have it, old man."It was growing dusk. The young woman felt chilly and wanted to go home,and the servant wheeled the invalid chair in the direction of thevillage. The painter walked beside his wife, neither of them havingexchanged a word for an hour.

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