A Life (Une Vie), French author Guy de Maupassant’s (1850-1893) first novel, tells of a life that falls well short of the protagonist’s hopes and expectations. The story begins when Jeanne de Lamare, a young woman and only daughter of wealthy Norman aristocrats, finishes her schooling at the convent. Her parents have set her up at a picturesque family property on a secluded bit of coast. Jeanne, who has enjoyed a sheltered upbringing, imagines falling in love and living a peaceful life of happiness and romance on her family property. Soon Jeanne pairs up with a young man who, though not wealthy, is attractive and has enough social capitol. They marry and enjoy a romantic honeymoon. But things go downhill after that. In time, Jeanne is disappointed by almost every person and with almost every facet of her life.
Jeanne is a victim of the dishonesty and treachery of others; but she is also a fool. She suffers from completely unrealistic expectations. She also demonstrates a very fragile and easily disturbed emotional state, often experiencing wild emotional swings. These flaws make each disappointment hurt twice as much.
Here are some of my favorite passages:
In her heart she felt resentful towards Julien for not understanding as much, for lacking this finer sense of modesty, this instinctive delicacy of feeling; and she felt as though there were a veil between them, a barrier, and realized for the first time that two people are never completely one in their heart of hearts, in their deepest thoughts, that they walk side by side, entwined sometimes but never completely united, and that in our moral being we each of us remain forever alone throughout our lives.
Suddenly she caught sight of a seagull being carried across the sky by a gust of wind; and she recalled the eagle that she had seen, back there, in Corsica, in the darkness of the Val d'Ota. Her heart registered the sharp pang which comes with the memory of something good that is now over; and all at once she saw again the radiant island with its wild perfume, its sun that can ripen orange and citron, its mountains with their rosy peaks, its blue bays, in ravines where torrents race.
So they began their excursions. They always rode in pairs, the Comtesse and Julien in front, the Comte and Jeanne a hundred paces behind. The latter chatted away quietly, like old friends, for friends they had become, brought together by integrity and simplicity of heart. The former were often whispering together, occasionally bursting into storms of laughter, or suddenly looking at each other as if their eyes had things to tell of which their mouths could never breathe a word; and all of a sudden they would go galloping off, prompted by an urge to flee, to ride further and further away.
She would spend whole days sitting there, not moving, her eyes fixed on the flames, letting her sorry thoughts wander where they pleased and observing the sad procession of her miseries. Darkness would gradually descend on the little room, and still she would not have moved, except to put more logs on the fire.
- Gustave Flaubert mentored Maupassant.
- I also enjoyed Maupassant’s Bel-Ami (1885) and many of his short stories, including "Boule de Suif."
- De Maupassant is said to have written his own epitaph, something to the effect of, "I have coveted everything and taken pleasure in nothing."
P.S. When I finished A Life, I read some more Maupassant short stories in a very nice hardcover book—Stories, a Franklin Library limited edition book illustrated in some expressive watercolors by Lily Harmon and dated 1977.
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