A Simple Soul
by
Gustave Flaubert
Web-Books.Com
A Simple Soul
CHAPTER I ........................................................................................................................ 3
CHAPTER II....................................................................................................................... 5
CHAPTER III ................................................................................................................... 11
CHAPTER IV................................................................................................................... 21
CHAPTER V .................................................................................................................... 28
CHAPTER I
For half a century the housewives of Pont-l'Eveque had envied Madame Aubain her
servant Felicite.
For a hundred francs a year, she cooked and did the housework, washed, ironed, mended,
harnessed the horse, fattened the poultry, made the butter and remained faithful to her
mistress—although the latter was by no means an agreeable person.
Madame Aubain had married a comely youth without any money, who died in the
beginning of 1809, leaving her with two young children and a number of debts. She sold
all her property excepting the farm of Toucques and the farm of Geffosses, the income of
which barely amounted to 5,000 francs; then she left her house in Saint-Melaine, and
moved into a less pretentious one which had belonged to her ancestors and stood back of
the market-place. This house, with its slate-covered roof, was built between a passage-
way and a narrow street that led to the river. The interior was so unevenly graded that it
caused people to stumble. A narrow hall separated the kitchen from the parlour, where
Madame Aubain sat all day in a straw armchair near the window. Eight mahogany chairs
stood in a row against the white wainscoting. An old piano, standing beneath a
barometer, was covered with a pyramid of old books and boxes. On either side of the
yellow marble mantelpiece, in Louis XV. style, stood a tapestry armchair. The clock
represented a temple of Vesta; and the whole room smelled musty, as it was on a lower
level than the garden.
On the first floor was Madame's bed-chamber, a large room papered in a flowered design
and containing the portrait of Monsieur dressed in the costume of a dandy. It
communicated with a smaller room, in which there were two little cribs, without any
mattresses. Next, came the parlour (always closed), filled with furniture covered with
sheets. Then a hall, which led to the study, where books and papers were piled on the
shelves of a book-case that enclosed three quarters of the big black desk. Two panels
were entirely hidden under pen-and-ink sketches, Gouache landscapes and Audran
engravings, relics of better times and vanished luxury. On the second floor, a garret-
window lighted Felicite's room, which looked out upon the meadows.
She arose at daybreak, in order to attend mass, and she worked without interruption until
night; then, when dinner was over, the dishes cleared away and the door securely locked,
she would bury the log under the ashes and fall asleep in front of the hearth with a rosary
in her hand. Nobody could bargain with greater obstinacy, and as for cleanliness, the
lustre on her brass sauce-pans was the envy and despair of other servants. She was most
economical, and when she ate she would gather up crumbs with the tip of her finger, so
that nothing should be wasted of the loaf of bread weighing twelve pounds which was
baked especially for her and lasted three weeks. Summer and winter she wore a dimity kerchief fastened in the back with a pin, a cap
which concealed her hair, a red skirt, grey stockings, and an apron with a bib like those
worn by hospital nurses.
Her face was thin and her voice shrill. When she was twenty-five, she looked forty. After
she had passed fifty, nobody could tell her age; erect and silent always, she resembled a
wooden figure working automatically. CHAPTER II
Like every other woman, she had had an affair of the heart. Her father, who was a mason,
was killed by falling from a scaffolding. Then her mother died and her sisters went their
different ways; a farmer took her in, and while she was quite small, let her keep cows in
the fields. She was clad in miserable rags, beaten for the slightest offence and finally
dismissed for a theft of thirty sous which she did not commit. She took service on another
farm where she tended the poultry; and as she was well thought of by her master, her
fellow-workers soon grew jealous.
One evening in August (she was then eighteen years old), they persuaded her to
accompany them to the fair at Colleville. She was immediately dazzled by the noise, the
lights in the trees, the brightness of the dresses, the laces and gold crosses, and the crowd
of people all hopping at the same time. She was standing modestly at a distance, when
presently a young man of well-to-do appearance, who had been leaning on the pole of a
wagon and smoking his pipe, approached her, and asked her for a dance. He treated her to
cider and cake, bought her a silk shawl, and then, thinking she had guessed his purpose,
offered to see her home. When they came to the end of a field he threw her down
brutally. But she grew frightened and screamed, and he walked off.
One evening, on the road leading to Beaumont, she came upon a wagon loaded with hay,
and when she overtook it, she recognised Theodore. He greeted her calmly, and asked her
to forget what had happened between them, as it "was all the fault of the drink."
She did not know what to reply and wished to run away.
Presently he began to speak of the harvest and of the notables of the village; his father
had left Colleville and bought the farm of Les Ecots, so that now they would be
neighbours. "Ah!" she exclaimed. He then added that his parents were looking around for
a wife for him, but that he, himself, was not so anxious and preferred to wait for a girl
who suited him. She hung her head. He then asked her whether she had ever thought of
marrying. She replied, smilingly, that it was wrong of him to make fun of her. "Oh! no, I
am in earnest," he said, and put his left arm around her waist while they sauntered along.
The air was soft, the stars were bright, and the huge load of hay oscillated in front of
them, drawn by four horses whose ponderous hoofs raised clouds of dust. Without a word
from their driver they turned to the right. He kissed her again and she went home. The
following week, Theodore obtained meetings.
They met in yards, behind walls or under isolated trees. She was not ignorant, as girls of
well-to-do families are—for the animals had instructed her;—but her reason and her
instinct of honour kept her from falling. Her resistance exasperated Theodore's love and
so in order to satisfy it (or perchance ingenuously), he offered to marry her. She would
not believe him at first, so he made solemn promises. But, in a short time he mentioned a
difficulty; the previous year, his parents had purchased a substitute for him; but any day
he might be drafted and the prospect of serving in the army alarmed him greatly. To Felicite his cowardice appeared a proof of his love for her, and her devotion to him grew
stronger. When she met him, he would torture her with his fears and his entreaties. At
last, he announced that he was going to the prefect himself for information, and would let
her know everything on the following Sunday, between eleven o'clock and midnight.
When the time grew near, she ran to meet her lover.
But instead of Theodore, one of his friends was at the meeting-place.
He informed her that she would never see her sweetheart again; for, in order to escape the
conscription, he had married a rich old woman, Madame Lehoussais, of Toucques.
The poor girl's sorrow was frightful. She threw herself on the ground, she cried and called
on the Lord, and wandered around desolately until sunrise. Then she went back to the
farm, declared her intention of leaving, and at the end of the month, after she had
received her wages, she packed all her belongings in a handkerchief and started for Pont-
l'Eveque.
In front of the inn, she met a woman wearing widow's weeds, and upon questioning her,
learned that she was looking for a cook. The girl did not know very much, but appeared
so willing and so modest in her requirements, that Madame Aubain finally said:
"Very well, I will give you a trial."
And half an hour later Felicite was installed in her house.
At first she lived in a constant anxiety that was caused by "the style of the household"
and the memory of "Monsieur," that hovered over everything. Paul and Virginia, the one
aged seven, and the other barely four, seemed made of some precious material; she
carried them pig-a-back, and was greatly mortified when Madame Aubain forbade her to
kiss them every other minute.
But in spite of all this, she was happy. The comfort of her new surroundings had
obliterated her sadness.
Every Thursday, friends of Madame Aubain dropped in for a game of cards, and it was
Felicite's duty to prepare the table and heat the foot-warmers. They arrived at exactly
eight o'clock and departed before eleven.
Every Monday morning, the dealer in second-hand goods, who lived under the alley-way,
spread out his wares on the sidewalk. Then the city would be filled with a buzzing of
voices in which the neighing of horses, the bleating of lambs, the grunting of pigs, could
be distinguished, mingled with the sharp sound of wheels on the cobble-stones. About
twelve o'clock, when the market was in full swing, there appeared at the front door a tall,
middle-aged peasant, with a hooked nose and a cap on the back of his head; it was Robelin, the farmer of Geffosses. Shortly afterwards came Liebard, the farmer of
Toucques, short, rotund and ruddy, wearing a grey jacket and spurred boots.
Both men brought their landlady either chickens or cheese. Felicite would invariably
thwart their ruses and they held her in great respect.
At various times, Madame Aubain received a visit from the Marquis de Gremanville, one
of her uncles, who was ruined and lived at Falaise on the remainder of his estates. He
always came at dinner-time and brought an ugly poodle with him, whose paws soiled
their furniture. In spite of his efforts to appear a man of breeding (he even went so far as
to raise his hat every time he said "My deceased father"), his habits got the better of him,
and he would fill his glass a little too often and relate broad stories. Felicite would show
him out very politely and say: "You have had enough for this time, Monsieur de
Gremanville! Hoping to see you again!" and would close the door.
She opened it gladly for Monsieur Bourais, a retired lawyer. His bald head and white
cravat, the ruffling of his shirt, his flowing brown coat, the manner in which he took
snuff, his whole person, in fact, produced in her the kind of awe which we feel when we
see extraordinary persons. As he managed Madame's estates, he spent hours with her in
Monsieur's study; he was in constant fear of being compromised, had a great regard for
the magistracy and some pretensions to learning.
In order to facilitate the children's studies, he presented them with an engraved geography
which represented various scenes of the world; cannibals with feather head-dresses, a
gorilla kidnapping a young girl, Arabs in the desert, a whale being harpooned, etc.
Paul explained the pictures to Felicite. And, in fact, this was her only literary education.
The children's studies were under the direction of a poor devil employed at the town-hall,
who sharpened his pocket-knife on his boots and was famous for his penmanship.
When the weather was fine, they went to Geffosses. The house was built in the centre of
the sloping yard; and the sea looked like a grey spot in the distance. Felicite would take
slices of cold meat from the lunch basket and they would sit down and eat in a room next
to the dairy. This room was all that remained of a cottage that had been torn down. The
dilapidated wall-paper trembled in the drafts. Madame Aubain, overwhelmed by
recollections, would hang her head, while the children were afraid to open their mouths.
Then, "Why don't you go and play?" their mother would say; and they would scamper
off.
Paul would go to the old barn, catch birds, throw stones into the pond, or pound the
trunks of the trees with a stick till they resounded like drums. Virginia would feed the
rabbits and run to pick the wild flowers in the fields, and her flying legs would disclose
her little embroidered pantalettes. One autumn evening, they struck out for home through
the meadows. The new moon illumined part of the sky and a mist hovered like a veil over
the sinuosities of the river. Oxen, lying in the pastures, gazed mildly at the passing persons. In the third field, however, several of them got up and surrounded them. "Don't
be afraid," cried Felicite; and murmuring a sort of lament she passed her hand over the
back of the nearest ox; he turned away and the others followed. But when they came to
the next pasture, they heard frightful bellowing.
It was a bull which was hidden from them by the fog. He advanced towards the two
women, and Madame Aubain prepared to flee for her life. "No, no! not so fast," warned
Felicite. Still they hurried on, for they could hear the noisy breathing of the bull behind
them. His hoofs pounded the grass like hammers, and presently he began to gallop!
Felicite turned around and threw patches of grass in his eyes. He hung his head, shook his
horns and bellowed with fury. Madame Aubain and the children, huddled at the end of
the field, were trying to jump over the ditch. Felicite continued to back before the bull,
blinding him with dirt, while she shouted to them to make haste.
Madame Aubain finally slid into the ditch, after shoving first Virginia and then Paul into
it, and though she stumbled several times she managed, by dint of courage, to climb the
other side of it.
The bull had driven Felicite up against a fence; the foam from his muzzle flew in her face
and in another minute he would have disembowelled her. She had just time to slip
between two bars and the huge animal, thwarted, paused.
For years, this occurrence was a topic of conversation in Pont-l'Eveque. But Felicite took
no credit to herself, and probably never knew that she had been heroic.
Virginia occupied her thoughts solely, for the shock she had sustained gave her a nervous
affection, and the physician, M. Poupart, prescribed the salt-water bathing at Trouville. In
those days, Trouville was not greatly patronised. Madame Aubain gathered information,
consulted Bourais, and made preparations as if they were going on an extended trip.
The baggage was sent the day before on Liebard's cart. On the following morning, he
brought around two horses, one of which had a woman's saddle with a velveteen back to
it, while on the crupper of the other was a rolled shawl that was to be used for a seat.
Madame Aubain mounted the second horse, behind Liebard. Felicite took charge of the
little girl, and Paul rode M. Lechaptois' donkey, which had been lent for the occasion on
the condition that they should be careful of it.
The road was so bad that it took two hours to cover the eight miles. The two horses sank
knee-deep into the mud and stumbled into ditches; sometimes they had to jump over
them. In certain places, Liebard's mare stopped abruptly. He waited patiently till she
started again, and talked of the people whose estates bordered the road, adding his own
moral reflections to the outline of their histories. Thus, when they were passing through
Toucques, and came to some windows draped with nasturtiums, he shrugged his
shoulders and said: "There's a woman, Madame Lehoussais, who, instead of taking a
young man—" Felicite could not catch what followed; the horses began to trot, the donkey to gallop, and they turned into a lane; then a gate swung open, two farm-hands
appeared and they all dismounted at the very threshold of the farm-house.
Mother Liebard, when she caught sight of her mistress, was lavish with joyful
demonstrations. She got up a lunch which comprised a leg of mutton, tripe, sausages, a
chicken fricassee, sweet cider, a fruit tart and some preserved prunes; then to all this the
good woman added polite remarks about Madame, who appeared to be in better health,
Mademoiselle, who had grown to be "superb," and Paul, who had become singularly
sturdy; she spoke also of their deceased grandparents, whom the Liebards had known, for
they had been in the service of the family for several generations.
Like its owners, the farm had an ancient appearance. The beams of the ceiling were
mouldy, the walls black with smoke and the windows grey with dust. The oak sideboard
was filled with all sorts of utensils, plates, pitchers, tin bowls, wolf-traps. The children
laughed when they saw a huge syringe. There was not a tree in the yard that did not have
mushrooms growing around its foot, or a bunch of mistletoe hanging in its branches.
Several of the trees had been blown down, but they had started to grow in the middle and
all were laden with quantities of apples. The thatched roofs, which were of unequal
thickness, looked like brown velvet and could resist the fiercest gales. But the wagon-
shed was fast crumbling to ruins. Madame Aubain said that she would attend to it, and
then gave orders to have the horses saddled.
It took another thirty minutes to reach Trouville. The little caravan dismounted in order to
pass Les Ecores, a cliff that overhangs the bay, and a few minutes later, at the end of the
dock, they entered the yard of the Golden Lamb, an inn kept by Mother David.
During the first few days, Virginia felt stronger, owing to the change of air and the action
of the sea-baths. She took them in her little chemise, as she had no bathing suit, and
afterwards her nurse dressed her in the cabin of a customs officer, which was used for
that purpose by other bathers.
In the afternoon, they would take the donkey and go to the Roches-Noires, near
Hennequeville. The path led at first through undulating grounds, and thence to a plateau,
where pastures and tilled fields alternated. At the edge of the road, mingling with the
brambles, grew holly bushes, and here and there stood large dead trees whose branches
traced zigzags upon the blue sky.
Ordinarily, they rested in a field facing the ocean, with Deauville on their left, and Havre
on their right. The sea glittered brightly in the sun and was as smooth as a mirror, and so
calm that they could scarcely distinguish its murmur; sparrows chirped joyfully and the
immense canopy of heaven spread over it all. Madame Aubain brought out her sewing,
and Virginia amused herself by braiding reeds; Felicite wove lavender blossoms, while
Paul was bored and wished to go home.
Sometimes they crossed the Toucques in a boat, and started to hunt for sea-shells. The
outgoing tide exposed star-fish and sea-urchins, and the children tried to catch the flakes of foam which the wind blew away. The sleepy waves lapping the sand unfurled
themselves along the shore that extended as far as the eye could see, but where land
began, it was limited by the downs which separated it from the "Swamp," a large
meadow shaped like a hippodrome. When they went home that way, Trouville, on the
slope of a hill below, grew larger and larger as they advanced, and, with all its houses of
unequal height, seemed to spread out before them in a sort of giddy confusion.
When the heat was too oppressive, they remained in their rooms. The dazzling sunlight
cast bars of light between the shutters. Not a sound in the village, not a soul on the
sidewalk. This silence intensified the tranquility of everything. In the distance, the
hammers of some calkers pounded the hull of a ship, and the sultry breeze brought them
an odour of tar.
The principal diversion consisted in watching the return of the fishing-smacks. As soon
as they passed the beacons, they began to ply to windward. The sails were lowered to one
third of the masts, and with their fore-sails swelled up like balloons they glided over the
waves and anchored in the middle of the harbour. Then they crept up alongside of the
dock and the sailors threw the quivering fish over the side of the boat; a line of carts was
waiting for them, and women with white caps sprang forward to receive the baskets and
embrace their men-folk.
One day, one of them spoke to Felicite, who, after a little while, returned to the house
gleefully. She had found one of her sisters, and presently Nastasie Barette, wife of
Leroux, made her appearance, holding an infant in her arms, another child by the hand,
while on her left was a little cabin-boy with his hands in his pockets and his cap on his
ear.
At the end of fifteen minutes, Madame Aubain bade her go.
They always hung around the kitchen, or approached Felicite when she and the children
were out walking. The husband, however, did not show himself.
Felicite developed a great fondness for them; she bought them a stove, some shirts and a
blanket; it was evident that they exploited her. Her foolishness annoyed Madame Aubain,
who, moreover did not like the nephew's familiarity, for he called her son "thou";—and,
as Virginia began to cough and the season was over, she decided to return to Pont-
l'Eveque.
Monsieur Bourais assisted her in the choice of a college. The one at Caen was considered
the best. So Paul was sent away and bravely said good-bye to them all, for he was glad to
go to live in a house where he would have boy companions.
Madame Aubain resigned herself to the separation from her son because it was
unavoidable. Virginia brooded less and less over it. Felicite regretted the noise he made,
but soon a new occupation diverted her mind; beginning from Christmas, she
accompanied the little girl to her catechism lesson every day. Thank You for previewing this eBook
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