A Dead Woman's Secret (Maupassant)
Short Summary
France, presumably the late 1800s. An elderly woman passed away quietly, her white hair carefully arranged, a serene expression on her face.
Her two grown children knelt grieving beside her bed: her daughter Marguerite, a nun known as Sister Eulalie, and her son, a magistrate.
In sorrow, they reminisced about their strict upbringing and decided to read their mother's treasured letters together. Among heartfelt family notes, Marguerite found a hidden, agitated love letter:
"My adored one, I love you wildly. Since yesterday I have been suffering the tortures of the damned, haunted by our memory. I feel your lips against mine, your eyes in mine, your breast against mine. I love you, I love you!"
Shocked, they realized the passionate letter was not from their father. The brother coldly put the letters away and closed the bed curtains, effectively sentencing their mother in moral judgment. At dawn, emotionally withdrawn, the siblings silently left their mother's room behind.
Detailed Summary
Division into chapters is editorial.
The Death Scene and the Children's Grief
An elderly woman had died peacefully, her life having been blameless. She lay in her bed, her features calm, her long white hair carefully arranged as though she had done it up shortly before dying. Her countenance reflected the sweet soul that had inhabited her body and the pure existence she had led.
The woman had died without pain, quietly, as a woman should whose life had been blameless. Now she was resting in her bed, lying on her back, her eyes closed, her features calm, her long white hair carefully arranged.
Kneeling beside the bed were her two children, a son who was a magistrate with inflexible principles, and a daughter named Marguerite, known as Sister Eulalie, who had become a nun. Both were weeping as though their hearts would break.
The Priest's Visit and Private Mourning
A few light taps on the door interrupted the siblings' grief. The priest, who had just come from dinner, entered the room. He appeared red-faced and out of breath from his interrupted digestion, having fortified himself with a strong mixture of coffee and brandy to combat fatigue from the previous nights and the wake that was beginning.
The priest approached with a professional gesture and offered to help them through these sad hours. Sister Eulalie, however, rose and declined his assistance, explaining that she and her brother preferred to remain alone with their mother. This was their last chance to be together, all three of them, as they used to be when they were small. Respecting their wishes, the priest departed, murmuring that the dead woman had been a saint.
Left alone with their mother, the siblings were enveloped by the peaceful atmosphere. The ticking of the clock could be heard distinctly, and through the open window drifted the sweet smell of hay and woods, together with soft moonlight. An infinite peace surrounded the dead woman, seeming to emanate from her and appease nature itself.
An infinite peace, a divine melancholy, a silent serenity surrounded this dead woman, seemed to be breathed out from her and to appease nature itself.
Reading Their Mother's Letters
After their grief had calmed somewhat, the siblings began to weep quietly. A rather long time passed before they arose and looked at their dead mother. Memories came flooding back to them—distant memories of circumstances, words, smiles, and intonations of their mother. They recalled things she had said and little gestures she had made. In their reminiscing, they realized how much they had loved her and how lonely they would now be without her.
Sister Eulalie reminded her brother how their mother used to read her old letters, which were stored in a drawer. She suggested they read these letters together, to live through their mother's whole life that night beside her. It would be like making the acquaintance of their grandparents, whom they had never known but about whom their mother had often spoken.
From the drawer, they took about ten little packages of yellow paper, tied with care and arranged one beside the other. They chose one labeled "Father" and began to read. The letters were old-fashioned, the kind one finds in family desk drawers, epistles that smell of another century. Sister Eulalie read aloud to the dead woman, recounting her whole history and tender memories.
The Revelation and Its Impact
Sister Eulalie suggested that the letters should be placed in the grave with their mother, to be used as a shroud. She then took another package, on which no name was written, and began to read: "My adored one, I love you wildly. Since yesterday I have been suffering the tortures of the damned, haunted by our memory. I feel your lips against mine, your eyes in mine, your breast against mine. I love you, I love you! You have driven me mad."
The judge straightened himself up, and the nun stopped reading. He snatched the letter from her and looked for the signature. There was none, but only the name "Henry" under the words "The man who adores you." Their father's name was René, so this letter was not from him.
The son quickly rummaged through the package of letters, took one out and read: "I can no longer live without your caresses." Standing erect, severe as when sitting on the bench, he looked unmoved at the dead woman. The nun, straight as a statue with tears trembling in the corners of her eyes, watched her brother, waiting.
He crossed the room slowly, went to the window, and stood there gazing out into the dark night. When he turned around again, Sister Eulalie, her eyes now dry, was still standing near the bed with her head bent down. He stepped forward, quickly picked up the letters, and threw them pell-mell back into the drawer. Then he closed the curtains of the bed.
When daylight made the candles on the table turn pale the son slowly left his armchair, and without looking again at the mother upon whom he had passed sentence, severing the tie that united her to son and daughter, he said slowly: "Let us now retire, sister."