Remember Guy de Maupassant?
Remember Guy de Maupassant? He was a French writer who wrote that classic short story "The Necklace." You remember. The beautiful young wife is dissatisfied with her bureaucrat husband's modest income. She pines for the high society of Paris. To please her, the husband wangles an invitation to a top-crust government soiree and lets her use their savings for a new dress. She borrows her rich friend's diamond necklace to complete the outfit and is the belle of the ball. She gets home, flushed with triumph, and realizes the necklace is gone. The couple goes into debt to buy a duplicate necklace to return to the unsuspecting friend. Ten years later, the now-haggard woman sees her rich friend on the boulevard. She tells her about the years of hardships paying to replace the lost necklace. The rich friend gasps and says the jewels were paste, at most worth 500 francs.
Zing!
If you were like me, you saw "The Necklace" in a zillion anthologies for grades 5 and up. Looking at the story 130 years later it's easy to dismiss it as old-fashioned. But in de Maupassant's stories I see a lot of keen insight into human character and economic caste systems that's still relevant to life in 2009. The rich woman who thinks nothing of wearing phony jewels vs. the longing outsider who needs the validation of fine things. The young couple ruined from trying to live a lifestyle they couldn't afford. It's straight from the Suze Orman show.
I'm reading a new translation of de Maupassant's stories and learning about him. His biography is the template for the bohemian artiste. He fought in the Franco-Prussian war of 1870-71, worked as a minor civil servant, consorted with ladies of the evening and churned out hundreds of stories in 10 years before dying of syphilis-caused insanity at 41.
Although many of his tales were featured in children's anthologies -- there's another great one about a disconnected hand that strangles an enemy -- many others are set in a milieu of brothels and soldiers. One of these stories, about a prostitute named "Butterball" for her plump bosoms and thighs, has stuck in my brain. See if you can figure out why, as I retell it.
In "Butterball," the title protagonist is riding in a four-horse coach with nine other people. They're fleeing the Prussians, who have occupied their town. The respectable townspeople look down their noses at the prostitute sharing their coach. Then their carriage is delayed by heavy snow and Butterball is the only one who brought a picnic basket. As Butterball unpacks her chickens, pates, rolls, fruit and wine, the travelers decide she's not such a bad sort. She invites them to share the food intended for the three-day trip, and it is soon gone. Since they've eaten her food, the travelers deign to talk with Butterball. She reveals herself to be fiercely patriotic and loathing of the occupying Prussian forces.
The travelers finally make it to an inn to spend the first night on their journey. But the inn is occupied by German troops. Butterball catchs the eye of a German officer who arranges a private interview with her. She angrily rebuffs his advances. But he is not so easily thwarted. The next morning, when the group tries to load back into their coach, they're told they can't leave. One day passes, and then another; it becomes clear that the German officer will not let the group travel on until Butterball renders her professional favor. She steadfastly refuses to cave in.
After several days of captivity, the townspeople begin pressuring Butterball to bestow her favors on the officer. The women tell each other pointed stories about saints who made sacrifices with only pure motives in their hearts. A nun in the groups frets about the wounded French soldiers who will die since she is unable to care for them, etc. Butterball finally relents and boinks the German officer.
The next morning, a disheveled, sheepish Butterball is the last to board the coach. As the trip continues, the townspeople crack open their picnic baskets. Butterball, who was busy at other tasks, has no provisions. The townspeople offer her nothing. Their original disdain for her is back in full force. The injustice of the situation gets the better of Butterball and she begins to cry. A woman in the coach comments that she's weeping because she's ashamed of being a prostitute. As the story ends, the townspeople are chatting and munching while the French whore weeps, mute with anger.
"Butterball" was an early success for de Maupassant and was hailed as a masterpiece by the writer's mentor Gustave Flaubert ("Madame Bovary").
Have you figured out yet why I'm writing about a 19th Century French short story writer in the EconWatch blog of CBSNews.com?
Take a moment ...
Don't you, as a U.S. taxpayer, feel like you've opened your picnic basket to a lot of rich people who otherwise wouldn't give you the time of day? After giving $750 billion to Goldman Sachs, AIG, Bank of America et al, don't you feel a little bit, well ... screwed? Don't you feel that you, we, have made an incredible, unprecedented sacrifice and that the people we've helped are already looking the other way like it never happened?
And you know that diamond necklace? Aren't we the ones who are going to be paying for it for the next ten years, making it a yoke of debt rather than a pretty bauble?
Writing becomes art when the writer is able to tap into ideas that transcend the popular culture of the day and speak to new readers years or centuries later. I read de Maupassant's stories on a lark, to relive my childhood. What I found was something different and unexpectedly relevant. Which is one of the joys of reading ...
Did you see "Bailout" in the tale of "Butterball"? Please take a moment to comment. ...