Monsters by Guy de Maupassant
I recalled this horrible story, the events of which occurred long
ago, and this horrible woman, the other day at a fashionable seaside
resort, where I saw on the beach a well-known young, elegant and
charming Parisienne, adored and respected by everyone.
I had been invited by a friend to pay him a visit in a little
provincial town. He took me about in all directions to do the honors of
the place, showed me noted scenes, chateaux, industries, ruins. He
pointed out monuments, churches, old carved doorways, enormous or
distorted trees, the oak of St. Andrew, and the yew tree of Roqueboise.
When I had exhausted my admiration and enthusiasm over all the
sights, my friend said with a distressed expression on his face, that
there was nothing left to look at. I breathed freely. I would now be
able to rest under the shade of the trees. But, all at once, he uttered
“Oh, yes! We have the 'Mother of Monsters'; I must take you to see
“Who is that, the 'Mother of Monsters'?” I asked.
“She is an abominable woman,” he replied, “a regular demon, a being
who voluntarily brings into the world deformed, hideous, frightful
children, monstrosities, in fact, and then sells them to showmen who
exhibit such things.
“These exploiters of freaks come from time to time to find out if
she has any fresh monstrosity, and if it meets with their approval they
carry it away with them, paying the mother a compensation.
“She has eleven of this description. She is rich.
“You think I am joking, romancing, exaggerating. No, my friend; I am
telling you the truth, the exact truth.
“Let us go and see this woman. Then I will tell you her history.”
He took me into one of the suburbs. The woman lived in a pretty
little house by the side of the road. It was attractive and well kept.
The garden was filled with fragrant flowers. One might have supposed it
to be the residence of a retired lawyer.
A maid ushered us into a sort of little country parlor, and the
wretch appeared. She was about forty. She was a tall, big woman with
hard features, but well formed, vigorous and healthy, the true type of
a robust peasant woman, half animal, and half woman.
She was aware of her reputation and received everyone with a
humility that smacked of hatred.
“What do the gentlemen wish?” she asked.
“They tell me that your last child is just like an ordinary child,
that he does not resemble his brothers at all,” replied my friend. “I
wanted to be sure of that. Is it true?”
She cast on us a malicious and furious look as she said:
“Oh, no, oh, no, my poor sir! He is perhaps even uglier than the
rest. I have no luck, no luck!
“They are all like that, it is heartbreaking! How can the good God
be so hard on a poor woman who is all alone in the world, how can He?”
She spoke hurriedly, her eyes cast down, with a deprecating air as of a
wild beast who is afraid. Her harsh voice became soft, and it seemed
strange to hear those tearful falsetto tones issuing from that big,
bony frame, of unusual strength and with coarse outlines, which seemed
fitted for violent action, and made to utter howls like a wolf.
“We should like to see your little one,” said my friend.
I fancied she colored up. I may have been deceived. After a few
moments of silence, she said in a louder tone:
“What good will that do you?”
“Why do you not wish to show it to us?” replied my friend. “There
are many people to whom you will show it; you know whom I mean.”
She gave a start, and resuming her natural voice, and giving free
play to her anger, she screamed:
“Was that why you came here? To insult me? Because my children are
like animals, tell me? You shall not see him, no, no, you shall not see
him! Go away, go away! I do not know why you all try to torment me like
She walked over toward us, her hands on her hips. At the brutal tone
of her voice, a sort of moaning, or rather a mewing, the lamentable cry
of an idiot, came from the adjoining room. I shivered to the marrow of
my bones. We retreated before her.
“Take care, Devil” (they called her the Devil); said my friend,
“take care; some day you will get yourself into trouble through this.”
She began to tremble, beside herself with fury, shaking her fist and
“Be off with you! What will get me into trouble? Be off with you,
She was about to attack us, but we fled, saddened at what we had
seen. When we got outside, my friend said:
“Well, you have seen her, what do you think of her?”
“Tell me the story of this brute,” I replied.
And this is what he told me as we walked along the white high road,
with ripe crops on either side of it which rippled like the sea in the
light breeze that passed over them.
“This woman was one a servant on a farm. She was an honest girl,
steady and economical. She was never known to have an admirer, and
never suspected of any frailty. But she went astray, as so many do.
“She soon found herself in trouble, and was tortured with fear and
shame. Wishing to conceal her misfortune, she bound her body tightly
with a corset of her own invention, made of boards and cord. The more
she developed, the more she bound herself with this instrument of
torture, suffering martyrdom, but brave in her sorrow, not allowing
anyone to see, or suspect, anything. She maimed the little unborn
being, cramping it with that frightful corset, and made a monster of
it. Its head was squeezed and elongated to a point, and its large eyes
seemed popping out of its head. Its limbs, exaggeratedly long, and
twisted like the stalk of a vine, terminated in fingers like the claws
of a spider. Its trunk was tiny, and round as a nut.
“The child was born in an open field, and when the weeders saw it,
they fled away, screaming, and the report spread that she had given
birth to a demon. From that time on, she was called 'the Devil.'
“She was driven from the farm, and lived on charity, under a cloud.
She brought up the monster, whom she hated with a savage hatred, and
would have strangled, perhaps, if the priest had not threatened her
“One day some travelling showmen heard about the frightful creature,
and asked to see it, so that if it pleased them they might take it
away. They were pleased, and counted out five hundred francs to the
mother. At first, she had refused to let them see the little animal, as
she was ashamed; but when she discovered it had a money value, and that
these people were anxious to get it, she began to haggle with them,
raising her price with all a peasant's persistence.
“She made them draw up a paper, in which they promised to pay her
four hundred francs a year besides, as though they had taken this
deformity into their employ.
“Incited by the greed of gain, she continued to produce these
phenomena, so as to have an assured income like a bourgeoise.
“Some of them were long, some short, some like crabs-all
bodies-others like lizards. Several died, and she was heartbroken.
“The law tried to interfere, but as they had no proof they let her
continue to produce her freaks.
“She has at this moment eleven alive, and they bring in, on an
average, counting good and bad years, from five to six thousand francs
a year. One, alone, is not placed, the one she was unwilling to show
us. But she will not keep it long, for she is known to all the showmen
in the world, who come from time to time to see if she has anything
“She even gets bids from them when the monster is valuable.”
My friend was silent. A profound disgust stirred my heart, and a
feeling of rage, of regret, to think that I had not strangled this
brute when I had the opportunity.
I had forgotten this story, when I saw on the beach of a fashionable
resort the other day, an elegant, charming, dainty woman, surrounded by
men who paid her respect as well as admiration.
I was walking along the beach, arm in arm with a friend, the
resident physician. Ten minutes later, I saw a nursemaid with three
children, who were rolling in the sand. A pair of little crutches lay
on the ground, and touched my sympathy. I then noticed that these three
children were all deformed, humpbacked, or crooked; and hideous.
“Those are the offspring of that charming woman you saw just now,”
said the doctor.
I was filled with pity for her, as well as for them, and exclaimed:
“Oh, the poor mother! How can she ever laugh!”
“Do not pity her, my friend. Pity the poor children,” replied the
doctor. “This is the consequence of preserving a slender figure up to
the last. These little deformities were made by the corset. She knows
very well that she is risking her life at this game. But what does she
care, as long as lie can be beautiful and have admirers!”
And then I recalled that other woman, the peasant, the “Devil,” who
sold her children, her monsters.