A Mother of Monsters by GUIs de Monpassant.

I recalled this horrible story, the events of which occurred long ago, and this horrible woman.

The other day had a fashionable seaside resort, where I saw on the beach a well known, young, elegant and charming Parisian, adored and respected by every one.

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 some noted scenes, chateau industries, ruins.

He pointed out monuments, churches, old carved doorways, enormous or distorted trees, the oak of Saint Andrew, and the ewe of the Rocquebois.

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 an exclamation, Oh, yes, we have the mother of monsters.

I must take you to see her.

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 show men 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.

A 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 then 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 humility that smacked of hatred.

What do the gentleman 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 furiously 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 heart breaking.

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 depreciating air, as if 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 seem 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 tried to torment me like that.

She walked over to 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 roaring, be off with you.

What will get me into trouble?

Be off with you miscreants.

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 the sprute, 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 once 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 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 maintained 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 eads 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 with the rest.

One day, some traveling 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 prize.

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 bourgeoisie.

Some of them were long, some short, some like crabs, all bodies, others like lizards.

Several died, and she was heart broken.

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 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 for long, for she is known to all the showmen in the world, who come from time to time to see if she has anything new.

She even gets bids from them when the monster is valuable.

My friend was silent.

A profound disgust stirred in my heart.

And a feeling of rage, a 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 nurse maid 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, hump backed 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 corsett.

She knows very well that she is risking her life at this game, but what does she care?

As long as she can be beautiful and have admirers.

And then I recalled that other woman, the peasant, the devil, who sold her children her monsters, And of a mother of monsters,