Before Elisabeth Rousset says one single word, the third-person narrator has already told us what to think of her — and then spends the rest of the story showing us.
Her nickname is Boule de Suif — Ball of Fat, or Suet Dumpling. The third-person narrator introduces her as “one of those generally known as of easy virtue.” Notice his wording. He really means she is a prostitute. Word choice in both first and third person narration means things. Jimmy repeats himself a lot when he says classical literature is language charged with meaning. That’s because he wants you to understand and appreciate language, and there’s no better way to do that then reading classical literatures.
Remember: narrators can tell us anything any way they want. Word choice always means something to help us understand not only the characters, but WHY narrators are using that word or other words. In third-person narration like Bould de Suif, that narrator is spinning a story for us, from a position outside the story. We have to believe him or the story doesn’t make sense. And in fact, if you read the story with me, Elisabeth being a “woman of easy virtue” is at the heart of the conflict! Don’t forget, the Prussian soldier wants to sleep with her, and if she was of such “easy virtue,” it should be easy for her. But it’s not, is it? In fact, as it turns out, she has more “virtue” than all the other characters combined!
The narrator goes on to describe her: short and round, “fat as a pig.” It sounds like the narrator is making fun of her, but then look at what comes right after this: a face like a ruddy apple, splendid black eyes, a mouth with “moist, inviting lips.” The same paragraph that hands her a cruel nickname also insists she is desirable, “much sought after.” The narrator isn’t just describing her physically. He’s setting up a contradiction he wants us to notice.
That contradiction sharpens the moment she opens her mouth. Elisabeth explains why she’s fleeing Rouen — Prussian soldiers billeted in her own house, until one day she couldn’t stand it anymore. “I went for the throat of the first one who arrived,” she says. “They’re no harder to strangle than anybody else. I’d have done for him too, if they hadn’t dragged me off by the hair.” This is the third-person narrator telling us what she said, as the narrator tells us what all these characters do and say.
And that is the beauty of third-person narrator: it enhances appreciation of the story. Telling, showing, combined in a rich narrative.
What happens the instant the other passengers recognize her? The narrator tells us plainly: “the respectable women began to whisper among themselves… loudly enough to make her raise her eyes. The look she gave her neighbours was so bold and challenging that there was a sudden silence, and everybody dropped their eyes except for Loiseau, who fixed a lecherous gaze on her.”
Think about that scene: in one small episode, tension is created. Lust is shown. Dignity reveals itself.
And then, hungry as anyone on that long journey, she is the only passenger who had the forethought to bring food. She shares it. Her companions take it gratefully, “hunger overriding their contempt.” That’s a detail we want to remember because the exact opposite happens at the end: remember? They do not share their food with Elisabeth after her self-sacrifice for their benefit.
The narrator never once has to tell us Elisabeth is dignified. He shows us, scene after scene, and lets the actions speak the word to us. Remember: actions have and always will speak louder than words.
That’s the kind of writing this story is built on — and it’s exactly why the ending is so powerful. Read Boule de Suif with Jimmy to see where this woman’s dignity takes her.