Guy de Maupassant — on a Corsican cliff, an old widow swears a revenge she has no strength to take.
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Each new word is hidden in a sentence. Read it aloud and say what you think the bold word means from the rest of the sentence — then reveal it and see how close you were.
Read each part. After it, there's a quick comprehension check (try the questions from memory first), then one thing to discuss. Notice how calm the prose stays, even as the plan grows monstrous — and do not skip the last line.
Paolo Saverini's widow lived alone with her son in a poor little house on the outskirts of Bonifacio. The town, built on an out-jutting part of the mountain, in places even overhanging the sea, looks across the straits, over waters bristling with reefs, to the lower shores of Sardinia. In this house, on the very edge of the cliff, the widow lived with her son Antoine and their dog Sémillante, a big, thin beast with a long rough coat, of the sheep-dog breed. The young man took her with him when out shooting.
One night, after some quarrel, Antoine Saverini was treacherously stabbed by Nicolas Ravolati, who escaped the same evening to Sardinia. When the old mother received the body of her child, which the neighbours had brought back to her, she did not weep, but she remained for a long time motionless, watching it. Then, stretching her wrinkled hand over the body, she promised him a vendetta. She shut herself up beside the body with the dog, which howled continuously, standing at the foot of the bed, her head stretched towards her master, her tail between her legs.
The young man, lying on his back, seemed asleep; but there was blood all over him — on his shirt, torn off to attend to the wound, on his beard, on his hands. His old mother began to talk to him. At the sound of her voice the dog was quiet.
"Never fear, never fear, you shall be avenged, my son, my little son, my poor child. You may sleep in peace; you shall be avenged, I tell you. Your mother has promised, and your mother never breaks her word; you know she does not."
Slowly she leaned over him, pressing her cold lips to the dead lips. Then Sémillante began to howl again — a long, monotonous, penetrating, horrible howl.
1. What happens to Antoine, and where does his killer go?
2. How does the mother react when the body is brought home?
1. He is treacherously stabbed by Nicolas Ravolati after a quarrel; the killer escapes that same evening across the straits to Sardinia.
2. She does not weep. She watches the body for a long time, motionless — then stretches her hand over it and promises her son a vendetta.
The next morning Antoine was buried, and soon his name ceased to be mentioned in Bonifacio. He had neither brothers nor cousins; no man was there to carry on the vendetta. Only his mother thought of it. From morning until night she could see, across the straits, a little white spot upon the coast: Longosardo, the Sardinian village where Corsican bandits took refuge when too closely pursued. She knew that Nicolas Ravolati had sought refuge in that very village.
All alone at her window, she thought of revenge. How could she do it without help — she, an invalid, so near death? But she had promised; she had sworn on the body. She could no longer sleep; she had no rest, no peace of mind. The dog, dozing at her feet, would sometimes lift her head and howl, as though her beast's soul, inconsolable too, had kept a memory that nothing could wipe out.
One night, as Sémillante began to howl, the mother had a sudden idea — an idea of vengeance, ferocious and fierce. She thought it over until morning; then, rising at daybreak, she went to church and begged the Lord to give her poor, broken-down body the strength it needed to avenge her son.
She returned home. In her yard she overturned an old barrel, made it fast to the ground, and chained Sémillante to this kennel. In the morning she brought her water, but nothing more: no soup, no bread. The dog howled all day and all night. Days passed; her eyes shone, her hair stood on end, and she pulled wildly at her chain. Still the old woman gave her nothing to eat.
Then she stuffed her husband's old clothes with straw into the shape of a human body and fastened this dummy to a post in front of the kennel, giving it a head of old linen. She bought a long piece of black pudding and cooked it over a wood fire near the kennel. Sémillante, famished, maddened, leaped about, frothing at the mouth, her eyes fixed on the food. Then the mother tied the smoking sausage round the straw man's neck, very tight, as if to strangle him — and unchained the dog.
1. Why is the widow the only person left to carry out the vendetta?
2. Describe what she builds and prepares in her yard.
1. Antoine had no brothers and no cousins — no man in the family to take up the feud. Only his frail, elderly mother remains, and she is "an invalid, so near death."
2. An overturned barrel as a kennel, the dog chained to it and starved; a dummy stuffed with straw, dressed in her dead husband's clothes; and a hot sausage tied tightly around the dummy's throat.
With one ferocious bound the beast leaped at the straw man's throat and, with her paws on its shoulders, began to tear at it. She fell back with a piece of the food in her mouth, then dashed forward again, sinking her teeth into the string, snatching pieces of meat, tearing the whole neck to ribbons. The old woman watched, motionless and silent. Then she chained the beast up again, starved her for two more days, and repeated the strange exercise. For three months she taught her, by daily drills, this savage attack — until she no longer needed the chain, and a single word was enough. She had taught the dog to tear and devour without leaving a trace; the reward, each time, was a piece of black pudding.
Then, disguising herself as a poor old beggar man, she got a Sardinian fisherman to carry her and the dog across the straits. In the boat she fed Sémillante, so that no one would notice how starved she was. When she reached the town she prowled about the streets until she stopped before a poor house and peered through the window. It was empty. Nicolas Ravolati lived alone; he was a cabinet-maker. She waited until he returned. Then she loosened the dog and cried:
"At him, at him! Tear him to bits!"
The famished animal sprang for his throat. The man stretched out his arms, clasped the dog and rolled to the ground. For a few seconds he squirmed, beating the ground with his feet; then he stopped moving, while Sémillante dug her fangs into his throat and tore it to ribbons. Two neighbours, seated before their door, remembered perfectly to have seen an old beggar come out with a thin black dog, which was eating, as it went along, something dark that its master was giving it.
At nightfall the old woman was at home again. She slept well that night.
1. How does the widow reach Sardinia without raising suspicion?
2. What do the two neighbours remember seeing — and what do they fail to understand?
1. She disguises herself as a poor old beggar man and gets a fisherman to carry her across; in the boat she feeds the dog so nobody can see it has been starved.
2. Only an old beggar leaving with a thin black dog, eating something dark its master gave it. They see everything and understand nothing — the perfect witness to a perfect plan.
This whole story turns on one grammatical idea. The widow cannot kill Nicolas Ravolati herself, so she arranges for it to be done through the dog. English has a structure for exactly this — acting without doing: she does not attack the killer, she has him attacked. Master it and you can talk about everything you delegate, arrange or cause.
Rewrite each sentence so that it starts with She and uses the causative.
1. Somebody made a dummy out of straw and old clothes. →
2. Somebody trained the dog to attack on a single word. →
3. The dog carried out the killing for her. →
1. She had a dummy made out of straw and old clothes.
2. She had / got the dog trained to attack on a single word.
3. She had the killing carried out (by the dog).
Complete each gap with made, got, had or let — each is used exactly once. The form of the verb that follows will help you decide.
1. Hunger the dog attack anything with meat tied at its throat.
2. She a Sardinian fisherman to carry her and the dog across the straits.
3. By the end of the training, one word the dog spring at the dummy — no chain, no sausage, no hesitation.
4. At the workshop door she the famished dog go, crying, "Tear him to bits!"
1. made (force — the dog has no choice)
2. got (persuade/arrange — and the to-infinitive gives it away)
3. had (instruct — neutral, almost mechanical)
4. let (permit — she releases it)
Fill each gap with the right causative verb in the past tense, then read the finished paragraph aloud.
Too old and weak to strike the blow herself, the widow the killing carried out by another creature. First she a dummy made of straw and her dead husband's clothes. Then hunger the dog tear at its throat, day after day, until a single word was enough. At last she a fisherman to row her across the sea — and walked into the killer's workshop with death on a lead.
had the killing carried out · had a dummy made · hunger made the dog tear · got a fisherman to row
Notice how the causative keeps the widow's hands clean in every sentence — she causes everything and touches nothing.
Hold on to these — you'll need them in the Speak tab, where the whole story is a chain of things she had done.
You have the story and the words. Now push the ideas outward — argue, disagree, change your mind. Do all of this out loud. There are no right answers here, only good reasons.
The widow never raises her voice. She prays, plans, and works for three months, as methodically as someone building a wall. Which is more frightening in a character — hot rage or cold patience? Why do stories about calm, careful revenge unsettle us more than stories about explosive anger? Find an example from a film or a book to test your theory.
The vendetta flourished where people did not trust courts to deliver justice. Why do revenge codes take root in some societies and not others — and what actually ends them: stronger laws, prosperity, education, or simple exhaustion? Is state justice really something different from revenge, or just revenge with paperwork? Argue both sides before you settle on one.
Sémillante understands nothing of honour or vendetta — she is simply starving. The one who does the killing is the only character with no guilt at all. Who owns a deed when the one who performs it cannot understand it? Where does this question appear today — soldiers "following orders", attack dogs, or machines programmed to act? Does distance from the act reduce responsibility, or only hide it?
Maupassant reports a murder and then lets his killer sleep peacefully — no punishment, no remorse, no comment. Some readers find this honest; others find it immoral. Should a storyteller take a side, or does staying silent force the reader to do the judging? Compare it with a story or film you know where the wrongdoer feels no guilt at all — did the silence work?
This is the heart of the lesson — do all of it out loud. The timer is there to keep you going: fill the time with detail rather than escaping it.
Tell the story of A Vendetta in your own words, as if to someone who has never heard it. Move through the arc: the house on the cliff → the murder and the vow over the body → the widow alone at her window → the barrel, the hunger, the straw man → three months of training → the disguise and the crossing → the workshop → the last line.
Use at least three causative structures at the key moments, and work in five of today's key words.
Imagine the widow had been caught and brought before a court. First, be the prosecutor: for two minutes, argue that this was cold, premeditated murder — planned for a season and carried out through an innocent animal. Then switch and be her defence lawyer: argue that her world left her no other justice. Finish as the judge: one sentence — what is your verdict, and why?
Retell the ending through the eyes of one of the two neighbours who saw only "an old beggar and a thin black dog." It is twenty years later, the truth has finally come out, and you are telling the tale in the village square. What did you see that day? What did you make of it then — and what do you make of it now? Make your audience shiver.