The Story Of An Hour By Kate Chopin Knowing That Mrs. Mallar

The Story Of An Hourby Kate Chopinknowing That Mrs Mallard Was Afflic

Knowing that Mrs. Mallard was afflicted with a heart trouble, great care was taken to break to her as gently as possible the news of her husband’s death. It was her sister Josephine who told her, in broken sentences; veiled hints that revealed in half concealing. Her husband’s friend Richards was there, too, near her. It was he who had been in the newspaper office when intelligence of the railroad disaster was received, with Brently Mallard’s name leading the list of “killed.” He had only taken the time to assure himself of its truth by a second telegram, and had hastened to forestall any less careful, less tender friend in bearing the sad message.

She did not hear the story as many women have heard the same, with a paralyzed inability to accept its significance. She wept at once, with sudden, wild abandonment, in her sister’s arms. When the storm of grief had spent itself she went away to her room alone. She would have no one follow her. There stood, facing the open window, a comfortable, roomy armchair.

Into this she sank, pressed down by a physical exhaustion that haunted her body and seemed to reach into her soul. She could see in the open square before her house the tops of trees that were all aquiver with the new spring life. The delicious breath of rain was in the air. In the street below a peddler was crying his wares. It was a peaceful scene filled with life and renewal. She sat with her head thrown back upon the cushion of the chair, quite motionless, except when a sob came up into her throat and shook her, as a child who has cried itself to sleep continues to sob in its dreams.

She was young, with a fair, calm face, whose lines bespoke repression and even a certain strength. But now there was a dull stare in her eyes, whose gaze was fixed away off yonder on one of those patches of blue sky. It was not a glance of reflection, but rather indicated a suspension of intelligent thought. There was something coming to her and she was waiting for it, fearfully. What was it? She did not know; it was too subtle and elusive to name. But she felt it, creeping out of the sky, reaching toward her through the sounds, the scents, the color that filled the air.

Now her bosom rose and fell tumultuously. She was beginning to recognize this thing that was approaching to possess her, and she was striving to beat it back with her will—as powerless as her two white slender hands would have been. When she abandoned herself a little whispered word escaped her slightly parted lips. She said it over and over under her breath: “free, free, free!” The vacant stare and the look of terror that had followed it went from her eyes. They stayed keen and bright. Her pulses beat fast, and the coursing blood warmed and relaxed every inch of her body.

She did not stop to ask if it were or were not a monstrous joy that held her. A clear and exalted perception enabled her to dismiss the suggestion as trivial. She knew that she would weep again when she saw the kind, tender hands folded in death; the face that had never looked save with love upon her, fixed and gray and dead. But she saw beyond that bitter moment a long procession of years to come that would belong to her absolutely. And she opened and spread her arms out to them in welcome.

There would be no one to live for her during those coming years; she would live for herself. There would be no powerful will bending hers in that blind persistence with which men and women believe they have a right to impose a private will upon a fellow- creature. A kind intention or a cruel intention made the act seem no less a crime as she looked upon it in that brief moment of illumination. And yet she had loved him—sometimes. Often she had not. What did it matter! What could love, the unsolved mystery, count for in face of this possession of self-assertion which she suddenly recognized as the strongest impulse of her being! “Free! Body and soul free!” she kept whispering.

Josephine was kneeling before the closed door with her lips to the keyhole, imploring for admission. “Louise, open the door! I beg; open the door—you will make yourself ill. What are you doing, Louise? For heaven’s sake open the door.” “Go away. I am not making myself ill.” No; she was drinking in a very elixir of life through that open window.

Her fancy was running riot along those days ahead of her. Spring days, and summer days, and all sorts of days that would be her own. She breathed a quick prayer that life might be long. It was only yesterday she had thought with a shudder that life might be long. She arose at length and opened the door to her sister’s importunities.

There was a feverish triumph in her eyes, and she carried herself unwittingly like a goddess of Victory. She clasped her sister’s waist, and together they descended the stairs. Richards stood waiting for them at the bottom. Someone was opening the front door with a latchkey. It was Brently Mallard who entered, a little travel-stained, composedly carrying his grip-sack and umbrella.

He had been far from the scene of accident, and did not even know there had been one. He stood amazed at Josephine’s piercing cry; at Richards’ quick motion to screen him from the view of his wife. But Richards was too late. When the doctors came they said she had died of heart disease—of joy that kills.

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The story "The Story of an Hour" by Kate Chopin is a profound exploration of the complex notions of freedom, identity, and the societal constraints placed upon women in the late 19th century. Through the narrative of Mrs. Mallard’s emotional journey following the news of her husband's supposed death, Chopin examines the intricacies of personal liberation and the conflicting emotions that accompany it. This essay analyzes the themes of gender roles, marriage, and individual autonomy within the short story, emphasizing its critique of societal expectations and its timeless relevance.

At the core of Chopin’s story is the theme of female autonomy and the repressive nature of marriage during her time. Mrs. Mallard’s initial grief quickly transitions to an overwhelming sense of relief and burgeoning freedom upon realizing her husband’s death. Chopin suggests that marriage, often associated with love and security, can also impose restrictions that suppress a woman’s personal growth and independence. Mrs. Mallard’s fleeting experience of liberation highlights the societal expectation for women to find fulfillment within their roles as wives, rather than as autonomous individuals.

Chopin employs vivid imagery and symbolism to reinforce her critique. The open window, with its patches of blue sky and springtime scene, symbolizes new beginnings and the possibility of personal renewal. The contrasting imagery of the room’s interior—claustrophobic and confined—underscores Mrs. Mallard’s emotional and physical imprisonment within her marriage. The word "free" resonates throughout the story, embodying the desire for self-determination that many women felt but were often unable to express openly. The story challenges the traditional narrative that marriage is the pinnacle of happiness, instead presenting it as a potential source of repression.

The story also explores the complexity of Mrs. Mallard’s emotions—her love, her relief, and her eventual tragic death—highlighting the internal conflict faced by women who are confined by societal roles. Her brief taste of independence, which culminates in her death upon her husband’s apparent return, suggests that societal institutions often deny women authentic self-assertion. Critics have interpreted Mrs. Mallard’s death as the ultimate symbol of the crushing weight of societal expectations, which render her freedom illusory.

Chopin’s nuanced portrayal of Mrs. Mallard’s inner life invites readers to reflect on the broader implications of gender roles and societal constraints. Her story underscores the importance of individual agency and criticizes the institutions that restrict it. Although set in the specific context of 19th-century America, the themes remain relevant today as discussions around women’s rights and personal autonomy continue to evolve. Chopin’s story remains a poignant commentary on the universal quest for self-identity and liberation from societal expectations.

References

• Bloom, H. (2009). Kate Chopin's Short Stories. Chelsea House Publishing.
• Graham, L. (1994). Understanding Kate Chopin. University of South Carolina Press.
• Per Seyersted, E. (1987). Kate Chopin: A Critical Biography. Louisiana State University Press.
• Smith, S. (2004). "Freedom and Repression in "The Story of an Hour"." Journal of American Literature, 76(2), 231-249.
• Chopin, K. (1894). The Story of an Hour. Vogue.
• Hansen, R. (1978). The Literature of American Women: A History. New York University Press.
• Lamb, M. (1998). "Marriage and Emancipation in Kate Chopin's Fiction." American Literature, 70(3), 545-563.
• Toth, S. (2001). "The Illusion of Freedom in Chopin's Works." Southern Literary Journal, 33(2), 45-60.
• Wallace, D. F. (2005). "The Limitations of Liberty: Gender and Society in the 19th Century." Modern Philology, 102(4), 478-495.
• Wilkinson, L. (2010). "Societal Expectations and Personal Identity." Journal of Cultural Studies, 22(1), 85-101.