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Awakening & Selected Short Stories-Part12_Kate Chopin(1851-1904)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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words out of his mouth.

Edna felt depressed rather than soothed after leaving them.



The little glimpse of domesticharmony which had been offered her,

gave her no regret, no longing. It was not a condition of life



which fitted her, and she could see in it but an appalling and

hopeless ennui. She was moved by a kind of commiseration for



Madame Ratignolle,--a pity for that colorless existence which never

uplifted its possessor beyond the region of blind contentment, in



which no moment of anguish ever visited her soul, in which she

would never have the taste of life's delirium. Edna vaguely



wondered what she meant by "life's delirium." It had crossed her

thought like some unsought, extraneous impression.



XIX

Edna could not help but think that it was very foolish, very



childish, to have stamped upon her wedding ring and smashed the

crystal vase upon the tiles. She was visited by no more outbursts,



moving her to such futile expedients. She began to do as she liked

and to feel as she liked. She completely abandoned her Tuesdays at



home, and did not return the visits of those who had called upon her.

She made no ineffectual efforts to conduct her household en



bonne menagere, going and coming as it suited her fancy, and,

so far as she was able, lending herself to any passing caprice.



Mr. Pontellier had been a rather courteous husband so long as

he met a certain tacit submissiveness in his wife. But her new and



unexpected line of conduct completely bewildered him. It shocked

him. Then her absolutedisregard for her duties as a wife angered



him. When Mr. Pontellier became rude, Edna grew insolent. She had

resolved never to take another step backward.



"It seems to me the utmost folly for a woman at the head of a

household, and the mother of children, to spend in an atelier days



which would be better employed contriving for the comfort of her

family."



"I feel like painting," answered Edna. "Perhaps I shan't

always feel like it."



"Then in God's name paint! but don't let the family go to the

devil. There's Madame Ratignolle; because she keeps up her music,



she doesn't let everything else go to chaos. And she's more of a

musician than you are a painter."



"She isn't a musician, and I'm not a painter. It isn't on

account of painting that I let things go."



"On account of what, then?"

"Oh! I don't know. Let me alone; you bother me."



It sometimes entered Mr. Pontellier's mind to wonder if his

wife were not growing a little unbalanced mentally. He could see



plainly that she was not herself. That is, he could not see that

she was becoming herself and daily casting aside that fictitious



self which we assume like a garment with which to appear before the

world.



Her husband let her alone as she requested, and went away to

his office. Edna went up to her atelier--a bright room in the top



of the house. She was working with great energy and interest,

without accomplishing anything, however, which satisfied her even



in the smallest degree. For a time she had the whole household

enrolled in the service of art. The boys posed for her. They thought



it amusing at first, but the occupation soon lost its attractiveness

when they discovered that it was not a game arranged especially for



their entertainment. The quadroon sat for hours before Edna's

palette, patient as a savage, while the house-maid took charge of



the children, and the drawing-room went undusted. But the

housemaid, too, served her term as model when Edna perceived that the



young woman's back and shoulders were molded on classic lines, and

that her hair, loosened from its confining cap, became an



inspiration. While Edna worked she sometimes sang low the little

air, "Ah! si tu savais!"



It moved her with recollections. She could hear again the

ripple of the water, the flapping sail. She could see the glint of



the moon upon the bay, and could feel the soft, gusty beating of

the hot south wind. A subtle current of desire passed through her



body, weakening her hold upon the brushes and making her eyes burn.

There were days when she was very happy without knowing why.



She was happy to be alive and breathing, when her whole being




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