Complete Works of Kate Chopin

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Complete Works of Kate Chopin Page 110

by Kate Chopin


  Isabel, the tall and elegant older sister, who taught school, was looking at Polly with plain disapproval.

  “Will you tell me, Polly McQuade, if you’ve taken leave of your senses?” she asked.

  “Senses!” echoed Polly, with round eyes.

  “Yes, senses! Have you lost them?”

  “Well,” said Polly, “I felt I’d left something behind, but I was afraid it was my tooth-brush.”

  “You’re so good at figuring,” continued Isabel, “will you kindly figure out how many winters you’ve been wearing that brown jacket?”

  Polly stared down, disconcerted, at the brown jacket; then she began to thump her head with her knuckles, exclaiming:

  “Stupid! Stupid!”

  “Well, it’s to be hoped,” went on Isabel, “you have supplied yourself with shoes, stockings, underclothes, a suit, hat, gloves— “ but by this time Polly had fled to make a bit of toilet for the evening, which was to be given over to sociability. Isabel had invited the guests, and had written a note to George to be of the number.

  The evening which Isabel intended to devote to conversation and music was, it must be confessed, given up chiefly to inspecting the new appointments and expatiating upon their value and serviceable qualities.

  The young people hovered over the books like bees over a clover path in June. The ladies could hardly be induced to leave the pantry after they had been given a glimpse of the new dinner-set with its dainty but bygone pattern, while Mr. Fulton was fascinated — absolutely bewitched by the lamp. He studied its mechanism with intense interest, and declared that nothing of the kind had ever been seen in Filmore, despite his wife’s opinion that it was the counterpart of the one Laura Bliss had received for a wedding present.

  After the hour of eight Polly’s spirits began to descend lower and lower as the moments passed. Her laughter ceased, then silence seized her. Her eyes began to dim, and if her hair had only turned gray she would have looked exactly like her mother.

  At ten o’clock she was about to plead a headache, which was no pretense, when he came! She heard the beat of his horse’s hoofs upon the freezing ground blocks and blocks away. She heard them above the monotonous intonations of the druggist, who was reading selections from Browning as well as he could, with old Mr. Fulton turning the lamp-wick up and down at his pleasure.

  How flushed and tall and fine he looked when he came into the room! Polly saw all the heroes of romance embodied in this one blond young man. He had been called away by a telegram early in the day, but had never believed he would not be back in good time for the party.

  They wanted him to go out and look at the dishes; to survey the books and carpet; old Mr. Fulton called his attention to the lamp; but he would look at nothing but Polly. He went and sat beside her and took her hand in face of all the company.

  “I have a great piece of news,” he said, “that is, great to me, and I hope of interest to Polly. Ferguson’s going to open up in St. Jo on the first of January!”

  There was a general exclamation of delight, for this bold statement seemed to carry its own information to all. Mrs. McQuade went over and kissed her small daughter and George, and the others felt that congratulations were in order.

  “Now, Miss Polly,” whispered Isabel, “don’t you wish you had it back?”

  “What back?”

  “Uncle Ben’s check.”

  “Then I shouldn’t have been here to hear it. I should only have heard it through a letter.”

  “Heard what?”

  “Why, that — that Ferguson’s going to open up in St. Jo.”

  It was with great regret that Lord & Pellem had to let Polly go a month later. Where could they find another like her? they asked each other. The senior partner, with an original sense of humor, presented her with a wedding gift in the firm’s name: a small brass teakettle containing pieces of money aggregating a month’s salary. And he sent it with the humorous injunction: “Polly, put the kettle on!”

  The Short Stories

  Kate Chopin House, State Highway 495, Cloutierville, Natchitoches Parish, Louisiana. A fire destroyed the house and museum on October 1, 2008

  LIST OF SHORT STORIES IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER

  A NO-ACCOUNT CREOLE

  IN AND OUT OF OLD NATCHITOCHES

  IN SABINE

  A VERY FINE FIDDLE

  BEYOND THE BAYOU

  OLD AUNT PEGGY

  THE RETURN OF ALCIBIADE

  A RUDE AWAKENING

  THE BÊNITOUS’ SLAVE

  DÉSIRÉE’S BABY

  A TURKEY HUNT

  MADAME CÉLESTIN’S DIVORCE

  LOVE ON THE BON-DIEU

  LOKA

  BOULÔT AND BOULOTTE

  FOR MARSE CHOUCHOUTE

  A VISIT TO AVOYELLES

  A WIZARD FROM GETTYSBURG

  MA’AME PÉLAGIE

  AT THE ‘CADIAN BALL

  LA BELLE ZORAÏDE

  A GENTLEMAN OF BAYOU TÊCHE

  A LADY OF BAYOU ST. JOHN

  A NIGHT IN ACADIE

  ATHÉNAÏSE

  AFTER THE WINTER

  POLYDORE

  REGRET

  A MATTER OF PREJUDICE

  CALINE

  A DRESDEN LADY IN DIXIE

  NÉG CRÉOL

  THE LILIES

  AZÉLIE

  MAMOUCHE

  A SENTIMENTAL SOUL

  DEAD MEN’S SHOES

  AT CHÊNIÈRE CAMINADA

  ODALIE MISSES MASS

  CAVANELLE

  TANTE CAT’RINETTE

  A RESPECTABLE WOMAN

  RIPE FIGS

  OZÈME’S HOLIDAY

  WISER THAN A GOD

  EMANCIPATION. A LIFE FABLE

  A POINT AT ISSUE!

  MISS WITHERWELL’S MISTAKE

  WITH THE VIOLIN

  MRS. MOBRY’S REASON

  THE GOING AWAY OF LIZA

  THE MAID OF SAINT PHILLIPPE

  A SHAMEFUL AFFAIR

  A HARBINGER

  DOCTOR CHEVALIER’S LIE

  AN EMBARRASSING POSITION

  CROQUE-MITAINE

  MISS MCENDERS

  AN IDLE FELLOW

  A LITTLE FREE-MULATTO

  THE STORY OF AN HOUR

  LILACS

  THE NIGHT CAME SLOWLY

  JUANITA

  THE KISS

  HER LETTERS

  TWO SUMMERS AND TWO SOULS

  THE UNEXPECTED

  TWO PORTRAITS

  THE WANTON

  THE NUN

  FEDORA

  VAGABONDS

  MADAME MARTEL’S CHRISTMAS EVE

  THE RECOVERY

  AUNT LYMPY’S INTERFERENCE

  THE BLIND MAN

  A PAIR OF SILK STOCKINGS

  A VOCATION AND A VOICE

  A MENTAL SUGGESTION

  SUZETTE

  THE LOCKET

  A MORNING WALK

  AN EGYPTIAN CIGARETTE

  A FAMILY AFFAIR

  ELIZABETH STOCK’S ONE STORY

  THE GODMOTHER

  THE STORM

  A LITTLE COUNTRY GIRL

  A REFLECTION

  TI DÉMON

  A DECEMBER DAY IN DIXIE

  THE GENTLEMAN FROM NEW ORLEANS

  CHARLIE

  THE WHITE EAGLE

  THE WOOD-CHOPPERS

  THE IMPOSSIBLE MISS MEADOWS

  POLLY

  LIST OF SHORT STORIES IN ALPHABETICAL ORDER

  A DECEMBER DAY IN DIXIE

  A DRESDEN LADY IN DIXIE

  A FAMILY AFFAIR

  A GENTLEMAN OF BAYOU TÊCHE

  A HARBINGER

  A LADY OF BAYOU ST. JOHN

  A LITTLE COUNTRY GIRL

  A LITTLE FREE-MULATTO

  A MATTER OF PREJUDICE

  A MENTAL SUGGESTION

  A MORNING WALK

  A NIGHT IN ACADIE

  A NO-ACCOUNT CREOLE

  A PAIR OF SILK STOCKINGS

  A POINT AT ISSUE!


  A REFLECTION

  A RESPECTABLE WOMAN

  A RUDE AWAKENING

  A SENTIMENTAL SOUL

  A SHAMEFUL AFFAIR

  A TURKEY HUNT

  A VERY FINE FIDDLE

  A VISIT TO AVOYELLES

  A VOCATION AND A VOICE

  A WIZARD FROM GETTYSBURG

  AFTER THE WINTER

  AN EGYPTIAN CIGARETTE

  AN EMBARRASSING POSITION

  AN IDLE FELLOW

  AT CHÊNIÈRE CAMINADA

  AT THE ‘CADIAN BALL

  ATHÉNAÏSE

  AUNT LYMPY’S INTERFERENCE

  AZÉLIE

  BEYOND THE BAYOU

  BOULÔT AND BOULOTTE

  CALINE

  CAVANELLE

  CHARLIE

  CROQUE-MITAINE

  DEAD MEN’S SHOES

  DÉSIRÉE’S BABY

  DOCTOR CHEVALIER’S LIE

  ELIZABETH STOCK’S ONE STORY

  EMANCIPATION. A LIFE FABLE

  FEDORA

  FOR MARSE CHOUCHOUTE

  HER LETTERS

  IN AND OUT OF OLD NATCHITOCHES

  IN SABINE

  JUANITA

  LA BELLE ZORAÏDE

  LILACS

  LOKA

  LOVE ON THE BON-DIEU

  MA’AME PÉLAGIE

  MADAME CÉLESTIN’S DIVORCE

  MADAME MARTEL’S CHRISTMAS EVE

  MAMOUCHE

  MISS MCENDERS

  MISS WITHERWELL’S MISTAKE

  MRS. MOBRY’S REASON

  NÉG CRÉOL

  ODALIE MISSES MASS

  OLD AUNT PEGGY

  OZÈME’S HOLIDAY

  POLLY

  POLYDORE

  REGRET

  RIPE FIGS

  SUZETTE

  TANTE CAT’RINETTE

  THE BÊNITOUS’ SLAVE

  THE BLIND MAN

  THE GENTLEMAN FROM NEW ORLEANS

  THE GODMOTHER

  THE GOING AWAY OF LIZA

  THE IMPOSSIBLE MISS MEADOWS

  THE KISS

  THE LILIES

  THE LOCKET

  THE MAID OF SAINT PHILLIPPE

  THE NIGHT CAME SLOWLY

  THE NUN

  THE RECOVERY

  THE RETURN OF ALCIBIADE

  THE STORM

  THE STORY OF AN HOUR

  THE UNEXPECTED

  THE WANTON

  THE WHITE EAGLE

  THE WOOD-CHOPPERS

  TI DÉMON

  TWO PORTRAITS

  TWO SUMMERS AND TWO SOULS

  VAGABONDS

  WISER THAN A GOD

  WITH THE VIOLIN

  The Poems

  Chopin, c.1900

  PSYCHE’S LAMENT

  O let all darkness fall upon mine eyes:

  I want no more of light!

  Since Helios in the blazing skies

  Cannot make day so bright

  As my lost one did make for me the night!

  O, sombre sweetness; black-enfolden charms,

  Come to me once again!

  Leave me not desolate; with empty arms

  That seeking, strive in vain

  To clasp a void where warmest Love hath lain.

  Now is no heart beat pulsing into mine

  Since he is gone. I see,

  I feel but the cursed lights that shine —

  That made my Love to flee.

  O Love, O God, O Night come back to me!

  IF IT MIGHT BE

  If it might be that thou didst need my life;

  Now on the instant would I end this strife

  ‘Twixt hope and fear, and glad the end I’d meet

  With wonder only, to find death so sweet.

  If it might be that thou didst need my love;

  To love thee dear, my life’s fond work would prove.

  All time, to tender watchfulness I’d give;

  And count it happiness, indeed, to live.

  THE SONG EVERLASTING

  The birds are telling it over and over;

  So are the flowers.

  The bees have been humming it out in the clover

  For hours and hours.

  Awake, Love!

  The thousand tongued voices of nature are ringing.

  Awake Love!

  And list to the song that my soul is singing.

  Awake Love!

  IT MATTERS ALL

  A little more or less of health?

  What does it matter!

  A little more or less of wealth?

  A boon to scatter!

  But more or less of love your own to call,

  It matters all!

  YOU AND I

  How many years since we walked, you and I,

  Under the stars and the April sky;

  You were young then, I was not older;

  Then you were shy, nor was I bolder.

  Was it love did we feel? was it life did we live?

  It was springtime indeed, but can springtime give

  The fullness of life and of love? Completest

  When living and loving and roses are sweetest!

  Shall we walk together once more, you and I,

  Under the stars and the summer sky?

  IN DREAMS THROUGHOUT THE NIGHT

  In dreams throughout the night, dear,

  Thy voice I heard;

  A tenderest love and longing

  Freighted each blessed word.

  All through the night in dreams, love,

  Thine eyes were there;

  And hid in the depth of their fondness

  I read a silent prayer.

  O, how should I answer thine eyes, dear,

  But with my own!

  And how respond to the voice I love

  Save with an answering tone.

  GOOD NIGHT

  Good night, good night!

  Good-by it shall not be;

  For all the days that come and go, dear love,

  ‘Twixt now and happiness, ‘twixt thee and me,

  Shall moments dark, oblivious prove.

  Until I look into thy tender eyes,

  And hear again thy voice, no light,

  No day will break, for me no sun will rise —

  My own, my well-beloved — good night, good night!

  IF SOME DAY

  If some day I, with casual, wanton glance

  Should for a moment’s space thine eyes ensnare;

  Or more, if I should dare

  To rest my finger tips upon thy sleeve,

  Or, grown more bold, upon thy swarthy cheek;

  If further I should seek

  With honey-trick of tone thy name to call,

  Breathing it soft, in meaning whisper low,

  Then wouldst thou know?

  Is there no subtler sense, that holds not commerce

  With the glancing eyes, the touch, the tone?

  Whereby alone

  I would convey to thee some faintest gleam

  Of what I dare not look, or speak, or dream!

  TO CARRIE B.

  Your greeting filled me with distress.

  I’ve pondered long and sore to guess

  What ‘twould express.

  Ah, Lady fair! can you not see:

  From gentlemen of high degree

  I always flee!

  TO HIDER SCHUYLER —

  I send a dozen wishes.

  Let’s say the first is “health.”

  (I send a dozen kisses!)

  And the last we’ll call it wealth.

  The others — you must choose some.

  I’m poor at counting wishes.

  I’d be pretty sure to lose some —

  But I double up the kisses!

  TO “BILLY” WITH A BOX OF CIGARS

  These may be, without question,

  Rather bad for your digestion.

  But the Powers have not sent me

  To preach sermons; they’ve but lent me

  A keen desire to please you


  Now and always without end,

  And a little wish to tease you

  With the fondness of a friend.

  TO MRS. R.

  I do not know you out upon the street

  Where people meet.

  We talk as women talk; shall I confess?

  I know you less.

  I hear you play, and touched by the wondrous spell —

  I know you well —

  LET THE NIGHT GO

  The night is gone, the year and yesterday;

  The dozen little hours I had stole

  And hid within the shadow of my soul

  To play with by the way.

  Let the night go! the year and yesterday!

  I’ve kept one little hour from the past:

  A pretty thing — a bauble to hold fast

  And play with — by the way.

  I WANTED GOD

  I wanted God. In heaven and earth I sought,

  And lo! I found him in my inmost thought.

  THE HAUNTED CHAMBER

  Of course ‘twas an excellent story to tell

  Of a fair, frail, passionate woman who fell.

  It may have been false, it may have been true.

  That was nothing to me — it was less to you.

  But with bottle between us, and clouds of smoke

  From your last cigar, ‘twas more of a joke

  Than a matter of sin or a matter of shame

  That a woman had fallen, and nothing to blame,

  So far as you or I could discover,

  But her beauty, her blood and an ardent lover.

  But when you were gone and the lights were low

  And the breeze came in with the moon’s pale glow,

  The far, faint voice of a woman, I heard,

  ‘Twas but a wail, and it spoke no word.

  It rose from the depths of some infinite gloom

  And its tremulous anguish filled the room.

  Yet the woman was dead and could not deny,

  But women forever will whine and cry.

  So now I must listen the whole night through

  To the torment with which I had nothing to do —

  But women forever will whine and cry

  And men forever must listen — and sigh —

  LIFE

  A day with a splash of sunlight,

 

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