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,