билет 14

Билет 14. The story of an hour (Kate Chopin)

"The Story of An Hour"

Kate Chopin (1894)

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. The notes of a distant song which some one was singing reached her faintly, and countless sparrows were twittering in the eaves.

There were patches of blue sky showing here and there through the clouds that had met and piled one above the other in the west facing her window.

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 hte 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 owuld belong to her absolutely. And she opened and spread her arms out to them in welcome.

There would be no one to live for 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 ahve 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 the 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 keyhold, 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.

Some one 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 the 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.

When the doctors came they said she had died of heart disease--of the joy that kills. 

ИСТОРИЯ ОДНОГО ЧАСА

   Все знали, что у миссис Мэллард больное сердце, поэтому о смерти мужа ей сообщили со всей осторожностью.

   О случившемся ей рассказала Жозефина, ее сестра. Она говорила очень туманно, сбивчиво, полунамеками, раскрывая как бы часть правды. Рядом был и друг мужа, Ричардз. Когда пришло известие о железнодорожной катастрофе, он как раз сидел в редакции газеты. Имя Брэнтли Мэлларда значилось первым в числе погибших. Чтобы окончательно удостовериться, Ричардз дождался второй телеграммы и тут же поспешил в дом Мэллардов с трагической вестью, боясь, как бы его не опередил кто-нибудь другой, менее заботливый и чуткий.

   Она приняла печальную новость не так, как многие женщины, - оцепенение от невозможности поверить в тяжелую утрату. Она поверила сразу и разрыдалась на плече у сестры, безудержно, неистово. А когда слезы кончились, сказала, что хочет побыть одна, заперлась в своей комнате и в изнеможении упала в большое, мягкое кресло у открытого окна. Несчастье обескровило ее тело и уже подкрадывалось к душе.

   В неогороженном скверике за окном деревья возрождались к новой весенней жизни. После дождя в воздухе веяло приятной свежестью. Внизу, под окнами, уличный торговец зазывал покупателей. Издалека доносились тихие звуки какой-то песни. На крыше чирикали бесчисленные воробьи.

   Тучи грудились к востоку от окна, и тут и там уже проглядывали кусочки синего неба.

   Она сидела неподвижно, откинув голову на спинку кресла. Изредка к горлу подкатывал комок, и она всхлипывала, вздрагивая всем телом, как всхлипывает ночью во сне ребенок, наплакавшись за вечер.

   Она была молода и хороша собой. Ее спокойное лицо обычно выражало сдержанность, даже силу, но сейчас казалось застывшим. Безучастный взгляд был устремлен вдаль, как будто застрял в клочке синего неба. Мысль остановилась, и пустые глаза не мигая смотрели в одну точку.

   К ней подступало какое-то непонятное чувство, и она со страхом ждала его. Что это? Она не знала. Тонкое, неуловимое чувство, его невозможно было выразить в словах. Но она ясно ощущала его приближение: вот оно крадется к ней, пробирается сквозь синеву неба, сквозь звуки за окном, сквозь запахи и краски весны, заполонившие все вокруг.

   Ее дыхание стало глубоким и взволнованным. Она начинала догадываться, какое чувство овладевает ею, и усилием воли пыталась заглушить его в себе, но эти попытки были так же слабы, как и ее тонкие белые руки.

   А когда она перестала сопротивляться, из полураскрытых губ вырвалось одно единственное слово. Она тихо повторяла его снова и снова:

   - Свободна! Свободна! Свободна!

   В пустых глазах мелькнул страх и тотчас исчез. В них проснулась мысль, появился живой блеск. Кровь застучала в висках, разливаясь теплом по всему телу и согревая каждую клетку.

   Она не решалась признаться себе в том, что ее переполняет огромная радость, но здравый смысл не позволил ей лицемерить. Конечно, она снова расплачется, когда увидит сложенные на груди добрые, мягкие руки, и закрытые глаза, которые всегда смотрели на нее с любовью, и лицо - серое, окаменевшее, мертвое. Но за горькой минутой она видела долгие-долгие годы, полностью принадлежащие ей. И она распахнула объятья навстречу новой жизни.

   Теперь она будет жить только для себя. Никто не станет распоряжаться ее желаниями с тем безрассудным упорством, с которым мужья и жены навязывают супругам собственную волю, считая, что имеют на это полное право. В миг озарения подобное насилие казалось ей настоящим преступлением, даже если совершалось из лучших побуждений.

   И все-таки она любила мужа - временами, но чаще - нет. Да и какое это имеет значение! Что такое любовь, нераскрытая тайна, по сравнению со свободой, которой она жаждала всем своим существом.

   - Свободна! Душой и телом! - непрестанно шептала она.

   Жозефина стояла на коленях перед закрытой дверью и через замочную скважину умоляла сестру впустить ее:

   - Луиза, открой! Ну, прошу тебя! Отопри дверь! Зачем ты изводишь себя! Что ты там делаешь, Луиза? Ради Бога, открой!

   - Подите все прочь! Я нисколько не извожу себя!

   И она действительно не изводила себя - через открытое окно она вбирала жизненный эликсир.

   Ее мысли перенеслись в будущее, уступая место воображению. Весна, лето - все, все теперь принадлежит ей. Она обратилась к Господу с молитвой продлить ей жизнь. А ведь еще вчера она с ужасом думала о том, какая жизнь длинная.

   Наконец она встала из кресла, открыла дверь назойливой сестре и вышла из комнаты, словно победоносная Ника. Ее глаза лихорадочно блестели, в них светилось торжество. Обнявшись, сестры спустились по лестнице. Ричардз ждал их внизу.

   Вдруг они услышали, как кто-то открывает снаружи входную дверь. И в комнату вошел никто иной, как Брэнтли Мэллард. Его костюм немного запачкался в дороге, в руках он преспокойно держал саквояж и зонтик. О катастрофе он и слыхом не слыхивал, так как был совсем в другом месте. Он изумленно посмотрел на Жозефину, пронзительно закричавшую при виде его, и на Ричардза, который сделал быстрое движение, чтобы заслонить собой Луизу.

   Но не успел.

   Врачи установили, что миссис Мэллард умерла от разрыва сердца - не вынесла радости.

  

  

The story of an hour is a dramatic destiny of Mrs. Mallard. The title of the story speaks for itself. The story begins with introduction of main characters to the reader and with description of key events. Mrs. Mallard was afflicted with a heart trouble and her sister Josephine, her husband's friend Richard did their best to break to Mrs. Mallard as gently as possible the news of her husband's death.

The first passage appears to be exposition, 'cause it contains a short presentation of time, place and characters of the story. Besides, from the very beginning the absence of Mrs. Mallard's name draws our attention.

Further, the author describes Mrs. Mallard's state, how she accepted the news. He writes: "She didn't hear the story as many women have heard the same, with a paralyzed inability to accept its significance". So this makes us think that she didn't accept her husband's death as a fact, but realized its significance for her, perhaps she imagined her further life without her husband, she started thinking of the way her life would change.

"There stood, facing the open window..." There's a slight hint in this sentence, that those changes will be closely connected with the improvement of her life and "the open window" the description of awakened nature in spring suggest it.

Here we should admit the beauty of the language the author uses. "The delicious breath of rain... There were patches of blue sky..." The epithet and metaphor are employed for the expressiveness while describing nature.

The decisive moment comes when ... whispered word escaped her slightly parted lips. She said it over and over under her breath: "Free, free, free!" It's the climax of the story. The metaphor "escape" reveals Mrs. Mallard's state. She was unconscious of her dream to be free. Every inch of her body wished that freedom and now she realized it. She was even glad that her husband died.

But the oxymoron "a monstrous joy" suggests that her reaction was abnormal. She was unhappy in her family life. Her husband "never looked save with love upon her. And she saw beyond that bitter moment a long procession of years to come that would belong to her absolutely...she would live for herself..."

The antithesis in the sentence "And yet she had loved him - sometimes. Often she had not." makes us arrive at a definite conclusion that all her love towards her husband was just an illusion. But still in spite of all this she shouldn't react in this way, it wasn't correct. She was too joyful. The metaphor "she was drinking in a very elixir of life through that open window", the climax "spring days and summer days and all sorts of days"; the epithet "feverish triumph in her eyes" are employed to emphasize her state and unnatural behaviour.

The denouement isn't less unexpected than Mrs. Mallard's reaction. The crucial moment came when Mr. Mallard, which was said to be dead, safe and sound opened the front door. Mrs. Mallard was shocked and died of heart disease. The doctors said that it was joy that killed her. But it wasn't joy, it was despair. All her dreams about free life were broken by her husband and she couldn't live with him any more. She hoped that she had got rid of him, that the destiny made her a present and all her dull life was very far. And when her husband ruined all this she couldn't forgive him. For just an hour she was born again, lived in the world of her dreams and died. She wanted freedom and reached it, but was dead.

A number of messages are conveyed in this story. A human being is born to be free, but he couldn't just rely on destiny and wait for freedom, he must fight for it and then he'll deserve that freedom.

It's a sin to be glad for somebody's death, and one will be punished for it. It is quite difficult to forgive a man, but one should do his best to forgive and give a man another chance.