This passage is excerpted from Kate Chopin, “The Awakening,” originally published in 1899.
“Would you like to hear Mademoiselle Reisz play?” asked
Robert, coming out on the porch where she was. Of course
Edna would like to hear Mademoiselle Reisz play; but she
feared it would be useless to entreat her.
“I’ll ask her,” he said. “I’ll tell her that you want to hear her.
She likes you. She will come.” He turned and hurried away to
one of the far cottages, where Mademoiselle Reisz was
shuffling away. She was dragging a chair in and out of her
room, and at intervals objecting to the crying of a baby, which
a nurse in the adjoining cottage was endeavoring to put to
sleep. She was a disagreeable little woman, no longer young,
who had quarreled with almost every one, owing to a temper
which was self-assertive and a disposition to trample upon the
rights of others. Robert prevailed upon her without any too
great difficulty.
She entered the hall with him during a lull in the dance. She
made an awkward, imperious little bow as she went in. She
was a homely woman, with a small weazened face and body
and eyes that glowed. She had absolutely no taste in dress, and
wore a batch of rusty black lace with a bunch of artificial
violets pinned to the side of her hair.
“Ask Mrs. Pontellier what she would like to hear me play,”
she requested of Robert. She sat perfectly still before the piano,
not touching the keys, while Robert carried her message to
Edna at the window. A general air of surprise and genuine
satisfaction fell upon every one as they saw the pianist enter.
There was a settling down, and a prevailing air of expectancy
everywhere. Edna was a trifle embarrassed at being thus
signaled out for the imperious little woman’s favor. She would
not dare to choose, and begged that Mademoiselle Reisz would
please herself in her selections
Edna was what she herself called very fond of music.
Musical strains, well rendered, had a way of evoking pictures
in her mind. She sometimes liked to sit in the room of
mornings when Madame Ratignolle played or practiced. One
piece which that lady played Edna had entitled “Solitude.” It
was a short, plaintive, minor strain. The name of the piece was
something else, but she called it “Solitude.” When she heard it
there came before her imagination the figure of a man standing
beside a desolate rock on the seashore. . . His attitude was one
of hopeless resignation as he looked toward a distant bird
winging its flight away from him.
Another piece called to her mind a dainty young woman
clad in an Empire gown, taking mincing dancing steps as she
came down a long avenue between tall hedges. Again, another
reminded her of children at play, and still another of nothing on
earth but a demure lady stroking a cat.
The very first chords which Mademoiselle Reisz struck
upon the piano sent a keen tremor down Mrs. Pontellier’s spinal
column. It was not the first time she had heard an artist at the
piano. Perhaps it was the first time she was ready, perhaps the
first time her being was tempered to take an impress of the
abiding truth.
She waited for the material pictures which she thought
would gather and blaze before her imagination. She waited in
vain. She saw no pictures of solitude, of hope, of longing, or of
despair. But the very passions themselves were aroused within
her soul, swaying it, lashing it, as the waves daily beat upon
her splendid body. She trembled, she was choking, and the
tears blinded her.
Mademoiselle had finished. She arose, and bowing her stiff,
lofty bow, she went away, stopping for neither thanks nor
applause. As she passed along the gallery she patted Edna upon
the shoulder.
“Well, how did you like my music?” she asked. The young
woman was unable to answer; she pressed the hand of the
pianist convulsively. Mademoiselle Reisz perceived her
agitation and even her tears. She patted her again upon the
shoulder as she said:
“You are the only one worth playing for. Those others?
Bah!” and she went shuffling and sidling on down the gallery
toward her room.
“Would you like to hear Mademoiselle Reisz play?” asked
Robert, coming out on the porch where she was. Of course
Edna would like to hear Mademoiselle Reisz play; but she
feared it would be useless to entreat her.
“I’ll ask her,” he said. “I’ll tell her that you want to hear her.
She likes you. She will come.” He turned and hurried away to
one of the far cottages, where Mademoiselle Reisz was
shuffling away. She was dragging a chair in and out of her
room, and at intervals objecting to the crying of a baby, which
a nurse in the adjoining cottage was endeavoring to put to
sleep. She was a disagreeable little woman, no longer young,
who had quarreled with almost every one, owing to a temper
which was self-assertive and a disposition to trample upon the
rights of others. Robert prevailed upon her without any too
great difficulty.
She entered the hall with him during a lull in the dance. She
made an awkward, imperious little bow as she went in. She
was a homely woman, with a small weazened face and body
and eyes that glowed. She had absolutely no taste in dress, and
wore a batch of rusty black lace with a bunch of artificial
violets pinned to the side of her hair.
“Ask Mrs. Pontellier what she would like to hear me play,”
she requested of Robert. She sat perfectly still before the piano,
not touching the keys, while Robert carried her message to
Edna at the window. A general air of surprise and genuine
satisfaction fell upon every one as they saw the pianist enter.
There was a settling down, and a prevailing air of expectancy
everywhere. Edna was a trifle embarrassed at being thus
signaled out for the imperious little woman’s favor. She would
not dare to choose, and begged that Mademoiselle Reisz would
please herself in her selections
Edna was what she herself called very fond of music.
Musical strains, well rendered, had a way of evoking pictures
in her mind. She sometimes liked to sit in the room of
mornings when Madame Ratignolle played or practiced. One
piece which that lady played Edna had entitled “Solitude.” It
was a short, plaintive, minor strain. The name of the piece was
something else, but she called it “Solitude.” When she heard it
there came before her imagination the figure of a man standing
beside a desolate rock on the seashore. . . His attitude was one
of hopeless resignation as he looked toward a distant bird
winging its flight away from him.
Another piece called to her mind a dainty young woman
clad in an Empire gown, taking mincing dancing steps as she
came down a long avenue between tall hedges. Again, another
reminded her of children at play, and still another of nothing on
earth but a demure lady stroking a cat.
The very first chords which Mademoiselle Reisz struck
upon the piano sent a keen tremor down Mrs. Pontellier’s spinal
column. It was not the first time she had heard an artist at the
piano. Perhaps it was the first time she was ready, perhaps the
first time her being was tempered to take an impress of the
abiding truth.
She waited for the material pictures which she thought
would gather and blaze before her imagination. She waited in
vain. She saw no pictures of solitude, of hope, of longing, or of
despair. But the very passions themselves were aroused within
her soul, swaying it, lashing it, as the waves daily beat upon
her splendid body. She trembled, she was choking, and the
tears blinded her.
Mademoiselle had finished. She arose, and bowing her stiff,
lofty bow, she went away, stopping for neither thanks nor
applause. As she passed along the gallery she patted Edna upon
the shoulder.
“Well, how did you like my music?” she asked. The young
woman was unable to answer; she pressed the hand of the
pianist convulsively. Mademoiselle Reisz perceived her
agitation and even her tears. She patted her again upon the
shoulder as she said:
“You are the only one worth playing for. Those others?
Bah!” and she went shuffling and sidling on down the gallery
toward her room.