Chapter VII

by Kate Chopin

　　Mrs. Pontellier was not a woman given to confidences, acharacteristic hitherto contrary to her nature. Even as a childshe had lived her own small life all within herself. At a veryearly period she had apprehended instinctively the dual life--thatoutward existence which conforms, the inward life which questions.That summer at Grand Isle she began to loosen a little themantle of reserve that had always enveloped her. There may havebeen--there must have been--influences, both subtle and apparent,working in their several ways to induce her to do this; but themost obvious was the influence of Adele Ratignolle. The excessivephysical charm of the Creole had first attracted her, for Edna hada sensuous susceptibility to beauty. Then the candor of thewoman's whole existence, which every one might read, and whichformed so striking a contrast to her own habitual reserve--thismight have furnished a link. Who can tell what metals the gods usein forging the subtle bond which we call sympathy, which we mightas well call love.The two women went away one morning to the beach together,arm in arm, under the huge white sunshade. Edna had prevailed uponMadame Ratignolle to leave the children behind, though she couldnot induce her to relinquish a diminutive roll of needlework, whichAdele begged to be allowed to slip into the depths of her pocket.In some unaccountable way they had escaped from Robert.The walk to the beach was no inconsiderable one, consisting asit did of a long, sandy path, upon which a sporadic and tangled growththat bordered it on either side made frequent and unexpected inroads.There were acres of yellow camomile reaching out on either hand.Further away still, vegetable gardens abounded, with frequentsmall plantations of orange or lemon trees intervening.The dark green clusters glistened from afar in the sun.The women were both of goodly height, Madame Ratignollepossessing the more feminine and matronly figure. The charm ofEdna Pontellier's physique stole insensibly upon you. The lines ofher body were long, clean and symmetrical; it was a body whichoccasionally fell into splendid poses; there was no suggestion ofthe trim, stereotyped fashion-plate about it. A casual andindiscriminating observer, in passing, might not cast a secondglance upon the figure. But with more feeling and discernment hewould have recognized the noble beauty of its modeling, and thegraceful severity of poise and movement, which made Edna Pontellierdifferent from the crowd.She wore a cool muslin that morning--white, with a wavingvertical line of brown running through it; also a white linencollar and the big straw hat which she had taken from the pegoutside the door. The hat rested any way on her yellow-brown hair,that waved a little, was heavy, and clung close to her head.Madame Ratignolle, more careful of her complexion, had twineda gauze veil about her head. She wore dogskin gloves, withgauntlets that protected her wrists. She was dressed in purewhite, with a fluffiness of ruffles that became her. The draperiesand fluttering things which she wore suited her rich, luxuriantbeauty as a greater severity of line could not have done.There were a number of bath-houses along the beach, of roughbut solid construction, built with small, protecting galleriesfacing the water. Each house consisted of two compartments, andeach family at Lebrun's possessed a compartment for itself, fittedout with all the essential paraphernalia of the bath and whateverother conveniences the owners might desire. The two women had nointention of bathing; they had just strolled down to the beach fora walk and to be alone and near the water. The Pontellier andRatignolle compartments adjoined one another under the same roof.Mrs. Pontellier had brought down her key through force ofhabit. Unlocking the door of her bath-room she went inside, andsoon emerged, bringing a rug, which she spread upon the floor ofthe gallery, and two huge hair pillows covered with crash, whichshe placed against the front of the building.The two seated themselves there in the shade of the porch,side by side, with their backs against the pillows and their feetextended. Madame Ratignolle removed her veil, wiped her face witha rather delicate handkerchief, and fanned herself with the fanwhich she always carried suspended somewhere about her person by along, narrow ribbon. Edna removed her collar and opened her dressat the throat. She took the fan from Madame Ratignolle and beganto fan both herself and her companion. It was very warm, and fora while they did nothing but exchange remarks about the heat, thesun, the glare. But there was a breeze blowing, a choppy, stiffwind that whipped the water into froth. It fluttered the skirts ofthe two women and kept them for a while engaged in adjusting,readjusting, tucking in, securing hair-pins and hat-pins. A fewpersons were sporting some distance away in the water. The beachwas very still of human sound at that hour. The lady in black wasreading her morning devotions on the porch of a neighboringbathhouse. Two young lovers were exchanging their hearts' yearningsbeneath the children's tent, which they had found unoccupied.Edna Pontellier, casting her eyes about, had finally kept themat rest upon the sea. The day was clear and carried the gaze outas far as the blue sky went; there were a few white cloudssuspended idly over the horizon. A lateen sail was visible in thedirection of Cat Island, and others to the south seemed almostmotionless in the far distance."Of whom--of what are you thinking?" asked Adele of hercompanion, whose countenance she had been watching with a littleamused attention, arrested by the absorbed expression which seemedto have seized and fixed every feature into a statuesque repose."Nothing," returned Mrs. Pontellier, with a start, adding atonce: "How stupid! But it seems to me it is the reply we makeinstinctively to such a question. Let me see," she went on,throwing back her head and narrowing her fine eyes till they shonelike two vivid points of light. "Let me see. I was really notconscious of thinking of anything; but perhaps I can retrace mythoughts.""Oh! never mind!" laughed Madame Ratignolle. "I am not quiteso exacting. I will let you off this time. It is really too hotto think, especially to think about thinking.""But for the fun of it," persisted Edna. "First of all, thesight of the water stretching so far away, those motionless sailsagainst the blue sky, made a delicious picture that I just wantedto sit and look at. The hot wind beating in my face made methink--without any connection that I can trace of a summer day inKentucky, of a meadow that seemed as big as the ocean to the verylittle girl walking through the grass, which was higher than herwaist. She threw out her arms as if swimming when she walked,beating the tall grass as one strikes out in the water. Oh, I seethe connection now!""Where were you going that day in Kentucky, walking throughthe grass?""I don't remember now. I was just walking diagonally acrossa big field. My sun-bonnet obstructed the view. I could see onlythe stretch of green before me, and I felt as if I must walk onforever, without coming to the end of it. I don't remember whetherI was frightened or pleased. I must have been entertained."Likely as not it was Sunday," she laughed; "and I was runningaway from prayers, from the Presbyterian service, read in a spiritof gloom by my father that chills me yet to think of.""And have you been running away from prayers ever since, machere?" asked Madame Ratignolle, amused."No! oh, no!" Edna hastened to say. "I was a littleunthinking child in those days, just following a misleading impulsewithout question. On the contrary, during one period of my lifereligion took a firm hold upon me; after I was twelve anduntil-until--why, I suppose until now, though I never thought much aboutit--just driven along by habit. But do you know," she broke off,turning her quick eyes upon Madame Ratignolle and leaning forwarda little so as to bring her face quite close to that of her companion,"sometimes I feel this summer as if I were walking through the greenmeadow again; idly, aimlessly, unthinking and unguided."Madame Ratignolle laid her hand over that of Mrs. Pontellier,which was near her. Seeing that the hand was not withdrawn, sheclasped it firmly and warmly. She even stroked it a little, fondly,with the other hand, murmuring in an undertone, "Pauvre cherie."The action was at first a little confusing to Edna, but shesoon lent herself readily to the Creole's gentle caress. She wasnot accustomed to an outward and spoken expression of affection,either in herself or in others. She and her younger sister, Janet,had quarreled a good deal through force of unfortunate habit. Herolder sister, Margaret, was matronly and dignified, probably fromhaving assumed matronly and housewifely responsibilities too earlyin life, their mother having died when they were quite young,Margaret was not effusive; she was practical. Edna had had anoccasional girl friend, but whether accidentally or not, theyseemed to have been all of one type--the self-contained. She neverrealized that the reserve of her own character had much, perhapseverything, to do with this. Her most intimate friend at schoolhad been one of rather exceptional intellectual gifts, who wrotefine-sounding essays, which Edna admired and strove to imitate; andwith her she talked and glowed over the English classics, andsometimes held religious and political controversies.Edna often wondered at one propensity which sometimes hadinwardly disturbed her without causing any outward show ormanifestation on her part. At a very early age--perhaps it waswhen she traversed the ocean of waving grass--she remembered thatshe had been passionately enamored of a dignified and sad-eyedcavalry officer who visited her father in Kentucky. She could notleave his presence when he was there, nor remove her eyes from his face,which was something like Napoleon's, with a lock of black hair failingacross the forehead. But the cavalry officer melted imperceptibly outof her existence.At another time her affections were deeply engaged by a younggentleman who visited a lady on a neighboring plantation. It wasafter they went to Mississippi to live. The young man was engagedto be married to the young lady, and they sometimes called uponMargaret, driving over of afternoons in a buggy. Edna was a littlemiss, just merging into her teens; and the realization that sheherself was nothing, nothing, nothing to the engaged young man wasa bitter affliction to her. But he, too, went the way of dreams.She was a grown young woman when she was overtaken by what shesupposed to be the climax of her fate. It was when the face andfigure of a great tragedian began to haunt her imagination and stirher senses. The persistence of the infatuation lent it an aspectof genuineness. The hopelessness of it colored it with the loftytones of a great passion.The picture of the tragedian stood enframed upon her desk.Any one may possess the portrait of a tragedian without excitingsuspicion or comment. (This was a sinister reflection which shecherished.) In the presence of others she expressed admiration forhis exalted gifts, as she handed the photograph around and dweltupon the fidelity of the likeness. When alone she sometimes pickedit up and kissed the cold glass passionately.Her marriage to Leonce Pontellier was purely an accident, inthis respect resembling many other marriages which masquerade asthe decrees of Fate. It was in the midst of her secret greatpassion that she met him. He fell in love, as men are in the habitof doing, and pressed his suit with an earnestness and an ardor whichleft nothing to be desired. He pleased her; his absolute devotionflattered her. She fancied there was a sympathy of thought and tastebetween them, in which fancy she was mistaken. Add to this the violentopposition of her father and her sister Margaret to her marriage witha Catholic, and we need seek no further for the motives which led herto accept Monsieur Pontellier. for her husband.The acme of bliss, which would have been a marriage with thetragedian, was not for her in this world. As the devoted wife ofa man who worshiped her, she felt she would take her place with acertain dignity in the world of reality, closing the portalsforever behind her upon the realm of romance and dreams.But it was not long before the tragedian had gone to join thecavalry officer and the engaged young man and a few others; andEdna found herself face to face with the realities. She grew fondof her husband, realizing with some unaccountable satisfaction thatno trace of passion or excessive and fictitious warmth colored heraffection, thereby threatening its dissolution.She was fond of her children in an uneven, impulsive way. Shewould sometimes gather them passionately to her heart; she wouldsometimes forget them. The year before they had spent part of thesummer with their grandmother Pontellier in Iberville. Feelingsecure regarding their happiness and welfare, she did not miss themexcept with an occasional intense longing. Their absence was asort of relief, though she did not admit this, even to herself. Itseemed to free her of a responsibility which she had blindlyassumed and for which Fate had not fitted her.Edna did not reveal so much as all this to Madame Ratignollethat summer day when they sat with faces turned to the sea. But agood part of it escaped her. She had put her head down on MadameRatignolle's shoulder. She was flushed and felt intoxicated withthe sound of her own voice and the unaccustomed taste of candor.It muddled her like wine, or like a first breath of freedom.There was the sound of approaching voices. It was Robert,surrounded by a troop of children, searching for them. The twolittle Pontelliers were with him, and he carried MadameRatignolle's little girl in his arms. There were other childrenbeside, and two nurse-maids followed, looking disagreeable andresigned.The women at once rose and began to shake out their draperiesand relax their muscles. Mrs. Pontellier threw the cushions andrug into the bath-house. The children all scampered off to theawning, and they stood there in a line, gazing upon the intrudinglovers, still exchanging their vows and sighs. The lovers got up,with only a silent protest, and walked slowly away somewhere else.The children possessed themselves of the tent, and Mrs.Pontellier went over to join them.Madame Ratignolle begged Robert to accompany her to the house;she complained of cramp in her limbs and stiffness of the joints.She leaned draggingly upon his arm as they walked.