The Story of an Hour

The Story of an Hour

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.
بسبب معرفتهم المسبقة بمشاكل مرض القلب الذي تعاني منه مسز مللارد كان عليهم اتخاذ الحذر الشديد في ايصال خبر وفاة زوجها لها.
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.
كانت اختها جوزفين هي من قام بإبلاغها بالخبر بجمل متقطعة وتلميحات خفية توضح معناها في النصف الثاني من الحديث. كان ريتشاردز صديق زوجها هناك, أيضًا, قربها . هو الذي كان في مكتب الجريدة عندما تُلُقِّيَ خبر كارثة السكك الحديدية وكان على راس قائمة الضحايا اسم برينتلي مللارد. أخذ بعض الوقت فقط ليتاكد من حقيقة وفاته من تلغراف آخر واسرع بايصال الخبر قبل ان يقوم صديق آخر اقل حذرا واهتماما بايصاله لهم.
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.
لم تسمع القصة كما سمعتها نساء اخريات كثيرات بعجز مشلول وعدم مقدرة على تقبل الخبر. لقد بكت في الحال وتركت ذراع اختها بصورة عنيفة وقوية ومفاجئة. وعندما مرت عاصفة الحزن ذهبت مبتعدة الى غرفتها وحيدة ولا يتبعها احد.
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.
هناك في مواجهة النافذة يوجد كرسي مريح غرقت فيه وهي تحت ضغط هائل بسبب تعب جسدي سكن جسمها واوشك ان يصل الى روحها.
كان بامكانها ان ترى في الميدان المقابل لمنزلها قمم الاشجار والتي كانت كلها ترتعش بحياة الربيع الجديدة. ونسيم الامطار اللذيذ كان يعبق الهواء. في اسفل الشارع كان هناك بائعا ينادي على بضاعته, والحان اغنية بعيدة كان احدهم يغنيها وصلت لمسامعهابصوت ضعيف. وعدد كبير من العصافير كان يغرد على الحواف.
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.
كانت هناك بقع لسماء زرقاء تظهر هنا وهناك خلال السّحب التي قد تقابلت وتكوّمت واحدا فوق الآخر في الغرب في مواجهة نافذتها.
جلست برأسها ملقى ثانية على وسادة الكرسيّ, ساكنة إلى حدّ ما, باستثناء عندما يظهرالبكاء في حلقها و يهزها كطفل يبكي ويتنهد خلال احلامه.
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.
كانت شابة بوجه هادئ جميل تدل خطوطه على الكبت وايضا على قوة محددة. ولكن الآن كانت هناك نظرة كئيبة ومحملقة في عينيها وقد ثبتت نظرها على احدى البقع الزرقاء التي تظهر في السماء. لم تكن نظرة لها انعكاس لكنها تشير الى وجود فكرة معقة بذهنها.
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.

كان هناك شيئ ما قادم إليها و كانت تنتظره, بخوف . ما هو ؟ لم تعرف كان دقيقًا جدًّا و ولا يمكن تسميته . لكنها شعرت به ,يتسلّل خارج السّماء, تصل إلى نحوها من خلال الاصوات والروائح والالوان التي ملات الجو.
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 her 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.
الآن وردتها الحبيبة سقطت بصوت صاخب . لقد بدات تتعرف على هذا الشئ الذي يتقدم نحوها ليمتلكها كانت تناضل لهزيمته بارادتها التي كانت بضعف يديها البيضاءين الممشوقتان.
وعندما تخلت عن نفسها هربت همسة صغيرة من شفتيها وبدات تقول مرة بعد اخري: حرة, حرة, حرة. النظرة الفاترة ونظرة الخوف التي تبعته ذهبت من عينيها. لقد بقيت عيناها متوهجتان ومضيئتان تسارع نبضها والدم المندفع في جسمها اعطاها احساسا بالدفء واراح كل بوصة من جسمها.
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 would belong to her absolutely. And she opened and spread her arms out to them in welcome.
لم تتوقف لتسال اذا ما كانت هذه فرحة وحشية تعتريها ام لا .. فقد مكنها فهمها الواضح من استبعاد الاقتراح التافه علمت انها ستبكي مرة اخرى عندما رأت اليد اليدين الحنونتين وقد لفهما الموت , ذلك الوجه الذي لم ينظر لها بحب يوما ما, كان ثابتا( بلا تعبير) يغشاه الموت. ولكنها رات من وراء تلك لحظة الالم هذه موكب سنوات قادم يخصها هي فقط وقد فتحت زراعيها لتستقبلهم.
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 have 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 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 keyhole, 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."
لن يكون هناك من ستعيش من اجله بل ستعيش من اجل نفسها فقط في تلك السنوات القادمة , لن يكون هناك ارادة طاغية تثنها كذلك الاصرار الاعمى الذي يجعل الرجال والنساء يعتقدون ان لهم الحق في فرض رغبة خاصة على شريكهم بالحياة. نية طيبة او نية سيئة جعلت الفعل كله لا يقل عن كونه جريمة كما بدا لها في تلك اللحظات المستنيرة او المضيئة.
وحتى الآن قد احبته .. في بعض الاحيان. وبعضها لم تفعل . ماذا يهم الآن؟؟ ماذا بامكان الحب, هذا الشعور الغامض, ان يقارن امام هذه اللحظة من امتلاك واثبات الذات التي تعيشها الآن والتي تشير الىاقوى رغبة في وجودها.
( حرة جسد وروح... حرة) استمرت تهمس لنفسها.
جوزفين كانت تنحني امام فتحة المفتاح في الباب المغلق تطلب الدخول قائلة: لويز افتحي الباب ارجوكي ان تفتحيه ستمرضين.. ماذا تفعلين ؟؟؟ لويز ..من اجل السماء افتحي الباب)
"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 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.
But Richards was too late.
When the doctors came they said she had died of heart disease - of joy that kills.
( اذهبي بعيدا انا لا اجعل نفسي مريضة) كانت تشرب اكسير الحياة من خلال نافذتها المفتوحة. خيالها كان يسرح بعيدا في تلك الايام.. ايام الصيف وايام الربيع وكل الايام التي ستكون لها وحدها..صلت صلاة قصيرة لاجل ان تكون الحياة طويلة.. بالامس فقط كانت قد اعتقدت ان الحياة قد تكون طويلة فردت جسمها وقامت لتفتح الباب امام الحاح اختها كانت هناك نظرة مرتعشة ومحمومة في عينيها وامسكت باختها واتكات عليها كالهة للنصر. امسكت بخصر اختها ونزلتا السلم.. ريتشارد كان ينتظرهم بالاسفل. كان هناك صوت من يحاول ان يفتح الباب الامامي بمفتاح. لقد كان برنتلي ماللارد هو من دخل يحمل حقيبة ومظلة السفر. لقد كان بعيدا من موقع الحادث.. ولم يكن حتى يعلم ان هناك حادثا.. وقف مذهولا من صرخة جوزفين الباكية .. وردة فعل ريتشارد لرؤيته الذي حاول ان يحجبه من رؤية زوجته ولكنه ناخر جدا. عندما اتى الاطباء قالوا انها توفت بمرض القلب- ماتت من شدة الفرح.

Plot Summary


By Michael J. Cummings...© 2006
.
........Brently Mallard has died in a train accident, according to a report received at a newspaper office. Mr. Richards, a friend of Mallard, was in the newspaper office when the report came in. He tells Mallard’s sister-in-law, Josephine, of Mallard’s death, and accompanies Josephine to the Mallard home. Because Mallard’s wife, Louise–a young, attractive woman–suffers from a heart condition, Josephine announces news of the tragedy as gently as possible.
.......Mrs. Mallard breaks down, crying fitfully, then goes upstairs to a room to be alone. There she sits down and gazes out a window, sobbing. It is spring. Birds sing, and the trees burst with new life. It had been raining, but now patches of blue sky appear.
.......Suddenly, an extraordinary thought occurs to Mrs. Mallard, interrupting her grieving: She is free. She is now an independent woman–at liberty to do as she pleases. Because Mrs. Mallard seems to feel guilty at this thought, she tries to fight it back at first. Then she succumbs to it, allowing it to sweep over her. She whispers, “Free, free, free!”
.......To be sure, she will cry at the funeral. However, in the years to come, she will know nothing but joy and happiness, for there will be “no powerful will bending her” to do its bidding. Of course, she had loved her husband. Well, sometimes. On other occasions, she had not loved him at all. But what does it matter now, she thinks, whether or how much she had loved her husband? The important thing is that she is free.
.......Worried about her sister, Josephine pounds on Mrs. Mallard’s door, begging entry. But Louise, saying she is all right, tells her to go away. Mrs. Mallard then resumes her revelry about the wondrous future before her–all the days that will belong to her alone. Only yesterday she wished that life would be short; now she wishes that life will be long.
.......At length, she answers the door and goes downstairs with Josephine. At the bottom of the stairs, Mr. Richards stands waiting while someone is opening the front door. It is Brently Mallard. There had been a mix-up. He was not in the accident, or even near it, when it occurred. Josephine shrieks. Richards quickly moves in front of Brently to prevent Mrs. Mallard from seeing him. But it is too late.
.......Physicians later determine that Mrs. Mallard’s death resulted from “joy that kills.” Her weak heart could not withstand the happy shock of seeing her husband alive and whole.

Setting

The action takes place in a single hour in an American home in the last decade of the 19th Century.
Characters

Mrs. Louise Mallard: Young, attractive woman who mourns the reported death of her husband but exults in the freedom she will enjoy in the years to come.
Brently Mallard: Mrs. Mallard's husband.
Josephine: Mrs. Mallard's sister.
Richards: Friend of Brently Mallard.
Doctors: Physicians who arrive too late to save Mrs. Mallard.

Type of Work and Publication Information



"The Story of an Hour" is a short story that observes the unities of time, place, and plot–that is, the action takes place in (1) less than a day (2) in a single location (3) as part of a single story line with no subplots. The story was first published in Vogue magazine in 1894.
Theme


Repression of women in a male-dominated society. Society in late-19th Century expected women to keep house, cook, bear and rear children–but little more. Despite efforts of women’s-rights activists such as Lucretia Mott, Elizabeth Cady Stanton, and Susan B. Anthony, women still had not received the right to vote in national elections by the century’s end. Moreover, employers generally discriminated against women by hiring them for menial jobs only and paying them less than men for the same work. The Story of an Hour hints that Mrs. Mallard’s husband–perhaps a typical husband of his day–dominated his wife.
Symbolism

Examples of symbols in the story are the following:
Springtime (Paragraph 5): The new, exciting life awaiting Mrs. Mallard
Patches of Blue Sky (Paragraph 6): Emergence of her new life

Figures of Speech
Examples of figures of speech are the following:
Revealed in half-concealing (Paragraph 2): Paradox
Storm of grief (Paragraph 3): Metaphor
Physical exhaustion that haunted her body (Paragraph 4): Metaphor/Personification
Breath of rain (Paragraph 5): Metaphor
Song which someone was singing (Paragraph 5): Alliteration
Clouds that had met (Paragraph 6): Metaphor/Personification
The sounds, the scents (Paragraph 9): Alliteration
Thing that was approaching to possess her (Paragraph 10): Metaphor/Personification
Monstrous joy (Paragraph 12): Oxymoron
She carried herself unwittingly like a goddess of Victory (Paragraph 20): Simile
Joy that kills (Paragraph 23): Paradox. The phrase is also ironic, since the doctors mistakenly believe that Mrs. Mallard was happy to see her husband alive.

Foreshadowing


The opening sentence of the story foreshadows the ending–or at least hints that Mrs. Mallard’s heart condition will affect the outcome of the story. Morever, this sentence also makes the ending believable. Without an early reference to her heart ailment, the ending would seem implausible and contrived.
Mrs. Mallard's Heart Condition
As the story unfolds, the reader discovers that Mrs. Mallard’s heart ailment may have resulted–in part, at least–from her reaction to her inferior status in a male-dominated culture and to a less-than-ideal marriage. For example, in Paragraph 8, Chopin says the young woman’s face “bespoke repression”; in Paragraph 14, the author tells us that a “powerful will” was “bending" Mrs. Mallard. Finally, in Paragraph 15, Chopin notes: “Often she had not” loved her husband.
Author



Kate Chopin (1851-1904) is best known for her short stories (more than 100) and a novel, The Awakening. One of her recurring themes–the problems facing women in a society that repressed them–made her literary works highly popular in the late 20th Century. They remain popular today.